Tag: literature

Analysis of ‘The Lady Vanishes’

The Lady Vanishes is a 1938 film directed by Alfred Hitchcock and written by Sidney Gilliat and Frank Launder, based on the 1936 novel The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White. The film stars Margaret Lockwood and Michael Redgrave, with Dame May Whitty and Paul Lukas.

Though filmed in London, The Lady Vanishes caught Hollywood’s attention and Hitchcock moved there soon after its release, for David O Selznick was convinced of Hitchcock’s talent and believed he had a future in Hollywood cinema. Considered one of his most renowned British films, it’s ranked the 35th best British film of the 20th century by the British Film Institute.

Here is a link to quotes from the film, here‘s a link to the full movie, and here‘s a link to White’s novel.

In the novel, the female protagonist’s name is Iris Carr, whereas in the film, she is Iris Henderson (Lockwood). In the film, Henderson gets on a train and says goodbye to her female friends; in the novel, Carr’s friends get on the train while she, tiring of what she feels is oppressive human company, refuses to join them on it.

Instead, Carr goes wandering on the slope of a mountain in “a remote country in Europe (in the film, it’s a fictional country called “Bandrika”), for she is a young Englishwoman on vacation. She gets lost out there, and after only briefly enjoying her solitude, she soon comes to regret it, so she returns to her hotel, where she finds the other English guests similarly annoying.

In the film, Henderson’s only dislike of social convention is the marriage she is only reluctantly participating in. There is a sense, much more pronounced in the novel, of Iris not wanting to go along with social conventions. This reluctance of hers will have much more importance when…the lady vanishes, as we’ll soon see.

Many of the novel’s English guests are replaced in the film with such characters as the cricket-obsessed Charters and Caldicott (played by Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne, respectively), the comic relief of the film who would become very popular with filmgoers and reappear in such films as Night Train to Munich and Dead of Night (the Charles Crichton sequence).

As for Miss Froy (Whitty), in the novel, she’s just a governess and music teacher who accidentally learns of the misdeeds of the story’s antagonists, who then abduct her with the intention of killing her to silence her. In the film, however, she is a spy pretending to be a governess and music teacher. (In the novel, a character named Max Hare, who on-and-off helps Iris, imagines a hypothetical situation in which Froy could be secretly a spy [in Chapter XXV, “Strange Disappearance”].)

In the novel, Hare–a young British engineer who knows the local language–is replaced by Gilbert Redman (Redgrave), a musicologist. Gilbert begins by irritating the hell out of Iris by playing his clarinet to stomping dancers in the hotel room directly above hers. After she has the manager remove Gilbert from his room, the uncouth musicologist imposes himself on her by using her room for his accommodations without her consent, infuriating her all the more. But about halfway into the film, he proves himself the only real friend she has, in that he’s the only one who believes her that Miss Froy exists.

So a recurring theme in both the film and novel is that nothing is as it seems. Gilbert seems a cad, but he becomes not only a true friend to Iris but also her love interest by the end of the film. Miss Froy in the film seems to be a mere governess and music teacher, a sweet and innocent–if rather chatty–middle-aged woman, but it turns out she is a spy. A patient with bandages all over her face, we learn close to the end of the novel and an hour and thirteen minutes into the film, is the abducted Miss Froy. The Todhunters are believed to be honeymooners, but we eventually learn that they are an adulterous couple.

Just before getting on the train to leave the hotel, Iris becomes a tad disoriented after something drops on her head (in the novel, she suffers sunstroke). Her disorientation is used by the schemers who have abducted Miss Froy to make her doubt her memory and perception. I’ll come back to this issue soon enough, and I’ll expand on its significance.

Froy speaks, at a hotel dinner table with Charters and Caldicott, of how much she loves it in Bandrika. The two men, unimpressed with anything other than cricket, have no interest in the country or its culture, so as she is rambling on and on about the snow-capped mountains and the ubiquitous singing, the men rest their heads on their hands in boredom waiting for her to stop. (In the novel, it’s Iris on the train who is annoyed with Froy’s ceaseless chatter).

Froy’s interest in the locals’ music isn’t merely a sentimental one, though, as we eventually learn. As she is listening, from her hotel window that night, to a man singing a tune and playing a guitar, she’s tapping her hands to the music’s rhythm, for in this tune is a secret code she must bring back to England, something connected with certain unsavoury things the movie’s antagonists are planning to do. For this reason, the singer/guitarist is killed, and Froy is to be abducted, the antagonists pretending she doesn’t even exist. These intrigues for which she must be silenced aren’t in the novel, though.

Instead, in the novel, Froy is aware of “a small but growing Communist element” that she euphemistically calls “the leader of the opposition” in the country where she’s working as a governess. This “element” has accused her late, aristocrat employer “of corruption and all sorts of horrors” (which shouldn’t be surprising, since communists consider feudalism to be far worse than capitalism). Froy feels that these political matters are none of her business, so she doesn’t want to take sides. Still, one night she witnesses her employer using her bathroom to wash up (Chapter VIII–“Tea Interval”). She innocently thinks nothing of it, but later on we learn that he was washing blood off of himself after having committed a murder (Chapter XXVI–“Signature”). The aristocrat family employing her don’t know how much she knows, which she might share with the Reds, so the lady must…vanish. Hence, the Baroness in the coupé with Froy and Iris.

