La Légende De Maggie Magic Mushroom (Nouvelle)

Vous avez tous entendu parler d’une personne mystérieuse, étrange, extravagante à qui vos ami(e)s, voisins prêtaient des rumeurs loufoques voir même, parfois, inquiétantes ?

Aujourd’hui, je vais vous parler d’une de ces personnes, une certaine Maggie Magic Mushroom.

Évidemment, c’était le sobriquet donné par tout Los Angeles, et même jusqu’à New-York. Peut-être même partout dans le monde.

Je ne pourrai pas vous donner une description précise de Maggie, personne ne semble l’avoir vue. Ceux qui le prétendent donnent tous des descriptions différentes. Une vieille femme blanche, blonde, toute ridée et petite. Une belle femme Noire, aux longues jambes et aux yeux vert, certains ont même juré sur leurs mères qu’elles n’étaient pas humaine, la mystérieuse dame était un lézard…

Sa légende perdure depuis plus de soixante ans. Jamais deux descriptions similaires d’une prétendue rencontre avec la Dame.

Mais, si nous ne saurons jamais à quoi ressemblait vraiment Maggie, je peux vous expliquez ce qu’elle faisait, pourquoi nous avons ajouté ‘Magic Mushroom’ à son prénom. (Inutile de vous dire que nous n’avons aucune information sur son nom de famille. D’ailleurs, son vrai nom n’est sûrement pas Maggie.)

Plusieurs rumeurs persistantes datent son apparition dès la fin des années 60. Et, cela se tient.

L’époque était aux riffs endiablées de Jimi Hendrix, de ceux hypnotisant de Santana, de la voix puissante de Janis Joplin, du lapin blanc des franciscanais de Jefferson Airplane et des paroles psychédéliques des Grateful Dead.

C’était l’époque des expériences psychédéliques, et aussi de l’amour, du rapprochement de l’Homme et de Mère Nature, mais aussi d’un climat politique délétère, la Guerre Froide, le Vietnam.

La jeunesse avait trouvé dans la drogue un échappatoire, autant psychique que physique. Ils avaient découvert par l’expérience de ces psychédéliques, que la vie n’était que ce qu’ils pouvaient voir, le monde physique n’était qu’une infime partie de l’expérience sur terre.

C’est à cette époque qu’une certaine Maggie fit parler d’elle. Elle vendait toute sorte de drogue, à des prix dérisoires, et ce d’une manière originale.

En effet, vous deviez trouver dans San Francisco ce que les tous nouveaux fidèles de Maggie appelaient : La Pyramide.

Ici aussi, la localisation précise et les descriptions de ‘La pyramide’ divergent suivant à quel ancien vous demandez. Ce que j’ai pu entendre me permet seulement de confirmer que le toit de cette maison était pyramidal. Aucunes photos d’époque n’existent, pourquoi ? La discrétion était semble-t-il de mise, même si cela n’a pas vraiment de sens, beaucoup de monde venaient acheter les produits de Maggie.

Si vous aviez la chance de trouver la Pyramide, vous n’aviez qu’à rentrer dedans.

Plusieurs tables s’offraient à vous. Dessus, un bloc-notes et un stylo.

Vous n’aviez qu’à marquer ce que vous désiriez, puis sur un des trois murs, au choix, faire passer votre bout de papier avec l’argent (je ne sais comment les anciens savaient quelle somme donner exactement. Les témoignages divergent là encore) à travers une fente de boîte aux lettres encastrées à chaque mur de la pièce où vous vous trouviez et à attendre quelques minutes. Puis, vous n’aviez plus qu’à récupérer votre commande à travers une trappe placée juste à côté de la fente, comme un petit coffre fort mural.

Mais pourquoi Maggie était et reste si légendaire ?

Parce que sa came semble venir d’un autre monde, comme la mystérieuse Dame derrière cette entreprise.

Les anciens et les nouveaux adeptes de Maggie ne jurent que par ses produits.

Son succès envers les amateurs de voyages psychédélique à San Francisco lui a valu une telle renommée que les pyramides de Maggie étaient apparues à Los Angeles et à New-York.

Nous pouvons en déduire que Maggie est en fait plusieurs personne. Mais il n’y a jamais personne qui semble rentrer ni sortir des Pyramides, en dehors des clients. Même les voisins de Maggie se souviennent de s’être réveillé un jour pour voir une maison avec un toit pyramidal dans leur rue.

Personne n’est jamais mort ni sombré dans la démence à cause des produits de Maggie. Au contraire, certains jurent que ses substances les ont miraculeusement guéri de leur dépression, des douleurs chroniques et autres maladies liées aux nerfs ou à la santé mentale.

Les Pyramides existent dans toutes les grandes villes actuelles, je ne peux pas confirmer cette information, je n’ai jamais réussis à en trouver une seule.

