Part 4 – Evil personified and I become an ugly freak. (that unforgettable day under the house)

The terrors of that day under the house will never be erased.

Frank must have planned that day for some time and waited for an opportunity, or maybe he knew my mother would be at the hospital all that day and planned it accordingly.

I sometimes played under the house, bouncing a ball on the crossbeams. (Older houses in Queensland were built on stumps and many of them, like ours, were “high blocked” being about seven feet off the ground and allowing standing room under the house. The space was often used for a garage and laundry. Ours had palings round the outside and a dirt floor.)  It was rainy that day.

I wonder how long it took Frank to collect the four Huntsman (Tarantula) spiders? And how did he manage to get them into the four big Bushells coffee jars? I’m sure he would never have touched them!

Huntsman spider

Frank quietly came up behind me as I was bouncing the ball on the cross beams and grabbed me. He had some rope and tied me round the waist to one of the posts. My arms were free and I could move a little, but I couldn’t untie the rope because it was long and he tied the ends round the next post. I didn’t know what to expect but at that stage I wasn’t really frightened. I thought he was just going to leave me tied there, much as Agnes had left me in the coal shed a few years previously. Maybe he merely wanted me as a captive while he reinforced his opinion that I was totally evil, a complete failure, unwanted, useless and had no right to live. Well, I could take that. I thought he probably expected me to cry or get angry or be frightened, so I tried to make out that his behaviour didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t get upset and give him that satisfaction.

He went over to the trunk where he kept his tools. Then he brought back two big Bushells coffee jars with holes punched in the lids. Each jar contained a very big, very hairy Huntsman spider. He put them down on the dirt floor and went back for two more. What was he going to do? I began to get frightened. He taunted me with them, holding one jar against my face. Sure, it was in the jar, but that didn’t make it less frightening. I tried to push him away, but I couldn’t. I screamed. He grabbed a length of rag and gagged me with it.

He had such an evil grin. Then, with a really horrible laugh he removed the lid on the first jar. He pulled at the neck of my dress and dropped the spider inside. I tore at my clothes and eventually pulled my dress off. It was buttoned down the front and it came off easily. The spider was clinging to the dress so I pulled the dress through the rope and threw it as far as I could. Gone was my determination not to show fear! I was terrified! What was he going to do?

I had on a vest and he repeated the procedure with the second jar. It was crawling on my skin! It was scratching around. I had to get it off me! I stripped off my vest. I was only 11 years old. I had no shape yet but he was jumping around, scratching himself and laughing. He jeered at me, asking why I had two little pimples. Surely I didn’t think any man would ever want me if that was all I had? Would I like him to pull them and make them bigger? His voice was horrible. He kept taunting me and poking at me and I tried to fight him off, but I was terrified.

He taunted me that maybe I wasn’t a girl after all – maybe I was really a boy – and he reached for the next jar. He pulled my pants out at the waist and in went the next Huntsman. It was a really big, black one. I thought I would go crazy. I couldn’t stand it! I think the spider might have been as scared as I was. It scampered about, scratching me. I had no alternative. I tore my pants getting them off. He continued his jeering, his dark brown eyes gleaming, his wicked laughter echoing through my head.

Well, so I wasn’t a boy after all! If I wasn’t a girl or a boy, I must be a freak. Yes, that’s it – a freak! Maybe he could sell me to a circus or maybe side-show alley. Lots of people would pay to see a freak like me! Freak, yes – but no one else would ever want me!

He hardly touched me except to poke me while hurling insults. He looked so evil. His eyes were flashing. I can still see those evil eyes and for many years I couldn’t force myself to look at anyone with brown eyes.

I was terrified.  By this time I was crouching down, quivering, whimpering, trying to cover myself, hating myself, and trying to look around to make sure those spiders weren’t near me. I have since wondered why I didn’t hate him but I was only conscious of hating MYSELF for being so freakish and so evil. I felt sick. Then he picked up the last jar and I was petrified. What could he do now?

As he came nearer I clawed at him and tried to dodge him. I hit out at him but he only laughed more – that horrible, evil cackle! He moved away a little to open the jar and came back at me. I tried to scream. Then the jar came down hard on my head, upside down. I wriggled. I squirmed. I tried to move out, but it was useless. He held it there. I could feel the spider scratching around in my hair. My head felt like it was spinning. His beady brown eyes showed he was enjoying the torment I suffered. I felt woozy.

He said I was so ugly that wearing a spider would be a big improvement to my looks and he moved the jar forward, towards my face. He yelled “Ugly freak! Ugly freak! Ugly freak!” As the jar came further forward, he raised it slightly. I could see a big hairy leg poking out, coming down over my eyes, onto my face, and then another leg and the body . . . . .

His laughter seemed to be a long way away. Mercifully, I must have fainted. (That was the first time I had ever fainted, but later during my teenage years and young adult life I fainted quite often, mostly when emotionally upset. I think fainting became my way of escape; my way of running away from emotional problems.)