Now, when the lady vanishes from her seat on the train, and Iris asks the others in their coupé, they all deny Froy’s existence. Iris is shocked and amazed that they could deny her friend, for Froy has clearly been among them up until Iris, still reeling from her hit on the head (or sunstroke), needed to take a brief nap.

This denial of Froy’s existence extends to everyone on the train, though not necessarily for the same reasons as the Baroness and her family. Still, these people are lying in their denials, denying something so obvious to Iris. In this lying, we see an early example of something that would eventually get the name of gaslighting. Now, The Wheel Spins was published in 1936; The Lady Vanishes came out in 1938; and Patrick Hamilton‘s play, Gas Light, premiered in December of that year. The American movie version of his play, starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer, came out in 1944 (and incidentally, Dame May Whitty also had a supporting role in that film). So there is an amazing prescience in both the novel and Hitchcock’s film.

Gaslighting isn’t the only thing that The Lady Vanishes is prescient about, though. There is a political subtext in the film suggesting, in allegorical form, the lead-up to WWII. The conspiracy not only to abduct Miss Froy but also to deny her very existence is ignored by the British passengers on the train (apart from Iris and Gilbert, of course), except for when the train is detoured and stopped in a forest, where the British are now forced to confront the antagonists, who plan to shoot them all. These antagonists can be seen to represent such European fascists as those of Nazi Germany, Italy under Mussolini (recall the Italian magician in Iris’s cabin, Signor Doppo, played by Philip Leaver, who gets into a fight with Gilbert over the acquisition of Froy’s eyeglasses), Romania, Hungary, Poland, and Francoist Spain.

This late involvement of the other British passengers in Iris’s and Gilbert’s confrontation with the Bandrika conspirators can be paralleled with British appeasement of, if not outright support of, fascism in the 1930s (recall that infamous footage of members of the British royal family doing Nazi salutes). One needn’t look to Chamberlain‘s appeasement of Hitler in Munich, which happened just a week or so before the release of The Lady Vanishes.

[Note how Chamberlain-like Mr. Todhunter wants to avoid conflict with the antagonists right to his very death, when he foolishly gets out of the train to wave a handkerchief as a flag of surrender, then gets shot. I’m as anti-war as they come, but even I know when an enemy is so implacable, as the film’s antagonists are, that war with them is unavoidable.]

The fact is that fascism has always been used to further the interests of the ruling class, regardless of whether they’re capitalists or feudal aristocrats like the Baroness and her family in the film and novel. Britain and the other western capitalist countries began to oppose the fascists only when the latter began muscling in on the former’s imperialist turf, rather like when Charters picks up a pistol to shoot at the antagonists only after one of them has shot him in the hand.

So the climactic shoot-out in the train in the woods can be seen as prescient of, and therefore in this sense allegorical of, WWII, or of political conflicts in general, anyway. It is in this political context that we can begin to understand not only the true meaning of the gaslighting of Iris but also her sense of social alienation and Froy’s abduction, disappearance, and denial of existence. This understanding applies in both the film and the novel. In Chapter XXXII–“The Dream,” we learn of how “When she [Iris] was a child she suffered from an unsuspected inferiority complex, due to the difference between her lot and that of other children.” This feeling of being different, of not being able to fit in with other people, can lead to a tendency to see the world differently from the mainstream crowd, and to see injustice where others don’t see it.

How often are criminal acts, the ones that really matter, hidden from the public view, as Froy’s abduction and disappearance can be seen to symbolize? The ruling classes, the imperialists, the settler-colonialists, and the fascists commit the worst crimes in the world, and through their wealth and power, they usually get away with their crimes. Indeed, in the novel, Hare tells Iris that the Baroness will use her influence to evade being implicated in the conspiracy now that the doctor and his assistants have been arrested (Chapter XXXIII–“The Herald”).

Similarly, the powerful use their influence to marginalize all those who would challenge power structures and demand inquiries into any injustices committed, as Iris is isolated when she demands that Miss Froy be found. Evidence of crimes is eliminated or denied, as is the very existence of Miss Froy. Such an elimination of evidence is happening right as I type this, with the cutting-off of communications in Gaza while the genocide of the Palestinians is going on; elsewhere, many still deny that the Holocaust ever happened.

All of this brings us back to the central theme of the film, which I brought up earlier: nothing is as it seems. Dr. Hartz (Lukas) seems helpful to Iris and Gilbert, yet he participates in the gaslighting and intends to drug the two. In fact, the “nun” (bizarrely wearing high heels and played by Catherine Lacey), who under Hartz’s orders is to drug the drinks of Iris and Gilbert, never does so; our two protagonists fool Hartz by pretending to be unconscious until he leaves their cabin.

The nun is not only pretending to be such, but also to be deaf and dumb; furthermore, her loyalty to Hartz and the other conspirators is only apparent and ephemeral, for as soon as she realizes that Iris, Gilbert, and Froy are British, her own British patriotism is kindled, so she quickly switches from the antagonists’ to the protagonists’ side.

Hers is an example of the many British passengers waiting so long before switching to the good side, these Chamberlains of the film. The Todhunters don’t want to acknowledge Froy for fear of an inquiry leading to publicity and a scandalous exposure of their affair to their spouses. Charters and Caldicott won’t acknowledge Froy for fear of the resulting inquiry delaying the train, making them miss their so-fetishized cricket match (which ends up being cancelled due to flooding, anyway).

