Creepy/sad story about my great aunt.

I have this great aunt. She's 92 years old or so. Still lives on her own. I'm pretty much the only family she has in this state.

She's my mother's father's sister.

Her last remaining relative was her brother - my grandfather - and he died about 2-1/2 years ago. She has pretty much been alone since then.

I didn't know these people growing up. When I was 6 my family moved to the other side of the country. Even my grandparents didn't keep in touch other than the occasional holiday phone call to guilt trip my mom for moving away.

I moved back here about 10 years ago.

These people were pretty much strangers to me.


When my grandfather was alive, I would occasionally take him and her out to dinner. But she always declined offers to take her out or even to take her to the grocery after he died.

She always struck me as really mentally and emotionally strong and stubbornly independent. She remembers little details about things that happened 75 years ago. Names and addresses of friend's, pets, exact dates that things happened. And she takes the Bus to the grocery or to visit friends every day.

It was kind of inspiring.



She only had one child - Billy.

Her husband died at an early age. I think Billy was still in high school when his father died.

Billy lived a troubled life. Closeted gay in a redneck, queer-fearing community. He disappeared when he was in his 20s and didn't come back for a long time.

When he came back, he said he'd been in San Francisco. He brought back a younger gay lover and a serious drug habit.

To cover up the gay aspect of the story, my aunt told everyone that the lover was actually his nephew (weird - he has no siblings, how would he have a nephew?)

After a while, the lover went back home. Not too long after that, Billy ODed and killed himself.


OK. THIS IS WHERE IT GETS CREEPY!


Two weeks ago my mother was talking to my great aunt. They stayed in touch since my grandfather died and they talk at least once a week. Two weeks ago was the first time my mother started to notice a change.

They had the normal chit chat, and after 1/2 hour or so, my aunt said "I have to go now, but I need to talk to you about Billy."

My mom said "OK, I'll talk to you later."

Later when they talked, they had the normal chit-chat again, and finally after my aunt was clearly avoiding the topic, my mom came out and asked her "You said you need to talk about Billy?"

"Billy has come home again."

"Billy's been dead for 15 years."

"I know, but he came back. I think he's a zombie (92 year old woman actually said Zombie) He has that boy with him again."

"WTF?"

"The first time I saw him was last week. I heard a noise in the house in the middle of the night. I went to see what it was and he was in his room. He was looking for something. He was wearing the clothes he was buried in." (he was buried in a warm-up suit of his favorite sports team).


OK - so obviously it sounds like someone has broken into her house and is ransacking the place and she's confused.

Nope.


"Billy and I talked for a while. He said he needed to get some sleep, and he said he'd be back."

"um... wow..."

"The next time he came back, I didn't see the boy, but I could hear him. Billy was hiding him. They came in. They thought I was asleep but I heard them. I heard them go in his room. I heard them sinning in there. I got up to stop them. I went in the room. I turned the light on, but I couldn't see them, but I could hear them... sinning..."

GROSS! ZOMBIE BUTT LOVE!



But seriously, Goddam, even if it's all in her head, it's fucking creepy.



She told my mom "None of this would have happened if I had just fought harder to send him to the high school he wanted to go to. If he hadn't gone to [XXXXX] high school, he'd never have fallen in with the wrong crowd, never been gay, never started using drugs."



Clearly she's got some unresolved guilt issues regarding the tragedy that was Billy's life. And she's just lost her mind. But God, how fucking creepy and sad for her.

And how weird that zombie Billy doesn't scare her. And that she'd try to intervene to stop them from sinning.




A few nights ago, my aunt's neighbor (been her neighbor for like 30 years) heard her walking around the neighborhood screaming at 4am.

They ran out to see what was going on, she said "I'm looking for my mother. Billy brought her here, but she wouldn't come in the house."

So they called the police.

The police looked in her house, no sign of Billy or an intruder. They told her that if it happened again, they'd have to take her to Adult Protective Services (or something like that).


She told my mother "I know that [her] mom wasn't there. I don't know why Billy lied about that. I know he's using drugs again. At this point, I just want to die in my house. I don't want to go to a home. I just want to die in my house with Billy."



Yikes!



She's right. She's not going to live much longer. She's going to be seriously unhappy if they take her somewhere else to die. What's the point in taking her somewhere. So she can live a miserable life for another 6 months in a place where she can't possibly hurt herself.

She'd be better off fighting imaginary Billy and falling down the stairs and dying.



And goddam. I'm so fucking glad it's never occurred to her or my parents or her neighbors to call me when this shit is going on.

I don't want anything to do with a sexually active, gay, redneck, crackhead, zombie.

Even if he is just in some old woman's head.

If I had any contact with this woman from age 6 to age 34, maybe I'd feel some responsibility to go fight zombie Billy. But as far as I'm concerned, she's a stranger.


Ugh.


I wonder if zombie Billy is at her house right now???