When I came to, I was lying by the post with my clothes draped over me. He was gone. The empty jars were there, but nothing else. I threw the clothes off me, thinking the spiders might still be there, but there was no sign of them. I could hardly bear it, but I put the dress round me to sneak upstairs to my room. He wasn’t in the house. He came home with my mother, telling her he had been worried about her so went to meet her.

I made sure I was never alone with him again and he never touched me again, but every day, at every opportunity, for the next 11 years, he would hiss at me that I was an ugly freak; I was totally evil; no one would ever want me, so I might as well do the world a favour and kill myself.

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About meetingintheclouds

I am Cloudwatcher, a 76 year old Christian lady, happily married to a wonderful man for over 50 years. We have five wonderful sons, all with at least one University degree and in top positions in their chosen fields. One son is still single but four have found perfect wives and they have given us five lovely grandchildren. I was born in England and while I'm proud of my English heritage, I am doubly proud to be a true-blue, fair-dinkum Aussie. My husband and I are committed Christians whose first priority is to love and serve our risen Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. My life story will tell of my journey from abuse to peace. I suffered 22 years of abuse, being constantly told I was totally evil and an ugly freak: no one would ever want me, so I might as well do the world a favour and kill myself.
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10 Responses to Part 4 – Evil personified and I become an ugly freak. (that unforgettable day under the house)

  1. Angela. I am so sorry this happened to you. It must have taken a great deal of bravery to write it. May God bless and complete your healing process.

    Liked by 1 person

    • J, it might seem a funny thing to say, but I am NOT sorry it happened. I wouldn’t want to go through it again, and yes, it gave me nightmares for many years, but I am thankful for that and for the 22 years of abuse, because it gave me a much deeper appreciation of my God and the life HE gives and He used all of it to make me what I am today and to give me a ministry which many can not have. I praise Him for taking me through those years (even though I did not know Him at the time) and for keeping me sane through them and for healing the memories.

      Truly, we serve an incredibly amazing God!

      Like

  2. Denise Hisey says:

    Your story touches me deep in my soul….thank you for sharing it.

    Like

    • Thanks Denise.
      Whenever I think of those years, I marvel afresh at the great love of my heavenly Father and how He intervened in my life and changed me completely, making me a totally new person. I pray that my story exalts HIM, for He alone is worthy.
      Angela

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  3. God Bless you. You seem very lucid and have managed to maintain a lot of detail. I have forgotten most bad things that happened to me while growing up in an abusive family, unless one of my siblings brings something up. Some traumatic episodes I developed selective amnesia for many years so much so that when the incident was mentioned to me, which it shouldn’t have been, I thought they were insane and asked them what they were talking about. It wasn’t until I spoke with other people that were incredulous to the fact that I did not know what they were talking about but began to remember. Soon after that, the life that I managed to build began to crumble because it should have never been built in the first place. I have very slowly done the best I can rebuilding and trying to thrive instead of survive. Can’t complain, but do. I am so happy that you had managed to find someone to share your life with and heal. You do know what I do and that is the evil ones are far worse off then the ones they torture and how sad that they fool themselves into giving their souls away for this kind of power over others. Stupidity and evil walk hand in hand.

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    • I was about 11-12 when that happened and I remember it very clearly. The abuse continued until I was 22 years old (and after that, to a lesser degree, for another two years). My life changed completely when I was 22 (as detailed in the next blogs).

      I can now honestly say that I am THANKFUL for everything that happened to me in those years, because it helped to make me what I am today and gave me a ministry to others who were/are abused.

      After three abusive ‘fathers’ I found that the perfect Father God had adopted me into His own family and for the last 54 years He has cared for me as His much-loved child.

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  4. pbus1 says:

    Wow! I just finished reading your compelling life story!!! Each time I completed one part of the story, I moved on to the next, captivated by what I had read just before. You are blessed and highly favored, and a living testimony of the saving grace of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ! This story must be so encouraging to those who have suffered abuse during their lives. How wonderful of you, to share your story with others. May God continue to richly bless, and to keep you in His care!

    Like

    • Thank you, but I know you know that my story is ALL about HIM! Yes, I was and am very blessed, but not because of me. It was all His work.

      I praise my Redeemer that He has used my story to help many people. He has brought me into contact with many abused children and with adults who were abused as children and He has helped them through me. What a privilege to be used by Him! I am now thankful for all that happened to me.

      Like

  5. snowgood says:

    How can anyone be so cruel? Ever since The Fall man has been entrapped by sin, but this depravity sounds intolerable. I was abused once (by a stranger) about 36 years ago. Somehow the fateful moments came back to me a few months back, but I felt nothing. There was no sense of horror, there has been no cloud hanging over me.

    The weeks following were at times harrowing, but I thank God that He took all the hurt away.

    Stephen

    Like

    • Since accepting that his attitude towards me was not normal (I had always believed I was the one at fault) I have often wondered what sort of a childhood he experienced to make him what he was.

      I will never forget the absolute terror in his eyes as he was dying. He was in mental torment. I felt so much pity for him but could do nothing to ease his passing. He would not believe.

      While that day caused me nightmares for many years, it now has no effect on me. My Father gave me complete release from all fears and His perfect peace.

      Like

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