We see in these examples how selfishness gets in the way of justice, and it’s the obstinacy of our social misfits like Iris who ensure justice in spite of the odds. After all, she’s such a misfit, at the last minute she decides not to get together with her fiancé when back in England, preferring the uncouth Gilbert instead.

Making Froy into a spy, rather than just someone who’s innocently stumbled upon a criminal act without realizing its significance, was an improvement on the novel. Ending the film with a reunion of her–playing the coded tune on the piano–with Iris and Gilbert was also an improvement on the novel’s rather dull, anticlimactic ending, with Froy arriving at home and reuniting with “Mater,” “Pater,” and their dog, Sock, which is rather drawn-out and sentimentalized. The story works best as a political thriller, showing how going against the grain is often the best way to win out against the wicked in the world.

‘Gaya,’ a Surreal Adventure–Induction

Oh I’m really in the K-hole now nothing I see is what it really is but it sure looks real from here that was a wild party but I had to get away so many drugs so much booze this song I got playing on my radio saying it all…”marijuana, ecstasy…alcohol…K-K-K-cocaine!”

That and all the sex I had men pumping in and out of all three of my holes the K stopped me from feeling any pain I’ve got my foot pressed down on the gas my bare foot (Am I still naked?) it’s so dark out here as I race out into the night not like the bright light of the living room at the house party all those men with their hands all over me it’s so good to be all alone now away from them and their groping what I see out here looks like dark fungus instead of trees or bushes

Were the guys filming us as we did it I didn’t see Phil with his camera normally he films every bit of sex he sees especially when I’m involved since I 21-year-old Gaya Weld am the big star of all their money-making movies I saw Phil holding the bottle of Jim Beam I was drinking from I guess he was too drunk and stoned to be able to hold his camera steady just as I’m much too drunk and stoned to be driving

Yeah I’m no steadier behind the wheel than Phil would be with his camera I can feel myself going left and right it’s a miracle I haven’t crashed of course there’s nothing for me to crash into all I see are stars up above am I in my car or am I in a spaceship…yeah that’s it I’m in space!

Everything out there beyond my headlights is pure black except for the stars glowing up above I see no road before me no borders to the sides of it just black so I’m in a spaceship going far out there it’s thrilling to get away from Earth it’s a sick planet I feel like a sick planet myself so it’s good to get away from myself and everything that’s so awful down there

It’s fun having sex partying all the time getting drunk and stoned but I hate my life all I do is try to escape from everything from my pain from being used and abused all the time by men who take my body and ram into it and think that giving me lots of money will make up for everything they do to me

I have a great body with nice natural big tits curves and a round ass a pretty kissable fuckable face but that’s all anyone sees of value in me can people please like me for more than just cocksucking I’m tired of just being a thing for men’s pleasure don’t I have a mind too there must be more to life than what I have been doing with it

It all started the first time my dad raped me when I was a teen he made me feel as though sex is all I’m good for then all the boys in high school started taking advantage of me and a boyfriend got connections to the adult film industry as soon as I was old enough to be hired for it

and here I am now a spacewoman among the stars

It feels so good to get away from the troubles of the Earth to be up here in heaven safe from all the dangers down there in that hell of a place with no more men making me degrade myself

Oh look at that out there space the stars up above it’s so beautiful I feel free here in my spaceship no one to bother me no one to grab me

Sex is good but have you ever been in outer space on your own so free you can go anywhere you want and nobody nothing can stop you

Man I am so high from this K I’m on it’s like there’s a force field all around me protecting me like metallic armour no one can hurt me here out in space my head is swimming my brain feels like it’s getting a massage from skillful sensitive gentle fingers

I’m so high I forgot to put on my astronaut uniform I’m sitting here completely naked at my seat it’s chilly with the roof down and the wind blowing in my hair but there’s no wind in outer space I’m really stoned this K-hole is like a wormhole into the other side of the universe or into a completely different universe where maybe I don’t know maybe there could be wind blowing around in space like all the laws of nature and physics are completely different in this alternate world

In any case I’m flying in my spaceship without a care in the world ’cause I’m in a totally different world where all the rules are different and I’m free of rules free of constraints free of men trying to take advantage of me I’m free I’m happy for the first time in my whole miserable life I’m actually not miserable for once

Hey what happened to the stars I don’t see them anymore everything has gone black is that all giant clumps of dark green fungi that I see in front of me how did that all get there all of a sudden where am I?

My spaceship is shaking as if I crash-landed on some strange dark planet at night no sun no stars nothing to see but black and dark giant fungi the ground the wheels of my spaceship are running on feels rough and gravelly where am I going?

Something vaguely wavy is in front of me is that water is my spaceship going to go into it or is it a wormhole taking me God knows where

Oh my ship hit something I’m not wearing a seatbelt so I’m flying forward out of my seat my head and shoulders feel something (glass?) I’m breaking through the K is ensuring I don’t feel any pain I’m flying in the air flying

All I see is wavy blackness is this a wormhole I’m going through I’ve just hit a watery surface head and shoulders first that’s what it feels like anyway this must be a wormhole into another world another dimension I’m so high nothing feels real nothing is what I think it is I feel wet I feel cold

In this new world can I breathe water like a fish I’m about to find out

‘Mama,’ a Psychological Horror Novel, Chapter Fourteen (Final Chapter)

I see three large pins leaning against the wall opposite me, the sharp ends pointing up, the white ball handles resting on the ground. They’re all the size and length of spears.