Maintenant, je vous laisse avec cette légende. Faites-en ce que vous voulez.

Jaskiers

Publicité

Through there and here – Final Part

I instinctively put my hand in my pocket to wipe out my phone, you know, to take pictures for the ‘gram, but I didn’t found it.

One of the guys who were on top of the car with me jumped to the floor, and the car roof crumbled under my feet.

Once again, it felt like my heart skipped a beat, I closed my eyes, waiting for a painful landing or a new space-time travel. It was the latter, and thanks God! I was back home, on my couch, with Proust’s book on my lap. It felt like I had just woken up from a dream.

I took a few seconds to check around me, to see if I was back in my time. My closed laptop on the kitchen counter confirmed to me that I was home.

I decided, like you would have probably done too, to check the internet and see if this had happened to someone else before, even hoped for a collective space-time travel experience, it would have been very interesting to see how peoples would have reacted to that, and if their perceptions of the world had changed for them like it changed for me.

But I had no result… Excepted for the few story about time-traveller’s talking about coming from the future to warn us about incoming doom and Armageddon.

This is why I took the opportunity to write about my experiences and share it with you.

I honestly don’t want to travel again, I’m not an adventurous guy, but damn, the world seems way more interesting and beautiful, but also versatile and violent that I’d previously thought.

If something like that happened to you too, write me!

It’s been an hour and a half and nothing have happened. Whatever I’ve experienced, a glitch in the matrix, an alien thing, seems to have stop.

Now, believe me or not. But I’ll tell you, sometimes, the world seems dull, but there’s magic, there so many things to live and experience. I think I might start dreaming about a better future again… and even acting for one !

So, that’s a goodbye. And I’m happy. Just happy. I don’t need help anymore.

The end

Jaskiers

Through there and here – Part 3

I could feel the air on my face, I could feel that I was moving, but at the same time, it felt like I was going nowhere, not really advancing. So, I started running even faster. Never been a sport guy, but I ran like hell was on my tail.

And I face planted in the water, and ended up somewhere else.

Someone helped me to get back on my feet. It was a guy, speaking what seemed to me to be german. I don’t speak one word of it, but by his tone and his expression on his face, I could tell he asked me if I was alright. I’ve node yes, he smiled at me, spoked to me and he ran.

There was peoples, peoples everywhere! I could hear chants, cheering, peoples were hugging each other, some were crying, but those were tears of joy. They were all dressed in vintage clothing. It felt, to me and my poor knowledge of fashion history, that it was clothes from the early 90´s, late 80´s at least.

The crowd all marched in the same direction, and I decided to follow them. I was never comfortable in a crowd, all my life I tried my best to avoid them. But after being alone in the blue desert, the sheer panic provided by the emptiness made me… grateful to be surrounded by fellow humans beings. I didn’t knew where the fuck I was, didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t ask for it, but the joy emitted by the crowd made me feel happy to.

I started hearing sheers, and dull banging sounds followed by the noises of heavy rubbles landing on the ground. Every time a banging sound was louder than the other ones, the crowds cheered.

I was closing in on the source of all this mess. As I made my way to it, the flock of people tightened. I’m not the tallest guy nor the most bulked men, just… average, like my ex-girlfriend would have said, it would have been difficult for me to try and get trough this mass.

I needed a vantage point. I could see people on top off roads signs, cars, or whatever they could use to be able to see what’s was happening.

I made my way near a group of young men and women standing on the roof of what’s seemed to be a police car. Well, it was written « Polizei » on the side, I assume it was a cop car.

One of the girls jumped on the hood and gave me her hand and helped me climb up the car.

I muttered a ‘thank you’ and a bright smile. She asked me, with a perfect English if I was American. I delightfully said yes, and took a sight at what was happening.

A wall being destroyed.

I’d remembered some of my old history class talking about the Berlin Wall, to be honest, I didn’t remember very well that class, I wasn’t that much of a good grade well behaved kid. But there I was, witnessing history ! And that, from my point of view, beat every history book and class.

Peoples were standing or sitting on the wall, smashing it with whatever they had in their hands, from a simple wood stick to a hammer, empty bottles and such. Some were literally throwing themselves into the wall. That was very dangerous. I mean, didn’t wanted to be below it! And I remembered that they were probably soldiers from the east, I can’t recall what they were called, it sound like the name Stacy, Stazy… Stasi? But they were no threat coming from them at this moment. There was way to many peoples to handles, way to many powers, forces, joys. Even with weapons, I think it would have taken a huge number of soldiers and machinery to stop this event.

This was, once again, a strange feeling for me. Finally, I was somewhere I knew a little bit about. That’s why, you kids readings this, should listen in class. Never know what time and space have in store for you!

Jaskiers

Through there and here – Chapter 1

Now, I’m not only confused, nor angry anymore. I’m just fucking done to be honest.

