{"id":25931,"date":"2020-06-15T20:00:49","date_gmt":"2020-06-16T03:00:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/?p=25931"},"modified":"2020-06-17T09:31:14","modified_gmt":"2020-06-17T16:31:14","slug":"memory-of-murder-recollection","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/memory-of-murder-recollection\/","title":{"rendered":"Memory of Murder Recollection – nocent’s Exercise in Abreaction [VIDEO]"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is part of Haunting\u2019s Recollection series \u2013 it is a complete account of nocent’<\/a>s two-part experience, <\/em>A Memory of Murder and<\/em> Initiation. It contains full spoilers and is intended for readers who have attended or could not attend the show, or are curious about this creator\u2019s work. You can read the non-spoiler review of the experience HERE<\/a>. Special thanks to 00011 for their contributions to this article. memory of murder recollection<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_empty_space][vc_video link=”https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=hWzzhqkgs_A&amp;fbclid=IwAR2KC0ZG1DndOSxwjGvd3C6djHksNRvsSk_ZV7G74I1Y9brOFeOu2UuuHFY”][vc_empty_space][\/vc_column][\/vc_row]<\/p>\n

A Memory of Murder<\/span><\/em><\/h2>\n

Greetings, I am 00014… and you have been deemed worthy of reliving your first memory.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The voice on the other end of the phone is stern, yet mysterious. He informs me that I am part of a group of hopefuls invited for a rare, in-person initiation into nocent in honor of the bissextile day.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To accept my offer, I am sent to a storage locker just outside LAX where I discover a backpack full of dirty clothes, drug paraphernalia, newspaper clippings, a plane ticket, and a note from 00013. The remnants of an event four years ago, this backpack tells the story of a grisly murder and a hasty escape to Mexico City for someone named Joseph Winkler.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

I leave an offering, and shortly afterward, I receive directions to an isolated location in Joshua Tree. With close friends and fellow initiates at my side, I drive into the desert, ready to relive the worst night of someone else\u2019s life.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Two months of confessions, emails, mysteries, and dedication have all led up to this exact moment. The combined weight of everything I\u2019ve experienced so far and everything that I\u2019m about to experience settles on me with the utmost sanctity. I make my way toward a solitary mailbox. Candlelight illuminates it from below, and the starlit desert sky from above. It\u2019s impossible to tell whether I\u2019m shivering from the cold or from the anticipation.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I reach the mailbox and open it to find a note, a flashlight, and vial of deep amber liquid. The note details the next steps of my journey:<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Take the vial containing the memory<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

remove the cork<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

inhale deeply; exhale<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

inhale deeply again; exhale<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

drink the memory<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

let it sit in your mouth<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

dwell upon it before you swallow<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

exhale<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

take the flashlight<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

walk towards the main street<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

do not cross it<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

take the dirt path to your left<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

walk until you reach the line of rocks<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

