My Silent Saviour. Part III
Beyond Death, Beyond Time, Beyond Sanity.
NB: Some details are of a sensitive nature and may cause distress. 1800Respect Counselling Service;
Years passed, and I eventually left my childhood home. I found comfort and freedom living alone in an old-fashioned flat with an early Australian character. The building held an ambience from a bygone era, overlooking Sydney Harbour, hugging its crystal shore. A unique position that overlooked the Sydney Opera House, Luna Park, and our imposing Harbour Bridge. A dream location, yes. I was so very lucky to have found this little piece of Shangri-La.
Every morning, from my bedroom window, I’d watch the tiny little man in the distance, climb the bridge, hoist the flags on the infamous ‘coat hanger’ and take them down again at day’s end.
I had a perfect view of the south pylon, where my grandfather, Charlie, once worked in the post office all those years ago. A stellar view indeed. Who knows, perhaps he had heavenly collaboration in leading me there. We could keep an eye on each other from our separate worlds. I could almost see his spirit standing, looking down at me from the alcove of the pylon as the sun reflected light in the late afternoon.
Watching the ferries come and go at sunrise and sunset, the sparkling water, and the serenity and peace of our glorious harbour was sensory overload. But this place of immense beauty and tranquillity would also etch an evil chapter in my life that still haunts me today. It was not of the apparition kind, but of a human beast, portraying the devil himself. His black eyes forever stare in the darkness of my psyche.
The devil in disguise was a ‘friend’. A well-built guy with visions of becoming a sports person. A quiet, softly spoken man with eyes of turquoise blue, but with an evil twin soul that would soon manifest itself to me.
A colleague of mine from university, where I worked at the time, offered me a lift to save me a bus and ferry ride home. As we arrived at my place, we noticed a lone figure hiding in the bushes up ahead outside my unit block. A bit strange, we thought.
Trying to detect who this person may be, I eventually realised it was someone I knew. For the sake of this post, I shall refer to him as ‘Aamon’ (the hidden one). He was clutching a bottle and appeared to be inebriated.
What was he doing here?
My work friend asked if I would be OK noticing this guy wasn’t exactly welcoming, and I have to say it totally unnerved me, even though I knew him to be a quiet, lovely guy.
I told my colleague not to worry; I would see what he wanted and send him on his way.
I thanked him for the lift and told him I would see him at work next week.
I exited the car and proceeded towards the front entrance of my unit, where Aamon was sitting on the fence.
I could never have imagined what was to transpire from that moment on.
The uninvited was obviously waiting for me. I don’t know how or why he was there, as he lived south of the bridge, and he didn’t have a car. This was an unexpected visit.
As I approached the entrance to my apartment, I asked him what was wrong as he followed me through the front door. There was no response. He seemed upset, so I offered assistance.
It was obvious fairly quickly that this wasn’t the person I knew. He was omitting strange, uneasy vibes. What stood before me now was a body of unfamiliar evil.
I was receiving very scary signals. His normally iridescent blue eyes had turned black. Petrifying and chilling. It was as if he was possessed, and to this day, the reasons for his actions elude me.
It would turn out to be three days and two nights of unforeseen horror. This is my only recollection.
Friday afternoon: After inviting him in, thinking he wanted someone to talk to, it quickly became clear that I was in danger and that I would have to do some fast talking or fast footing.
Before I could take another breath, I was, without warning, pushed from behind to the ground. He dragged me by my hair, shoved and hit me. I was thrown around like a rag doll as I fell to the floor in a heap.
This vicious game went on for a while.
Then, as he lay upon me for hours on end, he attempted to strangle me.
I was violated, held down. Unable to move.
Powerless.
Remember, this was a creature of muscle, power and strength. I was a woman with no strength to fight back.
Like a whip, he invaded my world, physically, emotionally and left scars that would never heal. My Shangri-la of peace and tranquillity was now plundered, ravaged and ransacked.
Who gave him that right? Why did he choose me to expel his hidden evil upon?
You know that secret vault in your mind where you close the door and lock things away, hoping it never unlocks again, hoping those hellish torments never escape their confines. That’s where my anger and rage erupt. Silently, in the darkness.
How can one person inflict such pain that affects your whole life, festering and waiting in the depths of your subconscious till one small, insignificant moment makes it a reality again in the here and now?
How do you explain your reactions years down the track, when these moments come to the fore? You can’t.
