Happy 2026!
It is our 30th anniversary here at Space Dock 13!
On the web since 1996!
You have encountered an extremely old website that continues to exist in old web ways, the same way it has done for now three decades.
In spite of being now 30 years old this year, started in 1996, it is still heavily active and old pages updated daily, new pages added daily, still now in 2026. All hand written, all hand coded (no AI), all by me, same as it ever was.
We Still Exist: The Old Web Did Not Go Away, You Just Forgot How To Find Us
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This site was NOT designed for mobile devices (as they had not been invented yet when I created it) thus this site looks best on a computer, at 1280x768 or above. |
This is a very old website created in 1996, so, yes, javascript is needed for the site to work as it should. If things don't function, you may need to update javascript drivers on your device |
This site tries to be mobile friendly but it's been online since 1996, so old pages may not load right on mobile devices, and as this site has had pages added near daily for 30 years there are now over 20k pages here. |
Having started out in life as a GeoCities site, this site contains glitter, bright colours, blinkies, moving gifs, and other things the old web was known for. |


Please Note: The Quaraun Series Is Rated M18+ and you must be 18 or older to buy it.
Most pages on EelKat.com are about writing Yaoi, and thus probably is NSFW; reader discretion is advised.
Why is the Quaraun Series Rated M18+?

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If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters:
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My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.
As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.
There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.
The first of the Visual Novels/Video Games for The Adventures of Quaraun the Inane/The Pink Necromancer series is published and available on Itch.io, there are 3 more planned for release in 2026, 6 more planned for release in 2027, and the big 60-hour 80k word 150 page one (Quaraun Goes To the Fair) is planned for a 2028 release.
There is a Pink Necromancer card game and a Pink Necromancer board game, as well as a Pink Necromancer table top RPG supliment for Dungeons and Dragons, all in the works, and to be released over the next couple of years as well.
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Update Sept 3, 2026:
I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.
I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy.
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update sept 7, 2026
"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?
I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.
So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.
see video below for more information:
@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author
update Sept 15, 2026:
I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed
you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?
all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,
well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.
waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.
update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine
Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.
The Summoner of Darkness is
an Epic Length Novel of more than 300,000 words
(500+ paperback pages)
This chapter is...
Word count: 2,794
or
9 paperback pages.

~o0o~ Chapter ~o0o~
"This is a nice village," Quaraun commented as he looked at the rolling hills and the well manicured juniper trees. "It's very warm. Inviting. Comforting."
"Ya likes it here, then?" Unicorn asked.
"I like the tower. This appears to be the village it goes with."
Quaraun pointed to the old lighthouse, which was standing at the far side of the village, casting a shadow over it, from it's precarious perch on the cliffs.
"The area is beautiful," Quaraun continued, looking around. "An elegant local for wealthy merchants, by the look of the houses."
"Aye, and slums along the docks, by the look of the waterfront."
"Where we're likely find a tavern."
"So avoiding, the safe side of town for the seedy side, eh?"
"Of course we are. Where else would I go?"
"How did ya go from aristocrate snotty pouf, to a drink chasing gutter slum rat?"
"I met you."
"Ah! Of course."
"You do realize I didn't drink before I met you?"
"Ya did nae knows what sex was neither."
Quaraun gazed out over the field, surrounding the village. Then looked back to the dense forest they had just immerged from.
"Still..." Quaraun said in a troubled voice. "Something feels wrong here."
"Eh?"
"These fields and the forest... they should be worked and yet we've not met a single woodsmen. Not one hunter. And now look at these fields. It's harvest season. They should be filled with workers, gathering the crops. Look those potatoes are ready for harvets. And so isn't the corn. And those pumpkins..."
Quaraun stopped talking when he saw the pumpkins.
"The pumpkins are following us again..."
"Pumpkins is no follow us, Quaraun. I just harvest season un everyone round these parts grows lots o pumpkins."
"This area is quiet and empty. And yet, look at the size and multitude of the houses ahead of us. This is quite a large city. Must be a thousand people in it at least, judging from the houses. Why are the fields empty?"
"Perhaps it is a holiday. Ya knows how Humans is with their Christy-mustnesses and stuff."
"True. Humans do seem to be a lazy lot. Have a day off for every excuse under the sun. But I don't think that's it. Something's wrong. I can feel it. And it has something to do with that tower."
