A Young Man’S Living Nightmare: A True Story of Deadly Domination

By BJ JOHNSON

A Young Mans Living Nightmare is more than a story of domestic violence. Its also a story full of hope. Read it to find out how psychological hostages are created. But more, be inspired as BJs will to live a life of his own rises up and sets him free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543426168

BJ JOHNSON

FOR BJ JOHNSON, growing up in the heart of Augusta Georgia wasn’t easy. Raised by caution great-grandmother, in shot gun house with the windows nailed shut. BJ was usually isolated from the other kids. He has his fun, though. A life-long music lover, BJ recorded songs from the radio and dreamed of becoming a deejay. And he often went fishing with his favourite aunt, who lived next door. It was Sophie that jumped in and recued BJ when he fell into the lake. She also protected him from neighbourhood bullies. Everyone knew Sophie didn’t put up with nonsense. As BJ got older, though, he began to realize his aunt’s behaviour wasn’t entirely normal. When his great-grandmother died just weeks after his high school graduation, BJ knew he needed to go to New York to be with his mother, brother and sister. But Sophie had other plans. She blamed BJ for this great-grandmother’s death, so that his family would be afraid of him. Then she terrorized BJ into supporting her financially for the next 13 years, using her accusations and psychic warning to keep him under her domination.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

M y name is BJ Johnson. My great-grandmother raised me until I was almost 18 years old. She died in 1970. When that happened, what I had feared for some time became a reality. I had no choice but to move in next door with my psychotic Aunt Sophie, my great-grandmother’s oldest daughter.

It was many years before I felt ready to tell this story, and I’m grateful for the assistance I’ve received during this process. Specifically, I want to thank Sara Peterson Maloney for typing the early draft of the manuscript, as well as my copyeditor, Christie McKaskle.

What follows is the story of my life with Aunt Sophie and how I finally escaped her paranoid domination.

–1–

I grew up in a shotgun house. If you don’t know, that’s a long narrow house with rooms arranged one behind the other. The house was made of wood, and it was cold in the winter and hot in the summer.

In my house, the windows were nailed down all year round, so the summers were even hotter than they had to be.

While I was growing up, my hobbies were playing marbles and collecting comic books. I was the only kid in the neighborhood with very little freedom. While other kids played games in the street, I could only sit on the front porch and watch them. The kids would go other places I could not go, such as the fair and Monday night wrestling at the Bell Auditorium. I would often be ridiculed, because I could not go places like the other kids. The one thing I was allowed to do was go to the theater in the summertime. That’s because the theater was just around the corner from my house.

Sometimes my guardians would allow the other kids to come in my yard and play games with me, but I had to be in the house by sundown.

While they played hide and seek at night, I was already in the house.

My grammar school was just a few blocks from my house. School was out at 3 p.m. I had to be home by 3:15, or else I would get a whipping.

Most of the time I played alone in my yard, and I had my own imaginary friends. By the time I was 15 years old, I was allowed to work at an adopted aunt’s café around the corner from my house. I would work before school or sometimes in the evening. During the time that I was growing up, great-grandmother, my godmother and my aunt had influence on my life.

My great-grandmother was a tall, light-skinned lady. She could not read or write, but she had great talent in making quilts. She was supported by welfare services, and she provided for me for almost 18 years.

My godmother was a very strict schoolteacher and religious person who lived two doors down from us. She was responsible for teaching me many things, from how to read the Bible and pray, to how to do math and other schoolwork. She provided for me as if I were her own son.

My Aunt Sop lived next door to us. Her real name was Sophie. She was my favorite person to be around. I followed my aunt everywhere.

One of my favorite things was going fishing with my aunt. One day, I accidentally fell into the lake. Sop immediately jumped in and rescued me. My aunt was notorious for inflicting corporal punishment on me. In other words, she whipped my ass, because I was notorious for sassing out my great grandmother and slipping out of the house at night.

Sop was the oldest of my great-grandmother’s children and had only a fourth grade education. But in spite of her lack of education, she was a gifted person. She had well-developed psychic abilities. She could predict a person’s death or other occurrences. In fact, she was very dangerous with her psychic ability, but her tongue was even more dangerous. If she’d had the power to kill people just by word of mouth, she would have killed many people in her lifetime.

