This week we should be celebrating the 9th birthday of my son.
Instead we are celebrating the 9th anniversary since his murder.
If you have any information, please call FBI Portland Office @ 207-774-9322
ask for Agent Andy Drewer.
November 14, 2013 10PM @ Southern Maine Community College Art Studio Bug-Light Parking Lot: 3 strangers armed with golf clubs, attacked me from behind while I was loading bags into the backseat of my car. They were a blond woman 60s-ish whom the others called "Claire", a natural red-haired woman also 60sish who called herself "Kendra", and a bald man, football player-body-type-build in his 30sish. I was 8 months pregnant. They murdered my baby, ruptured 3 discs in my spine, shattered 3 vertebra, broke my pelvis, hips, and knees. I was paralyzed for 5 months and was 18 months relearning to walk. The nerve damage has left me with limited use of my hands, legs, bladder, and intestines.
On top of that, they have also taken to harassing the baby's father, a disfigured, homeless, WW2 veteran, whom they call "Etoile". They spread hateful rumours about him claiming he is a cryptid, a demon, or most often what they term "an amphibious alien". He lives in pine branch lean-toos he builds in Old Orchard Beach and Ocean Park, and they have been hunting the locations of them, tearing them down, and smashing up his belongings.
April 10, 2015 1PM at 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach Maine a gang of estimated 74 people, some of them wearing ku klux klan robes, invaded my farm, used a Blow Brothers sewage truck to pump 500+gallons of sewage into my motorhome flooding it to over the kitchen counters deep, ripped out all the cabinets and built in furniture, while 14 men armed with guns, held my family down on the ice and snow, with guns to our heads, and used cinder block bricks and a metal pole with metal wire loops to beat and behead 10 of my 12 foster children (the youngest age 4, the oldest age 16). May 15, 2015 they returned and nailed their heads to my front door. The 3 people of the November 14, 2013 attack were among the group.
September 12, 2015, 9AM a dozen+ of these same people arrived again in my driveway at 146, this time chanting: "Too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach. Kill of be killed. Remember Saco Shaw's, Transgender Murder Store, kill the transvestites before they kill us all", one white haired man in a dark green pick up truck was leading the herd, while waving a rifle over his head and shooting at me and my pink motorhome, he shot several holes through my neighbour's shed. The crowd was accusing me of being a male-to-female "transgender terrorist" (they thought I was Muslim because I wear Catholic veiling).
June 26, 2016, the same 2 women of the first 2 attacks, arrived at my Scarborough WalMart workplace, and in a near repeat of the first attack, again while I was leaned over the back seat of my car putting bags in, this time they attacked with a chopping cart, re-injuring my spine, hip, and pelvis that was not yet fully healed from the first attack. The blond "Claire" woman was screaming "That's EelKat, she tried to kill my husband!" while the redhead screamed "I'm Kendra Silvermander it's my turn the shine!" They sped away in a early2000s-vintage gold Volvo SUV station wagon. This attack left me permanently crippled, and bedridden from 2016 until May 2022.
November 21, 2021: They shot "Etiole" in Biddeford, while he was staying at the tent-shanty-village with about 50 other homeless people along the Saco River in Biddeford. They made the claim he was a "suicide demon" citing that he was driving locals to suicide by putting "evil eye curses" on them.
These people murdered my baby, attempted to murder the baby's father, drove a backhoe over our house, and left me crippled for the rest of my life in their attempt to murder me.
I do not know who these people are. I never saw them before these attacks, and I've not seen them outside of these attacks. The police and FBI believe I was not the intended target, and that they were likely after my mother because of posts she makes on FaceBook and got us mixed up. The Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford Police and the FBI are seeking information leading to their identity and arrest.
These people who show up to vandalize, while they scream about aliens and demons and Etiole, prove how retarded they are by their own words.
Why?
Because only a retarded person believes in aliens.
Because only a retarded person believes in ufos.
Because only a retarded person believes in demons.
Because only a retarded person believes in ghosts.
Because only a retarded person believes in haunted cars.
Because only a retarded person believes in demon possessed cars.
Because only a retarded person believes in alien abduction.
The inbred insect locals of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine are too damned retarded to know how much of a fool they make themselves look when they run around calling my cars demon possessed, calling my husband an alien, and calling me an alien abductee.
More Info @ eelkat.com
Long detailed info on the over 200 attacks they have done between June 2001 and May 2022, including photos of them driving a backhoe over our house on August 8, 2013 and the details of the malicious "amphibious alien" rumour they have been spreading about a local homeless disabled veteran @
https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html
Images:
July 4th 2013: my car in front of my house.
August 8, 2013: me getting home from work to find a backhoe sitting on top of my house.
The FBI already found the people with the backhoe incident, and learned that the backhoe driver was paid $600 and given a fake demolition paper, the paper stating one of my relatives (the one who paid him the $600) owned my land. The backhoe driver was unaware that the man he was dealing with was not the owner. I have lived at 146 Portland Ave since 1975 and have owned the land since 1983, it has never been owned by anyone else, even though we have now learned that both my mother and my father and 3 of my uncles had been actively going around Old Orchard Beach claiming they owned my land.
This happened 3 months before my son was murdered and the police and FBI believe my son was murdered BECAUSE of this picture being posted on FaceBook, and my mother making inciting/inflammatory posts about it on HER FaceBook, where she falsely accused me of being a witch. The FBI and OOB police believe the golf club wielding woman of November 14, 2013, is somehow connected to the backhoe driving over my house incident.
Since the murder, 3 other different backhoes have invading my land to dig up my yard, looking for the grave of my son. There is a family cemetery on my land, the stones dating mostly in the 1500s and 1600s, with a few from the past hundred years, the most recent being my son in 2013. 146 Portland Ave has belonged to my family since 1530, and I inherited it in 1983 from my grandmother Helen Ricker Allen. The most recent backhoe attack happened September 19, 2020, when they illegally cut down several trees in my yard, and started construction of a road through my yard between my pink 1975 Dodge Sportsman motorhome and BackElder Brooke, again the backhoe digging up and destroying large portions of my farm, in their search for my murdered son's grave. They dug up 16 of the graves in this attack.
We have had to remove the grave markers from the family grave in order to stop these vandals and their illegally trespassing construction equipment from destroying the graves.
The FBI believes these construction crews are being hired by the golf club wielding women, and believe she is trying to destroy the grave of my son, due to a fear of his golf club smashed skull being used as court evidence against her.
The most recent attacks by these people occurred November 21, 2021 and March 27, 2022 when they attacked my painted Volvo while it was parked at my dad's apartment in Biddeford, both times the vandals also cut all the wires to electricity, internet, and cable off the apartment building, effecting all 9 families living there.
The Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford Police Departments as well as the Portland FBI are seeking any information regarding any and all of these attacks on my family, my home, my land, or my cars.
If you have any information, please call FBI Portland Office @ 207-774-9322
ask for Agent Andy Drewer.
And no... to those who asked... the FBI is not looking for info on the 4-door white truck driver... the FBI has ALREADY ARRESTED the driver and owner of the 4-door white truck - 2 different people. The 4-door white truck was owned by Old Orchard Beach Town Hall clerk and Old Orchard Beach Police Department Dispather Kathy Smith, Relief Society President of the Saco Ward of the Agusta Stake Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Her son was the driver. They were both arrested and sentenced in 2017, and were also both excommunicated from the Mormon church as a result of their MANY hate crimes, which included but were not limited to the 4 door white truck attacks of 2013 to 2016.
Yes. A LOT of arrests have already been made. Do keep in mind the April 10, 2015 attack involved 74 people who were wearing Ku Klux Klan style white robes and pillow cases over their heads (which is how you can tell they were not real, actual Ku Klux Klan members as the REAL Ku Klux Klan wear miters on their heads, NOT pillow cases). There are in total MORE THEN 74 people actively being hunted down by twenty-one different Maine police departments, the Maine state police, the Florida State police, the Connecticut State police, and the FBI.
Since the backhoe attack of August 8, 2013, there have been a whooping 24 arrests JUST IN TWO CHURCHES:
The Saco Ward of the Augusta Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints
and
The Sanford Ward of the Exeter Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints.
There have been additional arrests at the following three churches which all have the same owner:
Grace Point in Biddeford
New Life (aka That Church in front of WalMart) in Biddeford
and
Curtis Lake Church in Sanford
Due to the alarmingly high rate of arrests and prison sentences made at these 5 churches, the police and FBI have focused the bulk of their investigation on all members of these five congregations, with the bulk of the investigation being on the two Mormon churches and all friends, family, and relatives of the members of those five churches, as it is believed that ALL people involved in the murder and 20+ years of harassment of my family, are all members of these 5 churches and or friends, family, and relatives of these five churches.
To date, 64 of the 74 suspected white hood wearers of April 10, 2015, have commit suidice, four of which when killing themselves, also killed 5 or more members of their families with them at the same time. One of them was Old Orchard Beach Police officer Bruce Savoy, who killed his entire family and then himself.
The police and FBI believe there is a suicide pact between the 74 attackers who arrived April 10, 2015 on my farm at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine... as 64 of them have now commit suicide, between 2015 and 2023.
Additionally, Agent Andy Drewer was NOT the original FBI agent heading the case. Laura was. FBI agent Laura was murdered February 6, 2021, during her attempt to arrest a murder suspect who was in Florida at the time he murdered her. So in addition to murdering my son, these people have now also murdered an FBI agent.
People around local, seem to forget that what happened April 10, 2015, was not some local hick beating up one person... this was a large PREMEDITATIED ORGANIZED EVENT which drew in a CROWD of WELL OVER ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE to activly participate in beating to deth and beheading ten children, the oldest being aged 16 and the youngest being aged just 4 years old.
What the people of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine did was monstrous on levels of extreemes.
And then when the FBI agents tried to arrest these people, they ganged up again on February 6, 2021 and murdered, not one, but THREE FBI agents.
This is an organized terrorist group that is activly killing people here in Maine.... and this Claire woman that murdered my baby, the one the FBI believes is the ring leader who has been organizing these events.... and when I say events... I was NOT the first family attacked.
According to the FBI, the April 10, 2015 attack was the ELEVENTH such attack to happen on Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine since June 2001.
And since the April 10, 2015 attack on my family, this VERY LARGE hate group has repeated this even seven more times, to seven more families all on just one street, all on Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine... in total, this extremist fanatical Christian hate group has murdered more then 120 CHILDREN, just on our one street alone.
And in every case, the grand of white hood wearers was chanting the same mantra: "Too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach, kill or be killed, remember Saco Shaws".
This terrorist group is murdering anyone on Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, whom they believe of being gay or transgender, whether or not they are gay or transgender.
These people are beyond evil. And this Claire woman is their leader, and she's the one the FBI wants.
If you have any information, please call FBI Portland Office @ 207-774-9322
ask for Agent Andy Drewer.
I have a weird text message… from the woman, a relative who looks enough like me to pass for my twin…from the women, who keeps pretending to be me, the one who lat Aprile pretended to be me and tried to sell my land, the one who in 2007 pretended to be me and hired a guy with a backhoe to dig holes in my land under the guise of putting in a septic system that I never ordered… the woman who in 2013 hired the same back hoe to drive over my house…
the woman the FBI suspects of being the one who hired the golf club woman also in 2013 to cripple me nd murder my baby… the same woman who was in my yard April 10, 2015 again pretending to be me when she locked her cats in my motorhome, the same woman who took out 27 credit cards in my name and ran them each up to $20k max, me, who’s never had a credit card in my life because I can’t count or do math so also can’t do money or numbers, …. The same woman who creates several online accounts pretending to be me on those… that woman… just sent me a text message, wants me to go with her to Bug Light lighthouse tomorrow…
Uhm… Bug Light lighthouse art studio is where I was November 14, 2013, when the Claire and Kendra women broke my spine with a gold club… so, why does this woman who has a 50 year history of impersonating me… the woman who convinced half of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford that she owned my land, and has half the locals convinced that SHE and not ME, is me… she, suddenly wants me to met with her at the exact location where the blond Claire and red haired Kendra women - whom the FBI are still trying to find out the identity of - crippled me 9 years ago… and she won’t tell me why.
Well, at the moment I am recovering from, a broken pelvis, so, I can’t get out of bed, I haven’t been able to get out of bed since December, it’s not February. So, even if I would meet up with her, which I wouldn’t, right now, I can’t anyways.
She’s an Atwater… yes, the sister of Bruce Atwater… you remember him, he’s the one who was a member of Heaven’s Gate, and is so obsessed with aliens, that he and her, she helped him by pretending to be me, yet again… went around with the whole “amphibious aliens” rumors, making the claim I was abducted by aliens, calling my husband Ben Wildes, an aliens, dubbing him Etiole… he is by the way, the guy you see walking my dog with me in Biddeford… so, yeah you locals have met and talked to “Etiole” quite frequently, he attends the Saco Ward Church or Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and spent 48 years as the High Preist Quarum Leader of the Sandford Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of atter Day saists, he left the Mormon church in May 2015, after our children were murdered… thhey were kidnapped April 10, 2015, the same day the impersonator bitch locked her ten cats in my motorhome and tried to pretend they were mine, called the police, the police, Will Watson specifically, took her cats, and did not arrest me, because, they weren’t my cats… then she spent the past 9 years running around saying they were my cats and because it happened the same day, she also tries to convince people that mychildren never existed and that her cats are my children… what the fuck? She’s a raving lunatic.
She’s the one who who runs around screaming “Mark and Dan this and Mark and Dan that” and I don’t know who the fuck her Mark or her Dan are, however, the psychotic gun totoing white haired man with a green pickup truck, regularly arrives in my driveway to yell at me a, claiming he’s Mark, while saying I’m deframing him, and I don’t know who the hell he is… but apparently, he’s the Mark she keeps talking about, and she’s fighting with him while claiming to be me, so now, he’s mad at me because of something she said, but I don’t even know who the hell he is or what he’s talking about.
This is the same woman who ran around cutting the internet and electric wires off my Biddeford apartment building in 2021, while screaming about Tod Murphy, and I still don’t know who Todd Muruphrey is yet… except she and her friends claim he was hit by an Amtrak train Nov 21, 2021 at 10PM, and you can check the police records, no one was hit by a train that day… However, as you all saw on my dog walking livestream on Nov 19, 2021 at 6:27pm, 4 women on bikes chased a homeless man on the the freight train tracks a quarter mile away from the Amtrak train tracks… I have it on video and I’m the one who called the police. Apparently, that’s the train accident she was talking about, be she had all the dates and times and names wrong, AND, for a full 8 months after that, I had to deal with her Atwater hoodlums and their friend vandalizing my car… they did more then $10k in damages, which yes, that why I don’t have my car again, in case you hadn’t noticed a 40 year old antique car is rather difficult to find parts for.
This woman… the one who does all of these things… oh yeah, by the way, you remember the woman who cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half on May 9, 2010… yeah… same damn woman… and the same woman who took a fucking sledge hammer to my 1974 AMC Gremlin… that woman, the same one woman who has done ALL of these things… just sent me a text, wanting me to meet her at Bug Light lighthouse, where her Claire and Kendra buddies crippled me and murdered my baby 9 years ago.
No!
Fucking no!
Why can’t this bitch leave me and my family alone!
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HER!!!
Bug Light? Really? The location where my baby was murdered and I was left crippled for the rest of my life?
Really. She wants me to meet her at Bug Light Lighthouse.
Why?
I don't know.
She won't tell me. It's all a big secret.
Everything's always a big secret with the Atwaters. Because everything has to be a secret with criminals. If their crimes get found out, they end up in jail. That's how criminal thugs operate. In secret. So she she can't do anything without it being some big grand secret.
Why do you want me to meet you at BugLight, the lcation where my baby was murdered?
It's a secret, I can't tell you, you just have to come and find out.
No.
For one thing my car is not here, because oh, fucking Atwater scum bags vandalized it.
For another thing, I have a broken pelvis, I have been able to get out of bed since a week before Christmas 2022.
This is the 3rd time my pelvis has rebroken, since it was originally broken by the golf club weilding Claire bitch at... oh, BugLight lighthouse!
This is the same woman and her Mark simp from the day the police showed up at my Biddeford apartment to ask:
Police: "You're EelKat, right?"
Me: "No, that's what people call me though. EelKats a fictional character from my books."
Police: "This is Biddeford, right?"
Me: "Uhm? Yeah?"
Police: "And I'm standing here in Biddeford right now, talking to you, right?"
Me: "Uhm? Yeah?"
Officer starts talking in his phone to officers Will and Robby of Old Orchard Beach Police Department: "Yeah, she's right here with me, I'm talking to her right now. Got her Autism car here and everything."
Will and Robbie: "Yeah, that's what I been saying. This isn't her."
Me: "What's going on?"
Police: "Wolfboy is trespassing on your property again…"
Me: "Wolfboy? Who's Wolfboy?"
Police: "Mark. We call him Wolfboy. He calls 911 a few dozen times a day. Constant false complaints about every one. Boy who cries wolf you know."
Me: "Who's Mark? I don't know anyone named Mark."
Police: "Town busy body. Gossips and complains about every one. He's a real pain in the ass. Pardon my French. Can't leave anyone alone."
Me: "Why is he in my yard?"
Police: "Citizens arrest. Says he's arresting you."
Me: "Me?"
Police: "Yeah. He's got some bogus court documents that say you are not allowed on your own property because you're gay."
Me: "I'm gay? How am I gay?"
Police: "Yeah. Well Wolfboy thinks everybody is gay. He's waiting for the gaypocalypse, you know?"
Me: "What's the gaypocalypse?"
Police: "He thinks us guys are going to mass murder all the Christians. We have to deal with his fake 911 calls reporting us gaaaaaayz all the time."
Me: "I take it you're gay?"
Police: "Ahyap, several of us on the department. We don't like jerks like Wolfboy. He harasses people like you all the time."
Me: "Like me?"
Police: "Disabled. He targets disabled women. Thinks it makes him a man. You might not remember me. I was the one who came with the ambulance. You know? I knew you were laid up in bed here and couldn't be in Old Orchard right now, seeing how you can't walk, let alone drive."
Me: "And you said he's in my yard right now?"
Police: "Yep. He says you hired him to dig a septic tank."
Me: "I what?"
Police: "Yeah, we know. We checked. It wasn't you. We got this woman who's impersonating you. She's the one he's trying to arrest right now. She hired him to dig a hole in your front lawn. She says she's EelKat. That's why I'm here, to make sure you are here in Biddeford and not in Old Orchard Beach, right now. Buddy Will and Robbie are dealing with it."
Me: "Why is there anyone in my yard? There should never be anyone in my yard!"
Police: "Yep, we know. Wolfboy and crew do this sort of thing every day. You have no idea how often we have to deal with his crew of chronic 911 false report complainers. Whole family's crazy."
Me: "So, you're telling me there are two people in Old Orchard, right now, on my land, fighting over my land, and one of them is claiming to be me?"
Police: "Yeah, that's the deal."
Me: "He says I hired him to build a septic tank?"
Police: "Yep."
Me: "Do I look like I can afford to have a septic tank built? I have twenty million in medical bills. I can't even walk! What would I even do with a septic system, my bladder and intestines don't work, I wear adult diapers because I can't even use a toilet! Why would I of all people have a septic tank put in?"
Police: "Yeah. I know. I don't think Wolfboy and crew know how crippled you are. That's why we knew whoever he had in your yard, wasn't you. I also, don't think he's ever met you. We showed him a picture of you, and he swears that it wasn't you. We showed him a picture of *name removed* and he says that's you."
Me: "She's not me."
Police: "We know."
Me: "She's been after my land for decades. Was trying to get it aways from Grammy Helen, before I inherited it."
Police: "Oh, we know. Police reports from your Helen Ricker go all the way back to the 60s. They been after the Ricker farm since before you was born. Wolfboy's bitten off more than he can chew this time. He don't know who he's dealing with. He never should have gotten messed up with the Bacon Street Gang."
Me: "Bacon Street Gang?"
Police: "Ahyep. That's who Wolfboy has got tangled up with."
Me: "Who's the Bacon Street Gang?"
Police: "A gang. Think of them as kind of like the local Mafia, only worse. Most of them are doing time for murder. A few of them are out now. I don't think Wolfboy knows that's who he's dealing with any more than he knows who you are. He wouldn't be down there right now claiming she's you if he'd ever actually met you face to face."
That woman and that Mark, are the ones behind most of the rumors and misinformation spread about me.
The woman I know. She's a relative, with a long list of mental health problems.
Her Mark buddy, that the local police call Wolfboy, I don't know. I've never seen him. Never met him as far as I know. Obviously he's some friend of hers, probably one of her exs as she has a lot of them. She's got a bad reputation for slutting around with married men and breaking up families.
But all these wild alien abduction, transgender, ufo, nutcase rumors that get spread about me, whenever I ask "Who told you that lie?" They always say it came from her, my Uncle Bruce, or some guy named Mark.
And clearly this Mark guy is talking about her, but he uses MY name when he does it, because he's convinced she is Me. It's incredibly obvious this Mark guy has never met me and has no clue he's being scammed by her. But it is incredibly annoying because, I'm the one who is crippled for the rest of my life because some blonde bitch named Claire beat me up with a golf club at Southern Maine Community College Bug Light Art Studio on November 14, 2013, while screaming "Kill or be killed, gotta kill the transvestite freaks before they kill us all!" I was 8 months pregnant. That mystery Claire bitch not only left me crippled, she also murdered my baby. Why? Because this mystery Mark guy runs around calling me transgender and gay even though I'm not trans or gay. And he's only doing that because this nut job Atwater woman who pretends to be me, is after my land, so she runs around doing crazy ass shit while pretending to be me, in order to start the crazy ass rumors in the first place!
This Claire woman is the one the FBI is looking for information on. Because no one knows who the hell she is. She's just some random nut job who clawed out of the woodwork and showed up at college one day to attack me and kill me baby, while screaming utter insanity. The guy with her called her Claire, beyond that we've no clue who she is.
This Claire woman is the one wanted for murder, agitated assault, and owes me $20million in medical bills. If she's ever identified, she's also got life in prison for murder to look forward to.
No, I can not identify her: I am blind.
Did you forget I am blind? I've been blind my whole life.
I am legally blind. I can not see faces, not even if you are close to me. I can not make out the colour of skin because there is so little variation in colour from light to dark. I can only identify the attackers by their hair colour, because I am blind and can no see their faces. That is why I do not know who these people are. I'm blind. I've been blind since I was 8 years old. I can only identify people by their scent and the sound of their voice. Yes, the golf club woman attacked a blind pregnant women, and the FBI needs help to identify her because, I'm blind, I can only id her by the sound of her voice, and I've only encountered her twice...
November 14, 2013 when she crippled me with a golf club and murdered my babyat SMCC, and June 26, 2016 when she attacked me with a shopping cart at Scarboror WalMart, she drove away in a gold volvo station wagon. The first time 2 people were with her and they called her Claire. The 2nd time only the red haired woman was with her, and she was screaming "My name is Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine!"
I do not know what the faces of wither the blond Claire who drove a gold volvo wagon or the redhair Kendra Silvermander are because I'm blind... I can see exactly 8 inches from my nose, I can't even see the ground to see my own feet. That's why the FBI is in need of witnesses to come forward and identify the 2 women who murdered my baby.
I'm blind, I don't know what they look like, I only know them by their voices.
If you have any information, about the Claire bitch who murdered my baby at BugLight Lighthouse on November 14, 2013, please call FBI Portland Office @ 207-774-9322
ask for Agent Andy Drewer.
I am severely disabled. I have been since November 14, 2013. I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to get out of a wheelchair. It's been 9 years and I'm still using a cane and walker to get around, but, after standing and walking for an hour or two, I collapse and have to be carried back to bed, where I end up staying for days, sometimes weeks, before I can attempt to stand up again.
And since that happened, there have been a lot of local rumores.
Plastic surgery reconstructed my face, but I noticeably don't look the same as I did for 40 years prior to becoming disabled. And this has led to a lot of local rumors... people call me a demon, or demon possessed, or an alien, or say I was abducted by aliens and that's why I look different.
Welcome to Maine, where the average person believes aliens and demons are real, and think nothing of driving a backhoe over my house, because im just a demon who deserves it, they vandalized my car repeatedly every few months I who am already disabled and severe difficultly getting out and to the store, have even less ability to get out when my car is in the shop for repairs months to a time, multiple times a year.
This is the reality of how we horrifyingly disabled people are treated, at least here in Maine.
Being attacked in the college parking lot by 3 strangers with golf clubs is what dramatically changed my appearance. Doctors, plastic surgeons, rebuilt my face as best as they could, and they did a very good job all things considering. My vertebrae are broken in such a way that my spinal column is severed and so I have almost no use of my left hand and arm, I have no control over my bladder or intestines so have to wear adult diapers. And Doctors can't operate on this injury because there is an 80% chance of me becoming paralyzed from the neck down if they even attempt surgery.
I have been sent to the top neurological surgeons in America and they've all said, they wouldn't dare take the risk of doing the surgery.
I have been 9 years, actively studying everything I can find on the subject of spine surgery. I follow every medical journal, hanging on every update, watching and waiting for the day, when surgery advances to the point that it is an option for me.
Interestingly, as a side effect of this, I started reading and watching Horror genre, something I did not previously do. Things like The Island of Dr Moreau have become my favorite books and movies. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it is because I can identify with the characters who have those radical body changing surgeries in those books and movies.
In short, I have become fully obsessed with studying all aspects of radical surgery, both real and fictional, in some sort of hope of finding, something, anything, that will help me walk again.
THIS is what this Claire woman with the gold Volvo station wagon did November 14, 2013... and made worse when she attacked the second time June 26, 2016.
The Claire woman with the gold Volvo station wagon, not only murdered my son, she completely destroyed my life, my health, my ability to function on even the most basic levels.
I can't walk, my baby is dead, there's a giant fucking hole in my yard that looks like a Moon crater, and I'm homeless because a fucking backhoe drove over my house.
And because I was paralyzed for 5 months, and spent 18 months relearning to walk, and still can't walk on my own now 9 years later, I also have $20million in medical bills, which is why I can't afford to rebuild my house.
In the meantime, some jackass with a green dump truck that has a black and silver striped nose, dumped hundreds of loads of garbage, actual literal black bags of garbage that he stole from the town dump, and dumped them in my yard. Do you know how much garbage he dumped in my yard? It was one hundred and seventy three feet long, thirty feet wide, and twelve feet tall… yes, the pile of garbage was 173 feet long, 30 feet wide, and 12 feet tall… and it cost me $12k March 2015 to have a garbage company come in and haul it away.
What the fuck?
And you know what the police said? They think this woman and her Mark buddy are having a fuel, but because she's convinced him that she is me, and he's never seen me, so he doesn't know she's not me, that the police think, he's the one doing all the harassing of me and my family, but he thinks he's harassing her and her family and doesn't know he's harassing the wrong people, because she gave him my address as her address.
So, I'm being harassed by some guy who is a total stranger to me, because he's mad at some psycho bitch who was pretending to be me.
And because of all this, I'm crippled for the rest of my life, my baby is dead, a backhoe drove over my house, and then on April 10, 2015 my 10 foster children were kidnapped, and then on May 15, 2025 there heads were nailed to the door of my big pink motor home. So, now not only am I homeless and crippled, but my family has been murdered as well, all because some bitch impersonated me spreading weird ass alien abduction lies, weird as transgender lies, and weird ass gay lies about me, because for some reason she thought that would get her my land, and in doing so, she passed off some guy who went psycho serial killer on me, while thinking he was attacking her.
Yeah.
And so, two criminal ass thugs are funding with each other, and now I'm homeless and crippled and my family is dead, and the FBI is here now, and according to them, me and my family was never the target, me and my family got attacked by mistake because at the start of all this, some ufo nut, thought it would be funny to impersonate me and try to make it look like I believed in aliens, because this whole thing started because of some phoney ass alien abduction ufo haunted car hoax started by my uncle Bruce back in the 1990s, because he was mad, that Stephen King filmed The Thinner movie on my land, and my uncle Bruce was mad that he didn't get to be in The Thinner movie.
All of this started because Stephen King filmed a movie in my yard almost 50 years ago, and an uncle of mine was jealous, so he had his sister, pretend to be me to start some crazy ass alien abduction rumors, her running around claiming she was me while claiming to be abducted by aliens, while dubbing my husband as "etiole" and "amphibious alien", because in their minds that was some kind of revenge porn for not being in a Stephen King movie, and they've spent almost 40 years running with their alien abduction hoax, adding more and more to it all time time, including to start calling me a transvestite... and then, these people who used to live in Utah, my uncle and his sister, come back here to Maine to run around spreading the alien and trans rumour on a local level around Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, because, I have no ide why... they are just pure evil, and evil things like this are what hate filled evil people do.
Jealousy and hate. That's what fuels her. Pure raw jealousy and hate.
And my family is dead, my house is gone, and I'm crippled, all because some uncle of mine, whom I never even knew before any of this started, wanted to be in a Stephen King movie, and wasn't in a Stephen King movie and for some reason that was justification for all of this.
I don't get it.
The Atwaters are just hate filled, evil scum. You can't do something like this and be anything OTHER than pure evil scum.
Buglight lighthouse is where my baby was murdered on November 14, 2013 by the Kendra Silvermander and Claire bitch duo... why would I want to go there?
What the hell is she even thinking?
Every one who knows me knows my baby was murdered at Buglight lighthouse the beach behind the art studio at Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, on November 14, 2013, the same event that left me crippled for the rest of my life.
So why in the hell would anyone dare ask me to meet them at fucking Buglight lighthouse?
How much more evil can you be?
Update: February 19, 2023
??? Weird. ...
So, I just got a flurry of weird text messages… about FabeBook posts? I’ve not seen said posts, so I don’t know exactly what they says, but I’ll respond to the text messages about said posts:
ONE... who is in my yard? It's certainly not me, I broke my pelvis a week before Christmas and haven't been out of bed in 3 months. There should never be anyone in either of my yards, not the one in Biddeford nor the one in Old Orchard...
TWO... when did my cousin Danny die? First I heard of it. Last I knew he was living on a farm up by Heath road in Saco. I haven't seen him since a few years before the grease fryer bomb blew up my house, that happened on October 16, 2006... so it was sometime before 2004 last time I saw Danny. Didn't know he died. That's sad. I liked Danny. He was one of the few good Atwaters...
Three, uhm, what garden? My land in Old Orchard is bare ledge. Not even any soil to plant anything in. It's been that way for nine years. When the backhoe drove over my house August 8, 2013, it also came in with a green dumptruck and strip mined my land, they stole all of my roses, apple trees, grapes, blueberries, and flowers, and took all the top soil down to over six feet deep, strip mined my farm down to bare shale and granite. It would cost over $three-million dollars to buy new top soil to replace what the vandals stole, and I don't have that kind of money, so I've not had a garden since, no vegetables, no flowers, nothing, can't plant anything on bare ledge....
so, yeah, weird, this latest rumor, which states I stole something from Danny's grave to put in my garden. Seeing how, I didn't even know Danny died and I also don't have a garden.
........... Update February 22, 2023
So, because I didn't know Danny died, people have started sending me these long lists of Atwaters whom have died since 2015... apparently there are well over 30 - thirty - dead Atwaters, none of whom I knew had died, and many of whom, I never even heard their names before. I'm told they are largely from the Utah division of the Scottish Traveller clans. But I did notice, half of the original twelve are dead? Is that true? No one told me any of this. I had no clue. It says here that uncle Peter and his wife, Bobby's wife Cathy, and even my uncle Brucie are all dead? When did all this happen and why did no one tell me? There a bunch of cousins, second cousins, and thrid cousins on the list too, but I've never heard any of their names before I have no clue who any of them are.
There also seems to be some weird thing where they are saying no one ever told them my son was murdered November 14, 2013... my mother, my father, my step father Wade, aunt Barbara, uncle Dickie, uncle Brucie, cousin Danny, and Danny's wife Amanda all knew about this. Barbara showed up at the hospital and tried to get me to join her in some stupid ass medical scam she said she was running via her EMT job, she wanted me to be some poster child for some medical scam website she was running, she said she could get more money if she had a real cripple on her website. Dickie and Brucie were both at my Water St apartment the night it happened and they were mad that the police showed up to question my family and found them there with my daddy and some private detective, I don't know who the private detective was... according to the FBI agent in charge of the murder investigation, my dad hired the private detective to trail my mother and her then husband Wade, and Dickie and Brucie were helping my father with that.
Barbara, Dickie, and Brucie were all at the hospital November 2013, when I was paralyzed.
Barbara knew I was in a wheelchair, because in 2014, at Saco Shaw's, she stopped to talk to me, while I was shopping and in the wheelchair.
I'm also being told most of them are claiming they didn't know a backhoe drove over my house. Uncle Joey in Australia, not only knew about the backhoe driving over my house, by the FBI has copies of the $600 wire he sent to the backhoe driver. My father is the one who forged the demolition permits, with some guy named Dan who I never heard of before.
Also, you remember Barbara's ex Paul Martal... do you know what he's in prison for? FBI arrested him in 2016, for not one, but many bombs that he built, including the bomb that blew up my house October 16, 2006 and wait for it... the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, he built it and sold it to ISIS.
The Atwaters claiming they know nothing of the 2006 bomb, is a lie, considering the FBI arrested some of them for it.
The Atwaters claiming they knew nothing of the backhoe driving over my house August 8, 2013, that replaced the bombed house, is a lie, because because Joey is the one how organized and funded it and he's going to straight to prison if he ever sets foot in America again, the FBI is ready to arrest him the moment he sets foot outside of Austraila. They have uncovered all the evidence they need to do so.
Barbara posted the message on my FaceBook wall: "The next head nailed to a door will be yours", she posted that message May 14, 2015... the DAY BEFORE my foster children's heads were nailed to the door of my motorhome. I didn't know she posted that message... the FBI agent, had screenshots of it that he had made, he showed them to me in June 2016... I didn't know she had posted that on my wall.
Yvonne and Shem, posted on my FaceBook wall more then two hundred pictures of themselves holding various guns, and on every post they wrote the words: "This is the gun I'm going to kill you with." Again, I did not see the posts, because I was in the hospital, paralized, I was paralyzed 5 months, I was 18 month relearning to walk... I've been bedridden for the last 9 - NINE - years... I found out about the death threats Shem and Yvonne were posting when an FBI agent, the one, who is now dead. Larua, she was murdered February 6, 2021... arrived, at my 6x8 tarp that I was living under in my yard... she arrived, with a huge stack of printed out screenshots of death threats posted by them, along with 27 FaceBook accounts all owned by Brucie, most of them using variations of Doris's name... all 29 of those accounts spent the entire of 2014, 2015, and 2016 DAILY posting death threats on my FaceBook wall, and often mentioned the November 14, 2013 murder of my son, the August 8, 2013 backhoe, and the April 10, 2015 SWAT team... the SWAT team being something I never mentioned online... also... the police department is in search of a VERY UNIQUE murder weapon that was used in the May 15, 2015 beheadings, and the crackhead Camilla, the cocaine dealer for the Bacon Street Gang, who is an Atwater, has been since October 2021 showing up on my Biddeford front porch to gibber about... that murder weapon... the police and the FBI never released to the public what the murder weapon was, because it is a VERY UNIQUE one of a kind hand made item. And yet, MANY of the Atwaters... 23 of them, showed up in my Biddeford driveway January 8, 2021 to gibber about that murder weapon while also chanting "God-King-Trump".
January 15, 2021, a few days later, the fbi shows up with half the fucking plice department, here at my biddeford apartment, said they followed lucy and barbara up here from some attack on the president in washington dc and wanted to know if U'd seen them? what the fuck? I have no clue. I've not see Lucy since 1994 and I've not seen Barbara since 2013 the day she tried to get me to join her weird medical scam plot. But according to the FBI... they were watching my Twith livestream tht day, so they saw the "God King Trump" chanters, as did all of my viewers, I was live and my webcam faces the driveway window so, they were chanting "God-king-trump" on my Twitch livestream... according to the FBI, those 23 people were Lucy's crew and the had stolen stuff from the White House, and were carrying the stolen white house stuff while chanting in my driveway... the FBI wanted to know if I recgonined any of them, and I didn't, the FBI had tons of pictures of them, and I don't know who any of them were... but according to the FBI, they are the adult children of several of my cousins, via Lucy and Barbara's kids. What the hell?
I am so sick and tired of the FBI showing up here and questioning me every few weeks, because of some fucking ass shit Barbaras family is doing, when I don't even know Barbara's family! I haven't babysat for her kids since I was 12 years old and that was fifty fucking years ago!
Tell me, how do so many Atwaters have inside information about the murder weapon that was used to behead my ten foster children on May 15, 2015... when those police records are sealed, were classified by the FBI, and only me, 6 FBI agents, 3 police officers, and of course the murderer, know what the murder weapon was?
I don't know who contacted the FBI... it wasn't me. I assume is was police officer Will Watson as he was the original head of the police investigation. And yet, I have many THOUSANDS of hate emails, hate snail mail letters - hand written and signed by Atwaters, accusing me of sending the FBI to "snoop in on them" as they put it. Good god! The FBI is over here interigating me 2 or 3 times a fucking month! The Atwaters act like they are the only ones who have to deal with FBI agents hanging around all the time! At least with me the FBI are here trying to help solve a crime, not interigating me of being a criminal... my fucking son was murdered! Atwaters bitching about the FBI questioning them, well maybe they shouldn't be posting death threats all over my FaceBook wall constantly none stop, the same week my sn was murdered, but that's what they are being questioned about.
I never sent the FBI anywhere... I don't control the FBI, and anyone who thinks that is got some serious mental retardation issues.
I didn't even know the FBI was actively going from Atwater to Atwater questioning them, and I wouldn't have known, had the Atwaters not been writing long hate letters and mailing them to me.
My son was murdered in 2013... it was 3 years later, when the FBI showed up to talk to me, for the first time, and yet they informed me, they'd been on the case for three years at that point and had some pretty daming evidence, about one Atwater: Paul Martal, whom I've never met, didn't even know he existed... he got 14 years in prison for the 2006 bomb that blew up my house. But what the FBI wanted to know was: Why me? It appeared he didn't know me any more than I knew him. According to the FBI, Paul Martal was in heavy contact with 2 people, and the FBI believes it's one of them, who hired the golf club woman to murder my baby November 14, 2013...
...and the problem is, I've not mentioned it to the family, The Atwaters, so they don't know, not even my parents know, but on September 12, 2021, there was another attack. I've not released any details, nor have the police or the FBI, One of the biggest ones yet. The FBI pointed out one thing... the attacks stopped when one of te two primary suspects died. They said they had reason to believe the one, of the two suspects, whom they believe murdered my son, died... so how did the the September 12, 2021 attack happen?
When that attack happened the FBI asked me to repaint paint my car: put the info from 2 different events, with the dates reversed, to see WHO would notice it was wrong. Someone DID notice it was wrong: Crackhead Camilla, cocaine dealer of the Bacon Street Gang, she showed up on my Biddeford porch less then ten hours after I painted my car. She noticed the incorrect date for the incorrect event... and she has said WHO told her... and it was one of the three people who arrived at the hospital November 2013... except, 2 of those 3 people are now dead, and the one she's naming, is the one still alive.
Who is it, who runs around telling people I believe in aliens? That same person. I don't believe in aliens. I'm the one who proved aliens and alien abductions to be a hoax, did that in 2007, posted my findings proving aliens a hoax here: https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html
Who is it, who runs around claiming I say things about Utah Atwaters, people who I've never heard of, people I've never met? That same person.
Whose husband is right now sitting in prison for building the bomb that blew up my house? That same person.
Camilla was the bridesmaid of who? That same person.
Who KNEW I was paralyzed for 5 months, 18 months in wheelchair, and 9 years serverly crippled, bedridden... but neglected to tell anyone in the family? That same person.
Who is it, who is right now spreading rumors and lies about me, my brothers, and my mother, all over FaceBook? That same person.
Do you know what gaslighting means? Look at what she's doing. It's called gaslighting. It means she is trying to cast doubt on the victims, in order to make the victims look guilty, as a way to try to hide, her own crimes.
Ask yourself why you didn't know my son was murdered?
Ask yourself why you didn't know I was attacked by a blond woman with a golf club, left for dead, almost died, and have been crippled on paraplegic levels ever since?
Ask yourself why you didn't know I was paralyzed for 5 month?
Ask yourself why you didn't know I was in a wheelchair for 18 months?
Ask yourself why you didn't know my foster children, where not only murdered, but their heads were nailed to my door?
Ask yourself why you didn't know when Barbara, Brucie, and Dickie were all at the hospital, and knew what had happened. Why didn't they tell any of you? Why did they pretend not to know? Why did they hide for the rest of the family, what had happened to me?
Here's an important thing to ask: Why did none of you know the FBI was here investigating a very brutal murder that coincided with a LOT of harassment, vandalism, and hate crimes that were on levels of alarming extremes?
It's called impeding and FBI investigation.
Someone, in the Atwater family, has been very actively lying to all of you about what happened to me and my family... why? What is their motive? If they have nothing to hide, then why arethey bending over backwards to try to keep every one of you from finding out what happened to me, my son, my house, my yard, and my foster children?
Why?
Only the person doing these crimes, who any motive to try to cover them up.