"The tower again?"
"Yes. It calls to me. And it shouldn't be doing that. There is strong magic at foot here and I want to get to the bottom of it. I don't like the fact that the tower is pulling me closer to it. Someone is trying to control me."
"Is they?"
"Yes. There is a Psyion around here. Trying to tap into my brain and take control of my thoughts. Manipulate my actions. They want me to go to the tower."
"Than should ya not be going the other way?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not then?"
"Because we need to find out who is doing it and why and make them stop."
Unicorn sniffed the air. An undeniable stench of rotten flesh hungs in the air.
"That no dead fish, I smelling," Unicorn said.
"Yes. I smell it too."
"Someone is dead."
"Some ONE? Not some thing?"
"That Human flesh."
"Are you sure?"
"Aye."
"Do you know where it is coming from?"
"Should be able to follow it to the source."
Quaraun and Unicorn entered the village.
"It's him!" A woman gasped.
Quaraun stopped to see who had said this and as soon as the woman realized he was looking at her, she dropped her load of root vegetables and ran away. Quaraun and Unicorn continued onward, and were greeted moments later by the woman returning, running back, with several other villagers with her.
"Look!" The woman yelled. "See? I told you! It's really him! It's Quaraun the Insane, just like ___ said. He's here!"
Quaraun stopped walking again.
"Me t'inks dis be the village ya screaming fangirl came from," Unicorn commented.
"Apparently," Quaraun agreed.
"Ya t'inks they coming to greet ya or t'rows ya out?"
"I don't know."

He wasn't given a chance to ponder the possibility either, before the crowd was gathered around him. Quaraun immediately made ready to run, but just then the crowd fell to it's knees in front of him. Men and woman of all ages, but no children, were gathered, weeping, crying, pleading, and begging. There were too many of then talking and screaming and yelling at once for Quaraun to make out anything any of the were saying. The Elf flattened his ears back. He could hear better than anyone else around. Even the slightest noise picked up full decibels in his very sensitive ears. Quaraun prefered quiet for the very reason of the fact that his ears picked up even the minutest sounds, from clear across town. Loud noises hurt his ears. This noise was loud.
This noise hurt. It made him want to run. But he was completely surrounded by the frantic people, and he wasn't sure if they were about to attack him or not. There was too much noise for him to focus on any one person. He could not pick out safe sounds from threatening sounds and that made him start to panic. Quaraun liked safety. He did not feel safe just now.
"Stop yelling," Quaraun said, as he clamped his hands over his sensitive long ears. "Please. Stop."
"SHUT UP!" Yelled out over the crowd, flying up over the crowd and hovering in mid air, looking very fierce and ready to attack.
Upon seeing the Phooka, the crowd immediately went dead silent. Many of them cowering back in fear, uncertain what Unicorn was or how he was able to float in the air like he was doing just then, but they knew Quaraun was a wizard and so most of them assumed it something Quaraun was doing to cause this.
"Please, help us," one man said stepping forward, his voice trembling in fear.
"What?" Quaraun looked around at the people. He was confused by the terror in their eyes. This village suddenly didn't feel as quiet and peaceful as it had felt moments ago. "Why? Why do you need help?And who do you think I am, that you think i can help you?"
"Are you not Quaraun the Insane?"
"I am Quaraun," he said dryly. "But I dislike being called insane. I wish you Humans would stop saying that about me. It's mean. It hurts my feelings. I'm not insane and I don't like your people constantly telling me I am."
"We are sorry, kind sir, but we know you by no other name."
"I am Quaraun. Just Quaraun. Nothing else. What do what from me?"
"You are a great and powerful wizard, are you not?"
"I used to be."
"Are you no longer a wizard?"

"No. I'm still a wizard. But I'm wanted by the Guild..."
"For practicing Necromancy. We know. You are the Pink Necromancer."
"Why don't you call me Quaraun, The Pink Necromancer then? Why must you insist upon calling me Quaraun the Insane?"
"It is not we who gave you your name. We simply know you from the stories we have heard."
"What stories?"
"That you help people."
"That's debatable."
"You are the last of the DiJinn."
"Am I the last?"
"You are a wish granting wizard."
"You don't want wishes granted by me."
"But we do! Surly we do!"