My name is Don Gut, and you are probably my only chance at understanding what the hell is happening to me. Maybe it happened to you, or to someone you know, or you read about it somewhere. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna die or kill myself. But, I’m mean, death wouldn’t even bother, or surprise me at this point. Maybe I’m already dead… I don’t know how much time I’ve got left here. You’ll probably understand, or not, when you finish reading my story. If the space time, loophole shenanigans allow me enough time to write about it.

So it’s all started when I’ve finished my reading session. I read at a certain hour, it fluctuate, depending on my moods and spare time.

I was reading Proust’s « In the search of lost time ». Now, this is a thick ass book. This is actually multiples novels combined in one book.

I’ve loved this book, so far. I really love the way Proust goes deep into our feelings. He put words on things that we don’t really think about, or don’t pay much attention to. It’s like a psychotherapy, every feeling is dissected, it’s powerful. And I feel like the characters are my friends now. Saint-Loup’s my favorite. But anyway.

I closed the book, got up to go to my kitchen to make some tea. Well, when I finished my cup, I’ve left the the kitchen and I fucking ended up in some sort of cave. Not my cave, I don’t have any cave, I live in a flat, in a big building. I’ve never been a fan of caves.

Now, there’s nothing weird with my tea. It’s eucalyptus! I’ve been drinking this since a few months now, it helps me to sleep. At least I love to think it does.

But there I was, in a cave. I turned around because I was freaking out, no door ! No kitchen ! Just a brick wall !

The cave was just made of bricks. The cave was simply rectangular, not very large. There was wooden boxes, some scrap, old tools, paintings, littles statues of… things.

Of course, there a wooden door just in front of me. First reflex, I ran to it, bumping into boxes like a mad man on a mission.

As soon as I touch the door handle : BAM !

Some explosion near almost exploded my guts out, and my heart. Dust falling from the ceiling. And then, BAM, again ! And again ! BAM ! BAM ! BAM !

For a… I don’t know how many minutes, it could be five, ten, or even two hours, the explosions kept coming ! It was a never-ending series of explosions that were happening up there. Everything shook in that little cave of mine. Every bone in my body seemed to be on the verge of breaking. My brain was on the brinks to explode too.

I stepped back into a corner, not wanting to go out there anymore. And curled up behind boxes of children’s toys.

My ear seemed like they where about to bleed. But the worst was that I started suffocating ! The air was… they were none ! Or just a little. It felt like when I was a kid and had asthma. But men, they were nothing I could do.

The vibrations in my heads were the worst, my jaws were clenched so hard but the waves of explosions made my teeth shakes !

Then, all of a sudden, no more explosion. I was drenched in sweat it felt like I was about to melt !

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part. 4

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

« – Mister? Are you all right?

  • What the fuck happened?
  • A client called me saying she could hear screams coming from you room. I entered and…
  • The fire! Fuck! The fire? Is everyone all right ? Did you take my notebook out of this hellhole?
  • What? No, there is no fire!
  • What the…
  • You are in your room sir, everything all right here. Except you of course.
  • But the TV and the furnitures were on fire and…
  • Jack, the TV is on its stand, there is no fire!
  • I’ve tried to open the window but I couldn’t…
  • Yes, client complaint often about our windows. That why it’s smell like cigarette and shit like that, can’t open it so they… »

Jack T. stopped listening to the young man, because he saw the spot on the ceiling transforming into a picture perfect demoniac face, horns and all.

« – Fuck ! I want to change room right now!

  • Ho ho! Jack! You dull boy! All work and no play, hasn’t changed much it’s seems! »

The writer looked at the young man who’s face was metamorphosing into his wife head and using her voice.

« – You haven’t changed! Asshole!

  • What? Leave! What are you doing here!
  • But I’m your wife!
  • Was…
  • You son of a bitch »

He received a slap on the right cheek and some spit on his face.

« – What the Fuck Rosie! You know you’ve got a restraining order against me, I can’t be close to you!

  • See, I’m gonna call the cops! You will never see the kid again!
  • Bitch! »

Jack pulls up a gun, point it at his wife face and shoot.

The brain matter splatter everywhere and the dead body transform itself as the poor hotel clerk.

« – Shit shit shit! Sorry!

  • What the hell is going on here!
  • I’ve… shoot a man!
  • What?
  • Oh my God Please help me!
  • Hell no ! I’m calling the cops!
  • No! I’m sick!
  • God damn right you sick you son of a bitch! »

The hotel room door shatters and enters a giant snake.

« – What…

  • Sssssss shut up! »

The author points his gun at the snake.

« – No darling please!

  • Stop ! Stop using my wife voice! »

The reptile jump at him and wrap himself around Jack body and tighten his grip. The bones crack and Jack can’t breathe anymore.

And he woke up. The bedsheets are drenched. No dead body, no giant snake.

Feeling terrified, he decides to have a smoke. Maybe with this, he would be sure that he isn’t dreaming.