Only the person who murdered my son, would have any motive to go out of their way to do everything in their power to try to make you forget he ever existed.
Only the person who did these things has any motive, to try to cover it up.
Only the person behind my son's murder has a motive to try to convince you I believe in aliens, when it's damn well documented that I don't believe in aliens.
Think about that, next time an Atwater starts spreading rumors about me, my mother, my father, my brothers, my husband, my dead children, or my dead son.
Also... who is it who told you that I knew about all these deaths in the family? Was it one of the three people who was at the hospital and knew what happened to me, but never told you all?
Also, yes... I have noticed that Dickies supposed death date is a full 3 months before he was at the hospital, before he was visiting my dad with Brucie and and having a meeting with the private investigator about Wade Witen... that's puzzling... but then again Brucie had faked his own death 4 times since the 1980s, each time to invade IRS fraud, so the Atwaters do have a history of faking their deaths. I know this because the FBI has all that info too and when interviewing me, they wanted to know if I was aware of the faked death, by 3 of the original 12 Atwaters... yep, three of the brothers have faked their deaths multiple times. So... when you people tell me Dickie and Brucie are dead, yeah, I kind of don't believe you.
Also, Barbara is the one going around telling everyone that Danny is dead and his grave is being vandalised... several people have told me that Danny is dead, his grave was being vandalised, and I a bedridden crippled, was being blamed for the vandalism, and I asked each of these people who told them this, and every one of them stated they recieved either a rtext, post, comment, email, or phone call from Barbara, some said she told them face to face in person... near as I can tell NO ONE other then Barbara os saying Danny died, no one other then Barbara is saying his grave is vandaised, and no one other then Barbara is saying I did it... also newsflash... my camera runs 24/7/365 ever since the day my foster children's heads was nailed to my door, so I can prove where I was and what I was doing every minute from May 16, 2015 to right now. The camera runs 24/7 in hopes of catching the murderer returning to attack again. Smile... if you've ever said anything to me online or offline, I have video footage of you doing it.
In case you've forgotten who Barbara is, besides being Bruce's sister, she's the 2 year old girl who was run over by this car. https://www.eelkat.com/images/1964dodge330_theGoldeneagleWorldsMostHauntedCar.jpg My 1964 Dodge 330 the one that was cut in half on May 9, 2010 by raving lunatics of the Saco Ward church calling it demon possessed. She's the one who started the rumor that the car was haunted, possesed by a demon and tried to kill her. The car used to belong to Dr Larochell, who paid Barbara $20k to stop her from spreading rumors about his car. Her rumours about his car got so bad that locals started attacking him, so in 1975 he sold the car and I bought it specifically to prove that it was niether haunted demon possessed and Barbara was just delusional and trying to get attention.
After I proved the car not haunted, I let a local elderly homeless man sleep in the car at night, while the car was parked behind my barn, 175 feet from the road in the forest where it could not be seen from the road, so no one knew the WW@ veteran was sleeping in my car... until that is, in 1978, Barbara tresspassed on my land, found him there, declared him first a demon, then in the 1990s started calling him "The Amphibious Alien"... Barbara is the only Atwater who ever learned French and guess what, she is also the one who coined the name "Etiole" and started calling the homeless WW2 vet "Etiole" and she is the one who has been vocal in instigating EVERY SINGLE attack on Etiole and my 1964 Dodge 330.
Also, do take a look at Barbara... we look alike, she and me... we can almost pass for twins. And what keeps happening around locally? People keep saying they are encountering me doing and saing things in places I've never been to, to people I've never heard of!
Also, every time I go outside, people - ttal strangers - keep coming up to me and asking me why I am emailing them stuff about aliens, and newsflash: I don't even use email! What the hell? I couldn't eail some one even if I wanted to!
In November, this guy comes up to me, he's about 90 years old and carrying this massive stack of sheets of paper - like 300 sheets, it's an entire reem of paper, and he starts waving it around and says it's print out of all the emails I sent him just in the past week, he says he gets more then three thousand emails from me on a daily basis and it's all crazy stuff about aliens... I looked at the papers and, the emails are coming from tons of emails with the word "eelkat" in the name, but they aren't mine. I'm not sending these things out to people and I don't know who is... but I do know who has a history of impersonating me with emails: Barbara!
In 1996, she started an email war with the Atwaters, with two emails, one that she said was heres, and one that she said was mine.
At that point... I had never had contact with an American, or TV, or electricity... I had never heard of computers or internet or email... he email war, was her, impersonating me, and sending hundred of hate filled emails to my aunts, uncles, and counsins... I found out about it a year later when Bishop Paul Morgan of the Cape Elezabeth Ward (no, not the Portland Ward, but yes the same building) called me in to his office one day, to ask why I was sending so many hundreds of emails about aliens and alien abductions to him and 750 other members of the church. No that's not a typo... seven hundred and fifty members of the church...
I had 3 questions for Paul Morgan:
1: What's email?
2: What are aliens?
3: What's alien abduction?
I had never heard of those 3 things before.
Paul Morgan had print outs of those emails, and it took me over a month to read those more then six thousand sheets of paper, but I read every one of them.
Paul Peterson, administrative director of Pine Land Center Insane Asylum... he showed up at church a few weeks later, yeah... turns out, several Atwaters used to be, how shall we call it... straight jacketed in padded cells because they were insane... and Pine Land Center, government run mental health institute, lost funding, shut down, in... oh look... 1996... and literally just let formally straight jacket nut cases, walk free out the front door. It's not hard to find out who the inmates of Pine Land Center were... the micro films are available in New Gloughster. So, yeah, that evidance exists and says a lot.
ALL of the rumors about me, my mother, my father, my brothers, my husband, my cars... all the Demon rumors, all the alien rumors, ALL of it... every single rumor, all the way back to the 1960s... all of them, were started by one person, Barbara, because, she was the 2 year old girl who was hit by that car, and she's pissed that I bought it, and she's even more pissed that Stephen King, my neighbour at the time, made a movie about it... did you know my real name is Christine and that's why the car is named Christine in the movie, even though the real car was named The Goldeneagle.
After Christine, Stephen King returned to film Thinner on my farm, and THAT is why, Barbara, has had endless amounts of jealosue rage and hatred for my farm, my land, my house... did you know I've rebuilt my house 5 times now... the backhoe has driven over THREE houses on my land, we keep rebuilding and it keeps coming back... but before the backhoe there was the bomb... and who did the FBI arrest for building that bomb again? Barbara's husband Paul Martal. That's what he went to prison for. He built the bomb that blew up my house, the FBI found him with the bomb parts in his house and car.
That's why, I always ask, when these weird rumors about demons and aliens show up... who told you? And EVERY SINGLE PERSON, EVERY SINGL TIME... they always say: "Barbara told me", "Baraba said it" , "Barbara called me" , "Barbara emailed me"... and so, I'm not surprised to find out that the rumors flying around this week, are once again, started by the same person who always starts them: the pissed off now adult, 2 year old girl, who 60 years ago was run over by the world's most haunted car, and is the one who both declared it haunted and dubbed the homeless man living in it as "Etiole"
Know your sources people. Do your background checks. Find out if the one spreading the rumors about me, might actually have a motive. Barbara REALLY hates that car. And at the core, her hatred of that car, her rage that Stephen King made it famous, is the cause of everything.
But guess what: Barbara and Brucie and their fucking endless jealose rage, is why I'm crippled, why my son is dead, why I've had to rebuild my house on my land five fucking times now... I'm not bothering any of them, I never have , and I don't know why they are bothering me! I want those bastards to fucking leave me, my family, my cars, my land, and anything else of mine alone.
Uhm… okay… so, a member of the Sanford ward church was just in a rage yelling at me about the drug raid across the street last year at the missionary apartment and this being the 18th anniversary of the dead girl in the Scarborough marsh… and, I'm not sure why they are yelling at me about it…but they were mad saying: "Why is the FBI here talking to you about the dead girl in Scarborough. You aren't family."
Uhm… no, but I am the one who found the body and called 911 to report it. And I've had to deal with police and FBi questions in regards to her death for the past few decades every single time they get a lead they show up and ask me:"So tell us once again what you saw." And I tell them yet again about the girl with no head, the thirty dogs with no heads, and that, I never saw her or the dogs before.
I was driving to work and they were all laid out ritual like in the road, not a one of them had any heads. Not the girl, not any of the dogs.
First experience with headless bodies… but far from the last. And police and fBi believe the killer was there and saw me call 911 and that's why my 75 pet roosters had their heads cut off and their bodies tied in rope nooses and hung in my Orchard fruit trees and rose bushes shortly after.
I can show you where ever body was the girl and the dogs. The first one was at the Ross rd Portland rd intersection at the light by where the medical building is now. The next one was at the Eastern trail Bridge just before the rv center. There was another at the cascade rd intersection by the flea market... they continued like that all the way to the Scarbourogh marsh. All black dogs, mostly Rottweilers and black labs, more than 30 of them, leading in a path to the dead girl. None of them had heads. Not the girl or the dogs.
It was after dark, I was on my way to Macy's.
The fbi says they think it was the same person who beheaded my cousin Murphy in 2013, beheaded 75 of my roosters and hung them from nooses in trees in 2007, murdered my son in 2013, and beheaded my mother's cats in 2015... he says there were 11 other beheading like this between 2001 and 2015 all of them invloving a huge amount of pets, mostly dogs and cats, but also birds and horses… in title more then 500 pets just on Portland Ave in old Orchard beach alone, the first one was a German Shepherd in June 2001 whose head was hung on the bucket of his owners bulldozer, and there have been 7 more since 2015 to 2021, all on Portland Ave, Ross rd, and Cascade Rd.
The dead girl in Scarborough had no head, neither did any of the dogs. I'm the one who called the police.
I was there when they found Timmy Murphy on cascade and Ross rd intersection. He had no head either.
My cousin Murphy, the newspaper said he was hit by a truck. But that's not what happened. I was there. Police made me wait 3 hours while they looked for his head. I got questioned all over for that. It happened June 2013. Backhoe drove over my house August 8, 2013, and golf club woman attacked November 14, 2013... fbi thinks the backhoe and golfclub attacks were both because I was there when Timmy's body was being wrapped up by police. The police found his head 2 weeks later down by my driveway on Portland Ave almost a half mile from where they found his body.
They believe the killer of my cousin Timmy was at the scene while the police were questioning me, and that's how the killer knew to target my house with the backhoe a month later… the issue with that is, one of my uncles, paid the backhoe driver, but that uncle lives in Australia and wired the money to the backhoe driver. The police have all the paperwork for this. And the police can't figure out, why it appears that my Atwater relatives are heavily invested in impending the investigation of what police are calling "the Ouellette case".
It appears the Atwaters are being egged on by someone involved in the murder of the headless Scarborough marsh girl, and that the Atwaters are being deliberately needled into a frenzy at me and my family in a bold attitude to through police off the killers trail.
The thing is, the Atwaters have gone into wild extremes bringing in weird alien abduction rumors that are just outlandish… but then… one of my uncles, when the FBI went to interview him… he had dozens of dead, headless black dogs, black cats, and black chickens laying in weird pentagram ritual formations, all over his yard, in his driveway, around his house, hanging on his fences… and… well… dead headless black animals were all around the Scarborough marsh that day of the dead girl… and so… it kind of looks a lot like one of my uncles either is the murderer or at least is the one supplying the murderer with dead black pets.
So, this lead the FBi to ask me more questions, because now it looks like the Atwaters lashing out at my family has a far bigger motive then, them just being crazy lunatic ufo nuts.
I've been a witness at 4 different beheadings.. and was the one who called police each time.
The raid at the Saco Ward missionary apartment across the street…I never said the raid across the street was a drug raid... the state drug force wasn't there. Ive seen drug raids before. My Atwater relatives are notorious for drugs, ive been in the house when two drug raids happened, one in 1982 and one in 2016 and both times the state police drug team was the one who did the raid.
State police drug team wasn't there at the raid on the missionary apartment across the street last year, it the US Marshalls and FBI there. They had 8 people handcuffed face down in the road in front of our apartment. And they said it was about the Ouellette case, specifically the headless girl in Scarborough marsh. I know this, because thry asked me if i recognized any of these 8 people. One I did, she's been my dads nurse since 2009. Fbi was here asking me about that raid, because he wanted to know if the dead cats and birds in the road here in front of our Biddeford apartment were lined up same way as the dead dogs were back in Scarborough years ago with the dead girl.
Me and others locally have been finding dead pets lined up on Main Street, western Ave, Cutts St, West Cutts st, James St, and Bradbury st every since summer 2021, I sent videos footage of all the dead pets to fbi, because it DID look like same ritual pattern used in my yard with roosters in 2007 and my mother's cats in 2015 and those dogs with the dead girl at the Scarborough marsh.
That's why I stopped walking around our apartment at night... dead cats and birds are being set up around my apartment and also my mothers apartment... looks like whoever killed cats and roosters in Old Orchard, wanted me to know they knew where I lived.
The officers think the person leaving the dead pets all around our apartment is whoever killed the headless girl at the marsh... they think that's why the attack on my roosters happened in 2007, the backhoe in 2013, the golf club women who killed my son and crippled me in 2013, because I'm the one who called the police about the headless dogs in Scarborough with the dead girl.
Weird, this Sanford Ward Mormon, who was just here at my apartment, made the comment: "But the dead girl in Scarborough wasn't beheaded."
I don't know if there's a different girl too or not. I only know about the headless girl, the one I called 911 about all those decades ago. I never looked up the news reports so I don't know if they ever mentioned the thirty dead dogs or her and the dogs having no head. I don't know what the news said about it. I don't even know her name. I just know whenever the police or FBI ask me to retell how the dogs were laid out, they always call it "The Ouellette Case". Beyond that I know nothing about it.
My focus has always been on the attacks on me and my family. I don't know any of the other families. I just know the officers said the April 10, 2015 attack on my farm was the 11th such attack on Portland Ave since June 2001 and that they now tell me there have been seven more such attacks on Portland Ave since 2015. They said a lot of details have not been released to the public, but that there are a few common things recurring in every attack which indicates it's just one person (group of persons) doing it. They say they keep going back to all 18 of our families reasking us for details we can remember because they are trying to match up the similarities of each case.
I know what details were left out of reports about the attacks on my family. I don't know anything about any of the other 17 families at all.
I don't understand these Saco and Sanford ward church members who keep showing up all upset because I'm trying to find out who murdered my son and left me crippled. What is their problem? It's MY family that's dead, not theirs, what the fuck business is it of theirs? Why are they so damned ruffled up about me asking for anyone with information to call the FBI? By being upset like this, they are just making themselves look suspicious. When they are mad that I'm asking people for help finding the killer, they just make themselves look like they are involved, they make it look like they know who the killer is, they make it look like they are protecting and defending the killer. Do they not realize how suspicious they make themselves look when they get angry that I ask on Facebook for anyone with info to please call the FBI and help put my son's killer in prison?
Do you remember Timmy? He's the same age as you and me. He's the one who lived at the black house next door to my on Portland Ave. He was the used car dealer, the one who always have a dozen or so cars lined up for sale across his front lawn. He also owned Etiole's swamp, my abutting neighbour from the back side of the land. He used to help me babysit Barbara's kids back in the 1970s and 1980s, we used to duo babysit together.
Timmy Murphy was the one beheaded June 2013 at the Ross Rd and Cascaed Rd intersection.
That's why I can't understand these Todd Murphy fucktrds who spent the entire of November 2021 to May 2022, daily arriving in my Biddeford driveway, chanting "Todd Murphy! Todd Murphy! Todd Murphy! Todd Murphy! Todd Murphy!" while vandalizing both the building and my car. They did $10k+ in damages to my Volvo and they did so much damage to the building that landlord Matt Holiday couldn't afford to repair the apartment building so he sold it because the city of Biddeford was going to condemn the building and kick out all 9 families at 409 Maine Street, because the Todd Murphy fucktard attackers did so much damage to the building. People know about them cutting all the wires off the building, but it was a lot more then that. They did huge amounts of stucture damage to the building itself as well. That's why Matt sold the building. He just didn't have enough money to repair the damages.
But the thing was, these vandals were acting like they thought I knew who Todd Murphy was, and I never heard of anyone by that name before. I think they mixed up whoever this Todd Murphy was with my cousin Timmy... who is not an Atwater... what the fuck are the Atwaters even talking about? Timmy was my dad's older sister's god-son. My aunt Victoria from Portland? The one who lived in that big tower on the waterfront up on the Promanard.
Why are the Atwaters so damned fucking arrogant that they think they are the only relatives I have? The Allens of Allen Ave in Portland are my relatives too you know, and Timmy Murphy was one of them. You know, the whole family who founded Amatos... the woman who founded Amatos was my dad's great aunt. That's why we always get free food at Atmatos, their family. The Atwaters don't hold a fucking monopoly over me, what the hell is wrong with them? You know, I'm sick of the Atwaters barging their way into everything and trying to make everything be about them. They aren't the center of the world and they need to stop acting like they are.
Near as I can tell, these Todd Murphy vandals are conneted to the Atwaters somehow, but I don't know how. And again, they are impeeding a fucking FBI murder investigation. Do the Atwaters know how to do ANYTHING other then stick their busy body noses in places they don't belong? What the fuck?
Do you know what the police said? They said Todd Murphy is the son of someone my mother and Barbar fight with on FaceBook. I've had my mother and Baraba both blocked on FaceBook since the shit they pulled back in 213 after my son was murdered. I don't have a fucking clue who my mother or Barbara are friends with on FaceBook, I have them blocked. I've had them blocked for 10 years this Novmber.
But then, I have fucktards from the Sanford Ward church showing up here now, do you realize how far they have to drive to get here to my driveway? What the hell? And they claim that Todd Murphy was a member of the Sanford Ward... you know what he's not on the rouster. You know I'm a member of that church right? I got access to the rouster, because my husband is the high preist quorum leader of that church... there's no one named Todd Murphy who is a member of the Sanford Ward church, and there hasn't been in the last 48 years that I've attended that church. So now I'm left wondering, even more what the fuck?
Who the ell is Todd Murhy and why the fuck should I care? I haven't got a clue what these people are talking about. I don't know who they are and I don't know who their Todd Murphy is.
Only thing I can figure, is somehow, something my mother and Barbara said, convinced these people that when I talk about Timmy Murphy's murder case that I'm talking about Todd Murphy. But why? Was Todd Murphy murdered in 2013 of the Ross Rd in Old Orchard Beach, same as my cousin Timmy Murphy, who was also my abutting neighbor and had the same birthday as me, so we celebrated our birthdays together, you know because we grew up together and knew each other own entire lives?
I mean, what the hell? And what does Todd Murphy have to do with The Ouelltte case aka the beheaded girl in the Scarborogh Marsh from 20 years ago? That's what they were talking about last night... thee Snford Ward members who were here in my ard in Biddeford last night, who yes, I do know who they are, but I don't know who this Todd Murphy is that they are talking about or what he has to do with my cousin Timmy Murphy and that girl, both being beheaded down the street from my Old Orchard Beach farm?
I asked, no one in Timmy's family knows any one named Todd. None of my Scarborough or Old Orchard Beach Murphy relatives know or have ant relatives named Todd, so none of them, know what the fuck these people in Biddeford are talking about. You know just because someone has the same last name, doesn't mean they are relatede, right? Do these Todd Murphy people who won't stop hrassing us, and now clearly have a connection to the Sanford Ward realize that?
And what is with Joel Bailey? What? Yeah... they're bringing Joel Bailey back into stuff? He went to prison in 2013, he, if you forgot was the counsellor of the Bisiop of the Saco Ward church, the entire bishiprisk went to prision, 2 to 10 years each one, along with the Old Orchard Beach Town Manager, oh wait, he was one of the bishipric, and 13 people from the Old Orchard Beach town hall and police departments, all members of the Saco Ward church, for stealing a little bitty number of thirty MILLION dollars in Old Orchard Beach tax funds out of the town hall bank account, which I only found out about, because they tried to forge my name onto the documents and that was why FBI Laura, the agent ho was murdered in Florida on Feberuary 6, 2021, was sent to interview me in 2007, 2010, and 20134... the Saco Ward church bishopric stole $30million from the Old Orchard Beach town hall and tried to pin it on me, only, I can't count, mI never learned math, and they didn't know I couldn't possibly have written the math figures. I don't know how to do money and only someone really good with money could have done the things they did. They also put a lot of stuff in Ken Shoop's name. That Joel Bailey, the one who is now out of prison and likes to walk circles around my Biddeford apartment all summer long in 2022. Yeah, I am aware he's back, the mini-Winnie RV that parks at the Biddeford High School at night, he is the one driving it.
Given his past history, no, I'm not surprised at all to find his name bring brought back up. Though the Saco Ward Mormons now trickling out of prison and back on the streets, would explain why the vandalism started up again, seeing how they were the ones who used to do most of it and the vandalism did stop when they went to prison.
I'm sick of the Atwaters and their Mormon friends. They're nothing but criminals, drug dealers, and gangster thugs.
The fact remains, the only thing I'm focused on is finding my son's killer and the Atwaters and their Mormon thugs, are interupting that, and I want to know WHY? No one who is not guilty of being involved in my son's murder has any reason or incentive to be here harassing me and telling me to take the FBI phone number off my FaceBook wall, and that's what they are doing and I want to know why. What business is it of theirs if the FBI phone number is on my FaceBook wall and what is their involvment with my son's murder that they think the FBI phone number on my FaceBook wall effects them?
Here's a weird one… I just got a text message from a Sanford Ward Mormon which states: "I've known you for 40 yeas I would remember you being attacked how come you never mentioned it before now"
Uhm… since 1996, my website, originally known as Space Dock 13, has documented daily blog posts of every day of my life.
The July 2, 2001 attack, when a house mover cut our house in half, put it on a flatbed and drove it to Waterville, was documented the day it happened. It was also the first attack. My neighbor's German shepherd dog was beheaded and left in the bucket of his bulldozer that same day.
Go look at my blog… every day since July 2, 2001 , every attack, from the minor paintball attacks to the big house bomb attacks, are all documented, each blog post written the day it happened. There are more then ten thousand daily blog posts just on that one blog, chronologizing every event of every day of my life and including every attack, since June 2001.
That fact that they only just noticed it now, does not mean, I've never mentioned it… it just means they were too self absorbed to notice anything going on around them. It also means I was never important enough to them, for them to notice I was homeless, or in the hospital, or had a baby that was murdered. … their shock of just discovering these things, says more about their lack of caring about me, then anything else.
As for the headless girl and dogs in the marsh, the murder of my cousin Timmy Murphy, and the golf club attack ,the 3 events they specifically brought up in their text…
I had Squidoo articles about all 3 events. Squidoo went out of business in 2014.
I have more then a thousand blog posts published between 2007 and 2013, on Tumblr, BlogSpot, and WordPress, about those 3 events.
On YouTube I had more than 2k video uploads between 2008 and 2017 that did absolutely nothing but talk about those events, and included the interrogations by police and Fbi, which I've recorded all of since May 2015. So, yes, you can go watch FBI agent Andy Drewer, lawyer Gene Libby in the Biddeford District Court, and police officer Will Watson, and dozens of others talking about these events, on YouTube, because my camera catches everything.
Since 2008, I have posted daily on Facebook and Twitter asking for witnesses to come forward about the dead dogs and the marsh girl...
Since June 2013, I added Tim Murphy to my daily Facebook request for witnesses to come forward,
Since August 2013, I added the back hoe driving over my house info to my daily Facebook requests for witnesses to come forward.
since November 2013, daily every single day requests for witnesses to the attack at phi theta Kappa ceremony at bug light lighthouse, where my baby was murdered and I was left crippled for the rest of my life.
I'm still crippled by the way, are they going to tell me they didn't notice that either? Did they not notice I was 5 months paralyzed, wait I know that person noticed because in February 2014 that exact same person carried me to their car and from their car into the hospital precisely because I was paralyzed and couldn't walk…. The person who carried me to the hospital because I was paralyzed and had to be carried is the exact same person who is now saying they don't remember this… and yet, they are the ones who had to fill out the paperwork to admit me in the hospital and their signature is on those documents. So, proof they are lying, right there.
after the June 2016 attack by the 2013 golf club woman, this time at walmart, the fbi gave me a hotline number for witnesses to call... this phone number has been on the flyers in the windows of my Volvo ever since June 2016 and these events are printed on said flyers.
Also in June 2016 the Old Orchard Beach Libby library and the Biddeford McArthur library and the Old Orchard Beach Salvation Army Church all printed up flyers about these events, and spent the summer handing them out to tourists and the fBI number was on all of those.
This is all very well documented as, I have been post them DAILY for over a decade now... and I talk about it constantly in my livestreams which I started doing in May 2015.
Just because one person had their head shoved too far up their church's ass to know what was going on in their own family, and they only just now noticed what was going on around them, doesn't mean I only just now started talking about it.
This is why I don't like churches. Church people are so focused on their Bibles that they haven't got a clue what's going on in the real world around them.
Not to mention all of the police reports, there are more than four hundred police reports, which span twenty one police departments, in three states as well as the Maine state police and the Florida state police, plus the FBI besides! Most of those police reports are public record, you can go read them for yourself. As far as I know only 3 of them were classified and sealed from public access which means there's still 400+ that can be read. There were newspaper reports of some of the attacks. And even though I don't own a TV so have never seen the tV news reports, I know those exist because there were so many TV station news reporters showing up in my yard with camera crews asking for interviews with me. This case is so damned well documented. It's utterly ridiculous to think there is a single person in Southern Maine who is so self absorbed and so oblivious that they have never heard of this case or any of the events that have happened within it in the last 18 fucking years!
But the worst part is, this my own church, a church I have been a member of for 48 fucking years, that is saying, they never heard of this! What the hell? There were more than 24 people from the Saco and Sanford Wards arrested by the FBI just since 2015, because of their involvement in this case. Several of them are still in prison. These people are really that oblivious that they didn't know I was in the hospital, they didn't know I was in a wheelchair, they didn't know my son was murdered, and they didn't noticed 24 members of their congregation disappeared because they went to prison for their involvement.
Really? Wow do these people really give a shit about their fellow congregation members or what? They not only didn't notice I was missing from meetings for 9 years because I am bedridden now, they also didn't notice 24 other members not in meetings because they are now in prison. Talk about dense numb skulls.
It appears the High Priest is back. You, Paul, have met the High Priest. You met him at WalMart. You met him at McDonalds, where you had a 4 hour long conversation with him. You met him my yard in Old Orchard when you visited a few days after the April 0, 2015 attack, and can I add here that you are the ONLY person since that happened, to ever once stop by and ask how I was doing, it’s you’re the only person I knew before the murder of my family, whom I still talk to. You ARE the only person, who ever showed you actually cared about what was going on.
Not one single member of my family or my church has ever stopped to see how I was doing, has ever asked online how I was doing.
But, since November 2021, Sanford Ward mormons have been showing up, all of them in wild raging infernos, and all of them talking about people and events I know nothing about, so I have no clue what any of them ae talking about, but they act like they think I know who the names they mention are, in particular they are cult-like worshiping someone names Todd Murphy whom I can only assume they have gotten mixed up with my beheaded cousin Tim Murphy of Pine Point district of Scarborough and Old Orchard Beach, somehow.
They showed up near daily from November 21, 2021 until May 17, 2022. They were lead on by two blond girls who looked like twins, and have mega long knee-length hair they kept in pony tails, and a smaller pudgier girl with a mint-green pixie hair cut. I don’t know these girls, they looked to be in their 20s. They are the same girls who spent the entire summer of 2021 harassing the homeless man who was living under the trestle bridge across the street from us. They would show up on bicycles every night around 1AM, chase him up out of the ravine, then chase him up the old back tracks along the dirt road to South Street, up towards your place. They did that every night for about 5 months, until he got hit by a freight train on Nov 19, 2021 at 6:27PM. They started attacking my and my family Nov 21, 2021, I think because they knew I had video footage of them harassing the homeless man and I think too they were pissed that I call the police when they killed him by cornering him at the bridge overpass so he couldn’t get out of the way of the oncoming train. Outside of them nightly harassing the homeless man, and then spending Nov 21, 2021 to May 17, 2002 chanting “Todd Murphy” in my driveway while vandalizing my car and apartment building, I’ve never seen these girls before of since. They seemed to have completely vanished May 17, 2022. Not seen them at all and the vandalism stopped cold turkey that day. I assume the police must have finally caught and arrested them, but the police never said they did, and in the past when someone harassed me, the police would always ask me to go to the station to ID them after the arrest.
In any case, the “Todd Murphy” dipshit bitches stopped harassing us May 17, 2022, and I heard no more of them, until this past month… only it’s not them showing up this time… this time it’s older people, elderly people in their 70s and 80s, members of the Sanford Ward Mormon church across the street from Curtis Lake Church… Curtis Lake Church being the congregation that shows up in my Old Orchard driveway with the “god hates fgs” signs and calling me a transvestite and calling my car gay, and marching around chanting “too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach”... several Curtis Lake members have been arrested by the FBI and gone to prison for their involvement in both the April 10, 2015 attack on my family and the headless Marsh girl. However, to date,, the killer has not been found, every one arrested so far has always been weird “cultist-like” gay-haters who are attacking people in the area while chanting “kill or be killed remember Saco Shaws” and then rambling gibbering about heads in ice cream. The people arrested, for 5 different local churches, are all outspoken in radically preaching a doctrine of beheading anyone suspected of being gay, while stating that they are doing so on god’s orders.
That’s why there has been so much difficultly in finding out who killed the marsh girl and my cousin Murphry and my family, because, it looks like it’s not just one person, but rather an entire group of people involved, and so far, all evidence has pointed to those 5 churches: Saco Ward, Sanford Ward, Grace Point, Curtis Lake, and New Life, all in Biddeford, Saco, or Sanford, and all run by just 2 families. One family runs 3, another family runs the other 2.
Anyways, I was just thinking, and I think I figured out why the Sanford Ward Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints members are seemingly so clueless and unaware that I have been crippled and bedridden for nine years and why they were unaware that 24 members of their congregation have gone to prison, arrested by the FBI for being accomplices in the The Ouellette Murder Case aka The Cascade Murders aka The string of beheading on and around Portland Ave, Ross Rd, and Cascade Rd the past twenty years, which included the headless girl I found in the Scarborough Marsh, my cousin Timmy Murphy whom I found headless on the Ross and Cascade Rod crossroads, the beheading of my own foster children… Ben is the common link to all of them.
Ben, as you know, has severe dissociative identity disorder, that was brought on when his brother Willy commit suicide.
Ben has seven different, very distinctive different “people” living in him, that we know of, there could be moe then 7. Etiole is the one most locals are familiar with, though he does not call himself Etiole, Etiole being a name locals dubbed him. However, there is the High Priest, who is the one you, Paul, are personally most familiar with.
I’ve not seen the High Priest since April 10, 2015. Ben WAS there the day of the attack, he was also attacked… the attackers had me, my mother, one of my brothers, and Ben, all on the ground with guns to our heads, while they use a weird looking long pole with a piano wire-like loop on the end, to cu the heads off of everyone else who was there. Me, my mother, one of my brothers, and Ben, were the only ones to walk out of that attack alive. Ben’s favorite daughter Bella was one of the ones beheaded. His mind snapped, because, he recognized one of the attackers as “Rick”... When the attackers arrived, Ben ran up to one of them and said “Rick! What are you doing here?” Ben does have a friend named Rick… I know Rick. Rick is a very violent, vicious spouse abuser. His wife Paula used to come to church been to a pulp every week. Broken arms, broken legs, broken nose, black eyes. It went on for years. She finally divorced him and fled to Utah when he beat and nearly killed their teenage son. Rick has beaten me up, right in the Sanfard Ward church building. He’s a major bully, a huge bigot, and an extreme white power racists. Rick WAS there April 10, 2015… he didn’t have a white pillow case over his head like the rest of them did, but I don’t kow if he was a part of the attack or not, I was too busy trying to fight the bastard who was holding me own with a pistol in my face, to notice what Rick was doing. It was Rick though, his face in unmistakable… he has no face. Elephant man disease, I think you cal it, but you can’t mistake Rick, and he WAS in my yard April 10, 2015 the day my family was murdered, I just don’t know what he was doing there or if he was involved in the attack or not.
The thing is, something snapped in Ben that day. ALL 7 of his multiple personalities vanished, including the High Priest, thankfully. You know how bad the High Preist could get, you met him several times.
Ben left the Mormon church. I don’t know what triggered him more: his favorite daughter Bella being beheaded in front of him or his best friend Rick, seeming to be the one leading the charge ahead of estimated 74 people in white robes and white pillow cases over their heads.
In either case, Ben has developed a server hatred for the Mormon church and refuses to set foot in a Mormon church building… he who was High Priest Quorum Leader of the Sanford ward for so many decades.
The thing about the High Priest, was he was everything so far the opposite of who Ben, my husband, actually is.
The High Priest Quorum Leader of the Sanford ward boldly proclaims to be a virgin. Ben in not a virgin. Not even close. He had a prostitute problem back in the 1980s when I met him.
The High Priest Quorum Leader of the Sanford ward boldly proclaims to not be married, yet Ben and I got married on the Old Orchard Beach Pier August 13, 1987, so he’s been married several decades and still is, we don’t live together because he’s terrified of the Bishop finding out he has a wife. Keeping in mind Mormons don’t forbid priests from marrying, however Ben grew up extreme strict Catholic and his brother is the current leader of Opis Dia and he has to keep up appearances of being a Catholic Priest for his brother, from times when he visites from Italy, which happens a few times a year. Ben became a High priest in the Mormon church, but then goes to several local Catholic churches when his brother is in America, so that he can say he’s a High Priest without lying about it, and keeps his brother thinking he’s Catholic High Priest when he’s actually a Mormon High Priest. In other words, Ben lives a very big double life of trying to juggle his priesthood in two religions, hiding it from each other religion, while also maintaining a (very annoyed) wife (me) that he hides from BOTH religions.
Which is WHY, I’m allowed to PUBLICLY be friends with you, because it helps him to keep up the facade of “see, I’m not married, she hangs around with Paul”, which yes, that IS what Ben tells people at church about you.
Yes, Ben is a dick, I am very aware of this.
But, here’s the thing… Ben TELLS ME he is no longer in contact with any Mormons whatsoever, claims he hates, them, claims he shuns them, claims he’s not spoken to any of them since April 10, 2015…. HOWEVER… he was caught in July 2022, giving one of the Sanford Ward Mormons a ride to the store…. And Rick specifically, has been one the phone with him, when I came in the room and he thought I was elsewhere, causing Be to run around in a panic, knock his glasses off, break them by stepping on them, all while Rick was screaming out of the phone, “Ben, ya there? What happened? What’s going on?”
It appears the High Priest is back…. However, I suspected this in November 2021… the High Priest uses specific pontificating phraseology that none of Ben’s other personalities use…. And on november 24, 2021, the same night the Sanfard Ward Mormons were here cutting the wires off our Biddeford apartment building, Ben started talking like the High Priest again. It’s really distinctive. Normal people don’t talk in long winded drawn out droning, monologuing pontifications about Jesus, and of Ben’s 7 known people living inside him, the High Priest is the only ne who does this. Ben was here and witnessed the wire cutting event, he even went out side and talked to the crowd of “Todd Murphy” chanting lunatics to try to talk to them… and,... he said one of them is Todd Murphy’s grandmother from the Sanford Ward. Ben indicated at that point that he knew who Todd Murphy was, but since then, has denied knowing who Todd Murphy is. But, he came in, and told me outright that “I know her from the Sanfard Ward, she’s Todd Murphy’s grandmother”..
Each of the 7 people who live in Ben have no knowledge or memory of the other 6, and when one of the 7 does or says something, none of the other 6 have any memory of doing or saying those things.
It appears that The High Priest knows Todd Murphy, not only that, but also knows the attackers who came here daily from November 21, 2021 to May 17, 2022… and it looks like Ben, in his High Preist version of himself, is the one who told them where I live and is the one who worked them into a frenzy to begin with.
I have video footage of the homeless man who died Nov 19, 2021… a LOT of it. He knew Ben. That was obvious. Me and Ben were walking Main Street every night the summer of 2021 and the homeless man from under the trestle bridge would stop to talk to us a few times a week. And those weren’t just videos, those were Twitch livestreams so everyone watching my channel saw this homeless man stop and talk to Ben… he said he knew us. I did not recognize him, but Ben… I don’t know… Ben acted like he did know the homeless man, but didn’t want me to know it, so he told the homeless man he was mistaken. But people around local are saying that thie homeless man who kept showing up in my videos IS Todd Murphy, they say they saw my videos and it was Todd Murphy in my videos.
I am finding this whole thing very confusing… because NOW… even though I have video footage of Ben talking to the homeless man, Ben now claims, he never saw the homeless man at all and tells me I’m delusional. That's what he said: Ben said: “Your delusional, there was no homeless man” and, yet hundreds of people, many of them local, saw those videos of Ben talking to the homeless man. Which means, the man Ben was when he was walking with mt summer 2021,is NOT the man he is right now… and… either this a new 8th personality Ben has recently developed, or, it’s the High Priest back, but being deliberately sneaky to try to hide the fact that he’s the High Priest… which is odd, because before now, NONE of Ben’s multiple personalities have ever showed any signs of acknowledging any of the others, and the High Priest trying to high he’s the High Priest by trying to act like a different person, indicates the High Priest DOES remember and IS AWARE of the other personalities.
As you are well aware, I HATE the High Priest. I want nothing to do with him. I never would have married Ben if I had ever encountered his High Priest alter ego before marrying him.
June 26, 2016… FBI Agent Andy Drewer asked me to meet him at his Portland office on Middle St. He had… info. And a new primary suspect. Ben, specifically his High Priest alter ego, is the FBI’s #1 suspect in being the inforat, who told the golf club attackers I was at BugLight Lighthouse November 14, 2013. The FBI has phone records. I told only 3 people, where I was going that night: my mother, my father, and Ben. I told them only 5 minutes before I left, because I had been sick earlier and had previously told everyone I was not going to that event at the college. According to the FBI, my parents and step father Wayne Whiyyen, never left Biddeford, they continued to argue all night, and the FBI knows this because my father had hired a private investigator to tail Wayne, and so they have a lot of evidence as to where 2 of the 3 were. Ben on the other hand, called his friend Rick, the same Rick who was in my yard April 10, 2015… Minutes after I left my dad’s Water St apartment and drive to Southern Maine Community College, November 14, 2013… Ben called Rick. Rick drove to Ben’s house. And the two of them together left.
FBI Agent Andy Drewer had one question: “How well do you trust Ben? Because right now, he’s our primary suspect.”
They believe Ben told Rick, I was pregnant with someone else’s baby and Rick is the one who sent the golf club women to deliberately kill my baby.
Why do they believe this?
Because between 1987 and 2013 I have had 7 miscarriages, something that can be proven… Ben ins the only man I’ve ever been with. It’s not possible for anyone else to be the father. This was my 8th pregnancy by Ben and he was at the time running around accusing me of cheating on him with Etiole. The thing is… he IS the one people call Etiole… but his D.I.D. means he things Etiole is someone else, he doesn’t believe its him, because none of his personalities have any memory of each other.
Ben is a total nightmare to live with because I never know from one day to the next, who the hell he is going to be that day.
Ben has denied every pregnancy. Why? His exact words are: “I wouldn’t. I am a High Priest. What would the Bishop think?”
According to the FBI too, Ben, behind my back, runs around from one LDS/Mormon congregation to the next tell people that I am quote: “An unrhightious, unfaithful aunty-Mormon who puts the church down.”
Interestingly, I have been a member of the Mormon church since 1975. Ben joined in the 1980s. Ben left the church in 2015. I am still a member.
My FATHER is an extremist anti-Mormon, who preaches hatred for the Mormon church. Not me. Kenny, my father, is the anti-Mormon. My father, is such a huge radical extremist anti-Mormon that he has gone on to convince my mother, a 5th generation Mormon who is related to one of Smith’s poly-wives, to leave the church. She left the Mormon church in 1994 and joined up with some anti-Mormon group lead by some woman named Tanner or something. My mother, took her anti-Mormonis to extremes far above and beyond my father, taking to FaceBook and a forum called exMormon something and went total psycho nutjob anti-Mormon conspiracy theory all over the internet through the late 1990s into the 200s and still does it to this day now in 2023, preaching her wild anti-Mormon conspiracy theories now 27 years. In 3 years it’ll be her 30th anniversary of her wild mega hyper anti-Mormon rampage, with my father cheering her on and needling her forward the whole way in a weird Bonnie and clyde style vendetta attack everyone who is a Mormon hate fueled bigotry.
I on the other hand, am still a Mormon, have never had anything to do with the anti-Mormon movement, and, was shocked to learn from the FBI, that, the anti-Mormon rumors about me online are massive, and spread largely by members of the Saco and Sanfard Wards, with their info being just misinformation they regurgitate after talking to Ben, my mother, or my father.
Apparently, because I am bedridden and crippled, since 2013, and thus have had no way to get to church these past nine years, this, my absence in church meetings, after 48 years of never once missing a meeting, has allowed my mother, my father, and Benn to be able to spread wild anti-Mormon rumors about me, with the 3 of them going to my church, the Sandford Ward, and telling the church leaders that I’m not in church because I’ve turned anti-Mormon.
