Update: April 16, 2022

Tomorrow is Easter.

Easter, like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Mother's day is one of the worst days of the year. A day that celebrates children and motherhood. On November 14, 2013, while I was 8 month pregnant, and putting bags on the back seat of my car, three still unidentified attackers, brought golf clubs down on my back, breaking my spine and murdering my baby. I am legally blind and almost deaf, so I neither heard nor saw them coming. I read lips, so you must be facing me for me to hear you. Bring legally blind, you also must be less than 3 feet in front of me for me to see your lips, to know you are talking. Because of this it was very easy for them to sneak up behind me while I leaned into my car, putting bags on the seat.

They broke 3 vertebrae in my spine, the shattered bones severing my spinal column, permanently damaging many nerves. Because of this nerve damage I have limited use of my left arm and hand, difficulty breathing, my bladder and intestines no longer function properly requiring adult diapers, massive tremors in both hands prevent me from being able to do basic things like brush my hair or hold a spoon to eat. These are just things from the nerve damage. 

Additionally they broke my pelvis, my hips, and my knees.

I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to relearn to walk. Today I can walk on a very limited basis, aided by a cane, but every step is seeking pain, like lightning bolts going through my leg, across my pelvis and up my spine.

Because of this I was bedridden from 2013 to 2015. And all of that time I had no use of my hands, so I was not online either. And thus was unaware that during that time, a group of locals set to social media to build up massive slanderous rumors about me. They created a huge fairy tale meme of me being an Erotica author, a porn star, a transvestite, a male to female transgender, gay, and an alien abductee. I am none of those things but they spent 3 years, on hundreds of accounts on Facebook and Twitter, many of them fake "Eelkat" accounts where they were pretending to be me, building up this massive slanderous web of lies about me, and I had no idea they were doing it, until October 2021, 9 years after they started doing it.

April 10, 2015 a group of 74 locals, many of them wearing ku klux klan white hooded robes, arrived at my farm. 14 of them held me, Ben, my mother, and one of my 3 younger brothers down on the ice and snow while holding guns to our heads, while the others used cinder block bricks and a metal pole device with wire loops on the end, to beat and behead, 10 of my 12 foster children, then nail their heads to my door. The youngest was 4 years old. The oldest was 16 years old. They chanted "too gay for the family friendly town of old Orchard Beach" while accusing me, my pink Volvo, my pink motor home, and Ben of being gay, transgender, transvestite, and citing that guys were not allowed in Maine.

THIS is what gay haters in Maine do to people they THINK, might maybe, be gay, even though they are not.

No man, woman or child is safe in Maine, so long as these murders walk free. They will kill anything they determine to be gay, even if it is not, as can be seen my the murder of my children.

They also had hundreds of paperback copies of my books, burning them in a huge bonfire on my lawn while calling them gay Erotica and calling mean Erotica author and porn star. (I'm an author, I write a travel blog style series about a homeless man who backpacks his way across Maine, there is no sex in the series. I'm a Mormon, I've never written a sex scene.)

My family was murdered and I am crippled for the rest of my life, because of this group who has been slandering me on social media. But, at the time of these two attacks (November 14, 2013 and April 10,2015) me and my family were unaware of these slanderous rumors the locals of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine were spreading not only on Facebook and Twitter, but by word of mouth around town as well.

May 2021, I started walking around town again, for the first time since being paralyzed 9 years ago on November 14, 2013, and it quickly became apparent something was seriously wrong with the locals.

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford, where I have lived since becoming paralyzed, but not before gone outside, because of being paralyzed and bedridden and unable to walk until now…

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford without being attacked, pushed off the sidewalk by random strangers running up to me and grabbing my cane and using it to push me in the road in front of cars while accusing me of being gay, transgender, or transvestite. Screaming "transvestite freak" while throwing rocks at me. Group of women joggers stopping to surround me and harass me while saying guys aren't allowed on their street. 

October 2021, my Volvo returned to my driveway after 3 years of being completely rebuilt, after the February 2019 attack on it with baseball bats completely destroyed it. Within 5 minutes of starting to repaint it, 2 men showed up in my driveway yelling about aliens and demons and Etoile and because of this I stopped painting fish on the door, painted over the fish and painted a portrait of Etiole instead. 

November 19, 2021 the red haired American woman from the 2016 High Street attack on my navy blue pick up truck, showed up on the porch here on Main Street. 

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She does not live here. She's shows up in a silver pick-up truck driven by a small skinny blonde man. No one here at this building knows who she is.

There is another blonde woman, older sometimes with her. I do recognize the older woman. She's one of the November 14, 2013 golf club attackers. The one the others who were with her called "Claire". She looks to be in her 60s. Usually wears a blue denim button down man's worksheet as a coat. She sometimes drives a gold Volvo suv around 2004vintage, sometimes a silver Subaru suv, sometimes a mega sized white Nissan 4 door white pick-up truck, and sometimes a pine dark green pick up truck. She frequently has another older woman with her, who calls herself "Kendra" and has very, very long natural red curly hair, sometimes she wears big Janis Joplin glasses and sometimes cyberpunk cyclops lime green glasses, she frequently carries a small white poodle dog. The dog is often wearing either a purple dragon or a black skeleton costume. These 2 older women and a younger bald man are the 2013 golf club attackers who murdered my baby. This new younger blond woman and the 5 who are often with her, appear to be their relatives. The FBI believes they are part of a drug gang from Connecticut that call themselves "The Cyr Clan". According to the FBI the Cyr Clan was a gang that my uncle Bruce was involved with back in the 1960s in Boston before I was born. The FBI believes Bruce pissed them off in the early 2000s and that's what brought them up here to Maine.

The FBI believes they were after either one of Bruce's daughters or one of Bruce's sisters with both the November 2013 and April 2015 attacks.

One of Bruce's daughters also lives on Portland Ave in Old Orchard Beach and she also has a pink motor home. So there are TWO pink motor homes on the same street. This particular daughter of Bruce IS in fact a porn star. She's a pole dancer for a top less bar.

In 2016, there was another large scale attack, near duplicate to the April 10, 2015 attack. I never talk about it because it didn't happen to me. It happened to Bruce's daughter across the street from me. The attack on her family was bigger, bolder, and bloodier, than the attack on my family the previous year.

In 2017, a third similar attack happened in Biddeford to one of Bruce's sisters. Again I don't talk about it because it didn't happen to me.

Like I've said before there is A LOT MORE going on, then what you hear me talking about. I don't talk about what has happened to several of my cousins and their families both the Atwater cousins and the Murphey cousins- because it is not my place to do so. That's why you ONLY hear me talking about what directly happened to me personally and never mentioning the rest.

And I've not said everything that happened to me. A lot more has happened to me then you hear about because the FBI has specifically requested I don't talk about specific aspects of what happened to me and my children, because a lot was never released to the public, because they want to see who knows what. Certain things no one in the public should know about and knowing those things marks you as involved. This new young blonde woman KNOWS several of those things that were not released to the public and yells those things. Which means she is VERY INVOLVED with the murder of my children. 

Like I said until summer and fall of 2021 when started walking again for the first time in 9 years, I was unaware of the local gossip that was falsely accusing me of being gay, falsely accusing me of being transgender, falsely accusing me of being transvestite, falsely accusing me of being a porn star, falsely accusing me of being an Erotica author, or falsely accusing me of being an alien abduttee. 

I have lived here since 1975. You people know me. You people knew my murdered children. You people know I'm a cis female. You people know I'm not gay. I have published 138 novels and more then 2,000 short stories since 1978, and I  have sold 27k copies of every one of them to you people who come to my house and buy them in person, so you've read my books and know they are not Erotica. You people know I've been a devoted orthodox LDS Mormon my whole life, and that I've been with Ben for 37 years, so you know I'm not a porn star. 

What is wrong with you people? My family was murdered and I have spent 9 years recovering from medical hell, and I go outside for the first time in 9 years and find you people who know me have all devolved into gay hating, sex spewing, gibberish slandering gossips spreading vile, evil, malicious rumors and lies that you yourselves know to be untrue?

No wonder not a single one of you have helped my family through any of this. No wonder not a one of you ever once visited me at the hospital or my home after I got out of the hospital and couldn't go outside because I couldn't walk. 

You don't see me for 9 years because I'm bedridden and you're all to cold hearted to stop by and check in on me, and you spend that 9 years spinning wild, crazy transphobic, gay hating, sex filled lies about me?

What is wrong with you people?

You all let some stranger, who very likely IS the murderer, convince you of crazy ass slandering lies, that you people know to be untrue. 

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. 

Every resident of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine,  you all ought to be ashamed of what you have spent the last 9 years doing.

This new younger blonde woman, she's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and acuse me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Aunt Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do. (Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Keep in mind, Brucie is dead. He may have started those Facebook accounts, but he ain't the one writing them. He died 3years ago.

Mervin Bruce Atwater died from Covid19 on November 24, 2019.

The fact remains you ARE impeding an FBI investigation into the murder of my family, and only someone involved would have any reason to do that. ONLY someone connected to the murderer would have a motive to try to stop the FBIs investigation. That makes you an accessory to murder. You make yourself look VERY GUILTY of being involved every time you spread slanders about me, my car, or Etiole. 

Do consider that the source of your slander in all likelihood is the murderer, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street, the name of the person who is telling you to slander me.

And now tomorrow is Easter. 

A day when mothers take their children on Easter egg hunts.

My children are dead.

My children were murdered. 

And you people have spent the last 9 years making fun of that.

Think about THAT tomorrow when you are out on Easter egg hunts with your babies.

Think about how YOU would feel if it was YOU. How would YOU feel if it had been your baby who was murdered and this entire town was spreading bullying slanderous lies about YOU.

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update April 11, 2022: Do you know who this woman is?

This woman that my mother is talking about, have any of you ever seen her? Does anyone know who she is?

It isn't that woman who keeps coming on the porch and yelling at my car is it? Do any of you know who the woman attacking my car is?

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and accuses me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do.

(Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Due to the incident yesterday it is now also believed that she is the mystery blond woman who pretends to be my father's girlfriend and harassed my mother for no reason other then to get a laugh on watching my mother fight with my father (something they do quite violently in public places, in stores, just everywhere.)

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update: April 10, 2022, big violent attack, as police and FBI expected.

Today is the 7th anniversary of the murder of my family. Remember I said to watch who does what today?... My father just beat the hell out of my mother, tried to kill her. She is right now refusing to call the police. My mother claims she caught my father with a girlfriend he's had for several years now. But near as I can tell, all he did was stop to tell some random stranger how to use the ATM machine. Note, they got divorced in 1994, my mother left my father for another man, left the other man for another man after that, and left the next man for Wayne. She's been with 2 other men (possibly more) since Wayne. She has not been a part of my father's life for 30 years, but feels the need to control his life and harass him on extreme violent levels. If he does have a girlfriend, so what? She left him 30 years ago.

Wayne died during the cat court case, the 2nd one, when he sued my mother for stealing his cats and putting them in my motorhome. Wayne's father, 8 of his cats, and then Wayne himself each died a few weeks apart all from rat poison. Wayne's daughter sued my mother claiming my mother put rat poison in their food.

The fbi believes my mother did kill Wayne and his cats and believes that's why she put his cats in my motorhome. Fbi believes my mother was one who called police April 10, 2015, expecting them to arrest me, take the motorhome, and return the cats to her. She did not expect police to take cats. All the harassment and vandalism of my mom's cars is believed by fbi to be Wayne's daughter friends and relatives and family.

My family, my children were murdered in 2 attacks, one on November 14, 2013 and one on April 10, 2015, both attacks are believed by the FBI to have been attacks that were intended on my mother and the people hired mixed me and her up.

April 10, is my mother's father's birthday by the way, David Henry Atwater, it's WHY she does everything she does, all her wild crazy vandalisms to people on April 10 every year since the 1950s.


April 6, 2022 update, as the attacks on my family and property continue and now more people are in the hospital

Daddy has sepsis and they keeping him in hospital for a few days.

Sepsis is very bad.

That's what I had.

You can die a few hours after it sets in if not treated.

When I was in the hospital in 2014.

That's why I was in the hospital.

I had surgery for it in march 2015.

That was the surgery on my arm.

Sepsis was in a major artery in left arm to heart. 

Side effect from when I was in hospital November 2013 when I was in wheelchair and February 2014 when I was on crutches relearning how to walk. Doctors was focused on my hip and not my spine. They didn't find the source of infection until until the mri in June 2016. 

Sepsis is why I can't walk without cane and why my lungs are messed up and why I have tremors and can't use my hands good anymore. Sepsis infection was so back it damaged my nerves. I was scheduled for spinal column surgery September 2016, they sent me to a neurosurgeon who was supposed to be top brain surgeon in New England and he did more mri and then canceled surgery because damage to my vertebrae (from golf club attack November 2013, which is what caused all of this, including the Sepsis and is the attack that brought the fbi here they think Mark wife did it but college had no security cameras at the bug light parking lot, they investigating Mark family, Barbara family,  and Brucie family. Charges of murdering my baby and attempted murder of me) is so bad. Shattered vertebrae bone fragments are severed into my spinal column nerve bundle at the sacroiliac joint where the hip and pelvis connect to spine. Neurosurgeon said he can't operate because of how nerve damage is, said if he removed bone fragments I would be paralyzed from neck down. But that is also when the source of Sepsis infection was found to be in my spine and not my hip, and that is when it finally went away because they were able to target the correct place to fix the infection.

Mark’s wife is the #1 suspect the FBI is watching, because, according to the FBI, this mysterious Mark guy, whom I have never met, never heard of prior to this, have never talked to, and have never seen, so I have no clue who he or his wife are… according to the FBI, he is friends with my mother, but only via her FaceBook account, where she hired him to put in a septic system, then gave him MY address in Old Orchard, while making the claim that SHE owned both MY land and MY motorhome, and when he asked for a picture of her so he would know who she was, she gave him a picture of ME, not herself.

According to FBI agent Andy Drewer THIS is the reason why the backhoe was driven over my house August 8, 2013 and why the golf club attackers attacked me on November 14, 2013.

According to the FBI, my mother was trying to get my land so she could sell it to use the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk and she used this Mark guy as her pawn to do it, by fighting with him on social media using “fake EelKat” accounts to convince him that he was dealing with me, even though I had never heard of him before.

According to the FBI, my mother started sending his family death threats, in the same way she is currently sending Todd Murphey’s family death threats, and that this is why Mark’s wife attacked with the golf clubs, murdering my baby and crippling my spine. According to the FBI, Mark’s wife thought she was attacking my mother and was unaware that both my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce’s wife Doris were all impersonating me, using 27 different “fake EelKat” FaceBook accounts to scam Mark’s family about a septic system.

This was confirmed by the Old Orchard Beach police in October 2016, when Mark attacked my mother in person and was arrested by OOB police, that day. He made the claim, that she, my mother, was me, but the officers in question, Robin and Will, both know me and my mother and informed Mark that this was not me that he was fighting with, it was my mother, to which he said this was the woman he had been dealing with since June 2001 who had called herself EelKat in every correspondence. The police showed Mark pictures of me and he said he had never seen me before and had no clue who I was.

This event October 2016, is when both the police and FBI started expanding their investigation, now looking for people who were friends of my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce, and that is when they found the identity of long time stalker and bomb builder Kendra Silvermander who turned out to be a FaceBook friend of all 3 of them.

After Mark’s gang found out October 2016 that I was NOT the person they had been fighting with online, but rather it had been my mother impersonating me, the attacks on my family stopped but the attacks on my mother’s family started February 2017 when a road grader drove 75 feet up her driveway and flattened her car. Since then this event was repeated with 3 more cars.

In August 2021, My mother and her sister began impersonating me on FaceBook and with emails, yet again, and as they had done in the past, used my friend Etiole to do it. Once again, calling him a demon and an alien and a cryptid, and once again pretending to be me, they wrote a lot of emails and started mass spam sending them to every Maine email address they could find, at a rate of sending them to several thousand people a day.

I found out about this in November 2021, after Etiole was shot, gunned down by 6 people at Rotary Park in Biddeford, Maine on November 21, 2021, by people who claimed to be from Scarborough, Maine and claimed to be the mother and in laws of some guy named Todd Murphey.

I still have no clue who Todd Murphey is, but apparently he used to work with my mother and commit suicide recently and my mother and her sister took advantage of his suicide to yet again pretend to be me, and this time, calling Etiole a suicide demon, started harassing this Todd guy’s ex wife, son, and mother on FaceBook and via emails while pretending to be me. Which caused these people to show up at my 409 Main Street/Harvey/Cutts street Biddeford apartment to vandalize my car and cut all the wires off the apartment building, not once, but twice: on Thanksgiving day 2021 and again on March 10, 2022, because these friends and family of this Todd guy are 100% convinced the nut they are dealing with on FaceBook is me, when in fact, the one they are dealing with is no me, but rather my mother yet again pretending to be me.

This is also what led to the December 2021 and January 2022 FBI raids in the Cutts Street are of Biddeford, just a few weeks ago, which led to the arrests of 8 people.

Back to sepsis…

On December 24, 2021, my mother arrived here at 409 Main street and stole my father’s 14 medications that he takes for his triple by pass, his kidney dialysis, his diabetes… and then, she took him in her car, drove to his doctor, and told his doctor, he’s not allowed to have medicine, because he has to do what she says.

He has not taken his medicine since December 24, 2021, it is today April 6, 2022, and he is struggling to stay alive.

All of this is because she is hell bent on a house in Kennebunk and doesn’t give a shit that she has caused my baby to be murdered November 14, 2013, my foster children to be murdered April 10, 2015, me to be going through a decade long medical nightmare after being crippled November 14, 2013, 5 of my cars to be destroyed including The real Cristine The World’s Most Haunted Car that Stephen King based his Cristine off of, my house -the one that was in the Thinner movie- to be driven over by a back hoe, and now my father dying in the hospital.

Death and destruction at every turn, and she doesn’t give a shit because, as she puts it: “What are we going to do about Wendy? She can’t keep that land, I need a house in Kennebunk!”

Her obsession with getting a house is utter ludicrous insanity, that needs to be stopped before anyone else dies at the hands of her fucking retarded FaceBook friends who blinding attack, vandalize, and beat up anyone and everyone on her command.

I am so fed up with her blind devotion to a fairy tale house she thinks she has to have, at the expense of the lives of everyone around her.



March 30, 2022, update on yet another attack on my family and land

Police take notice. 


Scam artists have been bringing real estate agents onto my property in attempt to illegally sell my land. They have no right or permission to be here. My land is NOT for sale. If you see them doing it, please arrest them.

