A House Made of Wood, Not Dreams (Saints & Haints, Chapter 38)

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In December of 2022, as demons threaten my life... (idle threats, that is)
and attempt to torment me into an early grave... (not very effectively, and obviously not successfully)
I begin to seriously ponder what my afterlife (away from this universe) will be like.

Part V "Portents Of My Imminent Demise"

Chapter 38
A House Made of Wood, Not Dreams

In early December 2022, at the point I left off, where A was telling me in the parking lot that I must die soon, I had not yet truly embraced the fact that he was still a demon, who was only claiming to be a saint. I believed that I was under Heaven's protection, and that is the truth. The mistake I was repeatedly making, however, was in holding onto the belief that, because I was under Heaven's protection, They^ wouldn't allow anyone to deceive me in such a manner, and that is not necessarily the truth. What my experience, as well as my studies, point to, is that They^ simply do not have that kind of control over this situation, because this is Satan's domain, and we are Satan's creations.

I was slowly embracing the fact that both A's were the same person, and having been provided with ample proof that he was, in fact, that guy I used to know, I was able to overlook and forgive Wrong-A's insensitive behavior. He had been an earthbound spirit for years, I'd reasoned, and Satan is abusive. He just might have had some wrong-thought programming to overcome. Or, he might've been doing it for some other reason; playing some angle I didn't know about yet. My understanding that demonic influence affects them too is why I finally stopped hating my demons so much, and started being decent to them when they are decent to me. They're all connected to each other, at least at some level, they say; therefore they are most likely subjected to a constant stream of filth. I finally understood that, and understood that it might actually be difficult for them to be decent to me sometimes.


On December 5th, my demons launched an attack on me; yelling, about A,
"He's a demon!" and
"He sold you to Satan!"
Then they were talking through the wind and the rain. I asked A later that day,
"Could you have handled this when you were alive?"
He shook his head no, and transferred the thought to me,
"Most people would have prayed for death long ago."

At work that day, I got a thought-transference from an unknown source,
"Satan thinks he's still going to turn you over to him."
After work that day, the animation of Wrong-A was doing the same routine, communicating,
"You're gonna come up here," and
"Forget those animals."
I decided to apply a little military strategy of my own, by removing his motivation for wanting me up there. I told him,
"That is up to Jesus, but if Jesus takes me to Heaven before my babies, then you will not touch me. You will not kiss me, or hug me, or anything, until I have them all. This might be a very long engagement, whether I'm here or there."
He did not like that answer, and I told him that he'd lost his humanity. I reminded him that my life has been difficult, and I don't imagine that dying is going to simply erase that, especially not if I have to leave my babies.
"You can't expect me to be automatically happy!" I exclaimed, in frustration.
Freddie, trying to comfort me, commented,
"I'd run away with you, but I don't know where we'd go, 'cause there ain't nothing but this and a shithole."

On December 6th, I was thinking, again, under influence, that I might not like my new form in Heaven. It was the further sprouting of a seed that Satan had planted that day when I was questioning my stamina for immortality. I don't know what our bodies will be like exactly; but, I think they might be something like those of the shapeshifters of folklore, except immortal. I theorize that perhaps they can become as corporeal as we want them to be. At that time, however, I was unwillingly drinking with Satan, and I was thinking that if our bodies are changeable, then they might be ghostly forms, and I wouldn't like that.

Later on that night, we were all having the same conversation once again, while I was lying in bed, before falling asleep. A sent an animation of me, as a spirit, walking towards him, as a corporeal man. He placed a diamond ring on my finger. He transferred the thought,
"When you get up here, I'm going to put this ring on your shainty little finger..."
I cut off the vision then, because I was horrified. Seemingly offended by my reaction, he continued,
"I thought you might want to remain that way for a while, so we can have the same experience."
I was so upset by the prospect of ever being in a spirit form at all, that I was almost hysterical.
I said, "No!" with far less emphasis than I felt. It came out as a muttering, but it felt like a scream. Then Freddie, talking from beneath me, through my pillow, said, in my defense,
"After all she's been through, and then she might have to leave those babies..."
I cut him off too, before he pissed A off even more, saying,
"I know. Ya'll are so much more human than he is."
I slept then, for over 12 hours.