He doesn’t waste time, put the cigarette between his lips, take the lighter, light up the smoke and inhale.

He coughed. His lungs and throat weren’t used to the smoke anymore.

His heartbeat who was going haywire slowed dawn and the writer exhaled the poisonous vapor and sighted.

Everything was calm. He felt a sensation of appeasement, the nicotine doing their work.

He builds up some courage to take his notebook to write the strange and horrific dreams he had just experienced.

Just as he put the pencil’s lead on the paper, Jack hears a soft knock on the door.

The adrenaline immediately spread their powerful forces into every part of his body.

He waited a few seconds. Maybe he had confused a soft knock with a random noise from outside.

Silence.

And an another knock, more noisy this time.

« – Yeah? Said Jack in a very low voice.

  • Mister, it’s the hotel’s clerk.
  • Did… what do you want?
  • Is everything all right for you?
  • Yeah… why?
  • Just heard some… noise. You know…
  • Well… what kind of noise?
  • Like someone… like you weren’t alone…
  • Ha… no as far as I know I am alone.
  • It’s okay… if there someone with you… you know, one of those ladies of the night…
  • No! God no! No I promise you I’m all alone here.
  • You wouldn’t be the first customer doing that y’know.
  • No! No! I don’t have prostitutes in my room.
  • If you say so… Wouldn’t be surprised y’know. Fame and money get you some puss…
  • I said no God damn it!
  • Won’t you shut the hell up over there!
  • Sorry madame ! I’m just checking out with a client.
  • Well it’s the fucking middle of the night! Damn! You guys gonna have some bad rating on internet!
  • Oh! Well, we’re used to it there so, go on.
  • Jesus! I will get you fired!
  • Ok boomer whatever.
  • Little asshole!
  • What a distinguished vocabulary you have here!
  • Don’t mess with me boy!
  • It’s okay!
  • No it’s not!
  • Holy shit!
  • Boy you think you can fuck with me?
  • Sorry madame!
  • It’s America asshole! We carry guns for a reason!
  • Yes, right, I’m sorry!
  • Jack! I’ve told you I would found you! »

Gunshots erupt, door bust open. Jack’s ex-wife enters the room.

« – Is this a fucking dream?

  • You shit! It’s probably more of a nightmare.
  • Shit! What the fuck is going on!
  • I haven’t forgotten Jacky boy! »

The woman shoots right at the writer.

Jack woke up. In sweat, once again.

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 3

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

The need for a smoke came back stronger than ever before since he stopped smoking. He needed to blow off some steam.

Once again, he had to face this inner demon of temptation. After all, just one, to cool off. But this is the cliché excuse to get back to smoking.

He took a glass of water instead, risking drinking it from the sink, with those terrible drought that had been hitting California recently, there was a risk of infection drinking water from the tap. But, this was better to drink a potentially cancerous glass of liquid than to definitely inhale cancer right into his body.

He laid back in the bed, looking at the spot on the celling. He couldn’t see anymore animals in it. This was proof that his brain was tired.

Dosing off once again, he fell into a dream, a nightmare in fact.

He was back in the fancy hallway of the Monclar Hotel in Colorado. Alone, he could hear a scream, a women scream along with terrifying scritching noises.

The hallway was well lit by a big crystal chandelier hanging from the roof to a few inches above the floor. Jack T. was almost blinded by the flashing crystals lights marking his sight with purple spots on his retina.

He tried to yell his wife name, Clara, because the screams he could hear sounded like her voice. But the only sound coming out off his mouth was an animal like groaning. The more he tried to yell, the more the groaning was loud and disturbing. When he decided to put his hand in front of his eyes to stop the light from burning them, he realised that his hands had became those of a beast.

Long and thin fingers, with long and thick black nails, his skin was covered in dense black fur.

By reflex, he took a glance at his lower body part but nothing had changed.

He tried to move around, going up the set of stairs on his right, the one that leaded to his room. He moved pretty fast. Too fast even. He could not control his pace. When he finally managed to reach the top of the set of stairs, he took the direction of the corridor leading to his and his wife room. He ran so fast that he blew past the long corridor, pulverising the window of his bedroom, breaking the room’s window and ended up in the snow, outside of the hotel that suddenly exploded.

Jack woke up in sweat. Maybe because of the dream, but also because the TV was on fire. He got up of the bed, coughing from the poisonous fumes filling the room and ran to the door. Of course, it was locked. He remembered, for once, where he had put the hotel room key; on the TV stand. But the television and the stand where devoured by thick black and red flames. The key was definitely lost. He prompted himself to the window but he could not understand the mechanism for opening it. Why do hotel room as those complicated windows opening mechanism along with weird shower malfunctioning?