As I grew older, I began to notice much about my aunt’s behavior that was disturbing. People said she had a temper like her mother, but my great-grandmother’s temper was nothing like Sop’s temper. My aunt had a very violent temper, and in fact it was frightening.

One morning, a boyfriend of hers decided to cheat on my aunt. They were supposed to go fishing that morning, but he decided to go fishing elsewhere in the neighborhood instead. He boldly parked his car in front of my aunt’s house, thinking that she was asleep. He slipped down the street to another lady’s house, a lady that was supposed to be my aunt’s best friend. Sop was standing outside when he came back.

UH-HUH! You son-of-a-bitch, I caught you! I TOLD you I would catch you! Now I’m gonna FIX you!

When I heard that voice, I ran to the living room window. My aunt was in our next-door neighbor’s flower garden, throwing bricks at the sixfeet—tall, well-over-200-lbs man, striking him everywhere.

When she ran out of bricks, Sop ran over to his car. Her boyfriend tried to grab her, but she just fought him off. Snatching all of the fishing poles off of his car, one at a time, she beat him with each pole until it broke in half. This was around 6 or 7 a.m. People were standing in the street and on porches, watching my aunt display her violent temper before they’d even had their breakfast. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a 22-caliber gun. Everybody standing in the street and on the porches ran for cover. She fired the gun at him several times, but missed.

Leave that car right there, and take your sorry-no-good-ass home to your wife, before I kill you!

The defeated man went limping down the street. Later, he sent a friend back to get the car. The friend’s name was More Gas, and he had killed several people in his lifetime. Still, he was trembling as he knocked on my aunt’s door, because he had witnessed what transpired that morning. When Sop answered the door, he said, Uh, can I, uh, get Mr. Goolsby’s car?

Yeah! Git it, and git it on out of here, now!

He hurried into the car and drove off.

For weeks, the kids in the neighborhood, especially the girls, ridiculed me about that morning. When they saw me coming down the street, they would point at me with their fingers and go, POW! POW!

A bully attacked me at the corner store one day, and I ran home to get my aunt. I knew that she wasn’t afraid of anyone and didn’t take any foolishness from anybody. Sop put her gun in her apron pocket, and we went to the corner store.

The bully was still standing on the corner, waiting along with some other guys. My aunt walked up to the bully, who had his arms folded.

He was stocky and slightly taller than my aunt. My aunt was stocky, 5 feet tall and 150 lbs.

My nephew said you jumped on him.

I didn’t jump on him. I just hit him a couple of times, snapped the bully.

Well, don’t hit him anymore. You are twice his size!

But he’s older than me! protested the bully.

I don’t care, you are much bigger than him. Don’t hit him again, you hear me?

The bully rolled his eyes at my aunt. My aunt placed her hand on the gun in her apron pocket. You can roll those eyes all you want to! If you want to hit somebody, HIT ME! she yelled.

The bully unfolded his arms. There was silence for a moment, and several other kids walked up to watch. The bully just stood there and rolled his eyes as my aunt stared in his face. My aunt pointed at the bully and said, Don’t you ever hit him again, as we walked off slowly.

One day, my aunt was sitting in my great-grandmother’s front room, and my great-grandmother was sitting across her bed. They had been talking for a while when my aunt started to get in her mother’s business. Every time I look, you are buying this and that for BJ. You are neglecting yourself.

See here now, this is my money. You don’t tell me how to spend it, my great-grandmother said.

You are doing more for him than you did for any of us. I don’t see no sense in spending money on food just for him to eat up.

My great-grandmother began to frown. Sop, go on back over to your house, and stay out of my business.

My aunt jumped up yelling, You are going to be SORRY you said that to ME! You got one foot in the grave, and one foot out. Before this year is out, you’ll be gone, and BJ will be the cause of your death! She slammed the door and went storming back to her house.

I said to myself, I hope and pray that my great-grandmother will live until she gets to be 100 years old. I never, ever want to live with that bitch!