They manifest every single time someone comes up behind me without warning, touches me on the shoulder or when just simply playing an innocent joke. An ordinarily innocent moment that now makes me scream with such force and fear because I’m reliving that moment in time all over again.
In those moments, you have to pull yourself together, swallow the fear and anger and lock it away as soon as possible and try not to upset those important individuals that share your life now - the ones that keep you going, that support you and give you unconditional love, but have no idea of the darkness you’ve endured before their light set you free, to a degree.
How do you explain those tiny atom bombs of sadness, anger and clicks of fright that go off without warning? All it takes is for someone to play an innocent prank. For them, a light-hearted moment, but it can bring back such torturous fear for me, as it does for so many who’ve experienced this - if only for a split second. And so, you try to gain your composure and explain it all away. Looking and feeling like an idiot. Having to calm your pounding heart one more time.
So, there I was, trapped as the sun set on a weekend in my harbour sanctuary that was to become unrelenting terror.
Before I could comprehend what was taking place, I was being flung around from wall to wall like a dog’s toy, trying to get up and being shoved down, trying to escape with a demon at every turn. He was robust, moved like a whippet and strong beyond comprehension. His words reverberated in my brain over and over,
‘If you think you can escape, you can’t.
If you think you can get away, you won’t - you will never get away.”
I remember screaming for help, but no one came. Surely, they could hear me in the units above. Could they not hear the thumping and screams of terror?
I remember hoping someone would break in and save me.
But no one came.
I prayed that the phone would ring. It didn’t.
Remember, mobile phones weren’t invented yet. It was attached to the wall with a cord. One on a bedside table. One at the entry door.
Many times, I tried to pick up the phone, but he disabled me. I vaguely remember trying to escape through the front door, but his force was such that it unhinged the lock and jammed.
To try and bide some time, I lay in absolute silence and stillness, pretending I was comatose, hoping he would pass out.
It seemed like an eternity. Hours passed, so very slowly.
He forced me to lie face down; I presume to prevent any hope of escape.
I could count every wheezing, draining breath I took, my chest heaving with pain as he lay motionless above me, yet with a vice-like grip around my neck and arms that was stretching my skin and bruising my soul. I was frozen, in movement and emotion.
I recall his dead weight lying on me for so long that I thought my shoulder had dislocated as I tried in silent desperation to break free from the numbing pain and lack of oxygen.
It sounds like a script from a horror movie, but this horror happened to me, in my life and took my security and my soul and left it scattered to the winds.
I prayed to God to take me.
He didn’t, but he would send help.
To die seemed my only escape from this torturous hell. Dramatic as it sounds, it was real. If it were to happen in today’s world, he would be hunted down and thrown in jail. For me, he would never be held accountable for his actions but would leave me with a lifetime of invisible chains to deal with alone and in silence.
Over and over, these repetitive, inexplicable moments have unfolded through my life. Ignored, dismissed, apparently not worthy of protection, solace or the occasion to tell my story. Who would believe me anyway, I told myself? Was it my fault? So, I kept it inside.
Help finally arrived. Did someone above finally hear my soundless screams for help?
Yes. My grandfather, Charlie.
My angelic caretaker, my umbrella, my silent saviour, my invisible hero. I was so relieved to ‘see’ him.
I thought maybe I was hallucinating, having been held down for so long and in so much pain. But it was not a delusion of light or my brain playing tricks on me.
I silently prayed to my Charlie and to God to help me out of this terrible situation. Pleading for someone to hear me. I thought this was my only way for deliverance.
Many years had passed since Charlie left my world for a heavenly address, but he was with me now, and I knew if I could just touch his outstretched hand, that I could clearly see before me, I would be OK. I know he would take me to that safe place. Not on this earth, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be safe in his arms.
I desperately tried to touch his hand, which I could plainly see glowing in the darkness.
I wasn’t there for him in his darkest hour, but he was here with me now in mine.
Just one more millimetre and we would be together.
One last lunge to the light, and I would be in my Charlie’s arms.
Then, as I roared out for deliverance, something unbelievable happened.
With only a second away from his hand of sanctuary, in a flash of blinding light, my captor was suddenly and furiously propelled off me as if by an invisible force.
I screamed in fright.
I turned to see him flung back against the wall with a massive thud. Just as he had been inflicting on me.
Was I really living through this? Or in that millisecond of contact, had I actually made it safely to the other side? I was dazed, but still earthbound.
A look of disbelief and shock now swathed Aamon’s tormented face.