And yet, it is Ben who is the biggest anti-Mormon of all… he’s actual friends with that Tanner woman. My parents only run around preaching the Tanner woman’s message, Ben, actually sought her out and became personal friends with her and helps the Tanner woman one on one…. And he brags about this all the time.
I’m sick of hearing all the anti-Mormon Tanner woman bullcrap from Ben and my father and my mother so, whenever any of the three of them start chiding me for being a Mormon and telling me how evil and deceived I am because I refuse to leave the Mormon church, I just put my headphones on and listen to Markiplier YouTube videos and, ignore them.
I don’t hate the Mormon church like Ben, my mother, and my father do, so I am fed up with them constantly bitching at me because I’m a Mormon. Which is why I’ve not spoken to my father in 3 years even though we live in the same apartment, and was a contributing factor to why I blocked my mother on FaceBook in 203 and have had no contact with her at all offline since… though that hasn’t stopped her from showing up, trespassing, and hounding me.
Ben, is far worse then my mother or my father combined… since 2015, he has hand written thousands of anti-Mormon letters to every church leader he can find, local, not local, all the heads in Utah… and he bought a dozen cases, each case with 144 books in it, cases of Ket Kerr’s books and daily mails them out to every member on every rouster list of every ward in the Exiter and Augusta stakes, using his position as High Priest Quorum leader to get the home addresses of every Mormon in Southern Maine and New Hampshire, mailing all of them aunty-Mormon letters and copies of Kat Kerr’s books. Ben, as you know, has more money then he knows what to do with, and right now, he’s spreading thousands of dollars every day, just on the postage stamps to mail Kat Kerr’s books and his anti-Mormon letters to every local Mormon he can find.
And so, I knew he was mailing out the Kat Kerr books… but, until FBI agent Andy Drewer told me, I did not know that Ben and my mother and my father, having been putting MY NAME of the letters they are mailing out to people, and the three of them, through impersonating me, have got my church, the Sanford Ward, and it’s sister church, the Saco Ward, 100% convinced that I stopped attending church because I’mm now an anti-Mormon who hates the church, and that’s why my church, the Sanford Ward, and it’s sister church, the Saco Ward, are both unaware that I have NOT left the church, but rather I’m bedridden and crippled and have no one to help me get to church.
And so, now I’m finding out, that Ben, my mother, and my father, working together, according to the FBI, seem to be the fuel that is, and has been for several years, the fuel working locals up into a frenzy… including, they are the ones who are getting the Atwaters riled up, my being an Atwater, and the Atwaters further fueling locals on top of what Ben, my mother, and my father are doing.
What is their motive?
I ask them.
My father says he’s doing it to impress my mother so she’ll remarry him.
My mother says she’s doing it because I need to sell my land and give her the money so she can buy a house in Kennebunk.
Ben says he’s doing it because Mormons are led astray by Satan and he has to save my soul from Hell.
I’m so sick of all of them.
You know, one of the things I find most weird about the Atwaters is that so many of them seem to think I know them, even though I have never met them, nor even know any of their names.
Of the original twelve, I have only ever met five of them. And while I know Danny, I don’t even know the names of his siblings. I met Angelia once when she was twelve, at a Halloween party at the Cape Elizabeth Ward LDS Church, and then I saw her for about 2 minutes before she left. And Danny I only met when I was 37 years old and I only saw him about 10 times, back when my mother was trying to scam him out of his money from being hit by a train… which I didn’t know that was why she was visiting him, until a few years later when she had a big rant about how she wouldn’t visit him any more because he was, in her words “stingy and greedy” because he refused to give her the money to “use as a downpayment for a house in Kennebunk”. I should have known that was why she was visiting him, as that’s the only reason she ever does anything. She’s obsessed with trying to by that $3.7million mansion by the Wedding Cake House, and has been trying to scam relatives out of money for a downpayment on it for decades now… it was her reason for her involvement in the backhoe that her brother Joey hired to drive over my house. She and Joey figured I’d sell my land if there was no house on it. They didn’t exect me to set up a lean to made out of a 8x6 tarp and just spend the next 9 years living under that.
I met Doris once when she was squatting illegally on my land back in 1996. Took me and the Old Orchard Beach Police 9 months to get them out. I only ever saw her one day. She had 4 military tents, the size houses, 2 Winobegos and a Cadillac, that they illegally dumped on top of my corn crops, along with more then 600 bicycles, and 2 school buses full of sawed up copper pipes. Took us 9 months to find out who in the hell was living there and dumping that garbage on m land, and it turned out it was Doris. Only time I ever saw her, was one day, for about 15 minutes.
I remember Micheal, Tonya, and Scotty from before the caged years, but, I was put in the cage hen I was 8 years old, so I’ve not seen then since I was 8.
Once every year, usually on September 19th, David and Lucy would show up with a herd of incredibly violent gun toting vandals who would go through our farm and use shovels to chop the heads off all our pet cats, dogs, hens, ducks, and roosters. They were kill 200 to 500 of our pets every year in this anuel bloodbath on my farm. I don’t know who the hoodlums were. David said they were his kids, but he also said he had 15 kids and there were WAY more then 15 people involved in the annual Sptember 19 boodbaths… way more, closer to 100. Brucie said once that it was not JUST Davivd’s kids, but also a group known as The Halls. I don’t know who any of them were, but the police showed up every time, trying to get them out, and they always had huge shootouts with the police every year. It’s why I have a massive phobia of guns. A bunch of them were arrested in 1982, when that time the state police drg team showed up and arrested them and confincasted meth, marhawana, opium, and LSD
I know Dickie, Brucie, David, and Barbara because they were the ones that helped my mother build that room, that they locked me in when I was 8 years old, right after my Grammy Hellen Ricker’s funeral. They kept me in there for 27 years. One of the 4 of them would show up every 12 days to throw rotted molded food in the cracks between the boards. They are the only 4 Atwaters I know, and I only know them from their weekly coming into the room to beat me up, torture me. They are the five who raised me and said I was not Human, said I was a Demon and that I wasn’t allowed out of that room because Demons weren’t allowed to have contact with Humans.
I was 12 years old when the High Priest found out about that room, and he took me out every Sunday to go to church, and then took me back to that room after.
No one ever told me I was a Human and was allowed to go outside or talk to Humans until the social workers showed up when I was 31 years old. They are the ones who started using the term “feral child” to describe me and they to this day are still trying to “integrate me into Human culture” but two of them say they have given up on trying to convince me I am Human, they say there is little chance of my mind ever fully grasping the concept of being human because it’s too difficult to undo the three decades of Brucie, David, Dickie, Barbara, and my mother doing their “child social experiment” (as the social workers call it) to raise me to believe I was not human. They said the bigger problem is the fact that almost immediately after I was rescued out of that room/cage they kept me locked in for 27 years, the 2006 bomb blew up my house, which the FBI says it was Barbara’s husband Paul Martel who did that, but I don’t know why, as I never met him or even knew about him prior to the FBI arresting him, and the backhoe arrived to drive over my house 5 different times over the next 10 years, same back hoe, same yard, different house each time, as I kept rebuilding houses. Then I found that headless girl in the marsh with all the headless dogs and the FBI thinks one of the Atwaters did it seeing how the headless dogs were lined up in a row from my land to the march, each dog about 500 feet apart (for some reason the Saco and Sanford ward church members forget my land in Old Orchard abuts the Scarborough Marsh and is right on the edge of OOB bordering Pine Point in Scarborough. And that the dead girl in the Scarborough marsh was literally only a few hundred feet away from my driveway… they keep asking why I am obsessed with the Oulette Case, but they forget I’m the one who found the dead girl in the Marsh and that she was set up in a friging ritual pose, practically on my front lawn AND the FBI thinks the whole thing was done in some weird attempt by the Atwaters to frame me, so that I would go to prison for murder and they culd take my land… which it’s always my land and the Atwater obsession with taking it that is at the core of everything)
But in any case, the social workers say that because these events were my very first interactions with Humans, that it instilled in me an psychosis effect of further belief in not being human because I had trouble accepting the fact that I am the same type of creature as the monsters humans are, because, yeah, all I’ve ever seen from humans is death, bloodshed, violence and distruction. I have no reason to WANT to be integrated into a society that leaves headless dogs and headless girls in my front yard.
But then 2013, came along…. Social workers got me into college in 2010, in an attempt to show me that ONLY the Atwaters were shitty bloodthirsty bastards and that MOST humans don’t drop dead headless animals all over their houses and yards the way the Atwares do. And they were right. Humans in college were nothing like the Atwaters and their drug dealing, petty thieve, ganster thugs. The social workers and police keep telling me that this sort of behavior is not normal and that it is ONLY something the Atwaters and their friends do, that normal humans don’t act, do, or say the things the Atwaters do.
But then, I’m constantly running into people who make the claim to “know all about” me and they will spout off this weird freaked out stuff about witchcraft and curses and spelcasting and aliens and ufos and, I’m left totally clueless because I don’t know a single thing at all about witchcraft or curses or spellcasting or aliens or ufo, and I can’t figure out why these people think I have the faintest idea what the fuck they are even talking about.
They’ll say they thought I was some expert in casting curses and say they want to hire me to cast curses on people, and they act like spell casting is some sort of job I do. I don’t know heads or tails about spell casting.
They’ll say, “But your the sea witch of Old Orchard Beach”... yeah, people have been calling me that ever since Stephen King filmed Thinner on my land back in the early 1990s, but, I’ve never read a Stephen King book or seen a Stephen King movie, not even Thinner, so, I haven’t got a clue what is in his books and movies. All I know is he based some “Gypsy witch” in Thinner off me, because I’m the “Queen” (aka Priestess) of a local Gypsy clan. A Gypsy Queen is similar to a Catholic Nun in the Folk Catholicism of Mexico and has nothing to do with witches, witchcraft, spells, or curses, so I don’t know what the fuck Stephen King did in the Thinner movie to make people think I’m some kind of spell casting witch, but, people seem to have trouble understanding that the Thinner movie is FICTIONAL. I’m not a witch and I don’t know the first thing about witches or witchcraft. I haven’t got a clue how to cast spells or curses. And I can’t figure out why so many total random strangers think they can walk up to me at WalMart or Rotary Park or the library and demand I cast some curse on someone for them.
But, when these people do this, and it happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I go outside, which I have agoraphobia, so it’s sometimes weeks or months between my setting foot outside, every single time I go out, some one always identifies me as a witch and watches a curse cast.
At the same time I’ve got these UFO nuts constantly coming up to me asking me this or that about some weird ass alien ufo idea, and I never have a clue what they are talking about, They use all sorts of weird ass words and phrases that I’ve never heard before and gibber on like another language which I can’t understand… but then they act all surprised that I don’t know the meanings of the words they are using, and they’ll say: “But I thought you were supposed to be a top expert on UFOs and alien abductions” and I’m like what the hell are they even talking about and how the hell would anyone in their right mind come to think that I would believe in ufos or aliens, when I think people who believe in ufos and aliens are raving lunatics, my uncle Brucie being a perfect example of a raving lunatic who believes in aliens and ufos.
I don’t get it.
But then, every time this happened, and it just happened again today, because, as you know I’ve not received any mail since May 2022 and I went to the post office yet again today to once again ask where the hell is my mail… and low and behold, I can’t set foot outside without some alien believing, curse believing freak ass weirdo nutjob showing up to ask me to put a curse on someone while gibbering about ufos.
I ask him, where the hell did he get the ludacris idea that I was a witch, that I cast curses, or that I believed in aliens, nd he said: “Well, your mother says on FaceBook…” yeah, my mother is a freaking nut, which is why I’ve had nothing to do with her in decades. She’s a white power freak who runs around calling black people the n-word, is part of the anti-vaccer micro-chip in vaccines conpreracy theory, wouldn’t let me or my brothers go to school because in her words “the government controls the schools, and satan controls the government”, SHE spends 90% of her time running around putting curses on people, all she does is talk about whores and demons, demons and whores, every other word out of her mouth is either demon or whore. And the only time she ever shows up its because she’s trying to pul yet another lame ass scam to try to steal my land because she hated my grandmother and says it’s her life duty to destroy everything that”ever bolgned to that old bitch of a whore” including the farm I inherted from gramy Helen. My mother is spiteful, violent, vindictive, and has a police record for running around beating people in the face with bricks. On top of all of that she’s chronic liar and I’ve never heard a truthful word come out of her mouth.
I am well aware that my mother is the source of 90% of the problem, simply because she’s the biggest fucking gossip in Southern Maine, after he sister Barbara, and the two of them are rather famous all over Maine for thei trouble they have caused HUNDREDS of families. They are petty Karens who devote every minute of their lives to making up vicsious rumors and lies about every person they see, both people they know and people they don’t know.
And thanks to the FBI investigation into the murder of my on, I’ve found out a LOT about both my mother and Barbara and the bizarre, outlandish extremes they each have gone to in their petty vindictivness.
But the fact remains, I’ve not had contact with either of those bitches in several decades, precisely because I am sick and tired of their endless hate for everything and everyone around them. They both do nothing but gossip and lie, lie and gossip, and run around like a couple of teenage brats making a game out of seeing who they can hurt next … they fucking brag about it and spend hours laughing over how fun it is to destroy families.
It doesn’t take any level of intelligence to see that the dynamic trio (Barbara, Brucie, and my mother) are the source of every damn rumor about everyone in York County, Maine.
It’s such a big problem that I’ve had people come to my apartment and ask me if I could ask my mother and her siblings to leave their family alone. The fucking Biddeford Police have stopped by my apartment to ask me if I could do anything about my mother, that’s how I found out it was HER who knows Todd Murphey, because the police came right out and told me that my mother has been harassing Todd Murphey’s ex-wife and 15 year old son on their FaceBook accounts and wanted to know if I could ask her to stop.
No. I can’t. And you know why? Because when I asked her to stop spreading witchcraft and curse casting rumors about me, she arrived the next day and cut my car in half! The 1964 Dodge 330… she said it had a demon in it and she had to kill the demon by killing the car. What the fuck? She’s fucking insane!
And worse… half the time, these people will tell me some name I never heard of. Say this or that person told them I was a witch who cast curses or was some alien expert, and I’ll ask them who the hell is that, and they’ll say: “Oh that’s one of Brucie’s kids” or “David’s kids” or a grandkid… and I’ll point ou that I’ve NEVER EVEN MET Brucie's kids or Davids kids or ANY of the rest of the Atwares.
There are more then four hundred Atwaters, and I’ve meet EXACTLY SEVEN of them in my life time. I don’t even know the names of all the original twelve, let alone the names of their kids or grandkids… why would I? Most of them live in Utah and I’ve not set foot outside of Maine for nearly SIXTY YEARS!
I’ve never in my entire life even talked with an Atwter, not face to face off line, not online.
Because I’ve never even seen pictures of any of the Atwaters, I wouldn’t even know an Atwater if I saw one!
And yet, they run around spouting off things I supposedly said or did, and make the claim I’ve talked to them… and I’m just left wondering who the fuck is running around talking to the Atwaters while pretending to be me, because I don’t even know who the Atwaters are!
Clearly, there is someone out there pretending to be me and the Atwaters think they are talking to me, but they are NOT talking to me, I’m not talking to them, and I want to know in the the fuck is running around pretending to be me?
Its so damned fucking obvious the Atwaters don’t know one iota about me, just by the level of the ludicrous witchcraft, curse, alien, and ufo lies they spread around about me!
I should be able to go to my post office, go shopping, heck just walk down my driveway to get my mail, without being bombarded with stupid ass freaks gibbering about witches, curses, demons, aliens, and ufos! I am so damned sick of my mother and her fucking Atwater relatives…
You know, another thing that’s fucked up about all this and again is my mother running around lying her ass off to hell and back, yet again… is this whole situation with HER cats.
The attack on my family, happened the same day as the whole thing with her cats, and she is so obsessed with the cats, that she has gone out of her way to run around telling people that when I talk about April 10, 2025, I’m talking about HER cats… but, in order to further promote that lie, she also tells people they were MY cats! What the fuck?
You know that Nick guy my mother sleeps around with? The one she broke up his marriage, convinced him to leave his wife and kids down in Mass and move up here to Maine, because she was scamming him… the guy she stole his credit card and went and bought that shed she put on my land, and bought those $2k dogs with, and bought those appliances with, and bought that tractor with, before that Nick guy found out she stole his credit cards? Him.
Did you know, she convinced him that she owned MY land in Old Orchard Beach, and she tried to get him to join her scam, and pretend he was a real estate agent, and my mother and her pimp Nick tried to sell my land last year… and this is not the first time she’s done this.
Did you know, that in 2007, she went to the town hall, pretending to be me, had them divide my land into sections, and then sold one section? That’s why Don Cooliard and his sister have a house in my driveway now… something they built in 2019… and it was when they built the house in 2019, that was when I found out my shit face mother and her jackass whore master Nick, sliced off a peice of my land in 2007 and sold it!
I had no idea they had done it!
That’s the kind of shit faced scum bag scam artist my mother and her fuck buddy Nick are!
But it gets worse.
My mother had 83 cats… eighty three cats.
And she was hiding 113 of them in an apartment owned by this Nick scammer. He found out she had cats in her apartment… guess what day… April 14, 2015. The day before the attack on my farm.
Here’s a thing… did you know there were no locks on the doors of my motorhome? Not one. I bought it February 21, 2012, and first thing I did was took all the locks off, because I have a PTSD phobia of locks, after my mother kept me locked in the room cage thing for 27 years.
And yet… when the vandals showed up with a Blow Brothers sewage truck to fill my motorhome with 500 gallon of raw feces, they had to pry a padlock off the door to get inside. A padlock, that I did not put there.
Do you know how that padlock got there? My mother put it there the night before, when she took HER thirteen cats, and shoved them in my motorhome, without telling me she was doing it… because she had to hide them from Nick.
People often ask, why, I a professional artist whom has had displayed at the Portland Museum of art… don't paint anymore.
It’s because paint supplied are expensive, and 500 gallons of raw human feces not only did $10k in damages to my bedroom, it also destroyed $30k in art materials.
But it gets worse… my mother was two timing Nick with both my father Kenny and her other ex husband Wayne… and on top of that, she was mad at Wayne, so, it turns out, that 7 of those cats were HIS cats, and she had stolen them from HIM…. so not only was she hiding thirteen cats from Nick, but seven of those cats were stolen cats besides!
She put the cats in my motorhome, them, because she is fueding with ALL her whore master fuck buddy men, one of them, the FBI hasn’t figured out which one yet, filled my motorhome with feces out of a Blow Brother’s sewage truck (my cousin Ken Blow is my neighbour, they stole one of his trucks to do it) , and then called the police and told them that the motorhome was HERS, because my mother had been running around telling everybody it was hers, she these guys thought they were pumping sewage into my mother’s bedroom and didn’t know they were pumping sewage into my bedroom.
But, because they DID know that she had put the cats in there, and they were made at both her and Wayne, they thought if they called the police, the police would arrest her and Wayne…
,...however, the gays haters of the local Mormon churches ALSO showed up that same morning, a completely separate incident from the cats, to attack my family, because, earlier that year, I had published a gay Romance novel, called Night of the Screaming Unicorn, and these gay hating church freaks, decided murdering my family was punishment for me publishing a Gay Romance novel.
A fucking five towns worth of police, including a SWAT team showed up… the white robed klan pretenders fled, thep police found the cats, I was left asking “What cats? What are you even talking about?” Later an officer asked me if I knew the cats, and I said, “Yeah, these ones belong to my step father Wayne up in Biddeford and those ones belong to my on the other side of Bideford, how the hell did they get in my motorhome?”
And the court cases people talk about… there where SEVEN different court cases going on all at once, including the Guy Gamon murder trail because he murdered my dog walker who walked my dog when I was sick, which was the big case, that uncovered he was a serial rapist, and went on for several years and included a jury trial.
The murder trail of my family was also going on. Different court case.
And then, my MOTHER had a court case going on with police over the cats, which, in the middle of that, she spun it around, started telling people the cats were mine, and the next thing I knew, there were TWO MORE court cases slapped on me, that I knew nothing about… both an extension of the cat case my mother had going on, because 2 weeks into HER court case about HER cats that SHE hid from Nick in MY motorhome, she had Nick convince the police to switch the case out of her name into my name, because she had convinced Nick that the cats were mine! So all of a sudden, I get this weird court case about HER cats slapped on me, on top of the three murder cases and rape case, that were already going on.
The cat court case lasted less then an hour before the judge threw it out of court, telling some Dan guy that if he ever tried to pull a stunt like this again (apparently he worked for the Old Orchard Beach town hall and had pulled scam court cases to frame disabled women before, because the judge told the Dan guy that this was the 64th bogus case he had done to try to steal land from disabled women in OOB)...... but… the judge was asking me about the cats, and I keep telling him, I don’t know anything about the cats because they were not my cats, they were my mother’s cats, and I still had no clue how they had even gotten in my motorhome in Old Orchard Beach, 14 miles away from Nick’s apartment in Biddeford where they had been for several years before that. Finally the judge asked if someone could get my mother to the court house, and surprisingly she showed up… with Nick of all people… and she boo-hooed to the court about the cats being mine, and my being homeless and living under a tarp (I was still living under the tarp in 2015, but not at the time of the attack… I had just moved in with my dad in Biddeford March 31, 2015 due to I have just come out of intensive surgery and the doctor wanted me to not be sleeping outdoors for the next 6 months because I had intensive amounts of surgery to heal from, so I wasn’t in Old Orchard the day my mother put HER cats in my motorhome and that’s why I had no clue the cats were in there).
Well, the judge got mad at my mother, because it was blatantly obvious to him that the cats were hers, because she was using all the cats’ names, while I didn’t know the cats’ names, and she was describing what they looked like and what breeds and ages they were, while I didn’t know what half the cats looked like, Three of the cats I had never even seen before, and I didn’t know their names. I didn’t know how many cats there were!
The judge outright told my mother to her face that she ought to be ashamed of what she did, framing me and pretending the cats were mine, and he sent the cats to the West Kennebunk Animal Shelter, something we knew right there in the court room, but in order to get pity, and money (my mother started a fund raiser on one of those kickstarter type places) saying she needed to raise money to locate the cats. What the fuck? We knew where the cats were. They were at the West Kennebunk Animal Shelter… she even went there to try to get them back… asked me to drive her there in my car, took Wayne with her because the cats were technically HIS cats that she stole from him… I have the whole thing on video camera, it was livestreamed… she had a big fucking fight with the people at the shelter and they told her they’s arrest her if she ever tried to get near their shelter again.
After that, she built up this weird ass conspiracy that the cats were sent to lots of shelters and foster care… which they probably were., I don’t know… and she went from one animal shelter to the next harassing them.
Meanwhile, her friend Joel Baily hacks my Twitter account and uses it to harass, yet another of my mother’s whore master men that she sluts around with trying to get money out of… some guy named Mark, who I never heard of before, but apparently, he’s been friends with my mother AND my father for some forty odd years, even though I myself had never seen or heard of him before. And yes, the same Joel Bailey from the Saco Ward and Old Orchard Beach town hall who went to prison for hacking the Old Orchard Beach Town Hall bank account and transferring $30MILLION in OOB tax money to members of the Saco Ward church… who it turns out, most of them were the anti-gay attackers in my yard April 10, 2015, which is why 24 members of that church went to prison between 2016 and 2021.
So, I’m still unable to do anything because, you know, still recovering from major spine surgery, because of the golf club attack that murdered my son in 2013, three years earlier, I didn;t have surgery until 2015 and 2016., because of the fucking red tape the USA medical system runs on… here I am, not online at all since November 14, 2013, so I have not yet told anyone about any of the April 10, 2015, and come January 2016, all of a sudden, there’s the Mark guy who crawls out of the woodwork, with yet another court case, this one claiming I was saying stuff on Twittrer about him… and yet, I had never heard of this guy before AND I hadn’t been online since November 14, 2013, so what the fuck? Who the hell is hacking my Twitter account pretending to be me, while harassing this guy I never even heard of before. But by this point FBI Agent Andy Drwer had taken over the whole case, and by June 2016, he found out, yeah,:” it’s your mother’s friends from the Saco Ward church. She’s convinced them the cats were yours and that you need to be punished for animal abuse, that you didn’t even do, by hacking your accounts and framing you” Great. So yet again, my mother and her cat obsession and her Atwater friends, and her Saco ward friends, and her fcck buddies are at the core of all of this, with them once again, putting my name on something I fucking had no part of and didn’t even know anything about! What the fuck!
This court case was ALL livestreamed, you can go watch it on YouTube. The Cat Court case was also live streamed. You can watch that on YouTube too. The murder court cases and the rape court cases, also livestreamed. You can watch them on YouTube too. And then on top of that, was the Too Gay For Old Orchard Beach Court case with the Old Orchard Bach Town Hall… also livestreamed, you can watch that on YouTube as well.
My mother, Nick. all these Saco Ward church people, the Dan guy, the Mark guy, the Gene guy… they are ALL on livestream… the judges, the police officers, the witnesses, the DA, even the FBI agents… all recorded, all livestreamed on Twich, all archived on YouTube, all SEVEN court cases, every day of every trial. You can go watch them all yoursel and see the truth, instead of listening to siller gossip and rumors started by my mother and her Nick buddy trying to cover their asses for trying to steal my land YET AGAIN, via the cats.
But have you ever noticed it is ONLY my mother and Nick talking about the cats in connection to April 10, 2015… do you notice how I never talk about the cats, because… oh look… they were NOT my cats, they were my MOTHER’S cats and that’s why SHE is talking about them?
Did you also notice how, in order to make people believe the cats were mine, that both my mother and Nick, are going out of their way to try to erase the existence of my family that was murdered that same day?
Did you notice how in order to push THEIR cat agenda, my mother and Nick are are doing a major gaslighting move to try to make everyone FORGET what happened two years earlier on November 14, 2013, the day my son was murdered and my spine was broken?
Did you notice how my mother and Nick are trying to use THEIR cats as a slight of hand move, so people wouldn’t see that they DID steal and sell part of my land to Don Colliard in 2007 nd that they tried to sell another section of my land in March 2015… yes, yet another court case which was going on, BEFORE the cats happened, and that the FBI believes my mother and Nick pulled the cat stunt deliberately to try to make people look the other way and forget that she and Nick tried to steal my land only 2 weeks prior to the cat event? Or that she and Nick tried for a THIRD time to steal and sell my land April 2022…
Know the truth.
Those cats were not mine, they never were, and I’m sick and tired of the jack ass fucking animal abuse rumors and lies my mother and Nick are spreading about me… lies that they are spreading ONLY to try to cover up the fact that they were trying to steal my land, to sell my land, so my mother could by some fucking mansion in Kennebunk.
Well guess what… my son is buried on my land, He’s been buried there since November 2013, and it doesn’t matter that there is no house on my land, because my son’s there and I’m never selling it. And my mother and he Nick and Saco Ward and Atwater friends are bunch of fucking scum bags who don’t give a shit about anything but the damned fucking money they think they can get out of my land.
So, we have confirmation that yes, our mail IS being stolen from 146 Portland Ave. As you already know, we have not received mail since May 2022 and it is now March 2023, it's nearly a year. Post office has just been saying "we are short drivers" and has not looked into it... so we went over the heads of the local Old Orchard Beach post office and went to the distribution center, and told the state post master what was going on, they got in touch with our delivery driver, and he has delivered our mail every day, all year, and is baffled because the post office had not alerted him that we were not getting our mail. So, YES, if you live on Portland Ave, in Old Orchard Beach, and have not been receiving mail, and I know most of my neighbors are saying they've not gotten mail in weeks to months, as well, go to the Saco distribution center in the industrial park, and complain there, because tour driver IS delivering daily and has not been missing delivers... all missing mail from Portland Ave is stolen and you need to let them know what mail you have not received to they can get to the bottom of finding who is doing it.
So, while I was at the post office today, seeing how the post office is on the Cascade Road, out here in the Old Orchard Beach section of the Scarbourgh Marsh... I decided to check the family cross, see if the name Todd had been added, seeing how the vandals and shitard harassers can't stop gibbering Todd Murphey this and Todd Murphey that in my driveway, and nope... here it is, https://www.eelkat.com/images/cross.jpg as you can see the only two names are my cousin Timmy Murphy and my uncle Gordon Murphy. No Todd.
You know, I would recommend these shittards take their heads out of their asses, and drive through all the roads of the Scarbourough Marsh. Why?
This cross is one of the more then a hundred crosses in the marsh, which marks the locations of the one hundred and twenty people whom have been beheaded in a four mile radius since June 2001. This cross stand at the Ross Road x Cascade Rd intersection. The Cascade Road, as everyone who watches the local news is aware, is where bulk of the serial killer's attacks have occurred, which is why local news reporters have dubbed the entire case as "The Cascade Murders", officially know to law enforcement as "The Oulette Case".
If you start driving through all the side streets of the Scarbourgh Marsh, you will find there are 120 - one hundred and twenty - of these crosses, some with 5 or more names on them, each marking the location where the the person dubbed by locals as "The Portland Ave serial killer" has murdered 120+ people between June 2001 and February 2021.
For some odd reason, the Sanford Ward LDS church, a church only a 30 minute drive awa from the Scarborough Marsh, is so clueless about the local biome, that they seem to think the ONLY place the Scarborough Marsh exists is across the street from the church owned candy store Len Libby's Chocolates.
Do you recall how people like to dub my land "Etiole's Swamp"... do you know why they do that? Because my land is a literal swamp. It's a peat bog, with more sinking quicksand and 6 foot tall marsh grass, then solid ground. I live IN the Scarbough Marsh, as does EVERYONE on Portland Ave, Ross Road, Pine Point Road, Cascade Road, Walnut Street, East Grand Ave, West Grand Ave, Milliken Mills Rd, and more then 200 - two hundred - other streets in Old Orchard Beach, all of which are located inside the Scarborough Marsh.
The Marsh is not JUST in Scarborough, nor is it just that one quart mile stretch of road across from Len Libby's. The Marsh sits in two countries and five towns, and covers several thousand acres of land... and the Scarborough WalMart and the South Portland Main Mall, both site in the marsh, with both of those mega buildings building on a massive system of concrete pilings to keep them from sinking into the many acres of peat bog that site under each of those buildings.
But do take a drive on the above listed streets in Old Orchard, as well as the following ones in Pine Point: Pine Point Rd, Blue Point Rd, Black Point Rd, Dunstan Corner, Portland Rd aka Rt 1, Payne Rd, and all the little side streets off of each one. In Saco head to Heath St, Jenkins Rd, Flag Pond Rd (stop and see the very real pet cemetery where Stephen King's The Pet Cemetery movie was filmed while you are there), and all their side streets, yes those are in the Scarbourogh Marsh as well... and instead of just blindly driving through the Marsh on your way to work, slow down and start counting the crosses... big white crosses, little white crosses, unpainted wooden crosses, reflector covered orange crosses... see if you can find all one hundred and twenty crosses in the Scarbourogh Marsh... they sit in 5 towns, in 2 counties... and every one of them marks the location of someone who was beheaded by a still uncaught, still actively killing people, serial killer who has plagued the streets in the Portland Ave region of the Scarbough Marsh since June 2001.
But as you can see, it's Timmy Murphy who was beheaded on the Cascade Rd... not Todd Murphy... there's it's cross which has stood there since June 2013.
You know, if these harassers spent more time paying attention to what is going on around them, and less time being self absorbed jerks... they'd know these crosses were here... they'd know, Old Orchard Beach has a serial killer on the lose who has beheaded more then 120 people and left their bodies at cross road intersections all over the marsh... they'd know that this has been going on for 18 years now, and they'd know that my family had been hit by this madman multiple times now, fist killing my cousin Timmy Murphy, then killing my baby and leaving me not only crippled, but also one of only 5 people to live through and survive one of this serial killer's attacks, thus WHY the FBI is so hyper focused on not letting me out of their sight because this killer has a history of not leaving people alive... they'd know that SEVENTEEN families all within a quarter mile section of Portland Ave, between Walnut St and Milekin Miles Rd, 17 families in this space of street, have not only have their families murdered, but their houses bulldozed by a backhoe, and in just those 17 families, in addiction to the dead people, there are also more then FIVE HUNDRED dead pets, including cats, dogs, birds, and horses, every one of which was beheaded and the headless pet hung from rope nooses and draped in trees and porches of the 17 families... something the FBI says is a scene from a Stephen King book, which the serial killer likes to recreate... and then the FBI points out this: each of those 17 families has appeared in The Thinner movie... it's the one common thread for ALL 120+ Scarbourough Marsh killings: every sing victim has somehow been involved in the filming on one of the 14 Stephen King movies which was filmed in Saco, Old Orchard Beach, and Scarboughor back in the 1980s. According to the FBI, EVERY SINGLE ONE of these murders, animal killings, harassments, vandalisms, and hate crimes, can be found in a Stephen King book and this lunatic is recreating "art" in tribute to Stephen King, using the bodies of family members who were involved in the filming of Stephen King's oldest movies.
If these people in the Sanford Ward church would take their heads out of Joesph Smith's ass long enough to look around, they would have known these things were going on, that they were going on to people in their congregation, that several members of their congregation have stopped attended church because they were murdered, that several other members of their congregation no longer attend because like me they are crippled and bed ridden from these attacks, and that 24 members of their congregation no longer attend church because they are in prison for their connections and involvements in these murders.
Heck, these murders have been all over the TV and paper news for 18 years now... you'd think the people of the Saco and Sanford Ward LDS churches - who are the ones in my driveway bitch screaming about Todd Murphey for the past 2 years now - would at least have seen enough TV news or newspaper news... oh look, did you know one of the big name newscasters on TV, someone who has in fact covered the Scarbough Marsh case on TV several times now, is a member of the Sanfard Ward congregation, and even SHE knows what's going on, obviously because she's one of the reporters who keeps showing up to interview all us families who live in in the Scarborough Marsh... so I know not everyone in the Sandford Ward is clueless as to what has been going on in the community round them.... several of these church members are outright screaming, literally screaming from my neighbor's front porch in Biddeford, that they never heard of any of this before... I'm sorry... what the fuck?
The Scarbourough Marsh murders is quite literally the biggest unsolved murder case in all of New England, not just Maine, it's been covered by DateLine, 20/20 and half the crime network tv shows! The fucking planet has heard of it! These people are telling me, literally, while standing on my neighbors front porch and shrieking at the tops of their lungs, that they never heard of this murder case, a murder case I've not stopped talking about for the last 9 years because as of 9 years ago now members of my family have been murdered.. heck, with so many deaths now, it's pretty hard to find any family in the Scarbourough Marsh who DOESN'T have a dead relative killed by this nutjob... and these people, who vandalized our apartment building so bad that the landlord has a repair crew here all of this next upcoming summer... these vandals and hate fueled harassers from the Sandford Ward church, are telling me, that they had no clue any of this was going on?
And worse... y Atwater relatives... they keep showing up and ALSO saying they never heard of this... really? How? I know the FBI has been talking to them about it because they keep showing up in a rage yelling that the FBI was just at their house and it's all my fault and demanding I stop sending the FBI to their house... but I didn't send the FBI to their house, heck, I didn't even know they were related to me, as I never heard of them before they showed up to yell at me, so how the hell do they think I sent the FBI over there? What the fuck?
But also... what the fuck? Family members have been murdered and as far as I know, the FBI is trying to locate every relative to find out if they might have any information about a member of their family being murdered... I mean, if these people really are relatives, like they scream that they are when they are in my yard yelling at me, then, someone in my family being murdered IS ALSO someone in THEIR family being murdered.... and yeah, of course the law enforcement is going to go to every family member and ask for info, that's what law enforcement does, because, they just naturally assume that normal families help each other and WANT to solv a murder that happened in their family.
Which is something FBI Agent Andy Drewer pointed out to me, he said: "The Atware relatives of yours... they're pretty paranoid aren't they? I'm having trouble getting any of them to talk to me. Most slam the door in my face the minute I say I'm with the FBI. They act like they got something to hide. Looks mighty suspicious. Can you think of any reason why any of your uncles might want you dead?" That was the same day he pointed out that his five top suspects for the November 14, 2013 attack were my uncle Bruce, my aunt Barbara, my mother, my father, and Ben. He said he can prove they all knew about the golf club attack, and yet everyone of them is openingly, publicly denying any knowledge of it, and all five of them are doing their most public outspoken, over the top denying it in two places: The Saco Ward LDS Church and the Sandford Ward LDS Church.
And most disturbing of all is this: He says my father was having an affair with a woman named Claire back in the 1970s, and that my father and my mother and Claire and Claire's husband have been feuding since the late 1970s, a fued which goes on to this day... and... that on ALL of my mother's social media accounts, FaceBook, Twitter, Pinterest, everything, are two usernames that show up in her friends' lists: both with the same last name, one using the username Claire while posting a 4 door white truck as her user photo, and the other... wait for it... has the user name: KendraSilvermander".
Yep.
The FBI has found an actual person, a relative, in law of the Atwaters, who goes by the username KendraSilvermander.
Why is this significant?
The people who murdered my son at BugLight Light house art studio at Southern Maine Community College on November 14, 2013, was a blond woman whom the other two called "Claire", a red haired woman who was chanting: "I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine! I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine! I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine! I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine!..." like she was singing a song... both women looked to be in their 60s, and today a decade later, would now be in their mid-70ish, and were with a large bald man, about 30th, today would be about 40ish, and the 3 of them left in a 4 door white pickup truck.
The odd thing is, people don't talk about themselves in 3rd person limited, but, that's what the red haired woman was doing.... and I've seen her before... she showed up at Westbrook Panera 3 different occasions in 2009 and 2010 and in each of those instances also did the same marching goosestep around, back then carrying a white poodle wearing a purple dragon coat... while again saying "I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine!" while also bragging that her father owned Saco FunTownSplashtown USA and having a psychotic meltdown screaming" My chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, my chair, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIR!" Annalese, the woman sitting next to me, another published author, as thi was a NaNoWriMo writer's meeting, who was the NaNoWriMo Ml of Souther Maine, leaned over and whispered to me "That's Kendra Silvermander, she thinks she's he ML, we try to humor her. She can get rather violent if you don't."
Whoever this red haired woman is, she has a server, mega in need of medical care, mental disorder, appears to be incapable of functioning beyond the mental level of a two year old, and is quite proud of repeating her name as fast as an auctioneer. But, she speaks in 3rd person limited about herself, using us and ours and we to refer to herself, and uses the phrase: "I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine!" as though it was a period at the end of every sentence. I don't know what sort of a mental disorder she has, but Annelese was right, this woman gets over the top violent, as we quickly saw at Westbrook Panera in 2009, when she started slamming her dog on the table while chanting "My chair", and then quickly lashed out at me, in a mega violent rage of throwing chairs. The restaurant had to drag her out and make her leave.
She repeated this at three different writer's meetings at the Westbrook Panera in 2009 and 2010.
She is the same woman who was ordering/leading/demanding the blond Claire woman's golf club attack at Southern Maine Community college November 14, 2013, murdering my baby and crippling me.
She returned for a 5th attack June 26, 2016, again with the bond Claire woman, this time at Scarborough WalMart, and this time attacking with a shopping cart, this being the attack that caused the inoperable 3 broken vertebrae and the organ and nerve damage which caused my current crippled stat. In this attack, yet again the red haired woman was chanting: "I'm Kendra Silvermander It's my turn to shine, my turn to shine, my turn to shine!" but this time the blond woman was shrieking: "That's EelKat, she tried to kill my husband. That thing is Ken's son, look at how IT's dressed! Kill or be killed! Remember Saco Shaws! No more heads in ice cream! End the gaypocalypse! Kill the transvestite freak! Too Gay for the Family Friendly Town of Old Orchard Beach!" This time instead of driving away in a 4 door white truck driven by a bald man, this time he two women were alone and drove away in a gold Volvo late 1990s vintage suv station wagon.
The usernames now showing up on my mother's social media, and the Atwater relative's social media is significant, because, according the these FBI agents.... those are the exact same Atwaters who are REFUSING to talk to the FBI, slamming the doors in the FBI agents faces, and also, are the most vocal on social media in spreading the alien/UFO/witchcraft/cat rumors about me. And the FBI believes they not only know who the golf club murderer is, they likely were involved in planning the November 14, 2013 attack... and every one of them has been seen with the Sanford Ward LDS Church members who are likewise the biggest defamatory gossipers, running around slandering my name with their lies about witchcraft/curses/aliens/ufos/and cats.
AND... on top of that... they ae the EXACT SAME Atwaters ans Sandford Ward church members whom have spent the last two years bombarding my Biddeford apartment with these same rumors while the vandalize the building, which the landlord now has to spend the summer repairing.
AND... these are the same people who are also claiming, they had no clue these murders were going on in the Scarborough Marsh.
