The Ghosts in My Head

They effect me physically.

After channeling Jones for any extended period of time, and even sometimes at random, I get pain through the entirety of my left leg. He suffered a brutal war injury in that leg. Ended up being cause for his discharge.

Max causes pains, and even actual muscle knots in my right shoulder. He hasn’t said why. But his brother is known to ask how his shoulder is feeling.

Aquila causes me to lose sight in my right eye.

I don’t know how to keep it from happening, but it does. It’s not a good thing. Much as I love them, I have my own physical problems to deal with, and don’t need theirs to add to it.

The lack of vision thing is more of a nuisance really…

My grandmother bought my grandfather a refurbished, working M1 at an auction over the weekend. My grandfather showed it to me. He let me take it out, and was going to show me how to put it together.

But I was already putting it back together myself.

Papaw was handing me pieces and telling me where they went, and how to put them on. But I already knew where they went. I didn’t tell Papaw that, though. Otherwise he’d ask how. Or something.

Because honestly, I didn’t know how to put it together. I was acting as if on muscle memory, or someone else’s memory. Jones’s memory.

I felt this sense of familiarity when putting it together. An odd sort of fond nostalgia. It was the same sort of nostalgia I heard in Papaw’s voice as he told me it was the first gun he learned how to shoot in basic, and how he had to be able to take it apart and put it back together blindfolded.

I had to fight really hard not to tell him, “I know. Me too.” And not to verbally agree that it was probably the best rifle the military ever came up with, and be equally as disappointed when he had to use the M16.

Because that was Jones.

And Jones was so very happy right then.

I have a recurring memory when channeling Max, sometimes. It’s rather vivid, and since it keeps replaying, even if he doesn’t necessarily want it to, I knew it had to be poignant.

The first part of this memory is at night. Light filters through the window from street lamps and the single bulb light in the bathroom, but for some reason the memory is always relatively monochrome. A small clock sits on the dresser. I can never make out the time, as it falls just in shadow, but he glances at it frequently. All I know, is that it’s very late, and the noise of it’s ticking is the loudest sound in the room. His brother, Frederick, is sleeping next to him on a simple, metal framed bed. Max is restless, and worried but at the same time filled with a great sense of relief.

Once, the memory continued to the morning. At some point, Max had eventually fallen asleep, but was woken up when Frederick stirred, and subsequently, fell off the bed.

It was earlier this morning that he finally revealed the significance of this memory.

Frederick had a problem with drugs, mostly heroin, or a variant of it. Earlier in the evening the memory took place, Max had come home after a trip to Berlin to find his brother in an alley way, dangerous levels of the drug coursing through him. Most likely an overdose. Max panicked, and against his better judgement, didn’t take him to a hospital. Instead, he checked them in to a place down the street and spent the better part of the night trying to flush the drugs out of Frederick’s system. At first, he wasn’t sure if his brother would make it through the night, but his condition slowly improved over the course of several hours.

Last night and this morning were relatively eventful. I found out a little more about Aquila. 

When he first actually started speaking to me about his past, we asked him if he had a “Rosa”. Of course it was a question we’d asked. Two out of three had some sort of romantic attachment. He answer was “If you mean, ‘did I have a woman?’, then yes.” Cheeky bastard.

Well, her name was apparently Maria. And the two of them apparently got in lots of trouble. He settled down with her eventually (though from what I gather of him, settling down means spending more than three nights in the same bed, with the same person), and they were married. And had a son.

…Also, something happened in Venice that they’re a bit bitter on. 

Oh, and his real name is Michele, apparently. My girlfriend said it was no wonder he went by a nickname. But I don’t know. I sort of like it.

All I know right now, is there are three ghosts in my head. I talk to them. They talk to me, like my own thoughts. I see their memories when they show me, or when I concentrate. They’re just as human as the rest of us. They have emotions, moods, personality. But most of all, I’ve come to think of them as my friends.

Voices in my head, if you want  to call them that. Hallucinations, maybe. And maybe I am a bit crazy. Believe me or not, it at least makes a good story.

I made this blog to document my discoveries about them, get to know them better. Also to help try and track my progress of becoming a stronger medium, and helping them grow stronger with me. (They want to protect me as much as I want to protect them) Also, to give them interaction with the outside world without having to be judged too terribly.

They’ll answer questions, if you want. I can answer questions too. And honestly, I’m up for any suggestions, tips, or how tos. This is all new to me, as well.