"I'm a bumbling drunk, drug addict wizard and my spells often go wrong, especially my wish granting spells."
"But only very powerful, advanced studies wizards can even grant wishes at all!"
"Wish granting is a dangerous practice, outlawed by the Guild and with high rate of error. While all wishes that are granted succeed in doing SOMETHING, 9 out of every 10 wishes is almost guaranteed to go horribly wrong. Such as wishing for a bag of gold, and a giant bag of gold falls out of the sky, lands on the wisher, crushing his skull - he got his gold, his wish was granted, but he's also dead."
"But it is said you have a high rate of wishes granted going right. Higher then any other wizard known."
"Yes. I do. And even then, three out of every 7 wishes ends in the wisher being killed or horrible maimed by his wish when it comes to pass."
"We need your help."
"Do you have any idea what it is like for me? Do you think I can just help every one? When a wizard is found who has a high rate of wish granting success with a low rate of wisher harm, he tends to end up with hoards of needy and greedy followers thronging to him requesting and demanding he grant their requests."
"We are not greedy."
"No. Just needy."
"We need your help."
"In the same way desperate people pray to God, desperate people, parents of sick children, people in financial trouble, along side greedy politicians seeking power, and criminals who want to not be found, flock to us wizards with wish granting powers. Like you are doing right now."
"Please. We need your help."
"You need to harvest your crops before winter comes is what you need. I saw those harvests not being harvested out there. Villages in famine regions are known to gather up all their gold and offer it to these god like wizards, as they call us, in hopes of getting wishes for rain granted. And here you are letting your crops go to waste! While politicians seeking power, will kidnap us wish granting wizards holding us hostage, often torturing us until us grant the evil one's wish. Because there is no limit on the number of wishes that can be granted, some wizards are enslaved by kings and forced to grant countless wishes. You have no idea what it is like. Every where I go you stupid Humans are trying to get me to grant wishes for you. Why don't you just get off your asses and do your own dirty work yourself."
Quaraun flung his pink feather boa over his shoulder as he turned and walked back towards the village gates. Unicorn followed him.
"Please! The Human cried out. "Don't leave..."
"Do you know," Quaraun continued talking. "There are cults, churches, and temples built in honour of wish granting wizards, in hopes of attracting the wizards to come to their village?"
Every Human in the crowd stopped talking. Quaraun stopped walking when he heard the silence and tried to think of what he could have said to get that reaction. Then turned, and with his hands on his hips glared angrily at the Humans cowering before him.
"Let me guess, somewhere in this village is a cult that worships me, and you're all members, who consider me to be some god you've been praying to waiting for me to rescue you."
No one answered him. They all looked scared out of their minds, with the sudden realization that they had angered the world's most powerful wizard.
"Ya has fan girls," Unicorn whispered to Quaraun, laughing.
"Don't remind me. I'm trying to keep a low profile..."
"By wearing the pinkest dresses ya can find?"
"I'm wanted by the Guild."
"Aye. And they want ya dead. These people here want ya alive, so's they can kiss ya feet and crown ya god. Ya ought to like that."
"They're worse then ZooLock," Quaraun grumbled.
He hated helping people. At the same time, he hated the guilty feeling he got whenever someone asked for help and he said no to them. Everyone knew the stories. No one knew the truth.
"Tell me what you want."
"You said that...
"Ya said that too..." Unicorn said.
A dark and stormy night dimmed in comparison to what it was now.
"They attack their own people and claim it was their enemies."
"Why?"
"No idea."
"In the process of cleaning up, the government and church betrays them and has them all murdered by the army."
"Murdered by the army?"
"Probably."
"As an outsider, what is your opinion on the human race?"
"I'm confused. Why are you tlling me these things?"
"You're an Elf."
""Yes. Which is why I am wondering whay you, a lowly Human, is speaking to me."
"Mmmm, I loves de smell of decomposing bodies in de morning."
Quaraun and the Human both looked at Unicorn questioningly.
"Does ya no smell it?" Unicorn asked, seeing Quaraun's confusion.
"No. I'm an Elf not a Bloodhoud."
"They is burning bodies."
"Who is?"
"De Humans. I smells the burnt blood of half-Elves un young-uns. De Humans around dese parts is burning child'en un Half-Elves. Dis village not so nice as it looks."
