tell a story

My name is Mark, I was born in San Antonio Texas. My dad died when I was about three years old from 2 gun shots to the chest. My mom split, and my sister, grandparents, and I moved to Missouri, I guess to get away from it all. I think that’s where I learned to run, because no matter the problem from then on, I just ran. I feel like a coward sometimes, running away from all of my problems with my tale between my legs. I grew up pretty good though. Still I kept getting into trouble. and bounced from school to school, I was pretty popular in all the schools I went to, I actually liked school. The faculty just didn’t like me I guess, probably because I never listened, and am very outspoken. I could always catch the attention of my peers, alot better than the teachers could, They didn’t like that either. Finally got kicked out the beginning of my Junior year, got my GED and went to college form computer programming. Recieved my degree. Haven’t done anything with it. Met a girl that turned my whole life around, she had a kid already. Which maybe should have raised a red flag, but I didn’t care. We were together for three years before we got married, and had a little girl. We’ve now been married for almost 2 years. This girl saved my life, because, even though I was in college. I was heading in the wrong direction, as far as drugs and drinking go. I think God blessed me with this wonderful woman and these beautiful kids, and I’m slowly destroying it. Destroying it, like I have so many other lives that I’ve come in contact with. I don’t know why, I don’t even really know how. It’s time to be a man, it’s time, it’s way past time. I’ve already left once, because… I really couldn’t tell you why. I’m used to running, it’s what I do, it’s who I’m trying not to be.

When I was nineteen I went to Mexico with Catholic missionaries. We were nine of us, young men trying to know if the vocation of priesthood or brotherhood was for us.

In the mountains of northern Michoacan, very close to Guanajuato, we went to a village where a priest put us up at the rectory, the house back of and next to the church.

One day we attended a harvest feast. A farmer offered me a glass of strong liquor which I accepted along with the delicious pig’s feet stew.

That night, before I fell asleep, I was listening to the crickets sing, the mosquitos whine, when I suddenly perceived a black humanoid shape hovering over me. It was blacker than the night, even blacker than the unlighted centre of the room, inky black, since there was no electricity in this village yet.
I knew it was the Devil. He was trying to suck my soul out from my nose while the others slept. I was so very scared, petrified. I tried to call out, but could say nothing. Then I made a supreme effort and tried to call out “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” All that came out was a squeak, but this dissolved the black spectre. I was drenched with a cold sweat. The others were still sleeping, someone snored in the guest room.

Source(s):

July 1981, Huipana, Michoacan, Mexico. I have told this story maybe half a dozen times, and posted a slightly abbreviated version on Yahoo Q & A under Folklore & Mythology.

i love when i can call my best friend and he will tell me a story to kill time. it can be a totally made up nonsence but it is always the best, i want to be able to find someone new to tell stories to.