These are the Scottish Travellers. They arrive here every summer, harassing my family for four decades now. They are the same ones who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013. The same ones who crippled me and murdered my baby November 14, 2013 with golf clubs, leaveing me paralized with a broken spine ever since. I am cripled with a shattered spinal column since the golf club attack and am bedridden weeks to a time unable to sit up or get out of bed. I have rebuilt my house 5 times in the past 9 years, and their attempts to steal my land and sell it have been barbaric and violent, and icluded a bomb that blew up my house October 18, 2006, and most of my family is now dead, murdered at their hands. These are the same people who cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. They arrived back here September 19, 2020 and illegally cut down most of the trees across my lawn, and arrived again November 19, 2021 and for the last 20 years they arrive every summer with a green dump truck and dump garbage on my lawn. In 2014 they left a pile of garbage 175 feet long, 30 feet wide and 12 feet tall and it cost me $12,000 to have it removed. I am crippled and elderly and there is no one to help me against their harassment.

There should NEVER be anyone other than me EelKat Wendy C Allen (with the painted Volvo) or my partner Benjamin Wildes (with the blue Honda) in my yard at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, where the ink motorhome is parked. If you see ANYONE ELSE or any other car in my yard, please call the police immediately. There is no one else who has permission to be on my land.

My land is NOT for sale, if you see real estate agents, please inform them they are being scammed and the people trying to sell my land are NOT the legal land owners.

The FBI are on the look out for them as are the local police. If you see them in my yard, please notify both the Old Orchard Beach Police Department at 207-934-4911 and FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street.





March 10, 2022 update on the most recent vandalism of my car

This is a copy of the letter that has been forwarded to the police departments involved. For this online edition some parts have been removed (so if you get to a place that seems like the topic changed abruptly, that is why) and the names are removed from the online version, but the version the police have, includes all the full names and contact info of all the people in question. And for those who have asked: yes, the police and FBI have talked to Etiole, they are fully aware of him, his health, his homelessness, etc.

Dear Sirs,

I feel I need to tell you what has been happening as it has gotten very much out of control the past few weeks. It's been slowly escalating for a few years and, if you look at my police record for both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, you will see dozens of reports for vandalism of my 1992 Volvo 240 (the painted one) at now 3 apartments in Biddeford, and vandalism of my land in Old Orchard Beach. In the past 6 months, a hyper escalation started with has become very out of control the past couple of weeks.

Last night, my car was vandalized again.  

As these events are taking place in both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, I'm giving this same letter to both departments, so events from both towns are listed.

I am Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine and 409 Main Street apartment 101 Biddeford, Maine.

There appears to be someone fairly local impersonating me online, and is raising hell with a lot of local people, inciting them to do very violent physical attacks on me, my Biddeford apartment, my Old Orchard land, and my car.

It's reached the point where I can not go to the store without having my car towed home, because it gets vandalized so bad while I'm n the store shopping. EVERY TIME I go to the store. I've been at a loss to understand why this is happening. I don't know who these people are or why they are attacking. On Thanksgiving day they cut all the wires off the Biddeford apartment building so we had no internet or heat or anything for a while. There is a "redhaired" woman who shows up on the front porch to cream at my car, every time the family who lives in that apartment goes to work. She stopped a few weeks ago, because the man who lives there fell on the ice, broke his shoulder and has not gone to work since. It appears she knows that family who lives there and does not want them knowing she does this while they are not home.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat.

 

We are Gypsies, and though I've lived in America my whole life, I know very little of American habits and laws or what specifically to do in this situation. We are the Gypsies who were in Stephen King's Thinner movie and my 146 Portland Ave land was one of the filming locations of the movie and, the cars in the opening scenes were our cars, one of which I still have. I mention this, because, there are two Gypsy clans, The Atwaters (Scottish Travellers) and the Cyrs (Irish Travellers) fighting over my land and the fight centres largely around the fact that it was the filming location of Stephen King's the Thinner movie.

I own the land. From the 1940s it was owned by my grandmother Helen Ricker Allen. She left it to me in her will in 1983. Unknown to me, at some point after 1983, the Atwaters had the land illegally transferred into their names -they steal land this way as a full time career and many of them have illegally deed swapped land in all 50 states in America.

In 2014, I found out they are done an illegal deed swap, when an auction group showed up on my land to sell it. Upon discovery I had been living on the land since 1975 and paying taxes on it since 1983, but my name was not on the deed, the auctioneer (and member of the OOB town hall) cancelled the auction and ordered a town hall meeting to review the situation. Upon investigation it was discovered that when the land went from my grandmother to me, my father signed as "joint witness" and then a year later, went back to the town hall to have my name removed from the deed and his put on it, even though he had no legal write to do so. After that, the record shows that every 3 to 5 years, he and my mother swapped names on the deed, sometimes his name, sometimes her name. The land changed ownership names more then 30 times between 1983 and 2013. 

Because I have severe agoraphobia, I had not set foot off of my land since the 1970s. When it came time to pay the taxes, I gave my father the money and he delivered it to the town hall, or so I thought. In 2014, I learned that in spite of my paying my taxes like clockwork, since 2006, the town hall had no record of receiving any money. It is unclear where the money went. On one hand it looks like my father spent the money and never paid the taxes. On the other hand it looks like he sometimes did pay the taxes but instead of going to the tax office he gave the money to Kathy BR in the permits office and she gave the money to a guy called JB who went to prison for embezzling $3million in OOB tax money from the town hall. JB did not work for the town hall, he was a software designers who built the online banking security for the town hall to direct deposit money to the bank, and according to the FBI the money was going to his bank account not the town hall bank account, but he was only found with $30k not $3million. I don't know the full details, I only know this part, because when we tried to find out why my land was being auctioned this is the info we were given.

In any case, at some point my dad stole my land via just walking into the town hall and asking the desk clerk to remove my name from the deed and put his name on it instead. The whole thing was done illegally and without my knowledge or permission.

There were 3 lands originally. 144, 146, and 146a. My father stole all 3 of them. 144 was auctioned off to the Collard family in 2007, even though I was still living there until 2015 without any knowledge of the auction happening. No one informed me. I've since spoken with the Collards and they were unaware of the situation. They actually bought the land legally even though it was stolen land they had bought, they were unaware the land had been stolen. Everything has been straightened out between me and the Collards, they are not part of the current problem.

My mother owns 146a, but she owns it illegally. She claims it's rightfully hers because my father gave it to her, but, he stole it from me via illegally rewriting the deed, so he had no right to give it to her.

In 2014 and 2015, all the court and legal work was done to restore 146 back to me.

The current situation is my parents are in an active attempt to remove my name off the deed again, like they had done back in 1983.

On a daily basis my mother shows up and first words out of her mouth every day is: "What are we going to do about Wendy? She can't keep that land. I need a house in Kennebunk." to my father.  She started doing this in August, originally bragging that she was going to take my land out of retaliation for my refusal to cast death curses on Chris at work. I don't know who "Chris at work" is. It was one of the names on her list of people she wants me to kill via death spell curses. I was live streaming on Twitch the day she came in yelling about "Chris at work" and my need to kill him for her, so a lot of people online heard her saying these things. I'm a YouTube gamer, I have a livestream going almost daily for 12+ hours a day, so when she comes in, #1 it's breaking and entering because I didn't let her in, and #2 she is interrupting my live streams quite regular so I have hundreds of video footage clips of her saying these things and making these threats. The day she and my father cut the cable/internet wires off my apartment building - I have that on livestream footage as well. My father cut the wires off the house while my mother was ordering him to do it. In November 2021 and again 2 days ago March 9, 2022.

They both make the claim I don't need internet, because I am as they put it "being a bad daughter" because I "won't sell your land and give me the money for a down payment, I need a down payment, you are supposed to give me the down payment money for a house, I'm your mother!"'

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - my father, my father vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother  did it. My father stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets that he stole from the Biddeford McDonald's where my brother works, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. My car is now being repaired again, for the exact same thing I had to have it repaired for in November 2021. My father tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed. Twice. Once in November 2021 and again 2 days ago.

My father did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"

I don't know who Todd is, but I assume the Biddeford police know as they did spend a week scrapping the thousands of exploded parts of him off all the houses around Cutts st and South st, after he jumped in front of a train November 19, 2021 at 6:27PM. I was walking my dog and saw him, he was gibbering a lot of wild nonsense stuff like: "fibbery-gibbit-beebydi-booop-bop-boop-bop-booop-beeeeeeeep!" I amused he was either very drunk or very high on drugs or both and was attempting to make train sounds while he ran up and down the train tracks. I thought nothing of it, as he did this on a daily basis all summer long, he was a homeless man who lived in the ravine by the train tressal bridge over the river, the one the police kept chasing out of the black grain building turned storage units. There were 4 people on bicycles, driving circles around him bullying him, teasing him, taunting him daily around 3AM every morning. I saw them while I was walking my dog. It appeared to be his girlfriend and her friends based on the stuff she was yelling at him. Stuff like "You run off with that whore will you! WW I showed you! I killed your dog! Hahahahahaha! I killed your cat! Hahahahaha! And you ain't never gonna see your baby again! Hahahahaha!" I know every one says he commit suicide, but I think he was just running to get away from the harassers on the bikes and was too drunk to see the train. That's certainly what it looked like to me.

THAT was not a suicide, not what I saw happen. That was a man being bullied and chased down by four harassers riding bicycles up the tracks, driving him head on into a train on purpose to try to kill him so they could laugh about it. I wouldn't call THAT a suicide.

Anyways, I didn't know his name or that my mother was best friends with him. Though I had told her about the homeless man being bullied and her response was "Why should I care? It's just a homeless man!" She changed her tune quite a lot after he got hit by the train, and found out his name. The police contacted her or something, when they were trying to find his family. I guess she knew his family on FaceBook or something.

Since his death, me, my car, and my apartment have been attacked on a near daily basis from people who are making the claim that I am online spreading rumours and lies about Todd. I kept asking them who Todd was (because at that point I did not yet know they were talking about the homeless man hit by the train - though I saw him daily for about 4 months, ever since the police kicked him out of the storage until he'd been living in and he lived under the train bridge and in Rotary Park instead - he only ever spoke to me a few times - once to pet my dog and say "they took my dog" and saying "hi" as we passed on the sidewalk. So I never knew his name. He lived in a yellow pup-tent beside the tracks for a while, but one day it was laying out there cut to ribbons by a knife or scissors.)

Even though I only knew him from saying "hi" each night as we passed each other on the sidewalk and I never knew his name until after his death, more then a dozen people have arrived in my driveway (both the Biddeford and Old Orchard addresses) to accuse me and my friend Etiole and the words painted on my Volvo of being the cause of this Todd guy's train death.

They are focusing heavily on the words on my car, which say: "Have information about the murder of my family? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

There is a sign in my Old Orchard driveway which says: "Have information about the murder of my children? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

On November 14, 2013, at Southern Maine Community College, while I was 8 months pregnant, I was attacked by 3 people with golf clubs. A man and 2 women.

There is no reason for anyone who is NOT involved in the murder of my baby, to be upset about either the sign in my yard or the sign on my car, both of which are nothing more then the FBI phone number with the request for anyone who has information to call.

I don't understand why me asking for people to help find my baby's killer, is seen by my parents as such a huge threat. The only person who who feel threatened by that would be the person who hired the golf club people - Claire, Kendra, and the bald man - who have still not yet been found/caught/identified to this day 9 years later.

Both my mother and my father keep saying and I quote "take that shit off your car, you are only trying to start trouble!" and "get that sign out of your yard, you are only trying to stir stuff up". I'm trying to find the people who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm not trying to cause trouble. How is me asking people to help identify the murderer, me trying to start trouble?

I was paralyzed for 5 months. I had to relearn to walk. I crippled the rest of my life, and my baby is dead. No one should have to live through this type of agony. And no one who commits crimes like this should be allowed to walk free. Would you stand back and do nothing, say nothing, while a criminal like that walked free? How is my asking people to come forward with any information they know, me trying to start trouble? You tell me that!

I'm not allowed to ask for help in finding the psychopath who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life? What kind of logic is that?

Someone out there knows the names of these people. The older blond woman they called Claire, the younger blond woman with the Shirley Temple sausage curls, the red haired woman they call Kendra, the white haired man with the green pick up truck, the bald man with the 4door white pickup truck, the new redhaired women who screams on the front porch. These people, this group, they are the ones who were wielding golf clubs and murdered my baby. They are being allowed to get away wit murder and I'll spend the rest of my life demanding justice if I have to. You tell me, how is my asking if you know who they are, don't let them kill again, tell the FBI everything you know, by painting that request on my car and a sign in my yard, me looking to start trouble? My mother's priorities are fucked up. All she cares about is money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money! 

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack at my workplace at Scarborough WalMart re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

They are obsessed with my land, because my mother's father used to tell people there was $7million in gold buried on my land. Several times over the years the Atwaters have invaded bringing with them shovels, pickaxes, and construction equipment, to illegally dig up my land. They've ripped up flowers, dug up bushes, cut down trees... usually they do it while I'm gone to the store, so I come back to find my property ripped to shreds. They've been doing this on an almost yearly basis since Grammy Helen died in 1983. According to what David Henry Atwater claimed, pirates buried treasure on my land in the 1500s. There is ZERO evidence that pirates ever buried anything on my land. Later he changed the story and said that the gold plates of the Book of Mormon Part 2 were buried on my land, this time he claimed an angel from god told him. So the Atwaters have multiple excuses for why they arrive to dig everything up, but it's always that they are gold crazy and have gold fever and are convinced if they dig long enough they'll find gold on my land.

The other obsession they have with my land is a homeless man they call "Etiole". They sometimes claim he is a demon, they other times claim he is an alien, for a few years they called him a cryptid, they often say he's the Mememegwasi spirit of the Saco River Curse, a few of them say he's a watcher/fallen angel, some say he's a ghost of an Indian chief, some say he's the ghost of a French solider, some have called him a Faerie/Leprechaun/FarDarrig ... and a whole slew of other claims. Regardless of what they call him, they all adimintly refuse to believe that he is just an ordinary human, an elderly homeless man who keeps to himself and desperately wants them to leave him alone. That's all he is. He's just a homeless man who lives in the woods and wants them to leave him alone.

The Atwaters are obsessed with Etiole on severe levels and have gone to alarming levels of monstrous harassment of him through the past 50 years. Part of their obsession with him, is caused by their previously mentioned gold fever. You see, Etiole travels all over Maine, I never know where he is at any given time, but when he's in the local area, I let him camp out on my land. I've let him stay with me like this for over 40 years. In the 1980s, one of the times they arrived to dig up my land, Etiole was sleeping in my 1964 Dodge 330, and according to them, he jumped out of the car and "threw blue lighten bolts" at them causing a tornado to destroy their construction equipment. They claimed he turned into a black serpent with red eyes and 6 blue wings that was hundreds of feet long, surrounded them and killed several of them by summoning lightning bolts. . . . uhm . . . yeah. I wasn't home so I didn't see this event, of Etiole supposedly attacking them. But it's pretty clear they had some sort of massive LSD hallucination, given many of them heavily used LSD back in the 1970s and 1980s when this event happened. According to Etiole, he just jumped out of the car and ran into the swamp to hide, he didn't see any of the stuff they described.

After that they got it into their heads that I had summoned a demon (and that Etiole was said demon) to protect my secret cache of pirate gold, and their battle cry of "kill the demon" is what caused them to blow up my house with a bomb October 18, 2006, drive over my house with a backhoe August 8, 2013, beat me up with golf clubs and murder my baby November 14, 2013, cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. All those things you have all those police reports about.

They are convinced Etiole is in my yard to keep them from my gold. The only problem is, there is no gold on my land. Etiole is not a demon, and their extreme levels of harassment are utterly insane! 

But then, when they get caught on my camera, because I'm a daily vlogger, so the camera is running all the time, them they accuse me of harassing them, because their faces showed up on my livestream. Uhm... I'm on y own land, in my own bedroom, usually a few hours into my daily livestream when they get caught in the background trespassing. That's NOT me harassing them. That's them trespassing and vandalizing, and breaking and entering while not realizing I was home and them getting caught in the act of vandalizing and trespassing.

Then they run to FaceBook and make all kinds of wild claims about me stalking them. I'm crippled. I can't even get out of bed. Every time I have them on camera, it's because they were trespassing and breaking and entering. I'm in my bedroom livestream a game on my computer and they'll be smashing out windows and get mad that it happened to be the window in line with my livestream webcam on my computer. That's NOT be stalking them. That's me laying in bed playing Witcher 3 and them breaking in.

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of Old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

Note that there were THREE 4-door white trucks, a smaller one, a larger one, and a mega-sized giant one -like a Dodge Power Wagon type only it was not a Dodge Power Wagon it was one of the look alike brands, possibly a Nissan. The owner and driver of the big-big-super sized one is still unidentified. The other 2 were both caught in 2017, Kathy BR's truck being the larger of the 2. The 3 trucks often showed up together and drive circles around me, on Rout 1/Portland Rd, while I was driving. They would slam my car from back and sides and push me off the road. Several times they did damage to the frame of my car with had to be repaired multiple times. They've done several tens of thousands in damages to my Volvo over the years. You already have a lot of the smashed up car photos on file, at both Biddeford and Old Orchard police departments, you each have more then a dozen reports for attacks on my car -though the FBI has said someone attempted to destroy several of the records with my name, at the Old Orchard police department. FBI said they arrested the officers who did that. I don't know which files were damaged or how. 

For several years/decades now, I have had multiple people trying to buy my land. The same people over and over again. Only buying my land is not what they are asking for. Rather, they claim my land is cursed and I have to sell it to break the curse. Crazy, I know, but that's what they say. The crazier part is they say that after I sell my land I have to hand the money over to them so they can use it as a down payment on a house they want to buy in Kennebunk. The people in question are my parents and they've been doing this for well over 20 years now. I've always said "no, I'm not selling my land" and left it at that.

My mother (she changes her last name often, I'm not sure which she currently uses) and my father my father both have become extreme hostile and violent the past 2 weeks, and I'm not sure what set them off, but they are hyper infuriated on my refusal to sell my land and give them the money for a down payment of a house in Kennebunk. 

I did not suspect them, all these years, because always been other people showing up and say they were contacting me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous, but now they are directly doing it themselves.

Starting in June 2001, lots of harassment started and at first, I did not suspect them, or think there was a connection. But now they are outright bragging to my face, that they are the ones behind the vandalism. Like I said, check the police records for 144, 146, 148 Portland Ave from June 2001 til current date. There have been dozens of attacks, including drive by shootings, the bombing of my house, the backhoe driving over my next house, me being beat up with golf clubs which is why I am crippled now for the rest of my life and how my baby died.