As he was thinking about this, he felt like writing it down on his notebook. His precious notebook! He didn’t really cared about his wallet and laptops nor his trousers. He didn’t want to have his precious notebook burn, with all these wisdom, thought and ideas going up in flames and destroyed forever, never to be recovered. Jack never trusted his memory, writers have a tendency to forget things pretty fast because they often think about the thousand of things they could write. Their brains are often on maximum overdrive, keeping them up at night, pushing them to daydream.

Even more interesting stuff that he had to write about on the pages of his beloved notebook that was just standing on the bedside table.

He quickly leaped next to the bed to pick it up. But the notebook was stuck, impossible to grab off the table, like it was glued to the wood.

The writer tried his best to lift it up, planting his nails on the woods, bleeding. The effort made him suffocate even more. He wouldn’t give up, nails were coming off the fingers, shards penetrating deeply in his fingertips.

He felt a hand on his shoulder yanking him.

He woke up, laying in his bed. The young hotel manager was seating next to him.

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 2

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

A childish fear, he thought to himself.

He opened the door of his room. A smell of cigarette hit him directly. He stopped smoking two months ago and this smell will not help him forget his longing for a good smoke after the stress of the traveling. Thankfully, he had no cigarette in his pockets to taunt him even more.

The room had that uniform pale brown color, a two persons wide bed, a night stand with a phone, a lamp and an ashtrey. Facing the front bed, a TV stand with a top notch television and multiple drawers. A wardrobe next to the bed et next to it, a bathroom with a toilet. A picture perfect basic motel room.

He let down his luggage on to the floor and laid in bed, looking at the roof stained by years of smoking.

One of these spots looked like a rabbit.

Smoke stains are likes clouds, perfect pareidolia materials. He took out his notebook to write that thought down. The writer learned to write down every thing that inspired him directly as to not forget a good idea that could help him in his futur writing. He never really used the notes he putted down in his journal, it was more of a little obsession, just in case the inspiration decided to take a leave from him creative mind.

Curiosity pushed Jack to open the bed side drawer, see if there was a bible. It’s a curious thing to put a bible in hotel rooms he thought to himself. It was not the case in Europe, it was something typically American. Forcing God into your life, guiding the lost sheep back to the Lord’s herd. He wrote those lines down on his notebook before opening the drawer and discovering a tiny black leathered bible and a full pack of Camel cigarettes along with a lighter.

Torrence heartbeat increased for a bit. There were, in this drawer, God wisdom and the Devil sweet temptation.

He took the bible and opened it where the little strip of tissue served as a bookmark.

He read the first line that caught his eyes :

(Luke 22:40)
When He arrived at the place, He said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.”

He sighted, looked at the pack of cigarettes, took it, turned and smelled the odor of tobacco before putting it down like it was burning his finger.

Sometime, life work in mysterious ways, like God, but it also have frightening coincidences that make you question existence in its whole. Jack was in deep meditating state, wondering if life was nothing but a simulation, a cruel game, lead by a disturbed man.

He got back looking at the roof to discover that the rabbit looked like a bird now. He moved his head to see if it was a change in his position that made this metamorphosis but it wasn’t.

How strange is the thing controlling us. Why does it seem that sometime, he takes a particular interest in you for a moment and giving you the hardest, cruelest and strangest time of your life ?

Sleep started to ask for its due. Jack took off his trouser and his old leather jacket, rested his head on a pillow and started to dose off.

He started having one of those strange and scary dreams where you wake because you felt like falling off a cliff.

Jack raised up from his bed immediately. He remembered reading something about those kinds of terrific dreams. The brain dropped some kind of adrenaline’s type chemical in the body, because for a moment, he was thinking that the body was about to die, or something along those lines.

It marked, once more, that room with a dreadful feeling. Something was wrong here. After what happened back at the Monclar hotel back in Colorado, the writer knew that there was some strange and powerful power out off our understanding lingering in there. Only peoples who face those strange power know that you shouldn’t mess with those entities.

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 1

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

Jack T. had landed in Los Angeles, California, at 3 AM from a red-eye flight from Seattle.

After renting a car, he drove south, toward San Diego, where he had a book signing session on the afternoon for his last work, « Travel With A King ». Not his proudest nor his masterpiece. It was a book with no soul, just for the money.

Since this incident in this fancy hotel in Colorado a couple of years ago, he didn’t felt that the writing mojo he used to have was still there. It disappeared in the fire, along with his favorite typewriter, that good old Adler, his loyal comrade since the beginning of his writing career had disappeared. He also lost his wife and little boy. They aren’t dead, they just don’t want to see him ever again since that dreadful day.

On the interstate 5, driving while Jim Morrison sang lyrics that matched the present moment about driving down a freeway after midnight, Jack felt the heavy weight of sleep affecting his eyelid, therefore his driving. He decided to not taunt the devil, and to stop at the first motel with available vacancy to catch a shower and sleep.

After passing the camp Peddleton, he arrived at Carlsbad where a motel with a view on the Pacific Ocean was available.