"Burning Half-Elves?"
"Aye."
"That's not right."
But before Quaraun could consider this more...
"Quaraun!"
"ZooLock?" Quaraun asked when he saw the squid headed priest. "What are you doing here?"
"Quaraun!" ZooLock exclaimed, uncharacteristically happy to see the Elf. "I thought I'd lost you!"
"I'd hoped I'd lost you," Quaraun snarled.
"Good to see you too!" ZooLock wrapped many tentecleas around the Elf to hug him.
"Let go of me!" Quaraun yelled, trying to wriggle out of the Thullid's grasp.
"How have you been?"
"Terrible. A crazy boat person took us down river on an otter cat in a brook instead of a river. Santa Claus is apparently an evil bastard, and Unicorn is eating Human Head cheese."
"Marvelous! How is your leg?"
"It hurts like Hell, thank you for asking. I didn't want to be reminded of it."
"This town has a tavern, I'll get you a room there."
"Why you being nice to me?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"You're never nice to me."
"I think, you've misunderstood me."
"You locked me in a bowl for centuries and then you stuffed me in this Elf. You delight in tormenting me. What's there to misunderstand?"
"I was trying to take care of you. As I still am."
"You're up to something."
"No. I just finally realized you felt like you were my prisoner all those years and I had no idea you felt that way. I wanted to make life good for you. You never had to do anything. We always did everything for you."
"I couldn't even move."
"We didn't know you wanted to."
"I lived in the ocean. Free to swin whereever I pleased. You put me in a bowl! Now I'm traped in an Elf, but at least I can move his body and make him travel."
"Well, I am deeply sorry. I didn't know."
"I don't believe you."
"Let me make it up to you."
"How?"
"I'll serve you."
"You got your chains off."
"Oh, yes, but they are right here." ZooLock pulled out his chains. "No reason to wear them if you weren't there to drag me around. Look. I'll put them back on, so you can drag me around again."
Next Chapter: >>>

Back from the dead, once again with Unicorn in tow, and now with the Thullid priest ZooLock his prisoner shackled in chains, Quaraun is headed back to The Screaming Unicorn Tavern in Old Orchard Beach, but finds himself cursed with endless bad luck, as one thing after another drops out of the sky in his path.
Highwaymen, hellhounds, a turtle as big as a house, fire breathing butterflies, a train station from the 20th century, and a strange glow-in-the-dark demonic wizard with pockets full of sheep, who sits in a red armchair in poppy field in the 1400s reading 1980s spellbooks books by Gary Gaygax.
Quaraun goes head to head against The Gremlin, a time traveling wizard from the future who refuses to allow the Pink Necromancer back into Old Orchard Beach, where since his last visit, an evil Sorcerer named HellBorne has erected a giant cursed lighthouse known as The Black Tower.
ZooLock however has other plans, and while 4 rival wizards tear up the town in a wizard's duel, the Squid Headed Aliens From Neptune's Moon and their armies of JellyFish worshiping cultists arrive in town to preform a ritual that will unleash an Elder Brain Chaos Demon, known as The Sacred Pink JellyFish on the world. Too bad they didn't know she was already in town.
NOTE: Most of this novel will be available as free to read online.
(The End?)
The Summoner of Darkness is the first time The Gremlin, EelKat, Lyxiana, Bela, and Spriggan (all characters from the original 1978 edition of Friends Are Forever, Volume 1 of The Twighlight Manor Series) make appearances in The Quaraun series.
While most of the Quaraun series is written with Quaraun as the only point of view character, EelKat, the primary point of view character of the Twighlight Manor series, alternates with Quaraun as a point of view character in Summoner of Darkness.
The novel tells 2 stories side by side, with all odd numbered chapters telling Quaraun's version of the story in the 1400s, and all even numbered chapters being written as letters from EelKat in the 1980s to her sister Lynxian.
EelKat is a 4th wall meta breaking narrator.

This is the first time GhoulSpawn appears using the name GhoulSpawn. In previous volumes he was using the name Glinta instead.
In the Twighlight Manor series he is known as The Gremlin.
Quaraun's teenaged lover GhoulSpawn is a "natural born" Sorcerer. He is a half-Elf/half Demon.
GhoulSpawn's father was an evil Demon who commanded an army of Ghouls. Because of this, he was known simply as "The Ghoul".