They look just like the pins I used on the voodoo doll for Mama, except of course for their huge size. Since that’s what they look like, and there’s a window on that wall they’re resting against, I probably ought to stand up and take a look at my reflection in it.

Yep, just as I thought: instead of seeing myself as I actually look, I see a giant voodoo doll version of myself. Another of my vivid hallucinations, for sure.

…and check this out. Those pins are now rising up from the ground, floating horizontally, with their sharp ends pointed directly at me. I suppose they’re going to fly right at me, like thrown spears, and stab into my chest and guts. If only this wasn’t a hallucination–I’d love to die.

In the window reflection, I still look like a giant voodoo doll. I’m surely fantasizing that Mama’s ghost is taking her revenge on me for sticking pins into that voodoo doll of mine that I’d made of her. That’s the logical explanation for this hallucination I’m seeing here.

It’s funny how, even though I finally realize what my mind is doing, I’m still hallucinating. Though I’ve brought my unconscious fears and desires up into my consciousness, I am by no means cured of my propensity to see and hear things. My eyes and ears continue to deceive me because I want to continue deceiving myself.

Oh, here they come. Those pins are flying right at me.

I’ll stick my chest and guts out to receive them better, even though I know I won’t be…

“Unghhhh!!!”

This is…the most intense,…the most vivid…hallucination…I’ve ever had.

I really feel…three stab wounds…one just above…my heart…towards my shoulder…one towards…my left side…under my nipple…and one in…my gut…just over…and to the…right of my…belly button.

I’m coughing blood…It really feels…like I am…The pain is sharp…and intense…My whole torso…is drowning…in blood…I’m lying…flat on my back…on the ground.

The pain…is still here…I’ve never hallucinated…this intensely…before…I’ve seen things…I’ve heard things…but I’ve never felt things…not this badly, anyway.

This is no hallucination…this is really happening!

I saw no attacker, though…I saw no one…running into…this alley,…sticking a knife…into me…three times…then running off…If I hallucinate…I’ll at least…see a distortion…of what…really happened…there will be…a hallucinatory substitution…of the actual event.

The three pins…could have represented…three stab wounds..but I should have…seen someone…or something…to represent my killer…Besides, who would have…come in here…randomly wanting…to kill me?

Who’s this…coming up to me now?

“Here he is,” a man among them says. “Ooh! He’s been stabbed! Who did this? I saw nobody else come in this alley.”

“Neither did I,” a woman beside him says. “There’s no murder weapon lying around anywhere, either. No knife, no…He’s already lost a lot of blood. I’m amazed he’s still conscious. It’s a good thing another ambulance got here. We’ve gotta rush him to the hospital!”

As they’re…putting me…on a stretcher, I’m thinking…Don’t bother…I’m gonna die…I want to die…I hate my life…My life is…Hell…

Wait a minute…I can’t explain…what reality…this hallucination…corresponds to…These people…are putting me…into an ambulance…All of this…looks normal…They’ve put…an oxygen mask…on my face.

Could it be…that I didn’t hallucinate…that last time?

Did Mama’s ghost…really do that…to me?

None of those people…saw a killer…run in and…stab me…then run out…They do see my stab wounds, though….They’ve bandaged them.

Very clever, Mama.

You wiped out…Aunt Jane…and that man…because you didn’t…need them anymore…They served their purpose…and you removed them…In making me…doubt myself,…you reinforced…my feelings of worthlessness…so I’d stop trying…to resist you…Now that you…have killed me,…you can torture me…in the deeper, darker regions…of Hell,…while you…destroy the world…without my ability…to stop you.

There is no escape for me.

My no longer believing…in the supernatural…was a wish fulfillment…I could hope…for a quick death…and nothingness afterwards…a nothingness…of peace…no Hell.

Now,…with her spirit…on the loose…since she no longer…has a body…to limit her magical powers…she can do anything…and with me dead,…I can’t use…what magic I know…to stop her.

Wait a minute…

With my death…I’ll be free…from the limitations…of my body, too…As pure spirit,…I’ll be able…to gain access…to all kinds…of magical formulas…just like her…I can still stop her!

The hospital staff…are taking me…out of the ambulance.

A mushroom cloud…just blew up…in the distant sky…The ground is shaking.

The staff…were startled by it…They reacted to it.

I didn’t just…imagine it…The explosion…was real.

Mama’s ghost…is destroying the world…I must die quickly,…free my soul…from my body…and fight her…with my own magic.

But her power…is so much…greater than mine…I’ll have to learn…a lot of magic,…and quickly…to stop her.

How can I…grow in power…quickly enough…to stop her?

Transcending my ego,…uniting my spirit…with that of…the world spirit…should give me…the power I need.

In my dying moments,…I must meditate…my fading…consciousness…should make it…easier for me…

And with no me…no Roger…separate from the world…no ego…for Mama…to target,…she won’t…be able…to stop me.

I…must…concentrate…

There is…no Roger…I’m merging…with Brahman…

My blood…is spreading…out everywhere…as is…my soul…It’s uniting…with the world…

My union…with the world spirit…will defeat…her ghost…

My…inner peace…will destroy…her hate…and wickedness…

Mama,…I’m gonna…kill…you…again…

THE END

‘Mama,’ a Psychological Horror Novel, Chapter Thirteen

Whoa! Look at that huge mushroom cloud in the sky, far off in the distance. No one, other than myself, has even noticed it, much less reacted to it. Now that Mama’s ghost is having me put away, where I can’t do anything to stop her, she can go ahead with her plans to destroy the world and bring us all to Hell, to join her. The people on the streets aren’t reacting to the nuclear blast because her magic is restraining them, hypnotizing them into a state of total apathy!