He parked his car and took a quick look at the hotel. It was a reflex of his job, he used to think, to take time to watch how things looked and made him feel.

This hotel had nothing really noticeable. It was a regular motel, on three level. The picture perfect of an American west coast hotel. No balcony, doors aligned on three levels directly accessible from the outside. You could stay and watch every tenant going in or out of their room.

At the desk, a young man raised his head from his phone as Jack approached.

« – Welcome to the Mo’Hotel. In need of room? He said in a atone voice.

  • Well… yes. It’s say on your billboard that their’s vacancy available. That’s why I’m here.
  • Yeah… so?
  • I’ll take a room buddy.
  • Alright. Sea side view?
  • Yeah, why not.
  • It coast more with a view on the sea.
  • Yeah, give me a room. I just want a good night of sleep.
  • Room 313, the third floor. Here’s the key.
  • Thanks.
  • It’s 35$.
  • Yeah, alright.
  • Also, it’s a weird room.
  • Sorry what?
  • It’s a room with… things.
  • What are you on about?
  • Previous clients complained of noise, knocking on the door. They found their clothes and stuff in a mess, things displaced and weird things like that.
  • Well, that’s sound fun. Do you have some creepy weirdos as client lately?
  • You want my opinion?
  • Yeah…
  • It’s a ghost! It’s been going on for a bit now. Every time I have to go in this room, I do a little prayer even thought I don’t believe in God.
  • Jesus! You surely know how to ease a client!
  • There’s a weird feeling to that room. You’ll probably feel it.
  • Alright. I just want to sleep, maybe a few hours of sleep will not disturb anything that linger here.
  • Well, I hope for you. I’ve seen your face somewhere but I can’t remember where I saw it. Are you famous or something?
  • No. I just write on papers for a living. Anyway, good night buddy.
  • Yeah, good luck… night mister.
  • Thanks! »

Jack started to think that hotels weren’t his things. Everytime, something weird happened when he rented a room, one time, it coasted him his mariage.

As he climbs the series of stairs, a feeling of dread took over his body. Every cells in his body was telling him to leave.

Jaskiers

Une histoire de fantôme (une histoire vraie… si si !)

J’étais enfant, je dirais que je devais avoir 8 ou 9 ans. J’étais en vacances chez mon père qui m’avait amené à la campagne, dans la maison de ma grand-mère. Une vielle maison qui nous appartient depuis plusieurs générations, si j’ai bien calculé.

C’était (et est toujours) une vieille bâtisse, avec de massifs volets en bois, un étage, un immense jardin, une petite cour devant et l’atelier de menuisier datant de mon arrière-grand-père juste en face. En faite je pense même que l’atelier a été construit à l’époque de mon arrière-arrière-grand-père, mais je ne suis pas sûr.

Toujours est-il que cet été, je jouais dans la cour de devant, une cour pas bien grande mais constituée de cailloux, de sable et de mauvaises herbes qui semblent pousser en une nuit.

Mon père bricolait dans l’atelier et moi, j’avais découvert comment faire du ciment, du moins je pensais que j’avais découvert comment en faire.

J’avais décidé de créer une sorte de petit fort en utilisant le sable et les cailloux de la cour mélangés avec du ciment « prêt à l’emploi ».

Autant vous dire que mon fort ressemblait plutôt à une sorte de montagne. Qu’à cela ne tienne, j’avais sorti mes petites voitures et avait créé des chemins avec une balayette qui passaient autour de la montagne, j’étais content.

Je jouais tranquillement, mon père toujours en train de bricoler je ne sais quoi dans l’atelier, ma grand-mère, handicapée, devant sa télé quand j’entendis quelqu’un cogner dans une vitre.

Je me retournais pour voir si c’était ma grand-mère qui cognait à une des vitres du rez-de-chaussée, personne.

Trois nouveaux coups retentirent à ce même moment et je levais ma tête. Une femme pâle, brune, un visage fin, avec sur la tête une sorte de voile, me faisait signe, avec un grand sourire.

Je lui rendis son signe amical et recommença à jouer. Je pensais que c’était une nouvelle femme de ménage qui était venue aider ma grand mère, sans que je ne m’en rende compte. Je n’ai pas plus été surpris que ça.

Après une demi-heure de course poursuite effrénée autour de la montagne de ciment, appelons cette montagne ce à quoi elle ressemblait vraiment, un monticule de sable, de cailloux mélangé avec du « ciment » et de l’eau, je décidais de rentrer pour prendre mon goûter.