The FBI is involved. If you need more information beyond what I've written here,  FBI Agent Andy Drewer can be reached at 207-774-9322 he is at the Portland Office on Middle Street, he is in charge of the investigation, of several events, namely the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing, which my uncle Paul Martel went to prison for building the bomb and selling it to ISIS. The 2006 bombing of the house at 144 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My baby was murdered November 14, 2013, a backhoe drove over my house at 146 Portland August 8, 2013 that's why I'm at the Biddeford apartment right now, because we can't get Kathy BR at the town hall to get a building permit, even though she's not the one in charge of that, she takes over our application and won't let it be approved, because she claims I shouldn't be allowed to live in Old Orchard, due to my having left the Mormon church to become a Voodoo Priestess, she says that makes me a witch and I'm not allowed to apply for a house building permit on those grounds, so, it's been 9 years and I'm still without a house on my land in Old Orchard and still stuck in a Biddeford apartment.

It is a long list of a lot of things happening. I'll try to organize it all in order:

At it's start, the whole thing goes back to a homeless man who wishes to remain anonymous, so I'm not using his real name here, nor have I ever used his real name anywhere online or offline or with any conversation with any one.

He, didn't do anything wrong. Quite the contrary, all he's ever done is live in the Ross Forest and surrounding swamps and marshes along the Saco River in Pine Point, OOB, Saco, Biddeford, and probably other areas, he moves around a lot rotating where he sets up camp, something he's done since 1953. I know quite a few people have seen him and talked to him, I don't know if any police officers have ever encountered him or not. Because he is elderly and in frail health, I often let him stay on my land. He's the ONLY person who has permission to be there. Herein lays the problem: he's deformed from acid burn scars covering most of his body. Churches around the area have spent decades accusing him of being a cryptid, alien, demon, watcher, fallen angel, you name it, someone has called him some weird conspiracy. According to him, himself, he was a Jewish WW2 concentration camp survivor, who arrived in OOB with a bunch of other refugees in 1953. Because he's so deformed by his scars, he was bullied by the locals who refused to believe him a human, and that's why he fled into the forest and never set foot in society again. The problem is, the people harassing me have made up this wild conspiracy that he's a demon and I'm protecting him, and they claim they need to get me off my land in order to get to him.

This all started in 1978.

My parents (my father and my mother), uncles (12), aunts (12+), and cousins (64 at the 1970s/1980s time - more then 400 today), teased and bullied me throughout my childhood about him, but they teased and bullied everyone about everything, so I didn't think that much of their bullying back in the 1970s and 1980s when it first started happening. It was just them being the toxic bullies that they are to everyone.

It wasn't until the 1990s and 2000s that it started to become a problem. And 207 is when I first realized how big of a problem it really was.

In 1996 and 1997 Aunt aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie (Richard Merlin Atwater) and David (Atwater) and Joey (Atwater -the one who lives in Australia and is wanted by the FBI for kidnapping and selling babies back in the 1980s- FBI can't arrest him until he leaves Australia -I'm not sure why- so he became a citizen. I don't know the details of what he's wanted for.) in raving warpath over it. All three of them showed up in OOB -even Joey from Australia-though I didn't know he was wanted by the FBI back than. But they arrived here in OOB to yell at me in person, because aunt B made the claim that the emails were from me, so they were all mad at me for having written them, but I never did know the contents of the emails because I didn't write them.

I did not see the emails. I didn't have access to a computer back then ad I didn't have internet until 2007 a full 11 years later. Dickie had several of them printed out and waving them around, but I never got a chance to read what they said. One of the emails was 64 pages long, and according to Dickie was all about aliens. I know nothing about aliens, so most of what he said was just gibberish nonsense to me. This was in 1996, shortly before Heaven's Gate killed 39 people in California and at the time, all 3 of those uncles, plus a few other uncles were members of Heaven's Gate, and one uncle -Mervin Bruce Atwater-made the claim to be "the leader of the Maine division of Heaven's Gate"- I don't know if he actually was a Heaven's Gate leader or not, but he maintained that he was right up until 2019, and in April 2019 he was making the claim to be following Comet Wormwood because HaleBop was the wrong one. Like I said, they were coming up with some pretty wild alien and UFO claims and I'm not sure how much of what they claimed was true.

Well, this was the first time I heard the word "Etiole" which was the nickname they had given to the homeless man who sometimes camped out on my yard. Etiole is not his name, it's always been just the word the Atwaters call him (they say it means man from the stars or alien and that it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name.) Somewhere in the emails, aunt B had called the homeless man "Etiole" and "amphibious alien" and made the claim that he was an "alien grey" who had abducted me to some mother-ship.  

I have never been abducted by aliens and never made such a claim. I never heard such foolishness. But, that this point, I wasn't fully aware of what they were talking about, so I didn't yet realize they were saying that I was making the claim to have been abducted by aliens.

That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. But that was how it got started...all this stuff that is happening now with the vandalism and threats going on this week March 2022.

Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about what they were doing in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. 

I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it. I think this, because in December 2021, I was at the Biddeford library when an elderly man came over to me, asked if I was EelKat and asked me why I was sending him hundreds of emails about Etiole, and who was Etiole? I told the man I don't use email, I've never emailed anyone, I don't know what he's talking about. He says he gets over 300 emails a day about Etiole from someone claiming to be EelKat. But here's the thing: EelKat is not something I call myself. I'll explain that in a bit.

First, let's go back to 1994. Before aunt B started sending the emails out, while claiming they were written by me. My father (my father) was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him "the white monkey". 

In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Paul Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. The Bishop wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by my father. Others had been written by Dickie. One was written by my mom's father David Henry Atwater who died several years ago now. This was the Mormon bishop in Cape Elizabeth. This bishop had more then one hundred letters laying on his desk, and he had several boxes more around his desk. He said he received no fewer then 5 letter every day for several months, and was quite concerned for my safety as he felt the letter writers may be "mentally unhinged" and "highly dangerous" based on what he called "several homicidal rants" contained in the letters. He said he was giving the letters to Paul Peterson, at Pine Land Centre Mental Health Institute in New Gloucester, because he felt my father and my uncle Dickie should be committed due to the contents of the letters.

The letters looked physically bizarre. Each one started like a normal letter, straight across sentences, line by line, but upon reaching the end of the page, the words spiralled around the outer edge and into a circle around the page, then upside down bottom to top between the first rows.

Each letter contained codes and cryptographers, and large portions of the letters were unreadable unless you cracked the "secret code" that was included with them.

Both my father and my uncle Dickie frequently wrote in that weird spiral and zigzag of lines fashion. My father's letters were the ones that included the cryptography and hidden codes. Dickies letters were just weird spiralling but no codes to solve.

I did not read any of the letters, but the Bishop was deeply upset by them, and stated that he used to be Catholic before becoming Mormon and said that if he was still Catholic he'd recommend my father had an excorsim down, because as the Bishop put it "the white monkey letters are the closet thing I've ever seen to demon possession".

Later that same year Paul Peterson from Pine Land Centre arrived at church and asked to talk to me. He had with him, some of the White Monkey letters and like the Bishop asked me to id the handwriting.

Stake President Earnshaw (of the same church) later called me in to his office for similar letters he had also received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. 

In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters, all citing they were receiving them daily. Some said members were receiving them. When I stopped attending the Mormon church, my mother's minister's at the 15 churches she was attending at the time, all started getting the letters. (At the time my mom had a belief that she had to be in church as close to 24 hours a day as possible, so she was attending week day church services at every church that had them, even though she was not a member of most of those churches. She became an atheist last I had heard and attends no churches at all anymore as far as I know.) 

My father was in and out of the hospital a lot during this time period (1991 to 1996-ish), due to the violent fights between him and my mother which included him twice being hospitalized due to blood gushing head injuries from a brick, which also included OOB police arresting my mother for beating him said brick. The psychiatrist from Pine Land Centre felt that my dad suffered serious brain damage from one of the brick beating attacks, and wanted him to press charges against my mother, but he refused. The psychiatrist said he felt that my dad's White Monkey letters was a side effect of the multiple head injuries he was hospitalized for. 

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed my father as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. The Biddeford police have this arrest on record. We were living at Water st at the time and my father had tried to kill me and my brother Joshua and also himself. The police arrested him. He was in the psych ward for around a week, and released because of the drastic change in his personality that was caused by the medication. He was only released on the condition that he maintained the meds.

Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or the white monkey, until November 19, 2021, when things (the vandalism and harassment and threats) started escalating, the week Todd Murphy died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon, claiming my Volvo was demon possessed, and accusing me of driving my car around town to drive people to suicide. I don't know who these people were. The one doing most of the yelling has very unique and very identifiable hair: it's a "high fashion" stick straight bob, like what you see in Italy Runways, super stiff as a board, stick straight, like she uses a few jars of jell to get it so straight. And a weird dark-purple tinted red. Very anime cartoon looking hair. You can't mistake it. She always wears big dark glasses, and usually has a little skinny blond man with her, who appears to be her husband or boyfriend. She frequently is beating him over the head with a baby car seat, while yelling at me and my car, while standing on the front porch of our building. They don't live here, I don't know who they re or where they come from. She did it almost every day of December, and most of the last week of November 2021.

This is the first time anyone has mentioned Etiole in years.

They call him Etiole sometimes, White Monkey other times. 

I should tell you where the term "white monkey" come from.

There was a white monkey, in OOB in the 1970s. It belonged to Helen Pearly of Pine Point and was part of her "White Animal Farm" zoo that she ran, which was a little petting zoo of all albino animals. I think it shut down in the early 1980s. Most older folks of the area remember Helen Pearly and her albino zoo animals - which included an elephant, and other such animals. Well, one day the white monkey escaped and Helen Pearly was a friend of my grandmother's (Helen Ricker Allen) and Helen Pearly showed up at 146 Portland Ave (than 862 because the road was renumbers in 1982) to tell my Grammy Helen the monkey had been seen nearby and to let her know if we saw it. Well, after that me and the other neighbour kids started going out into the swamps looking for the white monkey because Helen Pearly was offering a reward for it being returned. And one day we saw it, and tried to catch it and we followed it into the swamps and we found a homeless man out there. He was sick and starving to death. 

The white monkey belonged to Helen Pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen Pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and Atwater cousin Micheal and my Murphy cousin Timmy (the one whose white cross is on the Ross rd he died in 2013) saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal and Timmy took him food. And to this day, we still do, except Michael moved away and Timmy died in 2013 so that left just me taking care of Etiole today. Etiole is very old, probably 80s or 90s today. He's very small, not much bigger than a child, maybe around 5'1"-ish. He's covered with acid burns, scars, and tattoos. He has extreme PTSD and is terrified of the sight of people. He's very skittish, almost mute, speaks mostly with his hands, and run terrified from any people who try to get near him. The only reason he didn't run the day we found him, was because he was very sick, probably pneumonia or something like that. Had we children not found him and taken him food for the next several weeks, he probably would have died that same summer. He must have been in his 50s or 60s back then in 1978.

We told the adults about him, and they went to find him, but, they found some plants instead out there in the swamp, and my mom called the police, and the OOB police called the state police, and the state police called the FBI and the entire rest of the week was lots of police digging up lots of plants. Adam and the Babe, were 2 police officers who were left to stand watch over us children while every one else hauled out the plants. News reporters showed up and the news stations called it "Maine's largest drug raid". I don't know what drug plants look like so I don't know what kind of drugs they were. According the the FBI agents who talked to use kids (we were all 5 to 10 years old at the time) a "bad name named Bryan Cyr put those bad plants in the swamp". The FBI agents said they had been looking for Bryan Cyr and his Cyr Clan from Connecticut for several years and wanted to know had we seen him.  We had not, though we did see him about a year later when the big shoot out happened at 142 Portland Ave in front of the Dome house - the day the dome house blue up because Anne Cyr set fire to the meth lab inside- I saw her poured 3 gas cans on the house then throw several matches. Bryan fled in a robin egg blue micro-mini pick up truck, screaming that the meth lab was gonna blow. The whole house went up like a mushroom cloud. It's the only time I ever saw the Cyr Clan.) 

Adam and the Babe went with us kids to look for the sick homeless man/Etiole as he's now called by locals, but he was gone by then, because it had been 5 or 6 or more hours since the adults found the plants. The 2 police officers looked all over the forest for him, and stopped when they found a human leg bone in the Bachelder Brooke and took that with them and left to join the other officers. (144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave and the swamps and forest behind it is a massive Native American grave - there are at least 500 graves, that back in the 1970s all still had markers, most of the dates are 1400s to 1500, but in the mid 1980s someone stole most all of the slate grave markers, so they are unmarked today. I assume the leg bone was from one of those graves - human bones wash up out of the ground all the time on these sections of land because there are just so many Native American graves all over the place here, on my land and the lands abutting me. It's why the Powder Horn campground can't expand any closer to my land - they hit Native American graves last time they expanded the campground.)

So, because they got sidetracked by all the drug plants and all the police everywhere for the rest of the week, the adults never saw the homeless man or the white monkey as both had been scared off by the huge crowd of drug raid crews.

For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen Pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I should point out, her family, The Atwaters, are the Scottish Traveller Gypsies, aka as The Scottish Mafia by several white Americans, her brothers Bruce and David and several of Davids adult children, grandchildren, and great grand children call themselves Scottish Mafia  and act every bit fitting on that title, which is both why the FBI is investigating and why I have nothing to do with them.

Right after the June attack on her car, a large group of Irish Travellers showed up from the Carilinas and Tennessee and were setting up squatting camps all around the area, The had set up a large camp on BB street behind my Main st/Cutts St apartment in Biddeford, setting up in the big chain link fenced yard on the corner (which is why the owners have since roped the land off.) I didn't think anything of it at first, because the Irish Travellers show up in Southern Maine every year for decades now, so there's nothing unusual about seeing them setting up camps on any space they can find, you see it every year. Usually they camp on the cow farms in Dayton/Buxton/North Saco area, so seeing them in Biddeford was a bit strange.

I point this out because the week they arrived on BB, my mother and her Atwater siblings and their families flipped out big time. They put heavy focus on "the brown house on the corner and the chain link fence yard across the street" and laid out to harassing the landlords of those two locations. They had a list of around 100 addresses in Biddeford, Cape Elizabeth, and many other places included Rhode Island and Connecticut. I saw the list because my mother showed up at my yard waving it around and demanding I help her and the Atwaters stage an attack on the Irish Travellers, whom she claimed was family of the man in the green truck with the 2x4 attack on her car.

A war between the Scottish Travellers/Scottish Mafia/The Atwaters and the Irish Travellers -which include The Cry Clan drug gang from Connecticut - the one the FBI is here looking for-, is the last thing I want to get involved in. Those same two clans are the ones who did the 4-5-8 shoot out back in the 1970s/1980s, when they blew up the dome house at 142 Portland Ave. They were armed to the teeth with truck loads and school bus loads of illegal military guns back in the 4-5-8 shoot out and I don't want to see what kind of weaponry that same group lugs around now 40 years later.

I am a Voodoo Priestess. Voodoo is also known as Folk Catholicism. It is a branch of the Catholic Church. Voodoo is a Christian religion, that focuses on reverence the ancestors. Hollywood Horror movies have slandered our religion to such an extent that the average person thinks Voodoo is dark magic, death spells, curses, and voodoo dolls. Those are all things that exist only in Hollywood and do not exist in real world Voodoo. The problem is made worse, when teens and young adults, not knowing the actual religion, call themselves Voodoo while practising things they see in movies.  While the older generations of Gypsies and Travellers know the difference, younger generation have fallen far from the old traditions, especially the old religion, and sadly, even among Gypsies and Travellers today, many in the age group of 60 years old and younger, only know Voodoo from Horror movies and not from their grandmother's actual practice.

I say this because my mother and her Atwaters wanted me to join then as a "figure head" for their cause. They specifically demanding I summon demons, make voodoo dolls, cast curses, and use magic to kill the list of people living at the addresses on the list they had. In short they attempted to hire me to be a quasi-hit-man for them.

When I explained to them that this is not what Voodoo is about, Voodoo is peaceful, non-violent, we shun weapons and hurtful acts of all types, they lashed out at Etiole -who was not here, it was just me they were yelling at, yelling about him. My mother called Etiole a demon, said he was my familiar, said "I know you work with demons, you can't lie to me" and "you cast death curses on people all the time you lying little bitch, you just won't do it for me because you want to spite your mother, after all I do for you!

I made a Twitch livestream video that same day, telling what was going on and what I feared was about to happen, because I have seen these same two Gypsy clans go to war with each other before.

Well, I have too much to deal with with my health. I'm bedridden 15+ hours a day, so I do nothing but play video games and write novels and edit novels, ALL of which I do on livestream - yes, I livestream for 12 to 15, sometimes 19 hours each and every single day, and I have 92TB of hard drive full of that video footage all the way back to 2015 - I have every minute of every day of my life not only live streamed on Twitch, but I have ALL the video footage files, which mean I have footage of all the attacks, all the yelling at my car, all the demanding I cast death spells, all the trying to hire me as a hit man - all of it. I have over 15k hours of video footage. And because most of the attacks happened during a livestream, there are also hundreds of witness online who saw and heard the attacks and threats already, seeing and hearing them as they were happening.

Going back to the suspecting someone is impersonating me... My mother makes the claim that it is her right to cut the wires off my Biddeford apartment building, because she claims I've put her name, address, and where she goes online. I've never put her address or name or where she goes on the internet. Don't know what she's talking about. I gave her the FBI contact info and told her that if she actually is seeing "me" posting this stuff she claims I'm posting online, then she needs to forward that stuff to the FBI because it's someone impersonating me, and that was one of the things the FBI has suspected was happening so they are actively looking for that kind of stuff. They are trying to get to the bottom of who it is spreading these wild, crazy ass rumours and lies, both doing it in my name and doing it about me.

They've already located a shut down a few dozen impersonation of me, social network accounts, and so far, to date, all of them have belonged to just one person: my mother's brother Mervin Bruce Atwater. Well, it makes sense that HE would know her home address and where she goes, seeing how, for the past decade they were kind of joined at the hip and did everything together. Yeah, of course he knows where she lives and what car she drives and where she goes. 