Overall... these people who are denying the events of the Scarborough Marsh murders, while simaltaniously going overboard gibbering lies about me online, are really working overtime at making themselves look like they were involved in the November 14, 2013 murder of my son, and making themselves look tremendously guilty of not only knowing who the killier is, but trying to cover up for the killer, and attempting to gaslight me with their weird alien rumors, in an attempt to make people not see their connection to the killer, that they are trying so very blatently to hide and are only succeeding and shining a mega sized spotlight of suspision on themselves, leaving everyone who is watching them doing it to ask: What the fuck did they do, that they are trying to hide so damned bad, that they are going mega big time slanderfeat screaming about aliens and ufos all over social media, trying to convince people that I believe in aliens and ufos when there are 40+ years of documented evidance of me debuncking aliens and proving their ufo accusations to a be a hoax they created to cover their own asses over a drug raid from 1982? And now they are rearing up their alien accusations again, which again, I can prove to be a hoax, because... what are they trying to cover up THIS time? Last time they rolled out the alien accusations they were trying to blame literal toddlers for the 1982 drug raid, by saying that 4, 5, and 6 year old children saw aliens... 72 people were arrested in the 1982 drug raid... there were no aliens... if anyone was seeing aliens, it was the drug addicted having drug induced hallucinations... and yet, those same drug dealers, now out of prison, are once again pointing to aliens, this time because they are mad that the FBI showed up to ask if they knew anything about the murder of my son.
???
Can I ask, what the fuck does not real, fictional aliens they saw because of drugs, during a 1982 drug raid, what does that have to do with my son being murdered?
And are they really that retarded that they think I control the FBI and tell the FBI what to do? What the fuck? Them coming over here and screaming for me to stop sending the FBI to their house, when I didn’t even know these people were relatives, never heard of them before, and wouldn’t even have had a way t tell the FBI a blooming thing about them at all, just makes them look suspicious, because for one thing: who even are these people? I still don’t know who they are! And for another thing, why do they think I sent the FBI over to them? And again: who are they? There are over 400 Atwaters and I’ve only ever met 7 of them, I don’t know the names or faces of any of the others, I don’t even know all the names or faces of the original 12, so I can’t figure out how they’d think I would know the names or faces of any of the kids, grandkids, or great grandkids of the original 12. What the fuck?
How are the Atwaters so full of themselves that they think I would have one iota of a clue anything about them, when I’ve never met them and I don’t even know their names… and also… why would I care? Tell me that? Do you know any sane person who knows the names of their parents in-laws.
Yes… my parents in-laws… in-laws of in-laws… not even blood relatives, but the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandkids, and great grandkids of in laws of my parents’ in laws… who in their right mind would even know the names of such distant relatives…
You, reading this right now… can you name your parent’s cousins? Do you know the names of your mother’s uncle’s great grand kids? Do you?
Can you see how utterly stupidly ridiculous the Atwaters are being, when they show up here yelling and screaming, and expect that I should know who they are or what the fuck they are talking about:
Newsflash: normal people don’t live in 400 person large family herds.
Normal people don’t live in herds.
Normal people don’t swamp in shark style frenzies in the driveways of distant relatives of your great grand pappies 5th removed cousin of an in-law, either. What the actual fuck?
And on top of everything else, there are Awaters running around screaming that I am vandalising some grave… the grave of a distant relative whom I never heard of before, so I don’t even know where the grave is… when I’m here bedridden and crippled and not even capable of going to visit my own son’s grave because… oh look: I’m crippled and stuck in bed with a broken spine and severed spinal cord for the past nine years!
You know… if you are going to accuse someone of going somewhere to vandalize something, you might want to first make sure that person is not wheelchair bound, bedridden, and crippled for a decade with a broken spine, so unable to even get to the place you are accusing them of going!
Also… since the day my son was murdered, I have a camera running 24/7 so, it’s pretty foolish of you to lie about me when I can not only prove you are lying, I can also prove every time you’ve been screaming in my driveway, because I have you on camera. They didn’t think of that did they? Oh no, of course not, why would they? They were too busy thinking about those aliens and witches they can’t stop gibbering about.
But look at this cross... Do you remember Timmy Murphy? He was the 5 year old with curly black hair, who was also accused of aliens during that 1982 drug raid. They called us The White Monkey Children, because we found Helen Pearly's missing pet white monkey. And the people arrested during the 1982 drug raid, many of them Atwaters, pointed to that white monkey that had escaped from White Animal Farm, a zoo in Old Orchard at the time, they pointed to that white money and called it an alien. Helen Pearly, look her up, is the founder of the Scarbourgh Marsh preserve, an animal preserve that started out with one pet white monkey, and is today, many thousands of acres of protected land known by the name The Scarboughorgh Marsh.
Can you see NOW why the idiots screaming aliens are seen as so damned idiotic?
But can you also see the names on the cross?
https://www.eelkat.com/images/cross.jpg
There were 31 children involved in helping Helen Pearly capture her escaped pet white money.
Drive through the scarborough marsh looking at the names of the beheaded victims on those crosses... 29 of the 31 White Monkey Children are now dead, killed and tossed in the marsh, where 40 years ago, they helped little old lady look for her lost pet albino monkey.
Every one of them accused of being alien abductees; accusations which was screamed ONLY by the drug dealers and drug users of the 1982 drug raid, which took place in the Scarbourough Marsh.
The only people who accuse me of aliens are the people now out of prison, who went to prison because of the 1982 drug raid... a drug raid known to locals as "The 458 Shoot Out" due to one woman screaming "Four! Five! Eight!" in between each time she loaded up her shotgun.
Everybody that has shown up in the marsh since June 2001, has been either one of the now adult White Monkey Children, or one of their children or grandchildren.
EVERY - SINGLE - ONE.
Go to the marsh, look for the crosses. Read the names. My cousin Timmy Murphy's cross is not the only one and if you open your eyes and start looking at the side streets all through the marsh, you'll see one hundred and twenty of these crosses, some with 5 or more names on them. Crosses the entire country has seen on Dateline, 20/20, and dozens of unsolved crime shows... crosses that the Atwarers and their friends at the Sandford Ward church, are right now, this very week, posting all over social media, claiming aren't there, claiming I'm the only one talking about them, when clearly I'm not seeing hoe Dateline and 20/20 are pret big international news shows... and also claiming "Yeah EeelKat's crazy, she believes in aliens" when its extremely well documented my not believing in aliens and my debunking alien abductions as hoaxes... and these same people are also trying to convince people on social media "cats!".... but the cats were my mother's not mine, and my son was murdered November 14, 2013, two years before my mother's cat incident occurred.
These people are making total idiots of themselves, because all any one has to do is look up the new reports about the Scarbourough Marsh murders and the Cascade Murders to see that since June 2001, a LOT of people here in the marsh have been murdered, and originally they were not thought to b connected, but, now it is known that they are.
I wish these crazy ass Atwaters and their weird Todd Murphy obsessed Sanford Ward lunatics and their alien abduction ufo nuts, would leave me and my family alone. I don’t know what their problem is or why they are so obnoxiously hell bent on stalking my family and harassing us like this, but I am getting pretty damned sick of it. I have enough shit to deal with with, oh, I don’t know, half my family being murdered, my son’s killer still being on the loose, 9 years bedridden and still relearning to walk, … I don’t need these fucktards jumping into my life and trying to grab their 15 minutes of fame by tampering with the FBI’s investigation into hunting down my son’s murderer.
Know the truth. The truth will set you free.
People keep asking me why it is, I use Autistic characters for my main characters in most of my books, and with the mass market release of the Quaraun series, which features a gay, transvestite, Autistic main character, I am once again receiving questions about Autism, specifically this time, what is wrong with Quaraun and why did I decide to write him as disabled.
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QUESTION: Other characters call Quaraun insane, retarded, stupid, an idiot, or a dolt. He seems to have a mental illness. What is wrong with him?
ANSWER: I have Savant Autism, Clinical Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and many people are quick to tell you that I am "insane" because of those things. My entire life everyone has from my parents and relatives in my childhood, to my friends in my adults years, introduce me to people as "This is Wendy, just ignore her. She's insane." I long ago accepted the fact that I have those disorders and that I must be insane otherwise, why would so many people say it? Actually I came to accept the fact that I was insane at the ripe old age of 8 years old, so you can tell how long people, especially my aunts and uncles have been calling me that. I do not like that people call me insane and often ask people to stop saying that about me because it hurts my feelings. People laugh at the idea that a "retarded crazy person" could possibly have feelings, and continue to call me insane.
I have Autism. I write what I know. So, let's try that again, and see what we get this time, eh?
Quaraun has Savant Autism, Clinical Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His entire life everyone has from his parents and relatives in his childhood, to his friends in his adults years, introduces him to people as "This is Quaraun, just ignore him. He's insane." He becomes known as Quaraun the Insane, because of the name calling. He does not like that people call him Quaraun the Insane and often asks people to stop saying that about him because it hurts his feelings. People laugh at the idea that a "retarded crazy person" could possibly have feelings, and continue to call him Quaraun the Insane.
Yeah. There it is. Quaraun's character is based largely off myself. He sees the world as I see the world.
I am also mixed blood (red, brown, and black, but look white) married to a white man, who's family came from a very snooty pure-blood background (and are white supremacists) and are thus very much in non-approval of our relationship. Which is thus why I wrote Quaraun, from a very pure blooded race of Elves, with his lover Unicorn/BoomFuzzy being a black Asian mixed blood.
Other characters in the series are quick to call Quaraun stupid and idiot, because of his Autism, and they are also quick to point to his black skinned, Asian looking lover and say, "Here's proof he's stupid, he's white and he's got a coloured lover." (Yes, white people have actually said this to me and my partner.)
A lot of people don't understand what it is like to live with Autism. Most don't want to understand. Most don't care. Hell, the average person doesn't even know what Autism is.
Watch this video. This is what Quaraun has. This is what Quaraun is acting like. This is what he is talking like. This is why people are picking on him so badly:
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Unfortunately, most people think Autism is synonymous with "retard or "crazy" or "insane".
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And they only THOUGHT I was crazy before ... now they know it. ;)
Ah! But you see the problem with bullies is this: I've been bullied on a daily basis for over 40 years now. I have a very thick shell now. And, while you are calling me crazy, and making a fool of yourself on a forum, I can laugh, because I KNOW that I'm crazy, and being a carnival Gypsy circus clown I get paid to act crazy, and, I am purposely, intentionally, and professional crazy both online and offline, because crazy is what I'm known for. Crazy is what I do. I can turn it on and off at will. I go out of my way, to make a fool of myself ON PURPOSE. Crazy is my brand. My trademark. And I do thing to make people laugh, so you laughing at me, trying to make your laughter hurt, doesn't work on me anymore, and all you are really doing, making yourself look bad.
Let's go over some of the things people say about me, which inspired me to create this character.
Autism is not synonymous with retarded, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
Autism is not synonymous with genius, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
Autism is not synonymous with stupid, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
Autism is not synonymous with Downs Syndrome, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
Autism is not synonymous with schizophrenia, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
Autism is not synonymous with insanity, but try to tell people that. They're not gonna believe you.
People with Autism, live very lonely lives because the average person, would rather tease, bully, pick on, push around, and slap mean lables on anyone who is "different."
While people with Autism CAN live an average lifespan of 70 to 90 years, 80% of all Autistics commit suicide between the age of 25 and 50. Most people with Autism are bullied so bad, that 70% of all Autistic adult commit suicide before the age of 35. It is very rare to see an Autistic adult over the age of 35 for that reason.
The #1 cause of death in Autistic adults is suicide. Autistics commit suicide because they feel alone, and in spite of the stereotypes, they HATE being alone. Autistic adults are always alone because every time they try to make friends with anyone they get told they are not allowed in public places with their "friends" because their "friends" don't want people knowing they know "retards. Autistics are single out and bullied because they are different. It's very depressing having no one willing to be seen in public with you, no one willing to be friends with you, and everyone else hitting you, punching you, pulling your hair, throwing stuff at you, and calling you names or saying they want you dead, just because you are different.
And not all different is created equal. There are "different" people who "normal" people consider okay, because they are trying to be different to stand out or be cool or whatever. That's "good different."
Then there's "bad different", which differance you are born with and have no control over, such as race, skin color, gender identity, sexuality, physical or mental disabilities, deformities...or even war injuries, a soldier who's lost his legs, for example. These are "bad" different, the type of "different people" who "normal" people, ignore, don't want to see, pretend don't exist, or worse: bully, abuse, take advantage of, tease, injury, or even kill...because they are different.
Quaraun is different on many levels. He's a race that is not well like by most races. Even within his own people he is not accepted because he is gay (in a culture that executes gay men and view them as a plague). Most gay men in his culture hide it, however, Quaraun is a transvestite, more then that, he's practically an Elf version of Liberace, which makes it rather difficult to hide his "gayness". And he's a Necromancer in a land that has laws forbidding Dark Arts. And he's not hiding any of these things.
AND...
He is Autistic. He has slightly more independence and self-care ability then say Rainman, but he's not high functioning like say Sheldon. Growing up he was seen as a "curse". Afflicted with a disability that no one around him could understand and no one, especially not his family, was willing to accept. As a child and into his young adult years he was horribly abused by his father and uncle, often locked in an empty room by himself for days on end. Forgotten and alone. His family hides him from society, ashamed of his very existence.
In his teen years Quaraun escapes the house on brief occasions, but is meet with bullying and teasing and being brutalized by everyone he meets, and so flees the outside world, back to the abusive family that hates him.
The series starts when Quaraun is an adult, on his own, and wandering from one end of the world to another, desperately wanting to find a place he will be accepted. All he really wants is to find someone, anyone, willing to spend time with him, for the loneliness he feels is unbearable and he's fast losing the will to continue to live in a world where not one single person cares about him at all.
Oooh. The song stopped playing. Let's get it on there again.
One of the problems with my Autism is the "Selective Mutism" which a lot of people do not understand at all. See, I can talk, but I rarely am able to talk. It confuses people, how it can be that I CAN talk but I CAN'T talk either.
Selective Mutism (SM) is an anxiety disorder in which a person who is normally capable of speech loses the ability to speak in specific situations or to or around specific people.
According to Wikipedia:
Children and adults with selective mutism are fully capable of speech and understanding language but fail to speak in certain situations, though speech is expected of them.[3] The behaviour may be perceived as shyness or rudeness by others. A child with selective mutism may be completely silent at school for years but speak quite freely or even excessively at home. There is a hierarchical variation among people with this disorder: some people participate fully in activities and appear social but do not speak, others will speak only to peers but not to adults, others will speak to adults when asked questions requiring short answers but never to peers, and still others speak to no one and participate in few, if any, activities presented to them. In a severe form known as "progressive mutism", the disorder progresses until the person with this condition no longer speaks to anyone in any situation, even close family members. Selective mutism is by definition characterized by the following: Consistent failure to speak in specific social situations (in which there is an expectation for speaking, e.g., at school) despite speaking in other situations. The disturbance interferes with educational or occupational achievement or with social communication. The duration of the disturbance is at least 1 month (not limited to the first month of school). The failure to speak is not due to a lack of knowledge of, or comfort with, the spoken language required in the social situation. The disturbance is not better accounted for by a communication disorder (e.g., stuttering) and does not occur exclusively during the course of a pervasive developmental disorder, schizophrenia, or other psychotic disorder. Selective mutism is strongly associated with anxiety disorders, particularly social anxiety disorder. In fact, the majority of children diagnosed with selective mutism also have social anxiety disorder (100% of participants in two studies and 97% in another).[4][5][6] Some researchers therefore speculate that selective mutism may be an avoidance strategy used by a subgroup of children with social anxiety disorder to reduce their distress in social situations.[7][8] Particularly in young children, SM can sometimes be confused with an autism spectrum disorder, especially if the child acts particularly withdrawn around their diagnostician, which can lead to incorrect treatment. Although autistic people may also be selectively mute, they display other behaviors—hand flapping, repetitive behaviors, social isolation even among family members (not always answering to name, for example)—that set them apart from a child with selective mutism. Some autistic people may be selectively mute due to anxiety in social situations that they do not fully understand. If mutism is entirely due to autism spectrum disorder, it cannot be diagnosed as selective mutism as stated in the last item on the list above.[citation needed] Selective mutism may co-exist with or cause the child to appear to have attention deficit disorder. Many people with the inattentive form of ADHD show little or no interest in other people. People with inattentive ADHD may appear to be "space cadets" or "out in their own world", and may be slower to respond to social stimuli. Children with selective mutism, especially when they have severe social anxiety, may also display this behavior. In addition, many children with selective mutism are highly sensitive, and they may be distracted from the task at hand by sensory input or their anxiety.[citation needed] The former name elective mutism indicates a widespread misconception among psychologists that selective mute people choose to be silent in certain situations, while the truth is that they often wish to speak but cannot. To reflect the involuntary nature of this disorder, the name was changed to selective mutism in 1994. The incidence of selective mutism is not certain. Due to the poor understanding of this condition by the general public, many cases are likely undiagnosed. Based on the number of reported cases, the figure is commonly estimated to be 1 in 1000, 0.1%.[9] However, a 2002 study in The Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry estimated the incidence to be 0.71%.[10] ![]() |
This is one of the most frustrating and infuriating symptoms of my Autism. I can talk. I have the ability to talk, and yet there are exact seven people with whom I am able to speak with on a normal level. For everybody else, it doesn't matter how much I try to make words come out, I simply can not make the words exit my mouth. And it is extremely frustrating, because I WANT to talk, I'd like to talk, my mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out. You have no idea how frustrating this is for me.
It'd be one thing if I could speak, but the thing is I CAN speak, sometimes. I don't know why I can't speak all the time.
And it's not consistent. With the 7 people mention above, I can talk, fully fluently. There are other people, for example the various D&D game groups I play with, my teachers/professors in college, some of the locals here around town, whom I can talk to, but not well. It's different depending on who I'm talking to, where I am, and what the situation is.
Sometimes, my speak turns garbled, with words reversed and sentence spoken in the wrong order.
Other times I start talking really, really, really, really fast, like an auctioneer.
Other times, I get stuck, like a broken record. I'll be talking and all of a sudden, for no reason at all, I'll just start repeating the same word or phrase over and over and over again, and I'm trying to make it stop and I can't. That's often when you will see me suddenly hit myself in the head several times, because that often works to stop the "broken record" effect I'm having.
This is also why I can not use and therefore do not own a phone. I am physically unable to speak into an object, such as a phone. I go completely mute when confronted with a phone.
You have no idea how nerve wracking it is, to know what I want to say and have my mouth say something completely different or not say anything at all. It's like the "wiring" from my brain to my mouth is messed up and sometimes sort of short circuits.
One psychologist said that he suspected my synapses were not firing properly, so my brain is making the correct information for me to speak, but my mouth isn't getting the message that it's supposed to be involved in the process, thus I'm trying to speak but my mouth may or may not actually say something.
People often say I am shy because I don't talk and that is not the case. I'm actually not shy at all. I just can't talk. And I hate it. I have no problem getting up in front of the lass and giving presentations. I love doing that. I have no problem talking with total strangers about my car, which happened all day long every day, because I drive a car with 2.5million marbles glued to it. I do art gallery showings of my work. I'm a freaking CosPlayer, and I do D&D in full costume and act out my characters.
Every psychologist and psychiatrist always makes me retake the Briggs Myers test and I ALWAYS score Extrovert, not Introvert, every time. Shyness has been proven, again and again by several doctors to NOT be my problem. I am not shy and yet, I suffer from a symptom of social anxiety that is typically thought of as the primary indication of shyness. It's completely contradictory and doctors can not explain it.
One of the worst parts of having Selective Mutism, is that EVERYBODY assumes that because you can't talk, you MUST know sign language.
Some people think they are being helpful by signing to me. Nope. Not helpful at all. It's just you flapping your hands around with me not a clue what you are trying to tell me. I'm not deaf. I can hear you talking. I don't need you to do sign language.
Everybody is always shocked that II don't know sign language, they always want to know: "Didn't they teach in in school?"
No.
In the 1970s the nearest school that taught sign language was half way across the country and cost $10,000 per semester (3 months). I don't know how public schools are run today, but in the 1970s, if you couldn't speak the language, to hell with you, you can stand in the corner until you learn to speak English like the rest of us.
That was also a time period when teachers were ENCOURAGED to carry a rule and beat their students soundly - I hear that's banned today.
Keep in mind, you are also looking at a time period when Opium syrup was the "cure all" for Autism, and me and every other Autistic child in America in the 1970s, were too busy watching unicorns and faeries flying around the room to notice anything anyways.
If you were in school in ine 1970s and you had Autism, they feed you cupfuls of opium syrup and set you in a corner with a stack of picture books. They did not teach you ANYTHING let alone sign language!
The worst ones are OMG! People call me retarded...this one is sooo STUPID. A woman, once came up to me and said: "{NAME OF BUSINESS} is looking to hire someone who knows sign language to communicate with mute customers. I told them you'd give 'em a call."
Yeah. I'm mute. I don't know sign language. This woman knew I didn't know sign language. And I'm MUTE - how the hell am I supposed to give them a call?
And people call ME retarded?
Well, because I know what it is like to like with Selective Mutism and have people judge you and tease you and serious overreact in some cases, because of it, I write Quaraun as having Selective Mutism the same way I have it.
So, in the series, Quaraun is very quiet. He can talk, but he rarely does. There are a few people, whom he can talk to with no trouble at all. He and Unicorn can and often to have lengthy dialogues. He has some trouble talking to BeaLuna but it's not that noticeable. Most readers won't pick up on the slight variation of his speak change between talking to Unicorn verse talking to BeaLuna.
You do see him having issues talking to Bullgaar, and you especially see him breaking down and losing control of his speak around his father and uncle. Around all three of these characters, Quaraun is prone to falling into "broken record mode" and start repeating words and phrases. It's not as bad around Bullgaar as it is around his uncle and it's at it's worst with his father.
He's also more likely to talk to himself or to inanimate objects when he's alone, then he is to speak to anyone at all when he's not alone.
And because of the physical and emotional abuse he grew up with at the hands of his father and uncle, Quaraun's immediate response to anyone talking to him is to flinch and expect to be beaten. Quaraun is not necessarily shy. He is often very outgoing and he is the person most likely to step up to help anyone needing help, but at the same time he's very scared of everyone.
So many people have abused him, that by the time he's 330 (equivalent to 35 Human years) he just expects everyone to beat him up and completely given up on ever finding a friend. He's so used to being beaten up for being different that he doesn't try to stop people from hitting him anymore. He has become rather glum and silent as he's come to the conclusion there isn't anyone out there who actually wants to have a meaningful conversation with him, which is why in the early stories, he and Unicorn are having conversations that are somewhat mismatched, with Quaraun not necessarily answering Unicorn outright.
When Unicorn talks to him, Quaraun's mind actually is thinking properly and correctly, but his mouth isn't necessarily conveying that. Unicorn says one thing an Quaraun's response appears to be five miles away on some other topic, which makes people hearing the conversation, assume Quaraun is off his rocker, when the fact is, he did hear Unicorn correctly and in his head he did respond correctly, but his brain miss fired the message so his mouth said something completely different then what he had actually wanted to say.
People who don't understand Selective Mutism, assume it means the person doesn't talk, but often, it means, the person does talk and says he wrong thing. It's very frustrating, when you want to say: "Isn't it a wonderful morning!" and all your mouth will say is "I don't know." And this is why you see Quaraun say "I don't know" to things, you know he knows. It's not that he doesn't know, it's that his mouth is refuses to say the words his brain is telling it to say.
The Elf you see at the start of the series is a very broken Elf. He's almost to a total breaking point and he's about to reach the point where he has had it with people bullying him and he just going to start killing everyone that does anything no matter how slight. He's not a hero. Far from it. This is the prequal to The Twighlight Manor series and Quaraun is Roderic's grandfather, the previously "unnamed" serial killer who built The Twighlight Manor. The quaraun series tells the story of how the guy who built the Manor, came to eventually build it. So the series starts out with him, still not a villain yet, but damned close to becoming one.
The series starts right when he's given up, he's basically heading back to where his family died, to kill himself, whem he meets Unicorn, and suddenly he has a friend in his life, but then Unicorn dies, and that crushes him, and, Quaraun's like Roderic, you really can't tell if what's happening to him is real or just in his head...so after Unicorn dies, Unicorn is back, and parts of the story indicate that Unicorn is now an undead creature, because Quaraun's a Necromancer, but then, not everybody sees Unicorn and sometime the story indicates that he's not there, he's just a figment o Quaraun's imagination. And the story, never says one way or the other, which is actually true.
But then later in the series, Quaraun finds a baby that's been left behind, during a battle, and he raises this girl, who he assumes is a Human, until it one day occurs to him, he's raised he for close to hundred years and she's still just a teenager, and, he starts trying to find out what she is, and then the story starts crossing over into the Twighlight Manor story, with the Ecrodon spaceship crash. But then she dies and Quaraun just kind of snaps, which results in the Battle of Ongadada between the Flamites and the Crystonites, he goes on to take control of both empires, builds the Twighlight Manor, yadda, yadda, yadda...and in the end it does say what actually happened to Unicorn, which actually if you know the Twighlight Manor series, you can kind of put the pieces together and figure it out.
But, yeah, that's the quiet 2 paragraph summary of the entire series which is 130+ volumes long. But the whole thing takes you through, seeing his being REALLY frustrated with just one thing after another, and his Autism is really tripping him up.
Well, the thing is, a lot of people see Autism as a childhood illness. There's all kinds of help for parents of autism, and teachers of autism, and day care providers of autism but soon as that autistic child turns 18, that it's. Their are done. There's no more help for them, like POOF the Autism went away because they are adults.
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People don't seem to understand that an adult with Autism, can't take care of themselves. They can't get jobs, because no one will hire them. I average 400 job applications a year, every year for more then 20 years now.
And why will no one hire me? Have you ever seen the movie Rainman? People don't hire me because I am like THIS:
I talk just like that^^^
I act just like that ^^^
I rock when I stand just like that^^^
I write for a living because I don't have any other option, and contrary to what other authors have said about me, I've never made more then $2,000 in a single year. Not once in my entire life. YES, my TOTAL yearly income is LESS THAN the average person's MONTHLY income.
And the $2,000 thats the MOST, a lot of years it's only $1,000, and I've had several years under $600. Yeah, $50 a month.
And Quaraun has hundreds of strange phobias. And it baffles the other characters, the things he does, just to avoid the things he fears. In Vampire Leprechaun, they are travelling along, and they are not far from where they want to go, and they reach this point, where they have to cross a brook, and the brook is only a few feet wide and, where they are at, only a foot deep. They can easily walk across it, and are about to, when Quaraun has a meltdown screaming fit. They can't get him across and they don't know what to do, because they don't know what the problem is.
They end up, having to find another way to get to where they want to go. They are only 2 or 3 days from where they want to be, but the phobia, Quaraun has, is so bad, that they end up backtracking and taking a different road that bypasses and goes around, and adds an addition 2 weeks to their getting to where they want to go.
Have you ever seen Rainman? Watch this scene:
I do that. ^^^ You can't get me on a plane. You can't get me in a car, unless you can prove to me that car is safe.
Quaraun does that ^^^^ that is what you see happening, several times in Vampire Leprechaun. Quaraun is just having one melt down after another, the whole story.
That's what is going on, in Vampire Leprechaun. A fear that to others, looks utterly irrational, but to Quaraun, is completely crippling.
I write him doing these things, because he has Autism, and he's doing the same things I do in those situations.
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In addition to Autism, I have Chronic Tendonitis. If I walk too fast, fall, or pick up an item weighing more then 20 lbs, the tendons and ligaments tear themselves off of my bones. Do you have any idea, how hard it is for me to type?
I not only can't run, most days I can't walk. Many days I'm on crutches. They want to put me in a wheelchair, but I am actively refusing that for as long as possible.
I walk with a cane, and wear a back brace, a leg brace, two wrist braces, and special "cleats" strapped onto my shoes.
I wear my braces under my clothes, so other then the cane and the shoe "cleats" and the fact that it takes me 10 minutes to get from walk only a few feet, you wouldn't know from looking at me, that I am what doctors term "critically disabled".
It is for this reason that about half way through the serious Quaraun gets critically injured and never recovers and suddenly finds himself very limited in his ability to ... well ... do anything. Autism is a horrible disability on it's own, but couple it with something like this, something that rips through your body and destroys, takes away your ability to walk, when all you've done for years is walk, and now all you can do is sit in one place for days on end, unable to even get out of bed for months to a time- it's horrendous.
I was bedridden from November 2013 to February 2014, because I slipped on the ice - I didn't fall - I caught myself, but the movement was enough to pull a muscle in my leg, off of the bone 2nd I could walk for 12 weeks.
And then February 27, 2014, I was walking again, for only a few days, and it happened again. I slipped, this time I did fall, and the force of the fall, ripped a muscle off my spine, and my hip, and my knee, and I was bedridden until May 2014.
This sort of thing starts happening to Quaraun, because it happens to me, and I base his health off mine. Anything that happens to me is going to end up in these books. This health issue, first showed up in my life in November 2001, while I lifted some clothes up over my head to put them up on a tall shelf, and suddenly completely lost the use of my arm.
ER doctors said the muscle had separated from my thumb and wrist. My arm was in a cast for 8 weeks and a brace after that for 3 more weeks.
A few months later, I was packing a box with books, I tripped and slammed my shoulder into the door jam/wall around the door. It hurt really bad, but I kept on packing books in a box, only I could this arm. A few hours later, my entire arm is red and swollen and hurts.
My "husband" had one of his brief moments of remembering who I was and took me to the ER.
ER doctor says, because this happened before, "You're gonna have to be careful with that arm if it keeps doing that." I tell him, it was the other arm last time. He looks at my charts. It was the other arm.
He looks at my old records, and that's when he realizes I haven't had a primary care physician since my medical insurance expired the day I turned 18, and I've not had live in caretakers since the bomb in 2006, because I haven't been able to afford them since then. And he checked and found a note from one doctor which said: "She comes in with dislocated ligaments frequently, I think she may be a victom of domestic abuse. She says no one hit her. She says she fell."
Then he notices it's in my record, a notation, I've never gone to the hospital of my own free will, each time I was brought in my a relative who found me, injured, several days after the injury happened. Then he asks, have they been any times this happened and no one found me and brought in? When? Where? Why? How often?
Yes. It happens two or three times a year. Sometimes my hand won't move for weeks, sometimes my elbow, sometimes my shoulder, sometimes my ankle, sometimes my knee...my left hip, is so bad now, that I'm no longer able to walk, it's been happening to my left hip since I was 16 years old.
I've always had difficulty with my right leg. I walked with a cane when I was 4 and again a couple of times in my teen years. From the time I was 17 until the bomb (because the bomb blew it up) I walked with a staff (6 foot tall) it was easier then a cane, because I could lean on it.
He asks if anybody has ever checked for MD or similar disorders.
No. I grew up in the 1970s, when "retards" weren't worth the trouble of anything. Medicate them to keep them quiet and hope they die in their sleep so you don't have to worry about it anymore. That was the attitude my grandfather and uncles had, and they out ranked my parents in the pecking order. Gypsy parents don't have control over their own children if they don't rank high enough in the clan. My parents were low ranked, it's why it shocked everyone, when the Matriauch, left me in control of the clan. I was 17 when she died and made me (in her will) the matriarch of the clan. I outrank everyone now, even the king, who at the time was my grandfather. 200 members of the clan deserted the clan over it. They are why I didn't get medical care, hey wouldn't allow it - my uncles. They still wouldn't except one of the them is dead, and I went to the police and the other two are gone now. I was abused from childhood, until I was 27. I did have medical treatment between 27 and 31 years old. That was First Care Medical Center - the medical center that blew up in 2003.
All the doctors in Maine remember First Care Medical Center it was on Saco Avenue in Old Orchard Beach. They all remember it because, someone built a bomb and blew it up in 2003. It happened early in the morning before patients arrived, but some doctors died. And there was a chemical lab in the building - the fire was so hot it melted the parking lot out back and the road outfront. They never found the bomber.
There was a doctor at First Care Medical Center who was treating me for free. I had my last physical check up in 2003 and I've had no medical care outside of the ER since then. I only had 1 caretaker by that point and he was in the house in October 2006 when the grease fryer bomb went off. I have had no caretakers since 2006, and no help with medical treatment outside of the 2 times my wrists were damaged and the 2 times my hip was damaged, and the even that just happen in November. In each case I was supposed to get "follow up care" with a primary care doctor, but, I don't have medical insurance and my income is under $2,000 a year, so I've yet to find a primary care doctor to do the follow up care.
This ER doctor did a lot of tests, which he said, normally the ER wouldn't do, but he said mine was the worst case of neglect by the medical system he had ever seen and he said he felt if he didn't run the tests himself, right then, while I was there, they wouldn't get done. He kept saying "the system" had failed me. He said I'm not alone, he said Maine laws make it really hard for adults with Autism to get proper medical attention because Autism is both seen as a disability but also not as a disability, so they can't get medical insurance but they also can't get a disability check to live on either.
He came to the end conclusion that I had "Severe Chronic Tendonitis" (which he said is a symptom, not an illness) and my muscles are "like butter" he said, so there is not much keeping them attached to my bones, thus norml every day activities cause them to just unattach from the bones. He suspected I have Muscular Dystrophy or something similar, but without proper tests and long term primary care, he couldn't be sure, and he said he was very concerned because I needed more tests and he'd done all he could do. He gave me a list of doctors he thought might help, but none of them did because I don't have medical insurance, so, it's been 4 years and I've still not had anything farther done about this issue, because there simply is no help available for people in my situation, in Maine.
But that's what you are seeing, in Quaraun. Before the series starts, in the backstory, Quaraun had a family, had a community, he was disabled, but taken care of, on some level between the abuse and neglect. An uncle controlled everything, so he got far less care then he would have had someone else in the family had a say, and then, a horrible event takes them all away, and suddenly he's completely alone, and living in a place where, he can't get help, because there is no help for people like him, and so, the series starts at that point where you see him, really bad off ad kind of ignoring how bad off he is, because he knows he can't do anything about it so he's just trying to get by however he can.
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When the series starts he is alone, made homeless by a horrific event that killed his family and destroyed his home. Quaraun now wanders the world alone. But he has Autism and he's not mental or physically equipped to live on his own. He can survive on his own, he does survive on his own, but he's not thriving, he's not getting the care he needs. He literally carries everything he owns in a bag, granted it's a pink, heart shaped, beaded bag of holding and it holds quite a bit, but still, he is living out of a bag, with no home or family to go to.
Quaraun is sort of child-like in a lot of the things he says and does, because he doesn't have "adult supervision" and he really does need it, no matter how much he tries to pretend he doesn't.
Quaraun is not only a representation of a gay, Autistic transvestite, he is a representation of a homeless, gay, Autistic transvestite whose basic survival needs are not being meet, he's often going hungry, he doesn't have a warm dry place to sleep, he's in very poor physical health, and he's not get the medical attention he needs.
And yes, this series is a very accurate representation of my life being homeless these past 8 years since the grease fryer bomb that blew up my house in October 2006.
Quaraun is walking from one side of the continent to another and back again, several times, because he has Autism and really can't stop himself from just walking for days on end for no real reason at all.
I do this all the time. I just start walking and I don't stop. I am usually at minimum 4 miles away before my caretakers track down which direction I've walked off too, and once I had gotten 13 miles before they found me. I often walk from Old Orchard to Clifford Park in Biddeford. That's about 10 miles away.
I don't know why I walk. I just do. I can't stop. I just start walking and keep going. My driveway is 175' long. By the time I get to the end of the driveway to get the mail, I've forgotten why I was walking down the driveway and go right past the mailbox and next thing I know I'm in Pine Point or Scarborough or Saco or Biddeford or Ocean Park or Camp Ellis. I don't know how far I'd go before I stopped on my own. My caretakers find me and bring me back.
That's why you see Quaraun doing so much aimless walking from one place to another and not really having a reason to. I mean he says he's hunting Liches but, he's really just parroting back what he hears people saying about him. He doesn't really know where he's going or why he's going anywhere. He has Autism and like me he just can't stop walking aimlessly for no reason at all.
Quaraun has temper tantrums and screaming fits for what other characters see as "no reason at all." He has things his does, that he has to do every day, which baffle his traveling companions to no end.
For example:
Every morning, he brushes his hair...for exactly three hours. He won't do a damned thing until he has done this. If the other characters try to stop him from doing it, all hell breaks loose. If after say two hours of brushing his hair, they do stop him, he has a screaming fit and then starts over, because he must brush his hair for 3 hours without interruption, so now they've been waiting 5 hours for him to brush his hair, which goes almost to his knees, this guy has wicked long hair.
BeaLuna often bemoans the fact that every day, they waste three hours of travel time, because of "Quaraun's vanity." What she doesn't understand is, it has nothing to do with vanity and even Quaraun himself does know why he does this. It is an impulse that he doesn't feel he has any control over, and it actually frustrates him just as much as it frustrates BeaLuna.
And before his packs up camp go somewhere else, he has to unpack that bag, which is full of, oh my god,... the other characters are so busy complaining about this particular ritual, that never once look at what he's ACTUALLY doing here... they pack up camp and Quaraun unpacks the bag of holding, in which there is a box of holding, which contains HUNDREDS of small glass bottles, which to other characters look like tiny perfume bottles and they assume to be magic potions of some sort because Quaraun is after all a wizard.
In actually each bottle contained the body of someone who had bullied him at some point in his life (keeping in my here that this is the prequel series to the Twighlight Manor series and Quaraun is Roderic's grandfather "The First Ecrodon King of The Flamites" For those who've not read the TMseries, Roderic's grandfather is the psychotic serial killer who built the Twighlight Manor and it's infamous *couch* wax *couch* museum, which is a huge display of hundreds of dead people who were stuffed by a taxidermist....well...that's them. He's killing people, and each bottle is itself a vial of holding, all stored in the box of holding, kept in a bag of holding
(...and yes I know, somewhere now there is a Dungeon Master screaming: "But you can't do that! A bag of holding in a bag of holding cancels out both bags" -- yes, yes, I know, I own the Dungeon Master's guides for all 5 and a half editions, plus the Pathfinders and OSRIC too. I know the D&D rules, but this ain't D&D.)
And every time they get ready to break up camp, Quaraun pulls out those bottles and starts lining them up and counting them. Lining them up and counting them. You should see me line stuff up and count it. That's why I know how many forum posts every body posts. I count them. People used to call me "Count Von Count" (from Sesame Street) because I couldn't stop counting thing. Do you know I can't go to WalMart without buying a Crayola BigBox crayons. 120 colors. I have thousands of crayons. I have more crayons then I will ever be able to use, but I can't stop buying them.
And every day, when I get up, I take out all my crayons and I dump them in a big pile, and then I spend several hours sorting them out in rainbow order from dark red down to light purple. Every day. And then I put them away. Every day. And I don't know why.
Do you know I hold two world records? I can't stop buying books. I buy books bulk on eBay .25c a pound. 75 pounds at a time (that's the post office limit for box weight) and that's $18.75 for 200 to 800 paperbacks depending on page count of each book. I spend $20 a month, to buy one of those bulk boxes a month.
That's a grand total of $225 a year for 2,400 to 9,600 books a year, and I've been doing this for 40 years, which means, I've at minimum 384,000 IF that was the only way I buy books. I also got to every library in the state of Maine, day after they have a book sale and buy EVERYTHING that didn't sell for a $1 a bag. There's usually about 50 books in a bag, so I usually get 500 to 2,000 books in a single day for about $10. I also go to Salvation Army and Goodwill, and buy the ENTIRE BOX/BIN of their .05c books. That's a couple thousand books a month for under $10.
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[Pidgie and 400 Dungeons and Dragons books - a stack of books that stands 8 feet tall - not in boxes because this is the office I use when writing the Quaraun books (which are 100% written by the roll of the dice)- behind that - 10,000 non-fiction books in boxes - this room is 14 feet x 15 feet and 10 feet tall - the path into the room between the books is 4 feet wide by 8 feet long - the boxes are stacked 5 boxes tall by 20 boxes deep] [Also cases of D&D minis - I have more then 2,000 minis, plus terrine, tiles, maps, and a full scale pirate ship, five pound bag of Chesex dice, 7,000 MTG cards, and 30+ dragons - all of which I use - all set up to write Quaraun series with.] |
AND I go dumpster diving for books, watch Craigslist for curbside listings of boxes of books, and buy entire tables of .25c books at flea markets. In all I'm averaging as many as 20,000 new books added to my collect EACH YEAR FOR 40 YEARS and paying under $500 a year for them. 800,000 fiction paperback books, not including hardcovers, non-fiction, cookbooks, or comic books. The two records that I have are these: I own more Historical Romance paperbacks then anyone else in the world and I own more Uncle Scrooge and Donald Duck comic books then anyone in the world, because I own every copy in 13 languages. I have 8,000 Erotica ebooks on my Kindle cloud ALL free downloads.
I don't have a house, but I have several barns and sheds and storage units full of books. I have more Disney comic books then anyone else in the world. I own them in every langue. Nearly every issue of every language from 1937 to current issues.
Doctors and psychiatrists and psychologists like to come look at my book collection because they say they've never seen anything like it. They said they've never seen an obsession get this far out of control before.
I buy on average 800 books a month. And I've been doing that for close to 40 years now. And I spend weeks alphabetizing and sorting and counting and lining them up and unstacking them, just so I can restack them, and I have no idea why I do it but, I feel my most calm, relaxed, and stress-free when I'm stacking books or sort crayons. It put me into this sort of euphoric meditative state. It's very peaceful and relaxing.
One doctor said once that if they measured insanity by how my books a person owned, I'd be the craziest person on the planet.