En rentrant dans la cuisine, je dis à ma grand-mère, qui était devant sa télévision, que je ne savais pas qu’elle avait une nouvelle femme de ménage. Elle me répondit qu’elle n’avait pas changée de femme de ménage depuis plus de 10 ans. Je lui demandais donc qui était cette personne à l’étage qui m’avait fait « coucou ». Elle me répondit par un silence, une expression un peu inquiétante, comme si elle parlait à un fou. Elle me répondit que personne n’était monté là-haut, les femmes de ménages ne pouvant faire le ménage que dans les espaces de vies de la bénéficiaire. Ma grand-mère étant lourdement handicapée, l’étage n’était pas un espace de vie. Aussi, personne n’était venu faire une visite de courtoisie à ma grand-mère, ce qui était chose courante à cette époque pas si lointaine.

L’étage n’était occupé par personne, excepté par mon père et moi quand nous y dormions.

J’affirmais avec certitude avoir vu quelqu’un à l’étage, une femme. Mais ma grand-mère trouva l’explication : j’avais imaginé ça, j’étais tellement pris dans mes courses de petites voitures que j’ai imaginé une femme me faisant un signe de la main et un sourire.

Depuis ce jour, c’est la chose la plus inexplicable qui m’est arrivée. Je suis persuadé que j’ai vu cette femme car je me rappelle exactement à quoi elle ressemblait, et surtout, je me souviens avoir entendu distinctement les coups sur la vitre, le signe de la main, le sourire, le beau visage de la femme et son châle de marié.

En regardant des vieilles photos de famille, je crois avoir reconnu mon arrière-grand-mère, une femme brune au visage fin, je n’ai que cette photo d’elle… en robe de marié. Je n’avais jamais vu cette photo auparavant, c’était en fouillant il y a 3 ou 4 ans dans une vieille armoire que j’ai trouvé cette photographie.

J’ai demandé des renseignements à ma grand-mère, elle m’a dit que c’était une femme très belle, avec des cheveux magnifiques, mais avec une personnalité des plus… extravagantes. Elle croyait aux extraterrestres par exemple, ce qui n’est pas rien quand on sait qu’à l’époque, cette croyance était très mal vue.

Parfois, ma grand-mère me dit parfois qu’elle entend quelqu’un cogner à une vitre la nuit. Elle et moi ne croyons pas aux fantômes. J’aimerais qu’ils existent, cela rendrait la vie plus intéressante, mais je ne peux expliquer ce que j’ai vu ce jour-là. Je m’en rappelle comme ci c’était hier.

J’ai dormi des années et passées plus de dix ans dans cette maison et je n’ai jamais vécu quelque chose de paranormal. Je n’ai jamais entendu les bruits que ma grand-mère entends la nuit, jamais vu d’autre apparition ni senti de présence.

Mais j’ai vu, j’en suis sûr et certain, ce que je crois être le fantôme de mon arrière-grand-mère, dont je porte le prénom en troisième prénom (ça se dit ça ?).

Je préfère cette théorie là, celle du fantôme, à celle d’une personne qui vivait en cachette dans la maison familiale, à l’insu de ma grand-mère, et même de moi et de mon père.

Je sais ce que j’ai vu, et jamais je n’ai vécu d’autres expériences. Et honnêtement, j’aime à me souvenir de son beau visage.

Jaskiers

L’entité rouge

Ce texte est une FICTION

Cette sensation qu’un poids se pose sur le bord du lit, c’est ce sentiment vague qu’il ressentait. Pas la première fois d’ailleurs, cela arrivait surtout quand il était fatigué.

Quand ce poids s’installait dans son lit, il ne pouvait plus bouger. Ouvrir les paupières était effrayant. Ce petit mouvement lui semblait impossible et inutile car la chambre était emplie de pénombre.

Ce qu’il craignait le plus, c’était que ce poids se déplace sur son torse, sur sa cage thoracique. Dans ces moments là, son esprit était comme coincé entre rêve et réalité, il était on ne peut plus confus, apeuré. Tétanisé était possiblement le mot qui conviendrait le mieux car il lui était impossible de bouger et de respirer quand l’entité entrait ses songes.

Ce sont des sentiments dithyrambiques quand il y repense car il avait toujours voulu avoir des hallucinations. Une expérience extra-sensorielle, un événement qu’il ne pourrait expliquer et qu’il chérirait. Il a souvent pensé à prendre des drogues dures pour avoir ce genre d’expériences mais les drogues douces ne faisaient déjà pas bon ménage avec ses méninges, mieux valait ne pas tenter le diable, d’autant que dernièrement, le diable semblait envoyer un de ses sbires pour l’étouffer dans son sommeil.

Ses ambitions hallucinatoires se concrétisèrent bien vite. C’était pendant ses siestes que l’entité semblait la plus prompte à intervenir.

Mais elle avait déjà commencé à venir les nuits, régulièrement elle s’asseyait sur son lit, parfois un peu sur lui. Elle aimait beaucoup secouer le lit quand elle n’essayait pas de l’étouffer. C’était comme être dans un manège, il se cramponnait dans un état de semi-sommeil et sentait sont corps subir les oscillations du lit. Et il n’avait pas peur. Il attendait que ça passe. C’était devenu une habitude.