Also, I never went to school, she did not allow it, There were several legal/court battles between my mom and the OOB school and the state of Maine ad the department of education throughout the 1980s, over the fact that she was actively refusing to allow me to attend school. So I never learned to do math or numbers. I don't know how to count or do money or any stuff like that. And numbers don't register in my head for some reason. People will tell me a phone number or home address and 5 seconds later my mind is blank on the numbers. I can't remember them. That's why when something like an attack happens I write down the tie and date immediately and keep it on a chart - I have a list, day by day, all times and dates of every attack since June 2001. I wouldn't be able to remember what happened when if I didn't keep a list like that.

Well, my mother knows all of this, so she knows even if she had told me her address, which she didn't, I wouldn't have remembered it long enough to even write it down.

In June 2021, I found out she moved, because I was walking my dog -we walk 3 to 4 miles a day, all over Biddeford, Old Orchard, and Scarborough, because I am trying to rebuild my leg muscles after having been bedridden since 2013, with only minimal movement- Doctors said I would never walk again and I aim to prove them wrong and well I have, because I am at least walking enough to walk my dog each day, but it is very difficult, and every step I take feels like a sword stabbing up my right leg and into my spine, because of the nerve damage. It is why I walk so slow and limp so bad, because it hurts terrible to step down.

Well, one day I was walking my dog and all of a sudden, there's my mother, telling me that I'm standing in front of her house and I was surprised, because last I knew she lived several miles away. I had no clue she lived 2 streets over from me and that she had done so for 3 years!

I don't know how she expects me to even know where she goes considering I've had no contact with her in almost a decade now, not since the stunt she pulled April 10, 2015 when she broke into my motorhome, filled it with feces, and then locked her 13 cats in it to frame me for animal abuse. She did not expect the Old Orchard Beach police to arrive and confiscate her cats and then not give them back to her and she has been in a social media battle with several animal shelters, veterinarians, animal control officers, and police officers ever since. Most of her harassment of these people has been targeted at former OOB town hall worker DF  and OOB police officer WW , both of whom she has been harassing on FaceBook for the past 7 years. You can ask DF  and WW  and their family and friends on FaceBook, how bad it has gotten. In recent months she added a new person to her FaceBook harassment, I don't know their name, just that it's the ex-wife and 15 year old son of someone named Todd Murphy who recently died from being hit by a train in front of my Biddeford apartment on Nov 19, 2021. Sometimes she says his death was a suicide, other times she says he was murdered and thrown in front of the train. I don't know which it is, I didn't know him, and only have her word for any of it.

In her mind, the way the whole thing was supposed to happen was: you police were supposed to confiscate my motorhome and she would take her cats and go home. 

What actually happened was: you police confiscated her cats, and I kept my motorhome.

She has spent the last 7 years harassing every pet shelter and rescue in New England, trying to find the cats.

In answer to questions about the cats from April 2015—those were cats belonging to Wayne Whitten of Biddeford, Maine. I was never able to talk about it because of the court case going on between Wayne's family and the Atwaters.

To make matters even worse, the cats were not hers, either. Rather, they belonged to Wayne Whitten and his daughter. My mother had stolen the cats from Wayne, in an act of retaliation, after Wayne refused to hand over to her, his father, William's land.

If you do not know, there are several polygamists in my family, all on the Atwater side. My mother is one of them. Wayne Whitten is one of her many Husbands, and therefore Wayne Whitten is also my stepfather.

In May 2010, my mother took a chainsaw to my 1964 Dodge 330. But it was not the ONLY car she attacked that week. Two days earlier, she took a chainsaw to Wayne's black 1970s vintage Dodge. AFTER, she locked her Old English sheepdog in the trunk and left it there for 6 months, and then tried to say that Wayne killed her dog, when in fact, she had.

Many people in Biddeford, Maine knew Wayne Whitten and his father William Whitten, and both men were known for the wild tales of Wayne's 5th wife, Jeannie, who daily beat him, gathered her older brothers to beat him, and hospitalized him several times, multiple times nearly killing him. That wife is also my mother.

Unfortunately for Wayne Whitten, no one would believe him about how violent and psychotically deranged his wife was and in the space of only a few weeks, his father, then his cats, and then Wayne himself all died. Because of the violent nature of Wayne's death, details were withheld from the public.

Three cats—the white cat Old Lady, and the 2 tabby's Trouble and Sassy, were already dead before the police arrived, and all three were diagnosed as having been force-fed rat poison. This is why, even though my mother put 13 cats in my motorhome, the police only took 10 cats.

Wayne's father, William, owned the cape house next door to Ben's Flooring in Biddeford, behind Walmart. In his 90s, with his health failing, my mother arrived demanding William sell his house and give her the money for a down payment on a mansion in Kennebunk. The exact same demands she is now making at me, these 7 years later. She did this to William Whitten in 2015, and Wayne's daughter to this day maintains that my mother's threats, demands, and harassment were the major contributing factors of William's death.

My mother took the Whitten cats, intending to hold them hostage, until William sold his house and gave her the money. This was why she hid the cats in my motorhome. This is also why when the police showed up asking about the cats, I had no clue what they were talking about and let them search the motorhome telling them there were no cats in it. My mother broke into my motorhome and hid the cats in there, apparently 3 days earlier, and I was unaware she had done this so was unaware the cats were there.

This is also why, when police officer Will Watson asked how many cats there were and what their names were, why I did not know how many cats there were and only knew the names of a couple of the cats that I had heard Wayne talk about.

William Whitten died while the cat fiasco was going on.

Wayne, realizing what my mother had done to his cats, tried to get them back, but he died a few weeks later.

Wayne, his father, and his cats all died a few weeks apart from each other.

My mother went around triumphantly bragging that she had gotten Wayne's father's land, via being Wayne's wife, and set about to the process of buying the house in Kennebunk. And got slapped with a reality check when the two wills got read and both William and Wayne had left everything they had to Wayne's daughter.

In raging inferno, my mom lashed out at Wayne's daughter, and a lawsuit happened, with Wayne's daughter charging my mother with kidnapping the cats, and using rat poison to slowly poison Wayne. A massive Facebook war happened between the Whittens and the Atwaters as my mother got her Atwater thugs involved, and the Whitten's fled in terror once they realized the rumours that my mother was part of the Scottish Mafia, was in fact, very, very, very true.

To this day, the remains of Wayne Whitten's surviving family live in mortal terror, daily vandalism, and barbaric levels of harassment at the hands of my mother, and her brothers Bruce and David and David's sons and grandsons.

More details of what happened can be found here: Amphibious Aliens: https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html

And no, for the people who are confused, Amphibious Aliens has nothing to do with aliens. It is about a homeless man whom my mother and her brother Bruce, over hyper focused on, and together my mother and Bruce created an elaborate alien abduction and demon possession hoax, so they could try to scam several dozen locals out of their houses.

This cat stealing, house stealing scam is something they have been doing to people all over Southern Maine since BEFORE I was even born. The earliest known attempt at this house stealing scam dates back to their father David Henry Atwater and a house he stole in the 1930s in Rumford Maine. At the time, my grandfather used the hoax of an angel from heaven coming down and telling him to take the Rumford farm. And at the time, my grandfather was a transport driver for Honey Fizt's ACTUAL Boston Mafia, which is WHY, the Atwaters make the claim to be the Scottish Mafia. Their claim is that because they are Scottish, and their father worked for Honey Fitz that they are Mafia. But the Atwaters are neither Scottish nor Mafia, both claims are outright lies that are nothing more than part of the scam they run.

As can be seen with BOTH what she has spent the past 5 decades doing to Etiole and what she is currently doing to Todd Murphy's family on and off FaceBook, you can see how much my mother hyper focuses on homeless people and abusing their friends and relatives and using the homeless person's homelessness as excuses for the scams she runs.

That she spent decades running a land stealing scam in Etiole's name, and now is running another land stealing scam in Todd Murphey's name is utterly deplorable.

And you people who wonder WHY I've not had contact with my mother in 30 years, WHY I shun her. WHY I hate her and her Atwater thugs so much... you are right now witnessing it live as they do it all over again, this time taking advantage of the pain and suffering of Todd Murphy's family to try to steal land from people in the name of a homeless man who was killed by a train.

I am thoroughly and utterly disgusted with my mother's vile abuse of the Murphy family and what she is doing in the name of a dead man.

I've said it thousands of times before and I'll say it again: The Atwaters are scum.

The Atwaters devote their lives to abusing homeless people and the families of those homeless people, just so they can run their filthy scams, and I’m fucking sick of the Atwaters and their filth.


She has had several retaliation attacks happen to her, done by family and friends of the people she's harassing on FaceBook. the retaliation attacks included a Biddeford Public Works road grader being driven into her yard and over her car in 2017. Two additional attacks on her next car, the following year. And in June 2021 a man driving a green pick up truck drove into her yard and beat her car with a 2by4. (Note, I did not witness any of these attacks on her cars and only have her word on what happened.)

All of these people she is fighting with on FaceBook, I don't know, they are people she knows and they are not on my FaceBook and I blocked her and all the Atwaters from my FaceBook back in May 2015, when her and her nieces and nephews and siblings were posting death threats on my FB profile. One cousin cousin name, posted pictures of herself carrying a machine gun (not automatic rifle - but a machine gun - the big type you put on a tripod and have a belt full of hundreds of bullets slung over your shoulder- similar to a gatland gun but not as big, though she had pictures of her gatland gun too that she was also posting on my FB) She'd write under the pictures "This is the gun I'm going to shoot you with"... her husband was one of the guys arrested after the Jan 6 attack, by the way - the guy in Florida with the Nancy something's ( forget her last name, I think it began with a P? I don't know American politics, I find it all confusing so I'm not sure who the Nancy woman was). He stole her pulpit and  he was posting pictures of him stealing on FB. Her mom is aunt L, and she and he were among the 23 cousins that the FBI has been trying to find because they supplied a lot of the guns for the Jan 6th attack, according to posts they made on FB. I don't know, I never saw any such posts because I have them all blocked n FB since 2015. Her brother cousin name was also posting pictures of him carrying guns and writing death threats underneath on my FB wall. His messages said: "I'm an ordained Aaronic Priest and god has given me permission to blow your brains out with this gun". cousin name and cousin name are 2 of David and aunt L's 15 adult kids -all are 40 to 60+ years old. David is my mom's oldest brother, he's in his 80s. He is very violent, there has never been an occasion of him arriving on my land in Old Orchard, that did not involve his trying to kill me, usually by strangling me. He is the most violent of all the uncles. Several times while he's been here he beat up his adult kids by hitting them in the face with weights off of dumbells. 

Most of the Atwater men are retired Marines, and all of them are over 6'2" the tallest, is 7'3". These guys are HUGE and are all weightlifters. You don't want to cross one of the Atwater uncles, they are former Marines trained in weaponless combat. David runs a compound in Palmyra.. . and you might have just seen his crew in the news - they were doing a squatter's rights takeover of that big mansion next door to Stephen King in Bangor and somehow the place caught fire. The news reports didn't mention Stephen King and went out of their way to get camera angles that kept King's house out of the news, but I'm as familiar with Bangor streets as I am Old Orchard and Biddeford streets, so I recognized which house it was on the news, that got attacked by the squatters doing a take over war. 

My uncle and his kids are trying to confiscate the land all around Stephen King - they say they have the right to because no one was ever paid any money for being in The Thinner movie. That happened about 2 weeks ago, the news did not list the squatters name, but like I said, it's my uncle and his crew, they been focusing on the 20 or so houses around King's big red Victorian, for over a decade now. They tried to get me to help them do it, that's how I found out. They made the claim that because I'm an author I should be able to reason with Stephen King and convince him to hand over his red Victorian house in exchange for his never paying them for being in The Thinner. I told them to get lost and burn in hell. Just because I'm an author and King's film crew filmed a part of Thinner on my land in Old Orchard doesn't mean I know King himself, I never even met him, and them being obsessed with stealing land from people is just out of control. 

The whole Atwater clan does this. They don't see anything wrong with moving in, setting up camp, and driving the rightful land owners off their land at gunpoint.

They act like it's a family tradition to steal land from people, via squatting, harassment, corrosion, death threats, and outright just forging deeds and switching the files, like they did with my land.

And that's the issue we have going on right now. My mother has gone on a psych crazed warpath vendetta of taking my land or else, and or else so far has included her twice now having my father shove things up the tailpipe of my car, both times doing lots of damage t the car when I started the engine and everything inside blew up because of the fuel line blocked. And twice now - each time the same day as attacking my Volvo cutting the wires off the Biddeford apartment as well, in the same driveway where the car was parked.

Both times they admitted to doing it and both times used the justification that I deserved it because I was refusing to sell my land and give my mother the money to buy a house in Kennebunk. She says she has to move to Kennebunk to "get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". She's very crude and vulgar and has an extreme hatred for black people and hangs around online with some group that calls itself "the workers of iniquity" which claims to be "a branch of the Ku Klux Klan because the original Ku Klux Klan is not strict enough".

Throughout 2016 people wearing KKK-like white robes and hood showed up in Old Orchard to make threats about my land. Back then I was unaware that my mother was friends with such a group. The robes are NOT KKK robes, the KKK robes are very distinctive, covered with fancy bead work and embroidery, and are not white, but are usually green or red or blue or yellow. It's a Hollywood myth that the KKK wears white, and that's how you can tell REAL KKK from fake wannabe's pretending to be KKK. Real KKK is not wearing white sheets and white pillowcases. The real KKK is a church that is organized similar to Catholic church and all their robes mean specific ranks, also they don't wear hood, they wear mitre hats like the pope does, and have a veil mask over their eyes. So its pretty easy to identify real KKK from fakers in white sheets, and the people showing up in my yard were not real KKK, they were fakers literally wrapped in white bed sheets with pillow cases over their heads. 

Well, various white-power groups show up in the area, that's nothing unusual. Neo-Nazi, Sovereign Citizens, ect. They've always been around Maine, so much so that there are KKK and white power history museums in Maine -one is in Saco. So, I didn't think much of the white hood idiots in my yard. We are Gypsies, white hooded idiots are a part of our non-white life.

Well, here's the thing: we are not white. My mother's mother was not a Gypsy. Eva Viola Little John Dyer Atwater was half Kickapoo Native American and half black. He mother was 100% Native America. Her father 100% black. My mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent. There is not one drop of white blood in her. Which is why I was surprised to hear her say: "I gotta move to Kennebunk to get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". Yes, Kennebunk is all white, and look at the news, the black school teach who lives in Old Orchard Beach and worked at Kennebunk schools is daily bombarded with swastika painted on her car while she's teaching class. I can't drive my Volvo down main street Kennebunk with out getting pelted with rocks and crowds running off the sidewalks screaming "death to Gypsy scum!" It's dangerous t drive through Kennebunk and not be white -they pull us coloured folks out of cars if we get stopped at a red light. Kennebunk is legendary for being the most white power town in the state of Maine.

One has only to look up the international news reports of the 10 year old school children dragging their black teacher into the streets and almost beating her to death -in 2020. That happened barely a year ago. Kennebunk is the most hostile anti-black town in America and they are proud of it, brag about it, and since the BLM stuff of 2020, Kennebunk has gotten ten times worse. And, she's been seeing all that in the news and wants to live there, and I'm not sure why, because like I said,  my mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent and if she tries to buy a house there, and they find out she has black blood, they'll kill her. But she's all hyped up on a white power kick and wants to join Kennebunk's anti-black movement, and... I... I just don't understand it and I'm sure if that's actual why she wants to go thee or not.

There was a court case about the cats (3 different ones because the town hall dropped the case after evidence proved the cats were not mine and my mother had snuck them in my motorhome a few days earlier to try to frame me and then some MB guy crawled out of the woodwork to reopen the case a month later), which, for some reason was in my name, not her name, because the motorhome was mine, even though the cats were hers. Weirdly, half way through the court case the town hall dropped the case and some guy named MB Bureau took over it instead. Thing is, I don't know who this MB guy is. He's not anyone I have ever even met before and he was not at the court so I didn't meet him there either. He came in with lots of wild accusations about me harassing him, even though I had no clue who he was and had never heard of him before. MB's lawyer took photo copies of a conversation on Twitter between me and JB (the guy the FBI arrested for embezzling $30k out of the OOB town hall bank account - $3million in OOB tax money went missing, the rest was never found as far as I know. The Twitter conversation was this JB sending me death threats because he had just been released from prison, and he was claiming I had put him there, even though I didn't know him or that he'd been in prison or that he had stolen money from OOB town hall. According to FBI, JB was a church friend of my mother's and he and town manager Jim Thomas, had been Bishopric counsellors to Mormon Church Bishop DK and the 3 of them and several others from the Saco LDS church had taken over the OOB town hall in around 2010 and embezzled $3million in town taxes. Apparently my Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, Richard Merlin Atwater, and aunt B had been involved, been involved and they had used fake social media accounts in my name to contact JB so he thought I knew him, that's why he contacted me on my real account after getting out of prison. I don't know the details I only know the small bit of info the FBI told me to let me know why this JB guy was contacting me.) For some reason, this MB guy, said the Twitter conversation with this Joel guy was about him. 

And apparently according to the FBI, this MB guy owns the old abandoned logging road across the street from me, which is numbered as 139 Portland Ave. I don't know, that road has been abandoned at least since the 1970s, I had no idea any one lived down there, but FBI says this MB guy does. I've been at 146 since 1975, and I've never see any one live there. FBI says there is another driveway on a different side that they probably use. Any ways, for some odd reason this MB guy took over the court case with the cats, only he suddenly said it was about me being transgender (but I'm not transgender, so I don't know why he said I was) His lawyer came into court saying I was a man pretending to be a woman, and here's where it got really weird, the lawyer copied what he SAID was an "About Me" page off of my website (eelkat.com) only what he copied was the about page for the main character of the novel series I write (I'm the author of 138 published novels). The series is about a male Elf who is possessed by a female parasitic alien jellyfish. So it's a female jellyfish wearing the body of a dead male Elf like a coat and passing herself off as him.

Well, this lawyer (Gene Libby) for this MB guy is waving THAT fictional character profile around in court, saying it was my personal about me page, and making the claim that I was a male to female transvestite who believed I was an Elf... and here's the kicker... his whole spiel was trying to convince the judge that I was insane so this MB guy could confiscate my land at 146 Portland Ave! It was the most bizarre thing, and the judge thought so too, because the judge tossed the whole thing out of court because the charges this MB guy had against me were so oddball off the wall nut job ridiculous. But the thing was, again, it was someone making wild claims that I had to hand them over my land, which is what keeps happening with every one of these weird attacks. And always, like both these 2 guys: JB and MB Bureau they are creepy ass strangers who crawl out of the woodwork, people I've never heard of before, making claims to being my friend (JB made the claim he was my best friend and said we talked all the time on FaceBook, but he wasn't on my FB and I'd never heard of him before. While MB Bureau in his court papers made the claim to be one of my uncles -he is not-and)

aunt B and aunt L of Bangor used to be putting stuff online about me and my brothers and JB would get it from aunt B and aunt L and forward it every where. This was in 2010 era, but I did not see the posts, because none of them is a FaceBook friend of me. The FBI however said they saw a lot of the posts, these people made, including several death threats. Seems likely something like that is happening again given the way people keep showing up here at the Biddeford apartment when no one even knew I was here.

