Matriarch to Madness

By Susan Csoke

To get my offspring away from the violence and drive-by shootings of Yonkers, I bought a house in the country, assuming safety. But racism is everywhere and it has to stop. Our home was shot up as everyone slept. My grandbaby was nearly killed in her crib. An innocent puppy was blown in half. A family was divided. And that was all before we found out that our home was haunted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642984385

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Matriarch to Madness

Susan Csoke

Copyright © 2018 Susan Csoke

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2018

ISBN 978-1-64298-437-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64298-438-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

THE

CSOKE

HOME

As with my first book Open House Sales Xtravaganza, my second book, Matriarch to Madness, is my legacy to all of my offspring and my extended offspring, as well as my future offspring.

Through my books, I will be with you always and forever.

Me! Mom

Grandma

GG Ma

Sue

Touching Lives

When God pushes you to the edge, trust Him completely because only two things can happen: either He will catch you when you fall, or He will teach you how to survive.

Storms

A vessel is tossed in the sea to and fro by the treacherous storms of one’s own crossbow.

Storms may come, and storms may go. These are just tests to you. God will show.

Storms may be harsh, or storms may be mild. It’s really up to you, for you are God’s child.

If you keep ignoring what God wants for you, you may see some storms like you never knew.

Storms are God’s way of making you strong. Go through your storms. Be tried and true.

And God’s light will shine in this vessel called you.

Remember, growing older is mandatory. Growing up is optional.

God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage.

My dream home in the country turned out to be my worst nightmare. Buyer beware!

We were highlanders in a biased village.

My home was once a hospital. I was intrigued, not realizing that much death must have occurred. By the time I tried to get out, it was too late.

The paranormal in my home gave me a hell of a challenge. My faith in God and my love for my offspring got me out alive.

Love, faith, and endurance are what pulled me through.

Each time – each battle.

The Truth

The truth is hard.

The truth is hidden.

The truth must be pursued.

The truth is hard to hear.

The truth is rarely simple.

The truth isn’t so obvious.

The truth is necessary.

The truth can’t be glossed over.

The truth has no agenda.

The truth can’t be manufactured.

The truth doesn’t take sides.

The truth isn’t red or blue.

The truth is hard to accept.

The truth pulls no punches.

The truth is powerful.

The truth is under attack.

The truth is worth defending.

The truth requires taking a stand.

The truth is more important now than ever.

-The New York Times

Acknowledgments

Iwant to thank the following who donated for a copy of my first book and weren’t mentioned.

Janiah—my great granddaughter

Alex P.—family friend

K>L> Sh>>>>>>> – A Facebook author friend

Thank you

Also, a big thank you to Mark Sussman. If he hadn’t insisted on my sending in my first manuscript as is, I never would have gotten published. He felt my weakness through my neurotic crying, and instead of hanging up on me (many times), he reinforced my spirit. And talked me through.

And Lyndie Smith for putting up with all my many idiosyncrasies and dreams of grandeur and my crying. She kept me focused and on track.

Thank you, both.

We believed in ghosts about as much as we believed in the boogeyman.

That house could turn a crazy person sane just as quickly as it could turn a sane person crazy.

Ihope that you will enjoy my book. I had to reach deep inside myself to relive each chapter as I wrote it again and again and again before it was ready for presentation to a publisher. It actually drained me mentally and physically even more so than my first book Open House Sales Xtravaganza did.

Each book is a stand-alone.

Part 1

Trials and Tribulations

of Living in a Haunted House

in a Racist Village

Chapter 1

Shattered Silence

October 19, 1996

It was well past midnight. Everyone in our home was asleep.

Total Silence.

And then . . .

One of our occupants’ car alarm rang off, then another and another.

White Boy was the first one to go out onto the porch since it was his car alarm which sounded first. He pushed the light switch, but the lights were not working.

Even the streetlights on either side of our home were out, making visibility minimal. (We later found out that the porch light bulbs had been unscrewed.)

White Boy exited through the main front door and walked to his right, down toward the lower end of the porch where everyone’s vehicles were parked, alarms now blaring, breaking the night’s silence.

Before he could step down the stairs off the porch to his car, White Boy was hit with a blunt object across his head. He went down, holding back the flow of blood with both hands.

A shotgun blast rang out, followed by five or six more. The screen door was shot off of one of its hinges. The door behind it was riddled with bullets and buckshot.

The porch wall was also full of buckshot and bullets. Chunks of my house were shot out.

Baby Mariah (my granddaughter) was asleep in her crib directly behind that bullet-riddled wall.

When Carlos heard the first blast he jumped out of bed and grabbed Mariah from her crib. At the same time, Annie picked up Tiffany from her bed. Both babies were now screaming and crying.

Carlos quickly rushed them into the storage room to hide them under the wall-to-wall table. He then locked the doors surrounding that room. It was the safest place to hide.

Crying quietly and hugging her two babies close to the floor, she prayed that the villagers didn’t get in.

Carlos walked through the kitchen and through the living room. Stevie had come out of his room upon hearing the blasts of gunfire and walked alongside Carlos.

When they opened the front door—which opened inward—they could barely see as a shotgun was pointed in their face. Carlos swung his arm upward to push the gun away.

Boom! It barely missed. Both boys were sprayed with buckshot.

White Boy was pulled inside to safety. He was bleeding profusely.

The victims of that ambush tried to call for help, but we didn’t have 911 and the phone was dead. (At the time, our village didn’t have a 911 setup and someone had actually cut our phone lines and cell phones didn’t exist.)

Meanwhile, someone tried to bring White Boy out through the back door, but the villagers had the house surrounded and the victims inside were cut off from the outside world.

The tenants upstairs came running downstairs and out onto the front porch. An innocent puppy followed his owner. The son of a supposedly reputable (?) family had the biggest gun. It was called an elephant gun because it could penetrate any obstruction. Well, sad for me to say, but that son of a bitch took aim at that innocent puppy and pulled the trigger.

(How ironic, the house was called a white elephant.)

There was no less than twenty-five villagers that night, maybe twelve to fifteen cars and pickup trucks. As they left and drove away, the law arrived. The law stated that they didn’t see anyone or anything. All the neighbors who watched said the same thing.

The victims knew who these people were, and they said so. Yet a report was never even written until days later upon my insistence.

Not that it mattered.

The following evening, the villagers struck again, firing three or four more shots at our home.

An innocent child—my granddaughter—was nearly killed as she slept in her crib. My other granddaughter, as well as tenants’ children were also still in the house. Those people couldn’t care less as they raised their weapons and fired. It was not long after that Carlos, Annie, Mariah, Tiffany, and June all left. The village had left them no choice. My family was torn apart.

Chapter 2

Cruelty to Humans/Us

Halloween came and went. I felt bad for the kids in town; they couldn’t go trick or treating. Because of the shootings, Halloween was shut down in our village and town. Signs were posted: No trick or treating.

The harassment