My caretakers often worry about me in the book shed because the books are stacks, no bookshelves, just books stacks on books, all the way to the ceiling - that's more then 8 feet tall. They are terrified the whole thing will fall over and I'll be drowned or crushed in a landslide of books. One of the book storage units is 42' long by 36' wide and 13' tall. I have more books then all of the 5 local public libraries combined, and every day I just keep buying more.
Their have been a lot of people tease me mercilessly about the books and why I have so many. I can't stop. I don't know why.
Have you ever seen the movie Rainman? Do you remember the Wapner scene? That's what happens if I don't bring home a new book every day. Here, I found it for you on YouTube:
I can't explain it, but buying books is like it's more important them eating or sleeping. I get physically sick if a day goes by without my getting a new book. It doesn't even matter if it's a book I already have a copy of, just as long as there is a new book added every day. I have some serious, major, melt down panic attacks if I don't add a new book to the collection every single day. And I don't know why. Doctors can't explain that either. If I don't add a new book it feel like my brain is being ripped out of my head and beaten with hammers. I don't know how else to describe it, but that's what it feels like if I don't add a new book every day. Doctors say it is one of the most baffling symptoms I have.
My books are also one of the most distressing things online. I'm on a lot of forums for readers and writers. Dozens and dozens of them. And every one of these forums has a thread where people ask "How many books does everyone have?"
And I will tell people how many books I have, and that I have two world records, because of how many books I have, and every time, on every forum, there will be at least one person (often several) who will accuse me of lying and saying that no one could have that many books.
And others accuse me of boasting. I have Autism - I never boast. I speak only the facts. Boasting would be if I went there and just randomly started bragging for no reason about how many books I had, but that's NEVER what happens.
THEY asked me how many books I had, and I told them. I was answering their question. How is that boasting? If they didn't want to know, then why did they ask?
It's one of the single most common reasons I get bullied for online, though, is because no one ever believes it's possible for someone to own as many books as I own. No one ever believes it and always accuses me of exaggerating, until they actually see the books.
Every time, a local person starts getting upset and saying I'm lying, I show them my books, and they get flabbergasted, because, we are talking stakes of books 40 feet long by 30 feet wide by 12 feet tall. I'm fast closing in on a million books. I should hit a million books within the next 5 years. I'll have a third world record ithin the next 5 to 7 years (more paperbacks in a private collection- total across all genres- then anyone on the planet). And within the next 12 years, I'll pass a 4th one (most books TOTAL - all types - in a private collection) , if I continue to buy books at the rate I'm buying them right now. And within 20 years, I'll pass a 5th one - more books than ANYONE either private collection OR public library collection - on the planet. Within 20 years I will own more books then the Library of Congress and that big library in Italy - COMBINED.
When I mention this fact online, on forums, people go ballistic and start accusing me of showing off and trying to be better then them. They say I'm competitive and trying to compete.
They don't understand: I can't control this. I don't want to buy more books. I don't know why I'm buying these book. I've tried to stop buying books and I can't. I literally, pass out and have MAJOR medical problems with my heart, if a day goes by and I don't get a new book. I am not trying to compete with anyone.
More then 10,000 of my books were destroyed in the bombing of my house in 2006 - that's the hing that sent me into massive meltdown more then the bomb itself. I didn't care that the house was gone, all I cared about was that the books had been destroyed.
People ask me, when did I start collecting books like this. At age 3. First book I learned to read was Green Eggs and Ham. I was 3 years old. That same year, Captain Kangaroo did a contest. You signed up for this contest. Every week, he would send you a workbooks. You watch the show, and answer the questions in the books, and mail them back, and he would send you a book. There were 26 books in the set, one for each letter of the alphabet. I have every one of those books.
After 26 weeks of a book in the mail every week, I asked my grandmothers, for more books, and THEY were REALLY competitive. Grammy Helen would give a book, and then Grammy Eva next day would give me 2. So next day, Grammy Helen would give me three.
One subscribed me to the Weekly Reader Book Club, so they other subscribed me to the Dr. Seuss Early Reader book club. Than the other Subscribed me to the Disney book club, so the other subscribed me to the Little Golden Book book club. One subscribed me to Harlequin Romance novels and the other to Hitchcock books. (I was only 4 years old).
By the time I was 5 years old, I was a member of so many book clubs, that I had books coming in the mail EVERY DAY.
For my 8th birthday, my parents bought me the Encyclopedia Britannica. I read the whole this within 4 months. 30 volumes. I read them like novels. They bought me Funk/Wagner Encyclopedia for Christmas.
Grammy Helen had started collecting comic books in the 1920s and lots of paperbacks, those kind with monthly subscriptions? I was 8 years old, when she died and in her will, she left me her books: more then 10,000 platinum age and golden age comic books and more then 10,000 paperbacks, murder mysteries, Hitchcock's, Agatha Christies, Nancy Drews, Audubon guides from the 60s and 70s, gardening books...
By the time I was 9 years old, I already owned 30,000 books.
For my 9th birthday my parents bought me "the 100 Greatest Classics" I had read them all by by 10th birthday, Jane Eyre and Treasure Island being my two favorites.
Grammy Eva continued giving me books every day until she died when I was 17.
I was "married" when I was 12. He was 42. (Two more Gypsy traditions - girls are always married before they are 16, men are almost never married before they are 30.) He picked up the tradition and brought books home with him everyday after work.
I was 14 when people at church and around town, realized that I would take ANY book, in any condition, and people just started cleaning their attics and basements, and garages out, and leaving boxes full of books in our driveway and by the mailbox or at the door.
The local hospital, when it updated it's library, it had hundreds of medical books - they heard about me and asked me if I wanted them. Step-by-step how to books for surgery, psychology guides, 2,000 page nurse manuals. Medical college textbooks.
I became the "dumping ground" for ANYBODY in the area that had books they were done with and didn't want to throw away.
To this day, 40 years later, my parents continue to by me sets of books and/or encyclopedias for my birthday and Christmas.
Yeah. I have a lot of books and if I live to be 100 years old and I'm still hoarding books then at the rate I am now, by that point, I will own more then TWENTY MILLION books. Of course, I'll have a lot of duplicates, but, duplicates doesn't matter. This is an obsession, that's beyond obsession. An addiction that is beyond all sense of logic or reason. It IS out of control. I know it's out of control and I have no clue how to stop it or if I even want to stop.
But this is what it is like to have Autism. This is the sort of thing Autism makes you do, and you have no idea why you do it.
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[Here is what a world record collection looks like: This is a stack of 8,000 Historical Romance Novels - a small fraction of the collection of the most Historical Romance novels owned in a single private collection.] |
Books remind me of my two grandmothers. They weren't evil live my grandfather and uncles. I think, looking back, they bought me the books, because they felt trapped and they wanted to escape, but they didn't want to leave me alone with my grandfather and uncles. While my two grandmothers were alive, the uncles never hurt me. They lock me up in rooms back then. Grammy Helen died when I was 8 and after that Grammy Eva never let out of her sight.
You want to know how they died?
458
ll my readers know 458. Of course they do. The 458 obsession, makes the book collecting obsession look normal. It's in all my books, all my forum signatures, all my forum posts. It's painted on motorhome nd car. Every time I see a 458, I stop and take a picture of it.
People are always asking. What is 458? What does it mean.
Then again, people are always asking: 'Why Liberace? How did you get so obsessed with Liberace?"
Grammy Helen, she loved Liberace. She's the one who died and left me the books. She died during the Battle of 458. It was a clan feud between several Gypsy clans. They nearly tore the town of Old Orchard Beach apart. The police couldn't stop them. No one could. They were out of control and it cost Grammy Helen her life.
She was dead 3 days before they even noticed.
Here she is, downtown Old Orchard Beach, Maine with her orange metalflake ATV (which I still have and still use.) She's about 70 years old in this picture.
The last year of her life she was very sick, had cancer an as in the hospital more then she was home. She was close to death, doctors said and she wanted to die at home, so was sent back to her house the 16’ x 9’’ house known as The George Ricker Homestead House), seen here, in July 2013, 30 days before vandals ran over it with a bulldozer.
At the time, there was a feud going on (yes, the infamous 458 feud that rocked this town to it’s knees ending in the 458 shoot out) and clansmen were too busy loading rifles and shotguns and shooting at each other from across the street while tourists tried to drive by without getting shot. Seeing how the clansmen were too busy shooting each other to take care of the Matriarch/Holy Woman, they assigned me (age 8) to take care of her.
Each night at the end of the day, I was to report Grammy Helen’s condition to the clan. The days were spent with me and Grammy Helen watching Liberace, Bonanza, Vincent Price movies, and other shows on her 10” black and white TV. We also washed clothes in her 1948 Speed Queen wringer washer (which miraculously did not get crushed by the bulldozer - it was outside the building - I still have it) and cook in her 1820 enamel wood stove (also stolen when the house was torn down) and crochet doilies (I still have these) and embroider quilt blocks (still have the quilt) and wax the hardwood floors and and play her Liberace records on her phonograph.
This continued every day for about 3 or 4 months. The shooting and feuding continued going on outside and one day, Grammy Helen as she often did, fell asleep in front of the TV. I went about the cooking and cleaning and washing and waxing the floors.
That night, I went across the driveway to the house I lived in at 144 Portland Ave (see photo below) the house that in October 2006 would get blown up by a grease fryer bomb. The clansmen, as usual, asked me what me and Gramm Helen had done that day and how was she. I reported, everything we had done, including to say that she fell asleep in front of the TV in the early morning and was asleep the whole day.
The next morning bright and early at sunrise the clansmen went back to loading guns and shooting at each other and I walked across the yard to 146 Portland Ave to take care of Grammy Helen, which was my job because I was “Faerie Sighted” and next in line to take over as the clan’s Holy Woman, thus I was required to spend pretty much every waking minute with her.
So day two, the fighting between the clans continues on, and Grammy Helen is still asleep in front of the TV. I spend the day cooking and cleaning, turn all her shows on for her at the right times, played her Liberace records for her, polished her tea set, etc, etc, That night I go back to the house that would eventually get bombed and over supper, tell the clan, what me and Grammy Helen had done that day, including to say “she was still asleep in front of the TV, she hadn’t woken up yet from yesterday”
Day three came and went exactly as day two. Once again, I resorted to my parents and aunts and uncles that Grammy Helen still had not woken up from the day she had fallen asleep in front of the TV. I was also reporting that she had not eating a thing in 3 days, as well as report that she was leaking black stuff all over the couch (it was July, it was very hot, and she was very dead) and it was becoming quite a mess, too big a mess for me to clean as she was too heavy for me to move to clean under her and besides that when I tried to move her, she felt like an ice cube and was just frozen stiff.
Day four, was a weekend. Weekends were my days off. It was Helen’s cousin Joanie’s turn to take care of Grammy Helen. She arrived around 8AM and the hearse arrived about an hour later, and had to try to drive between the shooting clansmen who were still shooting each other and did not stop feuding just because someone had died.
Joanie who lived down the road and was one of the people who had shunned clan life for becoming an American citizen, spent most of the week screaming and yelling at clansmen for not noticing Grammy Helen was dead and had been dead for several days, long enough for the July heat to have boiled her insides which were leaking out all over the couch and floor.
The police interviewed me over is, because, even though I was an 8 year old severely Autistic child the adult in the clan had left me in charge of caring for Grammy Helen all those last few months of her life, and they never once went into her house to say good morning, good night, to see how she was doing. Nothing. The last about 6 months of her life me and her cousin Joannie were the only two people she had any contact with. And my parents and aunts and uncles, blamed me for her death. They said I didn’t take good enough care of her.
Yeah, that's why when people die in the Quaraun series, you see them dead for 3 days. Because I have Autism and didn't understand death. I do now, but I didn't back then.
In the Quaraun series when BoomFuzzy dies, it's the first time Quaraun losses somebody to death and realizes what death is. His mother died when he was younger, but he doesn't understand that she's gone as dead. He understands that people leave and don't come back, they move to other towns and don't come back. He thinks of death like that, until BoomFuzzy dies. BoomFuzzy kills several people and then kills himself. He tortures them, cuts them up, eats them, and then poisons himself, and Quaraun's with him and doesn't really notice what is going on.
Quaraun has Autism so he's not really "connected" to the events around him...not until he realizes, something is really wrong with BoomFuzzy. BoomFuzzy's dying and Quaraun doesn't know what to do about it, and still doesn't realize the other people are dead, because his concept of death is warped. It's not until after BoomFuzzy has been dead several days and, Quaraun is just sitting there the whole time, kind of waiting for BoomFuzzy and the other to get back up, and it isn't until after he's sat there several days and watched their bodies stack to deteriorate, that he suddenly starts realizing what death is, and that these people aren't coming back. BoomFuzzy is dead, he's not coming back, and it hits Quaraun hard.
That scene replays in his head, every day. Because he has Autism and forgets nothing. Every day, in his mind, he is reliving BoomFuzzy's death. It's like a full colour movie, that just plays inside his head every day.
In the books, BoomFuzzy's death is inspired by Grammy Helen's death, and by the murder-suicide that killed my 5 friends but left me alive. I took those two events and combined them together, to create the "BoomFuzzy's death" event which forever haunts Quaraun's mind in every single volume of the series.
You see, I can't get out Grammy Helen died out of my head. And that's why the books. Mountains and mountains of books that I can't stop bringing home. I read them all. I try to put new things in my head, so the horrible things won't keep replaying in my brain.
That's the difference between a DVD and a memory. A DVD you can shut off when you don't want to see it. But you can't shut the memories off, so you have to find something to push them back, so you can't see them, and for me that's books. I become so focused on the books, either reading books, sorting books, or writing books, that the memories go away, for a little while at least.
So when people see me collecting all these books and when they laugh about it or tease me about it or get angry about it...they don't understand: I'm not collection books. I never wanted a world record. I'm not try to get more world records. I don't care about world records. I don't even fully understand what a world record is, when you get right down to it. That's not why I have the books. I have Autism...I can remember in vivid detail, in full colour, EVERY event in my life, all the way back to a fishing trip, that my relatives say happened when I was 2 years old. Every day, every event, every conversation, of my entire life, is in my head and I forget none of it.
People without Autism, they forget things. I don't. I wish I could. But i can't. Books are the only thing that I can focus on, so much, that my brain stops replaying the memories and lets me have a few minutes of peace.
You people who don't have Autism. You don't know what it's like.
And it's worse for me then it is for others with Autism, because I grew up with those people and their stupid psychotic alien death cult. I have memories NO ONE should ever have to have. Death. Murder. Suicide. Bodies laying there for days. No body doing anything about it. A normal person can't deal with memories like that and here I am with memories like that: me - with Autism, a disorder that doesn't allow my brain to forget anything.
It's more then collecting. I don't just collect books.
I sort them, and when I get them all sorted and in alphabetical order - I knock the stack down and start throwing them all over the place, so that I'll have a reason to recount them and resort them all over again. And i don't know why I do that.
I am compelled to dump, shelves of books on the floor, JUST so I will have an excuse to organize and sort the books. You see, the obsession isn't the actual COLLECTING of the books, but rather, the COUNTING and SORTING of the books.
Whenever people watch me doing this they joke and call me Count Von Count. And the fact that I'm often wearing a 6 yard burnoose (cape) doesn't help either.
You want to know what I'm told is even weirder? The fact that while I am counting things, this song is playing in my head, on memory replay, the entire time I am counting:
That's why the collection has to get to bigger every day. Not to have more books, but to have a reason to have to resort them.
You see, when I get a new book, I can't just find it's proper place and put it there. I have to take EVERY book off the shelf, shuffle them them like sort of of giant deck of cards and then spend hours, days, weeks, sifting through the stack looking for each title to put them back in alphabetical order.
It's almost like having a giant jigsaw puzzle, and I have to solve it, but once I've solved it, the fun is gone, because the fun is in the puzzle, so I have to take the puzzle apart, so that I can have fun putting it back together again.
I collect jigsaw puzzles too. I will take 10 boxes of 500 to 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzles, and dumped them in a big pile, mix them all up and then, put the puzzles together.
I mix multiple puzzles together like that, because it's the only way I can make them challenging enough, so that it takes me more than an hour or two to put them together.
They had a puzzle at the library once. The old guys, spent a week working on it and they only had bits of the edges done. I would watch them. One day, they said they had to give up, it was too hard. It was 1,500 peice puzzle of every lighthouse in America. They said they were going to put it away. I asked them if I could try it. They laughed and said, they had spent 7 days and hadn't been able to do it not even with all of them. I just sat down and started putting it together. They called all their family and friends to come watch. I completed the puzzle in under 3 hours.
People started trying to find jigsaw puzzled that were too hard for me. They haven't found one yet. That's why they started mixing multiple puzzles together. It makes it harder, but I still finish in the equivalent of under 5 hours per puzzle in the mix.
There is a trick to it: I have to see the final picture. They've tried giving me just the puzzle pieces without the picture of the end result and I couldn't finish them in under a week that way.
But if I see the finished picture first, I can put the pieces together usually in only under 3 hours.
Smaller puzzles, under 500 pieces, only take me under an hour most cases. Puzzles under 100 peices, I can complete in 2 or 3 minutes usually.
I lay out all the puzzle pieces on the ground, face up. I put all the edges to one side. Then I sort then by color groups, whatever the major colour is on each piece. All the reds in one stack, all the light blues in another stack, the dark blues here, the greens there, etc. I look at the cover. I look at the pieces. I look at the cover. I look at the pieces. I put the cover down. I put the edge together, then I do each corner, then fill in the middle.
My books are like a giant jigsaw puzzle for me. Sometimes I sort them by colors of the covers. Sometimes I stack them so the spine colors create pictures. Once I start sorting the books I can't stop until I have finished. Nothing, no one can pull me away. It's like nothing else exists. I can no longer see or hear anyone or anything but the books. It's a very difficult sensation to explain.
But you see, that's why Quaraun does this thing he does with the bottles. He can't stop. He has to count them. He has to take them out and sort them and count them and add to the collection. His Autism compels him too to do it, but he doesn't know why. He can't explain it, but he simply can not do anything else, until he has done this first.
There are scene in these books, where the story/plot simply stops and Quaraun just starts doing something: brushing his hair for 3 hours and the other characters can't stop him, or unpacking the bottles and lining them up and counting them and sorting them, and he's no longer acknowledging the other characters.
Quaraun can't control this, and the other characters don't understand it, and readers who don't know Autism, are going "What the fuck just happened? Why isn't the story moving forward? Why are we stopping while he does this for no reason?" But Quaraun IS the story.
That's the thing you have to understand. Chasing Liches, that's NOT the story. That's just something Quaraun is doing. And he's having trouble doing it, because if a Lich shows up and it's time for him to count bottles, believe me, he's gonna be counting bottles while the other characters are getting slaughtered by Liches, because Quaraun has Autism, and this ain't one of those stories, where the character "has Autism" ONLY when it's convenient for the plot, and then acts normal the rest of the time. This guy ACTUALLY has Autism, and he is NOT going to be saving the day for anyone, because, his Autism is not gonna let him.
You also got to remember, in the Twighlight Manor series, Quaraun is a villain. He's a serial killer, a cannibal, a rapist, he has a torture chamber, he's beyond sadistic when it comes to torturing people before eating them, he skins people alive, and he built the Twighlight Manor. He is the father of King Vielder, Melaca, and Dr. Vangoneese. He is the Autistic Necromancer who is pushed beyond what he can take, and set out on a flying pirate ship to kill everyone in the galaxy, simply because he one day realized he could. He is the megalomaniac that wiped out the entire races of three separate planets. In the Twighlight Manor series, he killed not millions, but billions of people. He is the evilest character of the Twighlight Manor Universe.
The Quaraun series, shows him before he got that way. In the Quaraun series, you are seeing him before he became a villain. You are seeing him on his path to becoming a villain. You find how he became the villain he was in the Twighlight Manor series.
Quaraun is NOT a hero. He starts out kind and innocent, but he does get mean and eventually evil, and he is a serial killer. He will go on to kill pretty much everybody he encounters, because, well, he IS Roderic's grandfather, and he does eventually build the Twighlight Manor. And THAT is why the earlier stories in the series focus on his Autism, quite a lot.
The early stories focus heavily on the fact that he is going through hell and a lot of people are bullying him and treating him like shit and he's trying to ignore the bullies, he's trying to block out the pain, so counting things and sorting things and, eventually, he's gonna snap, and becomes the Emperor of the Triple Planets, and pretty much annihilates Planet Flame, Planet Crystonia, and Planet Diona. If you know the TM story, you know those three planets were brought to their knees by a wizard who absolutely went psychotic and built a flesh eating mansion and started feeding entire populations of people to it. This is the story of HOW the Twighlight Manor gets built and why the freaking house eats people.
I am able to write Quaraun and his frustration with people bullying him, because I've lived with being bullied my whole life. I know what it's like to try to ignore the hurt, to try to bury the pain under tens of thousands of books.
I know what it is like to have no friends who are willing to be your friend in public, because they don't want people to know they know you. I know what it is like, to have friend who join the bullies in beating you up, because they are too scared that if the bullies find out they are your friends, the bullies will beat them up too.
I know what it is like to want to go to the movies with all your friends and be told, you can't go, because you're too retarded to be see in public with them.
I know what it is like to be kidnapped, you and your friends, to be held hostage, to watch your friends one by one be tortured - their arms and legs cut off while they were still alive. I know what it is like to be the only one left alive, and know that I'm next to die, and then the police arrive. There were 6 of us.
John had his head turned all the way around. His face was facing back, behind him, totally the wrong direction.
Ann had her leg cut off and when it was pull out, it pulled her intestines out at the same time and she had eaten corn for breakfast and it was spilling out half digested all over the floor. L.B. ate part of Ann's leg in front of us.
I didn't die because Tajid did. When Tajid died, I was supposed to be next, he got between me and L.B. and tried to protect me, so she took him next instead of me, and snapped his spine in two. It took him 3 days to die, in absolute agony, paralyzed, he couldn't even scream, blood pouring out of his mouth. His eyes turned black. It was horrible. He was dead for 5 days before the police got there. It was a heatwave in August, temperatures went over 100F and his skin turned a clear green and then swelled up and exploded, maggots eat his eyes in only a few hours. It was only a small room, like a big cloest. The smell was horrible. You can't even begin to imagine the smell of a body dead 5 days in a summer heatwave in a room that small.
Three of us were still alive when the police arrived. One died that night. The other the next day. I was 14 years old when that happened. All 5 of my friends died that week. I was the only survivor. I stopped talking during the 6 month long court trail. I didn't talk again for 15 years.
That's why I know how to write kidnapping, hostage, torture, cannibal, and death scenes with such vivid clarity and accuracy. I survived a murder-suicide that killed 5 of my friends.
That's why in the Quaraun series, BoomFuzzy (Unicorn) kidnaps and then murders several people in a horrible ritual and then kills himself, and Quaraun witnesses this, and he lives with this horrible sense of guilt and feeling that he could have done something to stop it, but because of his Autism he didn't and lives with that everyday. I live with that everyday. Quaraun loves BoomFuzzy so much and he tries to live remembering BoomFuzzy as he was, as Quaraun thought he was, but he has those final days of BoomFuzzy's life (the murder-suicide) stuck in his head and he can't move past it.
Quaraun is trying to deal with this, and at the same time, there all these people in his life, who don't know his past, they don't know he's the survivor of a horrible murder-suicide, they don't know that only a few years after the murder-suicide a second event occurred which killed his family and his caretakers and blew up his home and left him homeless and now living in the forest in a tent, alone, with no one. They don't know this. He doesn't tell them, and they bully him and bully him and tease him. They pick on him for the way he dresses, the way he acts, the way he talks...
Just like I survived a murder-suicide and a few years later a grease fryer bomb blew up my house and left me living under a tarp alone with no caretakers any more, and the only people who will talk to me are the people on forums who can't see me and don't know I'm what they call "retarded", and they don't know about the murder-suicide or the bomb, but eventually they find out I have Autism and they start teasing me and bullying me... I can write Quaraun's pain and frustration because it is my VERY REAL pain and frustration that I feel every day.
Quaraun is an Autistic wizard, who can't mentally or emotionally deal with or cope with the things life throws his way, and when he finally cracks, he's gonna go megalomanic psychotic and wipe out the whole solar system and feed everybody to his flesh eating sentient house, because that's what Roderic's grandfather did and that's who this is.
So that's why you are seeing the Autism honed in on so much, and why you are seeing, because someone with Autism, really can't cope with stress. I know. I have Autism. I know. I go bonker when I'm stressed out. Big time.
I mean, if you're not familiar with Autism, you'd look at Quaraun doing the things he does and, think "This guy's freaking nuts! Why is he doing these things? It makes no sense. How does this go with the rest of the story?"
Thing is, if you did think that, then you've come into this series with the wrong expectation, because it's not an action adventure, plot based story. It's a slice of life literary story that is following the everyday life of an Autistic adult that is struggling to survive on his own without any caretakers to help him. And THAT is the point of the story, not the Lich hunting, not anything else. So if you are waiting for him to "do something" like fighting Lich's, you got a long wait, because that ain't happening, that ain't what this series is about.
The whole point of the series, is Quaraun and how he, with his Autism, deals with life.
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Initially, Unicorn also teases him and instead of Insane, calls him Quaraun the Idiot, claiming idiot to be more accurate then insane. Unicorn stops teasing Quaraun as much, when one day Quaraun breaks down in tears after Unicorn calls him Quaraun the Stupid. When Unicorn asks why the Elf is crying, Quaraun explains to Unicorn how badly people's mean spirited names hurt.
Unicorn has more understanding for Quaraun then the other characters do. He realizes that there is some sort of a mental issue that is tripping Quaraun up and that it bothers Quaraun quite a bit that he can't control it.
There are many times where Unicorn is deliberately telling Quaraun stuff - for example, Unicorn, is in fact The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, a Lich, the very Lich that Quaraun is hunting down. Unicorn comes right out and tells him this. Unicorn realizes very fast that quaraun ain't exactly working with a full deck and and makes a game out of doing everything he can to convince Quaraun that really shouldn't be friends with him, because he's supposed to be trying to kill him. Unicorn believes Quaraun is too stupid to realize that he's a Lich.
On the other hand, Quaraun, isn't actually as stupid as he appears. He does know that Unicorn is a Lich. The problem is, Quaraun is not an evil person and he doesn't really want to kill the Liches, he just doesn't know what else to do with his life, because he doesn't know how to do anything. He knows he's not good at anything. He knows he can't survive in normal society. He knows he will never fit in anywhere because no one is willing to accept a retarded Elf. So now with a Lich in tow, he continues to walk from one side of the country to another, looking for a Lich to kill, knowing full well the Lich is traveling with him.
In The Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain, FarDarrig warns Unicorn, BeaLuna, and Bullgaar that Quaraun is a serial killer and has been for several years murdering everyone who bullied him. They however, do not understand FarDarrig due to his poor grasp of English and falsely assume that FarDarrig was threatening to kill them, when in fact he was trying to protect them from Quaraun. Unicorn continues to tease Quaraun in a lesser manner, until Quaraun finally has had enough and attempts to kill Unicorn, BeaLuna, and Bullgaar in The Obsidian Idol of The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.
Unicorn stops teasing Quaraun after he recovers his injuries, however BeaLuna and Bullgaar heighten their bullying, and when Unicorn starts to defend Quaraun against them, they turn on Unicorn, calling him stupid as well. When Unicorn dies in Into the Swamp of Death, BeaLuna and Bullgaar agree that they were glad to get rid of him, at which point Quaraun murders both BeaLuna and Bullgaar.
"It's always the quiet ones." Yeah. It is. And there's a reason for that. It's because the "quiet ones" have Autism, and while they don't talk much if at all, and don't smile, and they don't show emotion, and they can stand there for days while you beat the crap out of them and they don't even flinch...they do have feelings. They are hurting. While they are silent outside, inside they ARE screaming, and eventually, they reach a breaking point, and you don't want to be around them when that happens, but an Autistic person, who does finally show emotion, is gonna show them all at once and probably with a lot of force an violence, that no one around them expected to see. I mean there is a reason why things like school shootings are done by Autistic students who never before displayed any sing of violence at all. They don't. They won't. They hold it in. And when they've had - they've HAD IT. And they will kill you very violently, because they have many years of being bullied all front and center in their brain. It may have happened years ago, but they never forget, and it replays in their brain every day.
That's why when Quaraun has had enough of people bullying him, he cuts them up and eats them. He just can't take the harassment anymore and just wants it to stop, so he stops it, and then continues walking across the world, no guilt, no remorse, no regret, because now he can live in peace and quiet without the annoying, whining, bitching, teasing, name calling, antagonistic people hurting him anymore.
I've been called retarded, stupid, an idiot, or a dolt pretty much most of my life. Things characters say to Quaraun, they are things people have said to me. I let Quaraun do to his bullies, what I can't legally do to mine.
This series was written from the point of view of a severely Autistic Elf who has been driven to depression and suicide, by the endless bullying and teasing and harassment and name calling and belittling he gets from everyone he meets, to show readers, what it is like to be a person with Autism, who lives their entire lives friendless and alone because everyone thinks they are too retarded and too stupid to be included or are too retarded and too stupid to have feelings. I wrote this series as a diversion from suicide, which is why suicide is a big theme throughout the series. Basically, I wrote this series as a way to find a reason to not kill myself.
So, yeah, you are seeing Quaraun's world from his point of view and he IS retarded, he IS stupid, he IS kind of an idiot, and because of his mental deficiencies, he DOESN'T have the mental ability to rationally sort through the things going on in his life, and he IS aware of that.
Because the series is set in a quasi-Medieval time period the term "Autism" or "Special needs" is never used, and the historically accurate term "retarded" and "idiot" are used. "Idiot" WAS in fact the medically correct term for someone with Autism right up until 1978, when medical guides first started recommending the term "idiot" be discontinued and replaced with the word "Autism" instead, so, in the series, "idiot" is used instead of "Autism" to describe Quaraun.
Part of what destresses Quaraun so much, throughout the series, IS the fact that he doesn't understand a lot of things other characters do and say and it frustrates him that he doesn't have the ability to understand them. He wants to understand the things going on around him, he wants to be accepted by others, he wants to be normal, but he knows he never will be and it depresses him because he knows no one is ever going to be willing to accept him as an equal.
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In the past, before the series starts, Quaraun lost his temper and accidently killed Gibedon the Great, the most powerful Necromancer of all time. People assume he therefore must also be a Necromancer, they ASSUME that only a more powerful Necromancer could have killed Gibedon.
Every character in the series is eventually faced with realizing Quaraun isn't what people think he is. Rumours have spread throughout the realms saying that he is this fearsome, all powerful Necromancer. Every town he goes in people run in terror, but after a while people start asking why. Why is everyone afraid of him?
People start to look at him and ask, "THIS, is the great Quaraun the Insane? THIS is the guy who killed Gibedon? Seriously? THIS IS THE GUY? What the fuck? He's stupid! And he's wearing a dress and he's passed out on the floor. Somebody pulled out a sword and he fainted. What the frick?"
A large theme of the series, is in fact: Never assume, for it makes an ASS out of U and ME.
People meet Quaraun, and because he's famous and they only know him from rumours, they have all these false assumptions about who he is and the type of person they expect him to be, and then they actually meet him face to face and he's basically a retarded, sissy who's scared of his own shadow, and that really throws people off, because they really did not expect that.
The idea for this came from the fact that, I am very famous. Not for my books, but for being the little girl who about 40 years ago, took on Proctor & Gamble head to head, to shut down the animal test labs. I spent a lot of my childhood on front pages of newspapers and on TV because I wrote A LOT of letters to a LOT of people, and founded what became known as The Proctor & Gamble Boycott. I'm also famous because of Stephen King who has used me as the basis for the Autistic characters in Rose Red and Chinga, and my car (The Goldeneagle a 1964 Dodge 330 police car, and billed since the 1960s as The World's Most Haunted Car) was the inspiration for Christine, Trucks, Maximum Overdrive, and others, and Thinner was filmed in our yard and the Gypsy witch was supposed to be me...we are Scottish Gypsies and I am the clan's matriach and holy woman.
People know I have Autism, but it's not until they meet me face to face, that it hits them: "OMG! She's retarded!"
Pretty much everybody on the internet knows me or has heard of me. My website gets tens of thousands of hits a week. Thousands of people come here to Old Orchard Beach every year, to get a glimpse of "Stephen King's Gypsies" as a lot of tourists call us. I've meet close to 7,000 of my online fans (readers of my books), face to face in person.
It doesn't matter who it is: fans of my books, PETA members wanting to meet the P&G Boycott founder, King's fans wanting to meet anyone that had anything to do with his work, reporters wanting to know what crazy protest or boycott I'm gonna pull next (I'm a "professional protester" - P&G was just the biggest one) - it doesn't matter who they are or why they came to meet me, every meeting is always the same:
"YOU'RE EelKat? You can't be EelKat...you're, you're, you're retarded! How can YOU be EelKat?"
They can't stop puzzling over how someone as disabled as me could write.
People read my posts online, my articles on Squidoo, my books, my stories, my forum posts, and they think I must be a normal person just like them...and then they meet me in person and realize, I'm a woman in my 40's who required 24 hour adult supervision. I need help to eat and brush my hair and bathe and use the toilet. I don't talk, I don't make eye contact, and my caretakers will be quick to tell you not to touch me because that'll send me into a hysterical screaming fit that could take hours to stop.
If anything upsets me, I'm on the floor rocking back and forth with my hands on my head screaming "No, no, no, no, no, no, no,...." for hours.
If you do get me talking, which is difficult, most everything you say to me is going to result in me simply saying "I don't know" regardless of what you said.
I am what the average person calls "retarded" in the true medical sense of the word. But people read what I write and they think because I can type coherently, I must be a normal person.
No where do you find people so taken back, then you do at book signings.
It is very difficult for me to set up to do a book signing, I'll get to the store and be 'doing my thing' while I'm attempting to set up, and the store owners will respond with...
"Good gawd what in the heck are you doing in here. Nobody but the authors are supposed to be in here."
I hand them my business card and continue setting up, while they sputter on in horrified shock at the sudden realization they have invited "a retarded" author to the book signing.
"You wrote that? But, but, but...you're retarded, how did you write that? You couldn't of written that...you're...you're, you're a retard! Retards can't write. You can't even talk straight. Hey what's the joke? who brought this retard in here? Where's EelKat? She's gonna be late, we need her to start setting up for the book signing. Come on, somebody get this retard out of here. Where's the author... Wait... Seriously, you're the author? Omg! How is that possible? You're a freaking retard, what did somebody ghost write this for you?"
And then they puzzle over me some more.
And than come the readers to have their books signed...
THE SINGLE MOST COMMON reaction readers have to meeting me is: "You wrote that? But, but, but...you're retarded, how did you write that? You couldn't of written that... you... you're... you... couldn't of... you're, you're a retard! Retards can't write. Seriously, whats the joke, where's the real author?
Me: "I am the real author"
Them: "You're the author? Of THIS? How is that possible? You're so retarded."
Me: "No, I have Autism"
Them: "Hey really? Cool, I know someone who has a kid with Autism too! You don't look like you have Autism though, you're face ain't all funny. I've seen those kids with Autism, they all got big heads and they are missing that bone in their nose."
Me: "No, that's not Autism, that's Downs Syndrome."
Them: "Oh, yeah, right, that's what my buddy's kid has. Downs Syndrome. I always get those two mixed up. But it's all the same you know. Autism, Downs Syndrome, they's all retards, same diff."
Me: "No, they are not the same at all. Autism, Downs Syndrome, and Retarded are three completely different disorders, not a one of them anything like the other two."
Them: "Sure they are, just a bunch of brainless stupid kids. It's all the same."
Me: "My IQ is 217. I was taken out of school at age 8 because I was too far ahead of the rest of the school and too young for be put in a high school class. I did high school classes at home, started them at age 9. I graduated from college the first time, at age 16 with a degree in costume making and fashion design. At the time I was writing plays for local theatres and intended to become a costume designer. I started writing at age 3. I published my first 16 page story when I was 4 years old. I published my first Erotica novel at age 12. I own 300,000 books, I've read every one of them and and quote them because I have a photographic memory, I can pull up every event in my life and recite it word for word - entire conversations of everyone in the room."
Them: "Oh so your one of them genius kids. What do they call then? Aspergers? That's not REAL Autism."
Me: "No. I have Autism. I require 24 hour adult supervision. I need help to eat my meals, brush my hair, take a bath, and use the toilet. I can not talk, thus why I am writing this to you on paper, instead of using my mouth to speak verbally. I am unable to function on a normal level, I can not do basic things you do every day without thinking about them. I can brush my hair on my own, but once I've picked up the brush it can take me as long as an hour or more to remember what the brush is and how to use it. It's what people mean when they say I am 'slow'.
I can not cross the street on my own because it takes me so long. I get half-way across and forget what I'm doing so turn and go back. The problem is I will turn again to finish crossing before getting back. I end up standing in the middle of the road walking in circles until something thinks to get out of their car and guide me out of the road. I often go down the driveway to get the mail, and forget what I was doing by the time I reach the road, so just keep on walking until I can remember why it is I started walking.
The problem is when I start walking, my mind can't focus on multiple things at once, so I simply keep walking - I am frequently found by my caretakers as many as 13 miles away, with no idea where I am. It takes a great amount of mental effort for me to tell my feet to walk, so much so that there is no room to tell my feet they were supposed to stop at the mailbox. I frequently get lost -several times a week- because of this."
Watch this video...I do this...This is why I'm not allowed to cross the street on my own.
Do note, however, that I can't do math. While Rainman's skill was math mine is writing. I do with writing, what he does with numbers. Which brings up the next question people often ask at book signings:
THEM: "Then how do you get any writing done?"
ME: "Writing is a problem. Once I start, I don't stop. The longest I have gone writing steady non-stop, without breaks, sleep or food, was 5 days. It's how I write 500,000 words in 30 days for NaNoWriMo. My typing speed starts out at 37 words a minute, but after a few hours it picks up to 91 words a minute being my top clocked speed, that's 5,000 words and hour. During NaNoWriMo I write in 3 day sessions. 72 hours on, 8 hours off. I average 30,000 words a day that way. As I have said before, I am very extremely mega good as some things. Writing is one of them. Sewing and embroidery is another. I can focus on one thing and learn every aspect of it and essentially become become among the best there is at it, but that one thing, is also the ONLY thing I can do. People look at the few things I am good at and they forget at what cost I am good at those things. I literally can not do anything else. "
Them: "WOW, that's fascinating. So how'd you'd get it, I thought that was a childhood illness, like chicken pox or something. Aren't you like 30 or 40 aren't you kind of old to have Autism? "
Me: "Autism is not an illness, you can't 'get it', you are born with it and it doesn't 'go away' just because the kid grew up. It's a chemical imbalance of the brain, that is affected by over stimulation and allergies to food, fabric, plants, animals, soap, light, sound, smells, etc.
In a controlled environment free of contaminants, food, and allergies, free of any sounds and with only soft light, I am able to talk, walk, and act just as normal as anyone else; but introduce just one of those things into that room and I lose the ability to talk, walk, think, brush my hair, eat food, or even move because my brain shuts off and seizes my body up in reaction to the allergies.
I have night terrors caused by gastrointestinal problems caused by being allergic to blankets, sleeping bags, pillows, pretty much everything. I have not slept on a bed since I was 8 years old, I can't sleep on beds, I'm allergic to mattresses. I am on a raw foods diet, I can only eat fresh fruits and vegetables, because I'm allergic to everything else. If I eat something I am allergic to, or if touch a fabric I am allergic to, or enter a room where someone is smoking or wearing perfume, or go outside in the daytime when the sun is out (I'm "allergic" to sunlight too, that's not the right word but it's easier then trying to explain), or if you turn the radio on a play a frequency that 'reprograms my brain waves'...any one of these things causes me to go into what doctors call 'a fit' where I start shaking uncontrollably, than pass out on the floor and can not speak or move and it could be days before I could see or hear anything again."
THEM: "Wow, you know I'm just so amazed. I've never met an adult with Autism before. I had no idea. But I gotta ask, I'm always hearing how autism is just another word for artistic, does having Autism, make you extra creative or artistic?"
ME: " I got several books out from the library about Autism. Unfortunately they are all just a bunch of speculation and observations written by doctors and parents who ask more questions than they answer.
One of the things I read most often is parents noting that their Autistic child is attracted to crayons, colors, and drawing. So much so that when they pick up a crayon and start drawing, they completely shut out the entire world, unable to see or hear anything that is going on around them. I can testify to the fact that this is true. I can not explain it, but drawing is a must. It's like eating or sleeping or breathing - I can't survive without it.
Autistics tend to grow up to be very quiet, but very creative adults. Many of the world's greatest scientists had Autism. Many of the world's greatest painters had Autism. Several famous authors and novelists have Autism. These are the three careers most commonly chosen by Autistics. Oddly, two of those three are what I did become: an artist and a writer.
Why do Autistics become scientists, artists, and writers? I'm not sure if there is a reason, but I can tell you my personal theory on the matter. Autistics don't do well in jobs requiring a lot of contact with people, nor do they do well in places filled with loud noises. High traffic, lots of moving objects, phones ringing, lights flashing, people talking . . . all of these things are like stabbing an Autistic's brain with thousands of pins and needles.
Noise is frustrating.