I met aunt L about 3 times during my childhood, it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, and I've never spoken with her online or offline not once in my entire life.

aunt B I meet 10 or 12 times during my childhood, and likewise it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, except for 2 times. One in 2013 she showed up at my Biddeford apartment on Water St, with some medical scam idea she had that she wanted me to help her with. She said she was working at Blue Cross/Blue Shield and had found a way to get people's insurance money because a lot of people didn't file claims; she said she was also an EMT, and she could take the records from one job to cross with the other job, to have people's insurance money forwarded to a POBox she owned. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it and to get lost. I don't know how true any of the stuff she said was. I don't know if she worked at those places or could do the scam she was claiming or not.

aunt B showed up again in 2016, at the Gazebo Park (might be named Mechanic's Park?) on the Saco River by the water treatment plant. I was there walking my dog, and my mother showed up with an uncle Peter (now deceased) who was visiting from Utah. They were having a picnic. aunt B and Bruce showed up to trash everything, steal the food, and then leave. They were yelling and screaming the whole time. They acted drunk, except I didn't think they drank. I don't know. Mormons don't drink, not usually.

So I don't know aunt B and aunt L otherwise. I know nothing about them. Have never had contact with them, have never spoken with them online or offline. So, I'm puzzled as to why they were posting things online about me in 2010, or why they were acting like they knew me, when neither of them has ever been a part of my life or know anything about me.

But, they make claims that I say and do various things that I don't say or do. The list of things they've accused me of is massive and kind of crazy and include the claims that I am a prostitute, and that I am a Mafia gang leader ... like I said, it's just wild and also very slanderous and I'm sick of it.

Back in 2019 when my mother got her car, she had it over a month before I even knew she had gotten a car. I found out she had it when she flipped out saying I was online telling people she bought a car. And it turned out is was aunt B and Brucie online telling everyone she got a car, but I had told them,  even thought I had never talked to either of them since 2013 when FBI told me cut off all contact with them

aunt B and Bruce and aunt L all 3 are constantly telling people I said things, that I never said. 

I told you people been showing up talking about Todd and claiming I said things online about him, but I don't even know who he is or what they are talking about. It almost looks like someone is online impersonating me.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat 

Last time my car had this problem was same day my father cut the internet on my mom's orders. Suspicious my car has same problem again, same day internet goes off again. It went off while my mother was here

aunt B showed up at water st day after golf club attack, but I never knew how she found out , I never told anyone online about it . Her and Bruce knew about it some how before any one else.  They wanted me to use my injury to help them run a medical scam and they were pissed when I refused to. They started spreading lies about me online because of that. That was Nov 2013

aunt B and Bruce knew about the cats and DAY BEFORE it happened. aunt B posted on my FaceBook wall "the next head nailed to the door will be yours" the day before any heads were nailed to door

I think it's aunt B online saying stuff about me and my mom, because she did it before and because FBI was here asking about her going down to Washington Jan 6 attack, but I didn't yet know the Jan 6 attack had even happened. They said aunt B aunt L and 23 cousins had been down there and they FBI was trying to find them. 

Old Orchard police and Biddeford police and a detective have all shown up asking about aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins as well. But again I don't know anything because I not had contact with them. But FBI, 2 police departments and a detective are all saying aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins are making claims about me, in connection to bombs and ISIS .

That's how I found out Paul Martel was in prison. According to FBI agents, Paul Martel built the bombs for the 2013 Boston marathon and the 2013 bomb at South Maine Community College and put the college bomb in my class to make it look like I made the Boston bomb. That's why the FBI showed up to begin with. They were at the college investigating both bombs that happened the same day

FBI said they believed the whole thing was aunt B and Bruce idea, but Paul martial was the one who actually built the bomb and sold it to ISIS, and put the second bomb in my class at college so Paul Martel was the only one they could arrest. FBI is trying to arrest aunt B because they think she's the one behind it. They said the whole thing seems to have started because Scott went to prison for selling drugs at Scarborough downs and for some reason aunt B thinks I'm the one who turned him in, even though I've not seen or heard from Scott since he was 8 years old

FBI thinks the attack on the cats was aunt B retaliating because Paul Martel got arrested. 

When Dickie died also in 2013, after the bomb in Boston but before the golf club attackers aunt B was with him taking charge of his medicine and his official cause of death was an overdose of his medicine, with a not saying unable to determine if accident or suicide. I found out this 2 days after he died when Jacksonville County state police from Florida showed up here in Maine to interview me about where I was the day Dickie died  because when he died aunt B called 911 and told the police I had killed him. 

The FBI thinks the golf club attack was aunt B retaliating because police didn't arrest me for murdering Dickie like she had demanded they do

FBI is full focused on arresting aunt B and Bruce. There's no evidence Bruce is dead. All evidence points to him being in New Zealand. 

FBI believes Bruce faked death because FBI was moving in to close and he didn't want to take the fall for what aunt B is doing 

In 1996 and 1997 aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie and David and Joey in raving warpath over it. That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. Etiole is not his name, it's always been the word the Atwaters used to describe him (it means man from the stars or alien it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name) Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about it in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it.

My father was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him the white monkey. In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. He wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by daddy. Others had been written by Dickie. President Earnshaw later called me in for similar letters he had received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed daddy as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or white monkey, until the week Todd died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon

The white monkey belonged to Helen pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and cousin Micheal saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal took him food. For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I used to let him sleep in the Dodge at night, that's why people started saying the car was haunted. They said Etiole was a demon and the car was demon possessed. My father and Bruce used to stay up all night debating what kind of demon Etiole must be and kept calling me a demon child and a witch and saying I was demon possessed and they called Etiole my familiar and said I summoned him to cast curses and death spells. Bruce believed all that stuff as actual fact and after Bruce left for the night my dad would joke about how gullible Bruce was and how easy it was to convince him demons lived in my car. From there the rumours ended up on the internet through the Heaven's Gate group, that Bruce was a member of at the time. They were a group of around 200 people who went from one UFO forum to the next spreading rumours about me and Etiole. They did that for 11 years before I found out Bruce and his UFO friends were doing it. 

I found out when people started showing up in Old Orchard with beeping equipment claiming they were here the capture Etiole while calling him an amphibious alien and EBE and calling me "EelKat Etiole's friend" I did not use the username EelKat online and none of my books about EelKat (the black bobcat) had ever been published so there was no reason for internet people to know either the name EelKat or Etiole.  I was using the username xavychup online not EelKat, that's why my email address is xavychup not EelKat. EelKat is something Grammy called me back in the 1970s because she said eels and cats were my spirit animals. I never called myself EelKat online or offline so only the Atwaters had ever heard that word before and yet in 2007, I spent the entire summer with endless people showing up in my yard at my tent and all calling me EelKat and all looking for Etiole. 

Because I was living under the tarp I had no access to internet yet so had no clue what was going on online. I went to the library and searched Etiole and EelKat to see what came up and I found tens of thousands of forum posts and interviews and articles all written by Bruce and Dickie, including interviews with Buddy Hopkins, David Mack, and David Icke. All the stuff they said was how they had this demon possessed niece who had been abducted by aliens and has brought an alien back from the mother ship with her and was now protecting him. Every one of the forum posts. Interviews and articles had my full name, my old Orchard address, my email, and my old Orchard phone number listed. That was why so many people were showing up at the tent. In 2006 to 2009. The whole thing of people calling me a Witch and saying about curses and death spells and aliens and demons was started by daddy saying that stuff to Bruce and then Bruce and Dickie spreading it online for 11 years from 1996 to 2007

I started using the name EelKat online BECAUSE my uncles had spent 11 years calling me that on MUFON forums, and when I found out about it and started contacting all the forum admins, I had to tell every one:

"I'm Wendy Christine Allen. I'm the one you all call EelKat, Etiole's friend, the REAL EelKat, friend of the REAL Etiole,  and I'm here to slap every damned one of you with protection from harassment orders. I'm tired of the slander and lies you people are spreading about me of fucking UFO websites. I'm not an alien abductee, I've never claimed to be, until this morning I didn't even know what an alien abductee was. Etiole is not an alien. Etiole is not a demon. He's a local homeless man who has a skin deformity, so he hides in the forest because people are scared of him because of what he looks like, and they beat him up and bully him. The people telling you he's an alien are my uncles, who the ring leaders behind beating him up and bullying him, and I'm quite upset to find out they've been doing it online for quite some time and I'm only just finding out about it now, because earlier this week, I had 30,000 people in my driveway, trying to catch him while screaming that he was an amphibious alien and EBE. You UFO crazies are insane, and I want you people out of my yard. My uncles are lying to you about me and Etiole and you'll idiots for believing them."

I created an EelKat username EVERYWHERE just so I could post that message to every place my uncles had posted that fucking ass alien abduction shit about me and Etiole. THAT, is why you saw me start to use the EelKat username in 2007, when I was always xavychup everywhere before that.

And that is also why I do NOT have an EelKat email.  I've had the xavychup email since 1994, I still have it. And anyone using an eelkat email to contact you isn't me, because I don't have an eelkat email. It always has been and still is xavychup.

Last I knew aunt B and Bruce and aunt L and Bruce's daughters and David's kids and grandchildren were all still continuing to spread demon and alien lies about me and Etiole and were still putting my real name and address on everything. In 2019 they were putting my old Orchard address my high street address and also my water st address even though I was no longer at water street on thousands of forum posts and Facebook posts. In 2019 they were making several hundred posts daily across all there accounts and I found 27 fake EelKat accounts owned just by Bruce himself alone. They were all things like eeelkat, ee1kat, 33lkat, etc. Slightly spell different to look like it was me, yo someone looking quick and not paying attention.  They are likely still doing it and I assume they are doing the same to my mother as well. 

Also I don't even know what mothers address is. How could I put it anywhere? I didn't even know she moved until last summer and apparently she moved a few years ago. No one ever told me she had moved. 

Just like the saying about me saying she got a car. I didn't know about the white car until she came over in it to see Mickey last may and apparently she had a few cars in between. Last car I knew was the black one. I didn't even know she had a new car, let alone more than one.

No one ever told me those things, not her or any one else so it's utterly stupid for her to think I could put her address or cars online. Only people who knew about her address and cars could put them online.

Don't forget she never even told me when Dickie or Bruce died. Both times I found out from the FBI showing up to investigate accusations that I had murdered them

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

The 4 door white truck showed up a few days later. 

Tim Murphy had an identical truck. The police and FBI initially thought it was his, but his truck was later found.

Tim Murphy owned Etiole's swamp and was the one buying most of the food and supplies for Etiole. 

Tim Murphy was with me and Micheal the day we tried to catch Helen pearly white monkey and found Etiole. 

The FBI believes that Tim Murphy was killed by someone trying to frame Etiole and believes the murder was a retaliation over Tim Murphy refusing to sell the swamp land behind me. 

At the time the FBI was looking at DF Feeney as a suspect but DF Feeney's family was killed in a murder suicide and he too is now seen as someone who was being framed.

The swamp, sandpit, and pond behind me, the Murphys own that, and 3 people in their family have now died horrifically violent deaths because they, like me were protecting Etiole from the people who would kill him because they believed Bruce's demon and alien lies about Etiole. 

Look at what is being done to me. They drove a backhoe over my house and they murdered my baby and they crippled me, all days apart.

Look at what is being done to the Murphys. And they're massacring the Murphy family. Tim's death the same time as the attack on me.

And look at who screams the loudest hate for Etiole. Look WHO calls him a demon.

And look at WHO the FBI's number one suspect in all of this is.

My family laughs and jokes about this whole thing like they think it's a fucking game. People are dying and the FBI is not laughing. 

Look at WHO keeps attacking my car. Look at WHO keeps cutting the wires off the apartment. Vandalism. Harassment. Bullying. Threats. Evil people Evil things. By their fruits yea shall no them, for no good thing springs from dead wood. Those are small petty crimes, but they are still crimes. But it's far beyond petty crimes. The list of people who have been murdered is quite long now. 13 died just at the Boston marathon bombing. I'm crippled for the rest of my life, and so far, I'm the only person who was attacked who lived through an attack. Every one else they've attacked is dead. Most of them beheaded or killed in a bomb. 7 different bombs, including one in my classroom at college in 2013, two in my workplace in 2015 and 2016, the house in Old Orchard in 2006, and my doctor on Saco Ave in 2003 where the doctor the nurses and 21 patients were killed. And the FBI was on site for every one of them, and my family thinks it's funny to laugh and make jokes about all of it. Because that's they do since the day me and Micheal and Tim Murphy found Etiole

Do you realize for all the shit my parents have pulled,  they've never once apologized for anything. And you know why? Because they aren't sorry. They feel no guilt. They feel no shame. They feel no remorse. Why? Because they hate me. They always have. From the time I was old enough to walk both of them reminded me daily that I was supposed to be a boy to replace the baby boy that was born before me. That's why Grammy Helen was the one who was always with me until I was 8. And after that it was Grammy Eva. And then BW. 

Do you know how I found out Santa wasn't real? Grammy Helen died when I was 8. That year for Christmas there were no Christmas presents. There was just my parents arguing over which one of them should have lowered themselves to buy a gift for the mistake that committed the sin of not being born a boy. I remember that Christmas better than any other. Because that's when found out exactly how much my parents hated me and thought I was worthless because I was a girl.

Look at my MRI scans at the damage the foundation nail through my hip did. The mutilated bones that were shattered when I was 6 years old and no one took me to the hospital. I've walked on a broken leg for almost 50 years. 

Look at the jaw surgery I had to have when I was 42 to repair an injury done to me with a brick when I was 14. 

Look at the Gremlin, 1974 orange, obliterated by a sledgehammer. 

Look at what happened when I was awarded phi theta kappa. No one went to the award ceremony. My mother said it was stupid. My father spent the day raving calling me an educated damned fool. BW was at the temple with Rick. And people with golf clubs were waiting at my car.

Do you realize if just one single person had cared enough to be at the phi theta kappa awards my baby might not have been murdered and I might not be crippled now. 

Grammy Helen would beat my dad's ass for the shit he does to me. And Grammy Eva would be ashamed of the stuff my mother does. Neither Helen or Eva would have let them get away with the constant abuse and harassment.

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - KRA vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother did it. KRA stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. He tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed.

KRA did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"



UPDATE: February 27, 2022:

Do not underestimate either my willingness or how far I will go to protect my murdered son's grave from being destroyed by the bastards who are the @FBI s number one suspects in having killed him. The ONLY reason that bitch is hell bent on digging up my farm is because she wants to destroy the evidence of my baby having been murdered by golf clubs.

I'm sick of my mother and my mothers shit head Atwater relatives. They won't stop focusing on the cats. They are lost in a delusional refusal to face reality and that is impeding the fbi investigation of the murder of my baby and the crippling of my spine, because all either of them will do is say there was no baby and tell everyone lies about me and I don't like it. My baby is dead and that has nothing to do with the cats and I'm sick of my mother and her filthy Atwater thugs both ignoring what happened at the college 2 years before the cat event happened AND daily arriving to bully me and say it was “RoseMary’s Baby” and not a real baby because it was a demon, because Etiole was a from.

 

Etiole is not a demon, my baby with him was not a demon, you murdered my fucking baby because you are retarded religion crazed jackasses. Get the fuck out of my life and go burn were evil people like you belong!

 

I'm tired of every time I mention the baby that was murdered November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College,  they wave their hand in my face and say, "no you're just upset about the cats". The cats happened May 14, 2015 and those cats were not mine, they were my mother's cats, that she hid in my motorhome because her landlord Nick didn’t know she had 13 cats in her Birch St apartment. And he evicted her a year later when he found out the cats were hers.

That's why SHE is the one making a fuss about them, not me. I'm not the one running around yapping about the cats constantly,  she is. I'm talking about my son. 

 

My baby boy that was murdered by 3 attackers wielding golf clubs in the SMCC parking lot. A blond woman whom the redhaired woman called Claire, a redhaired woman who the blond woman called Kendra, both in their 60sish, and a bald man in his 30ish.

 

I'm not talking about my mother's cats, I'm talking about my child. What the fuck is wrong with these people? 

 

As for my car … did you all forget when and why I painted it? May 12, 2014. Mother's day. The first mother day after my baby was murdered. I painted my Volo on mother's day to divert my mind from killing myself. That's why I painted my car 9 years ago and you all know that, I've said as much hundreds of times.

Ty Mother and the Atwaters are refusing to acknowledge the baby because also refuse to acknowledge Etiole, a local homeless Jewish man who is the baby's father. 

My Mother and the Atwaters are so damned bigoted and religion crazed that all they’ve ever done is call Etiole a demon or an alien, since the first day they ever saw him: September 23, 1978.

It’s been almost 50fucking years that they’ve harassed him because of what he looks like and harassed me because I won’t let them beat him to death. 

They fully 100% believe he is not human and they run around slandering him every chance they can get and they’ve been doing it for 50 fucking years now. 

And THAT is the ONLY reason, they are doing what they are doing right now. 

 

They have NO RIGHT to be on my land. They are fucking trespassing.

Because they are so damned brainwashed by their fucking religions, that they can’t stop believing anyone who is physically deformed MUST be a Demon.

 

And they’ve spent the last 9 years daily hounding me and whooping and cheering joyous celebration over “killing the demon” as they refer to my baby.

 

In you hadn’t watched the local news - January 2022 - there was a massive FBI raid on Main Street and Cutts Street Biddeford, Maine. 8 of the men who have been roaming Southern Maine beating up pregnant women with golf clubs, were arrested and are now in jail where they belong, soon to be moved to federal prison.

And THAT is what has got the Atwaters in a frenzy now, digging up my land in Old Orchard Beach. They are desperately trying to find my dead baby’s unmarked grave, because they know his gold club shattered skull is very damning evidence for them, now that the FBI made a move and started arresting a bunch of their thugs.

 

And those arrested that just happened, they happened because the FBI phone number was painted on my car and locals in Biddeford, came forward with witness testimony of the attacks.

 

What my mother and the Atwaters are doing is cruel and evil and hateful, and I’m sick of it.

