*The problem is in the hearts and minds of men. It is not a problem of physics but ethics. It is easier to denature plutonium than to denature the evil spirit of man. —Albert Einstein*

![download-1.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmYAEsaRGqKzzkN9v97ChEK2KwoAXFtQB2NvJqmgPXYVqQ/download-1.jpg) *Marianne*

Working outside installing exterior lighting invigorated me. It was a mild day for the end of January and being out in the fresh air seemed to lift my spirits and certainly stimulated my appetite. When I broke for lunch, I ate two grilled cheese sandwiches and a plateful of fries along with several donuts that I purchased at *Tim Hortons* on my way back home from the *Home Depot*. I felt I accomplished something that would make the house less gloomy particularly at night when my resident ghost seemed to walk.

I know I was putting on a facade of false bravado, akin to whistling past a graveyard, but I refused to be scared in my own house. As I thought about it, memories from my Catholic childhood ran through my brain. I had read accounts of miracles, angels appearing without warning and they caused me to fear being alone in the house, vulnerable to some form of spiritual visitation. When my parents became caught up in an extreme deliverance ministry, my thoughts focused on demons hiding in dark corners, watching for an opportunity to attack me.

I shivered as I thought about that period in my life and realized I had scars that still hadn't healed and that was the main reason why I shied away from Bill's suggestion about seeing a clairvoyant. I tended to avoid anything hyper-spiritual or mystical and consorting with mediums, psychics or a beautiful clairvoyant was strictly off limits for me. Still, I hadn't gotten past those childhood fears and that's why the spooky events taking place in the house really upset me. I made a mental note to contact Simon Becker, my therapist. I believe what I'm struggling with now is mental or emotional—not spiritual, and that's how I prefer to treat it.

After I finished lunch and tidied the kitchen, I still felt full of energy so I decided to spend the afternoon working on my novel. I know a lot of writers struggle to produce even two thousand words a day, but creativity has always came easy to me. As Tom Fielding, my literary agent always tells me, I'm prolific and finding inspiration is not my problem. My struggle is disciplining myself to sit down and get to work but once I do, I lose track of all time and the hours seem to pass like minutes. True to form, I worked for four hours straight and only noticed the passage of time when the room got dark at sundown.

I wasn't tired, but was bleary-eyed from staring at my laptop screen and again, completely famished. This time I decided to order in so I placed an order for Chinese food with *The Mandarin* and had a hot shower while waiting for the food to arrive. I opened a bottle of *Yellow Tail* cab sav and ate in the den before the fire. The only thing missing was someone with whom to share the repast and my life, for that matter. My imagination conjured up images of Victoria Grayson, my lawyer, and of course, Marianne, my nemesis. I didn't bother censoring my thoughts but alternated between both women and so drifted off into a dream state.

It seemed my mind settled on Marianne as if she were the default setting for my desires and I relived a moment when we lived together here in this house. It was a mundane memory of a sunny autumn day that turned stormy and forced us to seek shelter at home from lightning. But as the afternoon wore on tensions between us built and our tempers frayed and I recalled the incident I thought lost forever because of the trauma of going through the gut-wrenching drama of identity theft. I recoiled in horror at what I had repressed and not only recalled but relived the very moment.

Marianne had seemingly transformed before my eyes into a madwoman eaten up with jealousy and rage. I tried to reassure her I was innocent of crimes for which she was accusing me, but she transformed into a malignant shrew and put a curse on me. I remember the pure force of her hatred which alone scared me. She left that time and never returned. I sent her things by courier to her condo and never saw her again until that night in *The Jolly Miller*

I awake with a start. For a moment I lay on the couch confused until I sorted out where I was and realized it was just a dream. Yes, just a dream, but profoundly enlightening and disturbing at the same time. I had no recollection for three years of the events of that day but now it's apparent why Marianne haunts me... I'm a cursed man and unable to accept that fact, I blocked it from my memory. I have no idea where this revelation leaves me, except dazed and confused, which is exactly where I've been these past three years.

To be continued…
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