The next morning, December 7th, I woke up tearful; thinking, again, that I wouldn't like being a spirit, and that I wouldn't like a changeable environment. I felt horrified by the impermanence of it. I kept wondering, how could he love me? How could I be special to him, if any one up there could look exactly like me, any time they wanted? Looks may not be everything, but aren't they part of the attraction factor in relationships? Aren't they part of our identities? Especially if there's a mind-connection with everyone, which I suspect is the truth no matter where we go, I wondered, what would be the point of being an individual in a situation like that?
I felt that it would be like being assimilated.
It would be like not even being real.

I want a solid form that doesn't change.
I want a house made of wood, not dreams.

I was thinking about all the skills I've learned here, and how they'll be useless. Like, how I'm a fabulous cook, but nobody's going to need food anymore. It felt as if my entire existence had been a waste, and that I was about to be assimilated into a network of mind-connected beings, who may or may not have much individuality left. Motherhood, which, in my case, refers to my adopted animals, seemed to me like the only thing I'd ever done that actually mattered, and that might continue to matter. With or without my babies, though, but especially without them, I couldn't imagine being automatically happy. I certainly couldn't imagine being all like,
"Yay! Let's get married!"
And that seemed to be exactly what A wanted from me.

My demons reminded me that it might not be that way; that it might be that you can choose which thoughts you transmit. I was also considering that perhaps our forms can be more solid and permanent, but I didn't trust too much anymore to be an absolute truth. Eventually I told A that, regardless of how soon I made the trip up there, I might just need to be alone, or alone with my babies rather, for a long time; especially if I didn't have them all yet. It would put resentment between us if I were to be rushed into a marriage while my family, my heart, remained incomplete. It would be a long engagement.

That night, however, we were fighting again, about the same thing. He was being immensely selfish, I thought; by suggesting that I shouldn't mind giving up my babies, that I should choose him over them. I thought to myself, "He enjoys being a spirit, that's obvious!"
He sent the thought to me,
"It's better than being alive, even down in the sewer."
My demons were telling me,
"He's still in Hell."

On the morning of December 8th, as soon as I woke up, Freddie was telling me,
"You need to go on up there, Biscuit. You're not your own person anymore, okay? You're not the only one involved. We're stuck with you until you die, and we want out of here too. We wouldn't rush you though; but this situation right here, it may not end any other way. You need to go on up to Heaven."
I wondered what had transpired during the night. I told him,
"I wish you could go on without me."

I'd realized by then that it was actually A who had corresponded with me using the Hieroglyphics cards. I began to wonder if the message, "Divine beings, you, you're capable," had really meant that I was capable of making him, or this entire group, into divine beings; because their salvation was actually dependent upon mine. I was still having a hard time accepting that as the truth, but it seemed to be what they all believed.


Later that day, memories came to me of some things Johnny had said. There was a replay of him saying,
"We shouldn't have done this to you."
When I'd asked why, his only answer had been,
"Because you're not that bad of a person."
Even though he didn't spell it out, I thought what he really meant was,
"Because you didn't know that I was a demon."
I remembered him implying that they might get into trouble for it somehow. There was a sense of,
"We fucked up with this one."
He'd also said that was why he was nice to me sometimes, not because he was in love or anything. I also remembered that Johnny could be nasty at times. Another thing that replayed was that Johnny used to tell me, in an angry voice,
"You shouldn't have that! You should not have that! You will have babies when you get down here, my babies, demon babies! And you will not have that!"

As I was writing that day, a group of spirits gathered once more, to harass me this time, rather than to read over my shoulder; or at least, that was what I was supposed to believe. I sensed that it might have been a simulation; a scare tactic. They were coming into my house, rather than gathering around my porch like they had in the past. I saw one walking into the bathroom. He looked like a tall, skinny, white, stick figure, made out of electricity. I went into the bathroom later and there was a spirit in there, but I didn't know if it was the same one; because at that time, he wasn't visible. I sensed where his energy was, however. He was standing beside the sink, speaking out loud to me, in a raspy, creepy voice, saying,
"Nobody wants to read a book about that asshole."
The spirits then began showing me pictures from my childhood in my mind. Most of them weren't even particularly embarrassing photos; but still, it was intended as proof that they were dumpster diving through my memories. I said,
"Really? Is that the best you can do? Send a bunch of kids over here to look at my old photo albums and sling middle school insults?"