In 1970, three things happened that I would never forget. First was the May 11th riot. It started off as a peaceful march downtown to protest the beating and killing of a young black man in jail. Then a cop yelled out to the marchers an inflammatory slur.

The riot started somewhere downtown in the afternoon and spread throughout the neighborhood I lived in. Every store in my neighborhood was either looted or destroyed by fire. Two young white men drove through my neighborhood, and rioters threw bricks at their Volkswagen.

They escaped with a broken windshield.

A young white girl was driving down my street, and she was stopped and harassed, before she was finally let go. An assailant ambushed a cop who was one of the toughest, besides being one of the few blacks on the police force. When he attempted to arrest a looter, the cop was shot and paralyzed for life.

Six black men were shot in the back and killed by police. I knew one of the men from junior high school. While the march may have begun with peaceful intentions, the result of the riot was destruction, violence, and death. After the riot, there was great concern for better race relations in Augusta, Georgia.

The second big event was my graduation. I graduated from high school on June 6, 1970, the happiest day of my life. The only disappointment was that my great-grandmother could not attend, because of illness. My aunt and godmother attended, and they were proud of me.

Third, my great-grandmother died on June 29, 1970. It was the saddest day of my life. My aunt had angrily predicted her death several months prior.

My great-grandmother’s death would drastically affect my life for years to come. I was faced with something I had feared for a while, living with my aunt. But it was okay. I had decided I would go back to New York with my mother.

–2–

I t was a humid and hot evening on June 29, 1970. I sat in my great-grandmother’s front room, facing my next-door neighbor and Aunt Sop. My aunt was sitting by the window next to my greatgrandmother’s bed, and my neighbor was sitting on the other side of the bed.

My aunt and my neighbor were talking while I thought about earlier that afternoon, when my Aunt Martha, who lived about 5 miles from my house, had visited us. She told me secretly, BJ, your best friend is gone now. You know how mean my sister Sop is. You won’t be able to stay with her. You go on back to New York with your mother.

I intend to, Aunt Martha.

As if reading my thoughts, my neighbor now asked, Well, BJ, are you going to stay here with your aunt, or go back to New York with your mother?

I’m going back to New York with my mother, I replied quickly.

My aunt frowned.

Well, BJ, the neighbor continued, just remember who took care of you ever since you was a baby. Never forget Mrs. Leila Johnson. When you come down from New York to visit, don’t forget to visit her grave.

"No, ma’am, I won’t forget.

She did a lot for you, said my neighbor.

More than enough, my aunt added.

While my neighbor continued to talk, my aunt kept cutting her eyes and frowning at me. Later, after our next-door neighbor left, my aunt picked up the phone, and called her sister, Martha. I just want to tell you this, there is something not right about our mother’s death.

What do you mean, Sop?

"BJ did not let me know anything until Mama was just about dead.

When we got to the emergency room, the doctor asked about doing a autopsy, and BJ yelled, ‘NO! NO!’ Then, Martha, when the coroner was looking for him, he had disappeared somewhere. The coroner thinks Mama’s death might have been foul play."

Where is he now? asked Martha.

My aunt glanced over at me. He’s sitting right here, looking like he wants to get up and run somewhere. I tell you this, Martha. When Bessie gets here, and if she says to take autopsy on Mama, we are going to take autopsy, and if they say that Mama was killed, somebody is going to the penitentiary.

I did not like her insinuation. Not one bit. I had heard enough.

I got up and went outside. Sitting in my great-grandmother’s favorite place, her porch swing, I thought maybe I should have let Sop answer the doctor’s question. I remember she was the one that always used to say she didn’t want her mother cut up when she died. That was the only reason I had said No to the doctor. Sop did not say anything after I spoke. She just asked what an autopsy was. She is starting to get on my nerves already, I thought. I will be so glad when Louise gets here. The quicker I leave from here, the better for me.

Just then, Mrs. Wilkes, my aunt’s adopted sister, and her husband drove up. They got out of the car. Mrs. Wilkes came up on the porch, embraced me and gave me her condolences. Mr. Wilkes shook my hand.

Sorry about your grandmother, he said.

BJ, I want you to come to the café in the morning. I’m going to fix breakfast for you, said Mrs. Wilkes.