someone will meet you<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I sip the bitter tincture and hold it under my tongue, breathing deeply and allowing my mind to slip into this new reality. As instructed, I take the flashlight and begin to walk down the desert path to my left, alone in the dreamlike haze of semi-darkness. Just when I begin to wonder if I\u2019ve gotten lost, the pounding of footsteps on the path behind me startles me. I whip around to find a strange, disheveled man running toward me at breakneck speed. He\u2019s rambling something, but his words are incomprehensible over the rushing wind. The man greets me by name, but stops short when he registers the confusion in my eyes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Joey.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"A
\nHe says it in the way estranged acquaintances sometimes do, like they\u2019re not quite sure if they have to. He begins to tell me his story, his voice full of sadness, shame, and anxiety, stammering as he grapples with the words.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As he continues to speak to me, I gather that Joey and I are old childhood friends whose lives have taken very different paths. He\u2019s the kind of friend you\u2019re surprised to hear from but that nostalgia and loyalty prompt you to reconnect with, no questions asked. I follow him back along the path he met me on as we reminisce about old memories.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As we talk, I realize I may have misread the tone in Joey\u2019s voice. What I initially assumed to be excitement at our reunion begins to feel a little more like desperation. He talks very quickly, cutting me off, and keeps bringing up our promise to always have each other\u2019s back. While it\u2019s sweet at first, I become hesitant as I realize he\u2019s gearing up to ask a huge favor.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I feel as if he\u2019s manipulated my trust and nostalgia, and I wonder what sort of trouble he\u2019s in. His nervous demeanor puts me on edge, but naturally I agree to help him with whatever is troubling him. Upon hearing this, his eyes flood with noticeable relief as he pulls me into a hug.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He talks to me about our past<\/span> – <\/span>his mom\u2019s drinking, sleepovers at my house where innocent childhood camaraderie was tinged with the more sinister undertones of his grief and fear, and our naive hopes for a better future. He breaks off suddenly, chuckling self-consciously, and halfheartedly asks about my life. It\u2019s as if it\u2019s suddenly occurred to him that he skipped through the expected social niceties.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I give him the highlights and he smiles politely, but I can tell his mind is preoccupied. He compliments me on my college experience, but his resentful tone is dissonant with his encouraging words. Jealousy leaks through his nonchalant and flat questions, even as he actively denies blaming me for his pain.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, I… really appreciate that you\u2019re here. I know that we were on different paths even from the start, so like… I don\u2019t know. I just wish I could be on the same one as you. I\u2019m just sorry I brought you into this.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With downcast eyes he tells me what happened when I left for college. With his only safe haven gone and nowhere else to turn, he fell in with a bad crowd – a crowd that only got more dangerous as time went on.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m thoughtful and silent as I take in his story. I know this is someone else\u2019s memory, but the words cut to a very deep guilt I have held in my heart for years, and calls to mind the people I really did leave behind when I left for college. The story really feels like my own.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I launch into an apology, maybe some words of consolation, but Joey stops me. This is not what we\u2019re here for. We\u2019re approaching a house, brightly lit against the stark desert backdrop. I feel a rising sense of dread. Joey\u2019s scattered stammering reflects back my fear and shame. He\u2019s telling me more about his \u201cfriends,\u201d but they don\u2019t strike me as friends at all, or as the kind of people who even remotely have his back.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Shamefully, he tells me he\u2019s been using crack cocaine again. <\/span>The truth comes out<\/span><\/i>, I think to myself. He claims he\u2019s getting sober and that he came here tonight to settle his account with his dealer, but that he needs my help. He tells me how much I mean to him, that I\u2019m the only one he actually trusts with this, and my pity mixes with anger as I recognize his thinly-veiled emotional manipulation. I\u2019ve seen it a million times before <\/span>–<\/span> friends roping my bleeding heart into their personal drama. I sigh to myself. Joey doesn\u2019t seem to notice.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"A<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey cracks open the door of a dimly-lit house. The whole place is a mess <\/span>– disheveled furniture, scattered<\/span> pizza boxes, sheets of black tarp on the floor, a lamp knocked off of a table, drug paraphernalia, and\u2026 are those needles?\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I can hear my own heartbeat as I take in the scene. There has clearly been drug use and some kind of struggle. There\u2019s music playing but I don\u2019t recognize it. It\u2019s heavily distorted as if I myself am experiencing some kind of drug-induced stupor. Joey is shaking and wringing his hands. He\u2019s having more and more trouble stringing words together, fighting back tears as he moves from room to room with a sort of compulsive pacing.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He tries and fails several times to explain why he brought me here before finally collecting himself enough to give me the basics. He came to pay his dealer, but the man wanted nothing to do with him. When he finally made himself heard, his dealer claimed he owed him far more money than he brought to pay with and threatened to call his enforcer, which sent Joey into an uncontrolled panic. His version of the story paints him as an innocent and confused victim, until he mentions getting his hands on a knife.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Nocent,<\/p>\n