I wrote all day on the 9th, too. Again, there were demons inside my house, talking smack to me. I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by a raspy voice chiding me,
"Such a whore for the dead..."
Then, as a load of clothes was washing, ugly words came to me through the sound of the machine's gyration.

My demons were acting as if there was an invisible war going on all around us. The crickets sound was loud. When my demons talked to me, they sounded frantic and agitated. They were acting as though they were protecting me... from something... for long enough to finish this book, and then I was going to die. I would occasionally see the animation of A, wielding weapons; shooting assault rifles. I knew that it was a performance, intended to drive me insane. Once I called out to A, telepathically, and in response, I felt the words,
"Yes, ma'am!"
Then, as a vision, I was presented with a cartoon heart, which was held by a cartoon hand, which stretched towards me from an impossibly long distance.

All throughout the day, my demons repeatedly told me that A was here; that he was "on the ground," protecting me. I didn't believe that, because I still believed he was a saint, in which case that would not be possible. I assumed they were merely attempting to set me up for sleep-rape later on. They finally relented with that story, and as I was going to bed that night, they said,
"He is looking out for you, though. You're the most protected princess on the planet."


Soon after that, I identified another altered memory, from when A was here, as a spirit. I had realized since then that I had actually seen or almost-seen him sometimes, even then, when I was far less proficient as a psychic. I had realized that some of that time, I had been seeing him in my mind's eye; the same way I'd been seeing these visions. What I'd seen at those times would have been the image of himself that he was projecting. I didn't understand back then what that was. The memory that had come into question was of the two of us lying on my bed talking, sometime before the wedding.

Although, I could not place exactly when this had occurred in the sequence of events, which still had missing gaps, and was still somewhat jumbled in my mind, I knew that it would have happened not too long before the wedding, because I was already hearing him telepathically. Suddenly he'd jumped up from the bed, saying,
"I gotta go. I'm getting out of here."
I had seen him, in my mind's eye, as he got out of bed and made his way towards the back door. He had said,
"I don't want this anymore. I don't want to play house."

From then until recently, whenever I had recalled that event, I had always remembered seeing A walking towards the door, looking like himself; like a ghostly version of the guy I knew. I was certain of that. I realized, however, that at some point that memory had changed and when I'd recalled the incident recently, I'd seen a different ghost.
"I remember that I used to remember this differently," is what I'm saying, illogical as it might sound. Somehow I remembered it both ways. In the revised version, a different-looking man had replaced A; and the other man was now the one who jumped out of bed and walked towards the door. The other man was shorter, with a big nose, and a completely different face.

I determined that this was either the result of some demon's botched attempt at altering that memory, or that A had shown me both images that night, for some reason. Perhaps this was like the ball and the ghost moving towards Heaven's gates in the first vision. Perhaps it was another trick-memory, in which I wasn't supposed to recall the second image until later. I theorized that this sort of "delayed double exposure" technique was the explanation for the latest edition of the "I had to take that power back," incident, which, when I'd recalled it recently, now featured a glimpse of Psycho Jesus. I was certain that I had not seen him at the time; his image had appeared only in my more recent replays of that memory.


Meanwhile, my parents had been treating me like a crazy person for some time; for no real reason, except that I was even less content than I used to be, to be an airhead, and to keep up with the Jones', like everyone else. They seemed concerned for my wellbeing, or for my image, more likely; as if only a crazy person would neglect their housework to write books in their spare time, especially books about demons. They still had not read my first book, and seemed to believe that I was writing fiction novels. They'd literally tell me to shut up, that they didn't want to hear it, whenever I tried to tell them about my experiences. I knew that Satan was working on them.