No one cares. No one will help me. Aunt Jane and…that man everyone says is my father…are just working for Mama’s ghost, to keep me under her control so she can be free to unleash her mayhem on the world. I’m powerless to save everyone from her.

I wanna kill myself so badly, but I can’t, because: I can’t escape from the clutches of the staff taking me back to the mental hospital; I’m too chicken to endure the pain of slashing my wrists, or jumping off of a building, or any other violent form of suicide; I have no pills to OD on; and besides, killing myself will only bring myself further into Hell and under Mama’s control.

There’s nothing I can do to relieve my pain. No…

Oof! What…the…? Did one of those boats on this surreal road just collide with the elephant I’m riding on? Oh! It’s losing balance…I’m falling off!

Aah! I just hit the road on my left side, hurting my upper arm and hip. Now I’m in pain on both sides of my body, after that motorcycle crash I had before.

Hey, I see Aunt Jane and…that man…lying on the road, too. They’re all bloody and unconscious. Are they dead? I’ll check for her pulse: oh, my God, she is dead. She was working for Mama’s ghost, though, helping to ensure that I stay locked away in the mental hospital, so I couldn’t stop Mama from using her magic to make a Hell here on Earth. Why would Mama kill my aunt all of a sudden?

What’s that? Coughing coming from…that man. I’ll go over to him, in spite of my revulsion from him. What does he want from me now?

“Roger…Roger,” he’s saying between gasps and coughs. “I…am your…father. Why…can’t you…just accept me?” More coughing from him–it’s revolting to watch and hear.

Again, though, I must ask myself: why would Mama’s ghost kill off the people who were helping her? I see the hospital worker, the one who was steering the elephant we were on, lying next to ‘Dad,’ dead and covered in his own blood, too.

“I…love…you, Roger,” says ‘Dad,’ then his head falls to the side, and he’s lying there dead, with his eyes wide open. I’m checking his pulse. No, he’s definitely dead.

I don’t understand any of this. Why is Mama doing this?

None of it makes any sense, unless…

…unless it’s all just been figments of my imagination the whole time.

Is that why no one responded to the nuclear blast I saw a few minutes ago? Because there was no nuclear blast?

My seeing boats on the road instead of cars, celery sticks instead of lampposts, animal heads on people’s bodies, mushrooms instead of skyscrapers, fire in the background, blue elephants instead of ambulances to take me back to the mental hospital,…none of these are Mama’s magic, but just my hallucinations going to such an extreme?

All because I can’t accept that this man was my father?

Hey…as I look all around me, I see that the surreal imagery I’d seen before is all gone. Now, everything looks normal: cars and buses on the road, lampposts, tall buildings, pedestrians with human heads, no fire to be seen anywhere at all, not even on the horizon. All there is before me is that car crash–my ambulance lying on its side, with the back door wide open so I could crawl out and look around outside, and my aunt and…my…father…lying here, dead.

The world is just an ordinary place.

And I am just an ordinary man.

I’m no hero. My life isn’t the great melodrama that I imagined it to be, with a demonic mother persecuting me. I probably didn’t even kill her; as everybody else told me, she just died of a heart attack, and I was just a fool sticking pins into a doll that had no effect on her at all. I’m nothing special; I’m just a deluded idiot.

And because of my resistance from them, I just lost the only two people in the whole world who actually cared about me. I’m mediocre, and alone.

This existence is worse than any fiery Hell I could imagine…and it’s all of my own creation.

People are crowding around the ambulance. I’ve got to get away from them, or else I’ll be put in that mental institution for the rest of my life, and I don’t want the rest of my life to be a long one.

Since there’s no mother-demon trying to get me, suicide is still a viable option for me. I’m getting out of here, now, before another ambulance arrives!

Umph! Oh, getting this crowd of onlookers to open up a path for me is annoyingly difficult!

“C’mon, you people! Out of my way!” I shout.

“Hey, don’t be so pushy!” a man says.

“You’re injured,” a woman says. “You need to go to the hospital, Sir.”

“Mind your own business!” I shout, then get free.

I’m running away from the crash scene and down the street. I see an alley between two tall buildings, and I’m running towards it.

A voice whispers in my ear, “Yes, Roger, go in there.”

That was another hallucination, of course, the voice of ‘Mama.’ I don’t believe any of that’s real anymore, but I’m still going into the alley. Piles of garbage bags and boxes are lying against the walls on both sides. Is this where I was before, when I crashed the bike? It smells just as bad.

Looking back, I can see a few people running after me. I’d better hide.

Behind these boxes here will be good. Yeah, those people just ran past. I can hear them running farther and farther away, their footsteps getting softer and softer. I hear nothing at all now.

Good. I’m all alone now. No one to bother me. Absolute peace.

…except for the war going on in my heart.

I hate my life. I never amounted to anything. The only way I could make my life have any meaning was to make up a melodramatic, hallucinatory story about my mother being a witch and a demon from Hell bent on destroying the world, so I could fancy myself a hero about to save everyone. What a load of ridiculous nonsense, all fabricated to hide the truth from myself, that I’m just a pathetic loser! I couldn’t have an average man as a father, because I’m below average.