Okay, I’ll be there, I replied.

My Aunt Sop came to the door and invited Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes into the house. I decided to stay outside. I hoped she wouldn’t say anything to damage my relationship with Mrs. Wilkes.

After Mrs. Wilkes and her husband left, my aunt was about to go back to her house.

I’m going to stay here tonight, I said.

Why? Don’t you know that dead people walk around before they are buried?

I’m not scared.

Yeah! You ought not to be scared. Sop walked out the door and to her house. I was glad she left. I knew she believed in ghosts, but I didn’t.

She claimed to have seen her dead husband many times.

My great-grandmother had believed in ghosts, too. I could remember something she had told me when she was alive. She said she was sitting on the bed one day, and all of a sudden it got real cold. She could feel someone’s hand rubbing her on her face, and then the cold went away. This was in the summer time, with our windows nailed shut. This happened to her many times. She believed it was some of her dead relatives visiting her from the grave.

That night, I slept with the light on in the dining room, which was next to my bedroom. My radio was pretty loud, too. I fell asleep and woke up after several hours. I was opening my eyes slowly when I saw an image of my great-grandmother standing at the threshold between her room and mine. As I opened my eyes completely, the image disappeared.

The next morning I got up wondering whether I really did see my great-grandmother’s ghost, or was it my imagination? I decided not to tell my aunt what I had seen.

As I walked into Sop’s house, she was on the phone. Yes, ma’am, he’s here now… Yes, ma’am, I will tell him… Are you going to arrest him? . . . Yes, ma’am, I will tell him. She hung up the phone.

Who was that?

That was the lady from downtown! She said don’t you leave town!

Sop replied.

What lady?

She didn’t give me her name. She wants to question you about Mama’s death. So don’t leave town, my aunt said.

I’m going to Mrs. Wilkes’s café. She is fixing me breakfast this morning. I hurried out the door and down the street.

She is lying, I said to myself.

Later that day, Big Mama and my brother and sister arrived in a cab.

Big Mama was still big as ever. She was around 5 ft. 8 in. and 210 pounds. My brother was 12 years old and my sister was 6.

Big Mama stayed with my aunt. My brother and sister stayed with me. We had lots of fun together. We went and got burgers, and then we talked for a while. BJ, are you going back to New York with us, now that Mama Leila is dead? asked Sugarfoot.

I intend to, and I can’t wait, I replied. Looking at my brother and sister I asked, Does it snow a lot?

Yeah, sometimes too much my sister replied.

What is too much? I asked.

A couple of feet, replied my brother.

Oh, boy! I would love to see that kind of snow! I exclaimed.

Suddenly I heard footsteps coming up on the porch.

BJ, open the door. Big Mama walked in. BJ, Louise and Earnest will be here tomorrow. They are taking the plane, she said. Did Mama have any money anywhere?

I don’t know, I replied. Why do you ask?

Sop said you stayed over here all night, and maybe you found her money.

I looked Big Mama straight in her eyes. I stayed over here to sleep in my own bed. Aunt Sophie had all the keys to Mama’s dresser drawers.

Big Mama nodded and went back out the door.

Now, why in the hell would she tell Big Mama that? I wondered.

What else has she said that’s not true?

The next day, my brother and I were returning from the store. From a distance, I saw a man sitting on my aunt’s porch. As we got closer, I asked, Is that Earnest?

Yes, replied Sugarfoot.

We walked up on the porch, and Sugarfoot introduced me. Earnest, this is my brother, BJ.

Extending his hand, Earnest said, BJ, I’m pleased to meet you. I heard a lot about you.

Shaking his hand, I said sincerely, I hope it’s all good.

He chuckled, Louise is in the house.

I went into my aunt’s house. My mother Louise was sitting there.

When she saw me, she got up from her chair and embraced me.

Hello, Louise, I’m glad to see you.

I’m glad to see you, too.

Suddenly my aunt said, Louise says you can’t go back to New York with them.

I glanced at my aunt, and then I looked at Louise. Why? But Louise did not say a word as she sat back down.

You have to go to school, said Big Mama.

I was so disappointed; all I could do was sigh as I left in a hurry.

Later that evening, my brother, sister and I were watching television.