On the morning of December 10th, before I left for work, my demons were telling me that A had said again that I should quit my job. They said that I was going to die the following Tuesday anyway. When I didn't pay any attention to that, they changed the story to,
"Well, you won't be going back to work after Christmas vacation."
On my way to work, I prayed; for the lying voices, and the voices telling me that I was going to die, to be silenced. Things were quieter immediately, and for about an hour afterwards. I found out that day that S had been fired from the store. Tobias was gone; and we hadn't even said goodbye.

After that hour of relative solitude, A showed up, in a animation, driving a car, and pointing from himself to me. I understood that he meant that he was possessing me. He had been indicating for a while that he possessed me himself from time to time, with the implication that he was doing it so that no one else could. I felt soothed. I was being rocked gently; swayed back and forth by an unseen force. I had written "Blending Energies" the night before, and I knew he was referring to that chapter when he sent the message,
"I devoted myself entirely to you for that six weeks, and I'm devoting myself entirely to you now. You're my home now."

Sometime later he sent the message,
"Yeah, your memories of me are pretty mashed up. Somebody did a number on you."
I wondered if he was referring to my memories of both our previous relationships, because it seemed as if I didn't remember as much about the first one, before he died, as I should. Whenever I thought back to the first one, I would recall that he'd always had a mischievous smile on his face, as if he were about to burst into laughter. I had several mental pictures of him, in different settings, wearing that same impish smile. It seemed that I could recall that characteristic, even if I didn't remember much else about what had happened on those days.
"I always thought you were laughing at me,"
I said silently to him.
He transferred the thought to me,
"I was laughing because I knew you were my wife, but you didn't know it yet."
A bit later, however, he went dumpster diving; pulling up personal memories of mine that he thought would embarrass me. I said to him,
"I love the real you, but the way you are now, you're half-asshole."
He responded back to me,
"...Because we are still connected to Satan! Because you are, and I am connected to you!"
In keeping with the pattern, there was another "demon attack" before bed that night.


The next day, A asked me, through thought-transference,
"Don't you remember me coming back, and telling you that I would offer myself in your place?"
He helped me recall the scenario he was referencing. It was during my initial possession, after he'd gone away, and I had just had a long torment session with Psycho Jesus.
"Was I on the floor?" I asked him.
He answered,
"Yes, you were on the floor in the kitchen, picking up some things you'd dropped, and I came in to talk to you."
I remembered being on my knees, on the floor, gathering up my things. I was shaking, and angry. A had walked through the back door, and approached me. He had bent down, placed his hand on my shoulder, and looked at me with concern. I had seen him. He had looked like himself. In my present memory, however, was the other man; the shorter man with the big nose who had replaced him in that other memory, of the night he'd said,
"I don't want to play house."

I didn't remember, on my own, what A had said to me while I was on the kitchen floor, but he played it back to me. In the playback, he said,
"I am going to offer myself in your place."
I did remember being so upset at the time that I hadn't even paid much attention to him. By then, I hadn't been sure if he really was A, or if he was good or bad, or if he'd been the one to hand me over to those henchmen in the first place. I remembered thinking that he must've come back just to fuck with me some more. I'd barely understood what he was saying, and I'd told him,
"I don't care... Just go..."
I still didn't know why he'd left me there at all, or why he'd come back then, just after the bad guys had momentarily cleared out.

I also remembered that at some point there had been a day-long goodbye, but I couldn't rationalize when, amidst everything else that happened, that would have taken place. At that point, he was supposed to have been saying goodbye to me because he was going back to Heaven. I remembered him saying that the relationship we were planning to have "would never have been enough."


That night, my demons were riled up again, and telling me that if I would give A up and marry someone else, Satan would leave me alone. It was suspicious to me that A wasn't around to "stop" this attack, just as he hadn't been around earlier when I'd been attacked on my way to work. My demons were saying, in a creepy unified voice,
"She doesn't care about him, she just wants them dead animals."
As I was getting into bed, they were playing "Said I Loved You But I Lied," by Michael Bolton, in my head, while simultaneously chanting,
"Dead animals."