In a moment of bravery or perhaps simply a lapse in judgment, Joey finally tells the truth. \u201cI stabbed him over and over and over again,\u201d he says as he makes a manic twisting and stabbing motion with his empty hand, enough to drive his point home.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m starting to get the full, grim picture of what happened here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey\u2019s voice gets louder and shriller as he continues his story, and he emphatically claps his hands in my face as if to convince me that he\u2019s telling the truth. I struggle to find anything comforting to say, something to at least indicate that I understand. Something that will get him to just breathe. His drug-induced stammering is punctured occasionally by a ringing phone, and each time it rings his panic increases. Finally, he breaks down sobbing, mumbling something about a plan to drag out the body. He\u2019s twitching, fumbling with a bag full of cleaning supplies, and nearly unintelligible. He instructs me to put on a pair of gloves and flips on a light near the bathroom.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOh god. I tried to do it myself. But there was nothing I could do. It was too heavy\u2026 I tried to dismember it\u2026 I got his leg and\u2026 I touched\u2026 everything.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He trails off again, pulling his sweatshirt guiltily over his face. He opens the door to the bathroom and it\u2019s just carnage. A body twisted, half in the bathtub\u2026 and half not. There\u2019s blood everywhere, a dismembered hand in the sink, various bits of skin mixed with meat and coagulated blood on the floor, and the smell makes me retch. I\u2019m paralyzed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"A<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDid anybody follow you? Are you sure you came alone?\u201d Joey asks. I force myself to reassure him that I wasn\u2019t followed, and as I survey the bathroom he resumes his frantic, twitchy pacing and swearing, trying to formulate a plan over his chemically exacerbated panic, and the now constantly ringing phone.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He tells me to start cleaning up blood and fingerprints, and I halfheartedly wipe down the nearest two door knobs that I see, far more concerned with keeping an eye on Joey. He\u2019s trying to reassure himself, saying something about getting rid of the body using his car and a body bag. His nervous energy is only adding to my own anxiety, and finally he turns back to me, as if he\u2019d temporarily forgotten I was there.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t\u2026 fucking do anything?! Fuck!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Nocent,<\/p>\n

Joey\u2019s screaming at me now, his head in his hands, still pacing in anxiety as I stand there overwhelmed and useless with a damp paper towel in my hand. He continues telling me off as he grabs a handful of trash bags, spouting disjointed plans for how to get rid of the evidence. He doesn\u2019t believe that I wasn\u2019t followed, and he\u2019s too restless to hold still or focus on anything.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Suddenly, Joey notices headlights bleeding through the window, and now a car is in the driveway. His already unfocused eyes light up with pure, animalistic fear. He\u2019s running from corner to corner of the living room, turning lights on, swearing, clearly too high to think critically about the danger.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He ushers me into the bedroom with frantic urgency. My eyes quickly scan the sparsely furnished room, but there\u2019s no hiding spot to speak of. I slink behind the door frame and brace myself for a confrontation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent,\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSteve? Steve, where are you? Come on, man. This ain\u2019t funny!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I hear a man burst into the house. He\u2019s poking his head into every room, looking for Steve, the dealer. As he rounds the corner toward the bedroom, Joey walks up to him with a casual friendliness that is obviously overcompensation. His attempt to diffuse the situation is cut short when he realizes that the stranger is armed, and he throws his hands up in shock.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>
\nThe man breaks into an interrogation. Joey is still strained and struggling to explain, and the stranger is not satisfied in the least with his attempts. Joey pleads and tosses out useless excuses with a careless attitude and a bit of an unfortunate smirk on his face. The man demands to know where Steve is.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOk. He probably went to the bank. Or the fucking\u2026 I don\u2019t know. He left his phone. He just told me to clean everything up. There\u2019s just a lot of shit in the house so\u2026 It\u2019s all good. It\u2019s fine.\u201d Joey says, his tone full of thinly-veiled guilt.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s 10:15 pm. Steve is obviously not at the bank. <\/span>Nailed it, Joey<\/span><\/i>, I think to myself. The stranger also does not seem to think it\u2019s \u201call good.\u201d Especially when he notices how much black tarp is scattered around the room.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"A<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey is still blaming it on oddly specific cleaning instructions from Steve. The stranger flies into a rage at the blatant lie, grabbing Joey by the shirt and pinning him against a wall. \u201cWhy the fuck would he leave his phone, Joey? Do you think I\u2019m fucking stupid?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He grabs Joey and throws him to the side as he approaches the bathroom. Joey protests, attempting over and over again to block his path and earning multiple shoves against the wall by the now highly annoyed stranger, who he calls Benny.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benny eventually throws him to the ground hard enough to make it to the bathroom, where he finally sees what happened to Steve.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