I begin to think, "I just know my aunt told some kind of lie to Louise.

And with Big Mama it’s obvious, since she told Big Mama I stayed over here to steal her mama’s money. I don’t even know if her mama had any money. Only my aunt would know, because she had all the keys to everything except the front door."

Suddenly, I heard Big Mama calling me, BJ! BJ!

I got up and hurried to the door. Ma’am?

Come here quick! There’s something wrong with Sop.

I hurried into my aunt’s house and saw she was lying on the couch, having convulsions. Louise was holding her down.

What happened? I asked.

She was talking to us one minute, and the next minute she slumped over and began to shake all over, replied Louise.

I remembered the first time I saw my Aunt Sop have a seizure.

She was arguing with her mother, and later she blamed her mother for causing her to have that seizure. I wondered who she was going to blame this time.

Sop was a heart patient. She’d had heart problems for some time now. It seemed to me it made no difference whether she was a heart patient or not, because she raised hell, anyway.

Finally, the convulsions stopped, and Sop’s hands dropped to her sides on the couch. She was lying as still as if she were dead. Perhaps it would be better if she dies, I couldn’t help thinking. Then I could go to New York with my mother.

Louise was checking my aunt’s pulse. My mother was a nurse who had seen many sick people, but she acted as if she did not understand what was happening to my aunt.

A minute later my aunt started to move. Take me to the hospital, she mumbled.

Call the ambulance, BJ, said Big Mama.

No! I don’t want the neighbors to see a ambulance come here. Just call a cab, Sop mumbled.

About 45 minutes later, we were in the emergency room. I was the only one who went to the emergency room with her. They took my aunt right away, because she was a heart patient. An hour later, the doctor allowed me into the room to see her.

BJ, call Bessie and tell her I’m dying, she said.

What? I exclaimed.

She repeated, Call Bessie and tell her I’m dying.

So I went to call Big Mama. How does she know that she’s dying, or is she? I said to myself.

Hey, Big Mama. Auntie says she’s dying.

Oh, yeah? Well, what’s wrong with her? asked Big Mama.

I don’t think the doctor knows, I replied.

Suddenly she said, Aw, ain’t nothing wrong with her. Sop just putting on.

Okay, I’ll call you later if her condition worsens. I hung up the phone. I had expected more of a response from her, but that’s Big Mama. She doesn’t get emotional over anything.

About an hour later, the doctor discharged my aunt. He told her to go home, rest and avoid getting upset. Her blood pressure was high, so he advised her to make an appointment with her regular physician. As for the seizure, he didn’t know what caused it.

That Sunday was my great-grandmother’s funeral, and my aunt was up and about. I’m not going to miss my mother’s funeral. I’m going whether I’m sick or not, she said.

After the funeral that Sunday evening, my mother, grandmother, aunt and I were sitting on the porch.

Mama didn’t look like herself at all. She was light skinned. Why was she so dark today? asked Louise.

She probably had a stroke, replied Big Mama.

Auntie did not say a word, but she frowned slightly, as if she wanted to say something.

That night I told my brother and sister how disappointed I was about not being able to go back with them. Damn! I sure hate to stay here with Aunt Sophie, but it’s look like I don’t have any choice.

Yeah, BJ. After we all got back from Gladys’s house yesterday, we heard Earnest and Louise talking about it over at Aunt Sophie’s house, said Sugarfoot.

Well, what did they say? I asked.

Earnest was going to ask you to come up there after you finish trade school, but then Louise said, You ain’t got no place for yourself. How in the hell are you going to ask BJ to come to New York? I’m going to put your ass out when we get back."

My sister Yolanda laughed.

That night in bed I thought, I just know my aunt had something to do with Louise’s decision.

–3–

T he next day, everybody had left for New York. Now, it was just my aunt and I. My aunt said, They sure went back in a hurry.

Yeah, they sure did, I said.

I know why they went back so soon. They didn’t want to be around you.

Didn’t want to be around me?

My aunt just frowned and turned her head in the other direction.

She didn’t say another word.

A week later, I had turned 18 years old. I’m going down to the draft office, I said. I have to register for the draft.

My aunt looked at