The Silent Directive is a horror podcast. There
are many themes some users may find disturbing.
Please check the description before listening.
Thank you. The Silent Directive Episode 2 The
Paiwan Effigy After I became what I am, it took
me at least a month to regain consciousness.
If I wasn't careful, it would have never happened.
I would have been lost in the vast space of everything
ever. But I had a plan. An anchor. I used my
name as my anchor. By saying my name on the tapes,
I anchored myself to you, my listeners. But when
I first regained consciousness, I wasn't in a
location. I was fragmented across eons of space.
Over the course of several months, I slowly collected
my being. I didn't have control over it. I still
don't. I simply find myself where I need to be.
Around to watch something happen. My first memory,
the story I first observed, was one about an
effigy. I wasn't watching like you would, not
in a true linear fashion. I didn't know how the
story would end, but I knew more details than
I had observed. The first thing I remember seeing
was a prison visitation room. It was an older
woman speaking to her middle -aged son. I knew
instantly he was in prison for murder. Violent
murder. premeditated and horrible. This man was
not a good person. But the woman, his elderly
mother, she was. She was there to visit and forgive
him. She loved her son and truly believed he
could be redeemed. She was a religious woman,
but her religion would not save her son from
the death penalty he was facing. Some people
believe humans don't naturally have the capacity
for violence, that it's only taught by our society.
Others think differently. They believe humans
have the inherent, natural, instinctual capacity
for violence. I don't know which is true, even
based on what I've seen. But I do know this.
Humans have equal capacity and instinct for peace
and for violence. Which, if you ask me, makes
the choice of violence much, much more sickening.
Her son was the latter. He chose violence, and
he liked the feel of it. Maybe he was born wrong,
maybe he was forged by experiences. Either way,
three women were dead, their skulls caved in
from the meat tenderizer he used. And he liked
that feeling of the crunch underneath his hands.
This mother still believed in her son. She came
to visit that day because she felt it would be
the last time she would ever see him. He had
received the death penalty because he had pleaded
guilty in court. This alone did not earn him
the death penalty, but upon seeing the utter
lack of guilt on his face during the hearing,
he was given a harsher punishment. Tomorrow night.
A handgun would be placed on his back, aimed
at his heart, and the trigger would be pulled.
The Paiwan people of Taiwan are the second largest
indigenous group of that country. This mother
was one of these people. Part of her beliefs,
as is common with many Asian cultures as well
as others, was the idea of healing dolls, or
rather, effigies. This mother wanted to save
her son's soul. While most effigies and rituals
are used for physical healing, she attempted
something new. All in an effort to maybe cleanse
her son's soul, which she believed was corrupted,
damaged, ill, not rotten. Using a lock of her
son's baby hair, she constructed one of these
effigies. She meditated and prayed all she could,
barely sleeping or eating. She wasn't there for
the execution. It wasn't public. She didn't even
know for sure when it would happen. No one did.
Only the executioner. But somehow, she knew what
happened the next night. As she meditated, she
could feel it. Hear it. The gunshot. Her candles
flickered with the echo. And that was that. He
was gone. Call it spiritual. Call it a mother's
instincts. She just knew. But I knew, just as
you do, it was not over. That it was all only
just beginning. The mother did not sleep that
night. She couldn't. She was too worried. She
was too sad. During some late hour of the night,
as she tossed and turned in bed, she took a look
around her bedroom. It was empty as usual, and
dark. The only light was the dim glow from the
moon, leaving a streak across her wall. There
was a figure standing in her doorway. She gasped,
shot up, turned on her light. There was no figure.
Her room was empty, quiet. Keeping her eyes on
the doorway, she turned her light off. There
was a shadow. No figure, no person, just a shadow.
She let out a breath of relief and laid back
down. Yet no sleep came. About three years before,
the woman's cousin had visited her home. One
of those nights, her cousin was up late, working,
sitting at the desk in the corner of the bedroom.
She struggled to sleep that night, knowing that
there was someone awake and possibly watching
her. The exact same feeling came over her in
this moment. If there was any hope of sleep before,
it was gone now. Then she found herself in the
kitchen, getting a glass of water. She wasn't
alone. She was sure of it. As she drank, she
found herself pressing her back to the fridge.
Maybe then nothing could sneak up on her. But
that was silly. She knew it. But she didn't feel
it. She felt the faint touch of a hand brushing
against the side of her arm. There was no one
there. No one. The voice coming from her bedroom
said differently. It wasn't saying anything,
but it was clear, and it was a voice. She made
up her mind to investigate. She grabbed a knife
from the kitchen and slowly made her way to her
bedroom. If she had only noticed that the other
tool she kept in the knife drawer was missing.
She turned the lamp on, casting light across
the room. It was empty. The bed was still messy.
She felt stupid, scared of the dark. She set
the knife down and turned the light back off.
As the light left the room, she was able to see
a dark figure sitting on her bed. It's back to
her. She screamed and turned the lights back
on. It was gone. It was never there. With the
knife back in her hand, she studied the room.
Had they moved? Then she noticed something that
made her blood run cold. The spot on the bed,
right where it had been sitting, was indented,
as if there was a person still sitting there.
She flipped the lights back off, and there it
was again, the figure, sitting on the bed. This
time, its back wasn't turned. It had shifted,
and it was turned to look at her. Through the
dark and disfigured and vague face, she was able
to recognize her son. She gasped. dropped the
knife, and turned the lights back on. She wanted
to see him, of course. He was here, alive and
free. As light filled the room, her son disappeared.
If only she was able to foresee. If only she
weren't blinded by innocent love, she would have
noticed the signs of danger. She just wanted
to see her son again. So she turned off the lights,
and the figure reappeared right in front of her.
She gasped in surprise and went to move away,
but it was too late. Her son leapt forward, tackling
her to the ground. She yelled and fought, still
too surprised and confused to make a choice.
He raised his arm, and his mother looked in horror,
as the last thing she saw was her own meat tenderizer
in his dark, shadowy hand. And she died. beat
to death by her own son's spirit. Because in
life, he had chosen violence, so in death it
was all he knew. And that was that. She was discovered
later on. Many in close circles believe it was
her son's spirit that killed her, while officials
stayed on the lookout for a copycat killer. But
two months after she was discovered, a close
friend of the family snuck into the house, took
the effigy, and burned it. That is all I saw
before I found myself elsewhere. I'm not sure
why that was the first thing I remember, but
it was a horrid story. An innocent, loving mother,
too trusting, too forgiving, killed by her own
son, only because she had tried to save him.
To leave a moral, if I deem it necessary, I'd
say, be careful with forgiveness. Some don't
deserve it.