GhoulSpawn's mother was a Sun Elf whom had fallen in love with The Ghoul, but was forbidden by her family to have contact with him. She in turn ran away with her Demon lover, thus causing a war between Elves and Demons.
The Sun Elves tell a story of how their Princess was kidnapped and raped by the Ghoul, thus she gave birth to the Spawn of the Ghoul. Though his mother named him Glinta, she died while he was still very young, and his Elven kin, took to calling him GhoulSpawn as a way to brand him not one of them.
GhoulSpawn is an interdimensional time traveller, because he is unable to remain in any one time, place or dimension long, because he was born in the Hell Dimension, which exists outside of the realm of time and space as we know it. The Ghoul tried to escape the Sun Elves by going to the distant future (1974) and leaving his half-Elf son and the boy's mother there to live among a band of LSD addicted hippie Humans whom drove a 1974 AMC Gremlin.
The Sun-Elves eventually found their missing she-Elf and brought her back to the 1400s where she belonged, but she refused to leave her half-Demon son behind.
After his mother's death, GhoulSpawn was made a servant to his High Elf step-father and full blooded Elf step siblings, all of whom abused him and treated him like a slave. He grew up constantly being told he, because he was only a half-Elf, was unloved and unwanted and should have been killed at birth, resulting in the very low self esteem he has.
Neither Demons nor half-Elves are considered welcomed members of society, both being forced to live in small tribal groups on the outskirts of civilization. Both are often stoned to death or hung if they dare set foot in a city.
GhoulSpawn being both a Demon and a half-Elf is doubly mistreated by the majority of the world's population. He takes to travelling with Quaraun because Quaraun simply accepts GhoulSpawn as he is and is not bothered by being seen in the company of either a Demon or a half-Elf.
There are several instances when people try to bully GhoulSpawn and Quaraun (a high ranking full-blooded aristocratic High Elf) is quick to stand up for him, protecting and defending the half-Elf. Quaraun is often classified by other Elves as "insane" simply because he is willing to be friends with a half-Elf.
GhoulSpawn has a speech impediment which lessens when he is relaxed and grows worse the more nervous or frightened he becomes.
Around calm laid back characters like Quaraun, GhoulSpawn speaks without difficulty. However around domineering, headstrong, or bullying characters such as Unicorn or HellBorne, GhoulSpawn develops a stutter, making it difficult for him the get to the end of a sentence.
Because he is a Demon, GhoulSpawn was born with natural magical abilities, making him a rare "natural born wizard" or sorcerer.
GhoulSpawn is typical of a Sorcerer in the Quaraun series, in that he has Demon blood, was thus born with a Demon's natural ability to cast magic on some levels, has taking to self-teaching himself how to control the magic powers he was born with, is outcast from society because of his link to Demons, and is generally not well thought of, even though he is not in any way evil, and is in fact the only part of the cast who could be considered anything close to being a Hero.
Being a time traveller, there are times when Quaraun encounteres both GhoulSpawn and his future counterpart Gremlin in the same novel.
This is the first novel in the series to feature multiple versions of GhoulSpawn in a single novel.
GhoulSpawn remains one of the most hated and most loved characters in the series. People who dislike him, absolutely despise him and have gone so far as to request I remove his character from the series entirely. While people who love him, often cite him as their favourite character and often request I add him into more stories more often.
For the people who don't like him, I'm sorry, but he remains one of my favourite characters of the series and he's not going anywhere.
For the people who want to see more of him: there are plans to make changes to several stories in the series to include him in the future editions, more often.
You can find out more about GhoulSpawn here:

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This novel was originally written in: 2014 - 2016
This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
All Rights Reserved.
While there are around 20k pages on this website, most of them are blocked from search engines, with only around 800 of them available for appearing in Google/Bing/etc search results. The remainder can only be accessed via the various links found throughout this site. This was done deliberately on my part, and I did it because the bulk of the pages on this website are chapters from 138 novels and 423 novellas, so only the first page of each novel and novella indexed by search engines, and the remainder are linked in order, one page at a time, via clicking "next page" at the end of each. So if you are looking for a specific page from a specific novel, Google can't help you.
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Get an email whenever Wendy Christine Allen 🌸💖🦄 aka EelKat 🧿💛🔮👻 publishes on Medium.