Noise hurts.
Noise makes me want to take a book and throw it at whatever or whoever is making the god awful offended noise. (Throwing things "for no reason" is another thing we Autistics do a lot, only we DO have a reason: NOISE HURTS!
It causes searing headaches and make my ears ring and is no different than had you just hit me in the head with a hammer. I am often accused of being "overly sensitive", well, maybe I am, but even soft noises sound like cannons blasting through my ears and I can't take the pain it causes, so I avoid noise, things that make noise, and places where loud noise is, at all costs.
Well, for me at least, art, writing, researching, and building things are all huge attractions because I can go off by myself, in the garden or at the library or on the beach, some place relaxing and quiet, and I can read and write and draw and study without having to worry about loud noises or sudden movements or people bombarding me with questions. Being an artist, writer, or scientist are "safe" jobs because you can focus on your work without worrying about some loud noise hurting your ears.
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THEM: "But you go out by yourself. How do people respond to you in public when you don't have a caretaker to tell them why you do these things?"
ME: "I have a service dog these past 2 years which makes my ability to go out by myself, much better then in the past. I have Autism which makes it very difficult for me to have one on one interaction with people. I don't talk, I don't make eye contact, I can't understand your jokes so don't laugh at them, and trying to hug me (or even get with in 2 feet of me) could result in my responding with a completely freaked out panic attack. I often do not understand what people say, because I take their words at face value and then later find out that they meant something totally different than what they had said, which results in a very broad gap in my communication abilities, esp when I say something and people assume I must have meant something other than what I said due to the fact that they would have meant something different.
A typical face to face conversation with me would sound like this:
They say: "When pigs fly!"
I'll say: "But it's scientifically impossible for pigs to fly and we were not talking about pigs, why are you talking about pigs, what do pigs have to do with it?"
They say: "No, that means I won't do it."
I say: "Than why didn't you just say you wouldn't do it, why did you start talking about farming and start talking about it in such a silly and illogical manner, when you know for a fact that pigs can't fly, and what does you not wanting to do something have to do with pig farming anyways. I don't understand why you changed the subject to pig farming."
That will usually, end the conversation as I walk off talking to myself trying to figure out if it is possible to create flying pigs, and will not hear another word you or anyone else says, until I have solved this problem of flying pigs. I will probably than spend the rest of the week searching the library and Google for books and web sites on pig farming and try to find out if there have been any studies made in attempt to create flying pigs. I'll probably end up on Squidoo reading lenses about pigs and flying and make a lens about each if unable to find one already made.
People do not respond to me well at all. I irk them on so many levels. I think rather than asking how people respond to me, perhaps you should be asking how I respond to you?
Keep in mind, I'm not an American. I am a Scottish Gypsy. I grew up with very minimal contact with Americans and their society.
I think the way the American woman act, shocks me the most. American woman are so rude, mean, cold-hearted, loud-mouthed, and disrepesctful. They talk back to their men, run off in public without a related male chaperone, wear skimpy trashy clothes, shake their ass and boobs around falling out of their clothes. They smoke. They drink. The slap their kids around - if they have kids at all. They are always screaming and yelling and pushing people around, being all stuck-up, entitled, bossy, and bitchy. American women are just so mean spirited. I don't understand them at all. They are very, very scary people to be around. I don't even like being in the same room with them. They always act they they are ready to hit someone.
Just two days ago I was in Biddeford, a town, two towns away from us, and there was a man walking down the sidewalk and behind him, there was this woman running down the hill. He didn't see or hear her coming up, so he was taken by surprise when she whacked him in the back of the head with her purse (a big, giant sized purse) and then start screaming at him calling him "a fucking, jackass bastard from hell". He started running towards a nearby parking lot, and she ran after him screaming "I'm gonna kill you, you mother fucker from hell".
I was walking my dog, there's a dog park just around the corner where I take her a few times a week. We stopped to watch this crazy couple. The guy was trying to block the blows as she was just punching him over and over and over again, screaming and yelling. After about 7 or 8 minutes of that, she started yelling about why she was mad.
Turns out they are girlfriend and boyfriend and he had walked to her apartment to visit her. She didn't answer the door because she was on the phone. He thought she wasn't home so walked back to his apartment. She saw him leave and went crazy, and ran after him. She was mad because he, in her words "should have known" she was on the phone and waited for her to get done. He said he had waited for more then 5 minutes and had knocked and rang the bell repeatedly, and left because he assumed she had gone out with her friends.
Why was she mad? I still don't know. Why was her first response to act violently? Well that's simple: Because that's what American women do.
If you're are not familiar with Autism, think of it as taking Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Agoraphobia, Hypersensitivity, a dozen different food allergies, a dozen different skin allergies, a dozen different environmental allergies, extra sensitive hearing and taste, several dozen phobias, post traumatic stress disorder, and Schizophrenia and then mixing them all together.
Imagine one person who has all of those things at the same time and THAT is what Autism is like for the person who has to live with it.
Or just think Albert Einstein, he had Asperger's, as did most every other famous scientist and many authors. We over analyze everything, can not rest until we find out the reason why things happen, than are compelled to write down our findings in very long winded manners, and usually will spend weeks on end without any contact with a single living being because we become so obsessed with finding the answer, that we lose all track of time and somehow our brains shut out the fact that there are other people in the world whom we, while in the obsessed state, can neither see nor hear and are completely unaware of their existence.
It is important to note that while both Asperger's and Savant are types of Autism with some similarities, they are different. An Aspie rarely requires caretakers and adult supervision, while a Savant usually can't function on their own and is institutionalized. They are both types of high-functioning Autism, but you can see how much difference there is in the range of the term "high-functioning". Not everyone who is high functioning, is able to live among "normal" society.
I think the term "high-functioning" confuses a lot of people because they think it means, we are able to live among mainstream society, and that's not the case. Only a small fraction of high-functioning Autistics are high-functioning enough to live among normal people the way Einstein did or the way Sheldon does on the show. That sort of thing is VERY rare.
Also keep in mind that MOST doctors are going to tell you that Asperger's IS NOT a type of Autism at all, but rather a separate disability entirely.`
Also, fewer then 70% of ALL people FALSELY CLAIMING to have Asperger's have an ACTUAL doctor's diagnosis of Asperger's. There is a sad trend the past few year of people "self diagnosing" themselves as Asperger's simply because they have OCD, are smart, and read comics. Unfortunately, this is a side effect of the popularity of the TV show The Big Bang Theory. People think it's "cool" to be like Sheldon and call themselves Aspies to be cool.
The problem is, Sheldon IS a very accurate representation of Aspergers. And he IS socially crippled by it. People forget this. They see the comics and the high IQ and say "Hey, that's me!" But they forget: SHELDON CAN'T DRIVE A CAR.
Let me ask you something:
If YOU claim to have Asperger's: Do you drive a car.
If you said, yes, you don't not have Asperger's. Do you know why? Because there is no state in America, where it is LEGAL to give a driver's license to a person who has Autism.
Autism is one of the illnesses that bars you from driving. The law will NOT give you a license. They will NOT allow you to drive.
It is not a case of "I don't like to drive, I must have Aspergers" it is not "I'm scared to drive, I must have Aspergers."
It is a case of: If you have Asperger's the Department of Motor Vehicles will DENY you the right the drive a car.
THAT is why Sheldon, doesn't drive a car.
NEWSFLASH: I am the FIRST and ONLY Autistic person in America to hold a driver's license.
It was a very big deal. That's why I'm a frequent guest at Autism Awareness events. That's why my car goes these shows, with me driving. This is a VERY big deal. Because I have Autism, and I drive a car. And I am the ONLY Autistic person in the country who has a legal driver's license.
Think about THAT, next time you see a person, who drives a car AND claims to have Aspergers or any other form of Autism.
Because of the TV show The Big Bang Theory, having Autism, has become "cool" and A LOT of people, WHO DO NOT HAVE IT are claiming that that they do.
Next time you see someone proudly bragging "I have Asperger's" ask to see their driver's license. If they have one, you know they are lying about having Autism.
For those who don't know March 6th is "Blackout Day" on Tumblr, a day when black people post selfies ad everyone reblogs them. I flood my Tumblr feed with reblogs of all my beautiful black friend, as I have way more black friends then I do white friends.
Shortly after I started reblogging #blackout posts, someone asked me:
Why are you participating in #Blackout? Aren’t you white?
No, actually, I’m not.
I may look “white” to non-whites, but to most whites, I’m worse then black because I’m mixed blood. :(
My grandmother was half- Native American (Kickapoo tribe) and half black (unknown origin, she was an escaped slave who was taken in by an Indian tribe), and she married a Gypsy.
I am red, brown, and black, and my entire life has been met with bullying and intolerance, because I’m a mix of the 3 things whites hate most of all, made worse by the fact that I also have Autism and am a transvestite.
In spite of what I look like to people who have darker skin then me, to most white folk, I am the absolute epitome of the scum of the Earth.
I expect to be treated like shit by white people because, basically I always have been and it's a rare occasion when white people accept me as an equal.
I was one day however surprised by a black woman who once confronted me, in a very white person manner. Because my skin is very pale, she mistook me for being white.
I think one of the strangest encounters I ever had with an American woman, happened in Southern Maine Community College in 2012. First I'll explain a tradition of Gypsies...we don't touch anything in public bathroom. We keep a roll of toilet paper in our purse. We wrap use some tissues off the roll to not touch the door, the stall door, the toilet seat, to flush the toilet,...we won't even use the toilet paper provided in the stall to wipe with, only using the roll we brought with us...afterwards, we will not touch the faucet either, again using our own tissues we brought with us to turn the water on and off, and using our own tissues to dry our hands.
So, I'm in the bathroom, using my self provide roll of tissues to not touch anything as usual. And as usual, I make no eye contact with anyone, always keeping eyes averted to the floor, as is the way of our women, so I never see anyone above the feet and knees. I never look at faces. It is our custom.
I come out of the bathroom stall, go the the nearest sink not being used, use tissues to turn on the water. Wash my hands (which is very detailed, not a quick 5 second wash like Americans do - takes me several minutes to wash my hands). Use more tissues to turn the faucet off. Use more tissues to dry my hands. With new tissues I clean and dry the sink and counter. Then wrap all the tissues in more tissues and weave my way around the women in the room, to put the tissues in the trash can. I still have not taken my eyes from the floor, so I have no clue who is in the room with me, no do I know the race or skin color of any woman in the room, as all I can see is their feet, because I walk, head ducked down, always looking at the floor, as all Scottish Gypsy women do.
Also pointing out, I was wearing very traditional, very non-American clothes, a huge "tribal belly dance style" yellow shirt over many layers of petticoats, and a red "apron-like" over dress covered in yellow and gold embroidery. Over that an embroidered shawl, and a cotton veil over my head. It is a very Persian outfit. The entire outfit just screams Hindu/Indian/Pakistani, and could easily be identified as Muslim. The reason I'm often mistaken for being Muslim, is because of the many layers, the head wraps and head scarf and veiling, and all the embroidery and bling sewn on my outfits. Of course, I order most of my clothes from designers in Pakistan, and the style dress I usually wear, if not wearing kimono, is the abayas/jilbab/ which is in fact the same outfit worn by muslim women.
Don't know what a Jilbab is? It looks like this:
http://www.aabcollection.com/shop/category/abayas_jilbabs/83
Few people ever identify me as either white or American as I look and dress like neither, and my accent is not American either. Most people in college, their first reaction to meeting me was to ask "What country are you from, I've never seen anyone dress like you and don't recognizes that accent." They are always shocked to learn that I not only was born and raised in America, but I am a 15th generation Native Mainer (this is the Native Maine accent, by the way...which is NOTHING like the accent you hear faked in movies and TV.)
So here I am, a non-white woman, dressed in a traditional Scottish Gypsy outfit that most people mistake as Muslim, wiping down everything with a roll of toilet paper that I had just pulled out of my purse, an indication that I do this all the time, otherwise why have the roll in my purse? I'm cleaning up the counter because we Gypsies always clean up after ourselves and never leave a mess behind anywhere (cleanliness is godliness), when...
As I am putting the tissues in the trash can, I am grabbed from behind, by a powerful fist, on my shoulder, spun around and shoved back against the big mirror tiled wall. This is the first time I look up to see a huge black woman, about 6 inches taller then me and a good 100lbs heavier, wearing skin-tight skinny jeans, a tank top, and her hair dyed a bright neon day glow orange, spiked into a flame shaped point on the top, that looking like her head was on fire. And she is screaming at me at the top of her lungs.
"You mother fucking white bitch think yo to good fo me huh?" she shrieks hysterically. "You think you can make me yo slave bitch? I ain't no slave to no white trash bitch face like you, you mother fucker white bitch. You all high and mighty can touch no sick a sister touch, huh? You white trash bitch you ain't got no power over me. I can use any mother fucking damned bathroom I please. The war is over, I am free. I ain't no slave to you mother fucking white bitch. The war is over bitch. I got rights. I can use this bathroom same as any you white folks."
I asked her what she was talking about. Not being a white American, and having never gone to American schools, thus not knowing American history, I didn't know the references she was referring too, when she was saying "war" and "slave", which I now realize she was talking about the American Civil War.
The funny thing was, I'm not white. I can barely speak American English legibly, which instantly identifies me as not even American, and I'm not dressed in anything even remotely close to looking American at all. I tell her, I'm neither white nor American and that I don't understand what she's talking about.
She says: "Don't you lie to me you mother fucking white bitch, I know white folk when I see them and I ain't yo slave no mo, you can't no treat me like yo slave you hear me bitch?"
I said to her, "My people were brought to America as slaves by the white people, we are still fighting for our rights."
She said: "No white folk never had no white slave you mother fucking lying white bitch."
I said: "We Gypsies are not white, and we don't yet have rights granted to us by the white people, like you do."
She starts scream: "Yo all Gypsy trash! We no want no Gypsy trash round over here!"
Then she left, still screaming at the top of her lungs as she stormed out of the bathroom, left the Campus Center and screamed her way all the way to Jewett Hall.
I think one of the most ironic things about this incident, is that one line of my family is black. My grandmother's, great-grandmother was an escaped slave who was taken in by the Kickapoos, and she passed down the Voodoo tradition, which is why I am today a Voodoo priestess, rank of Medsen Fey, Marij Loa to Damballah Weddo. I am left to wonder, this rude black woman, who mistook me for white, simply because my skin was not as dark as hers...how well does she know her ancestors? Her native culture? Her native religion? Does she reverence her ancestors and the loa they worshiped? I do. I have a very deep respect for the loa as they are part of my ancestors. I wonder, for all her screaming about slavery, does she even know where she came from, or is she just a typical American ranting about slavery to sound cool?
So, it's not just white American woman who act rude, mean, cold-hearted, loud-mouthed, and disrespectful with their screaming yelling and being hysterical. That black woman was acting pretty darned white. That woman, though she was black and not white, acted a lot whiter then she was probably willing to admit. She dressed like a white American, screamed like a white American, made false accusations like a white American, was in my face like a white America, was rude like a white American, was mean like a white American, was disrespectful like a white American...I don't care what color her skin was, she'd been living in white American culture so long that there was no longer a drop of black in her. She was just a rude, crude white American in an African American's skin.
This event surprised me, because typically only white people ever act like that. It dismayed me to see a beautiful woman of colour, stressed and harassed by white people to the point that she felt the need to lash out and any lighter skinned person regardless of if they were actually a white race or not.
That's why we Gypsies keep ourselves separate from Americans, because if we lived with them too long, the way that black woman in the bathroom had done, we'd have turned into white Americans just like she did, and we don't want that. We don't like the mean spirited, loud-mouthed, slutty, half naked, rudeness of the mainstream white American culture.
Americans lack a concept of reverence in their culture, which is alarming and baffling for us Gypsies as we put reverence up there with family in importance.
Reverence: speak softly and carry a big machete. Be as quiet as mouse. Speak only when necessary and choose your words wisely. Never speak out in anger. If you are angry, hold your tongue and look at the ceiling or stars or clouds whatever is over your head at the time. Think. Breath. Relax. Never let the sun rest on your anger. Never run when you can walk. There is no need to hurry. Take time to chew your food, any meal you finish in under an hour was not a meal, it was a race. Take time to smell the roses and sprinkle them with glitter. Bless the trees and kiss the leaves. Move gently through time, enjoy life. Slow and steady wins the race.
So you see, I run into problems every not just from being Autistic, but also for being Gypsy.
Scottish Gypsies are rarely seen in American society, as most live in off-grid communities or compounds and homesteads. Because of their farm lifestyle they can live off the land for decades with no need to ever set foot in white man's society. They will find a field that is hidden deep in the heart of a secluded forest, that can only be reached by dirt roads which no white man dares drive on. As such, we Scottish Gypsies often live in an area for decades before white men are even aware of their existence.
If a Scottish Gypsy comes down out of their self contained community, it is usually only once every month or so, to stockpile/buy any supplies they can not grow or make on their own. Usually, you would find a large group of Gypsies come down out of the farm all at once in the Spring just after the snow melts, and go to a small "outback" feed store (around here it's Agway) to buy all the seeds, fertilizers, etc needed to plant their crops, and any tools that need replacing (broken spades, hoes, etc). They will buy lots of feed corn, oats, millet, and sunflowers for their horses, goats, ducks, and chickens. If they use pest control for japanese beetles, flies, etc, these will be bought as well. If there is a WalMart nearby they will also stockpile/buy hundreds of pounds of dog and cat food, and any items needed they can't make, such as tooth brushes & paste, bandages, first aid kits, batteries for smoke alarms, fire extinguishers, feminine napkins/pads for the woman, baby diapers, Excedrin, Advil, Aspirin, Tylenol/etc, sewing machines, needles, threads, fabric, pots, pans, dishes, etc.
So you see one really big huge shopping trip where 30 or 40 people with as many cars and trucks, gather at the store and pretty much buy absolutely everything on the store shelves, then disappear back up into the forest and not be seen again until they make a second such shopping trip in the late fall, just before winter, to buy everything they need to make it through Maine's long, cold, frigid winters.
For most people in white America, that's the only time they will ever see a Gypsy face to face, and usually, Gypsies will not speak during these shopping trips. Gypsies rarely speak to each other and they speak less often then that to white folks. Gypsies will never make eye contact with white men. (Making eye contact with anyone is seen as a challenge to fight). Women, will never speak and never look up, never laugh, never smile, and they will stay very close to their men, walking behind them, never in the front.
A Gypsy woman never takes the lead, always automatically falling in line behind her man, who falls in line behind the men above him. Gypsies very much have a "pecking order", like a flock of chickens or a pack of wolves, where each member of the clan knows their place and position. Men in lead (the Chief or Patriarch or King) will deal with the white men, often being the only one to speak and being the one who carries the money, will also be the one who gets in line and pays the cashier, while the rest stand at the end of the checkout line, waiting to carry the mountain load of supplies out to the cars and trucks.
In many cases, even the chief/patriarch/king will never say a word to the white men. White folks when they see the Gypsies in town buying supplies, will often (not knowing we are Gypsies) come up to them and attempt to ask them a million and one questions, usually starting with: "Are you Amish? Is there an Amish community around here?" or "Are you Mennonites? Is there an Mennonite community around here?" Our very old fashioned dress with many women in 'prairie dresses and sun bonnets' or long old style skirts with veils over their heads, our not making eye contact and remaining silent, and our coming into town in 'large herds', some of which includes horse drawn wagons, has led many locals to believe that there is a Mennonite community hidden somewhere in the woods of Maine.
It is not unusual for white folks to gather in clumps and start following us around the store, whispering to each other, and a few of the bolder ones coming up to us and asking every question they can think of to ask about who we are, why there are so many of us in the store at once, why are we dressed so strange, why won't we smile or talk or look at them, and if we live around here. If anyone does speak to the white folks to answer their questions, it'll be the clan's High Priestess, (and that would be me) who is the only Gypsy really authorized to or trained in how to speak with the white men. The High Priestess acts as the mediator and go-between between the Gypsies and the white folks. White folks are often confused when they ask one Gypsy a question, and a few moments later they'll be approached a different one (in our clan, me) who answers them.
Usually the Gypsies will act as though they are deaf, mute, and blind and not acknowledge the existence of any white person other then the one behind the cash register. White folks often see this as rude, and there have been frequent instances of white folks grabbing a Gypsy and shoving them or punching them, while yelling at them. The Gypsy, rather then acknowledge the rude, violent white bastard will simply go back to whatever he/she was doing without saying a word or even acknowledging that the vile white creature touched them and invaded their personal space.
Whites often become hysterical and start screaming and yelling and throwing things and overall making complete idiots of themselves. These loud, rude, violent outbursts seem to be attempts to get Gypsies to speak, but they do nothing but terrify most Gypsies and reinforce the belief that white men are dangerous and violently psychotic raving madmen, and must be avoided at all costs. Gypsies are highly religious people who shun violence, physical confrontations, and live by a code of meekness (thus why they do not speak in public). The average white men, though they may attend church services on Sunday, is lewd, crude, and barbaric and in no way at all practices their religion, if indeed they even have one at all.
Matters are made worse, if the white man pushing the Gypsy around, is in addition to screaming, also smoking or clutching a beer can in his vile perverted fists. This is a sign that not only is the white men dangerous, but he is also satanic and possibly demon possessed. Confrontations with sinners like this, can result in Gypsies quickly dropping everything and fleeing in terror. It is for this reason that they do not leave the farm without the High Priestess (me) as it is her job to protect the clan from evil spirits. When white men attack the clan, which happens pretty much every time we leave the farm, it is my job to stand between the white men and the clan, and bind the evil spirit that possesses the evil white man. I will then cast a protection spell on the clan and a hot-footing spell on the white man, which the white men say is me 'casting a curse" on them, because I told them to leave us be or die the death of a thousand hungars. (Stephen King, used this ritual as his inspiration for the movie Thinner, thus the name "Thinner".)
The so called "Gypsy Curse" is white men's misunderstanding of what is going on. Gypsies do not believe in curses, nor do they cast them. The white man attacked the clan and the clan becomes terrified of bodily harm, but will not fight back due to a belief in nonviolence and turning the other cheek, and so they look to their High Priestess to protect them from the white devil that is attacking them. She in turn stands between the clan and the attacker and casts protection spells to keep the evil white demon at bay and allow the clan to continue shopping in peace. White men, who rarely encounter Gypsies, falsely interpret this action as the casting of a "death spell" or "curse". They falsely assume the spell was cast on them, when in fact the spell was cast on the clan to protect them from the raging psycho crazy white lunatic that is harassing them for no reason at all, other then the fact that they look different and act different then he does.
I think one of the things that I have noticed about our store trip, that really surprises Americans and throws them for a loop is our skill at tandem driving. Yes, I did say tandem driving, which is like synchronized swimming only, with cars, on a road. Our wild looking cars and our skill at synchronized driving as why King wanted to make sure to feature us driving our cars, in the movie Thinner and was thus the reason why he requested the driving scene of the film be filmed on location at the Exit 5.
But...tandom driving...
Think about it for a second, how do you think 10, 20, or 40 family members are able to arrive at WalMart all at once and do 3 or 4 months worth of shopping for a family of 368 people in a single shopping trip? Do you know how much food that is? A small grocery store doesn't have enough food on it's shelves, for a single shopping trip. Do you know WalMart has to shut down a single check-out when we arrive, because they have to have one line with 10 to 40 shopping carts for a single order, which each shopping cart carrying $200 to $500 worth of food in it. And we pay cash. We do not have cards. It's a big order and WalMart isn't well equipped for it. No store is.
WalMart, suffers many problems from our annual shopping trips:
#1: that they rarely have enough items in stock: we clean out entire aisles of food - keep in mind we are doing a one time sweep to buy 4 months worth of food to feed 368 people. REMEMBER: There are 368 people in my family.
#2: a single cashier can't ring up our order - takes to long - takes their entire shift. So our order gets cut down into smaller orders depending on how many cashiers it takes to ring it up.
#3: We never buy without coupons and we have $200 to $800 in coupons every shopping trip. (Do you know how many coupons it takes to total that much?)
But then you got to remember, now that we've bought all that food, we have to put it somewhere so we can transport it back home. That's where the tandem driving comes in.
Keep in mind some important factors here:
#1: The Gypsies of Old Orchard Beach are carneval Gypsies - don't forget what our town is famous for: it's great big amusement parks, rides, concessions, and trinket shops which line every inch of the 7 miles of beach front.
#2: We are in pretty much every parade, festival, and fair in the state - we are famous for our wild collection of show cars, which is, after all the very reason Stephen King picked our clan specifically for the filming of the "Gypsies arrival in town" scene of the movie The Thinner.
#3: Many of our men are Shriners. Yep, those professional clowns who drive the mini go-kart cars in the Shriner's Circus and in the parades.
We are carnies, remember. Food trucks, rhinestoned cars, the world’s most haunted car...yeah...we are a freaking sideshow circus, so we stand out.
In other words - we are professional drivers, and we are trained in synchronized, tandem trick driving of clown cars for parades and circuses. Which means you really don't want to try to road rage at us, because, you Honey, are just a twit with a driver's license while we, are professional clown car drivers who can really drive you batty if you want to start tooting your horn at us.
Remember, this ain't 1 or 2 cars driving together here: I own 9 cars just me, and I only have a few cars. Most folks in the clan who have a car, have at least a dozen or more cars. Everybody in the clan has a thing they do. We are like a grandfather's clock. Each one of us a cog with a purpose that keeps the clockworks running. This means not everybody has a car. Most do not own cars. A person in charge of road trips, will be the one who owns the cars and organizes the driving. I'm one of those people.
If you've ever been to the area and you see my Dazzling Razzberry on the road. Pay particular attention to the cars just ahead, just behind, and to the sides of it. Watch them drive. In most cases, The Razzberry is not the lead car, and will be behind a black Saturn, a blue Honda, a white Buick, and/or a silver Sable. If you watch the cars, you'll pick up on it fast, that there is a lead car in a convoy behind it. Every move the ead car makes, there will be anywhere from 3 to 30 cars right behind it mirroring it's moves, stroke for stroke. Every car moves in a smooth fluid line, as though connected by a chain, like they are all one car.
Ever seen the Shriners drive? If one mini-car makes a turn, every car in the line makes that identical turn, resulting in a perfectly synchronized snake wave of the cars as they drive in the parade.
This is done by "dancer's ques" Everybody knows ahead of time, which car they are supposed to be behind. They focus on that car only. hen the lead car moves, driver of car #2 matches them move for move. Driver of car #3 mimics car #2, while car #4 repeats the moves of car #3, and so on down the line.
Gypsies have a sense of place and order. A pecking order so to speak. Each person knows their place in the clan. No one tries to push their weight around to knock another out of rank. The Patriarch rules the clan. Each family unit has it's own Patriarch, so a clan will have as many as 30 Patriarches. But then the clan as a whole has a Chief Patriarch (or Gypsy King) who all the lesser family unit Patriarches answer to.
Each Patriarch has a rank. Somewhat similar to the Army, with it's Generals, Colonels, Majors, Captains, etc. Higher ranking Patriarchs have more clout in the clan then lesser ranking ones, with the lesser ones having to answer to the higher ones.
Each Patriarch has "trusted men" who do his bidding, somewhat like the American President's secret service men. These will be sons, son-in-laws, nephews, or grandsons.
The wives of the patriarchs, (called the Matriarch - the wife of the chieh/king, being the queen) rank under all the men over 12 years of age, but they rank higher then all the other women. Only one women in the clan, has any rank over the men, and that's the High Priestess or Holy Woman, (who is nearly always, also the Queen) whose word can only be overturned by the King himself and that usually requires a calling up of the Gypsy Court, which she's a member of and can vote down. Basically the clan Holy woman is the equivalent of the American President, her word is law and she can make or overturn any law.
When the clan has to deal with American government officials (town managers, etc) the Patriarch will never say anything to the Americans without the Holy Woman present. If he does, that is seen by the clan as mutiny and high treason, and will result in an immediate demand for a calling up on the Gypsy Court to vote on the clan's "no confidence" in the Patriarch.
This just happened in October 2014, when the clan's patriarch went behind the clan's back into meetings with the Old Orchard beach Town Council without the clan Holy Woman accompanying him to said meetings. He kept the meetings secret from the entire clan, and when the clan found out a Gypsy court was called in and for the first time in our 500 years in this town, the clan outed it's Chief/King and voted a new chief into rule. What one clan member knows, all clan members know and anyone who keeps secrets or engages in secret meetings with an enemy (and white men ESPECIALLY Americans are ALWAYS the enemy), is seen as having committed a grave sin against the family.
What the Patriarch did, going behind the clan's back into secret meetings with the Old Orchard Beach Town Manager in 2014, has cost him his rank, his standing, and his family. He has been shunned, stripped of his rank, disowned by nearly every clansmen, and now looked upon with shame and disgust.
No one crosses a Gypsy without punishment. No one. Not even a member of the clan. Everyone has their place. Everyone has their jobs. When everyone does what is expected of him, things run smoothly, but when just one person, steps out of line, the whole thing falls apart. Every member is important. From the highest rank to the lowest rank, every member is needed for the flow of life to function properly.
This order comes into play in every aspect of our lives, including the driving. Watch the cars around the Razzberry next time you see it on the road: the black Saturn belongs to the Clan's Chief Patriarch. If he's in the party going to the store, it'll always be the lead car. If he's not present, the lead car will be one of the other patriarchs cars. My car will be the 2nd or 3rd car, with other cars after mine.
It is because of this synchronized tandem driving, that you also never see us zipping about speeding, passing, tooting, screaming out the window or doing any of those other idiotic and unsafe driving practice you see Americans doing. But boy oh boy, do Americans hate the posted speed limits and oh, boy do they always wish they hadn't tried to pass us.
Think you can pass the back car and squeeze in between us? Think again. You are not passing us, and believe me, you don't want to be the jerk who passes one of our cars, because we'll box you in, a car squeezed tight on all 4 sides of you and you ain't going no where until we gets to where we are going. You're stuck for the duration of the trip, and if you ain't going where we are, you could be a long ways off course before any car in our convoy opens up a space for you to get out and go on your own to where you wanted to be. If you had been driving safely at the posted speed limit, you would not have been able to pass our fleet. We stay exactly 5 miles below the posted speed limit. Yes, and that does mean since most roads in Maine are 35MPH, we are driving 30 MPH. And in Old Orchard where the roads are all 25MPH, yep, we are driving 20 and Americans are tooting and screaming and flipping fingers and driving down the wrong side of the road or on the sidewalk for however many cars long our convoy is that day...oh boy are Americans full of road rage.
The funniest one was a few weeks ago in January 2015, a woman kept speeding up onto our bumper and tooting and flipping the finger. We slowed down by 5 MPH and waved to her. She tried passing, couldn't because a car coming the other way, repeated tooting, screaming, bumping her bumper on the bumper of the white Buik, we slowed by another 5 MPH and waved. She flashed two birdie - look ma, she's driving with no hands! We all gave her a thumbs up and slowed down again. On a 25 MPH road, (Saco avenue from the Police Station to the Town Hall - and yes, she was doing this in front of the OOBPD station) we were now inching along at a ripe old 10MPH. When we reached the three-way intersection at the Town Hall at the top of Maine street (where the Pier and Ferris wheel are) she flies by us down the wrong side of the road about 75 MPH, goes right on through the intersection into oncoming traffic, and ends up on the front lawn of the Historical Society next to the bank, then speeds off down the Cascade Rd, middle finger out the window all the way, car screaming toooooooooooooooooooooooot as it drives on, with several dozen thumbs up out the windows of our cars as she passed us.
Why do we give road rages the thumbs up? Hey, if you want to drive down the wrong side of the road at higher then the posted speed limit and kill yourself in a head on collision, more power to ya, it's one less Americans psychopath on the road endangering the lives of others. So, yes, we give you the thumbs up to say "Go ahead, kill yourself faster, we don't care."
Yeah, going out in public, my Autism is far less of a problem then my culture.
I am not Muslim, but I come from a culture that also wears long dresses and veiling (because we are Gypsies, originating from Persia; unlike the Romani who originate in India) and am often mistaken for Muslim when out in public, because of the way I dress.
I remember after 9/11, it became next to impossible for me to go out in public for a while, because people would call me "a terrorist" because I was wearing long dresses and a veil. It was very distressing and got so bad that I stopped wearing the veiling in public, just to avoid being attacked by people.
It is only the past couple of years I have started wearing the veils again and am often hesitant about doing so, for fear of falling under attack. Even though I was born and raised in America, I do not speak English well, both due to my having Autism and due to my accent, and this makes people think, I must be from another country, and re enforces their thought that I must be a terrorist if I am wearing a veil.
It is very sad when people jump to conclusions and don't bother to know the facts.
One of the biggest problems we have in public is American men have no clue the concept of personal space and they won’t stop touch our women and calling us “exotic beauties” and saying stupid trashy stuff like “come here sugar, give me a kiss.”
And American women are just as bad, flashing their boobs and booty at every man they see and touching everyone, men and women.
What the hell is it with Americans the constant need to touch everything and everyone, and get up nose to nose to you when they talk to you. God god! Americans are so freaking rude, it’s just unbelievable. And we are supposed to want to spend time with you? Good god! Why? All we ever want to do is get as far away from you as we can, you’re freaking freaks of nature. We can’t understand the things you do or the way you act at all, you just freak us out with how utterly rude and inconsiderate and hostile you are.
Every time we come out of a store, there’s always a couple of American thugs and hoodlums screaming and yelling and punching each other out. You people are so violent. Americans are loud and brash. Always flapping their mouths off. Always screaming. Always making a scene. Always gettin emotional and starting fights and loud mouthing off at each other. And so disrespectful of each other and mean to each other. Nobody helps anybody, all Americans ever want to do is fight, fight, fight, and flap their loud moths off at each other. God you people are so loud.
It is because so many white men act like this when they encounter Gypsies, that is precisely why so few Gypsies dare to have contact with white men. White men are far too high strung, hot-tempered, and constantly looking for fights, for the Gypsy mind to be able to understand how such a violent race as succeeded in not going extinct by murdering each other centuries ago.
And OMG! Don't even get me started on the way Americans smell. Good god the stench! AGH! Do you people ever step back and smell yourselves? Oh my god, you smell like freaking shit with all that horrible tobacco, beer, and coffee wafting off your breath. How can you even breath? OMG! You can smell an Americans from 500 feet away. OMG! The tobacco stench is unbearable, and that horrible cat-piss smell of beer. Good god, how do any of you attract mates when you smell like cat piss and smog? I mean, you want us to be friends with you, but you stink so bad we don't even want to get in a nose whiff distance of you so how do you expect to make friends with us when all we can think of is how much we want to vomit from the sickening stench of you. Americans just smell horrible.
But all that brings up the question of, how to non-Gypsies make friends with Gypsies? Well, they don't that often, that's the thing. As a general rule the only non-Gypsy people who encounter Gypsies often enough to become friends with them, are church goers who attend the same church as the Gypsies, providing the Gypsies attend a church in a white community, which often, they don't.
While Gypsies are highly religious and every aspect of their life is run by their extremism in religion, not many Gypsies actually belong to a religion or attend a church. Most know how to read, enough to read the Bible and all Gypsies own a Bible (or a few dozen Bibles as is often the case) and will simple read the Bible every day and do their own prayer and worship with their family and as each family is usually bigger then most white man's church congregations, that does make it somewhat pointless to attend church for "socialization" as many white folks suggest we Gypsies should do.
Gypsy beliefs tend to be a mix of Mormonism, Calvinism, Seventh Day Adventism, Native American Spiritualism, and Faerie Faith (which many white folks innaccurately classify a witchcraft, or even more inaccurately as a type of Wicca). Because there are no Faerie Faith or Native American "churches", and because the nearest Seventh Day Adventist and Calvinist churches are more then an hour drive by car, most Gypsies attend LDS/Mormon churches, due to the fact that most towns in Maine have one, making them the easiest for Gypsy families to reach on a weekly basis. Gypsies however, will attend whatever church building is nearest to them regardless of denomination, so you will see Gypsies in Catholic churches, Baptist churches, Pentecostal churches, Salvation Army churches, or whatever other church is in walking distance from the clan's location.
Gypsies who are walking distance from a church building, will attend every single meeting: morning, noon, night, weekend, week days, prayer services, song services, worship services, bake sales, church suppers, firesides, get togethers. Whatever the church is doing, the Gypsy clan will be there. Because Gypsy woman love to cook for large crowds, they will often do the cooking for church suppers, bake sales, and picnics. Gypsy woman are quick to volunteer to clean up after the events as well. Most Gypsy women find cleaning to be highly meditative and relish in cleaning the church building from top to bottom.
An important thing to note here, is that if white folks offend a Gypsy, the entire clan will simply "disappear" never to return to that church building/congregation again. White people, not knowing Gypsy ways, often offend Gypsies and then when the Gypsies stop attending church, the white men seek them out and start invading the clan's farm with endless missionaries and church leaders coming to the farm to accuse them of apostasy and unrighteousness, which father offends them.
How do white folks offend a Gypsy into leaving the church meetings? Separation of family and refusing to allow a woman to cook for the congregation or clean the house of the lord.
For a Gypsy to go somewhere, separate, without his/her family, is seen as a slight against them. White Mormons, especially have trouble understanding this. while many Gypsies are Mormons, few attend Priesthood or Relief Society or Primary meetings on Sundays because of the segregation of family members. Gypsies are very close knit families and will not go out of the sight of their clan. Where one clansman goes, they all go together. No one is separated from the group, no one gets left behind. Gypsy culture sees it as the work of Satan, for a man and his wife to attend separate classes or for a child to not be allowed in the classroom with the parents.
To force a Gypsy to sit alone (and terrified because they are surrounded by alien cultured white people) separate from their family, is not just an offence, it can be seen as an outright attack on the clan, who see this as a white men's divide and conquer tactic. Gypsies are armed (most carry knives, swords, daggers, and/or machetes on them at all times) and they will fight violently to protect their family if they feel their lives are in danger.
There are some things to consider here:
White men have more then ten decades of history in stealing Gypsy (and Native American) babies from their mothers and selling them to white families to be raised as white children. (Dozens of Gypsy children are still taken by white police and social workers every year.)
White men have more then ten decades of history in stealing Gypsy (and Native American) girls and women from their husbands and fathers and selling them to white families to be slaves abused, beaten, and raped by white slave masters. (Gypsy women are still being abducted and raped by white men with multiple cases just this year - 2014- alone.)
White men have more then ten decades of history in stealing Gypsy (and Native American) men and boys from their families and hanging them in trees, then beating them to death, before tieing their corpses to horses and dragging their bodies through the streets (the last known case of this in America happened in 1957).
Our clan from the 1890s to the 1960s sent it's children to white America's public schools. In that time more then half of the clan's children did not come home from school. They simply vanished without a trace and when parents tried to find out what happened, they were simply told Human Services took the child into foster care, sent them out of state to live with a foster family "somewhere, where you'll never find them" and the clan never saw the children again. Our clan alone has lost more then 100 children, stolen from us via the trickery of being "required" to send them to school, and thus why our clan especially, holds tight to never letting our children out of our sight: not for school, nor for church meetings on Sundays.
Our clan, has had several dozen of it's woman raped IN CHURCH by white priests, who lead the girl away from the family unit, tricked her into going to a room alone with him. A 12 year old girl in the clan was attacked and raped by a white High priest of the LDS/Mormon Cape Elizabeth Ward and the clan made an example of him. He never raped anybody again now did he?
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Do you know why our women all carry machetes and what we do to rapists and pedophiles? We cut their balls off and nail them to our front door. It's not uncommon in Gypsy culture to see ballsacs hanging on a door where you'd expect to see a door knocker.
I have no tolerance for crime. I have Autism - I like peace and quiet and non-disruption of that peace. And I enforce the law. Laws were made to be obeyed. I was Matriarch for less than a month before the Clan realized that.
White men often find Scottish Gypsies barbaric, uncivilized, and feral. Of course, cannibalism was still practised as recent as 1937. And the Quaraun character FarDarrig with his leather coat made out of the faces of Humans he had eaten: that is an ACTUAL Gypsy tradition: eating white men and making coats out of their faces. The full tradition, is no longer practiced, but traditionally a rapist would have been slowly skinned alive and the victim would have worn his skin as a trophy. A pedoophile would have been chopped up and his entrails hung on a cross at the nearest crossroads (intersection), but like I said, the law for this practice was done away with in 1937, the only reason I don't bring it back is because the American government won't let me, and so we just castrate them now and keep their scrotum as a trophy.
Sex outside of marriage is very serious thing in Gypsy culture, and so you can understand who worse a thing rape is, and with pedophiles being seen as the vilest scum of all. We put family first. Sex creates families. Sex is what brings a couple together. Sex is what creates children. To abuse sex is the worse crime you can commit in Gypsy culture.
Fornication, rape, child molestation, adultery, until very recently all these things were punishable by death. The clan would eat for such a crime. Abusing sex is worst then murder.
With pedophiles being the worst of all. They are not only abusing the sacredness of sex, they are hurting children to do it. We still castrate pedophiles. The only reason we don't still eat them is because America law doesn't allow it anymore.