They don’t care about or my life, and my baby or his life. As can be seen by the fact of how he died.

The FBI is still trying to ID the bond Claire woman and the redhaired Kendra woman. They caught the bald man with the 4 door white pick up truck, we now know who he is - the son of the Old Orchard Beach police dispatch woman, the woman who would never let any 911 calls begging for help while these attacks were happening, go through.

Don't be surprised if you see the signs - all 144 of them - go back up in my driveway. Because I'm fucking sick of being harassed, and the agreement to keep the signs down, specified that EVERYONE in Old Orchard Beach - ALL RESIDENTS would NEVER HARASS ME again. You people have broken your agreement. I'm painting new signs as we speak.

EVERYONE - includes real estate agents, developers, contractors, construction workers, and any Atwater bitch who thinks they have the right to daily show up at my Biddeford apartment to say: "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a downpayment on a house, she is going to sell her land and give me the money or else!"

Burn in hell you fucking bitch, and take all your fucking Atwater shitheads with you.

There are more then 500 graves on my farm - more than half of them Native American, some of them buried as far back as the 1400s. I WILL NOT let you touch those graves. I take my job as the guardian of these graves VERY SERIOUSLY. And you WILL have an all out war on your hands if you dare touch them.

Now she's threatening to dig up the graves on my land.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby died, but look at what she did when the cats died. Her priorities are fucked up.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby was murdered. But look at what she did when the murderers returned and killed the cats!

Look at what she is STILL doing about the fucking cats!

That's all she cares about. Those damned dead cats and her glut lust to have a mansion in KennebunkPort.

Her priorities are fucked up.

She doesn't give a damn about Human life.

And you know what's worse, the FBI thinks she, her sister Barbara, her brother Bruce, and their friends Claire and Kendra, where the people wearing the fake KuKluxKlan robes and hoods on November 14, 2013, when they used golf clubs to beat my baby to death and break my spine leaving me crippled for the rest of my life. 

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

And what the hell is with people mixing up me and my mother? 

I'm NOT the one hell bent on a house. I have been willfully homeless for decades I have no desire for the confines of a house. The one running around yapping hysterics about a house IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about cats. The one running around yapping hysterics about cats IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Todd, I don't even know who Todd is! I don't know any one named Todd! The one running around yapping hysterics about Todd IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Mark and Dan and Watson, I don't even know who Mark and Dan and Watson are! I don't know anyone named Mark or Watson and the only Dan I know is my cousin and it's clearly not him she's talking about. The one running around yapping hysterics about Mark and Dan and Watson IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one putting curses on people. I don't believe in curses. The one running around yapping hysterics about curses and claiming she's casting death spells on people IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about demons. I don't believe in demons. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole a demons. I don't believe in demons. Etiole is a local homeless man and Etiole isn't even his name, I don't use his real name online to protect his identity. I'm not the one who calls him Etiole either. Etiole is the name the Atwaters call him. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. I don't believe in aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. The one running around yapping hysterics about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole an alien. I don't believe in aliens and besides that, Etiole is a local homeless man. The one running around yapping hysterics and calling Etiole an alien IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses. Voodoo has nothing to do with Voodoo dolls and curses. Voodoo dolls and curses are mumbo-jumbo made up by Hollywood movies and have nothing to do with the Voodoo religion at all. Voodoo is a branch of the Catholic Church. Look it up. Voodoo is a Christian religion. A Voodoo Priest is a type of Catholic Monk. A Voodoo Priestess is a type of Catholic Nun. Voodoo does not cast curses or use voodoo dolls. The one running around yapping hysterics about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

Open your eyes people. Me and my mother don't look that much alike. You should be able to tell the difference between me and her.

Stop showing up in my yard to to attack me because of some fucking shit you argued with my mother about.

If you've got a problem with my mother, take it up with her not me.

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot, by a local lunatic.

No, he's not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He's not an alien and he's not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you're all fucking crazy. 

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because he was tortured in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees, He has post traumatic stress disorder really bad and he's terrified of people. He can't function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He's not an alien, he's not a demon, he's not a cryptid. He's a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn't you people harassing him like this. Why can't you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can't you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html where way back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car, goes over every event from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by my mother's brother  Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin's younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I'm sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

If you are having problems with my mother, tell FBI agent Andy Drewer about it not me. Have information, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the murder of my baby, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about any of the attacks on my family, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the people who shot Etiole, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If you have information about anything, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 and give it to him, not me.

https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html





UPDATE March 8, 2022

One sign is back up. 

How many more go up, is dependent upon YOU.

From now on, every time one of you Old Orchard Beach, Pine Point, or Biddeford shitheads decides to harass me, I'm going to put up another sign.

If you want no more, then you better make dammed sure you keep your friends and family and neighbors out of my yard and out of my life. I'm not selling my land, and I'll not let you dig up those graves.

Burn in hell.

No means no.

And I'm tired of saying no.

Just like rapist, you refuse to take no for an answer.

No. I'm not selling my land and giving you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

I've said no to you every single week since August 2021. And your current threats to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land, is why the signs are going back up.

I'm tired of you bullying me.

I'm tired of your threats.

I'm tired of your gaslighting.

I'm tired of your lies.

You keep saying "After all I've done for you!" What have you done for me? When I was 8 years old you locked me in a racoon trap and left me there for 27 years, only letting me out on Sundays so you could parade me around in the Cape Elizabeth and Saco Ward Mormon churches to pedophile priests who paid you so they could rape me. That's why you never had a job until 5 years ago, because you made plenty selling your pre-teen daughter for sex to dirty old men.

You drove a foundation nail through my hip when I was 6 years old.

From the tie I was 14 until I was 42 years old I was near mute, because you broke my jaw with a brick. I was 42 when I had surgery to rebuild my jaw, that's why I can talk today.

You never allowed me or my bothers to go to school or doctors.

YOU took a sledge hammer to my 1974 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Hornet, my Olds station wagon, and you took a chain saw to my 1964 Dodge 330 the worlds most haunted car, the real Christine. YOU did that.

Since 1978 you have harassed me and me boyfriend, the one you call Etiole, because YOU believe he's a demon because of his skin deformities. You and your sister and your brothers contacted MUFON and told them lies about me and Etiole both. You called him the amphibious alien and claimed he had abducted me. Your alien abduction hoax, almost got him killed in 1997 and again in 2007 when ufo crazies arrived in my yard calling him an EBE and trying to shoot him "for science". An elderly man, a French, Jewish Nazis concentration camp survivor who lives in the forest because his PTSD and fear of people is so bad. A man who is scarred with acid burns from being tortured in WW2 and is neither a demon nor an alien and who deeply traumatized by YOUR endless harassment.

It was YOUR friends who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013 because YOU paid them $600 to do so. Because you thought without a house I would sell my land. But I wasn't the one living in that house. My dad lived there. All you did was put him in a Biddeford apartment. I was already living in the tent since May 9, 2006, and I had the Biddeford apartment since February 13, 2007. 

It was YOUR friends who attacked me with golf clubs at Southern Maine Community College, November 14, 2013, while I was 8 months pregnant with Etiole's baby. That they murdered, on YOUR orders, because as YOU put it "It's RoseMary's Baby" while you gibbered about some horror movie about demon babies.

That was YOUR own grandchild that YOU hired those people to kill.

April 10, 2015, YOU broke into my motorhome, put YOUR 13 cats in it, them then brought YOUR friends to attack my family.

We now know the owner of the 4-door white truck, was YOUR visiting teach, Kathy, the driver who tried to kill me, was her son, and the reason the 911 calls didn't go through during each attack, was because she was the 911 dispatcher and her son, driving her 4door white pick up truck, only attacked me she was on duty. They were YOUR friends from the Saco Ward church, YOUR church, attacking YOUR daughter on YOUR orders.

Since August 2021, you arrive at my apartment 3 times a week, to tell me I need to put curses on people at your workplace, citing that I have to, because you're my mother and I'm demon possessed and I should be putting my demons to good use by helping you kill three people you don't like at work.

I'm sick of you calling me demon possessed.

I'm sick of you demanding curses.

You have a severe mental problem and you need psychiatric help.

I'm sick of you spreading slanderous lies about me telling every one around town I cast curses and death spells, when I've never done either.

November 19, 2021, YOU friend Todd commit suicide and YOU told YOUR friends, that me and Etiole used suicide demons to drive him in front of a train.

YOUR friend Todd, who I did NOT know and had never heard of until 6 of YOUR friends showed up at Rotary Park November 21, 2021 to gun down Etiole while screaming that they were "killing the suicide demon", while we were walking my dog.

Something YOU now brag that YOU tricked YOUR friends into do, because you needed to get Etiole off my land in order to convince me to sell it and give YOU the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk.

Christmas Eve 2021, you arrived at MY apartment in Biddeford, STOLE my father's psychiatric medicine, medicine he needs to keep him NOT violent, because he has extremely violent schizophrenia and one hell of a criminal record that requires him to never be in the same room with a gun, let alone never have one. He was committed to a mental ward in 2007, and they ONLY let him out because he came to Biddeford to live with ME in MY apartment, and I was monitoring his meds.

After YOU stole his medicine, you took him with you daily to Kennebunk, to a mansion by Bush's house, to daily tell him, you would give him that house if he forced me to sell my land and give you the money from my land to buy that Kennebunk house.

Tell, me, what of THOSE things, is YOU doing anything FOR me?

No, means, no.

I'm done saying NO to you.

You are nothing but a land rapist.

Just like a rapist you refuse to accept No for an answer.

Every week since August 2021, I've said no to you.

No, I will not sell my land and hand you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

No, means no.

And no, I'm not happy with the fact that because I won't sell my land and give you the money, you are now threatening to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land.

No, I'm not happy with you saying "You don't need the land, you don't use it, I need a house in Kennebunk, you ought to want to sell your land and give me the money!"

Yes, I do use my land.

Yes, I did see the car YOU dumped behind my motorhome. You have till the end of summer to get it off my land or the police are taking it.

What I do with my land is none of your damned business.

And for your information, my land is where I write my novels. I sit on the hill, and I write every day, all summer long. The only reason I didn't in 2021 is because I had Covid for 3 months.

No, telling me that my grandmother's evil spirit is haunting my land. also does not inspire me to want to sell it.

YOU are an evil, hate fill, mean, cruel, sadistic, child abusing, vindictive sociopath.

Get psychiatric help.

You need it.

What you are doing is wrong and you know it. You won't be so upset about what is painted on my car, if you didn't know it.

You can't hide from the truth forever. 

You can't hide your sins, your crimes, your cruelties forever.

Good things will never come to you, until you stop doing evil things to those around you.


Don't forget, my camera runs 24/7 and it's a simple matter of my uploading the video footage of you doing and saying things thing. Plus a lot of it, you said and did while I was livestreaming so people online have already seen and heard you say and do these things.

Yes, I even have video footage of the 4 bicycle brats who chased the homeless man into the train November 2021.

EVERYTHING, I have said here I have video footage of. That is WHY the FBI have been able to arrest so many people these past few months, in Biddeford.

Cutting the wires off our house November 2021 - you did on a livestream. People saw you do it WHILE you were doing it. 

All 2 of the FedEx workers you demanded death curses for - you did on a livestream.

Stealing my dad's meds - you did on a livestream.

Saying "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a house" - you did on a livestream.

Threatening to dig up the graves on my land - you did on a livestream.

All that n-word stuff you said about the black men at your workplace - you did on a livestream.

People been seeing and hearing you live. They've already seen and heard a lot.

How do you plan to explain away all the hundreds of hours of video footage I have of you breaking into my bedroom during a live stream to threaten me, my family, my land?












To the people who asked about weird emails that you claim you got from someone claiming to be me, here are a few things to consider:

#1: I DO NOT use email and I NEVER have. if you get a letter from me it is going to be written in ink on paper, and in a stamped envelope the mail truck delivered to your mailbox at the end of your driveway. Since 1997 my aunt Barbara has been sending emails out to people CLAIMING they were from me, so in all likelihood whatever you got was actually from her. Her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater did the same thing throughout the early 2000s. And 57 of their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren have done it at well. No, I’m not special. They do this to THOUSANDS of people. They run a medical scam and pretend to be LOTS of big name famous authors, hoping you’ll click whatever link they put in the email, because the link is going to open a .exe phishing program to steal your credit card data and medical records. The FBI is currently investigating their medical fraud, email fraud, scam operation, so if you ARE getting emails claiming to be from me, PLEASE print up the email ad take it to the FBI office on Middle Street in Portland, Maine. FBI Agent Andy Drewer is in charge of not only the investigation of the 2015 murder of my family, but he is also in charge of the email impersonation fraud, and the stalker doing the email fraud.

#2: As you have stated, the topic of the emails is Etiole... do know that I have NEVER talked about Etiole, with ANYONE, online or offline. Unlike my mother, and her sister, my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, I happen to respect people’s privacy. As I have said before: Etiole is a Jewish, French, Nazi concentration camp refugee who came to Maine in 1953 with a boatload of about 300 other concentration camp survivors. He is covered with acid burns, so his skin looks ghastly white and horrifically disfigured, which is why he lives in the swamps around the Saco River. he is now in his 90s and is still as homeless as he was in the 1950s. He has severe posttraumatic stress disorder, can not speak/is mute, does not have the mental capacity to function in normal society on any level what so ever, and me and a few others have been taking care of him, giving him food and clothing and supplies and medical attention since 1978. There is nothing else you need to know. You do not need to know where he is or how to find him. If you want to see him, go to y livestream/video archive and watch the VOD where I visited him on livestream so you could see what he looked liked and how crippling his metal condition really is.

#3: I feel I shouldn’t have to say this, but apparently I do NEED to say this: Etiole is NOT an alien, nor is he a demon. The article Amphibious Aliens is free to read online. It goes over all the details of both the alien rumours and the demon rumours and debunks them all, while proving all the proof, including medical records and documentation of the people behind the rumour.

#4: The ONLY person who ever claimed I was abducted by aliens was my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, who was the leader of the Mane division of Heaven’s Gate for over 40 years. Heaven’s Gate if you do not know, was the UFO suicide cult who murdered 39 people with poisoned Kool-Aid in California in 1997, because Comet HaleBop flew over that night.

#5: I found out about my so-called alien abduction in 2007, when a MUFON tour group showed up in my yard asking to interview me. They carried with them more than a dozen books by various UFO/alien experts and over 100 newspaper articles, all featuring interviews with my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, interviews all from the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, all of them telling of how I was supposedly a demon possessed child, whose best friend was an alien named Etiole. It was 2007, and it was the first time I had ever heard the term “alien abduction” I didn’t even know what it was. The MUFON group - a group of 30,000 people - standing in my driveway 2007 all wanted to interview me as they pointed out NONE of the 30+ years of several hundred interviews with my aunts and uncles, not ONE of the interviews was WITH ME. This was the source of the April 2007 article titled Amphibious Aliens, where I shocked the MUFON world with the revelation that I was NOT an alien abductee, nor had I ever claimed to be one. It also infuriated me to find out that my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater had been running around telling people about Etiole, as I had never told ANYONE - NOT EVEN THEM - about Etiole. It turns out my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater go their alien and demon stories about Etiole from my mother and THIS is WHY I disowned my mother, shun her, and have had nothing to do with her, or her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, since 2007. The slanderous alien and demon, gossip, rumours, and lies my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater spread about me and Etiole are deplorable and I HATE my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, and I hope they burn in hell for the alien and demon shit they pulled on me and my homeless boyfriend.

#6: That same Amphibious Aliens article ALSO debunks the stupid ass haunted car rumours. My 1964 Dodge 330 is NOT haunted and we fucking proved that. And AGAIN, the haunted car rumour, is sourced to my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater. That car ran over my aunt Barbara when she was 2 years old. At the time, the car belonged to Dr. Larochelle of Ocean Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My than 2-year-old aunt Barbara almost died and her older brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, came up with a haunted car/demon possession hoax to scam that elderly doctor out of $20,000, which my grandmother Eva Viola Atwater spent on a 3 year trip to Hawaii in 1973. The Atwaters scammed and terrorized the doctor so badly, that he sold the car to me in 1975 for $5 because he was convinced it was attacking people. The car became famous in 1983 when my then neighbour Stephen King used the demon possession story of my car as the basis for his book Christine. He named the car Christine because Christine is my real name and I owned the actual car. Stephen King returned 10 years later in 1994 to film the Thinner movie in my yard, because I’m the real world “Gypsy Witch” (priestess) that he based his fictional Gypsy Witch in Thinner off of. The movies Christine and Thinner are what in turn made ME famous, and started locals accusing me of being a witch with a demon car.

And as for the fucking Thinner movie - those bastards were trespassers. They just showed up unannounced, barged in, set up filming, without permits or licenses or contracts or permission or even telling us ahead of time that they were coming. No one in Stephen King’s crew acted legally, we are not in that movie willingly, they were not on our farm legally, no one ever received a penny for any of it, and to make things worse, Steven King had no right or permission to go o late night television and tell people my home address and tel his fucking fans to “go visit the Thinner Gypsies of Saco Maine”. They had no right to be on my farm, they had no right to be filming my family. They just dropped in one day. We had no clue who they were or why they were there and it took us fucking 5 hours to chase those trespassing bastards and their film crew off our farm.

In short: I don’t use email, so you NEVER got an email from me. I’m not a witch. My car isn’t haunted. Etiole is not a demon. Etiole is also not an alien. And I was never abducted by aliens.

Also, I don’t know what you are talking about with the house stuff. I’m NOT trying to build a house, I’ve NEVER tried to build a house, I have never applied for a house permit, I’ve never been denied for a house permit because I’ve never even tried to get one. You clearly have me mixed up with someone else.

I’m at 146 Portland Ave. I have 2 neighbours who are building a house: 144 Portland Ave next door to me and 139 Portland Ave across the street from me. I think you mean one of them. My neighbour at 144, has been trying to build a house for 17 years and the town hall has been giving them the runaround. I think SHE at 144 Portland Ave is the one you mean, not me at 146. You seem to have us mixed up somehow.

SHE at 144 is the one putting in a septic system, not me at 146. I’m the one with the pink motorhome and the 35-year-old black Volvo. she’s the one with the brand new big black car and the log cabin house.

You have seriously mixed the two of us up big time.

Understandable considering it was HER family at 144 fighting with the Cyr Clan over a septic tank in 2014, and the Cyr Clan hired a hitman who accidentally murdered MY children, ten of them and nailed their heads to my motorhome door, at 146 than the white-haired man with the green pick-up truck has spent the last 7 years TELLING YOU via running up the street knocking on doors, tell you that it was EelKat trying to build a house, ONLY telling you that to try to cover his ass for mixing up my children at 146 when it was my neighbours children at 144 that was the ACTUAL target.