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Do you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Avenue, Old Orchard Beach, Maine on August 8, 2013? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son on November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College and crippled me July 26, 2016 at scarborough WalMart,... they arrived the first time with a backhoe on August 8, 2013, that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since....
... which means it is now only a few weeks from the 14th anniversary of my son's murder. I was 8 month pregnant November 14, 2013, and a student ay SMCC, and coming out of the Buglight Lighthouse art studio after art class, when a still unidentifiedwoman wielding a golf club attacked me, severed my spine, while I was 8 months pregnant, triggered early labour, then killed my son minutes after he was born.
While accusing me of being transgender, screaming "transvestite freak" and "look at that thing, that's Ken's son in a dress"... while I was 8 months pregnant.
My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son and crippled me, arrived the first time with a backhoe that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since. |
The backhoe driver returned November 14, 2013, armed with a golf club, used it to break my spine and smash my baby's brains out on the ground
On November 14, 2013, my son was murdered. I was 8 months pregnant, leaving my college classroom, and just getting into my car, when 3 strangers, a man and two women, armed with golf clubs leapt out from behind my car screaming "kill or be killed, kill the transvestite freaks, kill them all before they kill us! look at that thing! That is Ken's son, look at how it's dressed! kill the transvestite freaks! kill or be killed"... while the bald man and the red haired woman chanted this over and over, the blonde woman, lunged with the golf club.
She severed my spine, I am now a quadriplegic, and been paralyzed arms and legs, and in a wheelchair for 13 years now. She broke my hips, my knees, my legs, ruptured most of my discs, and shattered three of my vertebrae so bad that the shards of bone acted like glass and embedded themselves into my spinal column nerve bundle.
The attack also triggered labour.
My son was born in that parking lot, and he lived only a couple of minutes, before the deranged blonde woman, beat his head in and smashed his brains out, with the same golfclub she had just used to sever my spine and leave me crippled for the rest of my life.
Realizing that I was not transgender, and they'd just murdered a baby, the man grabbed the 2 women and forcibly dragged them away to a 4 door white pickup truck, and they left me there to die.
The FBI told me later, that a few weeks before this attack, and transwoman, had murdered a cis woman, in a parking lot, abou 20 miles away from where I was attacked. The FBI, believes that my attackers, had somehow found out I wrote transgender fiction, connecting my real name to my penname, (my father's name is in fact "Ken", and I do have a brother) and believed that I wrote transgender fiction, because I was myself transgender, even though I'm not transgender. The FBI, believes the attackers, thought I was my brother, pretending to be a woman.
The FBI investigation, into my son's murder, has dragged on for 13 years, and still now in 2026, continues on, with the FBI, still not having yet identified my attackers, and only guessing at what their motive was.
Thus we come to 2014, and the full swing change of the series I write. WHY my series, went from just a transman main character living life, to the full blown Mpreg genre series that it now is today.
Before the attack, I had a chance of having a baby. I don't know. And because I'm in America, I'm too old to adopt. You have to be under 45 years old to adopt a baby. That is the law in America. I was informed this, when we tried to adopt, now that my injuries leave me unable to get pregnant a 9th time.
Thus began my obsessively writing, my transman main character, pregnant. Always pregnant now. Every time. Every story. Stories that now fully focus on pregnancy, labour, miscarriages, babies dying, babies living, raising babies... the whole series, since 2014 has devolved into an outright baby obsession.
Meanwhile, reborn baby dolls were suggested to me by my therapist, and have also become a deeply obsessive part of my life. Because 13 years ago my son was murdered minutes after he was born, because a transphobic bigot mistook me for being transgender, I'm STILL in a wheelchair, struggling to relearn to use my arms and legs, now 13 years later, and I'm still DAILY dealing with police officers and FBI agents who while they are trying to find my son's killer, they are also daily reminding me... oh, yeah, my son was murdered, literally ripped out of my belly, by a transphobe. Who still has not been located and walks free to kill again.
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The golfclub woman as she looked during the golf club attack at Southern Maine community college November 14, 2013. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
The golfclub woman as she looked during the shopping cart attack at Scarborough WalMart July 26, 2016. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
The 2nd woman as she looked at both attacks, her hair goes all the way down to her knees. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer's accomplice, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
I am a legally blind quadriplegic, and low verbal, I have also published 138 novels in the last 48 years. It's not as impossible as people think. The problem being blind and quadriplegic, medically have different meanings then how those two words are used medically.