If only I could have just accepted that man as my father! I could have grown to love him, to receive his love, and then finally learn to love myself! And now he’s dead.

Now I have nobody to value me in any way.

I hate myself, and I want to die. But I’m too scared to kill myself, as much as I hate living.

If only I could kill myself quickly and painlessly. I have no sleeping pills or other drugs to OD on. I have no access to a bathtub and razors so I can do it the old Roman way. And I don’t have the guts to jump off of a tall building.

What am I going to do? I don’t want to be in a mental institution for the rest of my worthless life.

I want to die…now…but I can’t do it.

If only there were somebody out there who could do it for me. Any murderers out there?

Is there anything in these boxes or garbage bags that I could use? Any bottles I could break, and use the jagged edge to cut myself? Let me take a look…

Hey, what’s that over there, by the opposite wall? Another hallucination? Very well–bring it on. Nothing else is helping.

“Marble,” a Modern Myth to Encourage the Discouraged

My name is Casey. I have been trapped in a huge block of marble for as long as I can remember; and I have been struggling to break out of it for what must be years, even decades.

A conspiracy of sorcerers put me in this prison. How did they construct the marble in which they encased me? They performed repeated rituals, ceremonies of shame. They made me believe that I deserved to be held forever in this cell of marble, that I am ugly, repellant, of no worth at all. I believed it, and wept in my petrified confinement.

A while back, however, I began to doubt the cruel beliefs my captors put in my head. In my first doubts, I found myself able to do something I hadn’t been able to do in years, decades, even.

I budged.

Just a bit, at first.

Then I doubted a little more, and I could move a bit more.

I’ve continued doubting, and since this growth of doubting has slowly but steadily bloomed, I’ve become able not only of more and more movement inside this casing, but I’ve also been able to make this large block of marble shake on the ground where it’s sat all this time.

How do I doubt? I just keep thinking to myself that it isn’t I who am ugly, repellant, and worthless, but rather that it’s the marble I’ve been encased in that is ugly, repellant, and unworthy.

It seems that everyone outside, looking at this huge block of marble I’m incarcerated in, thinks the marble is beautiful, protecting the world from my hideousness.

But more and more, I know better.

Attempts are made, all the same, by those outside, to make me believe that there’s nothing good in me to make it worthwhile to break free. Once I come out of my fetter of engulfing rock, I’ll realize that I can’t do anything useful for the world, or so they’d have me believe. It’s best that I stay inside, apparently…

No! I must never believe those lies!

You may be wondering how I’ve been able to live and breathe while immobilized in this marble for so long, with no oxygen, food, or even an ability to relieve myself. The explanation is simple: the sorcerers who put me in this predicament used their magic to ensure that I’d never need to breathe, eat, or do any of the normal things that people outside do all the time and take for granted.

The fact that my tormentors are keeping me alive is part of how I know that I must have a secret worth that they don’t want to be known to the world. I have special abilities that they feel threatened by; if I were free to use those abilities, my enemies would be reduced to nothing.

Still, why not just kill me? Perhaps my abilities include a defying of death: maybe they can’t kill me, so encasing me was the best they could do. Perhaps they get pleasure from the idea of so capable a man as I being convinced I’m worthless that my powers would never be used, because I don’t believe in them. They laugh at how I’m so close to greatness, yet so far away, too.

Hence all those voices outside trying so hard to discourage me from trying to break free, all deliberately made audible to me, in spite of my confinement, through the sorcerers’ magic. But I’ll show them all!

Umph! I’ve…got…to break…out!

I can feel the marble block moving, wobbling a bit from side to side. Gradually, as I push left, then right…forward, then backward, I can feel the wobbles get slightly bigger over time. I am making progress!

The space between my body and the surrounding marble was originally so tight that it was pressing into me. With my years of struggling, the tightness is gone, and now there are a few millimetres of space all around between my body and the marble. Tiny pieces of it have broken off and fallen to my feet, erosion from my struggles!

Grains of marble from the outside must be breaking off, too, hence my ability to move the block more and more, and hence the voices of the people trying to discourage me, their voices louder and louder, and more and more agitated at my progress and determination.

I am an angel trapped in this marble, and it must be carved, as it were, until I set myself free! I must become the angel that I already am!

Ungh! I…must…keep…rocking…this…block!

CRACK!

What was that sound?

How big of a crack did I just make?

Instead of small, slow bits of progress, am I about to start making large ones?

I can hear the voices outside, moaning in surprise and…apprehension? Do they fear the coming of my success?

I…must…push…harder! Oof!

CRACK!

That one sounded much bigger. I’ll be free soon!

Hey, there’s a big crack in front of my eyes now. I can see outside, and I can hear the people out there much better. Quite a crowd is gathering, making a lot of noise.

Unh! I’m…gonna…keep…on…shaking…this…thing–Oh! Until…I’m…free!…Aah!

CRACK!

“Don’t do it, Casey!” I hear a male voice warning me. “If you come out of there, you’ll only realize, without any doubt, just how worthless you really are! Just stay in there, and spare us all the irritation of your presence!”

No! I mustn’t listen to voices like that! They’re lying!

Angh! I’m…getting…closer…to…breaking…free!

CRACK!

A huge chunk of the marble just broke off! I can see all the people to my front! There are at least a dozen men and women watching me break out. Some, with worried looks on their faces, are shouting at me to give up. Others, with hopeful looks, are cheering for me!