This is not speculation, the FBI have 100% positive proof that she and her children, not me and my children were the intended target because her family was having a fight with some Connecticut based heroin drug gang that calls itself the Cyr Clan over the septic tank. The hit men the Cyr Clan hire got the wrong house when they murdered my family. And now the Cyr Clan’s trying to convince you that I was the one building a house. I have no interest in a house. Why would I? I’m a Gypsy, I’ve never lived in a house. I’ve always lived in cars and tents my whole life. I have no interest in a house on any level whatsoever. I don’t NEED one, I never have. And you local people should know that. When my health is bad, I rent apartments in Biddeford. I’ve done this for 50 years now. You know that. You ALL know that. I’ve owned 146 Portland Ave since 1975. You people know me. Why are you pretending you don’t?

I’m the feral child who lived in a cage in a woodshed from the time I was 8 until I was 31. Did you all forget that? Etiole was the local homeless man who used to break into the woodshed and break the lock off the cage and take me out into the swamp to hide me from my bastard uncles. Did you forget that too? The ONLY reason any of you spread your fucking rumours and lies about me and Etiole, calling me a witch and Etiole a demon or alien, and spreading lies about me building houses, is because my Uncle Bruce and his Heaven’s Gate friends, told you those lies.

Did you forget what Heaven’s Gate is, what they fucking did? They are an UFO Alien Cult, who murdered 39 people with poisoned koolaid, because they comet Hale Bop was God’s fucking mother ship. They see fucking aliens EVERYWHERE. In everything. And THEY are the ones who started the stupid ass rumour of Etiole being an alien.

Look at the SOURCE of the alien abduction rumour. My Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater. One of George Applewhite’s thugs. George Applewhite, a follower of Jim Jones, that’s WHY they killed everyone with kool-aid, because they were fans of Jim Jones, and they wanted to jump onboard God’s mothership like Jonestown did! Did you forget that? THAT fucking lunatic, a fan of Jim Jones, who worked for George Applewhite, called Etiole an alien, because Bruce CALLED EVERYONE aliens.

Bruce locked me in a cage, and Etiole broke me out of it and hide me in the swamps, and THAT is what Bruce called an alien abduction. But Etiole is no alien. He’s just a local homeless man. Etiole’s not even his name. I don’t tell anyone his name to protect him from you fucking jackasses who are too stupid to believe he’s just a normal man. My uncle Buce is a fucking lunatic who spends 24 hours a day gibbering madness and nonsense about aliens and demons.

As for the garbage that keeps being dumped on my land… you have all SEEN the big green dump truck with the black and silver striped nose, that illegally trespasses on my land and dumps that fucking garbage.

Open your eyes and look around. You can SEE the truth. The house being built is at 144 Portland Ave NOT 146. You can SEE that, now that the house is up.

Like I’ve been saying right along, it is NOT me building a house. It NEVER has been. I don’t know why you let that idiot try to gaslight you with lies about me building a house, when you can SEE the house is NOT going up on MY land. It’s going up on my NEIGHBOUR’S land.

I know you people are NOT THAT stupid. The white-haired man with the green pickup truck is LYING to you, and you can SEE that for yourselves, just by looking at WHICH property the house is being built on.

Look around... does it LOOK like there is a house being built at 146 Portland Ave where the pink motorhome is? Use your brain and open your eyes. See the truth. The truth will set you free.

Now look next door to 144, you CAN SEE that THEY NOT ME are the one building a house, now that it’s almost finished.

I’d say the white-haired man in the green pickup truck has a lot of explaining to do, like explaining WHY h’s hell bent on trying to convince the town I’m the one putting up a house, when I’ve never even applied for a building permit. Building permits are public record. Go look at the town hall for yourself.

Also, please explain to me HOW the white-haired man with the green pick truck has such very detailed info about the murder of my family, when the records are sealed, not public access, and about 90% of the details were withheld from the public and are know ONLY to myself, the murderer, the police, and FBI? There is ZERO public access to the stuff h is saying happened on April 10, 2015... you know that, right? So HOW did he get the info he has? Explain THAT.

please report any future such emails you receive to FBI agent Andy Drewer 207-774-9322

>>>I’m just more cowardly than they are and I’m afraid of the truth and criticism. In your opinion, what makes someone mean?

When I think of mean, I think of my uncles. 3 in particular. My mother had 12 older brothers and 3 of them all claimed to be “king” (we are Gypsies, Gypsy Kings are a thing). And they fought over it badly. They ended up jointly ruling over the clan, each competing with each other to out-king the other, each doing progressively meaner things to the clan members, especially the female children.

Things they did, just to me, included:

When I was 4 Uncle Bruce stabbed me with a foundation nail - an iron rod over 2 feet long - he drove into my hip, through my pelvis and out my other thigh. I have been crippled and walked with a cane since I was a toddler, because of it. His reason? I was unable to memorize the entirety of chapter 1 of the book of Genesis.

When I was 8 years old, same uncle locked me in a cage that was made for trapping raccoons. He gave me 1 salted herring fish to eat once every 12 days. He let me out only on Sundays to go to church. I lived in that cage for 27 years, until the Heaven’s Gate FBI raid shut down Heaven’s Gate in 1997, after they killed 39 people with Kool-aid. Yes, I am THAT EelKat, the child who lived in a cage, the feral child you see pictures of in almost every college Psychology book. I am the child who survived Heaven’s Gate because I was locked in a cage in a woodshed when they drank their kool aid under the shadow of comet HaleBop. I was 31 years old when the FBI raid rescued me from that cage.

When I was 14 years old, because I was unable to recite from memory the entire book, all chapters of Ecclesiastes, that same uncle beat me in the face with a cinder block brick, breaking my jaw, and cause me to be “mute” until had surgery to fix my jaw when I was 42 years old. From the time I was 14 until 42, I was unable to speak due to the damage of my jaw.

In those 27 years from age 8 to age 31, I was let out of the cage every Sunday to be taken to church and sold or $12k to the priests, who raped me repeatedly, weekly, for 27 years.

While my uncle helped Applewhite to run Heaven’s Gate, he fled the night of Hale Bop. He did not kill himself with everyone else.

Social workers took me after the FBI raid. It took them years to teach me how to not be terrified by the sight of Humans. They say I suffer from having no outward sign of emotions, and that it was caused by my never having experienced a single good event in my early life.

At the time of the FBI raid at 144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, I was one of more than 120 girls the FBI rescued out of cages. All of whom had been raped hundreds of times by priests from Cape Elizabeth, Saco, and Sanford wards of the LDS/Mormon church. Including 16 bishops, an OOB town manager, and several OOB motel owners, all of whom were in the habit of paying $12k to rape girls under the age of 10 years old.

The man with the green truck, who likes to spread rumours about me and Etiole and my house, was one of Bruce’s top customers. He had a thing for numbers and raped 7-year-olds, 14-year-olds, and 21-year-olds because he was obsessed with doing everything in 7s.

After years of social workers teaching me how to live with normal, not abusive Humans. I was 37 when I got my GED and while I was at the high school doing that, those uncles built a grease fryer bomb burned my house down to punish me for getting a GED.

2 years later, while I was in college taking classes to learn grammar and writing, three of them, that same uncle and 2 women I had never seen before, arrived at the college armed with golf clubs and attacked me when I was coming out of the college. I was 8 months pregnant at the time. They killed my baby, broke my spine, broke my hip, broke my pelvis, broke my knees. I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to get out of the wheelchair and relearn to walk, and to this day I am still crippled.

That’s the price I paid to learn how to read and write, in a culture that believes it is okay to execute women who commit the sin of learning how to write.

August 8, 2013, that same uncle paid a local construction worker $600 to drive a backhoe over my house.

April 10, 2015, that same uncle and a group of 74 members of the new reorganized Heaven’s Gate, attacked my farm. 14 men held me down with guns to my head, while the others used hand band saws to kill and behead 10 of my 12 children and then nailed their heads to my door.

And it’s very easy to Google the news reports and photos of all of it.

That is what I think of when I hear the word “mean”. My uncle Bruce was a very mean person.

My uncle Bruce Mervin Atwater is a monster. And he calls EVERYONE an alien abductee or a demon. Did you fucking forget that?

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot by a local lunatic.

No, he’s not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He’s not an alien, and he’s not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you’re all fucking crazy.

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because they tortured him in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees. He has posttraumatic stress disorder really bad and he’s terrified of people. He can’t function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He’s not an alien, he’s not a demon, he’s not a cryptid. He’s a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn’t you people harassing him like this. Why can’t you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can’t you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, where back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car, goes over every even from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin’s younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

And the same goes for the so-called World’s Most Haunted Car. That rumour was started by the same person. That car was proved years ago, to have a mechanical issue that caused it to start and drive ahead until it hit something. No one ever thought to look at the starter. I’m the 3rd owner of the car. I changed the malfunctioning starter and a so called ‘haunted” stuff the car did, went away. It was a problem with the starter, only that and nothing more.

And these people in Biddeford right now, getting you all worked up - if you hadn’t noticed they ARE Mervin Bruce Atwater’s family.

So it’s STILL the same one fucking person running around getting things stirred up. The Atwaters. My fucking uncles. Like usual.

Yesterday at Rotary Park, Biddeford, Maine, a group of people armed with rifles, went down the track team trail behind the soccer field and started shooting... scared the crap out of the 50 or so children and their 100+ parents, got the 30+ dogs in the dog park howling... the sky filled with thousands of Canadian geese, and the park goers assumed the group was hunting geese and started commenting on the fact that hunting was not allowed in Rotary Park.

A few minutes later, a grey/white haired, bearded man, who looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, but not as fat, with a black dog of a German Shepard-Lab mix look, and a woman with pageboy greyish-blond hair, both about late 60s, marched up to me in the park, bragged they had killed Etiole, stating that he has caused their son whom they called “Todd” to jump in front of a train 3 days earlier.

You know what, I knew that homeless man and HE never mentioned it.

You people are just looking for someone to blame, and think because I’m not white, I wear a hijab, and I have a mural painting on my car, you think you are justified on pointing blame at me for something I had no part in.

That homeless man was obsessed with the fact that his dog and son had been taken away from him.

It’s NOT the evil eye as they called it. It’s The eye of The Grigori Archangels aka The Watchers, from the Apocrypha in the Bible. It’s the blue wings of the Seraphim Archangels aka The Watchers. The Watchers are my Guardian angels. I paint them on everything, I sew it on tapestries, it’s on my car, my motorhome, I embroider it on pillows and clothes, paint it on mirrors, paint canvases art for art galleries with it. It’s the blue eyes wings of the archangels as described in the Bible. I’m not sure why they were calling it the Evil Eye.

It’s the Eye of God, the hamsa. A Jewish protection symbol. Etiole’s Jewish, he draws it on everything, so that’s why I do as well.

I’m sick of you jackasses spreading you wild ass rumours about me.

You’re nothing but a bunch of trouble making busy bodies who can’t mind your own fucking business.

I’m not bothering a single damned one of you, so why the fuck are you bothering me?

Why can’t you stupid ass people leave me alone?

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be in my yard.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be chasing down Etiole.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be having psychotic meltdowns over my car!

What is wrong with you people?

Fucking brain dead herd mentality that’s all this is.

One of you ran around screaming like a lunatic and rest of you all decided to join in.

But I also ask... WHY would you be scared of me or Etiole? It makes me ask who has been feeding you lies about me? Who has been feeding you lies about Etiole?

I am a crippled elderly woman. I can barely stand up. I’ve been paralyzed and bedridden since the golf club attack November 14, 2013. I’m only just now in 2021 just starting to walk again, and I can barely do that. I have no grip strength so I struggle to even hold me cane. The golf clubs damaged my spine, my nerves, most of my organs don’t function because of the nerve damage to my spine. I struggle to even breath, just sitting up in bed is enough to collapse my lungs. I have no bladder or bowel movement control, I have to wear diapers. What exactly is it you think I can even do?

And Etiole? The old hermit Nazi concentration camp survivor? He’s over 100 years old now, he hasn’t been able to walk, or sit up, or eat on his own, in almost 20 years. He’s dying. What exactly are you expecting him to do?

Etiole is NOT an alien.

Etiole is not a demon.

I am not a witch.

None of my cars are haunted.

I’ve been saying it for years. Why won’t you listen to me?

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you calling Etiole a demon.

I’m sick of you calling Etiole an alien.

I’m sick of you calling me a witch.

I’m sick of you saying one car after another is haunted.

This whole thing boils down to your fucking white privilege. You know that right?

Your white ass can’t stand the fact that we non-white Gypsies live here, so you have to make up stupid ass supernatural spooky shit about us.

You don’t like that I wear the traditional dress of my people instead of dressing like an American, so you feel justified in calling me a witch and making up spook occult lies about me.

I wear hijab and veils and caftan and silk and it bother’s you that I’m not scum diving in trashy t shirts and jeans like the rest of you.

I paint my cars, same as we painted our wagons and vardos for centuries, and it bothers you because it looks different.

Etiole is a Jew, and your anti-Semite white privilege kicks in to hate him for being born Jewish.

Etiole has scars, so you’re scared of him

I’m different.

Etiole’s different.

My cars are different.

And when you get right down to it, that’s ALL any of this is about.

Me, Etiole, and my cars don’t fit in with your fucking ass white privileged ideas of “normal” and that makes you uncomfortable and you try to make the uncomfortable go away by dehumanizing us with your stupid ass rumours.

There are no witches.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are just a bunch of whinny ass white privileged brats running around making trouble for anyone who’s not white enough for them.

Grow the fuck up!

NaNoWriMo 2021

NaNoWriMo 2021

Today is November 12, 2021, and it occurred to me, that, I started writing a new Quaraun novel 2 days ago, and, just realized it was also November, so I should be keeping track of word counts. I normally do not keep track of my word counts.

This is the first time I've worked on a Quaraun novel in 7 years, something, I haven't done since the April 10, 2015 murder of my family. I was releasing new Quaraun novels 3 or 4 times a year since the 1970s and, I've not had time to work on a new one with all the court cases, murder trials, police investigations, FBI investigations going on. These past 7 years is the longest break I've ever taken from writing Quaraun novels, so let's see how well I can pick where I left off 7 years ago. 

In any case.

I started this story on November 10, 2021.

So it is now day 3 of writing it, even though it is day 12 of National Novel Writing Month.

During National Novel Writing Month, the challenge is to write 1,667 words per day or 50,000 words over the period of 30 days, whichever comes first.

Unfortunately, I write well over 10,000 words a day and it only takes me 3 days to reach 50,000 words, every year I've done NaNoWriMo since 2004 (this is my 17th year doing NaNoWriMo), so, anyways, 50k in 30days is NOT a challenge for me, rather it'd be a vacation for me if I was to force myself to write that slow.

If you know where to look for it, this novel is also being live streamed so you can watch me typing it live and witness for yourself, what 91 to 175 words per minute typing speed actually looks like.

And for those wanting to read what I have typed... here it is, the first drafts of an as of yet untitled new novel for the Quaraun series.

I have no plot, no clue where this story is going, and no clue how it will end. I simply got an idea, 2 days ago,  for a scene I wanted to write, started writing it, and next thing I knew I had been writing steady none stop for 33,762 words.

Than I remembered a few minutes ago, it was November and so, now here I am making this page.

Note, this is a "vomit draft" so it's going to have errors in spelling and grammar, plot holes, all the usual first draft issue that I'll go back and fix in the edits after we are done.

Note, the sample chapters linked on this website, are "vomit drafts" so are going to have errors in spelling and grammar, plot holes, all the usual first draft issue that I go back and fix in the edits after they are done. Thiss sample chapters were uploaded as part of a workshop series I do at conventions, to allow readers to compare the finished published paperbacks, to how vastly different the story was in it's 1st draft format. They are used as a part of a teaching course for teaching new writers how to edit their shitty first drafts into something publishable.

And as usual, the END PRODUCT, is NOT found here on my website and will only be available via paperback books.

NO SAMPLE DRAFTS or SAMPLE CHAPTERS of the Quaraun novels, found on my website are the finished product or what you see in the published works. 

ALL sample chapters and sample drafts are UNEDITED FIRST DRAFTS, uploaded so you can see the vast amount difference there is between the first draft and the finished product,, allowing you to see exactly HOW MUCH of the first drats is changed, removed, rewritten, and simply does not appear at all, in the finished product that was published.

There's already a HUGE section, that's going to get chopped down a lot in the editing stage.... you'll recognize it when you see it, it's about 20 pages of weird rambling because I couldn't think of what to write next, so I wrote through it with a ramble, until I thought of something to write next. But we are leaving it in on this page as this page is just for keeping track of NaNoWriMo word count progression, so, we don't cut out anything until after November 30th.

After Nov 30th I'll make a separate page for the edited version, so you'll be able to see then how it changes and what I end up removing. But for now, vomit draft mess it is... see link list below for that...






As I've made changes to what I wrote previously, and, rather than adding new scenes at the end, instead I expanded on scenes all ready written, and made earlier sections longer, than rewrote and started editing stuff as I went, I'm going to leave the previous days draft up, so you can compare the two and see how this vomit draft is progressing and changing.

And as it started getting too long to have them all on one page, I'm now putting each day's version on it's own page, so you can see how much the draft is changing from one day to the next.

Links to each day of drafting is below:

NaNoWriMo 2021 Link List:

The Full/Complete/Current Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 3 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 4 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 5 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 6 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 7 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 8 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 9 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 10 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 11 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 12 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 13 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 14 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 15 Vomit Draft

Day 1 to 16 Vomit Draft

Once we start the editing stage, each additional version of the draft will be linked here as well.

I think it's stupid that the average Mainer is such a cry baby whimpering snowflake that I have a court order issued by the Old Orchard Beach Town Hall via the Biddeford District Court requiring I tell you this, but apparently my books are deemed to violent for the retards, I mean citizens of the Town of Old Orchard Beach, so here you go, a court required trigger warning for you all,...


I repeat, there is a 

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING

 for the Quaraun series, as it is 200+ volumes, 8 million+ words of steady, endless, non-stop suicide, suicide references, depression, and suicidal characters attempting suicide in nearly every chapter of every volume!

Don't be fooled by the pink covers. The Quaraun series has won awards for being among the darkest novels ever published.

It's one of the few series so dark, so disturbing, so gory, so bloody, and so focused on putting suicide in your face that...