Fewer than 3% of all blind people see nothing. While 97% people who are classified as fully blind are able to see up to two feet in front of them. Legally blind means I can see more then two feet in front of me but not far enough to see twenty feet in front of me. In my case I can see about eight feet.
Quadriplegic, has varying levels, it means having a damaged nerve bundle in the spinal column causing limited mobility of all 4 limbs, (in my case this was done by a women wielding a golf club, who also beat my 8 month infant's head to pulp on the parking lot tarmak, at the same time she severed my spine with the same golf club; both on November 14, 2013; the FBI investigation into my son's murder and my being crippled has gone on now for 13 years, a few weeks away from 14 years now, and the FBI has still not identified the killer or her motive). Contrary to popular misconception, quadriplegic does NOT mean ZERO movement, it means means limited movement, specifically in means unable to lift arms over head, unable to grip fingers around objects to pick them up, and unable to stand for more then 5 minutes to a time. Because there are so many thousands of nerves in each limb it is actually very rare for there to be 100% no movement, but how much, and to what extent varies by patent depending upon the specific point of injury to the spinal column.
Meaning typing is still possible for over 60% of all quadriplegics.
In my case, it was the lower spine that was severed, cutting off completly my ability to move my right leg, leaving limited feeling in my left leg, and an ability to stand but not walk, with crutches, for the first 9 years. I regained enough nerve growth in my legs by the 9th year to be able to take ten or twelve steps allowing me to get out of bed for the first time since the golf club attack; This in turn lead to me being able to start using a wheelchair, as I was able to sit upright for the first time as well.
Because the shattered vertebrae bone fragments are broken off completly and embedded into the nerve bundle just above my tailbone, doctors were saying I would never walk again, but now at 13 years, I am able to push mu wheelchair like a walker, a distance of almost a thousand steps a day. Though doctors are still doubtful I will ever walk "normally" again, I have proven them wrong, when their said 13 years ago, that I would never walk again at all.
But because of the placement of the damage to my spine, regaining hand use, was always thought possible, it was just a matter of waiting long enough for nerve regrowth, along side daily finger exercises. I was able to continue writing, after becoming quadriplegic, because I still have use of my right thumb, and 2 fore figures of my right hand. And can type 90 words per minute with those 3 fingers.
I however have no wrist strength, elbow strength, or shoulder strength, so I am not able to form a fist, or lift objects, or brush my hair, or my teeth, all thing I have to have my caretaker do. But, those things are not needed for typing. Unfortunately, my pinky and ring fingers are "nerve dead" and drag over the keyboard, and cause horrific spelling errors and typos, which are incredibly frustrating to deal with.
Unfortunately trying to edit errors myself, just makes the errors worse, because those same two fingers drag over the keyboard yet again. Prior to the golf club attack, I rarely had spelling errors; now I got more spelling errors then someone is learning English as second language. Editing is a challenge, that I've had to accept, I simply can not do myself, and I have to hire several editors to help with that.
Low verbal means sounds can still be made, sounds that software programs like Dragon can be trained to recognize and translate, and type into full words. More then half my novels were typed with this method.
I still have a long ways to go before I am anything close to being able to do the things I could do before the golf club woman beat my baby's brains out and shattered my spine. And you know what's more frustrating then how slow mu medical progression has been? The fact that it's been 13 years and the police and FBI are still coming up at dead ends as to who the woman who murdered my baby was, or why she even did it.
My son's 14th birthday is only a few weeks away, but he didn't even get to live long enough to celebrate his 1st birthday, I don't even know why. And I can't wait to regain my ability to walk again, because regaining my ability to walk, means gaining the ability to go outside and start looking for my son's murderer myself instead of sitting at home trapped in a wheelchair waiting for the police and FBI to to find her. So, writing isn't a big priority for me anymore. I only write now, as a way to exercise my hands, in between relearning to walk.
Never let a disability stop you. Plenty of writers, artists, athletes, do not let either blindness, speech impediments, or limited mobility hold then back from perusing their careers.
Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
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There are no ebook editions as they are already available digitally here on my website.