Earlier this year I visited our decaying house in Oyster Creek and took some footage with the hope of creating a documentary project with stories from family members and childhood friends. Last night, with an urge to be creative and have some fun, I decided to return to my horror film roots and edit this short piece together. The haunting tone reflects how I sometimes felt as a child in this old house, wondering if the devil himself or a deranged madman peeped through the windows as my brothers and I watched television or chased each other through the house. The fear, coupled with other life’s circumstances, fed into my anxiety, that has been with me since.
“I can still smell and taste her moistness, as if just yesterday we had made crazy love alongside the springs where we would picnic. This was, of course, long before they committed her to a psychiatric hospital, no less frightening a place than the lunatic asylums of the past. She had murdered her father, stabbing him countless times and with such contempt, her wrists shattered in the process. A horrible act, indeed, but undoubtedly justified. Those heinous things he did to her as a child drove my innocent Rebecca insane.” From My Rebecca, Insane
no one understood rebecca like i did. the poor soul had been damaged by abuses from her father. my rebecca, insane had been robbed from all that life offered. she only knew chaos.