His tough exterior almost breaks; he clenches his fist and screams. There\u2019s so much rage and horror, which quickly turns to a robotic coldness, and I am legitimately scared that he\u2019ll find me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then he does.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He grabs me, pinning me to the wall, and puts his gun to my head.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWho the fuck is this? Did you help him with this? Do you like to get high too, motherfucker? Don\u2019t lie to me.\u201d He whips around to face Joey again. \u201cIf she\u2019s not part of it, why is she here, you dumb, crack-headed fuck?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I protest, and Joey assures him that I\u2019m not part of this, but Benny isn\u2019t buying it. With calm and icy anger he puts a hand around my throat as he resumes his interrogation of Joey.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey seems to have lost the ability to speak. I\u2019m not even sure he can breathe. Whether it\u2019s the drugs or the fear, he\u2019s been reduced entirely to unintelligible mumbling.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now completely out of patience, Benny forces Joey to lie face down on the floor, gun still pointed at him. He begins to direct his questions to me instead, convinced that I\u2019m just another addict killing a dealer I can\u2019t afford to pay.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI had nothing to do with this. I\u2019m just a friend of Joey\u2019s.\u201d I plead with him repeatedly, but I don\u2019t think Benny cares either way. Benny puts me into a headlock and starts to drag me out of the bedroom.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stops so I can see the severed leg unceremoniously deposited in what he informs me is Steve\u2019s kid\u2019s room.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I can tell from his voice that he\u2019s disgusted, and frankly, I am too. He throws me around the living room. My legs flail as I struggle to find footing to lessen the uncomfortable choking sensation.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Eventually they give out, and I fall to my knees. Benny is behind me now, fueled with anger, and looking for any outlet. He grabs the closest thing, and I scream in pain as he breaks a plate over my head.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He yells at me to get up and to give him my possessions. I shakily and uselessly gesture in the direction of the bedroom, mumbling that I left them behind, and internally shocked that I don\u2019t quite remember when I dropped them or why.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He screams for me to go and get my stuff. His voice is unbridled fury, swearing over Joey\u2019s renewed attempts to placate him, and cornering Joey against the wall as I scramble across the floor to collect my abandoned belongings.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benny\u2019s gun is against Joey\u2019s forehead and I can hear Joey\u2019s ragged breathing as Benny explains that he intends to collect on the money that Joey owed Steve. Joey is still attempting excuses, but they\u2019re cut short as Benny forces him to his knees. With condescending rage, Benny explains that it doesn\u2019t much matter if Joey paid Steve since he killed him minutes later.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m a shaking heap on the floor, clinging to my reclaimed belongings as Benny turns back to me, gun aimed straight at me. He demands my ID and I fumble with it until he loses patience, grabbing my bag and dumping out the contents with petty, grumbled sarcasms. He reads off my name and home address. He interrogates me about my home and family, what valuables are in the house, tells me about his \u201cpeople in Texas,\u201d and asks if I\u2019d like my family to live to see another day.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey begins to plead again, and Benny turns on him, screaming. I only have time for a couple of breaths before he turns back to me once more and, with his gun against my temple, assures me that every Nelson in Texas is at risk until he gets his money: $60,000.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey is whimpering reassurances that he can get the money, and I\u2019m wincing away from Benny\u2019s screams that drown out Joey\u2019s empty words with reminders of just how much he owes. He gives Joey an hour, and snarls that he will be using me as collateral. Joey is still protesting, but Benny\u2019s hands are around my neck again, and his continuous screaming and swearing send Joey cowering back to the corner, useless.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benny is halfway to the door, pulling me along at gunpoint, when his eyes land on a body bag lying on the floor. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d He whirls around on Joey again, lips curled with rage as he demands an explanation.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey is silent, but it\u2019s clear to us all what Joey was planning to do with the bag. \u201cLay it out like you were gonna do for Steve.\u201d Benny snarls.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Nocent,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cGet something to tie her fucking legs up with.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He\u2019s barking instructions, frustrated with Joey\u2019s inability to focus. It seems my fate has become slightly more complicated. I\u2019m coughing and wheezing now, fighting for every breath against the pressure on my throat.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey complies at gunpoint, rambling under his breath as he lays the bag at my feet with his head bowed in shame. Angry and confused, he\u2019s still halfheartedly trying to plead with an increasingly incensed Benny. At Benny\u2019s persistent yelling, he shuffles off to the kitchen to look for zip ties. Meanwhile, Benny is whispering chilling threats in my ear, stopping only to startle Joey into faster compliance.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think this is a motherfucking game? See them kids\u2019 books? You get high with crackheads and kill family members.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m shaking my head, trying to assure Benny that I\u2019m not an addict or a killer, no threat to him at all, but he\u2019s already made up his mind about me and the words stick in my throat as I feel tears welling up in my eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benny throws me to my knees, and Joey to the floor next to me. He\u2019s yelling even louder now, instructing Joey on how to tightly zip tie my arms to my legs, and pressuring him into speed and me into compliance.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey mutters apologies and reassurances that he\u2019ll get me out of this. The words fall flat, barely audible over Benny\u2019s rage. Benny is pacing now, swearing and shaking his head. His self control is failing – there\u2019s no sign of the cold and calculated interrogator from just minutes before.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He reads off my address again and decides that if he doesn\u2019t get his money, my family will be dead by morning. He shouts threats, countdowns, and insults as Joey struggles to tie my arms and legs. When he\u2019s finally done, Benny crouches down and whispers at me to crawl into the body bag. The whispers are far more frightening than the yelling.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"A<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I hesitate, he pushes me forward. I roll onto my back and lie there immobilized and sobbing as he grabs Joey by the shirt to berate him one last time for his insolence and incompetence.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not done until I say you\u2019re fucking done. Speed it the fuck up Joey, I\u2019m not goddamn playing. Move at your crackhead-ass pace.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Benny throws Joey onto his back and towers over him, demanding that he zip up the body bag with me inside it.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey tries to collect himself, whining and crawling back toward me. Every hesitation from Joey is met with more screaming, and I don\u2019t dare to speak. I realize what\u2019s about to happen, and I can\u2019t stop crying. Joey is highly dissociated at this point, and he carries out these final instructions with useless whispered apologies and curses. Benny is irate and grieving over the death of his employer and friend, and he can\u2019t resist a couple of hard kicks at Joey\u2019s ribs.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\"nocent,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey whimpers and tries to placate Benny, fearing additional violence. He quickly zips me into the body bag as I shake and sob.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The last thing I see is Benny, pacing as he mutters expletives.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The world goes dark.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I force myself to stop crying, to slow my breathing.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My breath feels hot in the enclosed space and I\u2019m not sure how long I\u2019ll have air for. I hear footsteps, a door opening, endless shouting between the two men.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joey is sent to collect my belongings, and shortly afterward I feel myself lifted off the ground. I\u2019m dizzy and completely disoriented, counting my breathing and willing myself to stay calm.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou know where to meet me, Joey. One hour. 6, 0kay? Have my fucking money or you know what it is. It\u2019s both of you in the fucking ground, alone in the desert.\u201d A small pause and then, \u201cI\u2019ve got a special place for people like you.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m hoisted onto a flat surface and told to lie still, a few more threats thrown in for good measure. I hear the trunk close and the car start. Joey is pleading and screaming, assuring me that he\u2019ll come for me. Benny yells insults back at him as the car pulls out of the driveway.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The drive is disorienting, every turn and shift causes me to roll helplessly against the walls of the trunk. My breath is ragged.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I\u2019m finally hoisted out of the car, the cool air is a short-lived relief. I feel myself being dragged across the ground.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Nocent,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Against the backdrop of desert wind I hear the sound of digging. Any doubt I had about the severity of my predicament is dispelled when I hear Benny\u2019s voice, still muttering in anger over the death of his friend.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou know Joey\u2019s not gonna give me all that money, right? So I hope you like rattlesnakes and cockroaches and coyotes.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He\u2019s laughing now, tossing out a few last threats, taunts, and expletives. With horror, I feel a pile of dirt land on my chest. More and more dirt piles on me, drowning out my whimpers and protests.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I\u2019m sufficiently buried, Benny wishes me a good night with simpering condescension.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The last thing I hear is the car starting up and driving away. Then it\u2019s just the wind and fear and silence.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Nocent,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Initiation<\/span><\/em><\/h2>\n