I knew he had witnessed something unearthly, not of this world. And for a split second, I was abnormally thankful that my fear and terror had now been transposed to him, channelled by a heavenly guard, willing to fight for me from beyond.
A celestial Clark Kent, called Charlie. Same dark-rimmed glasses, no cape required, no crippling kryptonite, just a handful of malachite and a heart overflowing with eternal love.
I knew now I wasn’t imagining my guardian angel, my Charlie, here in this room with me.
For a brief time, I had respite from this nightmare. I was able to breathe again and regain some composure to quickly devise a plan that would release me from this torturous confinement.
Karma was unfolding. So, I thought.
I knew my grandfather was with me now. I knew my captor had seen something in that explosive moment that caused him to be propelled off me and into the wall. A kung fu kick of the celestial kind.
The look of terror was now on his face.
If he didn’t believe in angry apparitions before, I’m convinced he would now.
Real guardian angels that manifest and fight for love.
It took me a moment to comprehend the supernatural enactment that had occurred. I didn’t need explanation or confirmation. I knew it was my Charlie who came to save me. I just wasn’t expecting an actual intervention.
Love knows no bounds.
Whilst entrapped, a day and a half had gone by, though for me, time was disconnected.
Friday evening to Sunday afternoon was a blurred measure of relentless fear. A clock without a face, though in reality forty-three hours had passed.
I had no comprehension of time.
Time had left me battered, bruised, violated, exhausted and fearful of my fate. The scars from his brutality were now tattooed all over my body. With each slowly passing hour, my fear and rage would do battle many times. Would anyone come to my aid?
No.
Following the mystifying detachment of his being, he now wandered around the room in a stupefied state, trying to comprehend what had happened. Bewildered. Scared like a deer in headlights. Now, who is the fearful one?
Instant karma.
Miraculous intervention.
Faith with no mortal boundaries.
Faith, hope, love and Charlie = my silent saviour. Thank you.
In this silent moment of reprieve, I prayed that my grandmother would ring.
She was still living at my childhood home. My home. She was always near, somehow, some way. We were close. She was always ‘mum’ in my own mother’s absence. We contacted each other a couple of times a day, especially since leaving home, knowing that Charlie was not there to share her world anymore. She would always ring me if she hadn’t heard from me, and vice versa. Surely, she would be wondering why I hadn’t contacted her over the past day and a half.
Aamon wouldn’t let me near the phone. I attempted to call her numerous times, but he tore the phone out of my hands.
All I could do was wait for her to ring.
It was now late Sunday morning, which dragged long and slow from Friday evening and still no call.
I’d just about given up when finally, the phone rang.
I grabbed for it as if possessed, and yes, my grandmother’s beautiful voice was at the other end.
I screamed at her to help me, to get the police, Dad, anyone to get me out of there.
Of course, she had no idea what had transpired, nor did she understand my cries of desperation.
I was unaware that the Aamon had picked up the other phone close to the front door and was listening to my pleas for help.
My screams became violent as this was my last hope of rescue, when finally, mum realised I wasn’t joking and something was very wrong, and so pleaded with him in a motherly sort of way, to let me come home. He tried to portray his innocence, mimicking a man in control, with the eyes of the devil staring through me, laughing at my fear.
What evil was I witnessing? This was a performance I didn’t wish to be part of anymore.
In a moment of logic, he agreed to let me go home to her and convinced her that I was just ‘a bit upset about something’, he wasn’t sure what, but that I would be alright, and he would come home with me, to ‘make sure I got there safely’.
No! I screamed internally. I just wanted to run, to flee from him.
He hung up the phone before I could talk to Mum again.
He then made me wait while he showered.
My head was pounding with pain and torment.
I attempted to go and get a glass of water. But a low, menacing voice spewed from the bathroom,
“Do not move or you will regret it. Do not try to leave because I will find you. Sit down.”
All I could do was sit in silent torment. Terrified. Waiting.
I was not allowed to shower or change clothes. He would not let me. I was to remain in the torn, soiled clothes I had worn to work on Friday, or what was left of them.
How would I ever get home?
Please join me for Part IV - The Conclusion. This is where the story ends, the door is closed, but scars and memories remain. 🪶🕸️
Thank you for being here to share the journey.
I am so sorry that happened....and so grateful that Charlie came to defend you..and see you..and try to stop the terrifying thing that was happening.... I am so sorry that the world that is here couldn't and still can't seem to see and respond to what the angels do.....
I’m here with you as you share this.
Holding space and continuing to read.