(In fact, I remember when I had my very first doubt, I heard the voice of a woman trying to encourage me to break out. That might be her voice that I’m hearing now.)

“Come on, Casey!” a woman is shouting. “You can get out of there!”

“Shut up!” a woman beside her is saying. “Don’t encourage the imbecile. He’s dangerous. The coven warned us about him!”

Speak of the coven, and they appear.

Indeed, I can see the group of cloaked sorcerers approaching the crowd; these were the six men and women who encased me in this marble I’m almost out of.

Under their hoods, their shadowy faces are showing great fear. I find this most encouraging!

Nnhk! Gotta…shake…this…thing, and…get…out!

CRACK!

What’s this? A big piece of marble just broke off from behind me! I can turn my head, and I see the crowd from back there now!

The coven is chanting in their ancient, mystic language. I don’t know the meaning of the words, but I know the intention: to cover me in a new, hardened prison, and to make me feel unworthy of ever trying to free myself again.

I must…resist them…Urgh! I must…break out…

CRACK!

Though another piece broke off, a big one to my left, just under my cheek, I can feel a soft, liquid form building up to fill in these holes. I…must…push through them…before…they harden…and become…new marble! I’m…so tired…I don’t have…much strength left…

The coven’s chanting is getting louder and more intense. More of that liquid is filling in all the spaces. I won’t be able…to get out…before it hardens…

“Stop it!” a woman’s voice cries. “Leave him alone! Let him break free! Stop hurting him!”

“Shut up!” a second female voice shouts. “Let him be sealed up! He’s no good to us! He’s a danger! Can’t you see that?”

“No, he’s not!” the first woman shouts. “Free him!”

“The coven says he’s a danger to us all!” the second says.

“He’s a danger only to the coven!” the first says. Out of my half-open right eye, I see her running off. In my exhaustion, I’m barely conscious. She’s come back…with a pick-axe! She’s chipping away at the marble with it! She’s helping me! She’s freeing me!

With her help, I feel valued for the first time in my life. Hers must have been that first encouraging voice I heard so many years ago. Now I have the courage to keep trying. She’s given me new strength. Nnmph! Now…I…can…break…out!

SMASH!

Fiery light is flashing out of me in all directions, now that I’m finally free. My light is burning the coven to a crisp. They are screaming in agony as they slowly die. Their blind supporters are weeping to see my enemies destroyed.

They are but ash now, blown away by the wind.

I’m free, my helper is free…we’re all free.

Free of the coven’s power over us, as their supporters are beginning to realize.

My light is shining for everyone.

Even the coven’s supporters are realizing that I’m not without value.

I am the good that the coven tried to hide in marble. I am the beauty that they called ugliness, because it was they were were truly ugly.

All the people who were lied to about me are no longer ugly. They’re beautiful, too.

We’re all beautiful, and valuable.

We’re free.

‘Mama,’ a Psychological Horror Novel, Chapter Twelve

Now, let’s see if I can remember any of those ancient verses, the ones I used to put a circle of protection around myself, to keep Mama’s ghost out.

Bide larma…No, that doesn’t sound right.

Bide lirma oda kaitan…Was that it? No.

How about Bidi lirma oda kaitan…? I think that’s closer to it, but how does the rest of the verse go?

The fact that I don’t have the materials to make the circle–the chalk to draw it, the ruler to draw straight lines for the pentacle, and the candles to light up–isn’t exactly helping me here.

I’ll try again: Bidi lirma ota kaitan…

Wait a minute: was that even from the right verse?

No! That was from the verses meant to send Mama to Hell and lock her up there. I’ve already done that, and she’s brought me here with her, too. By saying that verse, if I’m even saying it right, I’m only reinforcing my problem!

I need to remember the verse I used to say to create a zone of protection that she can’t enter. What I said when I went to the store to buy the amulet and sachet. What was it? She’s making me forget, that’s for sure.

Still, I have to try to remember it. It’s my only hope.

Oh, God, it’s so dark here. Endlessly black, all around me.

I can still hear the thumping of the elephants’ feet. Aunt Jane, that man, and the staff from the mental hospital are still trying to find me in this stinky rectum of a hiding place. It’s only a matter of time before they find me and take me back to the nut house.

Oh, what are those words I have to chant?

Wana…bagga…waiko? Is that how it begins?

Wana bagga waiko, Inan suchi zdago…I think.

Kala bodi gana, Sibako wuli…zulu? No, at least one or two of the words are wrong, because I don’t feel any safer. I’m still in the smelly black pit. But which words am I saying wrong?

I can’t give up. I’ve got to keep trying–not just for myself, but for the sake of the world, which I have to save from Mama’s magic! Now, what were those words?

Maybe if I try different combinations of vowels and consonants, I’ll eventually luck out and say the right combination, like monkeys typing forever and ever until they finally compose a novel. It’s a ridiculous thing to do, but I’m so desperate here, I can’t think of any other way to get the words right. Here goes:

Wana baka waigo,
Inan kushi zdega,
Kala bodi gana.
Sibako woli zulu.

No, still no circle of protection. I’m still trapped in infinite black. But I think I’m coming closer to saying the right words. As I do this, altering the words little by little, I think I’m beginning to remember them better.

But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m wrong.

Still, I’ve got to keep trying.

Wana baka waigo,
Imam kuchi zdega
Kalu bodi gana.
Sibako woli zulu.