You got to understand that there are no weddings or marriage papers or rings or wedding dresses in Gypsy culture. Those are American things and our clan has not assimilated into American culture. We live by the same traditions we did 500 years ago. Sex is sacred. That's something you see in the Quaraun books as well: Unicorn is outed by his clan because he has had multiple sex partners, and Quaraun who initially intended to kill him, after being raped by Unicorn, almost immediately began to see himself as Unicorn's "wife" and found himself unable to kill Unicorn because it conflicted with his traditions. This is VERY much Gypsy tradition.
In Gypsy culture as soon as a man has sex with a woman (or a man) that woman (or man) is IMMEDIATELY his wife and bound to obey him without question.
This is why rape comes with such huge punishments. Rape is the act of forced sex with someone you have no intention of taking care of and providing for.
HOWEVER: once and man has sex with someone, the act of sex is seen as a "gift giving" ceremony, in which he gives ownership of his balls to the person he had sex with.
In Gypsy culture a woman owns her man’s testicles, and any man ho rapes a woman has given them to her and she has every right to take them, whether he’s still attached to them or not. So if a man rapes a woman, and then refuses to keep her as his wife, she has the right to take his balls, and she will nail them to her front door, as a warning to other men.
It’s why I carry a serrated doubled edged machete. See...I have Autism. I don’t joke. And I don’t make idil threats. If I say I am going to do something, I will do it. It only took them one time crossing me on this, for them to know I was serious and did enforce the law. Men are rather attached to their balls they don’t like losing them.
Most white men in Southern Maine now live in mortal terror of our clan and it's machett carrying women. He never raped another child and the clan has never again sent any of it's women to Young Women's or Relief Society, nor Priesthood, nor Primary meetings, in any Mormon church anywhere.
Few Gypsies feel safe when surrounded by white men, as history has taught us that white men are nothing but predators looking for someone to attack and victimize. It is the way of the white men to control, terrorizes, and abuse all in their path. When white men can not find a colored person to abuse, they turn on their own white women and children and beat them until they can find a colored person to beat. White men are violent and untrustworthy. Raping, killing, and stealing is the white man's way.
And you're asking me how people respond to me because of my Autism? Sugar Pie. Most people can't even get past my race to see the Autism. This is American after all, home of the colour blind white men and their endless desire to hate everything and every one that is not a cloned carbon copy of themselves.
Ahhh...but see now you're still standing in line waiting to get a book signed and now you are wishing you hadn't gotten me talking, because when I do talk, I tend to have a lot to say, and I say it in Scottish english, with a Maine accent, and at a speed that causes most folks to ask if I've been an auctioneer.
They get their book signed and than they leave, puzzled and amazed that the retarded Autistic, Gypsy author was even able to lift a pen, let alone write a book.
This is what I go through at every book signing, often multiple times at each book signing.
EVERYBODY "knows" someone who has a kid with Autism, but NO BODY has a clue what Autism is, what it means to live with Autism, or that kids with Autism grow up to become adults with Autism, and also because I am just so sick and tired of every single person calling me "retarded" (I HATE that word) and worse because I am so sick and tired of how shocked and stunned and taken back EVERY ONE is, when they realize that someone with Autism has the ability to do ANYTHING.
Do you have any idea how frustrating and depressing it is, for the first words out of everyone's mouth to be "You couldn't have written that, you're retarded, retards can't write books." I wish that word would go away. It's a hurtful word and unfortunately someone like me, gets it thrown my way a lot.
On the other hand, the power of a diverse book, can be seen too in my book signing interactions with readers...
Since the 1970s my primary character, (from The Twighlight Manor series) has been Roderic, he is me. I write him, as though he was me. He has the same type of Autism I have, everything that I do, he does. And yet, in the books, it never says what is "wrong" with him. Never called him "special needs" or anything like that either. The stories (200+ of them) are set in the 1600s, and so Roderic is Roderic without ever telling the readers why he is the way he is. Only a person who actually knows Autism, knows what is wrong with my Roderic, and that results in the "other" types of reactions I get at book signings:
Them: "Ohmygawd! I just have to tell you how much I love Roderic! You have no idea what it means to me and my family to see an Autistic adult portrayed accurately in a book, and not be a side kick. He's the freaking main character and the Autism isn't the point of the story, you don't even mention that he has Autism at all, but all those little querks of his, those tics and allergies and the way he sits down on the floor and refuses to talk and starts drawing on the walls, I know he has Autism, my son does the same things. I have so much respect for your work, I wish more authors used Autistic characters like you do. How do you know so much about Autism, does someone in your family have it?"
Me: No response. I just smile and nod.
Them: ...gushes on for several more minutes about their son's Autism, than asks... "So who in your family has it, what's it like for you raising kids with Autism?"
I write on a piece of paper: "I do not have any kids."
Them: "But you said..."
I write: "No, I never said a word. I don't talk. I have Autism."
Them: "You? You're the one with Autism? But, how do you write? We don't even know if my son can think. The doctor's told us Autistic never do anything, never get careers, or jobs, or families, or drive cars..."
Stops her, and points to the rhinestoned car in the parking lot. The one that says "EelKat's Autism Awareness Car" painted on the side with marbles.
Them: "Yes I know The Autism Awareness Car is here, that's why we came actually, we heard the Razzberry was here, I wanted to get my son's picture in front of it. I actually didn't know you were going to be here too. We came to see the car..."
Me: hands her my business card, which on one side has a picture of me and my car and says "EelKat Wendy Christine Allen Wildes builder of The Dazzling Razzberry aka The Autism Awareness Car, is the first person with Autism to receive a driver's license. It took 20 years of training from the time of getting her permit at age 15 until she received her license at age 37. She is the author of more than 200 books featuring Autistic characters. I built this car 2 years after getting my driver's license that it may be a beacon of hope to parents like you. Never give up hope on your Autistic child. If I can do this, there is hope that someday your child can too."
They hug me, we all get our picture taken together in front of the car, and than they leave in tears, overjoyed in the knowledge that there is hope for their child...all because I dare to write about characters who are just like me.
So, I get very different reactions from different people depending on how much they know about Autism.
Unfortunately, books and movies and TV shows are full of stereotypes about Autism, and most only people only know what they THINK they know about Autism, from books, movies, and TV shows written by people who have no clue what Autism is or a how a real ACTUALLY Autistic person acts.
There are more then 40 different TYPES of Autism. They vary from "high functioning", Autistics who are able to talk, and walk, and take care of themselves, most of them are called Aspeis short for Aspergers, and the most accurate media representation of this type of Autism is Sheldon of Big Bang Theory. There are the lower ranges ones that are paralyzed and catatonic and live their entire lives on full life supports. Those are the extremes on both ends. In the middle you have everything from the hyper ones that spend most of their lives climbing trees and water towers to the ones that never move at all and it's a good day if they blink or smile.
I am what is called Savant Autism.
"Savant Autism" is someone who has low functioning Autism and requires 24 hour care, BUT, they display one or two extremely high functioning skills.
Have you ever seen the movie Rainman? Watch the movie Rainman. It IS the most accurate media representation of Savant Autism, and it will make you realize why my getting a driver's license at age 37 was such a BIG deal in the medical community. Someone with my type of Autism, shouldn't be able to drive. It took my caretaker 17 years to teach me to drive. I got my permit when I was 15 and was given my license at 37. watch Rainman, and you'll see WHY it's a really big deal.
Rainman, is severely Autistic, he has low functioning Autism, he can barely string full sentences together, he can't feed himself, everything in his life has to be the same every day or he has a massive meltdown, BUT, he can do math with an amazing skill level that astounded everyone around him.
That is the type of Autism I have. And that's what confuses people online. Because my skill? It's not math or numbers, like with Rainman: I can write.
I am severely Autistic, I have low functioning Autism, I can barely string full sentences together, I can't feed himself, everything in my life has to be the same every day or I haves a massive meltdown, BUT, I can write with an amazing skill level that astounded everyone around me.
And that's why at book signing, people are really taken back by meeting me, because they knew I had Autism, but though, that because I could write, I had Asperger's like Sheldon or Einstein, not Savant Autism, like Rainman. It stuns them, because they could tolerate someone like Sheldon who could pass for "normal but eccentric", but me, I can't pass for normal, and it bothers them a lot and first words out of everyone's mouth is ALWAYS: "Oh my god, you're retarded!"
Grammy Eva, my beloved Kickapoo grandmother was my closest and dearest friend. She is the one who inspired my life.
One of my earliest memories was of a road trip to Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. I was 6, maybe 7 at the time. I was sitting in the backseat of a 1964 Dodge 330 4-door sedan, a former Old Orchard Beach police car, now painted metallic orange. On either side of me sat an old lady. The older one, at five foot one, was only inches taller than I was, had short curly hair, was known for her wild temper, spiteful ways, starting fist fights, putting curses on everyone in sight, spoke with a Scottish accent so thick you could barely discern she was speaking English, and in the 1960s had embraced the passion of wearing purple polyester. Which she wore over her neon yellow Mcleod of Lewis tartans.
The other, twenty years younger than the first, with hair not quite as grey, stood five foot eight, had very dark tan skin, kept her hair tied in two long pigtail braids, and having just arrived back home from (yet another) trip to Hawaii, was dressed in a long bright ruffled muumuu with hot fuschia butterflies so huge, that only two fit across it (I still have this dress and wear it frequently, it was the dress I designed Quaraun's wardrobe from). Neither had ever driven a car; both remembered the days long before cars existed.
Gypsies are known for their colors. And these women knew how to stand out in a crowd.
“Nobody ever takes me anywhere,” complained one.
“Oh, I know it, isn’t it terrible, nobody ever takes me anywhere either,” answered the other.
They spent the next several miles discussing how they each did nothing all day but sit home alone, never got out of the house, and had overall dull, boring lives.
The conversation was ironic, considering neither had any idea where they were, seeing as some 100 miles or so back, we had taken a wrong turn and were now wandering aimlessly on the unmapped dirt roads which weave their way around the New Hampshire White Mountains.
Their conversation went on in endless babble, until the Scottish woman pulled out a ham sandwich and offered it to the Kickapoo woman, a Seventh Day Adventist and Huna practitioner, and therefore a strict vegetarian and animal rights activist.
Seconds later an all out food fight ensued with pieces of ham sandwiches being thrown from one side of the car to the other. One slice of deli meat stuck to the window like a window cling and the little white dog tried to pull it off.
It was always eventful sitting between my two rainbow coloured neon clad grandmothers on a long road trip, because you never knew whether you should wear yellow to match the mustard, red to match the ketchup, or white to match the mayo.
I was quite used to this by now, as we took a road trip every weekend and airborne slices of tomato, flying lettuce, and hamburger patties sliding down the windshield, was just the way it was. My parents had long ago given up on asking their parents to sit down and behave.
Until that moment you would have thought the two women best of friends. However, nothing could have been further from the truth.
The two women hated one another. They were each matriarch of rival Gypsy clans, spent many years feuding, and had only been sitting peacefully together in the red shag backseat of a giant 19' long orange car, because one’s son had married the other’s daughter and any chance to spend time with their grandbaby was worth having to put up with one another’s company for a few hours.
To the untrained eye, the ham sandwich had been an innocent mistake; however, anyone who knew Helen Ricker-Allen knew all too well that she did not normally eat ham, and had gone out of her way to buy ham, specifically for this event, knowing full well that meat of all kinds, but most especially pig, was off Eva’s menu.
The screaming and yelling died down when we reached the top of Mt. Washington, but the slices of ham were firmly stuck to the windows and ceiling for the rest of the trip.
My memories of Grammy Helen are few, many of them involving hospital visits, though most are of her screaming and waving knives as she chased someone down the road. Was she a crazy woman or was it just for show? I do not know. I was too young to know.
She had a big long butcher knife, long as he arm, almost as long as her machete. She kept it stabbed in the wall by the door, and whenever any one knocked, she opened the door with that knife held high over her head, ready to stab your eye out. That was how Grammy Helen greeted everyone. It was her way.
If she didn't like you, she'd chase you down the road, with an entire butcher block full of knives, pulling the knives out of the block and throwing them at you as she ran.
People around town called her “Helen the Hellion.” Seems like she was always screaming, always waving knives in the air, throwing ham sandwiches, and always running down the road, whenever she wasn’t reading bird books or tending to her massive flower garden.
Every inch of her land was packed full of flowers. You should have seen the birds and butterflies. Bird feeders were everywhere. She knew every plant and every bird, all their names, all their spirits, and all the Faeries. If she could see what the vandals had done to her beautiful gardens, she'd be hunting them down and gouging their eyes out with butcher knives.
I was just 8 years old when she died of cancer. I remember her funeral. She wore a blue velvet gown. Some Atwaters showed up and started a fight. I don’t remember why. Grammy Helen was the oldest of my grandparents. She remembered horse drawn carriages and both World Wars.
When Grammy Helen died, I inherited her land, her grandmother’s 200 year old rosebush, her Liberace records, her 1971 MTD 3-Wheel MudBug (yes, she was an 82 year old woman with an ATV), her comic books (which set a recordfor containing the largest and most complete run of Disney comic books), the family Bible/Grimoire (a giant and ancient Medieval volume weighing close to 40 lbs and passed down through our family for centuries), and her title: Queen of the Gypsies, Hedgewitch, Witch Doctor, Fortune Teller, and caster of spells. Grammy Helen was a Scottish Gypsy, part Christian, part Pagan (Welsh Færie Faith aka Traditional Witchcraft and Scottish Hoodoo aka European Voodoo) and all Witch. She called herself a Methodist, yet was a practicing Witch. Not a fru-fru Wiccan witch wannabe, like what you see today, but the real deal black magic, curses, hexes and everything. Witchcraft wasn’t a religion back then, not like it is today. Today Witchcraft is is fad, a thing to do; back then it was a way of life, a career, a job; it paid the bills.
My other grandmother was also a Witch, but a very different kind of Witch. She was known as “The Weather Witch of Biddeford,” a title she was given from her habit of predicting with alarming accuracy, minute by minute, day by day weather forecasts, from reading the smoke from the towering mill-stacks. Only two of the tall brick smoke stacks still stand, and only one is still in use.
However, she was not content to let people know how she did it; rather, she found it to be far more fun, to “get back at people” with it. By this she meant, say a woman in the grocery store accidentally ran into her with a shopping cart, she’d turn on the woman and say something along the lines of: “You apologize for that right now or I’ll make it rain this afternoon.” It was going to rain whether the woman apologized or not, but we were Gypsies and people expected to be cursed by us, so Grammy Eva had fun with it.
Her name was Eva Viola LittleJohn/Dyer. She was an Indian, who disliked and refused to use the term “Native American.” Some records say she was Kickapoo, others say Micmac. Orphaned at age 3, no one really knew much about her family, other then she was a “red skinned savage”, and the child of a unmarried flapper of the 1920s. Her mother’s favorite book was Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and she was named after the character “Little Eva”.
Eva's mother was a prostitute and a colored woman, who in 1921 did the unthinkable and attempted to be a single unwed mother, raising a child on her own. She had two other children as well. Records are unclear as to how exactly she died, just that she did, leaving 3 small children alone. Due to being a prostitute, each of her children had a different father and it was unknown who they were. The older girl had lighter skin, could be passed off as white, and was quickly adopted, but her beauty was her downfall and as a teenager she was raped and beaten, her head bashed in with a baseball bat.
Miraculously she lived, but remained for the rest of her life with one side of her skull, pulverized and flattened, looking as though half of her head had been cut clean off, barely recognizable as having once been human, and in a mental institute for the rest of her 80 long years. We found out what happened to her only weeks before she died, when Pineland Center shut down and sent its patients free to wander the streets. In what would be yet another long road trip we drove Grammy to see her sister. It was the first and only time the two sisters had seen each other since their mother had died.
Raised by the Shakers in the 1920s, Eva lived in abusive foster care, told she was worthless due to her race, seen as free labour to do the hardest dirtiest tasks of the Shaker Village at Sabbathday Lake, Maine. If you go to the village today, which is now a living history museum, look at the old photos on the wall, and notice the little girl, the scullery maid hard at work scrubbing clothes at the washboard - that’s her, that’s Little Eva, my grandmother, scrubbing till her fingers bleed, then locked in a closet each night without supper to punish her for being born “red as the devil”.
As a teenager, Eva ran away, hitch-hiked to Portland, Maine, joined the Seventh Day Adventist church, and married the getaway driver of Honey Fitz rum-running gang, who also claimed to be “the one true” king of all kings of the Gypsies, Scottish Traveller David Henry Atwater of Nova Scotia.
Their early years had been happy, but in his mid-30s David Henry went blind, as happened to many moonshiners, and became a bitter, angry, violent man, mad at life and every one who still had their sight. David originally blamed his blindness on his having had Scarlet Fever at the age of 12. In later years, he claimed his blindness had been caused by having seen God in person, face to face. Folks who had known the young gangster, blamed his blindness on a swig of bad moonshine. Eva’s young adult years were spent in terror of an abusive husband, who took to locking her in dark closets, to punish her for not having gone blind as well. The horrors of her life with him in Canton, Maine were many.
Eva and Helen meet each other in the 1950s through David. Helen had been born and raised in Old Orchard, she was a Ricker after all, and the Rickers had founded the town. David and Eva had moved from Portland to Canton. While in Canton, David began to have visitations from God, angels, demons, spirits, and ghosts of varying degrees of strangeness. He decided after one such visitation, that God wanted him to move first to Saco, then to Old Orchard Beach, then back to Saco, then to Biddeford, then back to Old Orchard again. No one moved into Old Orchard without the Rickers knowing it. Normally Gypsy Clans get along one clan with another, but the Atwaters, lead by the infamous David Henry, were far from normal, and saw other Clans not as fellow comrades, but as mortal enemies to be cut down and eliminated. It was after all, God’s will, and they could prove it was God’s will, because David spoke on on one with God Himself.
In about 1811 the Ricker Clan of "The Garden By the Sea", Maine, married into the Googins, Lewis, and Allen Clans of Portland. George Ricker, declared himself “ruler” (as well as mayor, road commissioner, and fire chief) of the land, which he named “The Orchard by the Sea”.
In 1821, it was renamed The Town on the Old Orchard Beach, and the Scottish Gypsies set out to do what they did best: set up a carnival, only this time a permanent one known as The Palace Playland. To celebrate the founding of his new Kingdom (town) he gave his wife Rose Ricker a rosebush, which, now, being at least 191 years old, is still alive and growing, standing at 13 feet tall. Their daughter Helen Ricker went on to run the school board, the firefighters wives society, and founded nearly every women’s group active in Old Orchard between the 1920s through the 1980s. During that time she also maintained a hobby of collecting comic books, crocheting, obsessing over Liberace, gardening, bird watching, and casting spells and curses on everyone in sight.
The Rickers ran the town, which some nicknamed “The Dynasty of Old Orchard Beach,” on every level. Every town official, public works officer, school board member, police officer, fireman, and business owner was a Ricker, a Googins, an Allen, a Lewis, or a cousin of one of the above.
Tourists were the income and the original fairgrounds were massive, spanning for nearly 5 miles along the beachfront. The Ricker Dynasty came to a horrific end during the Burning of the White Way or the Second Great Fire of Old Orchard Beach in 1963 (the first was in 1907) which took out every ride, shop, and motel along the shore.
This event came on the heels of the arrival of a brutal, violent, scamming con artist, polygamist, extreme Fundamentalist Mormon crime family who called themselves The Royal Highland Atwater Clan, lead by none other than the soon to become infamous murder-suicide cult leader himself: David Henry Atwater.
When one thinks of Gypsies, most think of Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” along side of news reports of terrorist crime families. For most Gypsies, Roma, and Travellers this image is far from the truth, but for the Atwater Clan, this was a perfect image of who they were.
The Atwaters brought with them honky tonks, bar rooms, drug dealers, prostitutes, pickpockets, petty thieves, fist fights, knife fights, and gunfights in the town square. The fire, one of the largest in New England history, devastated the town. Five miles of homes and businesses were gone, quickly replaced by bar rooms and whore houses.
In 1968, feed up with the Ricker Dynasty, appalled by the Atwater arrogance and lack of moral decency, and recovering from one of the largest fires in Maine history, the white American Old Orchard Beach townspeople gathered together in arms, and with the help of several shotgun armed State Police officers, and Marines drove the Romas, Gypsies ,and Travellers out of Old Orchard Beach at gunpoint.
Residents today, old enough to remember the march, are quick to retell the nightmare tale of “The day the Gypsies were run out of town”, with its parade of over 600 cars, trucks, vans, jeeps, buses, trailers, wagons, and motorhomes escorted by police officers from every department of York County.
This event, would go on to inspire Stephen King to write the book The Thinner and then film the movie of that book, on location at The Ricker Homestead, resulting in King's fans dubbing our clan "Stephen King's Gypsies" aka "The Gypsies of Old Orchard Beach".
And for those wanting to know: 458 was a mailbox on Saco Avenue, across the street from Macs Garage. In a final outburst of crazy, one of the woman, attacked the mailbox, with a big yellow car, and then drove off screaming at the top of her lungs "458!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Thus the entire event became known as "The Battle of 458"
The Atwaters were marched to the New Hampshire border, where they were met by New Hampshire state police who in turn marched them straight through to Vermont. The march continued, from state to state, until they arrived in Utah, the first state to not greet them at the border with an army of rifle toting patrolmen. The Atwaters settled in Ogden Utah, where they (except for the Bangor group) remain to this day.
Back in Old Orchard, the Rickers resigned their town offices, and most of the family units relocated to Portland. Only one family remained in Old Orchard Beach: the now elderly daughter of George Ricker, Helen Ricker-Allen and her son Kenneth Ricker-Allen with his wife, Eva’s daughter, my mother, and, me, their daughter Wendy. The Atwaters were gone, the Rickers had left office, but the drama was far from over. For Eva, the Atwater drama was just beginning.
It was on this police guided march out of Maine in the 1960s, when Eva gained her freedom. A revelation from God told David the joys of white supremacy and hatred of all blacks, red skins, and Jews.” He promptly divorced “the red skinned evil spirit”, took her 12 children, married another woman (who was found strangled to death a few years later, her murder remains unsolved), and left Eva, literally standing on a roadside in the middle of a desert in Utah. He abandoned her in the desert, hundreds of miles from the nearest town. Eva spent the next several months, walking back to her hometown, Biddeford, Maine, stopping in all 48 states along the way, discovered Jesus, took her first of several trips to the brand new state known as Hawaii, discovered Huna, took a trip to Alaska, started tracing her Native American roots, then flew to Japan and made her way East to West, through Australia, New Zealand, China, Russia, Germany, Holland, and dozens of others. Having discovered a love of traveling and walking the open road, she would continue to take a world walking tour every year, for the next twenty-odd years. To fill the void she now had without her husband and her children, Eva took up travel and researching her ancestory.
By the 1980s, Eva had been to all 50 states and 114 counties. Alaska was her favorite, and the place she would return to several times. I grew up surrounded by Grammy’s countless books, tour guides, postcards, maps, view masters, souvenirs, and trinkets of Alaska and Hawaii. Each time she left, she would return with more stories of bear and moose and mountains and glaciers. Alaska was her home away from home. I spent 17 years of my life, daily listening to Grammy tell of the glories and wonders that were Alaska. “If you never go anyplace else, you must at least see Alaska before you die,” she would always say.
While she had little education in childhood, as an adult, she got a degree in Graphology, the psychology of handwriting. From looking at a sample of someone’s handwriting she was able to tell them, the type of person they were, and how their personalities would affect their futures. She used this skill, like she did her meteorology skills, to wow people and scare them into thinking she was a powerful psychic witch. Education through travel and hands on cultural learning, was the schooling she loved best of all.
David, in the mean time, went on to call himself first a prophet, then later the right hand of God, before making friends with a man called Applewhite and helping him form the UFO suicide cult known as Heaven’s Gate. David abandoned Heaven’s Gate shortly before the whole group offed themselves under the shadow of Comet Hale Bopp. He next crowned himself “the one true prophet of the Mormon Church,” moved to Salt Lake City, and made attempts at convincing the Church leaders God wanted him running the church. David would go on to have leadership connections to five murder-suicide cults and two cult compounds. By the time of his death, in 2004, he was close to claiming he was God made flesh, while wearing his bright pink 1920s style ganstar suits, and was ordering everyone he met to obey him or be cast into the “tar pits of hell”.
I generally avoid telling folks I’m related to the Atwaters, because just to mention the name Atwater often results in the response: “You don’t mean that murder-suicide Gypsy-Mafia cult family do you?” Yeah. That would be them. My family, the cultists. You can choose your friends, unfortunately you can not choose the family you are born into. Such is life. At least I can say each of my grandparents had colorful personalities to match their colorful cloths.
In spite of the fact that David was clearly insane, and dressed head to toe in blinding pink, Eva never stopped loving him, and never gave up on the hope that one day he would come back to his senses, remember he had a wife and give up his mad chasing after God at the expense of everyone who loved him. Eva remained single the rest of her life, in spite of several proposals of marriage, including several from her transvestite best friend who had a passion for blue lace and southern belle crillolines. She remained firm in her belief that love was stronger than religion. She loved David. She knew David. In his heart still loved her, so she said. Eva waited for 30 long years, for him to come to the realization that in his search for God’s love and approval, and endless attempts to reach God via every comet to fly overhead, he had thrown away the true love he already had.
When I meet Eva, she was in her 60s and lived in a giant Victorian mansion in Biddeford, Maine, on Grame Street next door to the nearly as big, Congregational church. Eva was by that point being called Maine’s Crazy Cat Woman, famous throughout the Greater Portland Area for being decked out in outlandish flowing bright coloured South Pacific robes, with a grass skirt over the roads and long pink coat with giant miss-matched clown buttons sewn all over it, flying down the street on roller skates while pushing an 1800s baby pram, with cats (wearing sun bonnets), not babies, riding inside, with her trusty broomstick slung over her back, and singing "America the Beautiful".
That whar Grammy Eva, my Autistic, Kickapoo grandmother, who I lived part-time with for 17 years. I spent my days at her house in Biddeford, my nights in Old Orchard.
Her house was decorated for Halloween and Christmas, all year round, complete with jack-o-lanterns in every window, Christmas trees in every room, and more Santa Claus' then you could count. She’d greet you on the veranda with a black cat in one arm and a broom in the other. Her shrill laughter sent children running. She had spent years perfecting her "witch's cackle" to get it just right. Over her bed hung a sign which read: “Here’s Lives the Original Salem Witch”. No one dared go near the creepy old mansion. Locals were terrified of her, and called her a witch and she relished it.
Like Grammy Helen, who drove an 3-wheel ATV around town instead of a car, Grammy Eva road a 3-wheel bike. She road it from Biddeford to Old Orchard several times a week, from Biddeford to South Portland every Sunday To go to the Maine Mall, and from Biddeford to Portland every Saturday to go to church.
Grammy Eva was very dark skinned. She was Native American and so, it made sense that she had darker skin then her Canadian Traveller husband or her Scottish Gypsy son-in-laws family. But, her skin was darker then what most people would consider "Native American". One of her sons, looks like a pale black man, eyes, hair, face structure, everything about him. You meet him, you'd swear he was a black man. Grammy Eva also had frizzy-curly hair, as do I. And it stands out, because no one else in the family has hair, like either me or Grammy Eva. If I don't brush my hair for only a few days, it immediately forms dream. Not "caucasian dreads" but "African American dreads" It's really distinctive, because, to most people, I look white. In spite of my frizzy black hair, my big nose, my black eyes, my skin is nearly albino white (I have a skin condition, which causes this.) So most people, when they first see me, they assume I'm racially white, when in fact, I'm not, and I'm basically an albino with dark hair and dark eyes.
These features really stand out and identified me, Grammy Eva, and that particular son as being very obviously "mixed blood", as the Atwater's termed it. David, had accused her of being unfaithful, thus how one of the sons looked part black.
Around 1983ish, while researching her family history, Grammy Eva discovered her grandmother had been a black slave, who escaped, came to New England, and married her Kickapoo grandfather. Grammy Eva made many attempts to locate her black relatives. To this day, we never been able to find any living black family members. We don't know if she was from Africa or not. The information that we've been able to find, indicated that she was NOT an African, but rather originated from the South Pacific. We know bits and pieces of her religion and beliefs, which is very much Haitian Vudo, HOWEVER, there are MANY aspects of her religious practices, which are ONLY found in the Sepik Valley of Papua New Guinea.
Near as we can tell, from the information we found, it appears that one of her parents came from Benin region of Africa (we base this on the version creation story of Damballa, which is very strong passed down in our family) and the other came from Sepik Valley region of Papua New Guinea.
Her robes, which are over 200 years old and I still wear them, appear to be Asante/Ashanti. The robe I am wearing in the pictures below dates to some time between 1640 and 1700. We don't know it's exact age. We don't know how she acquired it or the exact years she was alive. She was alive in the 1690s and early 1700s. We don't know when she was born or when she died, only the years she was alive.
While very little is known about my black great-grandmother, Eva did however, find out enough information about her grandmother, to find out where she had lived, took a trip to visit the area and find out anything she could.
It turns out that while there is very little accurate information, the locals of the town she lived in, had a wealth of stories about her. Legends, tales... it was through them that Grammy Eva learned learned that she was from Haiti and had been a well respected Mambo, when she was alive. She practiced Vudo, Voodoo, and Hoodoo, and everybody in the town, had a grandmother who had remembered their parents telling stories about her.
Grammy made a dramatic change in her life at this point. From the 1940s to the mid-1980s she was a devout Seventh-Day-Adventist. In 1973, she started drifting away from her religion when she discovered Huna in Hawaii. In the early 1980s when she discovered her grandmother was a black Mambo, she brought Vudo, Voodoo, and Hoodoo (3 separate practices) into our family, as Grammy Eva, dove into it full force and shocked the Atwaters with what they termed "evil Satanic black magic".
To this day, the Atwaters, (who lived in Utah, and, had no contact with her since 1968) maintain the belief that she never left the SDA church and that she did not take up Voodoo. They weren't here. They didn't live with her. I did.
The problem is, they in their narrow mindedness, believe that Voodoo is evil. They know nothing about it, nor are they willing to learn.
The Voodoo religion as Grammy Eva learned it and taught it to me, believes in a mixture of spiritual and supernatural powers. They believe that plants, animals, and trees have souls. They also believe in fairies, witches, and forest monsters. There are a variety of beliefs involving ancestors, higher gods, or the Loa, and ‘Nzambi’ (spirits of the ancestors), and reverence to the Supreme Being Papa Damballa Weddo.
Grammy Eva, was fascinated by Voodoo, it's beauty, it's love, it's kindness, it's respect for life, it's reverence of family, plants, and animals. She felt, that it was a religion of family and peace.
Grammy Eva had a broken family, separated from her husband who was fast becoming psychotic with ever increasing hatred for everyone and everything and every increasing violence and his habit of gathering up his army sized family to wage violent war on small towns. Grammy Eva, wanted her family reunited. She wanted the Ricker and Atwater clans too stop feuding and live in peace, side by side "like the lion and the lamb" she used to say (a reference from the Bible.)
She believed that Christianity was tearing the family apart, and as much as she loved Jesus, the division between religions was causing so much fighting, so much violence, so many deaths, that in the final years of her life, she turned her back on Christianity and embraced a religion that focused one one thing: family. The entire Voodoo religion is all about family: past, present, and future.
Grammy Eva tried to tell them about Voodoo and it's peaceful ways and looking to ancestors for guidance, but lashed out at her violently. A group of 8 of her own grandchildren, gathered together in Scarborough, Maine, and beat her up. She ran down the road, crying and bleeding, an elderly woman, with 8 angry violent teenagers, waving boards and sticks, running after her. She ran all the way to the Ricker farm, in Old Orchard Beach, with them on her tail. She hid in our house, while they attacked violently at the doors and windows, DEMANDING, we send her out so they could in their words "kill the old witch". Their father, her own son, cheering them on. They said they were Mormons and that being Mormons gave them the right to kill witches.
She never dared mention Voodoo around any of the Atwaters again. But she learned everything she could about Voodoo and she taught it all to me. And after she died, I didn't stop studying. I've spent the last 30 years studying Voodoo. I have Autism, I can't study something, unless I learn all there is to know about it.
Today I am a Voodoo Priestess rank of Medsen Fey, Marji Loa to Damballah Weddo. I am also a Hoodoo Rootworker and the "weather witch" known to the locals as "The Sea Witch of Old Orchard Beach". They claim, I can control the weather and the ocean. They blame blizzards and hurricanes on me.
Right now, folks in Maine are saying that I got so angry over Kboards, that I froze the country. I do not make that claim, but if they want to believe it, go ahead. Of course, 34 of the 37 people involved in the harassment are dead already - hit by lightening, every one of them. People say I did that too.
Former Town Manager Jim Thomas, called me a "poltergeist". He said it was in "everyone's best interests" to avoid getting me angry. Thanks to Stephen King and the movie Thinner, and Americans not knowing what either Voodoo or Gypsies actually are, I am now the most feared Voodoo Priestess in America. Which is why I laugh at the people on Kboards, who didn't know who I was, when they attacked me.
If you've read the Quaraun books, you'll notice he does things throughout the series. Little chants, little rituals. Stopping to touch certain trees, pick certain flowers, quote certain "superstitions", etc. He's always stopping to gather roots and herbs. He's always mixing powders and oils. He stops to draw veevee on the ground in cornmeal or flour or salt, or just with his finger in the dirt. The spells he casts, the genie bottles, the demon boxes, the poppets and doll babies and gri=gri and mojo bags, and mirror boxes. The prayers, the curses, the chants, the scroll spells, the candle spells, the altar spells, the honey jar spells. Every ritual, every recipe, every chant, listed in this series are REAL spells. They are a combination of Voodoo, Hoodoo, and Scottish Gypsy Magic.
The things Quaraun does as a magic user in this series, they are the real, authentic spells, rituals, etc that are an every day part of my practice. I am a Voodoo Priestess, a magic user, in real life.
So, not all of the quirks you see Quaraun doing are caused by Autism, some of them are cultural habits from his being a Gypsy and others are religious habits from him being a Houngan (a Voodoo Priest).
Grammy Eva, gave up on the Atwaters, after they violently attacked her that day. That's when you saw the rise of the roller skating wild woman with her pink mumu, grass skirts, a pram full of cats, and broomstick on her back, while singing "America the Beautiful".
What people did not see was that Grammy liked to put on a show, and the pumpkins, black cats, baby pram, and broomsticks were all the act of a carnival clown. Grammy’s early life, overshadowed with many years of neglect and abuse, had taught her to see the world through the eyes of compassion.
A closer look inside that baby pram, revealed more than cats enjoying a ride, but also food to hand out to the homeless.
The cats were more than just there for the ride, many of the homeless had lost pets when they lost their homes, and hugging cats is often desired more than food.
The roller skates got her on her daily “walks” from Biddeford to Portland faster.
The long flowing robes, hid the many coin purses, used to fill all the expired parking meters of downtown Portland.
And the broom? Eva stopped at every doorstep along the way, to sweep it clean.
The song? She had seen the world and it was beautiful, but here back home was so much suffering and sadness, people starving in the streets, with nothing to hope for. She made it her goal to sing to everyone she meet, to bring joy into their life (she had an amazing singing voice, she should have been in opera.)
She also carried packages of seeds and bulbs with her, and planted flowers, everywhere she went. Mostly violets and pansies. She loved violets and pansies.
She took this act to Middlebury, Vermont every year, and is the "Mystery Woman" who a national TV gardening show, devoted an entire episode to, in their hunt for anyone who knew the identity of the wild woman, who went across the state planting blue lupines in everyone's field while singing "America the Beautiful."
While her ways were bizarre, there was a method to her madness: “I was the mother to many, the friend to all, I’ve seen the world, I want to share the joy, and make you smile.” Making people smile, bringing a little joy into their otherwise dreary day, was why she did the things she did.
She is why, you see me posting the music videos, the animated GIFs, the cartoon group hug pictures, the dancing bananas, the crazy marquees, on forums all over the internet, since 1997, in her memory. It is in her memory, that I am the "crazy" clown I am, online. It is a act, I'm not as crazy as people think I am, though, I am not anything close to normal either.
But the fact remains, I learned from her, that you have two thing you can do in life. Only two:
You either make people happy.
Or you make people sad.
That is life. The meaning of life according to my Autistic grandmother was, that you are here on this planet to either help people or to hurt them. And it is your choice to do good or evil.
I choose to make people happy.
It's why, prior to this page you reading right now, I've never responded to negativity. Not on forums. Not on blogs. Not on social networks. Not offline. No where never, until now.
EVERYTHING you do has consequences. Everything you do effects the people around you. What you do, is either going to to hurt or help, whither you know it or not, and it is your duty, to go out of your way to AVOID hurting people and TRY to help them instead.
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It's WHY I for nearly 30 years, posted my articles online for free. I didn't charge people for them, because I was trying to help.
It is WHY for nearly 30 years, I posted my dancing bananas, and group hugs, and smillies, and GIFs, and marquees, and videos...to make you smile. To make you happy. To bring joy into your life.
Because of her actions and her spending so much time with the homeless, people often said of Grammy Eva “That’s that crazy homeless cat woman.” By the non-homeless, she was often criticized, had rocks thrown at her, more then once put in the hospital, and was several times beaten up by good upstanding citizens who “don’t want your kind around here - go get a job you filthy bum”.
She was not, as they had falsely judged, either jobless or homeless. They didn’t know she went home each night to one of the biggest sea captain mansions in Biddeford, that she had not 1, but rather had 3 jobs, working in the shoe mill, a nanny, and caring for elderly in nursing homes, or that when not putting on her clown act show to entertain the homeless of Portland, she looked just as normal as you or I.
Eva often remarked at how surprised she was by the difference in how people treated her, and that the exact same people did not recognize her as the same person, when all that had changed was the addition of a baby pram full of cats and a pair of roller skates.
“It’s pitiful, that they have such a lack of compassion and judge a person only by her clothes.” She would often say.
It was through this discovery, that she made a radical decision in the 1980s, to stand up for gay rights and the transgendered community of Portland, Maine. Portland has a huge transgendered community. Many of her dearest and closest friends were glamorous women, who were "women" only on the outside. Glitter. Silks. Sequins. Glam. Ruffles. Lace. Fur and ball gowns. Eva went from entertaining the homeless by day, to having glamorous girls nights out with her drag queen and transvestite friends. The more outcast you were from mainstream society, the more Eva would seek you out and just to say: “You’re beautiful and God loves you just the way you are.” Compassion for others motivated everything she did.
It is from Grammy Eva that I learned compassion for everyone, regardless age, race, culture, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, gender identity, religion, health, lifestyle, income, social status, or species.
Everyone deserves a second chance.
Everything has the right to live.
Through her combining Adventism with Huna, and Native American traditions, and later Voodoo, Grammy Eva taught me to love and respect life: humans, animals, plants, water, all of it.
Compassion for everything and everyone; to live and to let live. Her friendships with with everyone from the unbathed homeless in rags to the wealthy glamorous shemales in their sequined dresses, and everyone in between, taught me to look beyond outer appearances and see the person inside the clothes. Her religion and her traditions motivated her actions. “Jesus said to love everyone. Judge no one. See them as God sees them”, Eva would say, again and again. Every night she would put me to bed with the words: “Never let the sun set on your anger. Forgive your enemies. Pray for them that hurt you. I pray for your grandfather every night.”
Her death, would hone her life deeply into my brain. She died a horrible death, far worse then the neglectful death Grammy Helen had died.
The Atwaters, her own children, proved what cold hearted monster they truly were, the final year of her life. What they did to my beloved Grammy Eva was monstrous and because of my Autism, I was helpless to stop them. It is why, after her death, I took her clothes, her cats, and I continued her legacy of being the wild woman who roams the streets of Biddeford bringing joy to all I meet, by being a clown 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year, for nearly the past 30 years.
It's why I built the Dazzling Razzberry, the wild rhinestoned car that is covered with power of positive thinking quotes, that brings joy to the hearts of everyone who sees it.
In the end, her faith, or rather her church and religion, let her down, and ultimately cost her, her life. A devout Seventh Day Adventist, most of her life, she lived the strict lifestyle, denouncing foods from animal products, eating only church owned soy products made by SDA owned companies Morning Star, Worthington, and Kellogg's, eating what she was told, when she was told, denouncing meat, pants, short hair, jewelry, and makeup as being the cause of all sickness and disease, avoiding doctors because doctors were a sin, all because her pastor told her to. When she got sick, she was told to praise the Lord, avoid Satan’s evil doctors, and ignore the pain.
1988 was a bad year. In 1988 Eva’s massive mansion on 3 Graeme St burned to the ground, her best friend Dr. Roberts died, and she was told the lump on her breast was cancer. David phoned from Utah to tell her he had burned her house down, via his psychic abilities. He also proudly took credit for killing her friend. He used mind games to terrify her, because he knew she believed in the powers of witchcraft. She did not tell him about the cancer. She told no one but me. Grammy moved into a run down apartment on Foss St. on the bad side of Biddeford, down by the Mill. Gangs. Drug dealers. Thugs and bars. Eva now found herself in the heart of Biddeford’s Section-8 slum district.
Grammy took to strange walking habits; picking up the black cat and walking aimlessly around town in the middle of the night.
The 17 years of weekly weekend pleasure drives across New England in the 1964 Dodge, suddenly turned into daily panic drives to look for Eva, pick her up, and calm her down by driving her to a new place each day. In a single year we put more then 100,000 miles on that car, just from driving to visit every single town in Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont.