Souvent elle venait avec son ami, le rat, qui aimait se frotter à ses jambes et se balader sous la couette. Il se réveillait en sueur et secouait sa couette mais il n’y avait rien bien évidemment. Il avait peur de la morsure ou que d’autre rats le rejoigne dans ses brefs mais intenses moments de panique. Elle envoya une dizaine de fois son ami le rat.

Les interventions de l’entité étaient plus concrètes quand venait l’heure de sa sieste. Elle commençait par s’asseoir sur son lit, comme à son habitude, parfois posant une main pesante sur son torse. Et pénétrait ses songes. Des images sans queues ni têtes défilaient dans son esprit, il réalisait parfois qu’il avait arrêté de respirer et vous pouviez l’entendre essayait de reprendre son souffle. Comme un nageur resté sous l’eau un peu trop longtemps revenant à la surface, à quelques secondes de mourir noyé.

Un jour, elle décida de se montrer, très subrepticement.

Le défilement des images s’était arrêté, il ouvrit les yeux, la sueur avait nimbé son oreiller, ou peut-être était-ce de la bave. Les deux semblent plausibles. Réveillé, il se mit sur le dos et pour la première fois, vît l’entité.

Elle était dans le coin supérieur gauche de sa chambre, les mains collées au plafond et les jambes écartées, prenants leurs appuies chacune sur les murs formant l’angle.

Rouge sanguine qu’elle était, des yeux ronds et noirs, une langue rose et velue pendante, une couronne, un corps tailladé, un large sourire composé de dents requins.

Elle n’apparut peut-être qu’une seconde, même moins. Assez pour qu’il sentit un poids sur sa poitrine et pour refermer les yeux et essayer de se rassurer.

Il fit tout de suite un rêve où il était projeté de l’autre côté de la chambre par une force invisible. Il criait à l’aide mais personne ne venait et il le savait, personne ne viendrait, non seulement il était seul mais de sa gorge ne sortait qu’un petit râle pitoyable.

Il se réveilla en sueur, le cœur battant, avec un mal de crâne terrible. Il aurait juré que cela c’était vraiment passé. Il n’aurait même pas été surpris de se réveiller dans le coin de la chambre où il avait été propulsé dans son cauchemar.

Peut-être deux années plus tard, ces rêves et cauchemars, cette entité, semblaient avoir disparue de sa vie, disparue aussi vite qu’ils étaient apparus. Il avait tord.

Il dormait dans un tout autre endroit maintenant, il avait déménagé. Son habitude de faire la sieste ne l’avait pas quitté. Et l’entité semblait s’être évaporée, du moins c’était ce qu’ils pensait car elle s’était faufilée discrètement dans ses cartons de déménagements.

Il dormait quand il sentit quelque chose s’assoir délicatement à ses pieds. Son réflexe a été de se réveiller immédiatement pour trouver un affaissement au pied de son lit, comme si quelqu’un c’était vraiment assit à ses pieds, la couette portait la marque d’une personne qui s’y était assise. Il y posa sa main, la marque ovale, le tissus bien aplati contrastait avec les plis du reste de la couette et il sentit une chaleur à l’endroit où il posa sa main. Elle était revenue, et cette fois-ci, cela n’était sûrement pas qu’un simple mauvais rêve. Il avait une preuve, physique de sa présence. Il était seul. Le seul humain du moins.

Durant la sieste suivante, il vît la deuxième apparition de la créature, assise sur le dossier d’une chaise posée à côté de son lit dont il se servait pour poser son linge à laver.

Elle n’avait pas changée, toujours aussi rouge, la langue rose et poilue pendue entre deux de ses énormes crocs. Elle souriait mais plus amicalement cette fois. Et cette couronne qu’elle portait était magnifique, d’or, finement taillée, incrusté de pierres de toutes les couleurs. Elle pencha la tête à droite et disparu.

La proximité de cette apparition le choqua. Elle était là, pas loin, se rapprochait. Prenait-elle de la confiance ? Était-elle bienveillante ? Bien que terrifiante, il ne sentait pas forcément de mauvaises intentions en elle.

Elle apparue une autre fois, la dernière.

Cette fois, perchée sur un tabouret, comme un chat prêt à bondir, comme les gargouilles des cathédrales. Sa couronne étincelait, sa peau était toujours aussi rouge, il pouvait voir deux grosses écailles au niveau de ses cuisses, des tendons et des bouts de chairs accrochés à ses ligaments, les muscles à vifs. Des pattes de rapace à la place des pieds, des mains ornées de longues griffes noires. Ses yeux rond le fixait, elle ouvrit la bouche pour en sortir un son guttural et rauque. Il sentit son corps s’effondrer. Quelque chose éclata dans ses oreille, puis ce fut le néant.

Jaskiers