After what feels like ages, my contemplative silence is broken first by footsteps, and then words – my own words, read back to me in a woman\u2019s voice.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHere lies the girl whose darkness was self-abandonment, whose shadow was martyrdom. Her Call of the Void finds its footing in other people, no matter how many walls she tries to build.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s the eulogy that I was instructed to write prior to coming to the desert. Passages have been chosen from the whole to retell my grief as a story of pain, strength, and growth. There is a moment of silence as I take in my journey so far, the things I am most ashamed of in myself that in this moment have been brought to light.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I listen to the entire eulogy, spoken to a backdrop of desert wind.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When it concludes, the woman starts to hum as she gently unzips the body bag.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Finally, my sight is restored and I see that my rescuer is wearing a white porcelain mask with black tears running down from the eyes. It\u2019s a symbol I have come to know very intimately in recent months.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She is nocent.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The woman uses a pair of black scissors to free my hands from the zip ties, and I\u2019m finally able to shakily sit up and look around me at my solitary desert grave. She offers me a hand, and I stumble as I step out of the body bag.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This woman is 00009, the member of nocent who has guided us through each step of the initiation process. She is the mother of our rebirth, the voice in the darkness, the public face of nocent.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s sadness in her voice as she informs me that Joey abandoned me, escaping to Mexico to save his own skin, and that the killer was never caught.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I know this was not my memory, but my heart still sinks at the shock of such a cold betrayal by my childhood friend – leaving me to die by exposure in an unmarked grave.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Her voice takes on a more ceremonious tone as she congratulates me on surviving my first memory, reminding me that I am not the body left there in the bag. Poetically, she describes the weight of memories and the way that they fall on us, sink into us, and penetrate our minds and souls.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ever the patient teacher, she asks me to tell her what I\u2019ve learned, how my life has been affected by what I\u2019ve seen. Through the tears, I try to gather my scattered thoughts enough to share the lessons that I\u2019ve learned about consequences, loss, authenticity, and acceptance.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAre you ready to make a significant change in your life, to let the old parts of you die?\u201d she asks.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never been more ready, and I confidently tell her as much.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, join us.\u201d she says as she gestures at me to follow her.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Guided by a soft light, she leads me away from the grave that represents my former life. We walk for five minutes in silence, toward a black horizon. The vast emptiness of the desert is so starkly contrasted against the claustrophobia of the body bag and the chaos of the drug den. It\u2019s two sides of the same coin: life and death, order and chaos, free and bound, past and future.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After a much needed walk, we arrive at a masked man standing in a circle of candles. Solemn music drifts through the air.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHave you brought your totem, the representation of your past self, imbued with all the pain, trauma, and guilt of the past?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m still shaking as I pull out a small, silver ring with a broken stone and cradle it gently in my hands. I\u2019ve held it closely for the past few days, meditated for hours on its story, and prepared to say goodbye to it forever.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The masked man greets me as I approach him. His voice is kind, but also mysterious and stern with a chilling edge to it and just a hint of madness, as if he\u2019s looked into the void and seen things he cannot unsee.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He introduces himself as 00010, a member who is intimately acquainted with pain, who he refers to as \u201cher.\u201d With a wildness in his eyes he describes to me the process of death and rebirth, the shedding of old suffering. His words strike a deep chord in me.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