Nights were spent “following stars”. Look up in the sky, pick a star and drive wherever it leads us.
January 1989. The old Dodge stopped running. The transmission died and parts were nowhere to be found. Not unexpected, considering only 5,000 of these cars were built and only a handful are known to still exist today. The weekly road trips came to sudden end. Eva’s good spirits died with the Dodge. Depression sunk over her, she became suicidal, and it became clear that she could not be left alone. Arrangements were made that I would stay with her during the day, and her illegitimate daughter by Dr Roberts would stay with her at night.
This semi-moving in with Grammy, living with her from 6AM to 9PM 6 days a week, for the next 4 years, gave me a new look into the world of the Atwater Clan. My eyes were opened the living hell that Eva’s life was and the monsters her children had grown up to become.
Every night, Eva called David, each of her 11 remaining children, and each of her 64 grandchildren, to say one simple phrase: “Goodnight, I love you.”
For four hours, every night, 76 phone calls went out to Utah, Wyoming, Nevada, Illinois, Vermont, Australia, Germany, Russia, and even to the ones now living in Bangor, Maine. Every night. Her phone bill was monumental. The responses to her phone calls were horrendous.
“Burn in hell you old bag!” said one daughter, who was supposed to be staying with her at night, and WASN'T.
“Nana Banana the big fat bafana. Can’t get to heaven...” sang the words of a toddler.
“Love? What do you know about love? You aren’t capable of lovin, you ain’t got the brains God gave an ape! Why don’t you drop dead you hideous non-Mormon hag!” sneered one son.
“I’m praying for you to die soon, so we do your baptism of the dead temple work, it’s the only way we’ll get you baptised a Mormon and save your soul from being cast out into eternal damnation of outer darkness,” said her (now dead) self proclaimed favorite son.
“All non-white, non-Mormons deserve to die,” roared Grandpa.
She begged and pleaded, between the insults, “I’m dying, please come visit me.”
“Yeah, good one,” came the response, again and again, repeated by each person, in every phone call, like broken record. “You? Dying! Ha! You’ll never die, you're too evil to go to Heaven, and you’re so wicked Satan don’t even want you in hell!”
“What have I done? What did I ever do to make you hate me?” she’d ask between the tears.
“You were unfaithful to the Lord thy God.”
“What did I do?”
“You are not a Mormon.”
Every night.
Seventy-six phone calls.
Seventy-six insults and several lectures on why all non Mormons, especial evil non-white ones like her, will go to hell.
I have to ask, how white do they think they are if their mom wasn’t white herself? She was a Kickapoo Indian with a black grandmother. And she was THEIR mother. Do you know what thhat makes them? Not white, that's for sure, but they are active members of white supremacists groups. I wonder how their group leaders would like to know that these devote white-supremacists, had a mother who was a black Native American?
Did they ever think of that, I wonder?
They claimed she was not Mormon enough to have her family, and yet, when she tried to attend church with them, they laughed at her, and told her she was not welcomed inside. THEY wouldn't let her in the damned building. I know. I was there. They wouldn't let me in either. No matter what she did, there was no pleasing them. She stopped going to both churches, hers and theirs. What was the point? No one loved her in either. She had attended both churches for more than 50 years.
After family, nothing mattered more to Eva then church. She went to EVERY church. Saturday and Sunday both. She went to EVERY church supper in Biddeford. Do you know how many churches there are in Biddeford? More then 300. And she went to every damned one of them. I knew there was something seriously wrong the day she stopped attending church.
After 6 years of ignoring the pain, as her SDA pastor kept telling her to do, Eva went in secret to a doctor, and was told needed surgery. Her pastor found out and condemned her as a sinner for having seen the doctor, than forbade her to have the surgery. Three more years of pain and suffering passed before she fell on the ice, broke her hip, returned to the doctor and while there, had the breast cancer tumor removed.
Every night Eva went to bed crying. Every night as I tucked her in, changed her diapers, brushed her hair, and brought her black cat to her, she would turn to me and ask, “Why do they hate me? I love my family. They threw me away. They abandoned me. They left me alone to die in the desert (Salt Lake). Why do they treat me so badly? What did I ever do to any of them? I’ve never even seen my grandchildren! Why do they hate me? I keep trying to tell them about the cancer, but they won’t listen, they won’t give me a chance to talk. I just want to see my children before I die.”
She had Autism, worse then I do. She wasn't high functioning. She counted count or tell you numbers at all. Her reading skills were barely on a kindergarten grade level. She could read and understand birthday and Christmas cards, so she instead of buying books to read, would go to the store every day, to buy cards to read. She collected them. She had thousands of them, hanging on every inch of every wall in her house.
She counted read, well enough to read Dr. Suess books and she had no ability to read anything as complex as a novel. She did however, understand that books contained stories and that I could read, and so she over the course of 17 years, bought me 12,000 books. She was a major player in my book collecting obsession I have today, which did go out of control shortly after she died.
After 748 days and 55,328 insults, Eva stopped calling her children husband,and grandchildren. She stopped walking. She stopped wandering. She stopped going for car drives. Stopped roller skating. Stopped going to Portland. Stopped helping the homeless. Stopped hanging out with her transvestite friends.
Eva became despondent. She stopped eating. She refused to get out of bed. She rarely spoke. She gave up. For weeks she cried uncontrollably, but then she stopped crying, and did nothing by lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, through the blurred eyes of despair. Couldn't even force feed her. She began trying to starve herself to death.
Grammy Eva was HUGE. At one point she was close to 300lbs. That's why she wore the muumuus. She couldn't fit in anything else. When she died she weighed around 120lbs.
Her family was her life. Her hope of one day being reunited to her husband and children was the only thing she lived for. It had finally hit her, there was no reuniting her family. The man she loved hated and abandoned her because his church had commanded her. Her children abhorred her because their father demanded it. Her grandbabies despised her because their parents set the example of it.
It infuriated me. I don't talk often. You know, that if I am speak verbally, with my voice, I am either very, very happy, or I am, very, very, very angry.
One by one I confronted them. Grandpa, the Aunts, the Uncles, the Cousins, even the Patriarch of the Bangor compound, and his nauseating, death mongering, cat murdering children.
“Why? Why do you say these things to her?”
They denied it. Every one of them.
Do you know what they said to me?
“She’s lying to you. That’s what she does. Don’t believe her evil lies about us. She’s an evil woman. We never said those things. We’re Mormons, we wouldn’t talk like that. She’s just making stuff up to poison your mind with hate, that’s the sort of thing she does. That’s the sort of thing non-Mormons do.”
They did not know Grammy Eva had a speaker phone.
They did not know I lived with Eva, feed her, bathed her, took care of her, dialed the phone for her, because she couldn't do it herself...EVERY DAY OF EVERY YEAR OF THE LAST SIX YEARS OF HER LIFE!
They did not know that Grammy had never told me what they had said. She didn’t need to say anything. I had heard every word, straight from their own lips as I sat by the phone and their vile, hate filled insults spewed out of that that speaker for everyone in the room to hear - EVEN her doctor heard them. Yeah, her doctor and nurses heard those phone calls too. She had a doctor coming to her house every day to help me take care of her.
They didn't know I was the one who dialed the numbers because Grammy Eva was too weak to do it on her own.
I watched in silence as every night, for 4 years straight, she said into the phone, “I love you”, then got an earful, hung up the phone, tears streaming down her face, I dialed the next number, she said “I love you” again, and got another earful.
That was it. That was all she said. She didn't say their name, she didn't ask who it was, she didn't say hello. The ONLY words out of her mouth was: "I love you."
The doctors who were taking care of her, said she could get better and live another 20 years, if they could just shake her out of this depression she was in. People get better from breast cancer all the time. She was getting treatment, she was going into the hospital every week. She was getting better, until her beloved favorite son in Florida said to her: "I'm praying for you to die."
It hit her so hard, what he said.
That was the last phone call she made. She wouldn't go back to the hospital after that. She stopped eating after that. She would take her medicine after that.
Grammy Eva was outcast by her arrogant family because she refused to abandon what she believed to become a Mormon like them. They killed her. They killed her with their hate.
Ask me again, why I hate bullies. Why i hate mean people who drive good people to suicide.
Summer 1994. Once a talkative person who chattered non-stop about everything, a vast change now had come over Eva. She lay in silence, day after day. Staring at the ceiling, wouldn't say a word.
“My family hates me,” she’d say as I changed her diapers.
“Why did he take my babies away?” she’d ask as I changed the bedding and flipped the mattress.
“Why did he teach them to hate me?” she’d whimper as I cooked her meals, which she now refused to eat.
“I loved him you know,” she’d say as I waited for her to open her mouth so I could put the spoon in.
“That’s why I never remarried,” she said as I brushed her long hair for 3 hours every morning. “I never stopped loving him.”
November 22, 1994. Grammy was refusing to go to the hospital. Her skin was turning orange, the white of her eyes over in a brilliant yellow, and she suddenly lost 60lbs in a matter of days. “Her liver has stopped working,” her doctor said one day. “She won’t make it to Thanksgiving. This silly game her family is playing has to end. It has to end now. She'll be dead in days if they don't stop. She wants to see her children before she dies. She deserves that much.”
That night, my dad called Eva’s favorite son, Merlin in Florida and gave him hell. He called from Eva’s speaker phone. The doctor was still in the room. He got to hear for himself the vile spewing hatred her children spoke to and about her. The son picked up the phone and without stopping to hear who was on the other end of the line, went into a venomous hate filled rant of how evil Eva was. He had read the caller ID and thought he was talking to his mother. He was stunned to hear my dad’s voice on the line and the doctor’s voice in the background. He got an earful from my dad, which included every swear word under the sun and just exactly what my dad (a Ricker) thought of ALL the Atwater scum. Somewhere in my dad’s words however, it occurred to the son, that something was wrong, and he’d better leave Florida and get to Maine fast, if he ever wanted to see his mother alive again.
And then they came. Oh, like the rats that they were, they came out of the woodwork from all over the world. Every Atwater of the damned planet, the ALL the Scottish Travellers everywhere arrived in Biddeford, Maine, with their gangs and their thugs, their crimes and their prostitutes. Gone from Maine since the police and Marines had marched them across the country in 1968 and now they were back in all their criminal glory.
Do you know what they did, while she was laying their dying? They stipped every last bit of copper pipes out of the apartment building she lived in! They went up and down Foss Street, High Street, Hill Street, Water Street, Bacon Street, Pearson's Lane, Sullivan Avenue, and they stole every single bike, striped every single car, and cut all the copper pipes out of all the apartment buildings, and they did it in a matter of hours. There are so damned many of them, they form a small army when they are together. Then they came in and took all her furniture and pawned it. They slashed her mattress, hoping she had stuffed it with money - she was still in the damned bed, lying there hooked up to an IV!
From all points of the globe, the Atwaters headed back to Maine. Droves of Atwaters scurried into Biddeford under the cover of darkness like the deviant rats which they were. They brought their friends and their in-laws. The Halls and the Danites, The Scottish Traveller Crime Family of Utah, Utah-(name removed)-Clan, even the Avenging Angels arrived in Maine. I meet for the first time some of the vilest criminals to ever walk the face of the Earth. Men who were on the FBI's most wanted list. I have an uncle who is a hitman. I didn't know that before I meet him. My extended family. Every last one of them arrived.
HUNDREDS and HUNDREDS of them. WAY more then the 368 I can name. I'd never seen anything like it. The entire Scottish Traveller Crime Family of America, all at once. I didn't even know I had this many relatives. And it wasn't just Atwaters. They brought all their in-law, rival clans didn't know existed. It was a freaking gathering of the Gypsies on the largest scale Maine has ever seen. GOOD GOD! It was like an entire country had landed in Biddeford.
The Hell's Angels came to Old Orchard Beach a few years before this. They were NOTHING, compared to these people. They were like a gang. They call themselves a family, but this isn't a family, this was a gang of frigging thugs. And they were my family! GOOD GOD! What kind of people am I related to? They were like wild rabid animals. There was nothing remotely human about them. They set up camp up and down the streets. They thought nothing of pissing on people's cars, then smashing all the windows out of the cars. They thought it was FUN to destroy property. They made a game out of it to see who could smash the most car windows. Not kids. Not teenagers. These were grown men.
I don't remember the Travellers invasion of Old Orchard Beach in the 1960s, the one that required Marines to get them out of town, and resulted in a 5 mile stretch of homes and businesses burnt to the ground, but GOOD GOD, when they arrived in Biddeford, I could then, why to state police had, had to all in the Marines for help. OMG! There was so many of them, and they were all violent. It's no wonder the Scottish Gypsies got so upset when people confused them for the Scottish Travellers.
And were so loud. They stayed up all friggin night long. They started bonfires in the driveways of people yards, so they could sit up all night, doing whatever it was, they did.
But there was a funeral to be had, and if there's one thing I've learned, there's nothing like the death of a Gypsy King or Gypsy Queen to bring every Gypsy running.
Some of them entered Eva’s house singing “At last the Wicked Old Witch is dead!” They filled Grammy’s house with loud blaring music, and stay up till the breaking of dawn, partying, drinking, and singing. It was a joyous time of celebration, for the woman they hated was at death’s door, and nothing made them happier. They brought with them chips and dips and punch, pork rinds, turkey, and a giant roost honeyed ham. They knew about Eva and ham. They laughed and sang in the living room, while she lay dying in the bedroom. They joked, they drank, they sang. Not one of them entered the bedroom to see her.
When the partying was over, they stripped down the house stealing moldings, curtains, shelves, door knobs, furniture, and light fixtures. (Most of which belonged to the landlord of Grammy's building.) They ripped the sink out of the kitchen, they cut the copper pipes out of the basement, they tore the walls open and pulled out the wires, laughing at how they could melt off the plastic to get at the copper inside. Like the Grinch who stole Christmas, they left behind not a crumb. When the house had nothing left to steal or cut off of it, they left like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
They stripped Grammy Eva's house clean - right down to cutting out the copper pipes. They took her furniture, her bedding, her clothes, they slashed open mattresses looking for money hidden inside. They even took the kitchen sink - they left her rented apartment stripped bare to nothing. They even took her bed, leaving her lying instead on a small metal cot, where she died the following morning.
Not all of them made it back to Utah. At least 3 of them ended up in jail while still here in Maine: one for attacking a homeless man with a machete, one for stealing shoes at the Maine Mall, and one for holding up the Kentucky Fried Chicken. Of the nearly 300 people who came and went out of Grammy's house that week, only 4 of them entered her bedroom to see her before she died. Her husband David himself, however, did not come. He remained one of the few who did not come to Maine that week.
Eva died on Thanksgiving morning only 3 days after the Atwaters had arrived. Several of the Atwaters were still here in Maine trashing the house when she died. Her children were visibly stunned and baffled, and vocally made their radical opinions known.
Several asked why she had not told them she was ill. For 6 years she begged them. Four years she told them she was dying, every night before bed. They never heard a word she had said, they were all too busy putting her down to listen to what she was saying to them.
And then after the funeral, they opened her will. Her beloved favorite son, from Florida, expected to be given everything, he excepted himself to be named the next Gypsy King and his daughter the next Matriarch/Gypsy Queen.
Her will floored them. Her will was a hand written letter:
It read:
I want *(name removed) and her four children to have any thing they want. They are the only ones who took care of me for 6 years. And wendy takes my place, you obey her now, she is the new matriarch.
She disowned all of them and left everything to my mother, me, and my 3 brothers, and made me the new Gypsy Queen.
She went out with the biggest damn FUCK YOU, any one ever gave the Clan. You see, I was already the Matriauch of the Ricker Clan and now I'm the Matriauch of the Atwater Clan too. She did what she and Grammy Helen said they would do: united the clans under one Queen.
Each of them commented on how quickly the cancer had spread, and how rare it was for someone to die from cancer “so fast” after only getting it “a few weeks ago”. David attributed her “speedy fall to cancer” to have been “proof she was possessed by an evil spirit”. The Atwaters nodded and murmured in agreement, “Yes, that must be it. God wanted to rid the earth of her evil spirit, that’s why he took her so young, and so fast.”
On David’s command, her children buried her in a cardboard box, in an unmarked grave, without a wake or a funeral in order to “get her evil spirit in the ground fast so we can forget about her vile, evil existence.”
I was utterly reviled on February 21, 2015, when one of her daughters, posted on FaceBook: "Today is my beloved mother's birthday, I am so glad she spend her last Christmas and Thanksgiving with me and my kids."
That lying bitch. She is the one who taught her children the "Nanna-banana" song and told her mother to burn in hell, calling her an old bag. She's one who was taking dammed sink out of the kitchen, laughing and saying "I got the kitchen sink! Hahaha!"
I took care of Grammy Eva the last 6 years of her life and B. WASN'T THERE - NOT ONCE! Nor were her children. How dare she lie about taken and being there for her, when she is one of the monsters that caused Grammy to stop eating and starve herself to death.
Ask me again, why I hate bullies who drive people to suicide? I've seen it happen to many damned times!
Two years after her death, the son whom had treated her the worst of all, whose children had the vilest of all things to say to the grandmother they’d never met, came to Maine to beg forgiveness. I do not understand his actions, or why he came to me of all people. I did not know him. He, like the rest of the snobbish Atwaters, had long maintained a vow of no contact with me due to my “being on evil Eva’s side and working against us”, as the Atwaters like to put it.
I am shunned and ignored by the Atwaters, due to my evil sin of having taken care of my dying grandmother for so many years. So when an Atwater suddenly seeks me out for anything other than to throw rocks at me, it’s an occasion for raised eyebrows. But here he was, an Uncle I hardly knew existed, telling me he had had a vision, his mother had visited him in a dream and she, to his surprise, loved him. I fail to understand why he was so surprised at this, but he was stunned, shocked, and flabbergasted by the discovery that his mother, wasn’t as he previously had thought, an evil bitch who hated his guts. He said he could not ask her for forgiveness, so he was asking me to forgive him in her place. He said to show he truly was sorry, he was buying a grave marker for his mother, which contained the phrase: “Have I told you lately that I love you?” to make up for a lifetime of having never once told his mother he loved her.
As stunned as I was by this visit, another such request of forgiveness would come 8 years later, by the most surprising Atwater of all. David Henry Atwater, Honey Fitze's gun toting, rum running, bootlegging, dog murdering gangster, one of the vilest monsters to ever grace our family tree, arrived in Maine, to beg forgiveness, again, from me, over the way he had treated Eva those last few years of her life. He said he had not believed she was sick. He thought she was faking. He said he never expected her to die. For some reason, while in Maine, he also got his American citizenship, at age 99 years old. He'd been living in America, an illegal alien, for more then 70 years and no one in the family knew he did not have citizenship before that year.
A year later, David Henry died, 10 years after Eva, at age 100 years and 14 days. Before he died, he wrote me a letter, saying he regretted the hell he had put her through, he regretted the hell he put me through, and since he could not ask for her forgiveness, he asked me for mine, knowing that it had been me who had taken care of his beloved Eva those last four dreadful years of her life. He said he regretted not coming back to Maine to visit her before she died. He regretted hanging up the phone, all those many times she had called pleading with him. He regretting leaving her standing alone in the desert all those years ago. He regretted taking from her the things she loved most in life: her husband and her children. He especially regretted having raised her children to hate her, and bemoaned the appalling actions they had taken against her on her deathbed. He closed the letter saying he wished he had never found the Mormon Church and had never set out on his quest to get closer to God, because it cost him the woman he loved. He said he still loved her and that he was booking a flight to Maine, planning to visit her grave. He did make the flight, but not alive.
David Henry Atwater, Chief Patriarch of The Royal Highland Clan, King of the Gypsies ... he actually apologized to me. Do you know that no one has ever apologized to me, before or since. NEVER. Not once. EVER. For ANYTHING. HIM...of all people...he was a monster, but he apologized. That does mean a lot. This is the man who tossed me in the trunk of a car, when I was 14. I was supposed to die when the others did. I didn't. He never went to prison, because he only gave the orders, he wasn't the one who actually did the killing. Though he is the one who killed Grammy's dog and force fed it to her. And in spite of all his talk of all the people he had eaten, there never was any evidence that cannibalism was being practiced later then 1937.
That monster, that evil, horrible man, actually felt remorse, guilt, and the need to ask for forgiveness. It really, really shocked me, because, until that point, I would never have thought this man capable of feeling anything at all.
In the letter he also asked if he could come live with us in Old Orchard Beach. I have Autism. I forget nothing. But I also don't hold a grudge and I do forgive someone who casts pride aside to ask for forgiveness.
He was found dead 3 days before the plane left. And is death? Or it was a doozy. The murder trial nearly tore the family apart. Oh, yeah. He was found by his nurse, who only checked on him once a week, BUT, had not been allowed in the house, by his son-in-law, for nearly 3 months. His nurse, went to the police and they broke into the house to search for him.
He was found tied up and at the bottom of the stairs of his basement, poisoned. Somebody, tied him up, stuffed him full of every pill they could find, and then kicked him down the stairs. Coroner estimated he was dead at least a week, before the nurse found him.
He lived with one of his daughters and her VERY violent, wife beating, child abusing husband (the man who said he couldn't visit Maine because "I don't want to breath the non Mormon air."
Grandpa was blind and "75 lbs underweight" at the time he died. Official cause of death: "Starvation, augmented by drug overdose." He was already dead, before being pushed down the stairs. He lived 100 years and 14 days, only to be murdered.
You start to see where I got the idea for Unicorn's character, now, right? The really old man, blind, starving, can't stop talking about eating people, and gets poisoned.
Oh, and you'r gonna love this. You know how both of main characters: Roderic and Quaraun, and head to toe PINK. There is a reason for that. Grandpa's favorite color was pink. He dressed like a 1920s Chicago gangster, only his suits were BRIGHT PINK. Pink hat. Pink cane. Pink bowtie. Pink suit. Pink shirt. Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink, PINK! Grandpa LOOOOOOOVED pink.
Gypsies are known for their colorful clothes and Grandpa was no exception. The King of the Gypsies was screaming pink.
His body was shipped back on that same flight, in a gold plated pink metal flake coffin. David was buried along side of Eva’s cardboard box, one week after writing me that letter. David Henry finally realized what he had given up to gain the approval of God, but that realization had come 10 years too late. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
Ironically, the child who survived is the one he left in charge of his grave. I tend the graves of Grammy Helen, Grammy Eva, and Grandpa.
Like his son before him, David said he wished he had put love of family, before love of church. He wished he had put God aside, just long enough to say “I love you” to the woman who had devoted her life to loving him. His dying wish was for the family to do as Eva had wanted: forget about God and Church and religion and put family first. He said he regretted having learned too late, that nothing was more important then loving your family, a lesson he learned only after the death of his wife, when it was too late to spend time with her. All the time he'd spent wasted in church and temple, he said he wished instead that he had spent those hours with her.
Weird death-bed repentance of a monster. Why did he say it to me? Because I'm the one who survive. The others were dead, he couldn't say it to them. Put family first. Wow! From the man who bragged of snapping baby necks because it was fun.
It is because of the shameful way the Atwaters treated Grammy Eva those last few days of her life, and the shameless mockery the Utah-(name removed)-Clan acted at her home, partying on her deathbed, and at her funeral, that is why I shunned, banished, and disowned nearly every Atwater and the entire Utah-(name removed)-Clan. Of course, back then, I was still unaware of the horrible way the Utah-(name removed)-Clan was treating the children they held in their compound in Bangor. I'd have disowned them sooner had I known what they were doing up there.
Poor Eva, in later life deeply regretted ever having met the Atwaters, marrying one of them, and bringing them into the mix of our family tree. In the 1970s after fleeing the Atwaters and leaving them behind in Utah, she eventually tracked down her Kickapoo family. Sadly most of them have since been forced off their free lands and herded by white men into reservations in Kansas, which are little more then concentration camps, fenced in by the government, no one goes in, no one goes out, and no one is allowed to have American citizenship and are therefore treated as illegal aliens if they try to go to an off reservation hospital or school. The white men put Native Americans on dead land where the soil is used up and crops barly grow. It's terrible the life of a "reservation Indian".
I believe that if every author wrote accurately different, diverse, characters who were realistically accurate fictional representations of themselves all books would be much better for it. Race, gender, sexuality, illness, disability, interests, hobbies, talents...all of it.
If you pay attention to all of my books, you start to notice a trend: my romance heroes are little guys under 5'5" because I like little guys (like my husband), my romance gals are bigger gals packing booty (like me), my human characters are non-white "Gypsy" races (because I am a non-white "Gypsy" race), my human characters live in RV parks in Maine (because I live in RV parks in Maine), my primary main character has Autism (because I have Autism), many of my female characters are Voodoo Priestess (because I am a Voodoo Priestess)...
Thus my books portray Voodoo, Autism, "Gypsy" races, trailer parks, etc accurately, because I am not a stereotype and I will not reduce my characters to stereotypes either. I am not comfortable writing characters that are not a reflection of my own life, thus I don't write to meet the market, I write for people like me, who have a hard time finding books that don't reduce us to stereotypes.
The Quaraun series is the prequel series to the Twighlight Manor series. In the TMSeries there has long been mention of the fact that Roderic inherited The Twighlight Manor from his grandfather, who built it. His grandfather was never named, but Roderic, who wears wild pink outfits, as said to have inherited his pink outfits from his grandfather as well.
Roderic was long picked on by the other members of his family and, because of the way his father and two uncles treated him, their father disinherited all three of them and left everything: his empire, his kingdoms, his dragon's hoard of gold, and his 500 room haunted house The Twighlight Manor to his retarded grandson Roderic. The Twighlight Manor series never says WHO King Vielder's father was, or why he took the Flamite Empire away from his son and gave it to his younger son's retarded boy Roderic. The Quaraun series is the story which goes back before the Twighlight Manor was built an leads up to HOW Roderic came to own it.
Simply put Quaraun is Roderic's grandfather. Quaraun built the Twighlight Manor. And Quaraun spent his entire life being bullied because he was retarded, so when he saw his three sons bullying the grandchild which suffered from the same illness he did, he left everything to that child (Roderic).
I wrote Roderic as a Gypsy with Autism, because I am a Gypsy with Autism and I write what I know.
Like I did when writing the Roderic stories, the Quaraun stories are inspired largely by events in my own life, and like Roderic, Quaraun responds to life, the same way I do. Both Roderic and Quaraun have Autism and are written the way they are, because I have Autism and how they respond to their environment, is how I respond to mine.
And, so, there you have it. That is what is wrong with Quaraun. He is a Gypsy who has autism, so not only are you looking at a character who is "retarded" he also is from a culture, seen by most readers as "alien". I write Quaraun as a Gypsy with Autism, because I am a Gypsy with Autism and I write what I know.
This is my life. I am a Gypsy with Autism. That is who I am. That is the world I know.
You can not expect me to write about a non-Gypsy character and write them accurately, because I will only be able to write them from the perspective of how they are seen by us Gypsies.
You can not expect me to write about a non-Autistic character and write them accurately, because I will only be able to write them from the perspective of how they are seen by a person with Autism.
And thus I write, contrary to mainstream conventions, and write a character, who sees the world the same way I do.
QUESTION: What is with the gaudy bright colored covers?
ANSWER: People who know me, know I am very active in Autism Awareness events, programs, conventions, shows, lectures, etc. The Quaraun series was created, to help bring awareness of what the world looks like through the eyes of someone with Autism.
One of the things that non-Autistic people are often unaware of is that, there is a type of Autism, in which one of the symptoms is surrounding themselves with bright colors, extreme amounts of glitter, and eye-popping shades of pink. (Liberace` is perhaps the most famous person to have this type of Autism.)
In clinical studies on many of these types of Autistic patients, it was discovered that they see 3 million more colors then the average non-Autistic person. They also suffer from "snow blindness" in ordinary daylight, but can see at night (like a cat or owl). The doctors involved in the study, said that the retinas of patients with this type of Autism, are identical to the retinas found in goldfish.
I have this type of Autism, which is why I write Quaraun as also having it, and why the covers of the books, look like they do.
Also, if you notice in the series, you see Unicorn at the end of his natural life span - and he's nearly blind and describing living in a world that is a blur of foggy greys interrupted by splashes of bright colours once in a while. You see him too complain whenever Quaraun does not wear bright pink, saying that he can not see where Quaraun is unless he is wearing pink.
I don't see well anymore. Without glasses I can "almost" see 8" from me, but even that is a haze of grey. I'm legally blind in one eye and close to it in the other. My glasses are VERY thick and even with them I can only see about 20 feet away from me. Which is part of the reason I drive so slow.
I had to take the driver's eye test 3 times before they passed me saying that Maine law only requires you to pass it in one eye. My right eye passes "enough" to grant me a driver's license, but I'm legally blind in my left eye, which doesn't pass at all. I lack peripheral vision, and I can see anything coming at me from the left/driver's side - in other words, if you are in a crosswalk, crossing the street, coming towards me from the driver's side, I'm not seeing you AT ALL - there have been 3 seperate occasions where a pedestrian in the crosswalk, has punched my car and started yelling, while I was driving, because they were in the crosswalk, and me being blind in the left eye, I didn't see them at all.
It also means that if you try to pass my car on the left, I'm not gonna see you, doing that either. And in lanes where I have to merge left, I have to physically stop the car and turn all the way around, to look out the side window with my right eye, in order to see if there are any cars in the left lane, before I am able to change lanes from the right lane to the left lane.
Because of my difficulty in seeing colurs, if your car is white, silver, or grey - I'm NOT going to see it AT ALL. Just like it isn't even there.
I mean, there IS a reason my cars are all painted neon colours, my clothes are neon colors, and the covers of my books are all neon colours: I'm almost blind and it's the only way I can see them at all. It's the reason I write Unicorn as being almost blind, because he sees the world the way I see the world. When I describe how Unicorn sees things, I am describing how I see things.
And if you are wondering what happened to my left eye: I was hit in the head with a stick. Like I said, when you have Autism, you get used to people, especial relatives, beating you up. He hit my in the face with a limb of a tree.
I was walking in the woods as I often do, and he stood behind a tree, holding a low limb, back and when I approached the tree, he let go of it, so that it swung around the tree and slammed into my face. He ran off and had himself a good laugh. I was 8 years old, he was 32 years old. This was not a kid, this was a grown man in my family, who often made a habit of beating me up, because he thought beating me up was good for a laugh.
The limb hit my right across my eyes and hit me hard enough to knock me out. Part of the branch, went into my eye. I had to be rushed to the hospital, to have a stick removed from my eye.
The force from the blow, damaged my sight in both of my eyes, but the left eye has been legally blind since I was 8 years old, due to the stick, which punctured it and required surgery to remove it.
He went to the hospital with us and because I have Autism and can't talk, he told them that I was riding my bike and fell off and that's how I got a stick in my eye. I have NEVER owned a bike. I wouldn't even know how to ride a bike. But I have autism, I don't talk, so the doctors believed him and the domestic violence and child abuse continued my entire life, from the time I was a toddler, right up until I got my driver's license at 37 years old, at which point I was able from my very abusive, bully relatives.
And then finally, you also have to consider the fact that Quaraun is a sissy. And a quick note on Quaraun and my use of calling him a "sissy". I do not mean "sissy" in the common derogatory American street slang. Quaraun is an ACTUAL sissy. A sissy is a type of transgender.
I know a lot of people who are not part of the transgendered and/or BDSM community usually get confused about what the word sissy means and often when they hear me using it they think I am referencing the more common mean, hateful, and derogatory meaning of the word. No. A sissy is a type of gender identification.
Quaraun is an actual sissy - if you don't know what that means look up "sissification" - yes, there is a difference between, the common street slang term sissy, used to tease someone, and the ACTUAL word sissy, which is a type of gender identity.
A sissy is a type of transvestite, who is a male, who dresses like a woman, acts like a woman, etc, BUT does not hide the fact that he is a male. He is not trying to be a female in spite of the way he acts and dresses, and makes no attempt to pass himself off as a female. In spite of looking and acting like a female, he still uses male pronouns for himself. Typically a sissy, is also the sub/slave of a BDSM relationship. Sissies are USUALLY straight men who prefer to be dominated by a butch woman, however some sissies are bi or as in the case with Quaraun, gay.
A sissy is a male, who likes wearing sexy panties and stockings and silks and lace and frilly dresses and putting on make-up, but he's not trying to be a woman. He gets very sexually excited from wearing women's clothing.
A sissy is different from a cross-dresser or a sheMale. A cross-dresser, JUST likes to wear the cloths. A sheMale IS attempting to pass off as a female.
A sissy on the other hand, not only likes to wear the clothes, but lives to serve a dominant Master. A sissy feel "incomplete" if he doesn't have a Master to serve. Sissies are EXTREMELY submissive and nothing makes them happier then to be "the perfect sex slave" doing/taking absolutely anything their partner/spouse/etc (always called Master) requests.
A sissy isn't just "dressing up" for the fun of doing so. They live in those clothes 24/7/365. And they will do anything to please their Master.
If you need more information of this lifestyle and what exactly a sissy is SEE:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feminization_(activity)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sissy_(transgender)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gender_bender
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transvestic_fetishism
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Male_submission
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transgender_sexuality
And if you are interesting in seeing how much of a sissy you are, try this: http://www.sissify.com/sissyquiz/ Take the quizz called "What kind of sissy are you?" just reading the questions and possible answers will give you quite a bit of insight into the type Elf Quaraun is and the lifestyle he lives.
BTW on that quiz I score:
sissyMaid!: The ultimate sissy, you have ruffles on your soul. Now you just need to learn how to sew them on your panties.
And I should probably point out that that site with the quizz, is a BDSM training school's web site. It's kind of a "college" for men who want to learn to be a sissified sex slave. Most of the site, you can't access
But, if you look at that site and then Google for more Sissy sites, you'll notice a trend - they are ALL bright pink. Which, once you realize Quaraun is an ACTUAL sissy, then it suddenly becomes clear - WHY the covers of the books are pink.
I did mention Quaraun was based largely off my own life, 90% of my wardrobe is pink, and I sparkle head to toe, all day, every day. If there's one thing I know well: it's sissies, the sissy lifestyle, how to accurately play a sissy in a D&D game session, and how to accurately write a sissy character.
A sissy is a type of sex slave in the BDSM community. And for the record I have been the slave of a Master/slave relationship for 28 years.
QUESTION: Quaraun is TSTL (too stupid to live). Why in the heck did you make a main character be so stupid?
ANSWER: If Quaraun is too stupid to live, then so am I.
Please see the answer a few questions back, the one about Autism.
Quaraun has Autism, because I have Autism.
Quaraun is very, very, very, very, super mega smart on a few things, but dumb as a door nail about everything else, because I am very, very, very, very, super mega smart on a few things, but dumb as a door nail about everything else.
Quaraun can't tell a 2 from a 5 because I can't tell a 2 from a 5.
Quaraun dresses like a drag queen because I dress like a drag queen. He is a sissy in the true and actual definition of the word.
Quaraun faints all the time because I faint all the time.
Quaraun has panic attacks and nervous breakdowns, because I have panic attacks and nervous breakdowns.
Quaraun witnesses several horrible violent deaths, including the mass murder/suicide that kills his best friend, because I witnessed several horrible violent deaths, including the mass murder/suicide that killed all five of my best friends.
Quaraun suffers from PTSD, coupled with night terrors, random screaming fits, and psychotic meltdowns triggered by everything from sights to sounds to smells, because I suffered from PTSD, coupled with night terrors, random screaming fits, and psychotic meltdowns triggered by everything from sights to sounds to smells.
Quaraun refuses to fight, argue, take sides, or other wise get involved with any sort of argument and instead runs away to hide, sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, with his hands over his ears screaming, because I refuse to fight, argue, take sides, or otherwise get involved with any sort of argument and instead runs away to hide, sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, with my hands over my ears screaming.
Quaraun is horribly bullied, teased, picked on, punched, called retarded, and treated like a worthless piece of shit because of his weak health, his race, and his culture, by every one he meets everywhere he goes, because I have been horribly bullied, teased, picked on, punched, called retarded, and treated like a worthless piece of shit because of my weak health, my race, and my culture, by everyone I meet everywhere I go.
Quaraun was made homeless by violent hate crimes which left his family dead and forced to live most of his later life in a tent, because I was made homeless by violent hate crimes which left my family crippled and forced to live most of my later life under a tarp.
In short, Quaraun is a fictionalized version of my life, if I was an Elf wizard living in a quasi-Medieval time period. And I repeat: if Quaraun is too stupid to live, then so am I.
QUESTION: All the men in this series seem to be really short. Are they? And why?
ANSWER: Yes.
FarDarrig is described as being -somewhere between 4'8" and 5'1"-, while Quaraun is described as "all Elves are shorter than Humans, with the Moon Elves shorter than most Elves and Quaraun the shortest of all the Moon Elves, the other Moon Elves nicknamed him The Runt" and later it says "as small as Quaraun was, the little old Faerie was even shorter" (the little Faerie being Unicorn). In another place it says "Unicorn at 5'3" stood on the Elf's toes to look him in the eye."
Their actual heights are:
Quaraun = 5'6"
Unicorn = 5'3"
FarDarrig = 4'8"
Roderic Swanzen = 5'1"
Etiole Swanzen = 5'3"
Why? There is a reason actually.
A few months ago, I was talking with one of my readers (a guy who lives locally to me so I see him around town every few days. -most of my readers are local - I kind of target local, all my stories being set in local towns and all - He's a big guy, about 6'2"). He was telling me how he'd just read one of my books and that he'd noticed something, he wasn't sure if it was a trend or not, but he'd remembered noticing it before, so he went back and looked at some of my other books, and yep, there was a trend in my stories and it puzzled him, and so he asked me about why I did it...
He said: "I have to ask you about this, but in your Romance stories, all you're heroes a small wiry little fellas. This guy in your new book, he's only 5'3" and the way you describe him, he's pretty thin too ain't he? There just ain't much to him. And that one you keep writing about, the old guy there, he's well ain't he like 90 years old and again, he only just over 5 feet too ain't he? And you've got all those stories with that little tiny merman dude, and you did that one with like a Leprechaun or something. I thought Romance heroes were supposed to be these big young muscle dudes. Why don't you write your heroes like other Romance authors do? What do you got a thing for little guys or something?" (The "old guy" he was referencing was Sir Roderic of the Twighlight Manor series).
My answer was: "Did you ever see my husband?"
He stopped and thought about it for a few seconds and then said: "Yeah, I never thought of that. You really like the little guys don't ya?"
Yep, my husband is a little bitty guy, I can pick him up and walk off with him if I wanted too - I've done it too! LOL! He's also in his 70s, I'm in my 40s, explaining the trend in my romance heroes being quite a bit older than their mates.
But yeah, most of my heroes are really short, which strays way against the norm of romance heroes being really tall. I know why too.
When I was a kid, there was this uncle who was a really big guy, really big, big guy, 6'4", and every time he'd see me, he'd grab me, toss me over his head and start swinging me back and forth through the air (I was maybe 4 or 5 years old) like a rainbow arch way over his head. I'd scream for him to stop and he'd laugh and let go and toss me high up in the air and than pretend he wasn't gonna catch me. Other times he'd take my teddy bear and throw it up in the tree or up on the roof of the house (trailer - we lived in a painted wooden wagon cart thing back than), and than he'd laugh while I was crying my eyes out.
One day he ripped the button eyes and nose off my bear, and I went into hysterics - major hysterics - ended up in the hospital over it big time major hysterics - I passed out stopped breathing, my mother thought I'd died, I woke up with ambulance and stuff around and jumped up screaming that my bear was dead. His reaction was to laugh hysterically and tease me over it, than rip the bear in half and pull the stuffing out. I was 4 years old. I had a conniption and was in the state of absolute shock for days and didn't come out of it until my mother sewed the bear back up and put a new face on it.
My GIANT uncle was always doing stuff like that. I was terrified of him...and subsequently I developed a massive phobia of big men. Of course, there are other reasons I was terrified of him, which is why I today, have such a huge hatred for pedophiles.
And I still too this day have nightmares of giant men towering over me laughing and throwing me in the air and in the nightmare I just keep falling and falling and falling and falling and there's no end to the fall. It effected me to the point that every time I see a man who is even a few inches taller than me, my first reaction is to be scared out of my mind. And thus how I came to be attracted to men shorter than myself (I being 5'6") and how all the heroes in my stories, every single one of them, came to be 5'5" or shorter. On the other hand, the villains are always big always over 6' tall.
(I still have the bear btw - it sits on the top of my computer monitor - people think I'm weird, still sleep with the bear I had as a baby, but that bear and I went through a lot together and it's like a million and one memories every time I see it - I wouldn't sell it even it if hadn't been damaged. Yes, just like Radar in M*A*S*H I still sleep with a teddy bear.)
So, basically, the men who abused me, throughout my childhood, teen, and young adult years, because I had Autism and they thought they could get away with it, were all big men and today I have a massive phobia of big men, so I am unable to write stories with big men as heros. If I write a big man in my books, he is ALWAYS going to be a villain and will most likely get killed and eaten by a much smaller hero.
But yeah, there you go. That's why the men in my books, are always very short. Basically you are looking at the side effects of nearly 40 years of domestic violence which has resulted in me PTSD and being terrified of certain types of men.
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