Still not right! Every word has to be perfect, or else I get nothing! Oh, how am I going to get this right? Still, I have to try:

Wana baka waigo,
Iman kuchi zdega
Kalu bodi gana.
Sibako woli…zulu.

Still wrong! I have a feeling that this time, I almost got it right. Still, it cannot be even the slightest bit wrong, or else this effort is all in vain. I’ll bet Mama’s ghost is tampering with my memory, making me forget a verse I had committed to memory not so long ago.

Oh, which part am I getting wrong?

This black void enveloping me, with that shitty garbage stink, is driving me crazy!

I’ve got to keep trying, though…every possible combination must be considered!

I’ve got to get protection from Mama…and fast!

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!…

WabawakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanwakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WanabakawaigoInankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WakabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WadabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WafabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WagabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WajabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WalaBakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WamabakawaigoInankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKanubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WapawakabaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WarabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodigala Sibakowolizulu…
WasabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WatabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WavabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WawabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WayabakowaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WazabakawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuzu…
WanababawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabakawaigoImankuchizdegoKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…
WanabalawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizuku…
WanabamawaigoImankuchizdegaKalubodiganaSibakowolizulu…

Oh, my God, I’m never going to get this right!

Surely, Mama’s ghost is making me mispronounce at least one word at a time, to drive me crazy!

My face is soaked in my tears. I’m shaking and sobbing so loudly, surely those elephants will hear me over their thumping feet!

What can I do to save myself from her?

Could I try finding Jesus? No, I tried that years ago. Didn’t work. There’s no Heaven to save me from this Hell.

If only I could kill myself…but that would just plunge my soul–if I even have one–straight into Hell all the more, where she could really torment me…forever.

What if I attempted…a dissolving of my ego? A transcending of my ego…ego death! The merging of my Atman, as it were, with Brahman? What if I adopted selflessness, in the Buddhist sense of the word? She cannot harm me if there’s no me to harm.

Through intense meditation, I can achieve ego death, nirvana. It’s worth a try, at least.

I’ll start by focusing on my breathing…slow, deep breaths…in…and out…I don’t need to close my eyes, because there’s nothing to see but absolute black everywhere.

Oh!…That awful smell! The shit of the asshole I’m trapped in!

No, I don’t want to inhale that so intensely. Bad idea.

I’ll have to try concentrating on something else.

The present moment, and my oneness with my surroundings.

Yes,…I must think about every second that passes by, and think about there being no distinction between myself and everything out there that isn’t me.

Oh, my mind keeps wandering. Roger, concentrate!

Mama, like Mara the tempter, is trying to thwart this Buddha.

I’m at one with everything…I’m aware of every passing second…

My body feels as if it’s beginning to dissolve, to merge with my surroundings…good…

Wait…am I dissolving, or am I…being pulled apart, in all directions?

I still can’t see anything in this black, smelly void, but it feels as though my arms are being pulled to their far left and far right, and it’s like I’m rising from the ground. All of me feels…pulled outwards, everywhere.

Is this a merging, or is it a…melting?

Maybe this is how becoming at one with everything is supposed to feel. I don’t know.

What’s that up ahead? A tiny dot of white light, gradually getting bigger. I feel as though I’m floating towards it. The light at the end of the tunnel? My salvation?

Wait a minute: instead of a growing ball of white light, I’m seeing the city I was riding that motorcycle through the streets of. I’m at the tight sphincter now, coming out like a turd squeezing through…POP!

I’m back out in the city now. Oh, thank God I don’t smell that fecal stink anymore. It’s as surreal out here as it was before: giant mushrooms for buildings, tall celery stalks for lampposts, boats on the roads instead of cars, a glowing basketball for a sun shining in a brown sky, and pedestrians with animals’ heads.

Yes, the magic of Mama’s ghost is as strong as ever.

Hey, wait! What am I riding on? This isn’t that motorbike I stole: I’m riding on a blue elephant! Other blue elephants are walking beside, in front of, and behind mine. I know what they represent: Aunt Jane, the staff of the mental hospital, and…that man.

They’re taking me back to the nut house…that prison!

I have to stop this from happening, but how?

I’ll try jumping off of this elephant…what? There’s some kind of invisible wall, or a force field of some kind, keeping me on the elephant! I can’t get away! Mama’s magic is keeping me here!

“Let me go!” I scream. “I don’t wanna go back to that horrible hospital!”

“Sorry, Roger,” I can hear Aunt Jane’s voice saying from farther off. “But we trusted you the last time, and you violated that trust. Now, I’m afraid we have no choice but to take you back there and keep you there for as long as it takes. Judging by the way you’ve been acting, I’d say you’ll probably have to stay locked up there for the rest of your life. I hate to say it, but it’s true.”

“NOOOO!!!”

“And don’t try that act of sanity again, Roger,” one of the hospital staff says. “We’re wise to your tricks now.”

Mama has won.

She has me locked away forever.

And she’ll be able to destroy the world without me able to stop her.

It was better in that giant asshole. At least I could meditate there, have a hope of dissolving my ego, and end my suffering…of course, I could meditate in the padded cell they’ll most likely incarcerate me in, wearing that straitjacket again. It will be uncomfortable, but I should be able to do it.

No, I can’t! Not with all those people there! I have to be alone. How can I dissolve my ego through meditation if I’m constantly being disturbed by shrinks and nurses determined to make me believe that that man is my father?

I really am in an eternal Hell of other people.

There is no exit for me.