In the Corner & the Car Ride (the Real Endings to the Cadvervous Journey)

(In the Corner) I know you thought the end of the story was a ways back there, but it isn't, there is an added edition, two, to be exact, added on to refinance home mortgage story, added on because it was not suppose to end like it originally did, and so here it is, the unexpected ending (and let me tell you: it is better not to get to know those folks in your dreams all that much or nightmares, especially on a long journey):

I got up in the morning, as you already know, and I heard a voice after I had settled with the journey-completely settled I man, and I looked in the corner of the bedroom by our door, I looked because I heard a noise, then voice said,

"I know you," and I stared deeper in the direction of the voice, went for my gun at the same time (the gun I put along side my bed always, on the lower part of a table I keep my pen and paper handy in case I have to write in the middle of the night on top of the same table, everything in an arms reach). I hesitated, focused more, then made out a light mist-my mind saying it was reflective of something I had seen before, and the voice said, just then, confirming my mind it was correct,

"I'm the New Arrival," adding, "I am a little lost, and I'm being chased by a few unfamiliar spirits (meaning demon I suppose)."

Its voice was almost sincere, auto insurance specialists had a tinge of anxiety in it, but I thought: what can do. I could see his configuration, slightly, a light vortex circled him. Then my wife Rosa woke up, said:

"Is something wrong?" (And the configuration disappeared.)

"No," I said plainly, adding, "I'm still living a part of my night dream I think."

And I got up out of bed, asked why she wasn't swimming, and she said Margot (a lady friend) didn't show up, had to take her boy someplace I guess).

"Oh," I said, and she got up and made coffee for me, and this day went on as usual, lunch in the afternoon on our rooftop under a large umbrella, with pork and some other kind of Chinese dish.

(The Car Ride) It was shortly after that occasion, I was driving our VW out of Lima (Peru), to Huancayo, I usually do, when summer is over in Lima, summer in the Andes in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, is just beginning then, opposite of each other. It's about four-hundred miles or so, to the east, it takes perhaps six to seven hours, depending on how fast I drive. At night the mountains along the slim roads, can be dangerous, very steep, I have to injury lawyers 4 you up some 16,500-feet and come down the to the valley which is 10,500-above sea level. There are no street lights on this trip, a few small towns in-between (far off the main road, and there is only one road), a miner's areas lit up called La Oroya, but for the most part it is as dark as the sky, unless there is a moon, and bright stars, and near Lima, in the winter, it is foggy, you can't see a thing in the sky overhead, so for the first two hours of the trip you see nothing.

In the mountains, the higher you go, the thinner the air, and clearer the sky often times, the farther away from the Lima ocean you head that is (or Pacific ocean to be more exact), and it gets cold. And this day, the first week of July of 2008, I was driving through the Andes, with my wife, and Goddaughter, Ximena, she was in the back seat of the car (16-years old), taking movies with my camera.

As I said, Ximena was taking pictures, Rosa was talking to her, and me at the same time it seemed, and saying something to the effect: why not put the camera down, but I was enjoying the attention she was giving taking the pictures, and it was breaking the boredom of the long ride, and so Rosa left it alone, and she caught Rosa's face on the camera a few times, along with our headlights showing some of the side views of the mountains as we drove along side, and past them, then we saw a figure, a lady walking, a bond haired woman, so it looked, she didn't have the traditional dress of the Peruvian folks in this area on, rather westerly dressed (or better put: garb according to the style of the west). Accordingly, my headlights had shown a thin figure. I stopped the car, put it in reverse, and drove backwards, to give her a lift, we were close to the high part of the Andes, 16,500-feet, and Ximena opened up the door, and she got in slowly, smiled (the camera taking her picture), and the young lady, perhaps in her middle twenties, thanked us for picking her up. Then we drove off.

A few seconds went by, perhaps twenty-seconds, the camera still going capturing her and Rosa and the back of my head, and hands on the steering wheel, and I asked,

"Do you speak English," she looked Caucasian and either American or European. She said,

"I'm European, German, from Augsburg, and yes I do speak broken English!"

I had spent a year in Augsburg, in 1970, so I thought we had something in common, but I said nothing of it, instead, "Why are you out in this dark in the middle of the night?"

"I hope to see my husband; I have that feeling I may."

I hesitated; it didn't make sense, "Out here...?" I said, bewildered.

"Where does an infant go..." she asked "if it dies?"

"Hum," I moaned, then replied, "Right to heaven," I said, surprised at the question (the camera still going on), "it does not have formal reasoning in consequence, is innocent, plus King David in the Bible has indicated that." She seemed relieved, I would not get so much into such statements, but often times, I was asked that question from girls in prison, when I was a counselor, and they wanted to know where their infants went, when they had an abortion.

We drove a little further, she pointed to a bend, I was about to take, and said,

"There, right there, that is were I died!"

And we all looked at her and the car crashed (and the camera was still going), and when I awoke, she was gone, and Ximena and Rosa had been thrown halfway out of the car, as I had been, one foot left in the car. I pulled them from the automobile, and tried to wake them, and they did awake to a fogy here and now, not quite all together. I lost a shoe someplace and started looking for it. My headlights were still on. When we all got our composure back, we headed back to Huancayo, the car was running rough, the fenders were bent inward, and that pushed the headlights inward, and the hood was pushed inward and upward, and the front glass windshield was cracked, but the car run, the muffler was separated slightly from a pipe or two under the car, so it made noisy.

When we had gotten to Huancayo, I went to the Newspaper to find out if there had been an accidents in and around that area anytime in the past few years, and there was, right there at that bend, a German girl was killed, along with her child and husband.

But somehow I seemed to have related this with the "New Arrival," in my dream-vision, not sure why, you know, you just get that kind of intuition all of a sudden, sense it, as if you won it, it belongs to you, even if you cannot make heads or tails out of it.

And so I looked a little closer into this happening-and found out, there was a child that died in the accident and a man, the woman's cheap Prozac and I suppose she was coming back to see what might have taken place (she was perhaps unsettled with all of this), or perhaps she needed to feel the essence of the child, and perchance I was suppose to have let her know what I did tell her, that her child was in heaven. And I kept thinking the husband was the New Arrival, and he got to meet his dead wife somehow, and they both put a closure on this. Maybe they were both one in both, I don't know. I'll never know the whole of this, but somehow it is all linked together.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.comhttp://dennissiluk.tripod.com