00010 paces in circles around me as he imparts his lessons, stopping occasionally to gesture to the tiny graves of other totems, or to look me in the eyes with a soul-searching gaze. He asks to see my totem and to hear what it means to me.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m crying in earnest now. There is so much that I want to leave behind, so much that has left me heavy, so much relief at how much his words resonate with me.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I tell him about my totem, that it was a gift given to me a long time ago by someone who ultimately did me harm. I tell him about my inability to stop wearing it, in spite of how much it hurts to do so. More broadly, I tell him how hard it is for me to ever let go of the past – of things, and especially people, that I have lost.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He nods, pleased at the realization that I also know pain the way he does. He asks me sternly if I\u2019m ready to kill my past, repeating the question over and over again until he\u2019s stirred in me a fervor that he deems sufficiently convincing.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He finishes his lecture with a lesson from his father: \u201cIf you have to kill something, make sure it stays fucking dead.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He offers some last words of encouragement for the work I\u2019m about to undertake and hands me a shovel, pointing to a spot on the ground and instructing me to dig. His words echo in my mind as I comply.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I\u2019m finished, he affirms my work and we kneel together to place my totem in its grave. He asks me to destroy it, to show him how much I want it dead, to let him feel my desire to leave it behind.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I set fire to my totem, and with wild eyes, I watch the flames take hold of all the painful things I\u2019ve held onto, the thoughts about myself that keep me up at night, my fears and failures and griefs over not being accepted, not being wanted, not belonging.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When the fire burns down, 00010 lets me say one last goodbye. He helps me push dirt over my totem, slamming his full weight on it, burying it forever and willing dead pain to stay dead.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He asks me how it feels and I tell him that it hurts but that it also feels like letting go of a heavy weight. He smiles grimly and tells me that that\u2019s how it should feel, and as I rise to my feet he thanks me for the gift I\u2019ve given to Pain. His tone takes on a passionate, religious fervor, almost euphoric.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He pulls me into a hug, and I suddenly find myself surrounded by masked figures who are there to witness my transformation. I wipe my tears on the sleeve of my shirt. I feel seen. 00009 puts her arm around my shoulder.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYour guilt has been weighed, and your actions match our conclusions. The elders have granted you level 10 membership of nocent. Do you accept it, and everything that comes with it? Would you like to continue your initiation?\u201d She asks. A final choice.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My path to this moment flashes once more to my mind as I irrevocably make mine.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

00009 leads me down yet another path, bringing me to a small altar presided over by a masked figure who instructs me to sit before him.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He is 00007.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSymbolizing the darkness within, we now offer you the blood of the first, the guilt of the second, and the darkness of the third.\u201d He takes a vial out of a strange wooden box, preparing the ritual in front of me. I recognize it as a Eucharist, but appropriated through the darkness that is nocent.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He first passes me a crystal chalice.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you drink, their shadow will infuse yours, their darkness will fuse with yours, which will begin your path to rebirth.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I drink, as 00007 nods in approval. The thick black liquid burns as I drink it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Next, he hands me a silver plate with a small wafer on it.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThis meal is washed in the guilt of our order. Consuming it will allow you to take our guilt upon yourself, just as we take your guilt on us. Your guilt will merge with ours, much like the sin eaters of old. In this manner, we will begin to become one.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I eat, and am surprised by how bitter the taste is. I find myself lost among the mystery of his words. This benediction reveals a great deal about the order I am joining, but raises far more questions and stirs in me a desire to go deeper into this dark world. I\u2019m self-conscious, trying so hard to give the ceremony the sanctity it deserves while my mind races at the revelation.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

00009\u2019s soft voice breaks me out of my reverie.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With characteristic kindness, she explains the last step, the last part of the old me that must go: the very clothes I wore to the desert, which I will never see again. Gently, she asks me to trust, to shed everything that\u2019s left of my old identity. This trust has been earned over my entire journey, and giving it to her in this moment is effortless.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I strip down to my undergarments and feel the desert air cold against my bare skin. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth as 00009 places a blindfold over my eyes and leads me forward.\u00a0 I feel arms on either side of me, giving me strength and support in return for the trust I\u2019ve given them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am guided feet first into what I realize is water chilled by the desert air – desperately, painfully cold. I gasp in shock as my breath catches in my lungs.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My blindfold is removed and every nerve is screaming as I will myself further into the icy pool of dark water, far blacker than any normal water under a night sky.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I kneel, focusing on only 00009\u2019s voice as the cold reaches my bones. I let it in without fighting it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cLook at me.\u201d she says. \u201cRepeat after me: My past matters not. My name is forsaken. I will live the life I was supposed to lead. I am nocent. Nocent is me. Let the baptism begin.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Another figure is behind me, his mask out of the corner of my eye more frightening than the rest. I feel his breath on my neck as he leans in and whispers my number.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s my first time hearing it, and it serves as an anchor through the waves of cold and shock. He tells me that he is baptizing me into the eternal darkness of nocent, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me down into the water.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The cold water on my face is unbearable and I twist and flail in panic as he holds me under with a quiet and ceremonial strength.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he finally lets me up, 00009 is there with a hand once more, assuring me that the ritual is over. She formally welcomes me as a member, the cloud of witnesses by her side.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She returns my shoes and guides me to a pile of clothes, not mine of course, those selected as new clothes, a new start, a path forward.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I dry myself off and find the biggest and warmest sweatshirt I can.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She hands me my membership card. It\u2019s surprisingly heavy, made of black metal, and etched in grey is my new name.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I hold it to my heart, savoring this moment of warmth, triumph and belonging.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

00009 walks with me again, this time more casually, her tone congenial.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe are nocent. There is no longer any need for societal masks. You may remove yours as I will remove mine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"nocent,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She takes off her mask, and we walk back toward civilization.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She exchanges words with me about my journey, about my strength – words I needed to hear.\u00a0 She whispers words of hope and consolation even nearer to my heart. I realize that I have never been alone on any step toward this moment.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We reach a path and 00009 tells me that I must walk the rest of the way forward in solitude.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I say my goodbyes and begin my return journey under a bright, full moon that is breaking through strange clouds among endless stars.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m free now to cry openly at the beauty, the pain, and the fear in what I\u2019ve just experienced, as well as my own strength and the power of my decision to be here. I have walked the path, I have stepped into something new, the trial is over.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Space opens up inside of me, something raw and mysterious that feels like freedom. I arrive back at the car, curl up in a blanket, and turn the heat up as high as it will go, still shaking from cold, adrenaline, and awe.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the dashboard I find a note and a cupcake. \u201cHappy Birthday, from 00008.\u201d It\u2019s no surprise that nocent\u2019s lovable and empathetic confessor remembered that today marks not just one birthday for me, but two.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_empty_space][vc_video link=”https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=fK7fuKU8iZw&fbclid=IwAR27PdXsbrF5AG6XV5lnf8G1KZtp0HhVkPnQsR6Vh0Qi82CPQ94uxoXIm0c”][vc_empty_space][\/vc_column][\/vc_row]<\/p>\n

While A Memory of Murder<\/em> has concluded its run, new participants are welcome to join nocent by emailing 00009@nocent.com or engaging with the confessional. There are many ways to join an initiation class. Find out more about nocent on their website<\/a>,\u00a0Instagram<\/a>, and\u00a0Facebook page<\/a>.\u00a0Check out our\u00a0Event Guide<\/a>\u00a0for more ARX and horror events throughout the year.<\/p>\n

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MORE ABOUT HAUNTING<\/span><\/h1><\/div>
[vc_empty_space height=”42px”][vc_column_text]Haunting is a resource for immersive theater and horror fans in Los Angeles and across the world, promoting art and community. Want to help us reach even more people, and get some cool perks and experiences? For as little as $1 a month, you can join our Patreon<\/a> and help us keep bringing content to life.<\/p>\n

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If you like the above article and want to find more like it, make sure to join our community. If Facebook is your favorite, follow us there<\/a> and become a part of our groups for Immersive Horror fans<\/a> and\/or Immersive creators<\/a>. We\u2019re active on Instagram, posting evocative imagery and informative stories to promote our reviews and recollections; follow us there<\/a>. You can even find us on twitter; click here to follow<\/a>. For those who want to explore deeper, we have a vibrant Slack community<\/a> with new event alerts and immediate ticket sale announcements; click here to join<\/a>. And subscribe to our event calendar<\/a> to get emails for all or specific events (look for the link right under the calendar<\/a>)! Finally, we have a newsletter that comes out once a week; click here to sign up<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection Memory of murder recollection<\/span><\/h6>\n<\/section>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is part of Haunting\u2019s Recollection series \u2013 it is a complete account of nocent’s two-part experience, A Memory of Murder and Initiation. It contains full spoilers and is intended for readers who have attended or could not attend the show, or are curious about this creator\u2019s work. You can read the non-spoiler review of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":71,"featured_media":25970,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[4239,20507,25213,81],"tags":[25129,99,130,10386,24267,96],"yst_prominent_words":[25745,9128,15287,4377,25125,3311,25120,25763,25760,9548,25766,25765,25761,24263,1221,25767,25764,25762,5210,5338],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.haunting.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Memory-of-Murder-Joey-and-Benny.jpg?fit=1600%2C874&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p89hUA-6Kf","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25931"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/71"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25931"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25931\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25970"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25931"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25931"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25931"},{"taxonomy":"yst_prominent_words","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.haunting.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/yst_prominent_words?post=25931"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}