Mass Amnesia

Mass Amnesia

A few days ago, Great Great Great Great Grandmama Lola, and Uncle Rico came to visit. Rico lives near Santa Barbara. Lola lives all over. I’ve written about both of them quite a bit over the years, but rarely together. Lola was born the same year as Geoffrey Chaucer. Rico, a product of her second marriage and eldest of her three children was born in 1523. His father was burned at the stake but that is another story, for another time.

Lola wanted to tell me something, which was usually about her latest lover, but I knew this wasn’t the case because Rico was there. 

By the way, if you’re new here, we are Vampires. We go way back. We’re also family. Also don’t make any assumptions about us. It isn’t what you think. Seriously, it isn’t. I also post about parenting, art, and relationships among other things. 

Lola sat in her favorite wingback chair and stretched out her legs. She looks all of 26 or maybe 27. Looks are deceiving, especially with Lola.

“Juliette, summon that Ghost of yours,” she said to me.  “I believe we have an item he might be able to help me with. Rico won’t tell me where it came from.”

In her hand was the low heel of a shoe. It was small, and brown, and worn.

Rico almost rolled his eyes. Of course, he’d told her where he’d acquired the shoe heel. “It belonged to a girl. She was on eleven or twelve when she was murdered. There is nothing but fear and pain trapped inside of here, along with her small beautiful soul.”

“Where did you get it?” I asked.

“A Demon,” said Rico.

“Dear Rico, my son, I wish you wouldn’t hang out with Demons,” said Lola.

“I wasn’t doing anything with the Demon. I certainly wasn’t hanging out with it. The damned thing just showed up and started yelling at me. I told it to go away or I’d send a couple of Arc Angels after it.” said Rico.

“You know some Arc Angels?” Lola asked in a dramatic tone. Just like Lola.

“Well not at the moment. Anyway, the Demon got pissed off and threw this at me,” said Rico.

“Just like that?” Lola asked.

“Yes, just like that. When I picked up the heel after it bounced off of the side of my head, I could feel the absolute gripping pain and sorrow it contained. Then I realized there was the soul of a child trapped inside of it,” said Rico.

Rico gave the heel to me. I could feel the pain coming from it, and panic. The poor dear immediately calmed down a bit as I held it gently in both of my hands. A mother’s touch.

“Lola, help me. I don’t know her language very well. I think she speaks Polish.”

Lola put her hands over mine, then soothed the child her in her native language. The girl was Polish but the last screaming words she’d heard were in German. 

“Oh no,” I said. “Lola, was she in a camp?”

“Auschwitz. She was separated from her mother and had no idea why she was there. They beat her, starved her, beat her even more because she didn’t understand their language, then they killed her.”

Lola took her hand off of the heel. It seemed as if all of the sadness of the universe suddenly engulfed my very being, then it calmed down. There was a spark of hope.

“Shhhhhhh, sweetie. Nobody will ever hurt you again. You are loved. We will help you,” I said. “Nigel, where are you? I know you can hear us.”

Suddenly Nigel stood next to my bookshelves in a black suit, his tie loose, his dark hair shaggy around his shoulders. He went from transparent to solid right in front of our eyes.

“What do you need. Damn, a whole room full of Vampires. I don’t know if I should be honored or insulted,” said the Ghost with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Please Nigel, you can be an asshole later. We need your help. We had a child who needs your help.”

Nigel took the heel in his ghostly hands. Of course, he could hold it. More ghosts than you know can interact with the physical world. “If she’d survived, or never been sent to the camp she would have been around 90 years old. She could have had a life and a husband and children. She would have had grandchildren. Maybe a garden, or she might have been an artist, or a teacher, or doctor. Holy crap. She knew who killed her. She saw their faces. They didn’t care. I never saw the person who killed me, but… I was murdered at home. I wasn’t taken away for no reason and sent to Hell before I died. I was an adult. She was just a child. She knew. The poor girl knew.”

He spoke quietly to the heel then looked up. “Her name is Czesława”

Then he quietly spoke to her again. “You are safe, you are loved, someone is waiting for you. You will never be hurt or alone again. Don’t be afraid.”

The heel glowed, no more like had a cloud around it of gray, pink, and blue, like a sunset. Then it dissipated, leaving Nigel holding the small brown heel. 

“She moved on. God damn it, she was afraid to move on. Afraid to go anywhere. What kind of monsters do that kind of thing to children. Oh right, I know. I knew them when I was a child. I had my art. I had friends who took me in. She had nothing. Nobody was there to protect her, to save her, to give a shit about her. They treated her like she wasn’t even human. And you know what? It still happens. Do you know how many new ghosts I see who are children or young people? Nobody protects them. They’re abused. They’re murdered in their own classrooms. They’re forced to be in the center of old men’s wars. They’re forced into systems, enslaved, treated as less than human because of who their parents were. They’re abused emotionally, sexually, and physically in ways most people can’t even imagine, or they can imagine but are too uncomfortable to do anything about it. Or when someone tries to do something they’re told to be quiet and that NOTHING can be done about it. It is all lies. Smoke and mirrors. It is hate against those who have done nothing but exist. They’re taken advantage of. They’re…. I’m done. Humanity has collective amnesia. We talk about how we love our children but those in charge, those who rule, those who worship the gods of control and ignorance only care about putting fear into the hearts of others to make them obey. The children suffer. I look at you all, and despite how weird I think you are, you are, well, a family. Even Lola loves her children. And you Juliette, I sure as hell hope someone is listening to you. Damn.”

Then he let the heel drop through his ghostly hands and wiped a tear off of his face. “I have to go. Thanks for letting me help but don’t contact me anytime soon.”

Then Nigel the Ghost vanished.

We buried the heel in the garden under the daylilies. 

We must all fight to never let collective amnesia take over. History can and will repeat itself. It is doing that right now as I write this.

Stay safe. Talk to your kids, even if they are grown. Tell them you love them. Check in on those who are alone, elderly, or need extra help. 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman