Thursday, January 15, 2009

Late Train to Haguenau ((France, 1974)(Italian Mofia murder squad))

Late Train to Haguenau
((France, 1974) (Italian mafia murder squad))

Advance: In a Bar in Strasbourg I met a man, and he gave me his card it read “Gun for Hire,” and I almost laughed, until he said, “It’s for real, if you got the money.”
I would find out in time he was part of the Italian mafia murder squad, that had ties with the CIA, in the context of various assignations. Some of this activity was linked to the 1975, Rockefeller Commission cover-up; there was also during these trying days, something called the CIA’s Castro-capers, which involved three high ranking assassinations, along with miscellaneous murders,
In 1975 Charles Ashman was a Los Angeles-based late-night talk show host on syndicated television, and I watched him, but the shows were always old, because we got them in Germany, and they played the following day. I remember he had written many books; books to capture the topical interests of the masses of the day. If anything, they were more interesting than the newspapers I remember. He talked about the mafia, and to my recollection, was in fear for his life by the mafia, also I remember him showing pictures of gangsters of that day, I follower it half-hazardly.

Sam Giancana, a gangster by a few other nicknames, was shot dead, shot a half dozen times in the head and body, June 19, 1975, in Oak Park Illinois, he was the one time leader of the Chicago Outfit (for about 9-years in the 50s and 60s); he liked cigars. And had a long criminal career, and was going to spill the beans to the Senate Committee Investigation, going on at that time on Crime, that might expose the CIA and the Mafia, dealings with the assignations of the Kennedy’s and Martin Luther King. His offshore casinos (in Iran, South America and France) were seized, and taken over by another mafia boss. Around this time he moved into a lavish villa in Cuernavaca, Mexico, where he lived for several years until the Mexican government forced him out, and shipped him back to America, but that is all known history, you are about to read what is unknown, on the train to Haguenau, in 1974.

The Story

He was the same man, I told myself, the one I met in Strasbourg, the one that sat at the bar on a stool, near me, not too near me, but near enough to talk to me and for me to hear him without difficulty. He was in his sixties I believe, but looked more in his late forties. He wore one of those panama hats, white with thick black trim. His suite was dark, pressed, and he had a thin light tie on. Dark glasses,
“Can I buy you a drink?” he said, friendly like.
“Sure,” I said, and smiled.
“Where you headed for?” he asked.
“Haguenau?” I said.
“Haguenau, what in heavens name is there?” he replied.
“Perhaps nothing, but I got mad at the waiter out on the pier where the outside cafes are, that area, and I got mad at a French waiter: are all French people so rude, they’d not let me sit at the table with my sandwich, told me to move, and I should have beat the day-lights out of him but, I didn’t.”
“You look like a soldier, American soldier, right?”
“Yes,” I replied, “on a long weekend with my twin boys, they’re sitting over there at the table drinking a coke.”
He turned about, took a look, “Twins you say, how old?”
“Four years old,” I answered.
“So you got real mad at that guy, haw?” said the stranger.
“I suppose so, why?” then the stranger lit a cigar, blew some smoke in my direction, smiled, pulled out a calling card, it read, “Sam the Cigar,” and in brackets, (gun for hire), I started to laugh, but held it back, and he said with a different tone of voice now,
“It’s for real, but I use it for a joke now and then, but if you could afford me, would you?”
I smiled didn’t really know what to say.
“Got to go,” I told Sam the Cigar, man, and he waived at my two boys as we walked out onto the platform where the trains was waiting. I had tickets to Haguenau, and we sat huddled on one side, inside of a cramped train car, it was more like a second or third class. Several women were about, it was 4:00 PM, we figured we’d get into Haguenau late, about eight or nine o’clock, depending on how many stops the train would make.

About halfway to Haguenau, a woman who was near us asked,
“I see you are going to Haguenau, an American soldier stationed in Germany, is that right?”
“Yes I said, and my two boys, Cody and Shawn, they’re going also.”
“We’ll, by the time you get to Haguenau, it will be late, and the hotels will be shut down, closed. They lock the doors early there. Incidental, I work for the museum there. Your children will be hungry, and so forth.”
“Yes,” I said, and then wondered why she said what she said, and she looked me in the face—somewhat sternly yet concerned for the boys I think, I was twenty-seven years old at the time.
“I know a hotel, my friends own it, and they’ll be glad to take care of you, I’ll bring you there when the train stops in Haguenau, if that is ok with you.”
“Oh yes,” I said in reply (trying not to show my apprehensiveness, but not wanting to lose the opportunity of her goodwill should I need it), “that’s more than ok…” I added to the comment, and I didn’t quite know what else to say, I was mad at all the French people because the waiter had the nerve to kick me and my boys out of the café area in Strasbourg, but I guess she was making up for his bad behaviour. I had told her point-blank, I had intentions of staying in Strasbourg, but was to angry to, so I simply bought tickets to wherever the train went in France, to be able to say, I was in France (it would be my first trip to France, in later years I’d come back four times, but never back to Haguenau), and they said next stop was Haguenau, that is, a city with a hotel in it (the township had perhaps some 20,000 to 25,000-inhabitants).

The train stopped, it was 8:30 PM, and the kind French lady, who spoke some English, slurred and broken, took me and my boys to the hotel. It was locked as she said it would be, and she knocked hard on the door, someone came and looked though the peephole of the door, they saw her, and opened the door,
“These are my friends,” she said to the owner in French, “and also friends of Sam the Cigar, if you know what I mean, take care of them, ok?”
“No problem,” said the owner, and we walked into main room, it was more likened a three story house, with a small dinning area on the first floor to the left in a room, several folks were drinking and looked at me at a round table in the main room, and a stairway was to my left,
”You can have room 202, if that’s fine with you,” said the man, the proprietor, and the lady said, in French,
“Make sure they get something to eat.” But I didn’t quite understand it then, but I would later on. And she left.
“I’d like dinner for me and my boys brought to the room, please,” I told the owner.
“No dinner” he said, “all closed.”
I insisted, “My boys have to eat?” And he looked at his fellow men sitting at the table,
“You want beer?” he asked me.
“No,” I said, I’m tired, just something to eat.”
Then he said,
“Go to room 202, see you soon.”
And we did, and I did have a beer with the fellows just to show them I was ok by them, and sociable, prior to going to the room. Then I went to our room, and to my surprise we had a fine bottle of wine in a silver bucket with ice, and three large sandwiches of ham and cheese, on dark bread. The note read in English,
“Compliment of your friends and this hotel!”
In the morning we went to the park, there the boys played in the fountain, and there was this kind of rotunda, with pillars, they ran around it like little gothic knights. And we caught a train back to Augsburg, Germany at 1:00 PM.



Meadows of the Charioteer (in poetic prose)

Meadows of the Charioteer

In Poetic Prose

((A day near heaven, and a midnight stir, from laden-brows) (part one))

I knew them also—some. I had seen them, in my other life. I was now like a wheel, like the spoke in a wheel itself, in its hub, in this vast place that doesn’t even show on any earth map, that not ten-people out of all the earth know its name, if that many, if it has any name at all, for I heard spoken out loud, in all directions a name called ‘The Meadows of the Charioteer,’ and here no one touched, never a one, not a big nor a smell touch, never a one too light or too hard, it is a place that men and women, live in—as I felt I was about to—and here I am starting to think of a lot of little things—quiet enough to do so—although not so quiet are the things I’m thinking of, things I once loved, places I once lived, names of people, and people before them, deeds done and not done, that made the quiet and loudness in my life, names of men and women who did the deeds, thinks and names and people I want to forget. How they and I lived, how we lasted and endured, fought the battles of life, and the ones they and I lost, and the ones they and I fought again, because a voice said, “You haven’t lost yet.” The heights they and I climbed to; the deserts that soiled us, and the shapes we turned into.

I knew many of them, the men and women standing about, that couldn’t touch or be touched, old, some young, some twice my age, and I’m seventy. And they, like me, thought these things, as we waited for the Charioteer, in the meadows, we thought these things in our minds. Then, as I looked down upon earth, it looked so dangerous and still, I looked at the storms coming from the North and South and East and West—in the mist—we all could see the four horsemen of apocalypse—riding faster and faster.

But stone-still we stood, waited to hear the name of the Charioteer, to see which way he’d come from, and I thought, and I could sense the others thought: what did we die for, or become just before we died, louder than any hunger it echoed in my head, it seemed to cover the whole meadow, and then, only then, did we all see the Charioteer, afar. (How long they waited I don’t know, how long I was to wait, I wasn’t sure, some had been there long, I sensed that; and I’m sure, some didn’t want to leave.)

And he rode fast and hard, and I listened to the hoof-beets of the horses as he came closer and closer, and we all waited until after dark, and we stood outside in the meadows, and we could hear his horse breathing, and to some it made them deaf to the voice of the Charioteer, and to some they could hear him plain. And that night I started to say…but he said, “Hush!” as I was thinking. And so we stood there, it was getting cold, and I was listening to him talk—but in-between, thinking, and he said “Hush!” And he said some things I understood, others I didn’t, and still some, I couldn’t make heads or tails out. And then he said, “That would be all for awhile.”

Across the meadows he rode, and I cried, “I want to go home!” And he stopped, turned about, said, “What’s the matter with you? I called your name and you didn’t jump on.” I said, “I didn’t understand.” Next he said, “When are you going to start?” and I ran, this time I heard him loud and clear, and I wasn’t thinking or looking back at anything, nothing at all—just straight ahead.

(The Charioteer, Near the Gates)

And he, the Charioteer, rode hard and fast, and all the old snapshots in my head hurriedly faded, as his team of horses swaggered a little, and he had—I noticed, a gold-and-leather military harness, and I said, “What about those left behind,” and he looked at me, said, “They are dead.” When I had left they looked lost, baffled, but not dead. I noticed his hardness commanded respect, so I said very little, trying to get used to the ride. He looked at me, said “They are all thick-sinned, men and women with scrawled transparent unbootable hearts; they lived and now are dead.” And as we rode on, he gave me a series of brief glares, instantaneous and without intensity or a point of view in particular, perhaps trying to see if I understood I suppose the depth of what was happening, as I stood on his chariot, then after a while, he told me, “The object of general interest in their hearts is different than yours, I know what heaven can bear and become if I ride them up to the gates, I cannot let in darkness.”

And so I understood, and for some reason, the closer I got to the gates, the less tears that were going to be tears, because of the lost ones, faded, and I was elated, and I could smell a fragrance that was so pleasant and majestic, and unique, it made my senses and my pours heavy and sweet. It was poetic stimulating and rich at the same time, and I saw angels, and the Charioteer said, with a smile, “Yes, this is the place.”

Note: Part one written: 1-12-2009 ((Poetic Prose: No: 2549) (Part two, ‘The Charioteer, near the gates’ written 1-13-2009))


Agaliarept's in His Dreams & Witches of Transylvania! (two poems)

Agaliarept’s in His Dreams

Deep dreams he saw him in his sleep:
And how his charmful face was changed!
He told me, “I tried to keep the faith?”
He looked, quite freighted, and estranged.

Upon his wake, a twofold delight:
Fear was gone; whereupon there came
Agaliarept’s impending name:
Waiting to break back in his dreams…

No: 2551 (1-15-2009)

Witches of Transylvania!

And so it was, there came four court-women witches
Their task to be: to judge the wickedness of men,
Whom they confessed, were many in the land of Transylvania…!
(in those far-off wondrous days).

First they tried the Duke, and he was:
“Judged to be hung on a tree—”
Then there came the constable,
And they judged him the same:
A traitor to his country!

And the King for being unfaithful—
And unmoral to his subjects and his queen!
And the Marquise, for un-pure thoughts,
And for his lack of dignity!

There was not much pondering, ere, nor did
The Witches flinch, but cast upon the land a curse,
That there would always be, in Transylvania,
A vampire prince; and then they left.

No: 2552 (1-15-2009)


Siluk Horror writer: Bram Stoaker Award (2009)

Siluk: Bram Stoker Award

Announcing the Horror Stories and books by
Dr. Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D.

Under consideration for the Bram Stoker Award

For best short fiction collection, 2009

See his horror books: the Tiamat trilogy, series, plus several short story horror books, “Death on Demand” (to include the renowned story, “The Rape Angelina of Glastonbury, AD 119” read by many of his 150,000-monthly readers) (and: “The Seventy Born Son”); “Dracula’s Ghost,” has eight trying stories, and “The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia, another Colleton of eldritch short fiction (to include the growing interest in “Night Ride to Huancayo” a horrific supernatural tale). Also, the psychological thriller, “The Mumbler,” and “Manticore, Day of the Beast” And his book on visions “The Last Trumpet…” and “Angelic Renegades…” he is the unknown crown horror writer of the decade. Also see “After Eve” [a book of historic adventure].

His books can be seen on; B&; and all the other internet big and small book dealers.

For those interested in the readings of Mr. Siluk’s books, he invites you to email the following:

See Reviews by Benjamin Szumskyj on Dennis L. Siluk (and visit his many websites http://

BENJAMIN SZUMSKYJ is a qualified teacher (Bachelor of Arts in Education / Bachelor of Arts in Social Sciences, minor in English) at a private high school. He also has a diploma as a librarian technician/assistant and a graduate diploma in Christian Studies. Szumskyj also acted as convener on the horror panel of the 2005 Aurealis Awards. In addition to being a member of the Australian Horror Writers Association, he is also a member of the (American) Horror Writers Association. His blog can be found at SSWFT, which is updated irregularly.

"In the Pits of Hell, a Seed of Faith Grows" - a review of The Macabre Poems: and Other Selected Poems (Volume III) by Dennis L. Siluk for Calenture: a Journal of Studies in Speculative Verse (Volume 1 # 1: September 2005).

"Interview with Dennis L. Siluk," for Lost Sanctum #2 (Wild Cat Books, 2006).

“He Is What He Writes: The Weird Tales of Dennis L. Siluk" for Dissections: The Journal of Contemporary Horror #2

(>, 2008).


Tuesday, April 08, 2008

The Cursed Libretto (The Complete story)

The Cursed Libretto
(or: The Narration of Professor Greenwood and Mr. Durant)

Notre Dame in Pairs France

The Narration of Professor Greenwood and Mr. Durant
Part One of Three

Mr. Durant and Professor Greenwood were two scholars who lived around the turn of the twentieth century (but the specific time we are talking about is now: 1917) a little less than a hundred years ago in Paris, France; Mr. Durant was once the head of a faction of scholars and Professor Greenwood taught courses at the Paris University.
Up to this point, the time this story too root, both men had lead what you could call: simple and quiet lives; although within the city of Paris, they were well-known by most scholars, and somewhat heard of by the general public, but little more. This was all soon the change, for Mr. Durant and Professor Greenwood for they had found a scarce manuscript, dating to 200 BC, in the cellars of the once lived in house of Victor Hugo (whom was a senator in Paris in the mid 1850s).
“You know,” said Mr. Durant to Professor Greenwood in Mr. Durant’s library, “this might prove useful in many ways.”
“I read it last night,” said the professor, “I agree it could be sold for quite a lot of many.”
“What should we name this unnamed script?” asked Mr. Durant.
“Yes, it should have a name according to its contents,” answered the Professor.
And so they both sat back in the library looking at the ancient manuscript, written in an old Albanian dialect, that had existed perhaps back as far as 7000 BC, rewritten in 200 BC, in a clearer form of the same language, one both Mr. Durant and Professor Greenwood were proficient in.
The professor had been studying languages all his life, and the secrets of the unknown world of the old ones, or otherwise known as the Shinning Ones, the Angelic Renegades, and he knew they had kept records of their magic spells, and Azaz’el, one of the twenty leaders of the two-hundred renegades, taught humans some four-hundred years before the Great Flood had taken place, he taught them how to kill with magic swords and other weaponry. The book explained Azaz’el’s methods, spells, secrets. It indicated any living thing could be conquered but first had to gather the energy to do so, and the power of this secret energy within a person could see into both worlds, could withstand the harsh elements of earth and the cosmic universe, could even time travel, and see what ideas were in an enemies mind before the enemy implemented his plans—this is document, or book, or manuscript was really a libretto of spell binding words and lines of words.
Mr. Durant read and reread the book studied the charts of spells in it, for a long time, and today he had brought his ideas with him to the meeting with the professor. And said to the Professor the book should be called, ‘Azaz’el’s Ancient Set of laws for Warfare.’
“That just might work” said the Professor.
“By implementing these spells, and learning the secrets of the Angelic Renegades of that time, we can be able to make things come our way, without any interference of governments perhaps,” said Mr. Durant to the Professor.

They both decided to test this new idea out, but first Mr. Durant wanted to find the proper place to implement his experiment, it was 1917, the Great War was taking place. They were to go to the Western Front, known as Flanders, towards a town called Ypres, the area around Ypres was known as Salient, he picked this area out because it was fought over between 1914 to the end of the war in 1918, unknown of course at this moment in time, except it was ongoing. They both hid in Ypres Cloth Hall, which had been burnt in 1914.
It was on the 30 of July, 1917, Mr. Durant and the Professor found an odd, and isolated little farm near Passendale Church, a small village, five miles north east of Ypres, to rest the night away for the battle which would take place the following day. And so it did, and it stretched out until November 10, and the main thing was, for the professor and Durant, was to read this book with its enchantments, and to mentally build an invisible wall around Ypres so the Germans would not enter it, for it was close to the battlements. And it was said afterwards, Ypres should have been ransacked, but never was, and no one knew why, but the Germans seemed to have erased it from their minds. Yet the Passchendaele church was totally destroyed by shellfire.
All this seemed too perfect for both the Professor and Mr. Durant. Yet they both went back to Paris, hired a young couple to assist them in another experiment, the couples name were Mr. and Mrs. Sexton.
“Yes sir,” said Mr. Sexton, “I understand you will be using me and my wife and our apartment for your experiments,” and both Mr. and Mrs. Sexton signed an agreement to work for several weeks with the Professor and Mr. Durant, hoping for whatever success they were seeking might help them financially and it did, and all four lived in the apartment for the mean time.

The Professor late in the evening of October 25, 1917, sat quietly in a chair while the young couple was sleeping, and told Mr. Durant what he had done while he was away to London for the past week.
“I’m sure you’ll say I should not have done what I did, but all the same, I did cast one of the spells in Azaz’el’s volume onto the sleeping couple, each night while they were asleep.
“But why, they’ll become aggressive, if not warlike?” said Mr. Durant to the professor.
“He is mentally becoming more aggressive already, and his muscular tone is even becoming more noticeable, as is his reflexes quicker, I saw him yesterday purposely bump into a stranger, trip a kid who was running, he is looking for trouble,” said the Professor.
“From what you’ve told me,” said Mr. Durant, “Mr. Sexton will be either a madam or a warrior soon!”
“And so will his wife,” commented the Professor, adding, “until I saw the victory in Flanders, I didn’t really have confidence in this book of spells, and warfare, and our little experiment now has also added to my faith in the book.”

—On the sixth week, Mr. Durant and the Professor moved out of the apartment and back into their homes, paying the Sexton’s the $1000-dollars they had promised. They were soon to find out through, in December of 1917, there was a slew of strangling in Paris, most in the Lexington Gardens. Reports about this appeared in the daily newspapers, that a young man and woman had killed seven strangers, some old, a few young, and even a school aged student.
On another occasion, in January in 1918, the Professor and Mr. Durant, having coffee at Café de Flora, read about this couple running over a crippled man on crutches with his horse and cartage, and not stopping to help thereafter.
It was Mr. Durant that finally put two and two together, connecting the killings with the carriage incident, saying it was to the carelessness of his partner this was taking place, claiming it was the Sexton couple.
“Extra! Extra! Killer kills again near the Eiffel Tower!” A paperboy, by the name of Jack Stars, was yelling.
When Mr. Durant heard this, he grabbed a paper, paid the boy, and he and the professor looked it over, a police officer was now killed, beat over the head with a blunt instrument, and his head cut off.
The Professor was speechless, trembling with a cup of coffee in hand at the outside café.
“It’s that spell of his, everything inside Sexton’s head is mad, he will kill his wife soon I expect, I am afraid for you and me!” said the Professor.
“Calm yourself old friend, you shouldn’t have done what you did, but you did, and now we must find a solution; it is simple as that.”
“I suppose I was too excited to think things through, or to wait for you to come back from London, so I cursed him several nights in a row. We must get to Mrs. Sexton; I do believe she is not as inundated by the spell as he,” commented the Professor.

But Mrs. Sexton would not be there when the Professor and Mr. Durant would go to find her at her apartment, already she was gone, had packed her cloths and on her way to the train station, among the things she took was the written spell the Professor had chanted to her night over night. She was going to London to kill her mother, sell her property, and bring it back to her husband.
As she was walked to the station, Mr. Durant and the Professor had ridden by in their horse and carriage. They were feeling sorry for her, and Mr. Sexton was out at a café eating his lunch.
At the station, she hurried towards pier four, and boarded her train; saw an older lady with her grandson, her heart pumping malice. However, she found her seat, and sat quietly, the old lady and young lad across from her.
The child, a boy of perhaps eleven seemed to have caused a great deal of excitement, it was his birthday and was headed to London to visit his mother and father, the grandmother was caring for the child, he was talking up a storm.
“Good heavens!” said Sally Sexton, to the boy, now sitting alone, “it would seem you should have some cakes and bread to eat, you look famished.”
“No, I’m too excited to be starving Miss, but…” before the boy could say a word, Sally was coming back with a cake in her hands for the boy, gave it to him, and Sally sat back in her seat, and fell to sleep.”
The Grandmother returned, which seemed to have been an hour or so she was gone, and returned with some bread and water, the boy had eaten what Sally had given him already and he likewise had fallen to sleep, like Sally. After another hour, at last the grandmother woke him up, handed him the bread, and Sally woke up at the same time, started walking around the train, she seemed to have disappeared until the train stopped, and she was seen walking through one of the doors, and then again disappeared. The grandmother had found out, by noticing crumbs from a cake the boy had eaten something when she was gone, given to her perchance by this strange woman who sat across from them—that at least was her best guess, and the one she would tell he police for the boy was very sick, several days later, the London paper read, “Boy dies, poisoned on train from Paris…!” And a poor sketch of Sally was drawn, for the newspaper.

News of this slaying spread quickly, even to the newspapers in Paris.
“This is getting out of hand,” said Mr. Durant to Professor Greenwood, both eating at the Lipp’s café.
Suddenly, the Professor was attacked by a pain in his chest.
Just then, Roger Anderson, a novelist from America joined them, said, “I wish I knew this case better, about the so called killing couple, I could write a novel about them, I think this woman is the same one that helps her husband kill their prey in city here, what do you scholars think?”
They both nodded their heads as if it all was Greek to them, continuing to eat their chicken soup, as Roger sat next to them reading the paper, adding, “I know you fellows can’t come up with any kind of guess who they are, but I suggest you purchase a gun, and plenty of bullets, in case they try to strangle you two old coots.” And he laughed.

—A few hours later, Sally Sexton arrived at her Mother’s home in London, met her mother, and they both chatted around the kitchen table. Then she put the few things she had brought with her in a small bag, in the guest room. And she talked aloud to herself, saying: “Now my dear husband, you shall see how a killing should be handled!” And then she walked downstairs again to talk with her widowed mother.

Soon after the Professor and Mr. Durant talked to Roger Anderson, they went to a nearby gun shop; they had been fed a good idea. Each of them purchased a gun, loaded it, and began their second trip back to the Sexton apartment, they were going to put an end to this needless killing (the reason they did not go to the police was they did not want to implement themselves, hence, end up in old age, living their last days behind bars).
The Professor felt the only way to destroy Mr. Sexton was to wait at his apartment, and when he came home to shoot him, Mr. Durant would be watching for him, as the Professor hid behind the second floor corner in the corridor, saying to Mr. Durant, “If we leave this to the police, they will make mistakes and somehow this all will never be settled.”
When Mr. Sexton entered the hallway, all was very quiet; Mr. Durant motioned to the Professor, he was coming up the stairs, all of a sudden a rat ran across the hallway, and the Professor thought the noise was Sexton, turned a bit to peer down the hallway, saw Sexton, Mr. Durant hidden under an doorway arch, both of them now looking at one another, and the Professor shot his gun. Then he walked closer to look at the dead man, his face shocked him, he looked in his fifties, and he was actually in his early twenties.
They pulled the body into the apartment, as they had heard footsteps coming up the stairway to the hallway, and so they quickly went out and down the back fire escape.

Meanwhile, Sally was pacing the house, wondering exactly when she was going to kill her mother. She was an only child and knew she’d inherit all there was to inherit. She heard her mother sleeping, buzzing away on her bed, snoring that is, then it came to mind, why kill her with a knife, when she could burn the house down, and her in it, and collect the insurance, save her time from selling the house, she always had insurance, so why not.

“It’s done!” she said, and the house burnt to the ground, her mother yelling from the bedroom window, and Sally hiding behind a tree outside.
Suddenly she heard fire engines, and she ran towards the house screaming: “My mother’s in there, my mother’s in there!”
“What happened?” said one of the firemen as they started to hose the house down with water. Sally was dumbfounded for words, and then a man shouted orders. In a few minutes the house was burnt to the ground, as several firemen carried long hoses to the house.
For a while everyone was busy, then everything was quiet, the fire burnt and filled the area with smoke. One could see rats and cats and dogs running about. A few of the firemen tried to enter the house but it was useless, too much fire and smoke. And after the fire, the body was dragged out of the remains of the house. For her, for Sally it seemed only to be a great adventure, but when she found out the house had lost its insurance policy for lack of updating its insurance payments (evidently the mother was lacking in funds), she said nothing, and simply returned to Paris on the first train she could find out of London, almost indifferent about the whole mess.

“She must also be killed,” said the Professor to Mr. Durant, “whenever she returns and most likely it was her who set that fire in London last week. I bet she is in town now. To bad they did not put two and two together and figure out Mr. Sexton was the real killer, thus, we’d not have to do the job of killing her would we?”
Mr. Durant nodded his head in agreement.
Early the next morning, both Mr. Durant and the Professor sat idle in their carriage by Mr. Sexton’s apartment building waiting for Sally. In spite of all the havoc she caused in London, and now finding out her husband had been murdered, she still felt she was the cleaver one of the two, perhaps just not finding the proper use of her deadly skills. But her mind would never be the same, and the Professor knew this.
What Sally liked the most was that she was becoming famous, or infamous, only that she’d like to have had her picture taken for the papers, instead of being called the unknown woman with the famous husband.
A few people showed up for the funeral of her late husband, to include Mr. Durant and the Professor. Actually afterwards they had tea and coffee at a local café.
“How was your experiment?” she asked he Professor, innocently.
“You don’t really know?” he commented.
“Now how could I,” she said with a smile.
“I would be honored to know,” she asked again.
Then appeared Lord Hamcater and sat with the threesome.
“I’ve been wondering Professor Greenwood where in heaven’s name have you two been? Have you not heard of the murders going on in Paris; it is the biggest thing you will ever have a chance to talk about.”
As they sat and looked at one another speechless, a new person became interested in the conversation, and stood close by listening, it was Doctor Hucklebone, Mr. Durant’s family doctor. He could see the worry on his face, and wondered what had made him that way; he was mostly a happy, unmarried bachelor.
“I get the feeling,” said Lord Hamcater, “you’ve discovered something big, and you are keeping it from us at the club, which you have not been for six months or so?”
“Lord Hamcater, you are an old friend are you not,” said the Professor, “and I must be careful of course, so that what I’ve learned doesn’t get out of hand.”
“But perchance, we can all benefit from it, tell me what you are up to?” asked Lord Hamcater.
Then Dr. Hucklebone, took note of the woman’s name wrote it down, and felt he’d perhaps visit her later, find out what this experiment was all about that they were talking about, he himself knew Mr. Durant and the Professor wrote many articles for the magazines in Paris, and perhaps he could pickup something out of this, and make a few bucks.

That evening, Professor Greenwood and Mr. Durant sat cozy around a fire in a hearth at Mr. Durant’s home, trying to figure out their next step.
“Conceivably we should let in Lord Hamcater on our secret, he knows a lot of people that could help us, we really do not know what we are doing,” said Mr. Durant to the Professor.
“Well, we end up with the same problem, he will call the police, and we get it now for murder, and no one can prove she did a thing, and I doubt Hamcater will want to be in on this anyhow. He will not care how we created madness in a woman’s head, madness she doesn’t even know she has. And if I feed this into his head, we got the same trouble all over again. It is best we destroy the book, it is cursed, and perhaps we are also.”
“Sometimes,” said Mr. Durant, “I think you are right, but should we not be fearful of her, she is in Azaz’el’s world is she not, and she can’t stop on her own now no matter what, I am a coward, you must be brave!”

—About this time, Doctor Hucklebone took matters into his own hands. He was about the age of the Professor, sixty or so, a short, but large boned man, he arrived by carriage to Mrs. Sexton’s apartment. He climbed the stairs, a bit warns out at the top, knocked at her apartment door, and she let him in, after a short introduction.
“I wonder,” said Dr. Hucklebone trying to find out what the Professor wanted with the Sexton’s, “just what were these two fellows up to with you Mrs. Sexton?”
But he of course only cared about the experiment so he could make money; it was really no concern to him what carelessness he did, and at this point he simply needed to put together the puzzle.
“I’m not sure what he did,” commented Sexton, “only that he lived here for six weeks, gave us some money—my husband and I, and hummed at night some chants, which seemed to give me some dreams that brought me back to a period of time where there was a great huge angelic war of sorts, the main person being called by the name Azaz’el, and in my dreams, he commanded a group of angels that taught humans how to war, to kill, such things like that. This Azaz’el one day found me, and made me his dragon, he took me from my husband and made love to me, he became a giant eel, and ate all those around me as if they were sheep—such are my dreams and seemingly reality.”
“It seems to me it was more on the order of a nightmare than a dream,” commented the doctor.
“I remember in one of these dreams, several angelic beings held a meeting, they wanted to stop Azaz’el, but he was too powerful, and it seemed like the Professor continued to chant at night his spellbinding words, lines of words, and it got to me and I had to dress like those folks in the days when they wore tunics. But I became more powerful by the name being fed me.”
The doctor was quite taken in by all this; he drank down the tea she offered slowly.

Meanwhile, Professor Greenwood and Mr. Durant continued their conversation, leaving out their old friend Lord Hamcater. It was the following day the police found Doctor Hucklebone with a broken neck laying sideways in his carriage. And it was at this juncture, Sally Sexton, was starting to figure out, that the Professor had inserted some kind of demonic being inside her by magic spells by way of enchantments, or so it felt. One that seemed she was forced to allow being subjected to its character-will of its invader. As if the demon needed a shell to act out his evilness, and she was it. What little control she had was surfaced seldom, and raised to the surface by chance, and timing, when the invader was off guard.

The Enchantment Spells of Azaz’el
The chief demonic archangel
Part Two of Three

Azaz’el the Archangel

—Sally Sexton decided to speak to the Professor about her situation. And when they met at the Café de Flora, she voiced her opinion saying, “It isn’t right for me to have to be aggressive so much, I am now different, and it seems to be getting worse as the time goes by, for my sake what can I do professor?”
(That same day, earlier, Lord Hamcater had asked the Professor what Doctor Hucklebone was doing in that neighborhood where he got killed; it was a strange place for him to be. The Professor simply looked dumbfounded at his question.)
“Do I have a strange disease in me Professor that makes me become so aggressive?” asked Sally.
As she waited for the Professor’s answer she wondered how much Mr. Durant had to do with all of this also.
“I’m happy to find you in your right mind,” said the Professor, “I heard your husband is dead.”
“I guess so; I never did get to see him after I went to visit my mother in London.” She replied.
“You have through your openness, allowed Azaz’el the angelic renegade, who transports himself in demonic form nowadays, into your essence, your character, with my assistance of course.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Sally.
“I have an ancient manuscript, concerning the enchantment spells of Azaz’el, the chief demonic archangel of the Watchers, of the era prior to the Great Flood, about 4000 BC, I applied them to you during the weekend we stayed at your house, and during your dream state, perhaps more like a nightmare came about, and you were open to him to enter you—him being Azaz’el, the angelic renegade, perhaps because you felt it was part of the project, and it was, but I never knew it would go this far.”
“And so, Professor, I must go on killing, and hope this creature will leave me willingly. Is this my fate?”
“There is no reversal spells to return you to normal that I saw in the book, I suppose we have to plead to the occupant, to leave you!” said the Professor.
One of the problems that was developing was, Sally could no longer go to work, or anyplace not quite knowing what or when or how deep this person inside of her would absorb into her character dominating her personality, and leave her in a state of sleep as he went around using her as a shell to operate with.

For fun, Sally started making boats out of the paper mates their coffee cups were placed under, and upon; she sent one sailing in the air, as the Professor looked at her oddly, her face slowly growing grotesque, distorted, angry and arrogant. All this was bad enough, you might conclude, but knowing there was no solution and something at this very moment taking over her moment, Sally just shook her head, and shook it and shook and shock it, almost wildly, then tried to get her composure back, it was as if she had lost here equilibrium for a instant—it was all too much. Her second paper mate was transformed into another ship—she looked about, everyone at the restaurant was busy eating, being served, or paying. She told herself: he doesn’t seem to realize the damage he has done (a voice told her ‘Get revenge, now!’): perhaps some his enchanting has warned off on him. Then without another thought she cast the boat into his open mouth as he yawned, it got lodged deep in his throat, he started choking: “You are like a child Professor,” she said, “a child with nothing to do, so you get others in trouble, now die.”
She got up from her table and walked away as if nothing had happened, as the Professor tried aimlessly to dislodge the paper boat, he even grabbed a knife thinking to cut open his throat and let air in but it was all to late, he rocked back in his chair, and his body shook a tinge, and his head fell onto the table.

About the same time, Lord Hamcater was visiting Mr. Durant at his home, questioning him on what was the experiment about. Mr. Durant decided to tell all and bring Hamcater up to date. He was of curse horrified, but remained curious and enthralled.

Azaz’el seemed to be interested in everything, it was a new life for him, for he had been dormant within those ancient pages for 4000-years; and now again, Sally was silent, and Azaz’el was speaking on her behalf.
As Sally searched the streets along the Seine River, near the cathedral of Notre Dame, she got thinking, how lucky the Professor had been to have had a friend like Mr. Durant, she was incompletely dominated by Azaz’el at this time, to be more specific, she was slowly being enveloped throughout the day, this day by him as he was coming and going, and so she got to make sense out of the day and at moments had a clear head, as she walked where he lead her, and then leave, and she’d find herself unexpectedly at the Cathedral, or the Arch of Triumph.
She knew Mr. Durant liked the river, and liked to walk along side it, because the river calmed him. Exactly what she was going to do if he met him she was not certain, but he was on her mind for some odd reason. All and all, and in particular today, it all seemed so troublesome trying to figure out exactly what she was up to from one moment to the next moment, she didn’t know what she was doing nowadays for the most part.
The walk was noisy, new fangled machines, they called automobiles were running back and forth, and horse drawn carriages, and people, many people were walking the streets. Paperboys screaming, trying to sell papers, Jack also was among those selling papers; then she found herself all alone on a bridge crossing over and onto the island the cathedral was next to on the other side, she stood looking over into the river in the center of the bridge.

—Said Mr. Durant to Lord Hamcater, “We must get rid of Sally!”
“You are my friend, as bad as she is; maybe some of that demonic residue has fallen into your blood as well!” Mr. Durant looked angry at Lord Hamcater: how dare him insult me, insinuate such a thing.
“That is quite the slur,” said Mr. Durant. (But it was perhaps as close to the truth, as anybody could get.)
Mr. Durant gave Lord Hamcater the reserve saying in so many words: read and see for yourself and keep it safe if something happens to me: Hamcater simply kept it in is hands fearful to open it almost apprehensive to hold it.
“I need to meet the Professor at the Café de Flora, see you later,” he told Lord Hamcater, leaving him standing in his living room as Durant rushed out of the home, and walked down the street, noticed Sally on the bridge, and walked towards her.

“Mrs. Sexton, what brings you here?” asked Mr. Durant, he and Sally now standing but a few feet from one another the river under them.
“I was looking for you. I guess I have been feeling useless, since this new creature has entered my body. And I just got through talking to the Professor and he says there is not a thing to be done as for now about this so called possession. Maybe the Church can help?”
“That never occurred to me, but yes, why not give it a try,” said Mr. Durant; so they both started walking together to the Church. But again, there appeared trouble.
“Too much, too much to endure,” the young woman said, her head bobbing back and forth, getting more dizzy by the moment, her body shaking, foam coming from her mouth (Mr. Durant holding his breath as if the world was coming to an end, not knowing what to do), the river looking as if it had eyes and wanting to eat her up, it all was too, too much to endure, she kept telling herself…and jumped—one leg after the other, over the railing of the bridge, falling flat on her back onto, and into the river, her spine snapped, her head jerked, and cracked, as she drowned, what the last breath left inside her lungs: right then and there, her body limp—jerking, for she knew not how to dive, nor swim, but of course she knew that, and perhaps was the reason she chose at that particular moment to take her life that way.
A moment later, one could see, Mr. Durant turn pale green, a charcoal form around the inner part of his eye sockets, as he looked upon her body, and swiftly like a vortex something leaving it: it was Azaz’el, thought Mr. Durant.
At the other end of the bridge, Lord Hamcater stood watching, book in hand, which he had not yet opened.
Mr. Durant started running, freighted the source would enter him, that he was its next victim, for it now needed a home, and the force tried to catch him: the source was likened to a twisted wind, a tornado.
“I don’t want your help, Durant, you should be grateful to me; I have shown you magic that works. The Christians will not let us move around inside them, and there are many places I want to go and operate, but I need a shell, so stop, let me enter—you!” proclaimed the source as it followed Mr. Durant like a shadow down and across the bridge.
They both now stopped running, Mr. Durant worn out—hugging and puffing holding his chest, his ribs sore, his legs muscles aching, tender from the run, Azaz’el smirking and not a hard breath did he release; Mr. Durant stood still, said with a gun in hand, “When you enter me, the trouble starts I saw it, and I suppose you have to do what you have to do, and you need me…at times I think your residue has already infected me, but I always knew you were not in me yet, I think the Professor and I were simply your plan B and C.”

During this time Lord Hamcater was watching all these new events. He saw them just standing there looking at one another, as Mr. Durant’s heart beat faster, and he saw him holding a gun, and the source shaking his head, trying to talk him out of doing whatever his intentions were to do, then there was a shot, and Mr. Durant’s right side of his face blew off its skull, his teeth showed, yet he remained alive, he didn’t know how he looked, then he fell to the ground on one knee, and shot his brains out.

—After several minutes, this dark mist came towards Lord Hamcater, said, “I am one of the two-hundred ancient renegades, angelic beings of the time of Enoch. If you wish to know all the secrets God has told the angels before the world was created, open up the book, and place your right hand over the enchantments, and accept me as your teacher. You see my friend, the world was not ready for us back then, or now, but you, you I think are. We were hated by the inhabitants back then, but the folks wanted to use our powers, as Mr. Durant did and the Professor, but power comes with
a price, you and I can make a blood agreement, and you will not end up like Mr. Durant just did.”
Lord Hamcater thought on this for a moment, this could even bring back an old race to the world, this book and this angelic being.
“Enoch long ago, said in so many words, I had to stop seeing the people of earth, that it was God’s will, and what happened was, I was buried under tons of unmovable rocks, until the good Professor took them off me. Everyone has tried to stop me for my second comeback. But you see I’ve arrived. If you go with me, bullets and guns and knifes and all sorts’ of weapeonry will not harm you, how can they, I will be the absorber, and I will only dominate you lightly.”
“Sorry, sir, but you will not allow me to leave your domination, and I will have to work all my days trying to dig a way out from your grips.”
Then he tossed the book over the bridge, into the river, and it seemed by chance, a boat had come by, fished it out with a net, it was young Jack, the paperboy, selling papers up and down the river, to tourists as their boats went by his.

Noyllopa the Demon
And Jack the Paperboy
Part Three of Three

Noyllopa the Demon

As Azaz’el escaped the dead body, he ordered Noyllopa, a demonic spirit nearby, who was in the body of a woman, a young female, to watch the boy, Jack, “Come here Jack,” Molly Clemens, a tourist from America yelled (she was about Jack’s, age, fourteen). She was pretty as a daisy, with light blond hair, and just starting to bud, like a flower in the right places. Jack looked her way as he was starting to wipe off the water that covered the leather that protected the pages within the ancient book which were saggy. He put the book down, and started to row to the dock area, as Molly walked down the steps from the Paris streets to the walkway along side the river. Noyllopa had suggested she do that, and fed her another suggestion to ask him the boy for a ride in his boat, thus securing the book—his intentions were to get the book at any cost.
The boy had long wavy dark brown hair and a white shirt on, wore a long vest with deep pockets he put his change in from selling his papers.
Another boat came by Jack’s; a man screamed out from it, “You’re blocking traffic, move you boat—boy!”
A police man from onto of the bridge was screaming something, the girl wasn’t sure why she was doing what she was doing, but she guessed Jack was cute, and thought that must be the reason, and said to herself: I’ll see if I can get a ride across to the other side, where Notre Dame is.
For that moment the whole world seemed to be in this little corner, the police the boat man, Azaz’el, now by the police officer, the boy almost next the dock and Molly.
“Bring me over to the other side,” asked Molly to the boy.
Suddenly the young man saw within the girl, Noyllopa, as if he had second insight, and the demon saw this, saw that he could see into both worlds, his and theirs, and saw him plainly as if he was physical, he was an aurora around her—steaming out of her, and with madness and carelessness, the demon forced the girl’s hand up into the air, and like a slug hammer, hit Jack so hard, he fell back into the boat several feet, stung by the pain of it all, the whole world seemed dark to him now, then Molly grabbed the book—it had fallen out of the boy’s hands onto one of the wooden sitting places inside the rowboat, turned about, then started to run up the steps the same one she had walked down to the top along the Paris streets and the bridge around the corner, not knowing exactly why she did what she did.
Jack being of a Godly boy in nature, waking up from the power hit and knowing now he was facing two deadly inhuman beings—started to pray. He saw the invisible Azaz’el standing by the police; and Azaz’el didn’t like the idea the boy praying, nor did the demon, who made it a police to avoid those folks with Godly spirits—as he was once told: it is a squander of time with those folks, when you have the rest of the world at your feet.

(Meanwhile, Mr. Durant was being picked up by an ambulance and brought to the mortuary.)

“Tell me miss, what has happened?” Asked the police officer looking at the boy, as the girl ran with the book into the officer’s hands.
“I think the boy want’s to kill me,” said Molly.
“Do you know Jack?” asked the police officer.
She was not sure why she said what she said, evidently he knew Jack registered in her mind as she searched for a response, and it would seem Jack had a good reputation.
“You must talk to the boy.” Said Molly, but the police simply looked at Molly dumfounded, and he leaned over to call Jack to join him and straighten things out, for it was all confusing to him, and it showed in his face, then Molly seemed to panic, and her hands hit the railing on the bridge, the police officer tried to calm her down, and by some kind of hidden strength, she grabbed the officer by his belt, pulled upward and lifting him as if he was actually light, and pushed him over the railing—it all happened so fast, in a clap of an eye you might say, and the officer fell head first into the river breaking his neck when he hit the water. No one saw a thing, but several people looked, after hearing a scream and loud splash.

(—Azaz’el, is now conversing, telepathically with Noyllopa, whom is inside of Molly: “We must get rid of the boy, he can see us, and can cast us into the dogs and cats, who knows what else, he believes in the Messiah, the Christ, and we cannot enter him, yet he can do us damage.”)

The girl remains frozen for the moment, looking at the police officer drown, and floating like a balloted raft down the river. The boy is staring likewise at Molly, and the policeman, and is oddly shocked, he says to himself: she doesn’t even know what she just did. Next, the boy mumbles aloud: “I see two races of aliens, demonic and angelic. I cannot argue with them, especially the demon in Molly, and I sense the angelic one wants to enter Molly and keep the demon inside her dominating both—once and for all, so he can operate from and out of, her.”
He looks over to Notre Dame Cathedral; ‘I wonder,’ he thinks, ‘can I cast them into one of those gargoyles on the church, it seems most befitting? —they can live their lives out in those stones!”

(Azaz’el) “We can’t allow that boy to trample on our world…” Azaz’el, says to Noyllopa, but Noyllopa knows these angelic beings are full of pride and this time it will be at his expense, for he had been in Molly for a few months now, and her personality was changing to his, it was like cooking a frog alive in hot water, slowly, and unnoticeable, and now she was shaking her head trying to figure out what and why she just did what she did. The demon was upset with Azaz’el for disrupting his long worked out plan.
“And suppose we cannot trample on that kid, monsters are slain also you know,” said Noyllopa to Azaz’el, adding, “he might have opened up the book, had you given him a chance.”
Noyllopa was blaming Azaz’el for his witless decisions.
“I guess Noyllopa; there will be war with you, and the boy against me!” said Azaz’el.
Noyllopa knew he could not fight an angelic being, and especially an archangel, even though he was weakened after his fall from grace, he was still a powerful force; and he, Noyllopa, was a much less powerful force, what you would call a lesser spirit.
Azaz’el tried to enmesh himself into the girl, not thinking Noyllopa would leave, but he did, he released the girl from bondage, and Azaz’el was furious, for he wanted and needed both of them together so he could dominate without being asked by her actions or spells to enter, thus, he was invading a house he was not allowed to, since Noyllopa left, and Jack saw this, and Noyllopa ran quickly across the bridge, looking behind him as he ran, as the boy followed with his eyes.
Noyllopa knew there was a good chance he would have been cast into one of those horses if the boy known anything about such things and he sensed he did. Now the girl was encircled with this new being, and the boy yelled, “Do not open the book!” it was in her hands. She was free of this demonic being and had a clear head now.
“What just took place,” yelled Molly to Jack, it was like an awakening.
“Come back here with the book, “Jack yelled, standing in the boat alongside of the dock, and she followed his orders.

“Spirits from another time can live in our time,” said the boy to Molly, “there is one trying to get inside of you now, and one that left, he wants you to open up the book, I think it is cursed, and will suck you into his world, so he can incorporate you, give me the book—I will destroy it!”
She leaned over towards the boat, book in hand, said then, “All you say is impossible, I think you want to get the book and sell it, it is perhaps very valuable!”
“You have no idea of what this spirit being can do, end his quest, I will rip out the pages and drawn the book,” said the boy.
Now Molly pulled herself back just before Jack could get the book. A great stillness followed, finally a giant roar, “It came from the book,” she dropped the book, it opened, the pages were now clear to her eyes.
“The book will try to kill you, or its owner!” said Jack.
“Perhaps this is as much their world as ours,” said Molly, she was now reading the first paragraph of the opening of the book.
“It says Jack, if you will listen, and she started to read, head down following each line of the words that now had transformed into English from the old Albanian dialect:
‘We have brought something new to the world, and whoever possesses this libretto, those you cast a spell on, will not be able to fight it. You will have power to scatter your ideas around this world, and make people subject to you. They will not be able to fight for themselves with your new power, which will make you much more important,’ you see Jack, you and I can be important; we will be able to see things man cannot. We will grow and grow in power, until the earth is subdued by us, no longer simply a footstool. We will grow until our spirits drive fear into the world.”

She had not noticed at that moment anyhow, until she lifted up her head, and turned it back to where Jack and his boat were, she had not noticed, but now did that Jack was halfway across the river going to the Cathedral, as she now had finished her speech; thereupon, she put one hand on the book, the other pointing into the sky towards the heavens. And that was the last time she had ever saw Jack, and Jack kept rowing, and never looked back.

Note: Reference to “The Cursed Libretto,” written in the late hours, 2:00 AM, of 4-6-2008 ((Part One: 7-pages or 3585-words)(Part Two 4-6-2008 8:19 PM: three pages, 5090-words, or: 2080-words), or The Enchantment spells of Azaz’el, the chief demonic archangel)). Noyllopa the Demon, added into the story 4-7-2007, 6:00 PM; finished 9:59 PM); 1368-words written today. Total, 6, 587. Pictures drawn by the author, Notre Dame drawn 12-2004; the demon drawn, January, 2006. Azaz’el, drawn May, 2004. On the evening of 4-7-2008 first part of the book was edited; and during the day 4-8-2008, the second part of the book was edited by Dennis Siluk.. Third part edited, and more words added. Almost 3000- words were added during the first editing. (Words: 7923). Completed editing 10:58 PM.

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Saturday, April 05, 2008

Testimony of a Dead Soul

Testimony of a Dead Soul
(The Blood-red Moon)

Advance: Don’t be fooled, dead souls live—it is one of the seventy-two deaths, and yet it can die, that also is one of the seventy-two deaths. I saw where they go, they flock, and they toil, and they lay cowed in corners, and they go on a journey, over the Canyon of Dread…and much, much more…! But this is the first time I’ve yet heard of a dead soul (and saw with my own eyes) it go where it did. Here now is what I saw and heard during one dilemma of an escape— here is the testimony of one dead soul!

In the quiet of a dreadful night—newly dead souls go on their last plight, their testimonies never to be told or heard (until the last judgment), but here I shall tell of one I saw, after the light and dark angels came to take this dead life to be: into its deep, pitted, entwined hushed skies, dim and cold were the sounds, around his soul’s entombed skeleton—he waited. His heart, frostbite; to his brain, numbness came, produced dead tissue, even gangrene seemed to seep in; here the stars guard heaven, silently stone-frozen overhead! Here, yes, here is where he thought to meet peace—rather he found he had to wait for the archangel, or hell’s representative, called the beast to be taken onto his journey’s end.
Remote, no ears to hear the clutter of a million words coming into the mind, to entrench the throat: here, oh yes here you are dead to the living world, and for a moment, just a moment ago you were there, now this moment is new you know not where you are, —but have a good guess where you are going: here the sky has eternal eyes looking down on you, eyes with cosmic tides—waves that make your head sway, break and sway, as all you sins are weighted, and a war rises in your chest, unrest, and you see the pit, the abyss, ebbing, and angels on each side of the hour glass, far-reaching, and waiting for prejudgment: the heavens above, and his numbing face—now changeless, and slowly he notices a strange peace—defeat, and silently the dark, the eldritch dark, has little relevance, his eyes are simply staring, in the cold, oddly numbed looking space: feet feeling for bridges to find balance, he feels he is on a limb of a tree.

And he sees Kings and Queens, and rock stars, and once famous human beings, heading with dark colored demonic beings with wide stretched out charcoal wings, into a canyon of flames, blazing firmaments— yea! Those who thought death was silence in the grave are now moaning to their hosts, “Why me!” others cry “I hope there is no immortality” and still others joke, “I see foes and enemies,” for the moment there is no harmony, only a perpetual cosmic dust storm all about, and dim is the sun, and he is handed a book, his book of sins, and he looks up towards heaven, but he gets no tidings, and now heaven has a face, one it says: “Who is he?” he knows the only thing he ever gave to heaven was disgrace, whence he cried, makes no difference, yea has died, the sum of his days is weighted with his sins, mindlessly he has played the game—the ten-winged beast has laid before his loins: to include: human greed, the lack of mercy, cursed Christ and gave to Satan, the deeds of he Holy Spirit (yes, he committed the unpardonable sin): and now he realizes it has always been in his hands, and somehow, he seems to adjust to the darkness quite well, no sign of tears nowhere, and yea, he sees the kind of moon, he lived under, “…blood-red.”

I see no sign of tears, no tears, I wonder why; I hear an angel whisper with fainting breath, almost silent, “…a blood-red moon means, he protests death, wants to see it annulled, yet he neither wants to go to heaven, for his soul says so, he would not fit among the saints, he would not be able to war with them, lie or cheat, nor does he care for the devil’s creed, where all are equal, with deceiving hearts, ill will, lies, and anything goes if it pleases thee—thus, he wants rule for the many. With his spectral mind, I think he will pick quiet and still-peace, strange as it seems the eternal grave is where he seeks.”
Eh! Yes! Oh yes, I saw and heard all this, and I learned that the death journey has a midnight sky with watchful eyes; I was one of those peering into this dying dreadful face, with barbaric deep eyes; it was if he was given a choice, divine it seemed, and divided was he, and expired was his will, he wanted to remain unaltered, and back on earth, with the same untouched corruptness in his veins, but earth didn’t want him anymore, no more than heaven. Hell didn’t care, they had many like him already, he was but half as bad as those he’d face, damaged destructed corroded souls, flames in their human frames, and he didn’t want to face them, as a result he chose none, but his heart preferred the chose of everlasting silence in the grave, one of the seventy-two deaths. And he looked at Teiai’el the Lesser (of the order of lesser angelic beings), said “He looks unbiased, let him chose for me,” and he did just that, and found himself in an aquarium, swimming around like a dead-bat fish, everyone looking in, and he looking out—knowing the torment on the day of the Great White Judgment— was yet to come, hence, he’d have to go through all this again: and perhaps this was his due punishment for all his sins.

And this was my friends, his testimony; I give it on his behalf, a stranger I once met on a lonely path, in the mists and transfer from life to the next.

4-5-2008 ((#2347) (written at home in the afternoon, in Lima, Peru on a Saturday, the sun baking the city below it))

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

Out of the Noxious Abyss (The Ica Witch)

The Author’s First, and New Paranormal Story, in over a year

Out of the Noxious Abyss (The Ica Witch)

Assuming I am still sane, and was sane at the time this took place, I shall try to explain to you, what had taken place, which has not befallen any man to my knowledge in quite the same way, ever. I have no evidence left, but my experience, yes, that alone, and those who took care of me of course during this trying time.
It took place while I was digging, that is, in the process of digging I should say, in Ica, a location in Southern Peru, known for its past witches. Something I did not hold as dependably true, only that legend marks it so. I felt something was hidden underground in a certain location I was excavating, perhaps some treasure, antiques, gold, as in tombs found in Sipan, Northern Peru, this was my premonition anyhow, at the time. Ica, as I have already said, is in the south of Peru, and this certain area had not yet been excavated, actually much of Peru has not been excavated, and it is truly the Egypt of South America.
Anyhow, I am writing this after the fact, this abyss, or hole in the ground, I discovered turned into a cave like environment once within its parlor (I have ventured back a few months ago to see the full interior of it, it is massive, a maze); it has a chill to its walls, and bats circulating near its dome. It was mid summer of 2005, when I first started digging at this very location, when I discovered what I discovered, which I am only now writing about, and now in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, surrounded by the Andes. No one has believed this story, friends and all, family, but two people, Professor Adelmo Mani, from Los Andes University, and my Peruvian wife. Ah, yes, they have been faithful to the core. The press (whom I have tried to talk to) thinks this to be just another factious supernatural story of abnormal psychology I made up. But contrary to their belief, it is far from paranormal psychology, or supernatural fiction, yet I am not sure how to label it.
I am thankful to the good professor for his acknowledgment; it saves me from being off balance, a nice term, instead of insane. I have always tested out to be rational, and there are no family traits of mental imbalance, yet I told the professor as I told the press, and my wife, and the doctor, I told them all of my confusion, my findings, experience, lest they read about it, as they say, in a fictional magazine somewhere done the road. Yes, I get confused like everyone else in the world, when strange phenomena’s happen, especially to ones self.

At this point, I do not care what people do with the account I’ve told, for I’ve told it a hundred times since, and to tell them again, would be simply a loss of breath, so I shall write it out vaguely, for the curious reader, and stamp this case closed, for I’ve survived it. No indeed, it accomplishes no good to verbalize it any longer.


My name is Lee Wright, my writers name, one I use often, or have used, and for those who remember the news a few years back, several years that is, in the Viru Valley of Peru (1999) to be exact, when I first came to Peru, for this is my ninth time, today being the 8th of March, 2007, artifacts were found (I have one), of soldiers 1050 BC to 600 AD, they were used in rituals, stone artifacts, depicting soldiers, and witches, and devils. Thus, it would seem to me, some kind of devil worship was taking place in the valley, so that was where I got my inspiration to follow it through, and all roads led to Ica, where this worship originated and migrated from. There was a lot of change in the Viru Valley throughout the past two-thousand years, and throughout Northern Peru per se, the Coastal areas likewise, as well as the mountainous areas (cultures came and mixed, if not died out completely, and renewed with new ones), and all the way down south to Ica, where I traced the madness of the cult worship, where legend has it, witches live. How I ended up at this one particular site, is perhaps involves more luck and chance, or bad luck, than providence.
Once I created a hole which lead to the abyss, for I had punctured the earth’s surface several feet deep, which widened the rim of the hole to several feet in diameter, a stink came out and something with it, and that is when I got my so called madness, where the horror took place, she lurched out of the abyss (let me say, again, for all, there is no pattern of psychological illness in my family tree) but she, the shadow in the abyss leaped up and out and on me, deep within my intestines I felt her, like a bloodsucker, or mosquito sucking all the blood out of me
I call her the Ica Witch, witch or not. Here was some ancient being, perhaps two thousand years old, bathing inside me like cancer. This shape seemed to cause my internal system to collapse, as now she was out of her dungeon, and seemingly found a new home, me.


I thought there was to be an archeological find here, that was all, not a witch or its shadow, or its rotting soul, I fell flat on my back, speechless, my thoughts and mind amiss, almost unconscious, and perhaps was, I somewhat forgot, my mind muddled. My wife finding me, semi conscious, she took me back to the Hotel, and then to Lima, where we have a home, and then on to Huancayo, in the Mantaro Valley, that is where Adelmo comes in, Professor Adelmo Mani that is, and my faithful wife Rosa.
As I was saying, my wife found me in quite an unbecoming way, and took me back to Huancayo, where I saw a doctor, and talked to the press, and so for and on. Adelmo visiting me daily, and him and my wife waiting for my senses to come back to me; I do think they both had their doubtful moments on this witch issue, but my behavior was not normal. My speech was unclear, so they told me, along with other peculiarities I shall try to describe. They said my eyes gazed strangely at everything, around me, as if I was seeing it for the first time. I was also told I walked clumsily wherever I went, for several weeks these abnormal traits of mine, continued. It was as if I was relearning how to walk, talk and have conversations. I was seemingly curious of normal everyday things. Things I knew, or should have known.

The Collapse

At this point, the collapse had taken placed fully inside of me, that is to say, inside of me I now vaguely can remember, but I lived mainly in my mind, lived in a fog, where a voice similar to mine spoke, gave me facial expressions I didn’t want to make. I seemed to have been woken up and then put back to sleep. I will not attempted to give you a point to point account, I largely had to do what it wanted, yet learning all along I was not me. Also I learned during this period, my mind had, or seemed to have different limits, I could explore the witches vast labyrinths, something she frowned on. She was infinitely old, not hundreds of years, but thousands I would guess. She had lived in that tomb like abyss for centuries I would deduce, its dark complex maze, I saw her pacing it, year after year, after year, I was saturating her with old memories, as she was draining me, of me within the shell of my own body, yet I remember I continued to retrace her life, it seemed to become more detailed the longer she remained within me, and the longer I focused on her past. Much detail came into my mind, constantly, until I could glance at her past as if looking into a mirror readily, at any moment. This is when she left me, vanished, perhaps into someone else, surely not back to Ica, she left because all I ever did was report her ugly existence back to her, she had limits also, things she could not endure, like all of us I suppose.
The only tangible proof I have, is by those who came to see me during those days when I was not me; so I presume that will have to do, if one seeks additional proof of this account, that is.


Saturday, July 22, 2006

Overview Of Supernatural Elements In Story Telling

By Dennis L. Siluk
Dec. 23, 2004

First of all this is my opinion, I do not claim to be an expert in this area, but I like reading into it, and I’ve written some within it. Thus, it only qualifies me to bring to the reader my perspective on the short story, if not novel of the supernatural; possible what I like, and see, and look for. Although I’d like to think it goes beyond this, but it may not. Recently I wrote a short story for a friend of mine, for his magazine on the supernatural. And I have ventured into this area with sometimes too little and too much lust. H.P. Lovecraft, Clark A. Smith, Mr. Howard, Edgar Rice Burroughs, all men of supernatural writing skills, crafts, art, and of course unending imaginations, and we can add for the heck of it, Mr. Wells, and Victor Hugo, Poe, and how about Julius Verne. They are all good. But when we read this genre, are we reading suggestive or exhaustive literature? It is better than asking, are we attempting to deal with useful science. One of the ingredients seems to be mental laws hidden beneath tones of stone, and out pops ghosts, abnormal states of mind, immensely supernatural bodies. As we go on through this article, the non-interested [whom found him/herself reading this for some odd reason] must ask: ‘what is the interest for the writer and the reader.’ Is this not so? And so we shall see. For some it is simply human delight, if not human nature to look for the inevitable, or what one thinks is possible. It is agreeable to be scared; craving for it like one does a cigarette or alcohol, love or gambling. The mind has these abilities to absorb such barriers so we cross them [how do I know, I was a counselor for17-years, and a recovering alcoholic for 22]; things are much simpler than what we make them, you know; makeshift fear with its expectancy of pain or its mastery of demoralization. Take your pick.

Some stories are powerful enough to instill nightmares, while others are so exaggerated it leaves one only time to ridicule. But there is always middle ground. For it isn’t always that supernatural fiction builds on fear alone, or even fear; nor does the writer want to produce fear per se, but rather, but rather abnormal states of mind. It can be forthcoming and alluring. Some of this literature is used often by the writer for satire if not allegory. So we created demons and fairies, ghosts, spirits, and aliens with innumerable alliances. And for me, I always end up taking a long voyage into its engulfing waters, be it poetic, prose or the stage.


Friday, July 21, 2006

The Hobgoblin of: Brittany Courts

By Dennis L. Siluk
July 9, 2004

Yes, I'm rewriting this from an account, fragment if you will, of a happening some twenty-years ago, for publication, because I promised a preacher friend of mine I would after telling him the story (who lost a manuscript of mine, and died thereafter, and I found it thirteen years after that). That was back in 1985, and this is one of the several events that were in the manuscript.

I looked at Cal, standing outside my doorway, he had a ghostly embrace that filled his aura, kind of a shapelessness to his face with it, or so it seemed. There was remoteness about him also, kind of oozing out of him. As I had already answered the door, and he is now standing in the outside archway of my door - I'm in the archway leaning again the side of it - I ask him: "What can I do for you?" (It is fall, 1985.) He has a bald head for his youthful face, just got married he says (as if I didn't know):

"My wife's a witch, really she is Lee, I mean she does all these - " I kind of interrupt him, his hands gesturing, and he has a robust form, about five-foot eight inches tall, several years younger than I. He looks old for his age though, perhaps, maybe - maybe he looks, looks thirty-five, but is only twenty-five.

I do look at Cal with a grave face, and it is not compassionate now, it is anything but. Why did he allow himself to marry a witch is what is going on in my mind. He had told me several months ago he was going with her, and she was practicing some necromancer, witch dances and much more, he even tried to explain to me of her - what I call mantic mutterings - fantasies and terrors and wonderments, and touches with the supernatural. He even told me one night their bed went up in the air, three feet high off the floor while they were in it, and he froze in bed, but she didn't. I had heard he got married, but why was he standing here looking at me: when you open the door to the devil, he should know better, he's not going to stand there and play house.

"I came home from work, she's gone now Lee, gone, don't know where, and the apartment is just, just cold, and clammy and I'm afraid to go back to it, I'm afraid something, or someone will kill me."

Shall I refrain from the truth I asked myself, again wanting to tell him to go and lay in his bed, and go to oblivion; but I didn't say that.

"And so you got some black magic going on over there; you know, I thought we talked about this before?"

"I think Lee, she put me in a trance and now I'm married."

"Trance (I thought now she's a sorcerer)."

"I don't know, but I can't go back there." His apartment building was right across from mine, all but two-hundred feet parallel. I could actually see his bedroom window from my kitchen window. He then invites me over to his apartment. I'm a bit apprehensive; I really have other things to do. Not sure why I was feeling that way, but I was, I was extremely so.

"Please Lee, come over, over, come over with me!" [A pause.]

"Whatever source it is I know you can hook into it, you've never had a hard time entering the transparent worlds." He was right, it was just a matter of a fixed moment, or two moments put together and I was in and out: sometimes more in than out, and afraid I might not get out, save for the fact, I had a strong faith. And so we walked over to his apartment. It kind of dawned on me the choices people make, they are like raw diamonds, you don't get a lot of big ones in your life time, but in such a case as this, this one needs to be real selective, this marrying a witch was a big diamond and a flawed one at that. But he made his choice.

At that moment, I was amused, if anything, when I got to his apartment, the wind seemed to pick up outside, just before we entered the bottom hall doorway, he lived on the third floor. A mild, almost chill crept around me, followed me like a lost shadow, right up to the doorway of Cal's apartment.

Then I put my hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, I heard it, an electric shock, it filled his body. He looked at me,

"My whole body got a live current through it."

"Let's just go inside, and talk about that later," I suggested.

He now opened the door, and as I looked through the archway, I felt and seemed to sense if not see, melting pale shadows, a mist kind of. I then caught the scent, a scent - as I moved on through the doorway into the living room - the scent of a macabre foul odor, truly there was something here I told myself.

He then took me on a quick tour of his small one bedroom apartment. I felt like an intruder, a spy, but I looked at everything. The cloths laying on the bed, the lamps, the shoes, the dressers, and the mirrors, everything you could see I looked at, clung onto with my python- bodied eyes, to see if - and what, was in it, if anything at all. I have learned such spirits, or shadows, ghosts, or demons, things from the abyss, swarm into the air and find a home, a hiding place in the most peculiar places. Fortunate for Cal, I was there, for something did circle the household.

I walked back into the living room, where I had started, where I had gotten my chills, where my tongue started to give me sensations. As we walked to the living room I said:

"I got what I came for."

"I'm really tired Lee, I hope so, I really hope so, I need to just sleep, but I'm afraid they will come to get me when I do, I'll never wake up." He looked at me as if he was in ghostland, and he was stuck. It was funny the night was actually haunting like, the moon was out full, and it was inky dark out there now, as I looked from the living room to and through Cal's bedroom, all the way out the window, I could see my apartment with the lights on; it was where my mother lived also, we lived together for many years, she was most likely in her bedroom watching T.V., it was where she was when I left.

As I looked at the large picture on the wall in the living room, it was of a lioness, strips on her, and her head seemed to come right out of the picture. Her eyes - eyes of the lion in the picture: nightshades, tomb like eyes, phantoms seemed to fly in them, as if they had a moat in them: a stagnant lake in them. Cal's fingers were twitching like mad.

"Do something Lee, just tell me!"

"Get rid of this picture."

"What?" (Pause.) "Picture?" He looked at it, and looked at it, and looked at it, then said, "Oh," he commented as if Merlin had given him light, or God himself. He looked at me,"It's in the picture, the eyes, right?" He still wasn't sure, not exactly, but I did have to point the eyes out to him again. And he stared, and stared - I had to have him blink, before he was captured into those ghoulish, eldritch-eyes.

"Just get rid of the picture," I said again. With shadows and sunken circles around his eyes, he grabbed the picture off the wall, and brought it to the hallway supply closet.

I will not leave you in suspense, Cal left that picture in the closet for a long, long time, and then got rid of it, and he did sleep that night, and to my understanding, several after that. And he did remain married to the witch, as he so called her, that being his wife of course, who would never allow him to see me again. I was not thanked thereafter, nor needed to be, it was an act of God's mercy, and his and my faith, his faith in me, and my faith in my God.

[Note for the Author only: written: 7/8/04/ taken by memory from an old manuscript of mine, not yet published.]


The Ghost of Castro Valley (1968-69)

By Dennis L. Siluk
July 10, 2004

I left Minnesota for one of the most memorable journeys of my life, in the summer of l968, plus it was the time of the new movement, the birth of Aquarius or so it was cultivated for the youth, and the record companies did their share in promoting the era. I was but twenty-years old at the time, now fifty-six, how time does fly: as I've heard said: life is but a vapor, we are here a few moments and lo and behold, vanished into the memories of others. On the other side of the coin, I never knew my experience traveling to San Francisco in the late l960's would be one I'd treasure to this very day. I have traveled the world over several times, since then, and never wanting to return to the city by the bay: possible I want to have them old memories remain as they are (see the book: "Romancing San Francisco"). Prior to leaving San Francisco, I received a notice to return to Minnesota, to be drafted into the Army, or remain where I was and be drafted through California, what a choice; nonetheless, I had lived in San Francisco going on a year before I'd leave; although I would go back to Minnesota, and into the US Army, and on to other adventures.

The Story:

I have written two short stories concerning this time period, and one book concerning San Francisco. All mostly concerning the of meeting Gogan Yamaguchi in l968, and his son, along with the "Ghosts of Collingswood-dojo l969," a short story, and again the book. This is the really an addition to the other two, and final sketch, although I want to say follow up, the other two published in other books, etc, really tell the same story, but in a different way. This will be a short sketch, never published prior, and the third part of the story, that being: "The Ghost of Castro Valley-1968-69."

I seem to have repeated myself a little too much in the past two stories, both being similar, and therefore not getting the true story of the ghost, but more of the Yamaguchi family, which seemed at the time the motivation to do the story. And so by request, I am doing the follow up, but leaving the prelude out, and the other two stores, since it will distract from the premise. It takes place in the same surrounds though, at the dojo in San Francisco, California, in the district of Castro, with the same people, but at this juncture, the karate tournament [l968, at the Cow Palace, of which I was present] was over, that I talk about in both the other stories. I wasn't sure why the karate men from around North America were so afraid of sleeping in the dojo - I did for three months sleep there, although I thought it was maybe a little haunted at times, and surely haunted after I met the ghost - and they (black belts and all) feared it, feared it was all too much, too, way too haunted for them; yes, Black Belts from all over the United States would not sleep there, but I did, I slept on the davenport facing the gym part, where the arch was going into the dojo, until one day I came face to face, and foot to foot with the ghost. And that is the difference of this story and the other two.

Meeting of the Ghost

I was like any other youth back in those far off days, of the roaring, or daisy-flying days, of the mid to late-60's in America: chasing the wishes and desires of my heart which was becoming adventure and travel. Wanting to see all, and touch all and smell all, become part of it all. San Francisco was where it all seemed to start, had you been there during this time, you would not had missed an unequaled era, you would have been part of it, to an unaccountable freedom, a celebration of life, such as not been seen since the Jazz Age, or that of Pompeii. But to be honest, I had gone for other reasons, and ended up with all these other undertones to life. My objective was to study karate under the world famous guidance of Goesi Yamaguchi (at that time, 6th degree Black Belt). And so I got more than I bargained for, and my first ghost story - I looked at my dreams back then and wondered if I could catch them, and ever since been chasing them, and catching more than I thought was possible.

And so in the city of St. Paul, Minnesota (a Midwestern boy), I studied GoJo Ryu karate. And all I ever heard at the dojo there, was the name Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi or the "Cat," or Goesi, or Gogan. I would find out later on, during my journey to San Francisco, more about the famous, "Cat," which was a name given to Gogan because of the "Cat Stance," he created in the martial arts area. And I'd get to know him slightly, but his son Goesi, quite well.

In the dojo in San Francisco, in l968, as I went through the different karate movements, I became quick with my hands in a defensive style, able to block most incoming kicks or punches. Matter-of-fact, to an extreme skill, and to an arrogance, that became extreme when I was fighting others, and harming them; but one day Buck, a 4th Degree (a close friend back then), by the orders of Goesi, took me out to spar with him, and he taught me a lesson, and still we remained friends, going to Japanese movies, and so on and so forth.

But it was in the first three months of my stay at the dojo I met the ghost. I was sleeping one night on the sofa, as I mentioned before, by the archway leading into the dojo. I had no other place to live so Goesi allowed me to live there for a little over three months, until I found a place of my own. All of a sudden, about 10:30 PM one evening I was just about to go to sleep, I heard tapping on the twenty or so windows that circled the dojo, and the chairs being moved about, and on stage, which was used for observations and other purposes, more chairs being moved, and furniture being pushed. I got up and grabbed a long fighting stick, and stood in the archway and yelled:

"Come over here, I'm not afraid of you," not thinking it's what it would turn out to be. Again I braved it by saying: "I said, come out, whoever you are, and fight me like a man, coward-" I said a few other words I can't put in the sketch, but you get the picture. Everything stopped, it was quiet, silent (and we must remember it was the end of summer, and the outside weather was warm but no wind that night, no rain, no anything). Then I heard foot steps, but I looked about, into the shadowy dojo, the lights on in the archway hall lit up some of, if not most of, the dojo to a dim glitter.

I looked to and fro, here and there, everyplace, and the foot steps were coming louder and closer, but where was the man? louder, and louder they came: meaning I could hear the wooden floor crack as the foot steps made their moments, one to the next, to the next, in sequence, and slow. Like something heavy was coming towards me. Then for some odd reason, I looked down - still holding my long stick, and my breath a little bit, and there on the floor, right one the shinny waked floor, I noticed the wood bending, could see the curvature of the wood twist, extract with the weight on it, change inwardly, with each and every foot step: four times I seen the wood absorb the foot steps, and I knew then I had no control in this matter, I remember saying one thing, for at that moment the windows started shaking, and the chairs started making noise, and the foot steps were in front of me, I said with a calm (but jittering insides), "Lord, help me."

At that moment, everything stopped, and the footsteps disappeared. I was never so relieved. It's funny, I still lived there in the dojo, and it was like, like I wasn't going to let "it" make me move. So we both respected each others situation. I had no place to go, and "it," had no place to go, I suppose I did move out a month later, but that was because someone told the authorities I was living there (a jealous black belt), and it was not suppose to be used as a residence. But what an experience.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Curse of the Abyss Worm

Curse of the:

Abyss Worm

By Dennis L. Siluk

Copyright, 2005
Curse of the Abyss Worm
Dennis L. Siluk

For: My mother, Elsie T. Siluk
(Born 9/28/1920-died, July, 1, 2003),
Who liked a good suspense-mystery…?

With a special thanks to my wife Rosa
For her devotion…!

“Who, being loved, is poor?”
Oscar Wilde

Curse of the:
Abyss Worm

Index of Characters
Outline and Genealogy Index

Trials Family

Arthur Trials: born 1823-died: 1883
Azaz Trials: born 1883-died 1883 (son to Arthur, murdered)
Dennis Trials: born 1857-died 1927 (2nd son to Arthur)
Thomas Trials: (nephew to Arthur): born 1878-died 193-

Noddoc Family:

Lady Belinda Noddoc born 1009 AD/ died? AD/Seer (related to Elsie)
Elsie Noddoc 1797 born; died in obscurity [?] (Family seers)
JJ Noddoc 1834 born; died 1866/Oct (See ’77-Day Cult’)

Lime Family:

Martha Lime (Married to JJ. mother to Sally Viper) born -1853 died-1866/Oct
(See ’77-Day Cult’)
Martha Reeder (Owner of a prostitute house [May 1868] unrelated to Lime family)

Viper Family

Tyrone Viper (born 1855…died?)
Sally Viper (Lime) born 1900-died 1983
Minerva Viper (daughter to Sally) born 1931-died 2002
Lisa (daughter to Minerva) had sons Shawn and Mike and one daughter Anna
Azaz Viper (killed two weeks after conception), mother was Sally, and father was Thomas Viper-Trials; died 1930
Anna Viper (grand-daughter to Minerva); born 1981—?

Other Characters:

Charlie St. Clair (Chippewa Indian) -- born 1881-died 1931/from Minnesota (Blue Earth)
Dick Earnest--Christian Psychologist (2003-age?)

Vii—; came into existence between: 13,500-10,500 BC (demonic being-distant cousin to the Tiamat)
Tiamat-- 13,550 BC; demonic being; father Azaz’el an Angelic Renegade]/Asia, Minor
Master Cult Leader-- “77-Day Cult,” (also was known as the Executioner)

Vii the Demonic Being

The Viper’s

The Abyss Worm Virus


The Research & Memos of Dick Earnest, Christian Psychologist
(Mr. Earnest, puts onto tape, for recording, in narrative reporting, his research, for Anna Viper, October 7, 2003 AD):

My name is Dick Earnest, and before I get into reading the journals, letters, diaries and notes I’ve collected over the last year, pertaining to this story, of stories, I will give to you my findings into what I call the ‘Abyss (pit) Worm, and its virus, and –no, I don’t expect you’ve ever heard of it, but you’ve seen it or possibly even come close to it; probably smelled it. This story is for Anna Viper who hired me to resolve some issues concerning her and a curse; in the process I had got so involved I’ve yet to untangle myself from it, and let me add to that statement, in the process I’ve discovered more than I care to, yet I remained unmoved, and still compelled to go forward with this story. Today is October 7, 2003. As I try to unwind my findings, and I say this is not an easy task lightly, it has taken me, and I repeat myself, since October 2002, to find all this out, I hope you will be patient with me—Anna, but I will let you know what I know.
Anna, please destroy this tape [and all the soon to follow tapes]; furthermore, there is no need for other people to know this information, not really; that is, these, annals that are our history, in particular, yours.
One of the questions you are most likely asking yourself at this moment is:
“What on earth is the ‘Abyss Worm Virus?’?” Although Anna, you have lived its curse, and your family have lived it also, --you need not search any farther, I will uncover its mystery for you, at its end, when all the information is in your hands, I dare say, be careful by all means, there are too many beady and shifty eyes about, and un-agreeable ears out there wanting you! I do believe; and to be quite honest, and frank, I will not be able to protect you beyond this information. I am only a physiologist, not a miracle worker. You need an open mind my friend, and if you do your research, you will find my findings are not off center by much, if at all. You will think my account is fiction at certain glance, my point that is, but I tell you, there is more fact than fiction to it, what you can’t explain, take at face value for what it looks like, for that is what it really is. Nature has a way of allowing everything in it has no favorites. Matter of fact, everything I have said, or am about to say, is written down some place for safe keeping, somewhere, for that is where I got my information from, from other sources, along with hidden sources I care not to divulge for your safety, as well as mine. Oh yes, yes, these you may call lies or distortions, or even generalizations, or what you will, save for the fact they happened and can be explained, but they are not mine, they are yours, and have been written in stone long before you or I were born. Having said all this, allow me to begin with this part of my story—oops, I should say: ‘your story,’ and describe for you the virus.

The creature—the worm—, I should say, that I’m describing; —that is, that I am going to explain to you about: is orange and somewhat reddish in color: it is, its natural body color I’m trying to say; —purpled eyes (don’t laugh please—it has seen much with those eyes and knows much, and is quite different from you and I; —it is round, approximating, the size of a quarter, likened to a caterpillar—or you might say, similar to a large larva creature in a twisted body form. These living things, otherwise called organisms have something akin to one-hundred legs; big eyes, and a mouth with teeth, oh yes teeth, sharp as a razor: and they seem to light up similar to fire flies; one could hold a half dozen in the palm of his or her hand, should interest prevail to do so. Incidentally, they do not cast a shadow for some peculiar reason.
Furthermore, they are cursed liars by nature. They were first mentioned in stone tablets around 18,000 BC. And when Ura’el an Archangel, took the angelic renegades, [Ura’el so mentioned in the Old Testament Bible], and cast them to the pit [otherwise know as the Abyss], these worm like creatures were already in existence. When Ura’el opened the door to the pit (someplace is Asia Minor—presently Turkey—way back when), there were these caterpillar-organisms that hung on to the roots of the underworld: yes the endless pit, so often talked about in the bible. This pit, to my understanding, is a canyon like area, reminiscent of an underground, underneath vortex, with blankness, descending from the surface through the crust, and all the way down to the mantel, and on to or around the core of the inner earth; --some of these areas being frozen along its winding paths, others being hot cells and so forth, as this may be verified by doing some geological research, it is really of no significance if I am not 100% accurate in my description of this worm, for this is just specific background information you may or may not wish to know, it will bear no fruit one way or the other in the end of the story, yet it adds prosperously to the lucidity of this account, shall you wish to flutter among this knowledge again, or someone find and open this account. That said, a habitat is a habitat, no more no less, and it is my habit to clarify everything, a prideful thing at best. But in the Book of Revelation, of the New Testament Bible, it is also mentioned, maybe not as descriptive as I’ve been, but it is there, use a little imagination, you’ll find it. Or for that matter, study the ancient writings known as the Pseudepigrapha [Apocalyptic Literature Testaments]; it would do you well if you tend to doubt what I say, that is, to check this out; --and I encourage you to do so, --the Old Testament of the bible, in particular, Genesis Chapter #6, and possible even the writings of the Talmud, and let’s not forget Josephus’ work: he was a back stabber, was he not? No doubt their credentials are higher than mine, and will in someway or another bring you a step closer to the desirable quality of my understandings—or call it virtue if you will—as you get to know them. It is clear nonetheless; these creatures at one given time in history knew nothing about anything for the most part, until the Abyss Door, the infamous Abyss Door, was opened. Then it dawned on them—figuratively speaking—; there was another world, a surface world—or our world out there. Prior to this, it was simply an endless pit—a lair of redundant substances within the earth. They were living in a pit, twenty-five miles beneath the crust of the earth, an ancient, lost and hidden world of: muck dirt, clay and grime: layers upon layers of it.

To Anna Incidentally, I should say, before we get into this, this too deeply, that is into this story too deeply, I am a Christian Psychologist, which of course you already know Anna, and therefore, I take my duty and loyalty to you seriously in all good manners, and matters concerning my job, whence, you can trust me, as my reputation speaks for itself, as you well know, when you hired me. Furthermore, I have prayed daily on this voyage I am taking with you, this voyage into the unknown, the unpredictable, to bring you knowledge and understanding, and wisdom to make whatever life choices you must thereafter, that is, after you have gained my knowledge I am about to share with you. I will do for you the best service possible, and shall: so please listen closely to all my tapes as I send them to you…hm…oh, I said that before, but I find myself often times repeating myself, for some odd reason, but I will update you on me a little more afterwards, not that you need to know anymore about me, only that I have done you a fare service, but Anna Viper, you will get to know me better and better, and later on—after my job is done, I will be at your service as always: that is if you need me. As I was about to say in the beginning, in my memo’s here, the pit was once opened long ago, being the very first time it was opened to my knowledge and according to my research by none other than Ura’el, an angelic being. And at this point is where I shall bring forth the nature of the beast.

Hitherto, not one single worm got out of the abyss, until Ura’el opened it. Not sure why, but none did get out, for I’m sure it would have been reported somewhere within all the ancient writings that have filled up the libraries of the world, in the past yes, yes, oh yes, not one iota of information, tangible information on this worm. For example the great library at Alexandra, Egypt, or the library at Ephesus, none could bare witness to my discovery. That is unclothed to the extent I will, the creature’s identity and description, as I have for the most part already disclosed. And the fact of the matter is, nothing was or has been written or documented, so as to show authenticated proof of such a worm. And so indeed—indeed you must see, here we are with a real unknown mystery—naked as it has been, I am here to put cloths back on it for you. Now these worm type creatures are creatures not even Satan can control, that is right, not even with all his angelic powers; quite a big statement for me to make, but a true one nonetheless. Nor can the demons that circle this world, and the demons within the crust of the earth—the bowels of the inner earth (intestines), the underworld, or any other angelic being to my knowledge, none can control them, and certainly, not man, should he be foolish enough to think he can with all his technology; if so, he’d be quite disappointed. The location of the pit, or abyss as it is better known, today, and I will get to why I say ‘today,’ in a moment, is somewhere between old Sumer [Iraq] and Damascus, in the Syrian Desert.
As I try to explain this whole gamut of images, and some history to you, you will see later on how this came to affect the four families involved: the Trials, Viper’s, Lime’s and Noddoc’s. In doing so, you will also see the nature of the worm, as it is adaptive to one another, it’s kind. And how others like Vii, and the Tiamat, Charlie and Lady Belinda got involved. Yes, it is an entangling web to say the least. But if you endure with me, I will untangle it for you, and your curse, especially your curse—this unbroken circle can and will be broken; —even though it has been a curse of sorts for over one-hundred and fifty years—trust me, believe in me, I will do it

I am not sure why God made these creatures, or for that matter, even if He did; and if God were God, I am not sure what god I am talking about. But I thought about it, and thought deeply about it, maybe too deeply about it, possibly they are a counter balance to something, perhaps to life in general. Definitely God was annoyed with Lucifer, that he would dare stand up to him, and therefore, kicked him out of heaven, whence, He made these creatures to torment him (him being: Lucifer), yet they do not torment him—I know this for a fact. Could it be, seriously be, Lucifer made them to torment God—and then they got out of control? A good question indeed and I maybe getting a bit off the track here; as a result, perhaps God got annoyed again: don’t take me wrong, I’m on God’s side, but Satan is a trickster of the high order, yes, pretty cleaver and creative if you ask me and that is why we must be watchful. It seems to me, God doesn’t even know what he will do at times [?] with all respect intended, it is my psychology talking, Monkeys and Pineapples make more sense to me at times, yes, noiselessly He speaks to me, to my spirit, but without promise of much intelligence, I have to always figure things out for myself. He jabbered with animation and seriousness once in my sleep, only to find out he wanted me to pray to him, you know, at 3:00 AM in the morning. Oh well, he being God, I did so, and he told me it was good for my studying psychology.
Another thought on my menu of thoughts, is that when Ura’el, the holy Arch-Angel, put the Watchers, or angelic renegades into the pit, for cohabitating [see Genesis 6] with human females [see the book of Enoch in the Pseudepigrapha, Volume I] thousands of years ago, they were so vulgar, so rootless in values, so malice, so sinful (sinful according to God that is), and you know vulgar breeds vulgar, so when these beings were cast into the pit, I think 199 of them, there was some kind of secretion of their bodies released, and then within time I presuppose, by way of touch (or some kind of contact), between these two different entities, it happened to infect, or become infectious –if not one to another, then both became infectious; that is to say, in particularly, the worms became contagious to everything and everybody; possible disfiguring the angelic-race: the beings that were cast into the pit. Now this is not a fact, but neither is it conjecture, this is my theory based on people I have talked to, as one would put together a puzzle, and when there are no pieces left, but one, and it fits, hence, it must be the right one. That said, be that as it may, I have found that piece—and what fact is, is that this Abyss Virus Worm (as I call it), exist, and is infectious. And so again, we see fact pushing fiction aside. We must not treat history as if nothing happened way back then, for it did. Man would have you believe all that took place was gases formed and thus came life form, from the sea to land. But the truth is life was created long before earth was created. And as it is written in the Good Book, in the later days the pit will be opened and the sorrows will begin. Let me translate this and explain where I am going with all of this.
During the ‘End of Days,’ when Christ is to return, Satan will open the Abyss, and out of it will come creatures with tails that sting; etc [see the Book of Revelation for clarity]. What the bible is saying is, something went into the pit several thousand years ago or longer [we can add to it ten-thousand more years, or one-hundred thousand years or even a million more years if you like—but the theory does not change the facts; the facts in the sacred books, and when it, or I should say, when they come back out, or when it is time for them to come out, they will not look the same as when they went in. They will have breed together, the worms and the angelic beings cast into the pit, I’m afraid. It is likened to the humans on earth; thus, whatever demonic forces reside here—and we can add alien forces if you like—they will all have to breed with what is available, that being one another when the time comes, like it or not. A more than natural process if one looks at it from a psychological angle, or rather psychophysical, or genetic alteration school of thought, or manner; likewise, if you were put on an island, and all that was on there were cannibals, I doubt they would eat you, if you were the only woman (bad analogy, but it is all I could think of, at the moment (but they may breed with you and eat the babies—who can tell). That is why I call them also by the name: “Liar Pit Worms,” they lie to breed, a survival thing possible. They will do this in and outside of the pit. For example and I know this is a poor example again—somewhat reiterating—but so bear with me: if you were in the cavity, the pit, the hole in the ground: all being the same of course, since 18,000 BC or so, you would be a hypocrite, should you say you would not mingle with whomever were the inhabitants there-within, I would imagine; yes, I would do the same; any human would under such conditions. Now let me go from a different angle.

—Be that as it may, legend has it that: whatever touches these worms, will become infected. They carry within their body’s toxic, fatal poisons. If I were to seek an example, it might be something likened to venom—a serpent bit, or hemlock; again, Josephus Flavus, the Jewish-Roman thinker and historian of his day [AD 100] mentioned: that from the plant “Baara,” the very name of the root itself comes poison. As all poisons are from plants, or venomous creatures. This one which grows in the Middle East, in particular in Israel, will kill a dog quickly just by the dog trying to pull the roots out of the poisonous plant. Yes in deed, these worms are very lethal; its poisons are now spread around the world, and I shall get into this more in a moment—yet I want to leave no shadows behind.
This scorpion type worm can bite you, or eat your insides, there is no escape once he has touched you in such a way, or entered you without you having some kind of immune system in place. It is similar to curare—a poison arrow in you akin to spotted hemlock, akin to the cup that killed Socrates. The worm’s venom will first burn your throat: and mouth, abdominal pain, nausea, a sense of intoxication, feebleness and convulsions. You die you just simply die. Do not be dismayed, for I must explain, and describe all I know, for you paid me well for this information—be it gruesome or not. And as a result, this information is simply logical; it is like grabbing (and I hate to use this analogy, but I shall) a hand full of body secretion from the bladder, a hand full of shit; if you do not wipe your hands off quickly you will get not only the smell, but …god knows what else, in essence, infection; in a resembling manner to the growth of a tumor; it could also seep through your pores and if you have cuts, or other openings in your body, they/it would help the infection or virus migrate throughout your body like cancer. And whatever is in the substance [waste], you will acquire that bacteria-virus, should there be one. Again I say, this worm has infected places throughout the world [just one I am talking about at present, one worm that is], and now it is in our backyard, or in particular, yours—figuratively speaking.
Now, having said all this, let me explain that these creatures when they get among humans, and I am not talking about twenty or thirty thousand of them getting loose, but one, as I just mentioned, just one worm running loose, —we can, for the sake of argument, call him, or it the ‘Crazy Worm, which is causing international havoc.’


The Crazy Worm

Now stay with me for a while longer Anna, and I think you will get the full picture of this entity, or at least, some of it before we get into the letters, journals and diaries that lay ahead: the information I have found for you throughout the world, i.e.: England, New Orleans, Minnesota, and a few other places. And thank you for paying me in advance the $25,000; of course it’s all gone now, the trips and hotels were expensive, but nonetheless, I became quite imprinted with the objective to unfold this mystery for you, while on this journey.

When the pit was first created, strangely enough it was never opened by the angelic renegades [for some reason they knew better, for they surely knew of it]. These angelic-beings were originally, --the angels whom came down from the clouds, who were assigned initially to watch over mankind, but decided for lustful reasons to cohabitate with women, and so step by step, by and by, they made their way to the surface (they were beings of no ethics; and no doubt, on the point of impartiality—could care less for humans: which should be of no value to us one way or the other, for they are long gone ((yet I bring them forth as a new acquaintance)). Some have said, and it was not me who said it, God plants his holy angels in spots they will be tempted and then punishes them when they fault. Well, that is exactly what they did—fault. Making a pack amongst themselves, all two-hundred of them decided to come down to earth and that should the Almighty get angry and decide to punish them, they ‘all were one, and one for all.’ In other words: Azaz’el, and Amazes [the leaders], made it known, they were not going to be the only ducks in the pond—when and if there was a time to pay the penalty; or should I say, the only ones in the courtroom should the Almighty get upset and come hunting for them, hunting for them like a wolf hungry for revenge and put them on trial; so those two wanted the rest to go down with them to the surface of the earth to rule it. And again I say for remembrance sake, they made a pack, a bondage with one another, and literately came down to earth, and took the women from whomever they pleased, be it: wives, daughters, children (boy or girls), for pleasure, and ruled the world as they seen fit. They ended up having huge sons, which became gods among men, and whom had war with one another, killing off their own race of giants eventually. But I am getting a little too far off the main menu, let me get re-focused.


(Tape still playing.) Let me explain a little about these angelic beings before going on with the Abyss Virus Worm [s], ok, Anna, ok then. Anyhow, from the clouds they descended onto the summit of Mount Hermon; --Semyaz being the number one leader of the two hundred—stood tall in the brief twilight for all to see him. And as I understood—as he stood there, he reminded the two-hundred they had swore an oath and were bound to each other accordingly: that everyone, --that is, everyone among them, swore to the curse, not to abandon what they had planned, which was not only to cohabitate with the females, but to rule the earth as gods together: Titans one might visualize them as; hence, becoming legends for Atlantis, and for the Greeks to tell tales about: --for example, Gilgamesh’s heritage (in old Sumer (for he was two-thirds god and one third human), and his priestess Shamhat, the one he sent to subdue Enkidu, the wild man from the Cedar Forest; in which she did; and to be quite frank, he was half demonic himself, a beast similar to the demon Vii, whom is three-fourths demonic (and I should add at this juncture, demons or demonic beings, are not like angelic beings; they are from the Pre-Satanic era, when Satan, then called Lucifer, ruled the Earth with God’s blessing; and then—when Lucifer built his Army, he was kicked out of heaven for revolting, thus, the inhabitants of the earth which were angelic beings at the time, and those so called beings of another kind ((alien-men of sorts, so I shall call them that for a brief moment—, became devil-men, or men of the devil: and were branded (or given) that name ever since)).
Now as I was about to say, and I should say for the women’s liberation movement, had there not been a Shamhat, who had become the Temple Priestesses [back in the days of Gilgamesh], there would not have been an Epic of Gilgamish to read in our libraries today; but again I find my fancies of ancient history getting in my way of my real assignment which of course is you per se. As I was about to lead into: Semyas had with him seventeen-followers, and there were the rest of course, but not all directly under his command, save for one fact, indirectly one might say he was the Commander and Chief generally speaking. And in continuing this area of thought, things were run a little different back then. Nonetheless these unethical angelic beings such as: Amasras taught incantations, Asder’el taught the course of the moon, and deception, --Azaz’el one of the most troublesome of the lot, revealed eternal secrets of heaven to the earthlings. And Michael and Gabriel, whom have become known as the: ‘Good’ vs. ‘Bad,’ angels observed carefully from the sky, and saw much blood being shed upon the earth; as they oppressed all other beings without much effort. I might add; similar to your Superman, and Hawkman, comics of today—but these were real, I mean very real super-beings.
And to make a long story shorter, Raphael, bound Azaz’el and throw him into darkness, making a hole in the desert and putting sharp rocks over him, subsequently he could not see the light of day and was bound to his cramped quarters—bound like a paralyzing snake bite. And accordingly, some of these angelic-renegades were cast into the sands of the desert, and the majorities were cast into the great cavity of the earth, the hole in the ground, the pit. And the children of these beings somewhat died out, leaving their gene pool behind-slightly: those were the very giants I was talking about a moment ago.
The sin was three fold; it was eternal angelic beings that defiled themselves with those women, blood and flesh, and their lust-produced children. This mixture went against the creation of heaven like gravity to man. For spiritual beings, heaven is heaven for them, and for the flesh, heaven can be sex on earth, until we get to heaven, which then we will be spiritual beings—if that makes sense? Now let’s take this to the angelic level, the visible world, which is of course, sexual intercourse with a woman, for men on earth, in consequence, the beings wanted both, heaven on earth and heaven in heaven—it sounds a little like mankind does it not? Be that as it may, they found it, but in the course of finding it, lost heaven. As the old saying goes, ‘…you can’t have your cake and eat it to.’ But I would guess they got tired of the same old heaven in heaven, and God’s temptation just became too appetizing, like the apple Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. Kind of like when I was a boy, I wanted to fly like an angel; you know what I mean, like superman, that sort of person: like these beings were. So you see, we just can’t have it both ways; --one or the other, yet as a human we can dream and there we can fly, I suppose: maybe God did that on purpose to dangle a fancy dream that was untouchable to annoy us. But I speculation we both had similar dreams, meaning, the angelic beings, dreamed about having sex, and I dreamed about flying like them, as I have already mentioned. Or better put, I’d prefer the superhuman qualities, to simply having a diet of sex. A matter of preference I suppose.


Abyss Worms

These creatures with purple eyes: which have a reddish and orange tone to their skin, I call: the “Abyss Virus Worms,” in lack of a better term; or again I repeat myself, “Crazy Worm [s],” whence—for the most part—they were inaccessible to mankind or even beasts on the surface of the earth until after the abyss was created, and thereafter opened; as well as other creatures in the crust of the earth knew nothing about them, which I doubt there were any others at such depths anyhow. And if there were, I’m sure it was not to their fondness, and quickly were infected and died. Furthermore, to get to these creature type worms, one would have to be quite squirmy like worms, similar to a small reptile without legs (for there was a time when snakes did have legs you know, and were able to penetrate tons of pressure from the earth upon them. Taking this all into account, such an adventure, one would have to have a roadmap to and through the pit (along with a road, so as not to get lost on the way—if that makes sense), this all sounds silly I suppose, but silly or not, it is only impractical when you can come up with a truer version, in any form, and so, in any case, I will continue on with this line of thinking, that is, within the pit, and of course, none of what I say exists, —to my knowledge that is, although I think the pit might be compared with/or to the Grand Canyon.

In conclusion Anna, to this area of deliberation and study I have researched out to inform you about, let me say, or let’s say if ‘I’, for instance wanted to go find this long lost pit, or abyss—if you will, I would have to get into (inside of, that is) a thin reptile-snake resembling creature as I have earlier mentioned, of which I’d not feel too comfortable, or for that matter, feel too safe. And then we’d have to squirm our way to the pit, hoping we could go a few hundred miles an hour as it would take a year or two; and if we did find the pit, what would we do there besides? A rhetorical question at best; and how would we get back to the surface of the earth? So this is what has flown in and out of my brain like a dead bird crashing at times, yes, it was out of the question for me to go find the pit, but not out of my mind, which was to learn about it, so I examined this line of thinking. You see, all this fine information I provide you with! I shall give you more than most people will ever know on this subject.

(Anna at this point is unsettled, wiping her eyes, had just listened to the first tape sent to her by the investigator; she leans back to rest on her bed—listening to the last few lines over again, hoping to extract something out of it that can be used against the curse that has been put upon her, and her family for generations.
She has pale blue-eyes (at this moment), tired eyes for the most part—caravansary—she moves about on her bed, as if friction was nauseating her, that of the tape a serious animated face—a crucifix over her bed, she smiles—afraid to ask herself a question, in fear she’d need too simply ask more questions thereafter. She leaves that area of thought alone—. She leans back against the bed now, a pillow supporting her back, and pushes a button—to adjust the bed.)


The Flood Rats

(The other side of the tape now is being played.) At the time of the great flood, some scholars have said, around the year 3750 BC; yet others question that date and would rather settle on 7,600 BC, as a good date, but for the sake of argument, let’s settle on 4000 BC for the flood date: --ok Anna [says the psychologist]. So in the time of the flood, something peculiar happened, I mean, something very remarkable yet peculiar, I know, --many things happened, but something unexpected, not documented in the bible per se, or for that matter any place that I know of; something extraordinary, astounding, something horrific, ghastly. Now listen closely Anna, I mean really closely, I need your attention: --prior to the flood, people were living long lives, and sin was plentiful (I know, I’m not telling you anything new, not yet and nothing you haven’t learned from T.V. or catechism). Everyone pretended not to know what sin was back then, so everyone did what they wanted to do (an easy way out, right? or easy way I should say to justify ones aggressive actions ((a license for sin you might utter)).
In a manner of speaking, people did, for the most part, what they could do, that is to say, taking a neighbors wife for instance, why not, who would stop you, or better put, ‘who could stop you?’ possibly not your neighbor, and if your husband couldn’t, then again, who? Most people who could would go to such lengths to accommodate their lustful, desires. If you could get away with it that is. Or better placed, the people before the flood and of course this is one of the factors that brought on the flood had a hay-day with doing what pleased them. You see, there was no one to stop them, and there wasn’t for the most part, rules that said, be kind to your neighbor: no, no that was not the philosophy of the day (the Ten Commandments didn’t exist). That my friend is documented; but what is not documented, is what you are going to hear in moment.
Prior to the flood the landmass was all connected for the most part [the continents were connected to one another]; after the flood, they drifted for a while, and settled where they are today [or so this is one theory, or concept] with a few adjustments here and there [an over implication, but for this analogy, it is good enough]. Such as, the Nile was closer to the pyramids back then, than it is today. And during this time we are talking about, there were gardens and green plant life; there was much thick vegetation that existed by the Sphinx—; where today it is desert—and only desert, are its remnants. The Back Sea was created from this mighty shift of the earth’s crust, and breaking up of its subterranean rivers helped in the shifting of the ocean floor, and mountains. As was the case of the Andes of South America which was created during this time, where at one time it was not in existence; and the Amazon was now created; as was the Gibraltar strait, where once two mountains connected them and there was no passage into the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic side; they were pushed aside allowing the flow of the ocean and the sea to shift to and fro, between the Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean during this event. The subcontinent of India was now transformed into its new likeness, of which was kind of dangling on a rope before. Moreover, many things took place, as you may very well know. And so is this theory.
You’re probably saying to yourself, listening to this tape, ‘I have told you nothing new,’ but hang in there, perhaps this is new: when all this shifting was going on, the pit [the deep hole] I am trying to underline, the premise for this chronicle—its essence—the great cavity, otherwise known as the Abyss had also shifted from Asia Minor, to the Syrian Desert. Yes, oh yes, it was not always where you think it was, just like the North Polo that also was moved, it is not where it was 12,000-years ago, at that time it was closer to the Northwest Passage: yes, that great Passage everyone was looking for a few hundred years ago—and I add they looked for the passage for a hundred plus years. Oh yes, now we are getting someplace, so do not turn this tape off, no, no, not yet, please do not go to sleep if you are in your bed. Just like the tree of life, or the tree in the Garden of Eden, which was put off limits for many years after Adam and Eve, committed their long enduring and suffering sin, which lay heavy upon mankind—yes the innocent was infected like the worm infects mankind now. At any rate, it went from Sumer, to Braham [an island off the Arabian side of the continent]. If you are asking, ‘…why is this guy telling me all this,’ it is because I have to, that is, for me to get into my discovery for you. It wills all relate Anna, just wait.
Broadly speaking, at the now—and indeed, now, we got a new location for the abyss: this is not the end of the chaos it is the beginning. We need to go back to the Abyss Worms (yes, right where we started from); you know what I’m talking about [?] Those, ugly-orange-organisms, hanging onto those roots we talked about a while ago. Well, let me give you the bad news: one, just one, got out of the pit when the underworld broke open (as indicated in the bible, in the great flood). During this great upheaval of the, the earth, —yes, when the rivers, the mountains, and the sky all broke open and changed the world’s course, so did the Abyss change its location on earth, and give rise to freeing of the Abyss Worm: the Crazy Worm. Does that not make sense?
This creature was never brought back to its habitat, nor captured. Somewhere, somehow it was frozen, or misplaced I expect in the geologic hazards’ of time, pre history time that is, while the earth was settling from its massive floods, its tons and layers of mudflows, ash falls, forest fires, lava flows, and snow melt downs, such factors squeeze between the layers of stratified rocks enclosing elements into a prison like coffin, buried under lava for centuries, millenniums; such things circled the world. It took, I believe, yes, yes, yes, I do believe so, it, took some 400-years for the landmass of the earth to absorb all this water in the last flood, settle all this mud, to get back to normal (could we really expect it to be normal in a week, or month or even a year? —not really). Before it was mud on mud, on mud on mud, layers upon layers, if you do not believe me, simply go to Babylon and see how far they had to dig out its ruins, forty-plus feet, or so, I’ve seen this with my own eyes, yes O yes, with my very own eyes. If one were to go to old Sumer now, and dig around Ur, or Uruk, and Kish, you would find these cities among many others still under this mud, so it is not fiction you see. And during this resealing of the earths surface, and crust, the ‘Crazy Virus Worm,’ did surface, I believe someplace in Europe. Or at least this is where my investigation has led me.

And so, what you really see at this point is, is a Crazy Worm, crawling out of the mud, limestone or wherever it was stuck under for an un-numbered amount of years (hiding, resting, or in a coma, who knows what it was doing underneath the surface, deeper than the crust of the earth, if that makes any sense, yes, it survived, existed, and now was, and still is, hungry for life) coming now, out of its tomb, emerging into day light, unearthed to find daylight; how spectacular it must had been for it to capture in a moments time, a world of light; so many centuries ago.
It cannot die you know, something it had never seen before was the creation or death. I suppose it somewhat felt at home in the mud, but found itself moving inch by inch, moment by moment, year by year, this way, that way, until—again I repeat—until daylight came—and then twilight ascended; in consequence, another new discovery. It had no equal, nor god. It was made from the depths of the pit by infection-upon-infection, possibly with friction by its sides and then mixed with sin-upon-sin, it took in its first breath of life—yes, slim upon slim gave it breath and longevity. And what it had to offer mankind it really didn’t know in the beginning; although it does now; you see where we are going, leading into. Yes, the mystery of the worm, if not the curse for without it what would life be—no mystery at all.
It infected the rats that were akin to squirrels before the flood. It infected the snakes that never had poison before, and the mosquito that loved blood now carried malaria (the first vampires of the world). At this point, God said: “Man shall live only 120-years,” and He meant it. Before this time there were no infectious creatures, plants, poisons known. And I would think He knew the worm was free (God that is—((and did little about it)), and as time went on, plague after plague came, and wiped out the world’s population with: syphilis and smallpox; two of the world’s many epidemics; and sins, oh yes, let us not forget sin (did not God stand by and watch, saying most likely, ‘…they asked for it, and they got it;’ ((and we possibly did)). You see, even in the blood of Noah, there were impurities, and Org a giant and king of those far off days, snuck into Noah’s big boat, this giant demon king that is, and when the ark landed, he snuck out again: so very easy, wasn’t it, of course it was, too uncomplicated for mankind to digest or even mark down in the margins of time. And there yet again we start with a world still not completely cleansed. I’d guess the way God wanted it for some reason. And now that I think of it, I think, He [He being: God] was thinking: give man a life span of 1000-years and he’ll destroy the universe in no time, give him 100-years of life and he’ll only destroy the earth. Makes sense to me. Where did it come from? The worm that is, for the worm was now under the sun, one might even say, a victim of its own makings, and now it had victims, for it infected, gave out viruses. It was the curse of the Abyss—you know, now the curse of the earth. Maybe the curse of the 200-angelic renegades God gave to mankind; some questions may never get answered in my lifetime, or in this world’s lifetime. This very well could be one of them.
But I must go on with this, for this is what I was hired for by you, my sweet young lady, and I put heart and soul into this task, this mystery, the finding of the facts for you about the Curse of the Viper’s. Now the tape is ending and I advise you to rest a bit before you go on to the next one, for it is a lot to absorb!


At the Garden of Eden, Snakes had Legs

I did mention before—in the first tape—snakes did have legs at onetime, did I not? And so what we see is when God gets mad, he gets real mad, and in one case, took His anger out on the snakes as well as women whom now have to endure childbirth (where at one time, this was not so), before Eve ate the apple or pear, or cucumber, or whatever she ate—that is: thus, no one really knows, -- whatever it was, I think the child baring before the apple incident, was much like sleeping in the grass and, oh well, waking up the next day and a child was laying next to you, of which of course was not painful; yes, not painful until after the apple-eating event took place, and labor was thrust upon man: that is, man has to work for a living now—whereas, before this event, he was much like the animals on the Galapagos Islands: that being, free from all duress—and was for the most part lazy; man did nothing to deserve this of course, other than standby and let Eve do as she pleased, and to keep peace, well, ate a little of it. In a similar manner, it was like the 200-angelic beings wanting assurance that if they were to dominate the earth, it would be one for all and all for one, yet, it was not the unpardonable sin for Adam and Eve, as it was for the angelic beings; and Adam, he was simply naming the animals for the most part (at which time, everything was given to him, just walk the garden and pick the fruit). Well, what he learned that day was, ‘don’t mess with the Big Man.’
You see Anna: --we no longer get the fruit free because of another person’s sins; a little like the curse on you. In light of these facts, we see the Crazy Worm, as I have explained to you—in words and depiction, infecting humankind, at will all most. As if it and Satan had a pack, an agreement of sorts. What would be the most benedictional thing I could do, or for that matter any man could do for mankind—I do believe is—is to find that damn worm, and quarantine him, or it? But that most likely will not happen. I had to say it, but if we can’t even find a few terrorist out there, how are we going to find a worm that has been marching around for a very long time; unless that is, Satan and his demons capture it, put it under a lid, and use it on humankind: in place of Ginny Pigs, which I would bet, if he didn’t do this already, he’s thinking of it at this moment. But it is long-lived, this worm of sorts, and for the most part is a virus in itself, and possibly can even infect demons, as well as Satan himself—who really knows [?] So that might not even be a good step, that is, to try and capture him, or possibly even a good scenario for one to deliberate on; yet even though it is an unmeant statement by me--: save for the fact, I have to conceptualize it, it should be brought to your attention so you can see the seriousness of this miniature crawling and living tiny crab like creature.
Again we come to the steps of the God Room, and ask:
“Why did God allow this to happen,” I sound now a little like Mark Twain, and Job who both questioned God as if they were smarter than He, trying to figure out why He [He being: God] does what he does. And of course, we are all ready to blame him for our own foolishness, our own scornful needs and deeds, as we do to Satan also. Grasshoppers, that is what we are—you know, just grasshoppers trying to make the Master Planner accountable to us, and Satan; of course Mark Twain tried to do that with Shakespeare as well, that is make him accountable to him as he wrote a book on him, and Methuselah also he wrote about, and I could go on, but he did write a few good books; one story about a frog that couldn’t jump, and about a boy named Finn and Sawyer, that painted a fence and helped a Blackman out somewhere along the line; I think he was feeling sorry for himself for possibly being a coward in the Civil War, who knows; you know trying to make up for running away from the conflict. And I do not want to plant seeds of distress in you as Bram Stoker would in reading his book called: Dracula, but let’s let that lay where it falls, Job was not much better in the questioning area either, but was in the love area, for he did love God, and if Mark Twain did, it was a secret. And so maybe God left the worm wiggle his way out of the Abyss to cut our lives short; or possibly to see how we handle life per se; or to see if we appreciated the gift of life he gave, save for the fact, we have to work for every damn thing. Whatever, it is not much better than asking eccentric questions about people who are eccentrics. To be quite honest with you, I could give a rats-ass, way He did, if He did, do what ever He did do, or has done; He has his reasons and He is God, now who can question Him? No one. Kind of reminiscent to the USA in a way, who at this point in time, for who can question her –again a rhetorical question, for the answer is NO ONE— similar to, to Roma at one time, who could question Rome? No one, and that is good enough for me. In the vein of Satan, he has his reasons also, and although I can figure out possibly more on the level of why he wants revenge—, more so than why God does what he does: meaning, some things are a little plainer to see or figure out than others. And again I say, but pointing to a different figure, I could care less about Satan; but in this scenario, it is the worm I care about, and as I have related it, not sure why he was created in the first place. It is like trying to figure out why Karl Marx’s created Communism, breeding the thought to mankind that money was their down fall, and marched onto Paris to live the good life. Matter of fact, he was more of a capitalist than a capitalist; yes often times we say one thing and do another—depending on who is watching. But if I was to try and look underneath the surface of motives, it might be that it was simply something to keep him busy instead of being drunk all the time (I of course am talking about Marx), he did appreciate his drinking, like Mark Twain, and Earnest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, let’s include William Faulkner also (all drunks with the booze), you know the rest of the old cluster. But again I find myself criticizing for the sake of finding my way through this maze, and my heart is not into that—not really. So accept my apology if I have hurt your feelings on any one hero I might have mentioned, should any of those I’ve mentioned be your hero, for me I’d prefer O. Henry, he knew human nature, and now that I think of it, so does the ‘Worm’ for he had a long time to learn it.
I think Satan [also known as the Adversary, or Lucifer] likes people to write and talk about him, an ego thing, I think (even bad advertisement can be beneficial). The more they do the more his ego goes up. But I am involved with the Crazy Worm, am I not? But Satan, like God and the Worm, and the four families involved with this curse, and the flood, they all come under the heading of Anna Viper’s mystery—oh yes, oh yes they do. And of course you Anna Viper hired me to assist in this very project, to find out and possibly give you advise on how to escape this poisonous curse: or possibly turning this curse around, or even saving your life, should it come to that: as you well know, and will find out soon, in the letters and history I’m about to present—you may find some options to these questions, but first things first. Viruses come in different forms and that is where I am heading now to—be patient Anna, for this is quite involved. In this case that is what will follow, you will witness the cursed-virus come to surface. You may say: no such thing is possible, but don’t be too sure of yourself. You will end up believing— [pause in the tape] you really will.


The Worms Infections

Like a wound up centipede

I have come to the conclusion that the Abyss Worm with its virus, has infected many other things: things I have ‘not’ mentioned, or even know of—and, and I reiterate—and emphasize this: ‘not’ word: for from it, creeps out a virus as we know it to be, that can transcend into our thinking process. Oh sure: why not, we can go beyond this, —that is why I employ the name “Virus Curse’. It can be given in certain instances by way of a curse, depending on the circumstances, and power of the person; or it can be given through the eyes of the infected; or it can simply touch something and infect it for the rest of its life, such as plants: with its paralyzing acid, such as in that almond tree, or the black madness of henbane, and still the poison in hemlock; how about the lily of the valley used as poison and medicament, I do believe the Abyss Worm had something to do with all these plants—that is why I am mentioning them. I think what is also true, is that God, Himself has set out a dirty trick on mankind, that being: to kill him as he ventures throughout the world. And I’m on God’s side so I must point to God for not stopping the worm.

Now onto a little different area for a moment, the curse of the liar; again I must explain this to my understanding, and to yours: yes, I will try to explain and be specific if I can at the same time—for whom will carry your destiny but yourself; should you let someone else, it will most likely be for their benefit my fair lady Anna; now I must make clear, this curse is not a virus, but acts like one. Not like the worm virus in any case. But when given properly, I would expect the person receiving it, is open to it—if that makes sense. Kind of like watching a movie at night, and when you go to bed, you get a nightmare. Well, how did you get it? Believe it or not, the nightmare demon found an opening and plugged into it, call them triggers if you will—or call them whatever you please—but you got them, and you try to explain it any other way, I think you will come up short; or for that matter anything you wish you can contribute it to: but, nonetheless, we invite the invisible forth dimensional world, this chaotic world into our beings somehow; --to circle our souls (for we have two, yes two, one for reason and one for malice) and block out its light, to plant dark circles, dragging shadows, around our foreheads: -- the dark circles meaning we have lied to God, this is Gods curse. And now he may or may not leave you open for the devils merriment.

Now you see, Anna, the genetic properties of the Crazy Worm, can infect generation after generation once it inhabits [makes its home in] its victim; however, he receives his entrance: be it human, animal, plant or whatever—so be it with one application and the circumstances; -- again I say, providing the right state of affairs are set forth (and that leads us into having a curse put upon a family or person ((it allows other elements to invade a person as well; such as, or liken to the worm)). But before I get into the third element of this hypothesis—which I do believe is more truth than fiction, we have two in the making—curses that is. The Liar Black Circle Curse [invoked evil], as I had mentioned previously and of course the Crazy Worm nuisance: --you possibly might be asking at this point: how is this all related to me? Hold on to that note, I mean: idea, I’ll explain it soon.
Now Anna, we are starting to get somewhere. The mind has to be open to things—as I have dreadfully tried to amplify to you: and the soul closed to things, if that makes sense. Like hypnotism, you can’t be forced to be hypnotized, so they say: you got to be open for it. This is what I’m trying to explain to you Anna. Even though you did not commit a sin, the sin in particular that led to the making of the curse (the one your family has handed down from generation to generation, and now to you), you as the offspring of one who had the curse, inherited a defection in your genetic makeup—sort of speaking; be it genetic or spirit-filled makeup, the form of the curse was there—is there, it only needed an opening, a trigger (which opens other possibilities); comparable to a horror movie that creates nightmares you might say.
It really sounds more incomplete, unfinished than what it is. As you will see as I unwind this mystery of sorts; Charlie’s letter will bring some light to the whole matter also, and let us add to this, the: “77-Day Cult’, whom will possibly open some doors to this air of mystery. But what the curse means to you should be, or put another way, for you not to be subject to this curse or its full dynamical make up is to: don’t have children, and the curse will fade into nothingness, possible. Or second, have a first child, which will be demonic in form—and raise it without killing it; for in the past all have been killed by their mothers—and thus the curse will have gone forward ahead of you, missing you completely. But again should you take the second way out, and have the child, once this has happened, the door is open for the Abyss Worm [with its virus] to enter that person. Third, we bring to the surface now, now God’s curse, the liar if you so end up being one, with the inherited previous curse: a black circle will appear when the first lie is announced from the person’s lips, a black circle around the forehead, it will be seen when you look in the mirror. I know this is quite a vicious circle for one to outlive, unwind or even fathom. But nonetheless, these are some of the options I have come up with for the moment.

(Note to Anna, this is the end to the first part of the second tape; turn the tape around to side two, for I am recording this on both sides again. (Anna now is starting to fall to sleep, as she rubs her eyes, covers her legs with a warm blanket, takes in a deep breath, drinks some warm milk; it was hot but now it has cooled. She figures she’ll rest a moment then go on and listen to the other side of the tape.))

Part One

The Diaries, Letters, Journals and Notes


[Dick Earnest—recording on the tape for Anna] By the united aid of these accounts I am about to read to you (letters, diaries, journals, notes and so on) it is made possible to say, optimistically, the dates of their origins; however, I can only speak of them in a reporting narrative to you. Notwithstanding, the obscurity of the annals or collected data, I can no doubt also say: they have always existed as I have found them. Therefore Anna, I do—speak plainly; I do feel it is an absolute, pre-eminent necessity that you should look well at this data: the worm, and beyond it, as it is related to the overall picture of your situation: the curse. You may sense some remoteness to its clarity, and connections: that is, as it links back to you: yet all entwined it makes for a clearer understanding of the lost-past, --alas.

The Lime Family
And Martha

To whom it may Concern:

The following story, data-information has been taken from the diaries, journals, letters and notes of the people by the Christian Psychologist, known as Dick Earnest, national TV talk host, Radio Talk Show host, and National and International Lecture; these documents are being read onto a recorder, and will be sent to Anna Viper for her evaluation.


Diary Enter: Martha Lime
17 May 1865 [first entry]

As odd as it may sound thirty-five years from now, being only 12-years old now, and this being my first entry in my first and only diary, I seem to have entered into a marriage that looks more like a death relationship somehow. Twice over that is. First of all, I work for a house of ill repute, or so they call it, a damn whorehouse here in Nashville. I work for Martha Reeder, on Front Street. Yew, oh yes, I’m a damn prostitute. Business has been slow here so I will be working for another such place in the near future I think. I need the money. I expect to leave this place in pretty good condition so Martha will speak well of me to my new boss. I don’t have much on top, my breasts that is, and they’ve been aching as one of my friends, older friends had told me they would ach as I developed more, and they are getting very hard, so very hard reminiscent of green apples, but the men like that. And I am tight between my legs and the older men like that also. I suppose that will not last long. I got a two-room ‘crib’ downtown a ways from my work place.
I am poor as poor can be, except I have a place to sleep, so I guess I’m not all that poor am I. I mean, a lot of people are sleeping under the bridges now-a-days; beggars seem to be all over; when the soldiers came back, and they still are coming back from the war, I make a lot of money, and hide the tips, so I am not as poor as they think I am.
Martha Reeder owns the entire city it seems, I’m kidding, she owns about 10-properties around the city, I bet she’s worth $10,000 or $15,000 dollars, at least. I got $126, 25 hidden. I hope JJ doesn’t read this. JJ is my boyfriend he is an older person, I want to say man, older man, in any case, older than I, but he acts like a kid, he is all of 31-years old. I know that is kind of old for me. He comes from a haunting family background as well.
JJ’s mother’s [Elsie] is a seer of some-sort, reads the palms of people’s hands, –I guess she’s a 4th cousin to a person called Lady Belinda who lives someplace in England, who is quite rich, she’s a seer also. JJ says she’s almost 1000-years old, I think he’s full of shit, I’ve seen her picture, she looks about thirty-five at best, no more, possibly younger, well kept, pretty and refined. I’m a Methodist, but JJ will not go to church with me—not sure what he believes in, I mean in the God area.
I am not married to JJ yet, but perhaps, possibly someday I will when I get a little older. Although with my bright blue eyes—pale now, or so they seem to me, which I’ve been told has a gaze to it, and my arched eyebrows, which I’ve fixed that way, I look sixteen or seventeen to most people, even the constable doesn’t know my real age.
JJ was on the USS Shamrock and his friends, Smith and Anderson got in trouble [Civil War ship] I guess they got caught (this was before I met him of course, when he was in the Navy) anyways as I was about to say, I guess they got caught having intercourse with one another. JJ was somehow implemented into the circle. I wonder when he first started liking that kind of stuff. You know, boys. I’m writing to myself, and I say ‘you know,’ funny. Anyhow, the two boys got in trouble, and were reported to higher ups, the review board did whatever they do to men that are fond of men. I like men, but I don’t like other women (unlike the way of JJ). At least, I mean not the intercourse way. Maybe on ships that is what happens though. JJ always seems to get out of trouble somehow. He’s going to be my death I swear, mark my words; -- yes, he gets out of trouble, just by the skin of his neck, I mean chin. But I trust he will always protect me. He should be coming soon; not sure if that is good or bad, I’m fond of him a lot, but he troubles me so.

May 25, 1865
Martha’s Diary

It is 7:30 PM. I left work early, had thirty-soldiers today. I got a lot of money, $3.00 per soldier, one right after the other. They lined up outside my apartment door. They went from room to room, and most of them stopped at mine. But what really bothers me right now is even though I only get 1/3 of the money, JJ takes 50% of that, and that leaves me with 50%, no I mean, it leaves me with 50% of the 33% which averages out some how to be 15%, JJ takes the extra 2% says it’s better that way, instead of fighting over it. Most days I only make $10, and have to split that three ways. Another thing that bothers me is JJ himself. He has been bringing home, home-less people, mostly kids around my age, boys, and sleeping with them.
Last night after the stranger, or I should say, boy left, I called JJ a fagget—I think this got to him, but he is one. I think this is going to be a trend not sure why I am not good enough anymore: why he has to have both girls and boys. But then he does it to me also, fagot or not. I’ve only known him about six-months, and he is already doing this on a regular bases. I’m not too afraid of him finding this, he can’t read worth shit, not like me at least; I even know some big words, I practice reading at night and do spelling in the morning, by myself, I’ll need to know these things when I grow up. I should get better at numbers though.

He told me it was alright for him to have boy lovers that this poet guy called Walt Whitman did it to boys, ‘…so why can’t I?’ So he said. I didn’t say anything, he kind of got me there; I guess I got a lot of guy lovers. Matter of fact, he said he had seen Mr. Whitman once with a boy who worked for a blacksmith back in ’62, on Middaugh Street; I’ll write later, so bye for now, JJ should be coming home soon.


June 12, 1865
Martha’s Diary

I am pregnant—! I kind of knew I might be… kind of shit, shit, I knew, --now what? If JJ doesn’t marry me I’ll kill him. No I will not, it’s my fault also. I’ll name him JJ Jr. Noddoc. I hope it is a girl, I’ll name her Sally, and I like that name for some reason; I liked it for a long time. I think I have a cousin named Sally somewhere, maybe it is in St. Louis, I heard my mother mention her name a few times years back. Yaw, perhaps that is why I like the name; you remember such things you know. Things mom said stick in my head.


August 21, 1865
Martha’s Diary

Sally was born this morning; a midwife came over to our place. JJ got her. She is really small, but so very cute. I think JJ will leave me sooner or later. The damn boys, he likes messing around with them all the time, plus when I was showing, you know, the baby, he didn’t want to sleep with me. I had seen him play with his boy friends; he kisses their ear, and stomach, and gets them hard as a rock. I told him it was a sin in the Bible to do such things with your own sex that he’d end up in hell but he laughed at me. Well, maybe that’s good—good that he laughed it off otherwise he’d get mad at me and never see me again. Oh, I better put this down before I forget; I was thirteen years old last month, July 14 that is. JJ never even bought me a gift. It made me sad, but I guess that’s just the way boys are. At work they get their sex, and play with me like a dirty doll—afterwards, and when it’s all over you’d think they’d never even seen me, about nine minutes from start to end, that’s what it takes for them to get hot and get it out of them; then they squeeze my ass and tell me whatever is in their hearts, or is it their dicks. Bye for now, Martha

PS. It’s been six hours since my last entry, I just got a letter from one of those boys, JJ has left me, he is going to St. Paul, Minnesota, or Erie, Pennsylvania. He will not tell me which one, thinking I will follow him, but I will not, I’ve saved up $165 for such an occasion, you know, to pay the rent and so forth. It will not last long, but it will last a little while. I will write his mother for advice, she lives in Erie, and her name is Elsie.

Feb 25, 1866, Erie Pa

Dear Martha,

I am left all alone in this big house with only a maid—you are both, that is you and your child are both welcome to come live with me. But let me be quite frank young lady, should you decide to accept my offer of free rent and food, I request but a few services of helping me around my big house, from you—and should you decide—and leave, vacate my house that is, —I, I will keep my granddaughter, not let her go with you. I am sick and tired of people running off and never coming back, like my son; I am getting on with age, and have no intentions to put heart and soul into helping raise your child, only to be displeased with you running off to who knows where land. So if you plan to come, you must agree in writing to leave your daughter with me should you choose to go elsewhere? As you consider this, I will have that made into a legal document.

Grandma Noddoc

May 25, --1866
My Journal—Martha, Erie Pa

We, Sally and I have been living at JJ’s mother’s house going on three months now. She fired the maid a month ago, and has me doing all the work in and around the house now. I have no money whatsoever; I sense she wants to keep me dependent on her so I won’t leave. JJ has not written her, not even once yet—she seems to get moody on that thought.

(Later on—I’m back now)

Sally is sleeping a lot, and Grandma seems to get upset over nothing all the time, but what can I do. She is, is, I think she’s 69-years old now, I think she’s 69, take or give a year here or there; --I often hear Elsie talk about JJ (grandma that is). She says he is filled with the devils spirit—. She also walks in her sleep, talking to her dead husband hysterically. Sometimes she lights candles in her room calling on the dead to talk to her, and I get a rotten odor coming from her room (demons I think), way out into the hallway, and it seeps right under my door; I simply open up my window and whatever it is—leaves as quickly as it came in, thank goodness.

July 2, 1866
Letter from JJ to Elsie

[Letter left on the dinning room table and read by Martha]

Dear Mother, the god Cherrobog [of darkness] has entered my life; I was looking at the lightening last night, a fresh force that puts day or night on fire, I love storms and lightening. I am now in a group that worships a “Black god,” a group of Baltic Slavs—a cult of sorts—in New Orleans; —a Belo-bog god of long ago. I have learned light and sky is in contrast with the god of darkness of his earth. Some people insist this is all fantasy—but I seem to gain power out of it. I want you to have Sally come here to visit me, you watch the child, ok?

September 9th, 1866
Letter from JJ to Elsie [his mother]

Dear Mother, Martha came down and she joined the group with me—I gave her to the group, for their sexual pleasures, somehow I felt compelled to; I didn’t believe it was proper, but I did it. I’ve never seen anything like this group; a few nights ago, a giant of a figure came out from behind some curtains, as Martha was told to take off her rope, she did, his eyes were closed and this thing had very thick eyebrows. He lay on Martha and almost, almost ended up killing her with his huge weight. Then like lightening his eyes become lit, he opened them. His ox-like eyes, the light pierced Martha, and she seemed to become infected with red dots all over her body; she died soon after, in any event, —now this evening he wants me, should he open his eyes and stare at me, I will surely be subject to his poison rays within his eyes I know I will die, I’m sure of it, and I have no way to escape (I am throwing this letter out the window hoping someone will pick it up and be kind enough to send it to you; also someone helped me write it but I can’t say who). I’m scared, real scared, if you get this letter, it may very well be my last. I should never have left home mom. Love J.J.

Notes: Tape Player on, --by Dick Earnest [to my employer, Ann Viper]; I have read these few letters to bring you up to date on the matter at hand. To conclude, may I say—JJ was never heard of again? I will forward the documents to you after I have finished putting them on tape.


The Noddoc Family
New Orleans & Sally

New Orleans
October 21, 1866 (Letter)

From: The Master Leader of the “77-Days Cult [Sect]”

I write to you Ms Elsie Noddoc on behalf of Vii the Demon, whose fierce gaze burned both your son and his wife to death, although his gaze burned with the poisons of the Virus Worm, he at times can control it, his virus-stare, but sometimes it gets away from him and he can’t—the worm has some kind of emanating rays, unknown to mankind. His eyebrows are very heavy you see, and when he is active with people he tries to keep them over his eyes as much as he can, not harm people (I hate to say, sometimes his third eye gets in the way, and opens up uncontrollably and discharges the deadly chemicals); and I add, if he does open his eyes too wide, and his eye-brows do not protect against his gaze somewhat, death is imminent: unfortunately, your two loved ones were victims, of this very tragedy, but not intentionally. But we also know of your rich history that leads to the legendary Avalon, etc.

Your son was buried with his wife, it was a nice funeral, and we paid all the expenses. Vii is 480 pounds, 13-feet tall. He is a very destructive demon of sorts; we call him ‘The Unmerciful Vii,’ because of his strength. His friend is called “The Woodbridge Demon.” Woodbridge will be visiting you now and then to see how Sally is coming along. Please be a good hoist. And for your efforts, enclosed is a check for $5000, which will help you with services needed for life’s short journey, for you are at the golden age of death you know, yes it will be just around the corner, we both know that, right?

The Cult Master,
And The Woodbridge Demon [WBD]

Memorandum left at the door of JJ’s mother’s house [Sally’s grandmother]

1 October 1867. Night—

From New Orleans,
By Vii and the Master Cult Leander/Priest of the “77-Day Sect” [otherwise known as the Executioner]:

I am writing this memo to let you know we are watching you and Sally—in particular, Sally, as she is growing and Vii has a personal interest in her. Please burn this memo after you read it, no sense in allowing others to see what we write; correct? Yes, oh yes, let’s keep this to ourselves. I see you are growing old and feeble, your legs are starting to acquire arthritis, and you walk quite slowly now. Gee, this is too bad; but then we all grow old do we not. I like writing letters at night, it is when I do my best work, that is why I am leaving this letter at your door steps now, it is four minutes past midnight. I have made a list I wish you to follow in teaching our child Sally, consider it the: ‘Ten Commandments,’ of Vii—

1) God is unfair, we have laws that he violates, such as, he can kill, but we can’t; god is allowed to get mad, but we have to be ruled by control, this is really 1 & 2, put together I suppose, so let’s call it 1a and 1b for clarity sake.
2) God made you without your consent so he could have a kingdom, and enjoys watching you struggle trying to get to it.
3) Why is the bear and the lion and the deer and the rat allowed to be out of control, kill at will, but it is a sin for man?
4) Is man or woman responsible for adultery, how can you deaden an emotion? And God himself gives that emotion to you. So we get lustful, even the priests and nuns get lustful; matter of fact, civilization was at first free to be lustful to populate the world with people, and then it became a sin. Brother and sister together, and relatives with relatives, why is it a sin today, but not yesterday. Do not look for the answer, just read this now and then to her, and tell it to her (this is her gospel, kind of).
5) Teach Sally, God is never punished, but punishes; thus, a dictator.
6) Teach her like the Muslims say: God hates a sinner, do not try to explain this, for we are all sinners are we not; but they the Muslims have a good concept—consequently they teach God is not a god of love, but of anger, this is exactly what I want (Vii says so); teach her to hate Muslims, because when they kill and die in the name of Allah, they think they go to God’s whorehouse, but let her knew this crap is true, and she will be one of the whores God may select for the Muslims to screw each night, for to them a female is no more than a dog, matter of fact, a dog is better off being a dog than a human female.
7) Teach her that any man in the world when he looks at the beauty of sex, and a woman, he will throw the bible in the trash can to have her, so her body has power, purpose. (Tell her it is ok for her to use her body to make ends, meet.)
8) The laws of God are not made for man to keep; they are too hard, only God can keep them, so why does he throw them at us? Tell her the answer is so that he can punish us, and watch us try effortlessly to gain his approval.
9) Teach her we are really part of the beast family, from the monkey, not from the Garden of Eden, that is just a fairytale. Evolution is the best way to pour salt on creation (and granny, don’t you forget that).
10) Teach her that her ancestry goes back to the Great Era of the Tiamat, the Mother of Demon, the first demonic beast that roamed the world, she should worship the demonic beasts of her past; and that going to church waste precious time when you can be making money, money and more money…

Best Regards, Vii and the Executioner

Jan 1868--
From Vii and the Executioner (Master of the ’77-Day Cult)’

To Grandma Noddoc:

This year’s lesson for Sally is straightforward—and incidentally, Woodbridge who hides in your pictures, lamps and peers through your windows at night, the demon with the long face, huge space-less eyes (I’m sending you a drawing of him), and large mouth, long skull and has a derby hat on, usually—that damn hat. He has informed us your coaching Sally is going quite well, and so, for lesson #2. But first let me give you a little advice, or if not advice, let’s call it a prelude to her training, tell her: God is unfair (I know I keep harping on this, but it is true you know). And, and the group of the, 77-Day Cult, which happens to be paying you for her education, and food, etc, loves her, as does the Tiamat, and Vii, and Woodbridge, and the Master Priest: --and so on. Now having said that, here are the new points—by the way, if the word ‘Cult,’ seems to bother her change it to ‘Sect’ it sounds less offensive for some odd reason; anyhow, teach her ((here is the picture also of Woodbridge)):

1) That Adam and Eve ate a pear, not an apple (people do tell lies you know), plus, why did God make man, the answer is: to suffer for one woman’s mistake? Make it a rhetorical question if you want; I do not what her to ponder on it. If you need to answer it, say: because He is a mad God.
2) Teach her that we demonic-gods are more loving than He is, and allow sexual freedom, drug usage to relax from long and stressful days, and that alcohol is really a product that even Noah used, not only for medical reasons but for party time; did not Jesus turn water into wine? Let her know this, maybe Jesus liked wine himself, who knows—maybe he got drunk a few times. Therefore teach her to drink to extremes at all occasions; why suffer tell her. If you don’t, Woodbridge will teach you what suffering is all about.

3) Plus add this: how can there be one God in three for the bible teaches that there is only one God. She will not figure this out, the Muslims have been trying for centuries, and even put it into the Qur’an; the trinity is too difficult for most people to accept. We do not want her running to the Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddha, or the Hindu’s for advice. Teach her Buddha was no more than a fat prophet, who was a Hindu, and Hindu teaches there are more gods than there are trees on earth. Confusion is the way to settle things, and when she gets lonely and hungry for spirituality, for each human is made with that need, you fill the black hole with Vii and the Tiamat—and the devil himself, Lucifer.
4) Teach her God kills for every reason, and is unreasonable when he kills, but when we kill (the demons and mankind alike), it is a sin, we should put God in the courtroom, and if we did, would he be jailed, yes, yes, yes, for excessive abuse of power. That’s why he doesn’t show his face publicly.
5) Ask her: is God responsible for helping you Sally? When she says yes, say: but who is paying the bills, it is the ’77-Day Sect,’ and I, the great demonic Vii. Tell her I have sent you $5000 in the beginning of our relationship, and will continue to support her life style. Have her learn the arts and humanities with the money; have her listen to mystic and enchanting music; show her paintings that have red’s and orange colors in them, along with purple colors, the devils colors in essence; make it a sober, but gruesome art agenda for her future. Bring her to sorcerers and wizards; get her involved in Black Magic if you can.
6) And last of all, teach her that God saved Noah because people got smart to his abuse of judgment and power, and he wanted to have people, new people that is, that were dumber than before the flood, that didn’t know better, so he started all over bossing people around through Noah.

Best Regards,
Vii and the Executioner


Belinda of Summerset
And notes by Mr. Earnest

Notes [the tape is on]: Dear Anna Viper, this is Dick Earnest again, interrupting the tape to update you with some other facts before I go on to reading more of the memos, letters, and diaries. Elsie Noddoc had a relative, she called her, her ‘sister’ for some reason, her name is: ‘Lady Belinda of Summerset [England],’ and again, these are just notes I made for myself, and I’ll try to explain them to you, this may help put a few things together. As you may already be able to tell, she, Lady Belinda, has an English heritage that dates back to 1009 AD. Or so it seems: I say seems because for some odd reason all the dates reflects this. She is a beautiful woman in her early 30’s, or again, so she looks. And I know you are saying, “…He said, ’is’ when refereeing to Lady Belinda,” please be patient and I will explain all.
I sum up her manner thus, as beautiful as she is, she has an iron look tied onto her face most of the time, and, most people live in character—in that, they have a beginning, middle, and end—with Lady Belinda you could not say, likewise, you have to ask yourself, what kind of person is she, the only thing one can say, is, she was, no more, no less, whatever.

Notes—by Dick Earnest [on audio tape]: Ms Anna Viper, what I found out about Vii is that he was/is a demonic being of some sort, originally assigned to the Bohemians and Slovaks who found his way to New Orleans some 200-years ago. His ancient ancestors go back to the days of the Watchers, the Angelic Renegades of 13,500 BC. He is a direct descendent of the Tiamat, Mother of Demon, and her daughter Gwyllion, who ruled the kingdom of York in about 6500 BC. This information was taken from some tablets found in old Sumer, Tales of the Tiamat, by an archeologist, and writer I think with the initials and last name of: Dlsiluk; this discovery and investigation led me back to St. Paul, Minnesota (also I had to go to New Orleans, and Nashville, and a few other places). I had talked to a woman by the name of Rosa Peñaloza, somebody from Peru, can’t remember her married name, besides she told me about her husband’s research on the Tiamat, and a man named Sinned (in which he wrote a few books concerning this demonic creature of sorts).

As I was about to say, Belinda seems to have been, or is of a higher class of society than lower class; being one of the elite of Summerset, England. She is a woman of wit and charm. She was well written into the aristocratic menu of eligible women to be married.
Lady Belinda—had a way of knowing a person’s choice of words; almost like having second sight, when matched with body language and tone of voice, before the person said a thing, she would normally know the question or answer ahead of time, alas, be careful should you ever meet her, or have to talk to/with her (she is a wizard of sorts).
The strangest of all things is that she is alive and well on earth, and presently in England. This may sound funny, but nonetheless, it seems to fit into my quadrangle of investigations. That is to say, after you have looked at all sides, everything, and only one thing is left and you keep coming back to it, you might just as well believe the unbelievable, and consider that the end product.
Lady Belinda has been considered one of the elite for advice also, kind of a seer you might say, a modern day seer that is, for the rich and famous humans and demonic figures alike, comparable to Nostradamus, a soothsayer with insight, and at times too much hindsight you might say, and she has been well paid for her services in the past. Legend says, or should I say, hearsay says: she was given 1000-years of life for the sale of her two-souls—the puerperal and the central—that, that happened at the age of 29-in the year of 1009 AD, and in the year to come of 2009, she will have lived her time. I found out, she used to live on the Tor in the Abbey of Avalon, the one in Glastonbury, England during those far off years. But too many priests and tourists visit the site nowadays, and so she’s left. She had even met a woman called, “Angelina of Glastonbury,” who was to have married the Green Knight, a knight who rode with King Richard [The Lion Heart]; of course this is all recorded in a book by the same named author I mentioned before.
So again we see much history in this windy path to enlightenment, and to free you of your curse. But fear not, I am trying my best to untie everything. In any case, I plainly see, Lady Belinda knows the secret of the “77-Day Sect”, and the secret in the letter of ‘Charlie,’ from Arthur, not sure 100% what the secret may be, possible who the Executioner is. I will explain about Charlie to you soon, and what I know about the Executioner. But here is what I found out about Lady Belinda (I found a note that confirms this, I memorized it):

“The only way you will be released from your obligation is to hand over your soul [s], when the time comes or find someone to take your place. Exchanging souls is strictly by request and acceptance of the person whom you made the agreement with; thereupon you will be given back your normal life span.”

Lady Belinda is the Great, great, great, great granddaughter of the seer known as “The Sea Ocean,” which dates back to 6700 BC, when the Tiamat ruled the Mediterranean Area (in both cases of the Sea Ocean ((I refer you to the books called: The Tales of the Tiamat, or their individual books which are three or four, written by the same author I mentioned before of which I only had his initials and last name, and for information on Angelina of Glastonbury, 1199 AD, I again refer you to him)). She [the: She Ocean] also made a pack with the devil for an extended life period, of 500-years: --like Lady Belinda. Both of these women are related to Elsie, and Sally; --for you are the direct or indirect descendent of these people. But be not alarmed, I have much more information for you, and possible a way out, I hope.

And now a few notes on the Executioner. If you have not heard of him, then this is pure enriching data for you; and I guess I feel you may have heard of his name somewhere along the long line of your growing years as a Viper, since now you know he is the head of the Cult: the Master and Elite member of course. In any case, here is some background (and I can only give you non-specifics, since that is all I know, and a little conjuncture): the name originated from the cult practice or better put, religious endeavors of the Moche people of Northern Peru, whom were conquered by the Incas. I think the Moche people date back some 1700-years, and that area back about 4000-years for tribal existence. This area is where he was known as ‘The Executioner’: the temple sites of Chan Chan, a nine-temple complex. I myself have been there, and it is most interesting. There is what is known as the Temple of the Sun, and the Temple of the Moon, and the Rainbow Temple (which is in essence ((to me anyway)) the great snake temple, since it has a carving of a great snake on it). Well, to get down to business, this Executioner would cut the heads off of those whom were sacrificed for different reasons. You can see his mask of sorts, in a few locations of the Temple of the Moon, I will try to draw a picture of it and send it along with this tape. Anyhow, the Master Priest of the 77-Day Cult is the reincarnation of this person whom may be found in the Agapaec area of the temple at Chan Chan. The fresco, and paintings were done around 1400-AD I think, about 150-plus years before the Inca’s came to take over. For what it is worth, this is all I really know.


Thoughts of Dick Earnest

(Earnest is fatigued, as he stumbles trying to catch his breath, and turns off the tape player for a moment to think in his office. He laughs and takes a drink of whisky.)

[Earnest thinking out loud] …Hmm mm… Anna is older now… I sense Lady Belinda wants Anna’s soul, why not, it makes sense, and makes life quite interesting, and as interesting as it is, there has to be something to it. All these families involved for so many years, too many years—: the curse, the curse, and the ugly curse, the unwanted curse the curse that was never imagined to be. ……………………. Hm mmm …but it would not be to anyone’s benefit should she turn her soul over to Lady Belinda for that information, I must persuade her not to…
…Let’s see…so if Belinda gets her soul, her pure character, her eternal being, or, or gets her, her to agree to giving it, which might be a better gift than hers, Anna, oh little Anna, being born in 1981, cannot expect to live past 2101 AD, and so they end up with it, what a pity, what a crime, what a disappointment and Belinda has to get it by 2009 AD, something like that—the bitch. Belinda will give Anna secrets, secrets to the “77-Day Cult”; about whatever she wants to know… then the transfer of souls would take place
So many thoughts, Elsie Noddoc was born in 1796, and died in 1887, and Sally was born 1900 and died 1983; and Lady Belinda was born in AD 1009, to die in 2009 (should she not get a new soul to replace her—by oath, or agreement—). Martha was born… [Pause—thinking] I think in 1853, and died 1866/87. Man O man, what a complex situation. I got to find a solution for her soul. Stop this Lady Belinda; Vii will never allow her to trade it, he couldn’t nor could the Cult and still expect to remain in good standing within it. Everyone fights everyone else in the dark world no one faithful to anyone.


The Viper Family
Sally Viper [Lime]

Notes by Dick Earnest [tape player is ‘recording’ now taking place]. I was just thinking Anna, what might be on the mind of Belinda… but I got thinking also of the information I acquired about Sally Viper [alias: Sally Lime]. This may surprise you, and so I will go slowly in amplification of my information, or findings.

Sally was your grandmother, and from my probing into her life, I have found out she had mystical elements about her, a powerful presence, not only rats and dogs stepped back when she walked the streets, or sidewalks they became paralyzed, weak; --snakes and crows were at her beck and call. There was always (folks say) a demon in her shadow, always following her around. (As I make these tapes these ongoing days, I will send them out to you Anna, and we will meet right after, right after the last tape is taped for you and you have listened to them, but I must make two copies, and I must isolate myself in my office to finish this so don’t be alarmed, no, oh no, do not be startled if I do not answer the door or phone for you, I have 1400-documents I am paging through, and not all of them are in English, some are scraps of paper, others as you know, are personal letters, and a few diaries, memos, etc. Some are in English, others are in French, some even in Greek, and still others in a kind of Sumerian dialect, --with dotes and dashes, and symbolism.
As I was saying Anna Viper, Sally caused quite a lot of stares to take place as she walked the streets: people would take a long look at her as she walked by them, wondering what kind of power she had, almost provoking her to demonstrate it, yet fearful they might be in the middle of something, or become bewitched, and so they would quickly put on a smile for her as she passed (often times stopping and watching her every movement, hoping to see some magical results, if any would develop, that is). She was quite the celebrity in that way. She was dressed modestly although, and was fine to place your eyes upon, big rounded eyes; her dress was of the style of the day, and showed her shape, so the, the notes say she had a great shape, nothing too attractive to cause over attention but nice, so again I say she dressed modestly to fit the day, the mode of the era, and into society, which makes sense, why be a magnet.
I had noticed in one of her pictures, of which I have a few dozen of, -- (that is, a few dozen of the many members of the four families), she in particular, liked thin cloths, soft cotton, white blouses that clung to the body, ----clinging to the curves of her body that is, at times showing her upper body figure upon her movements. She was not tall or short it seemed, I gather about 5’4”, and slim. Her eyes, and I know, I keep coming back to those eyes, were expressively deep in the pictures, they almost put me into a trance simply looking at them. She didn’t wear spectacles, or glasses. Somehow it seems she may have needed them, not that she was cross-eyed, or had a lazy eye, but something funny about the way her eyes were, as if one could see to the right, as the other looked straight ahead; puzzling at best—and at worse. She had quite the puerperal vision while having forward vision as well.
She gave birth to a son; I could see a weakness in her countenance as she held her child in one of her pictures, comparing the before and after images of her that is. By such pictures, one can see many things words will not describe. Her long thin white neck seemed too thin to hold her large head up for long periods of time, very sweet looking though, similar to milk-cream—but pale and weakening.
I read some articles about her in the library, that I took with me home, which I have here right now, and it says: her voice was distinguished in that it was endearing, low and she talked very slow with many pauses—as she was known to give some very good lectures at women’s events throughout the city, and she could be quite the humorist if she wanted to get her point across; a female Mark Twain one might say. And many of her lectures were on the qualities and values of evolution. She also took a fancy on talking about demonic beings that once ruled the earth, and on women’s rights. She was not for capitol punishment per se, yet felt if murder was the crime—and it was done to a woman by a man, it was a simple matter of ‘an eye for an eye,’ therefore: kill the ‘bastard’, if that is what you wanted to do, and I quote her. The paper clippings I read concerning her also said she edited each word she spoke, or wrote; again one might say, similar to Mark Twain. Her dialogues were very precise and specific—with little explaining: also with calmness very few people have, if not at peace with one’s self, or possessed, a poet’s prize.
She seemed removed, a remnant somewhat of or from the human race—plainly speaking, she strikes me as a person not knowing whom to trust, and not knowing human nature; that was her downfall I expect, and yet she was quite involved with people. A happy sort of person, in a sad sort of way, if that makes any sense [a smile appears on Dick’s face] sometimes we put on a show, for whatever reasons, and when the lights are off, that is when we sort things out. The paper also said: “She possesses a rage unequaled to the fine women of this decade…” …whatever that means.

Sally did once write a poem let me repeat it on this tape:

Sally’s Grief
[Dead World’s Chant]

The dead world, seems to be
Awaken to me, wherever I go—;
With all its demons and imps
Walking my streets, as if—if
I didn’t know…

And none of them, none I say
None, really, really knowing me—
Yet—they seem to act
As if they do; as if they peeked
Through some peephole
Long ago…

It’s the living they envy I see,
The living—I say, the living!
Oh yes, yes; alas! the living;
So…Hooray for the dead…
With my pity I give.

If—if only I had wings—death
Death would never catch me… .

# 451 (2003)

Another note left by Sally (Sally was doing some deep thinking along her road of life. It was her soul she was after, and her soul that she lost, or so it would seem):

“Most people are made up of actions and reactions, or so I have noticed, and come to believe: very few have used the character of the soul, the very thing that distinguishes them from their name, to a real person. As life goes by, I will not remember people’s names, only their character, for that is who they were: who they are to me, that is. There are really too many Sally’s out there, but only one me, but you got to check out the character of my soul to be able to separate.”



Prior to her rape [her: being Sally], she had no suspicion in her life at all, now she seemed naturally on guard (I will get to that later). On guard I say again, regretfully. She, at that point had repugnance toward mankind in general; and was very much at one time, a natural, lively, blue-eyed, milky cream skin girl with lips as rosy as a sunset—long golden hair, funny how we change.


[Notes: tape still running, as Dick Earnest, the Christian Psychologist, presents his investigation as a monologue to Anna Viper]

I should take a break somewhere along the line here, I’ve been talking for hours, and the tapes are adding up. I put two tapes in the mail today, and one yesterday. I expect to put them all together in a week I hope, or thereabouts.
Thomas Viper, as he is or was known, was born 1878 and died in 1931. Another mystery might be resolved here, and at the same time I might possible be able to show you a motive somewhere along the long line of mounting lies, and deception all these families cultivated; but Anna, first things first.
After the rape (again, I must tell you to wait on this matter of the rape, until I can put these notes together for you, they are quite alarming on one hand, and the more I search, quite disarming on the other—in that, they have a charm to them) his manner of dress became quite grotesque, a mixture of drab and pale colors—for the most part; rather unlike him, as if he was cracking up, during this period of time. In some of Sally’s notes and journalizing, she says—, wait a minute, and I will quote them:
Well, in the midst of all this here is what I found:

“Thomas is walking in circles daily, talking to himself, saying ‘I will never be the man I was…’ and ‘you must dominate life…’ and he continued on and on this way. He scares me so. He said just today: ‘My body has cracked,’ now what is ‘cracked, mean?’ You crack a glass or some kind of object, not a person, anyhow, the meaning I’d guess is that his mind no longer can support his body; no reality to look at anymore. He has been drinking a lot also. Drinking, drinking, drinking as if he never drank before, drinking—more than a lot, now that I think of it; I mean really drinking as if he wanted to drink himself to death, to never wake up, up to be a pickled human drunk… He talks about the loving faces he sees on the porches around the city as he walks to and from places. The faces he encounters in alleys, backyards, are ones he makes up out of his head and then tells me about; he is not, my dear journal, my loving journal, part of the ocean of people, he is not part of anything, anymore, but he is part of the other society, but he gives me no definition of it, ugly as it maybe, it is his elite status; he once walked with his shoulders back, his head was, was held like a prince, as if what was in it was priceless, but not now, now it is as if it rotted away. Which he is doing daily, rotting away, but I am not used to it—yet!”

Again Anna, he was well known in the community, and had many connections, with a horrific deadly desire to control. But let me go on with his odd form of dress. His ties never matched his clothing it seemed, compared to the pictures and newspapers I’ve examined; he was quite uniform in dress prior to his crack-up, or being ‘cracked’. His shoes were scuffed, unlike the earlier pictures I’ve noticed of him, but I think again it was after the rape these things took place for he was not known for such a vagabond look, tramp look, prior to this—not at all.

The Crackup of Thomas

During the evenings Thomas wore ill cut shirts, with cuffs rippled with dirt, and his collar was always dirty it seemed, as if he was trying to wipe his sins clean by punishing himself [another smile emerges on Dicks face]. It would seem he felt some kind of devotion for her—yet not enough, not sufficient, oh no, not adequate for suicide prevailed. His pride was no longer heightened by his lovely cousin’s presence after the rape—his composure became hideously ugly. Would not—could not, show anything but discontent for his cousin’s condition, the very, very one he created, twisted, formed. Yes, yes, this man was cleaver he was something else. They had both come to the point I believe, when looking or talking or eating with each other [Thomas and Sally] at the hotel where they lived together, they acted less than human with each other. As I was about to say, they came to the point of containment between each other for a long time, out of respect for each other, especially him for her, but this too was lost. He described himself in a memo as:

[Memo] “I am the mongoose (the one that eats the snakes), Sally is the King Cobra, I dare say, ‘how so?’ you say, and I mumble I have given her a child to whom the ancient ‘Abyss Worm,’ and Vii… wish to utilize for some reason, in consequence, I have infected another generation. Beware of the Master of the Cult; he has a double edge sword” Thomas


The Father

[Dick Earnest’s concluding thoughts as he calls Anna Viper up on the phone to simply go through them].

[The phone rings] “Anna speaking… [Pause]…hello?”

“Anna, this is Dick Earnest, and I’ve been putting together another tape for you, I’ll send it off tomorrow, but I wanted to just talk a bit, and possibly get together with you so I can give you an overview in person of all this information, and likely some options concerning the: “Abyss Virus Worm,” as it is known. Matter of fact you and I, along with a few others, are the only ones on this planet earth that know this secret; or so I think, about the Worm that is, the secret of the worm, the Abyss Virus Worm. Oh yes, we are unique now Anna, we both know so much, many secrets you might say, of the essence of the worm and the cult that follows it.

Anna [curiously]. “I’ve been hoping to actually talk to you instead of all this back and forth tape stuff. And yes, the information you have found out is somewhat interesting, and it sounds like you’ve got a lot more?”

[Dick with a deep sigh—thinking, ‘what does: somewhat, mean?’].

“Yes, my long drudgery into this mysterious world is unwinding for you, which I understand you come from, this unseen, and ancient world has brought forward many conclusions, and many questions to my mind, as I am sure it has for yours: my soul being stirred and tired at the same time. But all-in-all, it has been more than interesting for me—.”

Said she [with anxiousness]: “And so Mr. Earnest, what is it you want to bring to my attention?”

Earnest [carefully]: “Just kind of an overview for you, to see if I can [or we can] put some of the parts of this puzzle together—for you, and give you a few my unbiased opinion [s] or better yet, personal thoughts mixed with experience. I’m not at this point sure on how to cure you if that-in truth-is, what really needs to be done in addition getting rid of the curse somehow (by magic or by deed or prayer); but I will try and find out, I will find out how, I will find out somehow, someway.

(Anna is silent; taking in all the information about everything Earnest has been giving. Thinking: what might be the best medicine to kill the curse, --yes, to kill it, like you would a virus?)

This room of mine is starting to drive me crazy Anna, I’ve been in it steadily for over a week now, and in two of my rooms I have paper all over the place, stacks here and there, everywhere, as high as me, that is when I’m sitting down (a little laugh comes over the phone from Anna, Dick wanted to be humorous for some reason). I have pictures taped onto the walls, and maps showing the locations of the families, where they lived, worked, died; such as Erie, Pennsylvania; St. Paul, Minnesota, New Orleans, Nashville, and the English countryside (England). But let me just give you a briefing so I can go back to work, and yes, oh yes, let’s get together with some coffee and go through the rest of the information I have gathered, in sequence, to see if I missed something; but not for another several days please. What I want to bring to your attention at this moment is:
Thomas Viper –was unmoved, I mean really unyielding in admitting he was the father of the child; the rapist of Sally, that is. Sally’s interest in Thomas was electric for a very long time, as came about her simple recognition and obedience to him, then followed the rape, not knowing for sure who the rapist was I imagine, yet always having that awful thought of being betrayed by the one person she so truly trusted. But electric I think, when I say that I mean, possibly too fond of him at times, and blind to his intentions. Yet she grew on him also, that is where the ‘crack up’ came from I suppose (a weakness he did not expect from himself). You can only hide from reality for a while you know: you can paint over it, make a worm look like a bird, yet it is still a worm; you can write all you want about ideas, and cover up the thinking process, but again, repeating yourself in circles will not get your mind to avoid what it is trying to avoid forever, it will emerge—the dread will emerge, if we remain human. People avoid talking about death as if it will go away, like hell, but it doesn’t
She allowed Thomas to take charge of her life for the most part, and that is exactly what he did; and of course, the priority in this relationship was Thomas looking after Thomas, as Thomas was always for Thomas; but in his own way he loved her I suppose, as I have tried to explain, in his sick, under par way, as unkindly as he turned out to be, he prized her. But isn’t that the way so much of life is, the unknown; what is behind the mind of that other person that is the unidentified; so often we think we know? Is it not healthier to trust, so the counselor would say? And when we do, it backfires on us—often. And if we live a life being on guard, is it not insanity? A rhetorical question, but food for thought, my dear Anna but I add this to my ongoing thoughts only because I want to understand the mind of the culprit. When you know his mind you can deal with his soul better. I do hope you agree with this.
As you almost certainly heard, and now know better, these tapes and my research draw a better picture on how Sally was raised by Elsie for years, ---for myself, as a ‘helper in the psychological’ sphere, I was fascinated by a few missing facts, or as of today, missing facts they are not, not anymore. One being, ‘…how did she get the virus?’ my conclusion to this is an over implication at best, but let me try, nonetheless: I do believe she was being weaned by a formula given to her during her suckling-stage as an infant and thereafter; the compounds [or make-up] being of leftover particles of blood taken from Vii—who was infected by the Abyss Worm, one might say kind of a homegrown infection because it was deadly in the first place, and, and wanted more power, more deadly, more toxic power of which was given to it through the, the poisonous biochemical structure of the worm that infected his body, and for him, it came out through his eyes, not an iota—but much more, plus no one really knew why it came out that way, it just did, —yes bodies react differently to chemicals, it came out in the look—the forced stress of his eyes, therefore if he wanted a death, a monster’s kill, he had it right in his eyes; not like the worm who kills its victims slowly and has to implant itself within them or become vulnerable by showing itself; thus, kill or imprison itself for safety, or be killed, if you can kill it. As unappetizing as it sounds, I cannot come up with anything better.

Now on another note, although this is just an opinion and in searching this case out, it is hard not to have them, I find it a little baffling again, Sally that is, didn’t put two and two, together, meaning: why did she not ask God, why he was punishing her? You know what I mean, was He punishing her for the kicks of it? She never wrote about that. I’ll never understand this…And, and, why didn’t she look closer, as the years went by at ridding herself of this curse, like you, why did she not come to seek out help? As you have, again, I’ll never know. But, and this is a big but…but would it not stand to reason if, if you or I were Sally, we’d ask the question: ‘…why in the first place does God even put up with me, and the people that gave me this curse?’ In a like manner, why would God give free will for malice, to Vii and his group, and to the Trials? Many questions came to my mind as I searched this mystery of the Virus Worm, and your curse: many, many, many questions came to mind. And as a Christian Psychologist, I need to know God as he is, not as people would like him to be, even I sound hard on Him, but in looking at hard facts, we got to have good reasoning, and in making decisions, I have to see who will get hurt, for it is my duty to insure I do the best for my client. Even search God’s motives out if need be.
Why go through all the trouble, and watch your child suffer; that is, by allowing it to be a deformed creature, and have to live with it or be cursed, does that show love? If I were Sally, I think I’d be angry with Him [Him being: God], but I didn’t find this in all the papers I’ve searched. I mean, He is in all respects a person—God that is—who, who can have peace or war at the click of a finger; He can win the war, no contest. It looks to me as if she was more brained washed psychologically by all involved, even God Almighty, than genetically, and if predisposed to this curse, and the blood, then this may have triggered an invitation for the Abyss Worm to enter her and give her its virus, which seems to have captured her mind, and used her body as a incubator for breeding—regrettably; and blocked her soul, its light, and possibly oxidize her will. I know I fascinate you with all this knowledge, but I am a genius of sorts, oh yes, it is hard for me to do laborious jobs when my mind is clicking, clicking away…but you are getting the benefit of it, of my mind that is.
And so in her case I am sure of the DNA structure of her past was set in motion for the day it was to be triggered. The curse you have Anna, --Anna Viper, the one you want to get away from, is what she could not get away from. And she was blind in how to reverse it, and as we have seen with my data, did little seeking for assistance like you. Now before you ask how do we do this, previous to it being too late for you, let me simply go on with my research, and we shall talk later, ok?”

Anna [clingingly]. “Mr. Earnest, what can I say, I have to let you go if you say so, but I do hope I do not have to pay you anymore money for the following work you are doing, I’m next to broke. I know the research has taken over a year, and now these documents and so forth, but my $25,000-inheratance is all but gone, I have $800 left (as she is expressing and explaining her case, she is also wondering why he knows so much, seemingly it sounds like conjecture, but he sounds so darn right knowledgeable, possible too familiar with this case, but she does not let on to this. Thus, the distortion she feels she has found out is kept secret thinking there must be some kind of explanation that will come out somewhere along the time line here).”
“My dear child (says Earnest, with a slight indifference to his tone of voice, different than before), it has been a long, long year, and just the knowing of this case has gotten to me; yes, it has worn me out like a race horse after the Kentucky Derby has been run, and no, no, you will not be charged from here on; I am your fish, you caught me, and I like being caught, that is to say, I need to put closure to this case, with or without funds, and I do understand you are in need of your funds, I could never knowingly take your last dollar.”

Part Two

Their Stories
The Unendurable Sin and Curse of the Viper’s


[Eyes of the Soul]

“The eyes of the soul must look into
The heart of the man before he is
Washed clean as linen”

Arthur Trials

The One Eyed Viper of, ‘Pigs Eye’

“I’ve asked nothing from anybody—I mean, nobody, that’s how it was; I work hard, paid my tax’s—I was worth my salt.”
1880, Arthur Trials

The Trials Family

When Thomas Viper arrival back at the St. Paul Hotel (his second home, and business location ((the year being 1932)) he found waiting for him a note typed concerning his cousin Sally Noddoc—which he knew quite well from the letters they had been writing back and forth for some time now. Actually, they had been writing for some two years. She had been writing him from Erie, Pennsylvania. In his writings, he explained to her, he was sorry that he was unable to communicate with her sooner than two years ago, yet the reason being [he explained] he never knew she had existed up to two years ago (or so he told her); whereupon, a ‘Last Will’ was read in which she was given property on Dayton Street, in St. Paul, Minnesota, a nine-plex by her Great Uncle, Dennis Trials. Consequently, he was claiming kinship with her and volunteered to run the building in her absence, and until she could arrive and take responsibility of the land-lordship.
The last letters he received from her was a month old, which indicated Sally would arrive in the city on Friday it was now Wednesday. He had written her saying:
“I hope you will choose to remain and live in St. Paul, it is a beautiful and conservative city—as well as a cultural one, with all the amenities of a larger city, yet remaining is its country style mannerisms.
He explained to her the city used to be called—back about one-hundred years ago, ‘Pigs Eye’, because of a one eyed-bartender and owner of the bar who did a lot of trading with the soldiers at Fort Snelling—fur trading for the most part: up the Mississippi a-ways, a few miles from St. Paul (on a hill over looking the city). Daily you’d see boats leaving the banks and piers of the city heading down to St. Louis and New Orleans; it was a generous and wonderful city, with its ideal Mississippi location, in review, Thomas was quite proud of his city.
He also explained he was aging, and he had just had his 70th birthday: she was but twenty-nine years of age. But he assured her, his family stock lived well into their 90’s, and so he might have another twenty-years left, yet again, his health was not the best—contradictory it may have sounded, but she thought nothing of it. Thus, he was prepared to assist her in all manners should she decide to come this year to St. Paul.

“For God only knows,” he wrote her,”how long I will last”. (Again a distortion she overlooked.)

Thomas lived on Albemarle Street and was heavily invested in properties throughout the city; some money invested in hotels and some in bulk gold and other metals. For the most part, his money was spread out in several directions.
The note he picked up at the hotel was from Sally—for convenience he kept an office, which was connected to a two bedroom living quarters, at the main hotel in the center of the city. He was on the 7th floor. The note explained that he should meet her at the train station at 4th and Jackson streets; and that, should they miss each other she’d meet him in the lobby at the hotel. Thomas had sent her $600 for expenses; to help her make her way, her trip easier one might say. And so Sally Noddoc was on her way.


The Arrival of Sally

The following Friday, Sally arrived as expected, by way of the train—it would seem that they both had done quite a good job in coordinating their meeting at the train station, for no sooner had Thomas arrived at the station the train was pulling in. As he rushed into and through the towering building with its grand pillars meeting him as he walked up the stairs, sliding on the marble floor in the center of the station a bit, trying to hurry and hoping, he’d not fail to notice Sally upon her arrival, and on to and out to the pier area, he stopped in front of pier #4, expecting her to appear, and she did just like that.
As she stepped down the few stairs from the train to the platform, Thomas was there with his hands wide open, greeting her, as if to give her a bear hug, but instead simply ending up hugging and kissing her as if she was the elegant Queen of England. She smiled and was taken back a bit, but enjoyed the scene, and the moment, with its warm sensations.
“Oh Sally, I’ve anticipated your arrival…just right, I have a taxi waiting for us, and a hotel room for you at the best hotel in the city. And later on I can introduce you to young men if you so wish.”
Sally was smiling from ear to ear, saying with a sigh of relief, the trip was over, she made it to St. Paul, Minnesota; “I finally get to meet you cousin Thomas,” she commented, then adding, “I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m sure you have, or it sounds like you have, everything taken care of, so I’ll follow you, if that pleases you…”
Said Thomas, with a grin, and ardent posture,
“I was rehearsing what I’d say when I met you, but it looks like we both do not need to edit ourselves, it is coming out as natural as if we were old friends from the Civil War.”
Having said that, he grabbed her hand and whizzed her away through the grand lobby of the train station, and its shinning floors.
“You are quite young, and a very healthy looking woman, very beautiful,” commented Thomas, during their walk.
Self-doubting, as she was, Sally said: “Healthy, not sure what that means, but I eat well.”
Thomas looked at her, looking directly at and around her shape, eyeing her shape, her curves, which seemed to be most pleasing to him—as they got into the taxi, he noticed they were full, her breasts, and hips, and she had a nice shape to her pear-like bottom. “Hm…mm” he said, as she slyly look from the corner of her eyes trying to figure out what the “Hm…mm” was for.
There was coolness in the June air, briskness to the sunny early afternoon [about 65 F] as they made their way to the hotel.

It was not long after that first meeting when both Mr. Thomas and Sally ended up living in the two bedroom hotel apartment together; but most confidently, and upon shared agreement with both; in addition, they formed a joint venture, in their own way, --her with the nine-plex building she inherited, and Thomas with his currently several duplex’s he owned throughout the city, both consolidating them into a partnership. The duel-ownership was called, “The Sally-Viper Inc”; and so the relationship showed the makings for a rich, and trustful beginning, with overwhelming respect. But all good things do not always last: least we believe the unbelievable (for it would seem in Thomas’ world, even if he wanted to be a friend, it was hard for him to be one).
Sally lived in the bedroom across from Thomas’, each having their own bathrooms; they shared the living room and kitchen together. One month on, Sally’s new life in the city of St. Paul transparent, she was adapting quite well to the upper middle class status, which Thomas introduced her to and she like it: furthermore, Thomas signed his will over to her, giving her all his properties should he die. Sally seemingly, quite impressed with such a move, became emphatically more trusting of him (which was exactly what he wanted).
During their first long hot summer (July and August of that first year), Thomas admitted to Sally, tenderly, she reminded him of his daughter, that is, the one he never had (he lied).
“If I was to die today,” he told Sally looking emotionally to the floor, cigar in hand, making smoking circles circulate around his sofa-chair toward his feet, as he sat in the living-room, feeling if he was a prize bull … Sally going over some numbers, the window open, a black-tarnished small fan on, “I can (he went on to say to Sally) rest in peace knowing you and only you will be well kept, and have a great enterprise to finance your future.”
Sally (being proudly honest) “Indeed, Cousin Thomas, I really enjoy the respectability my new life has brought to me, and the new found power and influence in the community it emits.” (For the most part Sally was not shy about her blessings.)
“Thank you Sally for your kind remarks,” the old man said with the horsiest voice one ever heard, --talking and trying at the same time to push out smoke from his stomach, that he accidentally swallowed…his eyes and lips trembling. Then added, “I am glad you are my cousin. A common trait in us, I see, is business, and your good looks, for you are quite smart and sharp, now what else might we find as time goes on, as far as parallel traits, or virtues?” (He had a cunning smile on his face, but Sally paid little attention, her mind was on numbers, plus she felt him harmless if not playful.)


The Predatory Kind
The Trials Family

[Dick Earnest]: a note by Dennis Trials:

“You cannot measure his vileness [Arthur Trials], his wickedness by today’s standards; —the reason being, he belongs to an ancient and more simple time, one of barbarism—when deeds of crudity were not punishable by death, but received praise; --nor would one be held accountable for the punishers death; he was born to destroy, some people are you know—born to kill, to hurt, to punish— likened to an executioner.

Dennis Trials, 1867
[2nd son to Arthur Trials]

The Soup Bowl

It was the 13th week of Sally’s stay in St. Paul, when Sally sat down for dinner with Thomas, the maid had fixed some soup for both of them, and Thomas brought it out for Sally on a silver tray, putting it in front of her in the dinning-room, on a long mahogany wooden table. Thomas took a smart walk around the house, simply feeling uncomfortable for some unknown reason—almost a sense of urgency, as if something was about to happen. They had both checked out their tenants and properties this day, to insure their employees were performing preventive maintenance; all was well. So Thomas was not sure why he felt, the way he felt—he just did, such was his resolved in his thinking.

For the most part, they, the tenants looked loathsome to Thomas today after he walked though the halls of one of his buildings, a glance here and there at the tenants: not quite knowing why they looked so repugnant to him, he thought to leave well enough alone though, yet remained somewhat in a contemplation state; then went back home to the hotel, where Sally was having a bowl of soup, sitting in the dinning-room; yet continuing to feel that same very way. And I add again: Thomas not knowing why he felt the way he felt.

As Sally started to cough, it turned into a sharp and unpleasant matter —choking and coughing as if she had lost control of her body functions; Thomas after realizing it was becoming a state of emergency, ran over to her and as he was about to assist in trying to take out whatever was lodged in her throat, she vomited right into her soup, out came a multi-legged creature with eyes, colorful, and horrid looking (the Abyss Worm); Sally frozen with shock and straight-eyed freight, looking at the creature now floating in her soup pushed back her chair, eyes as wide as the headlights of a car:
“What in God’s name is it…!” she screeched out as high as to break the crystal glass.
Before Sally could say another word Thomas grabbed the bowl of soup, bringing it into the kitchen, leaving Sally to herself for a moment, sitting it down on the counter, he then paused, took in a deep breath, put his hands firmly on the counter, another deep breath, then let the air out slowly, ‘…now what,’ he whispered to himself [?] Then he walked over to the door, which lead into the dinning room, looked at Sally…

[Disdainful] Sally lost her coolness and hauteur,
“What on god’s earth was that…?” (Her head shaking mortified.)

Very slowly her body became red hot, blood boiling. Her face contorted, “An animal, a large insect of some kind!” she sighed; “A rotten intestinal creature…” her appearance was being transformed into ugliness, wrinkles around wrinkles all over her face, almost resembling the round Abyss Worm itself: it looked as if it was coiled, stuck in a curled form, as if someone had taken a straight worm, and wound it in a circle, with little antenna legs.
Thomas not quite knowing what to say, now standing by her side as she sat in the dinning-room chair simply, apologized for her agony, but she thanked him for his hast, --yet, knowingly, Thomas wondered what the creature had done to her insides, her body insides, her living organisms inside her body; --for the worm had saber teeth, little worm type saber teeth—but nonetheless deadly little teeth. It had surely infected her whole body he thought. He was hoping if the Abyss Worm had children, they would be safe within her now.

Thomas backed into the kitchen, took a spoon and churned it through the bowl of soup; as a result, three rounded worms surfaced, about the size of dimes, or about one third the size of a quarter; --he took a sigh of relief, and mumbled, ‘…they have survived…the children of the Abyss Worm, they have survived, thank goodness!’
Said Sally as she entered the kitchen—was about to look into the soup bowl for the worm but hesitated as Thomas distracted her (at the same time Thomas swallowed the small baby worms quickly—to safeguard them).
“Where is that, that ugly looking creature I vomited up?” she asked (they were all gone).
“I washed them down the drain,” commented Thomas, when in actuality he didn’t see where the big worm went.
“This is very serious, I have not had time to evaluate this yet,” she responded with a disappointed look.
[Thomas acting annoyed somewhat] “Why Sally,” said Thomas, “why is it the wiping out of a worm is so unsettling? I was simply trying to protect you! It most likely destroyed it; I flushed it down the sink.”
“I suppose so…” she spoke with a sullen voice— still shook up.
But Thomas knew very well with all his years of old wisdom backing him up, silence did not mean all was well that looked well, matter of fact, to the contrary, silence often meant the opposite, something was being left out, not said, unexposed, possibly a plan. Often times the thinking waves going through such silence can be mischief stored-up for someone. But then Thomas was often paranoid, and he knew that as well, as was a trait of Sally’s also. In any case, he believed at this point, he needed to escalate his plan of desolation…

[Now in the living room] Thomas pulled out a cigar, drew a long draw from it, let the smoke out easily and sat back into a soft sofa chair, as the smoke circled the room quietly, as if it was a haze falling and covering up a holy shrine, covering up the anxiety that had filled the house a moment before
Thomas knew the Abyss Worm, did not, in particularly attack or submerge it into strangers; first it was not a wise thing to do, with all the variables one would have to look at, with its potential dangers; especially for breeding. Second, the body the worm was in could not reject it: that is, if the worm wanted a home to live in, but rather had to build immunity to its powerful virus up for the incubator body it chose. Sally was the perfect incubator, for she was even weaned on its infectious liquids from Vii. He concluded, the worm was at a weak point, when her body rejected the worm, or possibly, the four-worms combined was too powerful for her body at the moment to endure, that is, the new children of the worm had produced (an endurable state, and broke up the inertia, and thus, the body to protect itself, vomited)—thus the worm was dual-sexed, in this sense, not needing a mate; that is to say, it could self-produce its offspring.
Now Thomas had three-siblings that belong to the host worm in his system. He told himself he did what he did to protect the lively hood of the offspring (hastily—((yes)), but he knew he did it too fast, yet he convinced himself he had to swallow the children of the hoist worm in fear Sally would see them—without thinking of the consequences, and out of emotions; --for as he thought about his deed, he also thought about how he could survive the contagious creatures virus his body poisoned now. The worms deadly environment was now venomous to his insides, he unintelligible chattered adding, with worms that know nothing, and cared less about his life, this was now the new thought developing in his mind, life and death: he had questions upon questions, and no answers, and no one to go to, to get answers—matter of fact, there was no answers to be gotten, only, preparation for a slow death, although he was of old age already, this would limit his life even more so on earth: he thought he was ready, yet he wasn’t, or so he told himself, not ready to die, not really die, maybe talk about it, but that is not like really dying; something he protested, yet something he had no control over, not now: ‘…damn,’ the word seeped out and around the corner of his mouth.
(Thomas going over his thoughts again) Death was not something he was quite ready for; oh yes, something he mentioned to Sally, but he had a reason for doing it; a motive if you will; yes indeed, indeed, an ulterior motive. Although death was in front of his words it was never rationalized, not firmly, not deeply in his mind. Alas, it was now. It would have been vomited up just nonetheless, he told himself. But to realize deaths hand was within its reach of him—around the corner to speak of, that he could taste it, almost feel it, now he could feel it for real, but not then, not before, it was just a word; his system knew for a fact in some moment in the near future—time would end, halt, the unknown would become known; but now the almost known was present; as it was never before, it was now, a matter of fact now, that his body was going through, producing some unbearable anguish; the near future—had become predictable. Some pain to endure before death was to creep into his body completely; it would not be a quiet and graceful death, not at all.
Hitherto, he did what his father wanted him to do, Arthur Trials, but now he was questioning his automatic responses. It is one thing to hate and get revenge, and another to die for it, or die by an ancient worm for it, that handed out a deadly virus: god forbid we die for a demon, and then go to hell for him to, only to be punished on earth and in hell; he mocked himself, he mocked the Worm, his ancestors, all whom shaped his life, he mocked them all, all of them, everyone, one by one (he was angry and sad at the same time). ‘What more can a man give…’ he asked himself [?] But the matter was settled, closed for discussion, he had already done the deed, the creatures were inside of him, should they survive, they would deaden his system intentionally or unintentionally, make it putrid— analogous to a dead corpse, and he’d die an agonizing death, no questions asked—that’s how it was, is, would be; he had no immune system to fight such deadly poisonous creatures. No one did but the Viper family.
Be it negligence, laxity, or whatever, he now was daydreaming, visualizing his coffin, whispering to himself: ‘blood does not circulate into dead tissue…a slow unbearable death awaits me…’ a tear came from his eye as he thought on the matter some more, on the death theme, and whom would come for him, knock at his dark-door. He seemed to be numb, paralyzed for the moment, while he thought about his arranged death.

‘The worm must have not been securely holding onto the roots of her insides,’ Thomas concluded in his daydreaming mode [his mind], as a dying man does before he lets go of his anger just prior to his death, like when the breath of, the last breath of a person stops, --like a, a clock stops ticking, then silence in the body transcends the room it fills, a cold silence (he continues to mumble to himself).’
Then thinks more on the matter at hand: ‘…when she coughed it up,’ thought Thomas. He added, ‘it recognized her, I am sure of that, but not necessarily me.’ In all thoughts and logic, danger signs appeared in his brain. To save the breeding, to save the breeding, to save, to save, breeding, the breeding, I must save the breeding --but what now would be his reward, death, death, and death? And so he left the logic for the logical, and went to bed, whipping the tears from his eyes.


J.J. Hill
And the Cradle that Rocks

“I can’t imagine, just think of owning half of St. Paul, like that rich train industrialist, that lives on Summit Street, JJ Hill, by the Cathedral,” said Thomas, one evening in September, as the St. Paul, Minnesota State Fair was about to take place.

“Whenever you decide Sally, we can buy a few more properties?”
“You are so confident and gracious,” she remarked, “…but I was actually thinking about the State Fair?”
“It is not often one finds a long lost cousin; and also, Sally, yes we had better get some sleep, tomorrow we look for properties, tomorrow will be a busy day; and that State Fair issue, it sounds like fun, it has been long, I mean, a very long time since I’ve been to one: did you know we have the second largest one in the United States right here in our own backyards? Matter of fact, I was just a kid the last time I went. Oh I remember jumping over the fence in back of the fair grounds, big old horses were there from the University Hospital, part of the fair grounds I think, there I’d grab a rope, put it around the horses head, and go for a ride with my friends. And the Merry-Go-Round, boy it was fun. And the games, and foot long hot dogs, and…gee, you made me think of so much fun; simple things, that is 90% of a persons life you know, simple things that is, the rest, well, the rest happens in-between all them simple things, and we keep waiting for them, the big ones and miss the 90% little ones, in the process, what a squander.” (Looking a bit cheerless and not talking anymore, he smiled at Sally, and then they both went into their bedrooms.)

Day of the State Fair

Sally had always been a late riser, and late going to bed, but she woke up early this particular morning, the morning the State Fair started. Although they had both done business together, they had not bought any new properties together; it was exciting and adventurous to think this might happen, thought Sally. And so at 5:00 AM she was sitting down at the long dinning-room table drinking coffee, she was sipping it, nursing it slowly, mouth to air, mouth to air, then she’d put it down, lift it up, and go again. It was as nerve-racking as Thomas’ smoking his tedious and irritating cigars. She loved the table with its thick wooden under structure, and glowing-glass coating of the wood on its surface. The window was slightly open, and a tepid breeze from the morning crept in just enough to fill her lungs up with fresh vital air, in consequence, letting the stale air sneak out.
Besides a daily vicious schedule most of his life—with a high vitality for life and work itself, old man Thomas seemed a bit tired this morning as he dragged himself slowly out of his room towards the dinning room. His biological and neurological systems seemed to be shutting down, not because of old age per se, he guessed at that right away, for it was sudden—not progressive, thus those damn Virus Worms, he told himself. He had slept twelve-hours, where six or seven was normal for him. (Yes, he convinced himself, regeneration for the worms was draining him, he was their battery, and so he told himself.) As he sat at the table getting acclimated to the morning traditions, he gave Sally a big hug, and smile. He knew something she didn’t know, something most people didn’t know; something, just a big something, and one could see it hidden along side his forehead, as if it was a trap.
After the light breakfast, and brushing of the teeth, and the normal morning things a person does, they were both ready to go on with the property search.
“Tell me Thomas—we could become over thin with not keeping enough money to run all these places [a pause] if we buy now, although I want to buy one or two pieces of real-estate: --It seems to me we may not have enough money to do so; —is this a rational possibility?”
The old man spoke with a cross-examined voice, for much was on his mind: at this juncture of his life, he knew he was a powerless sorceress, mirrored by fear and nightmares of dying, grotesque images about him, demon plowing tunnels to his basement from down the block, coming to get him (what was true and what was false, his mind never knew).
Said he: “Lots of Indian bluffs around here, and lots of properties near by them, it is 1929, times are not so good, money is scarce, they will take little, or next to nothing to eat for their properties; sellers—people that is, this is the time to buy. Our sister city Minneapolis has more beggars than us, more missions to feed people; everyone is in need of money. These people do not want to end up with them. ”
Convinced, she accepted his reasoning at face value; he said little more on the subject thereafter, his mind was drifting in and out like a fog fading inside a crystal
he added, “We shall take all our cash, buy as much property as we can, re-finance it at its real value, in which we will be able to get 85% of its value, and we are buying it at 30% its value at present; thus, we can make between 30% and 85%, or =55%. Take this money and put it back into the bank and we got our trouble-shooting money back. Plus, we got more renters that will pay for the mortgage [s], and we will get a cash flow with that 15% remaining, of the 85%, something like that. Does that make sense? (Sally simply nodded her head as if to say ‘I guess so’.)
“Incidentally (Thomas added), some property on the levee [along the bank of the river] will go even cheaper; this time is really what one calls in economics, a great gap, a once in a life time, buy and sell; in five years the houses will double in value. And what we buy for $1400 today will be $14,000 soon and turn into $40,000 to $80,000 before we die (yet he knew when he said that two things: one he’d be dead and two: she’d wish she was)
“That is why I admire you cousin, you teach me so much, matter of fact, too much too soon sometimes,” said Sally so proudly.

[Thomas with a bit of arrogance; a drained and pale looking visage—pale eyes] “My company, now half yours, has been administrated well by Charlie Adams. He takes care of the renting of the units as you already know, and keeps the places up, as you also know; plus grass cutting in the summer, etc. He shovels the snow, and fixes the electric problems. He does the evictions, and all that crap. I know I have mentioned him to you so many times, and you have seen him giving orders to the other workers, that we employ, but you need to get to know him on personal bases. I want you to meet him; he is an Indian, fifty-five years old; a Chippewa, and a hard worker.”

And so Sally met Charlie Adams [property manager]: --a tall, dark red-skinned flimsy looking Indian, from Blue Earth Reservation. And learned all she could of the business from his angle; they became fond of one another quickly: or so it seemed. And now the Sally-Thomas Viper, Inc. signs were up on all properties, making them more appealing to the bystanders, and to those looking to rent, or buy.



[Dick Earnest is now sitting in his office going through the genealogy of the families involved with Anna Viper and recording it for Anna.]

”Dear Anna, on this 18th tape I am writing you, that is I mean, telling you, for I have already read and written what I need to for this report, I have put together a sort of genealogy for you, it may or may not leave open questions, but it also my answer, or close some old questions for you. Having said that let me explain:

There was a deep feud [quarrel] between the Trials Family, and the Viper Family, I have found out. This goes back quite a ways. Sally really being a Viper was, as we now know, adapted. And Thomas, now listen closely Anna, this is new information—Thomas was born a Trials (Anna listening to the tape is in disbelief, re-winding it to play back, to replay it over again), but changed his name to Viper at his uncle’s request, which was within his ‘Last Will’. For doing this he received $600,000. ‘Why, you may be asking?’ Yes, I know, you, you are asking this question for sure, I will let you know later. Anyhow, her father, Tyrone Viper, killed the brother of Dennis Trials in 1911 [Azaz]; during a gang fight between the Irish [the Trials] and the Polish [the Viper’s] feud and Dennis swore he’d get to all his family one way or another. But Dennis’ father was really more the troublemaker, so it turned out to be. He was the uncle that paid the $600,000 to Thomas to change his name so he could get revenge after Arthur himself died. (Anna now shaking her head listening to this tape, totally frustrated, yet coming to a more settled belief; she now finds a chair to sit down and listens, instead of pacing the floor.) Which was to infect the Viper family in the future, one being Sally, and you, Anna, to follow in such foot steps; --much too much information to digest, but nonetheless, I must shake out the blanket for you, it is old, very old scares. But trust me, I will provide you with all I know, I will be upfront, so you, and you alone can deal with your future.
Now, having said all that, let me add, the [a pause] I can’t think, I was about to say, the Trials family members were a cold bunch: selfish, reckless, cleaver, and without conscious, and very, very revengeful; --and so now Thomas Viper (whom really is a –Trials)—was looking for what he got paid for, to implement revenge, and Sally was the next in line for it. He knew many of Sally’s moves because of a cult member called the Unbegotten [or Ghost]—it, I say, it was not by chance, or hand picking at random, it was all premeditated; and quite cleverly implemented if you ask me. Nothing was taken for granted, or given to chance—the Unbegotten had a powerful crystal and could see most every move she made, and could hear her at times planning her day, and would transmit this back to Thomas, via the Master of the Cult, or Vii. It was all planned out, step-by-step, or so I believe; one may call it, if you will, simply a stepping-stone to the next victim. And down the line it would be you I expect, they predicted—you. Everything seemed to be planned out long before Sally was born, or you were born, or others in the Viper family were born. And all of you were an incubator for the Virus Worm or to be until the end of days.
Let me now take you Anna to another level of this diabolic scheme by the Trials Family. You see Thomas gave to Sally, what would inspire her to come to Minnesota, a building. And of course, being a cousin makes it all family. Now they were living together, yet, she did not know he was a revengeful Trials family member, or if she was infected to the point of being immune to the germ of the worm, but was a carrier of the curse—the curse of course being equal to the disease of the virus worm inside her. I do hope this has become clearer for you Anna. I am leaving out some things for your benefit, and will explain them in the near future, should there be need for them.

Mr. Earnest has explained some information about the so-called Ghost, of the 77-Day Cult, yet leaves out specific things. As he told her, he’d talk more on The Unbegotten (the Ghost) of the Cult, if need be, at a later date. Yet the specific information left out was: the Executioner, whose job was to watch Sally, in particular, and to have reported on her dependency to the cult (in years past), and to watch Thomas, and report when his uselessness was declared, and finalized; and to let him die; and for Anna (for he: the Ghost is to insure that the cult is updated on such things as: when she is in need of feeling safe, and in need of trust

The Killing Level
[The black circle]

(Mr. Earnest, now all rested up after taking a long nap, goes back into his study room, sits on the floor, looking at his papers, makes a phone call to New Orleans, saying: “Everything is going well, I got all the documents on the floor, and I rather find this all, if not amusing and interesting, quite profound, I didn’t expect to have to put so much time and effort into this project, but for the sake of science I shall,” with a quiet laughter, he moves his eyebrows up and down a bit, clears his throat, then turns on the tape to record more data, and information for Anna.)

Dear Anna, here we go with another tape:

“Just called New Orleans, family and friends to let them know I’m still on this project, they are wondering why it is taking so long, I think they want me for some other developments; at any rate. No! We are not over with this yet, I mean with Sally or Thomas. In essence, Sally was born of Viper blood, and should have to tolerate the burden of it. It is the dimensional law of the curse.
No one ever knew what was in the back of the Trials’ minds (any of them)—and most folks never would, to include me; but what I did find out was mysterious enough as it was—that is, his rise and his father’s rise to unprecedented wealth. Not even hard times bothered the Trials, for the most part. But one hard fact was this: no Trials ever looked in the mirror when someone else was around. There of course was a reason for this. A black ring around their forehead would show up. Yes, it would appear as a ring that circled the forehead about one to one and a half inches wide; it was of a mysterious quality to say the least, a powerful impregnate-charcoal deep color, almost hypnotic if you stared at it long enough, or too long. The Trials had this curse, and now it went to the Viper’s, as well as the Trials; --let me add to this, once the eyes of a person with this spell, or curse, once it gripped yours there was little flexibility left in the other person, that is will or effort, would not break the hypnotic-magnetic type trance it could put you into, --marking a moment of danger to anyone who was conscious to it.
His father (Dennis Trials) had it, as well as his father’s-father (Arthur Trials). But the curse was now on the Viper family for many generations to follow, and for Sally, and consequently, they would give the true cynical curse to all. It happened to be the “77-Day Cult,” was not involved with this black magic curse, as some have thought, that was given at the time to the Viper family, but was well aware of Arthur Trials and his deeds and revengeful-ideas, and they had even taught him some black magic, but the Trials were intrinsically empowered with some demonic forces long before they knew the group, for the group never had such binding powers within themselves—though I’m sure they wished they would have. If anything, the group helped him use, abuse, and monitor his powers, along with reaping his powers to a more fulfillment status; I know this for a fact.
And so in one respect, there seemed to be a connecting-if not inextricable relationship with the four families, and the cult from New Orleans— all links if I may say, that spread from England, to Erie, to Nashville, to New Orleans, and up to Minnesota. And from my understanding (continued Mr. Dick Earnest on the tape with a bothersome tone of voice at this juncture), the Viper’s and the Trial’s curse can end, but only with the end of the original bloodline; the other option I was looking at is an infusion, if not transfusion of blood.

The Corpse–Eaters

[Dick explains about the initiation into the Cult]

To eat the remains of their victims, this is what they did Anna. I hate to tell you, but it is all part of the cult’s initiation. Yes, you are left with others in the basement of the mansion, and not given food for 77-days, and you are given corpses to eat; if you can make it out after 77-days, it is considered a deliverance, and they leave your arms and skulls, and feet to eat, and one another if need be, that is, if one finds out your heart is in the wrong place. Let me explain:

This is not the normal world [in the cult], and one should not expect things to happen as one thinks or feels it should, while visiting this world, as expected in their—un-bizarre world. I have studied this Cult even before you hired me Anna. In any case, let me go on.
In this world, their world, it may start out familiar, but one will discover soon after, it is quite different. In this world, in its deep, deep chambers in its basements are bells ringing, colors of orange, purples and reds, pianos playing by themselves; black magic being reviewed. Everything marches slower in these basement chambers, of this mansion, of lost time; where the Corpse-eaters exist, and hunger and allegiance is measured by eating the corpses (Arthur was one of these corpses, as was many other members when they get old and die).
Sometimes the living is put there, yet they are too weak to fight, and wait to die, and the others are waiting for the warm bodies to turn cold; death and the dying. This is not an old dilemma for mankind, it has been practiced in Russia not so long ago, let’s say, how about 1922; and even thereafter. So the group alone did not formulate it, only borrowed.
In this world, like it or not, everyone secretly suspects each other of being (within their heart) a member of the upper real world, the common folk, which is of course forbidden. This is why they are in the tunnels of this great basement. And so locked up, down in this cool uncanny environment; each new member must prove to the elite members their loyalty to the group, thus becoming a citizen of this/his order, embodied in this league of elite beings, otherwise known as the “77-Day Cult.”

The cult was formed in the 18th Century, and the mansion was built by a man, a man of mystery I am told, from Minnesota in the 19th Century, it could even be a Trials, no just kidding, how about a Viper, again I’m just kidding; but I’d give a $1000-dollars to tell you if I could. Anyhow, the order was less prominent prior to the building of the mansion they now live in, in New Orleans. Matter of fact, it was built in 1877, in 77-days. This is where the number seven comes in. Plus, the number for the group was selected because of other reasons, one being, God made the earth in 6-days, and rested on the 7th and so if it is good enough for Him, it is good enough for them—so I am told. Plus, in the Bible, in Mt. 7:7, it says: “Ask and you shall receive.” Likewise in the Cult, they liked that verse so much they adapted it to their cannon, --hence, once you are a member, all you need to do is, “Ask and you shall receive.” And so Anna, I thought this little history would be of interest for you.

[He now turned off the tape: ‘Should I have told her so much?’ Mr. Earnest now questions himself? --Then turns the tape back on.]

I had to cough, so I turned off the tape, Anna, but let’s go on with it. As I was about to say, and I am getting ahead of myself, yes, yes, leaping ahead I guess I am, let me back track a bit. The curse was handed down through the Trials family or the ability to give it, from his father Dennis, and from Dennis’ father Arthur. It all dates back to what was called the “The Great Lie.” One that was a promise to God, and not kept: —the lie left the liar with a black circle around its owners forehead (in the form of a curse), when looking in a mirror the owner of the lie would see this; meaning, which you already know, is the stamp of disapproval. And so Dennis Trials, resembling his father, and Thomas both kept the Great Lie unresolved, alive, and lost the grace of God’s security along the way, or long ago, however you want to put it, and through the boy’s death (the brother’s death that is), transferred it to the Viper’s, yet, the Trials never lost it, that is, they never got rid of it, it only somewhat migrated, that is a portion of the ‘liars’ curse and the new curse to the Viper family: these black circles did not appear on the Viper’s women right away, but as time went on and only after the first lie; thereafter, by way of committing the deadly sin, of killing the first born, came the second curse, one might say, their curse, as it was transformed within the bodies of the Viper’s, through killing the first born son of the Trials years ago. And so the test for the Viper’s was handed out, to kill the first born of their sons as to keep the curse alive, or both curses alive one might add, in which, if reversed, meaning, if they would not kill their first born (this qualifying as a good deed), this would bring back their sanctification, not only by God to God, -but it would worsen the curse back onto the Trials—which would possible rid the Viper family of the curse forever, but remember again, the first born was always as ugly as a rat, if not demonic in nature itself, and even possibly infected by the Worm. Until then, they, and I mean by saying ‘they,’ up to this point anyway, the Viper’s remained held by the curse, and sometimes, Viper adolescents, acquired the dark band around the forehead, again, upon their first lie, appearing in the mirror…as I expect yours might have started, or possible you have not told a lie, and I know for a fact you have not conceived a child yet--; depending on these facts Anna, I hate to say, your sinful past, or infected past—or un-sinful past, be that as it may, all determines your outcome, or can; that is your future looks at your past; and if the Virus Worm is living in you now, it to will determine to a certain degree your outcome; another variable to add to all this data.
In addition to all this, holding the oncoming demons of this world at bay, such as Vii, who took over the ’77-Day Cult’, and his friend the Tiamat, and Lady Belinda, and the Executioner (or otherwise known as the Cult Master), all a race unto themselves, is or would be very difficult to a Viper should s/he try; and one must remember, I mean you Anna, these people I talk about would surely gain from your [Anna’s] historical past. In a like manner, curses like the one you are exposed to, can have power, control, even influence over a person’s death; some people like having this power.
The Viper family is not only open to the Trials, but to the new Viper’s who now inherit the curse. But when the last Trials died, so did their curse for the Trials, as will be for the Viper’s I expect, which is you Anna, unless you have a child, but if you do not have a child, and you do not have the black ring, you will be haunted and hunted for the rest of your life—for the label of the curse in-essence is that you are one of the chosen from “The Eldritch Tombs,” the dark tombs and vaults of hell, where the henchman Agaliarept lives, and where the demons make account to (Lucifer’s dungeons if you will). The child might be the key, and also your death, and …oh well many other things. And so again, they (the Viper family) were at the mercy of the demons: the Trials, the Cult and in the future, possibly the Viper’s after the Viper’s.

I will send along a drawing of him I found in all this paperwork, of Agaliarept that is, if you wish to do some research on him, go ahead, help yourself:

Arthur was given gifts of money from the demonic forces to keep him in the committed realm of the Cult. That is why he never was lost for money; he sold his soul, as did Belinda for long life and beauty, a thousand years of long life, and the Trials such as Arthur for ongoing support. Plus, he liked being revengeful, as we all know by now.”


Family Tree
Arthur Trials

Again, Dick Earnest found himself sorting out papers as he had been doing for two weeks, trying to put together the family tree, to explain it to Anna Viper, and find a way to explain to her a way on how to get rid of the curse yet he reluctantly did not want to go that far, or too far, winning her trust was capital for him; he felt it safer just to give her enough information, yet not too much.

Tape number #19

This morning Anna I was looking into your Great Grand Father’s background, which involved Arthur Trials. He was a boldly figure—to say the least, his eyes were big, hair was the color of a devilish blackness, thin in spots his hair was, and had an extended back to his head, almost excitingly demonic. In his older age he seemed to have been in great shape, not slightly hunchbacked like Thomas during his last days on earth. He did have massive shoulders up to his later years, and untypical strength, that of three men. I sense he had demonic blood in him. He actually looked quite youthful for an old man. Again the back of his skull was extended upwards, as if it was of an ancient source, I did match it up to a skull in England’s ancient Homo sapiens specimens, possible dating back to 132,000 to 160,000 BC. You just do not find skulls like that anymore. The skull actually—the one I looked at—came from Ethiopia (the back being narrow and long, it would seem his neck would have quite the job holding it up, seemingly unendurable).
In any event, this man willingly allowed his wife to have sexual relations with a demon called Woodbridge, a ‘Peeping Tom’ of sorts. Woodbridge paid a price of $400,000 for the event, and had arranged it through the “77-Day Cult,” in New Orleans, where Arthur often went saying he had clients and services to attend to there; and where he got his enrichments was of course there, and where he gave 10% of his earnings per month was there, to them cultic figures; where he not only dabbled in homosexual behavior, but every kind of orgy/debauchery he could, he was even said to have taken young boys right out of their mother’s arms, paying them whatever seemed reasonable at the time, and that was the gift he brought to the cult. Reminiscent of the old Mafia, the Cult took care of the killings or whatever needed to be done for him creating his empire of real estate, which was one thing, and fearful friends and family another. We all have a price don’t we [?]…His death was horrendous, horrifying, yet he allowed it to be done the way the Abyss Worm wanted (translated by Vii and the Tiamat to Mr. A. Trials at the time); he had it done to others during his power years in the Midwest, and now himself: here is a drawing (I’ll send it to you), drawn during his dying moments:

What I call the second unendurable sin was when they had a demonic predisposed child, Arian. Only the most horrific imagination could describe it, but I had a picture of him, when it got developed, the developer must have thought it was Halloween. Arthur Trials killed the demonic-child, but then his wife had a second child, a girl, at which point Arthur was 60-years old. When the child was nine-years old, she, Arthur’s wife cut her husband’s throat which angered the demons for they had used Arthur, and was a source usable to them in times of need (yet by spells, orbs ((crystals)) and black magic, he was saved, but only for a short time—for he was very weak, and dying: now intended he was to be used for sacrifice, since he was liken to die anyhow) but not until after making a deal with Thomas. At this time there was a curse placed by the demons on the Trials family’s future generations because of her deadly deed, in addition to the one placed on by God; --which was eventually transmitted to the Viper’s also, through Sally. And so with the demons, and God Himself, the curse of the black ring was upon the Trials as was the curse of the demons on Arthur’s family (empowered somewhat by Satan himself, whom of course has rule-ship over demons, when and if he wishes to claim it ((the black circle from the great lie, and the un-sanctification of the demons by the killing of one of their prophets, Arthur Trials—or weakening him to the point of eventual death, for the spells and the magic could not keep him alive: for at one time the demons loved Arthur—although they still did business with the Trials, they would never lift the second curse, and out of revenge it was transmitted to the Viper’s)).

It should be easy now Anna to see the transferred curses in perspective, even though it lays dormant in you, it is part of you Anna. Now let me take this one more step, and I’m sure I’m repeating myself, but you need to understand, you see, for then comes along the Abyss Worm, which the 77-Day Cult used to control and infect whom they pleased—and was their prize you might say. And Sally turned out to be the carrier. So we got three things working here.
And so the genetic tree of the Trials started way back when, and ended up with God’s anger, the Demonic transgression, and the transmitting of everything to another family—, and then the mixture of all that with the Virus Worm, --it is funny, we open ourselves up for such sins, and create more along the highway of life; with all of this given to the Viper’s, because of a fight long ago: Vii the Demon in New Orleans was involved indirectly at first, and more so as time went on, and it would seem throughout the situation at present.
But awkwardly, Lady Belinda is now getting involved; I’m sure she would like to tell you the secret of the curse Anna, if she really knows, to rid yourself of it, or pretend she really knows which I do not think she knows; --should you provide her with your soul she would make something up, feeling she can offer you peace while alive here on earth, again in return for eternal domination. Is it not funny, how the dead world hates the living world, but envies it to the point that they want to live in it again.
She feels, or knows you are burdened with nightmares, and pains unexplainable; also, unendurable haunting of the draw of the curse. It is almost as if your body has the same powers or abilities she has to instantly spot a weakness of another, this kind of access normally belongs to demons, or dictators of the world, who were, or are possessed, consequently, this could be a side effect of the curse on your part should you have this power: and I sense you do or should have. Do not trust in it, it could also give you faulty information on others, since it is new. But Belinda is no friend I assure you of that. She will most likely pledge, you would live 120-years should you sell your soul to her so she can sell it for longer life, she has very little time left you know to live; it would at least allow her another 120-years of life, and the demonic world would be willing to give her up for you I’m sure; they like you, as they did Sally. You’re, for some reason, a celebrity in the demonic circles of the 77-Day Cult, also they have spent a lifetime watching you, your lifetime that is.


Dennis Trials

[Mr. Earnest specks to Anna on tape #20. As she is pacing her apartment—the tape is running, her head hurting and her lungs trying to get air into them, as she pushes it down to her stomach—the air—masking the anxiety, she looks out her window, the sun is out, the weather is warm now, and she feels Earnest is trying to find the remedy through all this mess, or at least she is, —so she tells herself—much more aware of her family history. She thinks, on an emotional level, Mr. Earnest cares but does he care enough to carry this project beyond these tapes if need be? ‘A possible meeting will help,’ she comments out loud to herself. He would most likely say goodbye after the meeting, she convinces herself; with intuitive reservations.]

Tape #20

“Dennis Trials’ father was Arthur Trials, my dear Anna, he died at the age of 91 years old in 1927. He had even more compelling powers than his father, and his sister, but he tasted the unendurable sin, the black mark around his forehead (as did his father) and the haunting and taunting visits of the demon, such as Vii, and Woodbridge, and I should include what is known as the Lotus Demon of Mercury, they are known to inhabit a number of planets so I am told (I will show you a picture of them, they also venture to and from the Cult’s premises in New Orleans) allowed him little time for rest, that is, during his life time, they were not as kind to him as they were to his father. At times he got spinal cord problems and other weaknesses unknown to man (possible trying to adjust to the ‘Abyss Virus Worm’s’ poisonous system, which the Cult group allowed to happen), and was well for months on end, as much as he was sick towards the later part of his life. The demons played with him like a yo-yo—yet, his father had doubled his investments in his property though; furthermore, I should point out, his father made two-million bucks; from $750,000; the Cult and its demon, allowed this, help him along. The 1920’s on one hand was very kind to him, as you can see.”

Side two of tape #20

Thomas Trials
[Alias: Viper/1878 to 1929]

[Earnest now turns to Mr. Thomas Trials again, via. Monologue on tape.]

Broadly speaking, I’ve been upset by the account of this area in various ways, that is to say, I’ve even lost sleep over it, but let me explain as artfully as I can: for many years strange demonic particles remained in the Trials blood pool, if not biologically, then psychologically, as well as the visitations of the demonic world to his home, and the Trials visits to New Orleans. He was kept under the spell of this demonic curse of the devil (as was Sally and the chain of Viper’s in-between), the mark of the lie ‘to God’ the dark mark, circle that went around their forehead. And now, coupled with the Abyss Worm’s infections—: both, compatriots it would seem; but as he had promised his father’s-father, he would transfer his seed to the Viper family, someway, somehow, ‘twas his ambition to keep his word. His father fell to the devils box, and found no way out, sold himself one might say, and now the children had to carry on his business, and the burden, and by and by they did. The “77-Day Cult,” had made the Trials rich as I have implied before, the wealthiest in Minnesota by far—as they went to and fro down and up the Mississippi from St. Paul to New Orleans, and then back again doing their business—their shady commerce. And there was no way turning back for them, they had taken, and taken much, and taken from the demons, taken from everybody, everywhere, in everyway: --they didn’t need to sell their souls anymore, the demons had their soul; all packaged and ready for the devil himself. All, yes, all were tied in knots, they, the demons were inside their body covering it up, covering up the light of their souls; as one of the demons mentioned: “It was harder to hide from the cult than to smuggle an ant out of a house.”
And so with the veil of disunity like a canopy over his head, Thomas, resembling his family before him, looked futuristically for a thin and incomplete, if not deadly end to his life. If anything, one thing was won, the curse would be out of the blood of the Trials after Thomas died, but it was on him to the end his days. He knew his soul was no longer visible to the eyes of God—regrettable, for now it was blocked by a black canopy of the long dark inhabiting shadow of a dead legend of demons, the one Vii commanded, the ones that hated the living—the Lotus Demon, the Tiamat, and more: simply for being able to live, no other reason was necessary; ‘tis again envy breeding more envy; his dark ring around his forehead would disappear, the one he looked at each day, hoping for some odd reason it would disappear upon his deathbed, but no, it would be after he died it would disappear. As it is written in so many words: we take nothing with us, but I add possibly: our character (which is one of our two souls.)

[Anna is listening attentively to the specifics; the details of the tapes ongoing history, her full clear eyes, white-encircled, grayish-yellow irises, like sunflowers, resting softly as she shuts her lids to concentrate on Thomas’: demise]

As time would tell, Thomas would acquire an illness from the baby-abyss worms, like a silk worm eating through a leaf—the new Abyss Worms would eat his insides until the blood of his internal organs would stop flowing, consequently, internal bleeding would kill him. His body would not be able to defend against them. In essence, he was a dead man walking, a corpse in the living.

“The 77-Day Cult”

[Tape still running]

[Meditatively, Anna is alerted to her name.] Anna! –Don’t fall to sleep now, listen to the rest of the tape first. I have not talked on the “77-Day Cult,” yet, because I do not know much about it (Earnest now is clearing his throat, as if he was hiding something, or at least that is how Anna is perceiving it when she hears the uneasy pause of his voice, then listens even more assiduously to the tape), although it is a link to the Tiamat’s rule-ship of a time period before the Great Flood, and deals with the worship of her. She was (and I will say, if I have time, talk more about this later), she was, as I was about to say, a demigod in Asia Minor, and in the Mediterranean. Vii, the demon, was called upon to watch over this cult in New Orleans at her request, and one thing led to another—frightful as it may sound, we have a few demon in this scenario now—and, and so he made his earthly home there. The “Abyss Virus Worm,” if I may call it that, as it is now known, is simply an accident left over from the Great Flood, which opened up the Pit, of which is also known as the Abyss, and it freed itself, as you are somewhat aware; and also it has links with Vii and the Cult, which all are now inseparable, or so it seems.
Frankly and as friendly as I can put it, I want to thank you now Anna for listening so solemnly, (Earnest becomes silent for a moment as the tape is running out); this is my opinion anyhow. Henceforth, I will have more for you tomorrow, I am getting quite weak, I have some soup to finish, it is surely getting cold and I do not want it to get much colder; please sit back now and rest, as I must, and tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and try to finish this, and have you come over for the end briefing, and to see what we can do. Bye.


The Mirror and the Ring


Curiosity, Sally woke up as she rolled out of bed, walking to the main room in the hotel suite—. The old gentleman [Thomas] was having coffee by himself sitting at the dinning room table. She looked out the window at Rice Park; it was a small park to say the least—yet it had its history, in the center of downtown St. Paul. The river, the Mississippi was but a block away to the south, with its rustic banks, and port of call. The levee was full of houses, shacks, huts, etc, and to the side of it was huge sandstone cliffs, and caves. The day seemed smooth with no leaves blowing on the trees ‘…a windless day…’ he murmured, like a shy kitten, pacing from room to room. He had a divine moron rob on with big pockets, slippers on his feet, --hideous to look at—but warm and comfortable.
As he stared out the window Sally put her lipstick on, the mirror on the bathroom door was opened a little, and the mirror was to her back in the backroom, as she could see reflections in the window from it. She had to take a double take on something, something peculiar around Thomas’ forehead—something she had never noticed before. She looked closer into the shadow of his window—via reflections. Yes, it was clear, a dark ring peculiar she thought. She looked deeper into the left side of the window, a pink horizon, it was lovely—then paused a moment.
She now took a third look, surely she thought: it must be a mistake, but no it wasn’t matter of fact, it only reassured her she was not seeing things. As the sun was coming up shinning in the window, which caught his attention first, that is before he noticed Sally looking through the window at him, oddly looking at him, but nonetheless, with much effort, or so he felt she was—but was she really? He couldn’t say for sure. The sun was actually blinding him now, blurring as he tried to focus on her eyes in the window. Sally then walked away, sat down at the table, picked up the Saint Paul newspaper, and started to read it: as she looked straight ahead at the window again, to see if she was seeing things. There were no unusual reflections coming from it now. Silently, Thomas watched Sally investigating the window, the room, and him, as he stood by the door, not allowing his facial, or profile reflections to be captured by the window again.
Said he, “Something wrong Sally?” the comment was with an ardent bafflement.
“Oh-o-o…” push out of her mouth—with a artful-music tone to it, “I thought I noticed something,” now staring at Thomas; she knew the Trials had the double curse, that is—the ‘Liars Curse’, given by God, which had the black ring around their foreheads, and the ‘Demons Curse,’ which entailed the deaths, and consequently branded the devils mark within the character and mind of the possessor; the victim was haunted by this dark world, along with the Abyss Worm’s poisonous-virus, which had started with Arthur, and was put on to her family, the Viper’s. But to her understanding, the Viper’s didn’t get the black ring, or at least not until they had lied, and even so, it wasn’t that entire dark, not like the Trials had. The degrees of blackness were a big difference, for the Viper’s it was a shadow at best, for the Trials it was deep, dark and almost glossy.
“And so, did you—that is, did you notice something?” Thomas slyly questioned.
“It would seem not so,” she commented, then with stupefaction, added,
“…But I swear I thought I did…” (She cunningly replied, which she was actually unsure of). Thomas avoided the window now all together, thinking she might try to see the reflection through it again, and said no more on the subject. As far as Sally goes, she did not have a ring around her forehead, not yet anyway.

The Survey

That morning, Thomas and Sally went out checking the area for houses for sale. They had ownership of 105-unites within the two cities, St. Paul, and Minneapolis, at this point of their relationship. Thomas had let her know there were many more possibilities in the near future.
“Sally, let’s go down by the levee, by the caves, the cliffs, along the stretch of the river, there are some old homes, several can be purchased for little or nothing. Possibly even a pasta café or two, many Italians in that area; as is, you may have noticed, the city is somewhat sectioned off, that is to say: the Mexicans live on the West Side of town, the Italians down along the levee; the blacks up by the capital or in an area called Rondo, and the whites everyplace for the most part, but those areas I’ve mentioned,” having explained that they both went out the door for the day’s searching.

Summit Avenue: --which stretched from the Cathedral to Snelling Avenue was known more for its elite, where F. Scott Fitzgerald lived, and JJ Hill, and the Governor. Not far from there was Sally’s nine-plex, and Thomas’ second home.
As the driver drove up and down the side streets, Thomas smugly commented, “We shall own whole blocks someday of this city.”
“Thomas,” she commented, “…mmm, we already do,” and she laughed a little.
“I want you to keep in mind Sally, when I die, it will all be on yours and I mean everything.” (Yet die was not the word he wanted to say, but had to somehow, it carefully seeped out of him, unwillingly, but for show and tell, it came: it seemed to be forced; again protecting the cult). He had said that more than once to her, and she smiled again as always, not knowing how to respond, since it was an ongoing statement, and getting a ting harder to digest.
Although Sally was happy for the most part with her new role in life, she knew something was wrong, very wrong, but just could not put her finger on it (intuitively wrong)—, that dark, glossy black circle around his forehead never left her mind either, she would write that in her notes and in a partial journal. At this juncture of her relationship with Thomas, she was seriously thinking of moving out of the hotel suite to another location; she was starting to wonder about his motives; getting fearful of Thomas’ display of dark-talk; --there was something unknown, unsettling appearing. Again she would write this in her journal, and I quote from it Anna:

[Journal Entry]

Said she:

“Maybe I should get out of the hotel, I told Thomas that, saying it would be more practical for me to move into one of my own an apartment room at the nine-plex, but, it was not really more practical, but I am getting more fearful at this juncture of our relationship. I mentioned, ‘…for instance,’ I said to him, maybe I’ll live in the small house (a single family unit) on Larpenteur Avenue, by Como Park, not all that far from the nine-plex. Oh, gosh, he looked at me as if I was a traitor, I just left it alone, and figured I’d come back to it another time.”



As Thomas and Sally walked the banks of the Mississippi, viewing the levee, and its houses from a distance, he knew that tramps and derelicts, wino’s if you will, all lived in the caves nearby, all along, up and down the Mississippi River banks. Without question, he knew this area quite well. He had slept among them at times, years ago as he had long, very long alcoholic binges, and well, let’s say, unhappier and more trying days back then.
Said Thomas looking about as they walked the banks of the Mississippi, the caves nearby, --looking to and fro, every which way, “You must be careful not to tread into those caves, it can be harmful I’ve heard bad things can happen, unseen and unproved, but harmful most assuredly.” Sally looked at Thomas amused.
“Can you explain a little more of what you are trying to say…?” she asked. [A long pause]
“It was all Indian country, prairies, sacred grounds, at one time around here. My heritage goes back to 1823 in this area, and to the southwest. We go back a long ways—then: then came people, and more and more, people followed: --from all over the country the Irish, the Polish, the Spanish, the Blacks, the Germans. But us Trials remained…” Thomas stopped hesitantly, and thought of what he said; a silent-shock went throughout the countenance of Sally’s face.
“What was that cousin—? You said something about [pause], about the Trials?” Asked Sally.
“So I did, sorry, I meant Viper’s—a slip of the tongue, that’s all, just a little slip of the tongue.”
Responded Sally [confused]:
“Yes, I used to be one I guess, until I was adopted [taken in]. Like you I’m a Viper.”
Before she could say another word, Thomas remarked he’d be back in a moment, needed to relieve himself, and was going to a café nearby, “…just down the road, down the road I’ll be back soon,” he said hastily; --but he didn’t offer to take her along, just quickly scuttled, saying, adding to his monologue:
“I’ll be back in a moment, I won’t be long,” he had dashed off so quickly; Sally had no time to say a word.

[Sally yelling to Thomas, standing allusive]: “Hurry up…please!”

As Thomas was now out of sight, Sally (instinctively) knew something was wrong with that slip of the tongue, the ‘Trials vs. the Viper’s’, and adding that to the already wavering black circle she thought she saw around his forehead, made her more elusive on or of what the future held for her with Thomas, and was there a hidden motive in all this—strange at best she concluded. Regardless, she could not quite put it together—there was a missing piece to a puzzle; she sensed it, and it was an issue

As she was deep in thought, kind of walking in a daze back and forth, getting a little closer all the time to the caves, yet not next to them, rather close by them, as if a magnetic force was drawing her inch by inch (still deep in thought on this trying issue of Thomas’ behavior). As this was happening, three derelicts grabbed her; --one stuffing a sock in her mouth so she could not scream, the other two carrying her into a nearby cave by her armpits, as if she was a drunk herself, trying not to disturb any bystanders, of which there were none close by anyways.

The Cave

Inside the cave it was cool—dark, her dress and blouse torn off as well as her panties now; she lay on the cold damp ground naked, she was in the process of being rapped—in the process, but not rapped, not yet. Suddenly she was picked up and thrown down to the ground again, as if to knock the wind out of her, or any possible future resistance; —the damp soil pressing against her body even tighter now. On each one of her legs two tightly soiled hands held her still; —in back of her head another two hands were holding her solidly. A voice was telling her to stop being resistant, as soon as they are done she’d be able to go, yet threatening her at the same time; but Sally, couldn’t move anyhow, or say anything with the sock in her mouth, and if she was resistant it was because she was more uncomfortable than anything, she was, at the moment, secured tightly against the ground; she felt more helpless than a dying dog. Then appeared a forth person, a mysterious person, her eyes were now covered by a blindfold—which was nothing more than a dirty rag, although it was dark, her eyes were adjusting to it and so the rag, the rag they used to blind her with, envelop around her head threefold with, as not to let any light in, or eyesight out, it was as tight as one could make it without damaging her; that is, it was not too awfully fixed, it was hurting her though, yet she endured it. Savagely she was slapped between her legs, her arms, face, every place, as the mysterious man’s body laid upon her, pinning her tight against to the soiled floor. Finally the man entered her…and henceforth, a wave of pain started; all seemed a nightmare, a world out of control—and almost to quick to remember any exact details (or so it would seem later on when the police would question her). The mysterious stranger at that point, broke the impregnable curse on his family [the Trials], and took a sigh of relief—plus the revenge had been successful; the Trials to the Viper’s had been completed, what Arthur Trials had always prayed for.
The stranger now got up, never said a word, he walked away. Sally would write in her diary, ‘I heard the man mumbling, with a fifth person, for three of them were still holding me, it was as if there was a payoff.’ But who would ever know.

[From outside of the cave a voice is heard.]

“Sally, Sally—where are you! —?” Cried a voice wondering outside the cave entrance.
At that moment, as if it was split timing, the three men who were holding Sally ran through the caves, and were not seen or heard of again. Later on the police would say they [the rapist] found a way through the sewer system, and climbed up to and through a manhole onto the city streets above. But that is all the police report would indicate.

Thomas entering the cave, Sally now standing up crying, naked in front of him, he put his jacket round her, as the cold gray dawn shadowed them as they made their way to his car, and onto the police station.

Not much was said during that walk through the levee to get into a chauffeured driven car and on to the police station. And from that moment on, from that mysterious gray-day, a disquiet-ness would followed them, along with dread being dragged along, which would linger in Sally’s head forever: forever wondering if it was him, always in suspicion that it was him, reliving the ordeal. It was as if she knew, as if she knew it was Thomas himself, but could never prove it. And even if she could what could she do about it; --as time would pass, she would not consider leaving the hotel anymore, and willingly had sex with Thomas at his will, it almost seemed natural for her to allow him to do as he pleased with her; she was, you know, almost in a hypnotic spell, I suppose one might say—subdued; as if she was broken, an unspoken defeat for her, she just gave in, the shock, the money, the many miles away from home, no one would know which one or if at all these elements played a part in her crackup, or better put, participated in her new passive role she took in life, took and used on a day to day bases after the rape, but no one now needs to know, it was so, and what can one do with the past but learn from it.


Curse of the Viper’s
[Dick Earnest Reviews with Anna in Person]

Anna, slender, petite with her long black hair, sat attentively in Dick Earnest’s office, --today, among all days, was her day; she’d get the rest of the story. She had received 21-tapes, now for the conclusion, but yet as she sat there on a wooden chair that looked like it was taken from the kitchen of this apartment Earnest rented out, for –just for, creating the tapes and this session with Anna, she wondered, even if she knew the whole story, that still was not good enough, no, she wanted to live, and to live she needed to know the secrets underneath the story, how to put an end to her curse so the demonic beings would leave her alone and her offspring, should she ever have any. She told herself, the curse, the demon had, had no right to her mind, her soul, her life, not yet; and to stop Belinda from her charge onward to persuade her to buy her soul, for information that might lift the curse, was also a cleaver act on her part she told herself. They all wanted something. The Worm wanted her body to have children; Belinda her soul, so she could live; the Cult, she wasn’t sure yet, what they wanted, I suppose to appears the worm and demon, but with the Trials, and Vii, together they all wanted her for something—she presupposed to become an incubator for the worm’s children in the long run.
She was young, and had already acquired the dark nightmares, the taunting of Woodbridge the Demon, spying through her windows. And her system was, or so it seemed poisonous. She felt something was always inside of her, and possibly it was that Abyss Worm, which went along with the program, or so it seemed. Maybe that was why no animals dared cross her path, or dogs barked at her—but she doubted it, she was for the most part, not safe enough for the worm to trust her not to damage it, she’d possibly find a way to destroy the creature, if she could, and therefore, she’d be too dangerous at this stage of the game. Another thought was: why the birds never sang around her, was she a sign of potential demonic power to those creatures? So she deliberated. But she knew it was most likely caused demonic presence that actually guarded her. Her body was at war with whoever got close to her, it tuned into them like radar, not her mind though, except for the nightmares, but it was, or could be, that worm inside her body? She thought about Sally vomiting it into her soup, what a hell of a surprise she told herself. That was the ominous question now going through her thoughts, that worm, that ugly, revolting, hideous worm.
She inherited the curse of the Trials, both curses, but up to this point, or this day, she had not gotten the black circle (for she had to her knowledge never lied). Yes, the curse from God was not activated, but the “Death Curse,” from the demons possibly was, and wasn’t at the same time, how could it be until she had a child, and she would have to kill the child to fully acquire it—or possibly, if intent counted, then so be it, but neither was in place yet.
Mr. Earnest, now sat down in a sofa-chair, an old rugged looking one; one that he may have got simply for this occasion (for some odd reason, he did not invite Anna to his house, rather the apartment, she was a little surprised on that note, yet overlooked it as if to deny her impulse to ask more questions, and so did not), looking at his sprawled out papers on the floor, looking at pretty Anna, Earnest said with a serious but anticipated voice:
“Glad you came, we get to meet one another after all this time, it is always better, face to face (Anna simply staring into his eyes, saying simply ‘yes,’); but let me explain”, he went on, “…(while handing her a cup of coffee) I will bring you somehow up to date (Earnest wanted to show Anna, how hard he was working on her care, by inviting her to the apartment, where she could now see the papers all about).

[Dick Earnest wasted no time getting into the story]

--: Sally got pregnant in 1930 by Thomas and had his child, the child was quite ugly, and like Arthur, couldn’t stand looking at it I suppose, in any event (Anna still staring into his eyes), one day while walking by the caves along the banks of the Mississippi River, she threw, and not figurative, but really threw—the child at the limestone walls, killing it. When she got home she discovered the ring around her forehead very pronounced, she had now joined the elite for the cursed family, not only did she kill, making her the equal to Thomas, and the curse had already had produced a demonic child, but by killing it she gave the curse to the future of the Viper’s; the black ring ‘the liars ring,’ was simply an addition to the demonic team, she had sinned like the others against God, kind of a double sin, one that someone else created for her, and still she ate the apple like Eve one might say; you know she could have resisted the impulse to kill the child.
At that time, she was going out with Thomas, not married to him, not even after the rape just his—set aside woman, you might say. It was no common back then. Thomas had died six months after Sally had the child. She did have another thereafter, and inherited all the money. The second child was a girl (the first being a boy by the name of Aryan). When the hospital asked who the father was, she told them the truth, Thomas Trials (or otherwise called Viper’s). He had done his dirty work, but the second child was normal, --again I say the second child. Sally died in 1983 at the age of 80. You were of course not yet born, but Minerva Viper’s, whom was born in 1931 or 1932, not quite sure of the exact date, but the father was Thomas, She nonetheless, carried the recessive gene as someone put it, and had the circle around her forehead (remember her brother had died in 1930-31; she would never know this in her life time though); and we all know, especially you, Minerva died in 2002, her being your grandmother—directly.
You being the grandchild of Minerva, born in 1981 to Lisa, are the last of the living Viper’s, and of course Lady Belinda knows this, and the prize she wants to offer is the secret of the “77-Day Cult,” again you already know this from the tapes, an extension in life, that is what she wants you from you; as if a 1000-years is not good enough. I don’t know who your father was, and I doubt Lisa knew, but I can assume she didn’t care, or want anyone to know, things were that way years ago, you know, women kept secrets if there was a question concerning their children, the reason being, they were looked down upon if illegitimate. But, inasmuch as I do know all the children I have brought to your attention have been out of wedlock. No, not one married, not even one.
The ring appeared on Lisa’s forehead sometime during her pregnancy, or so her diary said, she now would have been 72 years old had she not died last year (‘…who is Lisa?’ asked Anna, staring.); as I was about to say, she had a son whom is 52-years old, and he died in 1999, some kind of bug disease, or perhaps the Abyss Worm ate through him. She also had another child who died at the age of 32, the same disease, no one found the little creatures, only his insides eaten away, and he died in 1997. And you yes you, who are still alive. She was your mother; yes Lisa was your dear mother. But Lisa had changed her name, and that is why your grandmother, Minerva raised you. Not even Minerva knew where she was. Some have said after you were born, and the death of the two sons’ was too much for her, and so she became a prostitute, wino some say, a street lady of sorts; but I found her obituary in an old Nashville paper—and so she lived her last days in that city to my understanding.”
Said Anna (with a dizzy look in her eyes, and the shaking of her head as if to clear it), “And now what do we do about Lady Belinda, who wants me to make a deal. And what do we do with the blood in my veins? Is that creature in me…God help me if he is (Earnest looked strongly at Anna when she said that).”

“First things first young lady,” said Mr. Dick Earnest, as he squinted and rubbed his eyes and forehead, as if to signal he was thinking.


The Curses’ Victims
[Earnest continues to review with Anna]

Dick Earnest Explains:

“Let me kind of go over what I was trying to say Anna, a review if you will:

Sally died in 1983, at a ripe old age, as I have explained before and as you well known: consequently her mother was a ‘Lime,’ but her father a ‘Viper’—the blood you know, makes all the difference. She was adopted (for the most part) by the Noddoc Family. Her father was the brother to the person that killed the Trials kid --and so the curse given by Arthur, which extends to the ongoing future families unless broken by caring for the demonic first born. Thomas informed her as did Elsie, somewhere along the line she was a Viper—Sally’s daughter, Lisa (your mother), had the black ring around her forehead, like those before her—not, not because they were directly cursed by God, but because they told a lie somewhere along the way, and bore children without being married (for the original curse was born to each Trial after God had given it), and each child was part of the ‘Liar’s Trials Curse’ if that makes sense, which was part of the curse.
She was born I think in 1931, and Lisa died at 72 years of age, last year, 2002, as I have already mentioned. Sally’s boy died originally called Arian, and the second child survived, the Abyss Worm got to the boy’s intestinal system (like it had with so many other victims in this scenario) and made it rotten, until they screamed with pain, and died an agonizing death. Lisa, her second child died, your mother had two boys, one died in 1975, at the age of 52, his name was Shawn, he died the very same way, ‘…intestinal decaying problems; to include missing parts to the bile ducks, stomach, and gall bladder making the liver overwork, and as a result—death’. The second boy, both being, of course, your brothers, named Mike died at the age of 32, in 1995. And you Anna—the last of the Viper’s, you are the end of the curse. You were born in 1981.

Part Three
[The collapse]


Lady Belinda
And Anna’s Resolve

[The meeting ends]

Spring, 2003

For the most part, Mr. Earnest had finished his project with the Viper family, or in particular, Anna Viper. Surely he had earned his money, or at least that is how it looked to Anna. They had their meeting, and that was over, and if anything she had put some things together. Not everything was clear, but then it seldom is. Still, mile after mile her thoughts seemed to float through her mind as if they were floating down the Mississippi: something’s clearing up, something’s not; more questions, and fewer answers were surfacing also. She thought, ‘…would I ever get all the answers?’ probably not, but a few more had to be answered if she wanted to go on living, a half normal life.
What she did know was she could not afford to have any sexual relationships that might carry a new birth of a Viper child, save for the fact, she’d have to fight the curse; nor did she wanted to produce a lie that might migrate to her character, or soul, thus, producing a black circle around her forehead—and disfavor, and dishonor with God Himself; she knew her blood was not cleansed yet, her blood that is, her only blood, the Viper blood—but it neither could be fully cursed, it was waiting for a trigger though. She also needed to know ‘Charlie’s Secret,’ or was his secret like the cults secret. The, 77-Day Cult’s, hidden information, was it worth her time, this was bouncing back and forth in her mind also; --henceforth she thought, can these secrets possibly lead to resolving her problem with the curse: --if that is what it really was, the secret information needed to restore her back to normality, not rob her of it, and give to the takers what they have been taking for years, other people’s lives. Maybe it was just logic she needed she pondered on. Often times we look so deep down the hole and try to pull out the demons, when they are right on top, next to the surface. Maybe, just maybe the answer was in front of her nose. May Charlie’s secret was who the cult leader was?
How could she get rid of the curse: her mind was so preoccupied: with the thoughts dancing inside her brain, the damn curse, the black ridge, circle that had not yet come to invade her forehead; also how could she become free from the Abyss Worm which was part of the curse; that was probably harvesting her new litter of killer worms right in her system; maybe in her gallbladder, which hurt now and then. Yes, maybe, just maybe she continued to tell herself, they are right here, looking at my insides as a nice little niche; how revolting that thought was for her; but she was a logical person, an accountant, and wishful thinking would not erase reality, erase all that had come about, nor sleeping it away would only put her into a depression state, or hiding your head in the ground. Oh no, she told herself, action, logic, thoughts, and prayers; that were the answer.
But as she pondered on this area of concentration longer, she had thanked herself for listening hard to the many things Dick Earnest had said; good insight was tossed about (weather he had meant to give good or bad information, it was all taken in, and she was sorting it out). She had inherited a small house (blue in color) around the 1700 block of Larpenteur Avenue, between St. Paul, and Roseville, in the County of Ramsey. She had gotten it from Sally (who had willed it to her), whom left it to her in her will. And so it was all she really had of any consequential value, except for the money she paid Mr. Earnest, and now that was gone, also. But she had a good job at the St. Paul, Post Office on Kellogg Street in downtown St. Paul, in whom she worked for a good man named Brian. And her friend Sandy [the secretary] was always calling her back to work—if and when she got laid off. And so it seemed pretty secure for the most part, not acquiring a full 12-months work, but an average of nine-months annually, and that was good enough; she liked the long vacations in-between.

It was the first Friday in June 2003, when Lady Belinda stopped by Anna’s house.

The Chat
[Anna’s Story]

Lady Belinda showed up on Anna’s door steps, for a chat, as she called it, --she stood there face to face with Anna looking through the screen door at her as if she was expected Anna somewhat dumfounded, even though she got word she was coming, pondered on the nerve she had to show up like this—: strangely, they both remained for the longest time, stone-still looking through the screen at each other.
“’Tis, just for a chat my dear…” she remarked—with a look of supremacy. Then with hesitation, Anna said, she’d talk to her outside, that ‘…please wait a minute…’ and she’d join her. If anything, maybe she could extract more information out of her, or at best allow her to express what she wanted to talk about ‘their’ futures, in particular. It could do no harm to listen, she concluded.
As a result, they sat outside on a picnic table, a chill was in the air, as the wind crept under the table, and around their legs; the humming of the cars going back and forth off Larpenteur Avenue seemed to calm Anna a little. And for some reason Anna felt safe out there—safer that is, than allowing her (Her being: Lady Belinda) enter into her home, ---- out of being inquisitive she sat attentively with no questions or answers, just ready to listen.
As Lady Belinda started to talk, she carried on a long monologue; she often referred to what might be called ‘her secret,’ which was information from Charlie the Indian, from years past, and from the Cult. She wanted to trade, as Anna expected. But as the two women looked into each others eyes, it dawned on Anna, Mr. Earnest had really told her enough information to where if she added it up, it could not be anymore than what Belinda knew; suddenly a few options occurred to her, that being, lifting the curse would mean having the child and not killing it: --which everyone seemed to have done before her, and then allowing the second normal looking child to survive. Consequently, completing the curse’s failure, and allowing it to drift to its unpardonable edge, or put another way, insuring the curse would remain—unendurable [linger on]. Therefore, what she needed to do was have the child if need be and not kill it. The second part of this part of the equation could be: simply do not get pregnant.
The second thing or option that floated past her mind was the Cult. One had to deny it, not own it, and pray, and not to the demonic Vii or Tiamat, or Satan, but to the real true God, the Christian God, the God that brought the Jews across the Red Sea, open up the Red Sea, the one that cast Lucifer out of heaven. Who from the Cult, could stand to watch her pray night and day to this God without vomiting [?]: --a rhetorical question at best—she silently murmured. She would do this she told herself as the lips of Belinda kept chatting like a purring wild kitten ready to grab her throat. Nonetheless, Anna just kept on thinking, almost day dreaming—somewhat disassociating her mind, almost in a catatonic state of existence, almost as if she was disinterested in the chattering of Lady Belinda, and had found the Golden Grail.
A third element came to mind (as she was still transposed onto Lady Belinda’s eyes, as if they were rearranged that way for this very moment of insight by the True God) she could have a blood transfusion. Not sure if it was practical; hitherto the curse was more physical than biological in restraining of a person; and/or more psychological than spiritual.
It came to mind as well, Charlie’s secret was no more than a warning, a warning for the future of this cruelty, and the reality of reversing the curse the same way it was transgressed—and possibly whom the Cult Master was. How could it be anything other than that? What was really happening was that: people, creatures, and demonic beings were taking advantage of a situation, after they had cultivated it for years (no more, no less)?
Said she to her mind’s eye: Lady Belinda was willing to release all this information, ‘but I knew it all, already’; thanks to Dick Earnest for the most part, for it was almost as if Dick knew Belinda was going to come and tell her, and had no more information to give than what she gave, and he wanted her to have a weapon (for some odd reason)—so she thought, what else could it be (on conjecture)? If she gave her soul, not sure what would happen to the curse, possibly it would be amended to be nothing, but the afterward price was too high. A forth thing came to mind, all other Viper’s, or people involved with the curse took money, a seal of sorts, kind of like going to a bank and once you leave the counter, the transaction is finalized. And so once the money was taken, everything was finalized. She would give back the house now, give it away, it didn’t matter, things were just things, for when one died they had to give them up anyways, or to someone, or someplace: all the gold in the world could do no one a bit of good once dead…and it was not worth a life of blackmailing by the curse; no, life was not a commodity as some would have her think, as Lady Belinda was trying to buy. It was all one had, after all is said and done.
Said Anna with a new found relief:
“You will die Lady Belinda in a few years, and I shall put weeds on your grave, or if not that, I will look from heaven’s door and watch you fall, fall, and fall deeper into the dark bottomless pit, no candles lit, just black on black, following ebbing, shooting down to its bottom tombs, and vaults in hell—dragging you down, like a black-veil; nothing I mean nothing, living down there—worth living for, --now be gone, and die alone.”
Lady Belinda started shaking, stuttering, and not quite knowing what to make of it. Death had already given her a sting, this insult was traumatic, and it was her only way out. Yet she could not waste time, she knew she had to seek another way to long life, or be done with it in a few years. And so she left without comment.


The Abyss Worm
[Anna’s Story]

As Anna walked back into her house, she congratulated herself on the fine work she had done—having a spirit of conquest for some reason: thus, a quick analysis she had completed, one might say, one of her goals, and therein, she found that analysis was her escape, and she thanked herself, her new found faith, —her God for her moving onward with this curse instead of hiding her head in the sand and hoping it would take care of itself.
One thing she had noticed about Sally and others with the curse, something Earnest did not say, but rather implies, is that they all were busy with the past and present, none seemed to live in, and work within the immediate present. Indirectly, she had set up a plan for herself now, and she liked it—her analysis-complete being that plan; matter of fact she marveled at it. Liking poetry, she wrote a poem commencing her new bold plan [she called it]:

By Anna Viper

The Cavewoman
And the Rat

(In Heaven)
The Cavewoman asked the Rat—: “What kind of women-creature should I be on earth?” Said the Rat to the Cavewomen “God has given you a choice pick as you please, so come aboard my craft, and we’ll see!” [A long pause took place.] “We are almost ready to go down to earth,” said the Rat, preparing the flying craft, “Oh please, please!” asked the Cavewomen, [indecorously], “…give me the answer; I need it before I arrive so I know what to do?” And so the Rat said in his lyrical way: “Take charge of your own life or someone else will, and you the fool.”

‘Tis, that Anna Viper, finished her poem, and thought about her plan. She concluded, if the Abyss Worm was in her, if truly it was (god forbid), it would leave her, or kill her, but surely would not remain in her. And yet she was the only system that could breed her siblings, discreetly. It would seem at this point, the Abyss Worm, had a few liters, and was trying for a small army with the help of the Cult.
‡ Moreover, she started her program (her plan) immediately; not wasting any time; and as a result, the first place she went to was St. Paul, Minnesota’s Cathedral; where daily she prayed—; praying and more praying, deliberating. At work, Brian, allowed her sometime off [Post Office], to get her life in order, as she tried to explain to him, she was slightly ill and needed flexibility for the following next few months, and he gladly gave it—as Sandy the secretary in the main office [Human Resources], willingly keep her job available; thus, the battle had started.
She gave her house away to a nice old couple that moved from Lima, Peru, to the Twin Cities [of St. Paul and Minneapolis], whom could not afford a house. She had met them in Church. It seemed quite unbelievable to the couple (the house being all paid for, as it was), to give a house away, but she assured them, it was better for her mental health, and that it was they doing her the favor by taking the house. And that was that.
Anna then moved into a room at a three-plex on Albemarle Street
[1094]. Things were happening fast, but still not fast enough for Anna.
It was now June 23, 2003, summer had begun, and Minnesota was as green as the Amazon. It was on this day, this very day [warm and fresh] she was taking a shower when she got sick, very, very, very sick to her stomach, and started vomiting right in the shower room. As she was puking everything up, which was really not much (for she had not eaten much the past few weeks), the Abyss Virus Worm came out, the size being a little larger than a quarter, it was hanging on to the drain by her feet, several more came out of her mouth, they went down the drain also, and the Mother Worm, with its big eyes just stared at Anna, as she turned the hot water on, jumping back, she watched it lose its strength as the water pushed it down the drain—down into the sewer system with the rats.
She felt around her stomach area, she was still whole, alive, no more stomach pain, or cramps. She simply told herself-- today was not the day for her to die. She now thought about a husband. God had been gracious, kind, and she had to stick with her plan: feeling a plan un-worked is no plan at all.


Husband or Nun?
[The Anna Viper Story]

She thought and thought whom she could trust; there were not many people in her life that could fit that need, if any. She had mentally made a plan, and was working the steps. This was now step #4, find a husband…or do something to prevent herself from having children. She had convinced herself she’d raise the ugly child if it was born or if she couldn’t she’d pay a nanny to do so; but then the thought come to mind, that possibly the others said the same thing and couldn’t on account of some demonic magnetic force, or forces. Yet the creature had left her and so the possibility of this force would not stand too long in the way, it was only logical she told herself. But was she doing things too quickly, overlooking something, anything—a statement-question she told herself? But nonetheless, she ventured to assure herself she had not overlooked anything, that is, nothing that was told to her.
She talked to a priest about this matter and as astonishing as it was, he went along with it, not fully believing, but too fearful not to give her the right advice if it wasn’t, or for that matter, if it was true—and giving her the benefit of a doubt was safe. He had suggested she become a nun, something that had not yet occurred to her, as unsound as it sounded, it was logical, and commonsensical you could say.
“A nun, a nun, a nun…” she pondered over and over as she listened to the priest. But as much as she wanted to say yes, her whole being seemed to be fighting it, and said, “No, I can’t be a nun.” It was a godly thing, she told the priest but it was not she, she convinced herself. Yet the priest tried to convince her it was a good choice, and based on her story, she was what God might be looking for, a person, “Usable,” and “Available,” two necessary ingredients for future missions, whatever they may be. But still, “…no,” came out of Anna’s mouth, not to be spoiled, or rude, just because it didn’t fit her reasoning, or seem to, she repeated to herself for a third time, and for this reason, the priest left the subject alone.
It was—for the mean time—settled, the issue of becoming a nun and would have to be discussed another day. Now she was shifting her thoughts to other areas, she told herself: it might be wise to get a second opinion, why not ask Dick Earnest, she was fond of him, and he was for her, I mean on her side, a person she didn’t think of at first, but if he couldn’t be trusted, who could. He lived at 1221 Rice Street, in St. Paul, and so she took the bus, which dropped her off almost in front of his house, down a ways from the Capitol.
As Anna approached the porch of Dick Earnest’s house, he was sitting out on it, having lemonade; they both waved at each other as she approached, he waved her on to join him, exactly what her intentions were, he pretended not to know, but he knew why she was there—coming, matter of fact, Anna seemed a bit hazy about his good welcome, as if she was expected (intuition). But she put that thought aside; assuming Psychologists knew such things, possibly just good judgment, and instincts.
It was a nice size house, four bedrooms, a double lot; he enjoyed the busy traffic for some odd reason that went all day and night in front of his house; across the street was a bar, gambling. Within a few minutes she found herself sitting down with Earnest and drinking lemonade on the opposite side of the table of him.
“You seem disturbed,” uttered Dick curiously looking at Anna.
“I suppose I do, I’ve been thinking a lot sense you gave me all that information about everything, and Lady Belinda came to visit me. But I told her to leave.” Dick listened attentively like a good counselor would, and gave a big smile when he heard she dismissed Belinda’s soul bartering.
Commented Dick, “I think I like the fact you are reinventing yourself, a new Anna, and a much wiser one.”
“Thanks to you Dick I have come to some conclusions but I need your advice, however, please don’t charge me too much.”
“This one,” answered Dick, “I mean, this session if that is what you want to call it, is on me, from a friend to a friend.” (He concluded with a hefty smile and squinting eyes, as if behind his forehead the brain was working overtime.)
Said Anna with a look of dismay, “I need really good advice, and I trust you, and there are no male people, or any people I do trust. I went to see a priest and he tried to talk me into being a nun.” Earnest looked closer as if to study this issue face to face, having a stern look, --he was stunned. “But,” she continued, “…I told him no, that was not me.” She didn’t notice Earnest’s eyes; they were pale with a lost look, but returning to life when she said ‘no’.
“Yes, replied Dick, catching his breath, “A nun, oops, that is quite a step…” then seeing she was against it firmly, he said, “But of course if that is the path that will reinvent you, then it is a good one. Again feel free to ask whatever you want; this is a free session, just two friends having a drink on a cool day.”
Said Dick with a slight narrowing of his eyes, looking upward,
“I can’t tell you what to do; only what you have already made up in your mind to do, if that makes sense? And then show you ways how to do it safely.”
“Yes, yes—that is exactly what I wanted to hear, now that you said it…you know me so very well, Dick, so very, very well. I do very much want to marry some day; I think.”
“I see,” said Earnest, “…and is this mission to get married based on ridding your life of your curse?”
[A pause] “Yes…is that a wrong reason to marry?”
“Well,” commented Dick, “I’m not quite sure what is safe, or for that matter, right or wrong in you’re case—at this very moment, or what will or will not work. But I guess what I do know is, and it is by experience and observation I speak from, is that I do know what doesn’t work, and that is: doing what others want you to do. You see Anna, when you let others take charge of your life, that is exactly what they do, for instance, such as the priest was about to do, but you stopped him, or at least that is what it sounds like.” (That was a question statement, and Earnest was waiting for an answer, but got none.)

(Earnest now puzzled, said slowly and cautiously.) “I mean Anna, usually the person you get the advice from, has his best or their own interest in sight, even though it may be or seem to be, nothing at the time. For example, there is a shortage of nuns in the State of Minnesota, matter of fact there is a shortage in the USA, if not world wide. You see what I mean?”
[Anna at a complete loss] “I guess I do, but I don’t think, or didn’t think, the priest was or had ulterior motives…”
“Oh, ohooo, I do not mean to insinuate the priest had such goals in mind, consciously that is, but you know how the unconscious works, when opportunity knocks, you open the door.”
[Still baffled] Said Anna, trying to smile: “Yes, --that makes a little sense and him a little shrewd [Ending with a soft note.].

[A little twined] Earnest quickly added, “You are very attractive, a smart girl—I’m 37-years old, and I know you’re 22 or so, but think, please think, I’d love to marry you, and I guess I’m a little coiled up because I will not get the opportunity to ask if you were to become a nun; so I find myself asking now—now at this awkward moment.”
Anna’s eyes opened as wide as headlights, “What!” she burped out…” did you say?” She was in disbelief, in disharmony—as if a poison snake had bitten her and froze her from head to toe.
Said Dick as calm as could be, “I didn’t think it was so…so, wild or unpredictable a question, or statement; we know each other as if we were best of friends, and the only difference between best friends and husband and wife, is sex. And I’d keep the child had we had one together.”

Time Elapse

As soon as Anna got her composure and senses back—that day, she shortly, thereafter started dating him, and quicker than she had expected, had set the wedding date at Dick’s request; but Dick insisted he have his priest from Nashville do the ceremony in his home, a quiet type of arrangement he cordially implied; yet he insisted on this; and so the date was set, and took place on July 5th, 2003. And now Anna had the 4th part of her plan in motion
She then becomes pregnant shortly after the wedding, setting the date for the child’s conception to around March 7, 2004; it all seemed up to this point quite natural, and hasty, unbelievable and spellbinding (almost a fairytale ((as she had stated, ‘Too good to be true’)). If anything, she finally found some kind at peace; daily she would check daily her forehead for its pigmentation, to see if it had changed in the mirror to a light gray, or dark circle, it had not. She had also talked to the priest again, against Earnest’s wishes, but she insisted. He simply told her, she was not listening to anybody but herself, and even though she was logical and what she wanted was valid, she had some blind spots. Plus, whoever heard of marring your counselor in such a hurry, it sounded like desperation, and he [the priest] was not sure if it was she or he in desperation, or both.

Commented Anna,
“It was food for thought,” and it was on her mind, but she had already made the move.
She was not what one would call, crazy about Dick, but he was a provider (not that she needed one), and he was caring, and seemed to love her, although at times a bit melodramatic, that is to say, overemotional, especially with the pregnancy.

It was on March 1st she went with her husband on vacation to New Orleans. He told her he had family there, and wished to be there for a few days, kind of to show her off. That is, before the child was born, and should it be born there, he knew the layout of the city quite well, it seemed a bit one-sided, but they both went; Anna to appease Dick and Dick to appease his family, or so he had told Anna.
They were due to return to Minnesota on the 4th but again, Dick was unrelenting; he now wanted to stay until the birth of the child was over. And so they remained in New Orleans a few more days. He introduced her to several family members, while Anna told herself: none of them resembled Dick in appearance; yet, she again took it at face value that they were in fact family; but it was not so incidental, that Dick argued the fact he wished to stay, or better put, chose to remain in the city, this was troubling for Anna; ‘…why, why, why, does he want to stay here when we should be at home getting ready for the baby?’
The city was hot and crowed with people, cumbersome for Anna to get around, yet by and by, Dick insisted his new bride keep up with him as they marched down Bourbon Street, night clubbing, eating, meeting people and so on (his personality was changing), and he seemed to know more people here in New Orleans then back in St. Paul, so Anna told herself. And then on March 7, 10:00 PM, her water broke, --within a matter of minutes, there was a limousine awaiting them outside a nightclub. The limo quickly took the couple to an old mansion, not all that far from where they were. As the limo stopped, the lights from cars going by showed an odd color around Dick’s brow. Anna felt he must be pale, ill from all the drinking he had been doing, and now this; but she looked again as another car went by, shinning its lights forward, and directly on her husband.
“No time for a hospital,” said Dick to Anna as the car drove to the back of this mansion they were at; a guard came walking up to the car door, she now looked again at Dicks temple, as she was carried out of the car by this huge being who had quickly stepped out of the back of the mansion’s door waiting to meet them. As they rushed her from the car to the entrance of the door a tear now came from her eyes, Dick looked, they both looked at one another, just a glance, he had the black ring, the “Liars Ring”:
“Who are you,” she murmured, gravely and painfully.
He at once replied, “Tyrone Viper.” He finished up with, “Are you surprised? [Playfully].”
“To-day is our day,” said Anna’s husband as he closed the door behind him, and told her quickly his background, updating her, even commenting on the deal he had made for long life after the curse was placed upon him and his family, so many years ago.
What was going on in Anna’s head was that no one really knew what had happened to Tyrone Viper, whom was born in 1855, now she knew. Like Lady Belinda, he had sold his soul also (after being caught in the clutches of the curse himself). Was there no end to this, she thought?
‘He’ll not get want he wants from me,’ she told her second self—her minds-eye, innately.

They now were in the corridor leading to the room where Anna would conceive the child; they went through another door, where two nurses appeared, and a doctor. Anna was placed down on a rolling bed, and brought quickly into the center of the white room. Everything was happening so swiftly, she knew not what to say or do. She was given a form of hemlock, mixed, that paralyzed her body. She did a dismaying thing, and tried to spit it up and out at the nurses: doctor and her husband, “Damn—oh—damn,” she cried. At that moment, Dick explained (as many onlookers stood around, greeting Dick as ‘Master and Executioner’):
“Yes, I am Tyrone, 148-years old, and I get another 352-years, add that on, and it makes 500, as I have said, and also I am the Master of the ’77-Day Cult,’” which he emphatically snubbed out of his slow and horrid breath at his wife looking up at him. Now she could see the giant, it was the one she heard about, it was Vii.
“God forbid,” she tried to utter.


A Short Long War

As she lay there with contractions she told herself: it wasn’t over, they have not won, not yet. It was a long hall, she had tried to do everything right; she should have listened to the priest, how often we say these things afterwards, but she didn’t—rather, she followed her heart, thinking it was pure logic, not her sense, not logic, not thinking, rather emotions she followed. But again, it was not over. The child contractions now were developing, timelier. She shifted from nine to seven, and then started to get harder cramps. This was, she mumbled, ‘…deception at it’s finest,’ but what she didn’t mumble was that a short war was about to begin—even though they had won the first battle.
She made her pack, her plan for better or worse; she knew how it must be, how it had to be, she had to let it run its course. She knew the therapy if anything, and she had saved herself by reversing the course of the curse and she was not about to give up her freedom. At 11:59 PM, on the 7th of March the child was born, it was as unsightly, revolting, deformed as any monster Hollywood could create; but it had committed no sin, like her, they were both a gift, a free gift to life; and one way or the other, that is how the story would end, must end she told herself.
She was not coming back to her normal state, Dick was standing there, put a knife and gun in her hands, as he laid the child against her shoulder, “Kill it,” he demanded.
She looked at Dick, then at the boy baby, the one with no name and said with a commanding voice, “The child has a name, it is Dick Earnest Jr.” Dick Earnest looked horrified at that remark (as did his follower), then again demanded she kill it. But she laid no hand on the child; for to kill the child would assure the Abyss Worm would have a secure home again. And the curse would go on to the next generation, and the black ring would circle her forehead, it would appear similar to magic, like his was doing that very moment. Dick would then impregnate her again and somehow she knew it would be a girl. And this long cycle would reach out to the future. This was no way to live she told herself, convinced herself.
“Death rides a slow horse sometimes,” she whispered to Dick, “would you live my life?” He didn’t answer, but she read his mind, he would not, Master of the Cult or not, he would not.
“You can go home, once you get better,” Dick told her. And she answered, “I’d like to, if I could…” somehow she knew she was not going home though.



As Anna lay helpless in bed, the child tucked against her right shoulder, a beastly looking thing, the gun and knife leaning against her right arm, she simply laid still, dying—no one wanted to help the child, or her. In a way no one wanted to be too involved, they wanted Anna to do it on her own. The curse was strong, as was the Abyss Worm, as was Vii, the demonic force standing by, as was God’s grace, and power. Everyone hoping someone else would do something and no one doing anything. It was as if there was a cockfight ready to start but no one starting it or making the first move.
They all pulled up chairs, sat and waited, several hours had gone by, still everyone waiting as two souls lay dying; watching their hearts go in and out, pumping breath into their chests, it moved up and down, up and down. They put water by the table next to Anna to drink but she drank nothing, she told them they’d have to force her, and if they did, they would be responsible for whatever happened, whatever took place, whatever would be triggered, either by the Abyss Worm, Vii, or his secret friend the Tiamat, or God Himself. She would be guilt free if, and when she died, and if any lay a hand on either of them, they would then also take on the current dilemma, the deadly forces that lay ahead.
Then all of a sudden Dick got thinking: the child had no food for several hours and should the child die in the mansion, in the Cult Club House, whom would be responsible, none other than he, for who was killing the child, it would be the Master of the Cult. He knew also if she left the child in the house, they would be responsible for it, and she’d walk away free…his deception was somehow backfiring on him.
“Kill the goddamn child Anna…!” he screamed, but Anna said nothing, not even swears at the group, she held her temper, her mouth, she was guilt free, and wanted to remain that way. And so again they all sat for two more hours. The child and Anna were becoming dehydrated. It had become a no win situation for the cult group, and as they looked at one another, these thoughts were becoming stronger and stronger by the minute, as the group kept looking at the child, themselves, then Anna; constantly the group was going in that circle of faces—and always stopping to pause at Dick’s face.

End of the War

Somehow, Anna was forcing herself into a coma—the child sucking on her breast, no one stopping it. And the Abyss Virus Worm, with all its poisonous, venomous atoms, chose to leave and find a new home, would not return, even though it was present for the delivery, it was gone before Anna could recognize it; hiding in a corner of the window in back of Vii. And then fear gripped the two-dozen people standing in, out, and around the room where Anna laid. It was now, 48-hours since the child was born.

(Three additional days passed, it was now the 5th day she remained in the bed; there was always someone, something at the end of the bed silently watching, or guarding her, an angel she thought, it comforted her to know someone was there, not sure what or who in a white robe like a doctor).

Said she, “I am all alone I see (hesitantly looking at the end of the bed, the angel had gone now); I am the only one left, laying here in the darkness all about me; in fact, I am the only person living who admits, I think, not to understand all of this. But that will do, just a little is enough for me I suppose. There will be no one to take my place, what a shame. [With her last breath]…I leave behind, a house full of dark shadows.”


[Epitaph]: It was March 9th when everyone in the mansion left, never to return, not taking anything, not one thing out of the mansion was taken. Anna was found three months later in bed (with two notes lying by her side)—dead, and the child was dead. As the police had noticed for that period of time, no activity in and around the house, they become suspicious, as did the neighbors, and together provoked an investigation, hence finding as we now know, the two bodies; thus, emancipation took place that day, and from it the cult was dismantled, and never heard of again.


End of Story

Love and Butterflies
[For Elsie T. Siluk my mother]

She fought a good battle,
The last of many—
Until there was nothing left; —
Where at once was plenty.

And so, poised and dignified—
She said, farewell in her own way; —
And left behind,
A grand old time,
Room for another: —

Love and Butterflies…
That was my mother.

Dlsiluk 7/03