...on January 6, 2016 the American government has issued a court order declaring I was required to put M18+ book rating on the cover, as well as banned 27 volumes of the Quaraun series from being sold in America.

If you have any questions regarding this court order issued by the Old Orchard Beach, Maine Town Hall, an division of the American Government,  which violates the first amendment, where we are clearly told the government can not censor freedom of speech...

please head to the State of Maine, Biddeford District Court and ask for copies of


Docket #BDDC-PA-2015-00574 and CV-15-58/CV-15-59


the Alfred Superior Court Docket #CV-15-299


and the Portland Superior Law Court Docket #YOR-15-253


Additionally, you can find more information by going to the Old Orchard Beach Police Department and requesting copies of ALL police reports made in regards to 144, 146, and 146a Portland Avenue, from 2001 to 2016 (approximately 300 reports).








I will try to remember to update this page daily, around midnight of each day of November 2021, with that days progress and word count totals.

Anyways, I know my Quaraun fans always want to read these novels in progress, so, here you go, a new Quaraun novel in progress:


UPDATE: November 20, 2021:

The locals have decided to be shit heads, so I don't have time to write today. 

So, here's what I wrote today, instead of the novel. It doesn't count as novel word count, but we'll put it here so you know why we missed a day of writing the novel.


I am so disgusted that I have to add this update...
November 29, 2021

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot, by a local lunatic.

No, he's not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He's not an alien and he's not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you're all fucking crazy. 

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because he was tortured in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees, He has post traumatic stress disorder really bad and he's terrified of people. He can't function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He's not an alien, he's not a demon, he's not a cryptid. He's a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn't you people harassing him like this. Why can't you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can't you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, where back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car, goes over every even from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin's younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I'm sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

And the same goes for the so-called World's Most Haunted Car. That rumour was started by the same person. That car was proved years ago, to have a mechanical issue that caused it to start and drive ahead until it hit something. No one ever though to look at the starter. I'm the 3rd owner of the car. I changed the malfunctioning starter and a so called 'haunted" stuff the car did, went away. It was a problem with the starter, only that and nothing more.

And these people in Biddeford right now, getting you all worked up - if you hadn't noticed they ARE Mervin Bruce Atwater's family.

So it's STILL the same one fucking person running around getting things stirred up. The Atwaters. My fucking uncles. Like usual.

Yesterday at Rotary Park, Biddeford, Maine, a group of people armed with rifles, went down the track team trail behind the soccer field and started shooting... scared the crap out of the 50 or so children and their 100+ parents, got the 30+ dogs in the dog park howling... the sky filled with thousands of Canadian geese, and the park goers assumed the group was hunting geese and started commenting on the fact that hunting was not allowed in Rotary Park.

A few minutes later, a grey/white haired, bearded man, who looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, but not as fat, with a black dog of a German Shepard-Lab mix look, and a woman with pageboy greyish-blond hair, both about late 60s, marched up to me in the park, bragged they had killed Etiole, stating that he has caused their son whom they called "Todd" to jump in front of a train 3 days earlier.

They said he was obsessed with the painting of Etiole and the "evil eye" painted on my car. THIS:


You know what, I knew that homeless man and HE never mentioned it. 

You people are just looking for someone to blame, and think because I'm not white, I wear a hijab, and I have a mural painting on my car, you think you are justified on pointing blame at me for something I had no part in.

That homeless man was obsessed with the fact that his dog and son had been taken away from him.

It's NOT the evil eye as they called it. It's The eye of The Grigori Archangels aka The Watchers, from the Apocrypha in the Bible. It's the blue wings of the Seraphim Archangels aka The Watchers. The Watchers are my Guardian angels. I paint them on everything, I sew it on tapestries, it's on my car, my motorhome, I embroider it on pillows and clothes, paint it on mirrors, paint canvases art for art galleries with it. It's the blue eyes wings of the archangels as described in the Bible. I'm not sure why they were calling it the Evil Eye.

It's the Eye of God, the hamsa. A Jewish protection symbol. Etiole's Jewish, he draws it on everything, so that's why I do as well.

I'm sick of you jackasses spreading you wild ass rumours about me.

You're nothing but a bunch of trouble making busy bodies who can't mind your own fucking business.

I'm not bothering a single damned one of you, so why the fuck are you bothering me?

Why can't you stupid ass people leave me alone?

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be in my yard.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be chasing down Etiole.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be having psychotic meltdowns over my car!

What is wrong with you people?

Fucking brain dead herd mentality that's all this is.

One of you ran around screaming like a lunatic and rest of you all decided to join in.

But I also ask... WHY would you be scared of me or Etiole? It makes me ask who has been feeding you lies about me? Who has been feeding you lies about Etiole? 

I am a crippled elderly woman. I can barely stand up. I've been paralyzed and bedridden since the golf club attack November 14, 2013. I'm only just now in 2021 just starting to walk again, and I can barely do that. I have no grip strength so I struggle to even hold me cane. The golf clubs damaged my spine, my nerves, most of my organs don't function because of the nerve damage to my spine. I struggle to even breath, just sitting up in bed is enough to collapse my lungs. I have no bladder or bowel movement control, I have to wear diapers. What exactly is it you think I can even do?

And Etiole? The old hermit Nazi concentration camp survivor? He's over 100 years old now, he hasn't been able to walk, or sit up, or eat on his own, in almost 20 years. He's dying. What exactly are you expecting him to do?

Etiole is NOT an alien.

Etiole is not a demon.

I am not a witch.

None of my cars are haunted.

I've been saying it for years. Why won't you listen to me?

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I'm sick of you calling Etiole a demon.

I'm sick of you calling Etiole an alien.

I'm sick of you calling me a witch.

I'm sick of you saying one car after another is haunted.

This whole thing boils down to your fucking white privilege. You know that right?

Your white ass can't stand the fact that we non-white Gypsies live here, so you have to make up stupid ass supernatural spooky shit about us.

You don't like that I wear the traditional dress of my people instead of dressing like an American, so you feel justified in calling me a witch and making up spook occult lies about me.

I wear hijab and veils and caftan and silk and it bother's you that I'm not scum diving in trashy t shirts and jeans like the rest of you.

I paint my cars, same as we painted our wagons and vardos for centuries, and it bothers you because it looks different.

Etiole is a Jew, and your anti-Semite white privilege kicks in to hate him for being born Jewish.

Etiole has scars, so you're scared of him

I'm different.

Etiole's different.

My cars are different.

And when you get right down to it, that's ALL any of this is about.

Me, Etiole, and my cars don't fit in with your fucking ass white privileged ideas of "normal" and that makes you uncomfortable and you try to make the uncomfortable go away by dehumanizing us with your stupid ass rumours.

There are no witches.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are just a bunch of whinny ass white privileged brats running around making trouble for anyone who's not white enough for them.

Grow the fuck up!

After I stopped going to the Mormon church I started practising New Orleans-style Folk Catholicism. Started using Catholic Bible, wearing Rosary, using saint prayer cards and novae candles. I'm an ordained Voodoo Priestess rank of Medsan Fey. I have been since September 23, 2010. Painting archangel wings on everything is a part of folk Catholicism.

They said he believed the "evil eye" on my car was there specifically to put a curse on him, and that he believed the painting of Etiole was there just so that "Etiole the suicide demon" (as they called him) would be constantly driving by and watching him to drive him to suicide. They outright accused me and Etiole of killing their son, by painting these pictures on my car!

I paint the archangel wings on EVERYTHING and I have for over 20 years now.

Behind them were 4 trucks: 2 black pickups with big oversized wheels, a dark green truck-type SUV, and a rust-orange-copper truck-type SUV. The 2 pickups had young men 30sish driving them, the orange SUV had 2 blonde girls about early 20s both with very long waist length stick straight hair. 

The older couple with the dog, railed on Etiole this and Etiole that, saying the word "Etiole" a few dozen times, while gibbering wild nonsense about Etiole being a suicide demon, and saying that my car had guilt tripped their son into killing himself because he was scared the FBI would put his parents in prison for killing my children April 10, 2015.

The older couple and the black dog got into the dark green SUV and than all 4 trucks, drove circles around my car, revving their engines loud like race cars and squealing their tires, spinning in fast circles around me and my car in the Rotary Park parking lot, while they screamed out the windows of their trucks bragging that they had killed Etiole. The 4 of the trucks then speed out of the park, doing at least 75MPH. I don't know which way they went as I went to go look for Etiole after that.

Etiole has been staying down in that area of the Saco River lately, as the new dam downstream and the recent back to back storms disrupted/flooded the area he was staying down closer to the North Damn Smokestack.

It was why I changed my dog walking habits from walking at Mechanics Park to walking at Rotary Park.

I moved him to a new location away from the local area, out of York County completely. He is refusing to go to a hospital, he's too scared of people to go to a hospital.

I don't know if he'll live.

The attackers was 6 people in total (3 men, 3 women, and 1 dog) in 4 trucks total, I don't know who they were. I've never seen any of them before. I don't know anyone named "Todd" so I don't know who they were talking about either. There may have been another dog or maybe a child, I'm not sure which, but something was moving around in the backseat of the orange SUV.

I don't know who they were. A gang of crazy, deranged psychopaths near as I could tell.

The locals around here are crazy psychotic with demon and witch superstitions, and they love their guns. People shoot at every old woman and disfigured man they see, while screaming witch or demon. It's a really big problem up here in Maine. And when they say "witch" they don't mean like Wicca the religion, they believe witches are a type of female demon. They don't believe witches are Human, so they think it's okay to shoot them because in their minds it's no different than shooting a deer or a duck. 

People around here, they believe I'm not Human, just like they believe Etiole is not Human either. It's why they are so violent towards the both of us. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in this area who DOES NOT believe I'm a witch aka a female demon. And the locals are just so brain dead in terms if education and illiteracy, that there is no way you can convince them elderly women are NOT demons, no way to convince them disfigured men are NOT demons. The locals are borderline retarded due to crazy amount of incest in this area. 

Biddeford, Maine had the Guinness World Record for the city with the most incest on the planet - the plague is in the town hall - and according to that of the 27k residents in Biddeford, 19k of them are mother/son, father/daughter, or brother/sister married couples. Biddeford residents are excessively proud to have the Guinness World Record for the most incest on the planet. And it shows, with how they march around too illiterate to either read or write, while shooting at elderly women and disfigured men, calling them demons.

This is the shit we have to put up with here in Maine.

I don't know how they knew where Etiole was. I never tell anyone where he is. I never have. I won't. I've protected him from the public since 1978. I know in August there was a homeless man showed up under the trestle bridge at the back train tracks. He found Etiole, started staying down in the ravine with him. That homeless man died earlier this week. I'm left to assume that homeless man had told people about Etiole and where Etiole was. Seeing how the homeless man died a few days ago, I'm left to assume the thug gangsters who shot Etiole were probably relatives of the homeless man. 

He's the only person who knew where Etiole was. Etiole stays hidden during the day. He only comes out at night. He looks for food and supplies, and by morning he's back in his den and won't come out. His dens are so well hidden, no one can ever find them. They look like beaver dams along the water of big piles of leaves in bushes. It's how he's gone since 1953, without hardly any one ever finding him. And he has dens every where along rivers and in swamps, in ravines and bogs, beside streams, all over Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts. He moves locations every 3 or 4 months. He never stays anywhere long. That's why it can be so difficult for me to locate him. Usually when someone finds him, he scatters and goes miles away. He didn't see this homeless man as a threat, so he didn't. Also, Etiole is VERY old now. He's at least 90, possible over 100. He's a survivor of WW2, that was 80 years ago. He's having a hard time getting around the past couple of years.

These people who shot him are just fucking mean, evil, hateful people. That's all they are.

Etiole's never hurt anybody. What the hell's wrong with you people.

He's a hermit. Keeps to himself. He's terrified of people.

You people who run around calling him evil; look in the fucking mirror YOU are the ones who is evil.

You call him a demon, but you're he ones acting demonic.

You people all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

You're all just fucking pieces of shit.

To call someone 'evil' is to, dehumanize them.

And you only dehumanize someone, so you can feel justified in bullying them, beating them, hurting them, killing them. 

You say "evil" and "witch" and "demon" to strip them of humanity so you don't have to feel any guilt or shame or remorse for the crimes you commit.

But a man is still a man, no matter how many times you call him a demon.

You shot a helpless, harmless old man, and you felt it was okay, because before you shot him, you dehumanized him in your own mind by calling him a demon.

You shot a HUMAN not a demon, and you'll burn in Hell for it.

The 4 cars of the 6 shooters, should be pretty easy to identify. None of the cars were new/current/recent models, all with late 1990s/early 2000s vintage. The dark green SUV is VERY old, late 1980s/early 1990s vintage - it might have been a Jeep Cherokee from the shape of it - and it has distinctive damage to the passenger side front fender, which has been replaced and is a different colour than the rest of the car - the repaired fender is a grey-metallic-greenish-sage colour.

The orange SUV was faded very badly. I looks like it used to be bright metallic copper when new, but had faded to a dull dark orangish.

The orange SUV left deep tire treads ditched from it's tires on the green by the soccer field - they messed up the grass of the soccer field pretty bad - it's damaged with deep tire tracks really bad, the park is going to have to do repairs to the grass before anyone can play another sports game - the tire trend ridges will be in the grass for months, so you can get tire prints from a plaster mould quite easy.

Both the SUVs have big, wide-lipped custom black rubber wheel-wells of the fenders - they do not appear to be something original to the cars and look to have been added to make the cars looks "sporty".

The 2 black pick-ups were very distinctive and would be easy to identify again. Both are not full size trucks, but rather the small half-sized pick-up trucks. Both have raised chassis, with the trucks being almost tall enough to require a ladder to get into them. Both had BIG monster truck tires, with "mountain-bike/ATV style" knobby treads on the tires - I don't think the tires on the 2 trucks were street legal, they look like the type you have to take off before going on the road, and put on when you get to off road dirt trails.

I build custom cars, I have for over 40 years now. I notice custom cars and take note of them, every time I see one. All 4 of these were custom cars, and I've never seen any of them in Biddeford, Saco, or Old Orchard Beach before. These are the type of cars I would have noticed where they in daily use around town or sitting in someone's yard. These were very much what most people around here would call "trailer trash hick pimp" cars.

All 4 cars did a lot of damage to to roads and parking lots in the park, because of how they were speeding around 75mph+ and spinning out the cars and digging the tires into the road. The way they were spinning the cars around, the drivers were acting like they were stunk drivers from monster truck rally car shows. It was pretty clear they had driven this sort of spinning circles before... it's not something the average daily driver person would even know how to do. It's the type of driving that takes years of practice and is done in car shows to show off how to spin a car around. The beach lot and the soccer field lot are the 2 parking lots they did the most damage to. The park is going to have to bring in some heavy grading equipment in order to fix the damage - it's REALLY badly damaged by their circle spinning. They did A LOT of damage to Rotary Park, using their cars to vandalize the park.

I do not believe these people were locals. I did not recognize the faces of any of them, nor did I recognize their cars, and when you are dealing with pimped out custom cars, they stick out like a sore thumb. I'm positive if these cars were local, I would have noticed them before now. I did not notice if they had Maine plates or not. They were driving circles, so not an an angle to see the plates 

Seeing how a feud had broken out between the Scottish Travellers and the Irish Travellers (earlier this summer; I'm not sure what started it), and how these cars appear to be from so sort of travelling stunt car type circus, I am assuming that the people driving the cars are Irish Travellers. And in case you forgot, the Atwaters  ARE the Scottish Travellers the group Americans refer to as The Scottish Mafia, even though they are not Mafia, they just act like it. A group calling themselves The Irish Travellers showed up a few days after my mom's car was smashed up by a 2x4 a few months ago. If they are Gypsy cars, which it looked like they were, chances are high that they are not registered, not licensed, and not inspected, as very few Gypsies do anything that requires government documentation.

I don't know what kind of shit the Atwaters has gotten themselves into, but she has a very bad history of crossing huge enemy lines with criminal thugs. She's done it several times in the past. She has a big problem with getting in their faces and then bragging that EelKat (me) is a witch that'll cast death curses on them, then they brags I've got a demon familiar that'll kill them. They does this same thing over and over every couple of years, for 5 decades now. It always results in the gang of THEIR thugs showing up and attacking me an or Etiole. And they always arrive thinking that I know who they are or what they are talking about, but I never know who they are or what they are going on about, because I disowned the Atwaters decades ago and I don't have anything to do with them. They beat me up assuming that the Atwaters hired me to kill them, because that's what my mother tells them she did. She is always running around telling people I'm a witch and Etiole's a demon and using the threat that the Atwaters going to hire me to kill whoever it is they are fighting with that time. And they keep doing it. 

I have asked them to stop so many times now. I don't know how the hell to convince them that I am not a witch. I don't know how to convince them Etiole is not a demon. I don't know how to get them to stop bragging that they're hiring me and Etiole to cast death spells and kill everyone they hate.

One of the witnesses said they thought they'd seen the cars before in Pine Point, but that's VERY local, my farm is right on the line and I walk Pine Point as much as Old Orchard, Saco, and Biddeford, I feel like if they were from Pine Point I would have seen them before.

Also... who the hell is Todd?

These people were all upset, saying that I sent suicide demons to kill Todd, and I have no clue who this Todd even is!

And what the hell is a suicide demon? These people are fucking crazy.

I wish the Atwaters would mind their own damned business and leave my name out the shit they gets themselves into. 

Every few months, for the past few decades, me and Etiole keep getting beat up by jackass thugs because of the Atwaters's damned fucking mouths. And I'm sick of it!

My children where murdered - 10 children the young ages 4 the oldest age 16, had there heads nailed to my door, and do you know what the FBI agent on the case said to me? He said their primary suspect, is a man that was having a fight with the Atwaters over a septic tank. They think he killed my family to spite the Atwaters after they threatened to have me send death curses on him over a septic tank. That's what the FBI thinks is the reason my family was murdered: because the Atwaters did their stupid ass slandering me and calling me a witch again, like they always do. Plus, the FBI agent said, that the Atwaters because on April 10, 2015, my motor home was parked in the Atwaters's driveway, the agent said, they believe, my family wasn't even the intended target. He says, he believes, they thought it was the Atwaters's motor home and the Atwaters's children they were killing, because my motor home was parked in their driveway at the time it happened.

According to the FBI all the evidence suggests my family is dead because the Atwaters was arguing with some construction worker over a septic tank, and he attacked the children that where in the motor home in their yard, assuming it was their children in they motor home, not realizing it was my children in my motor home.

Do you remember the woman with the shopping cart, June 2016? The one that put me in a wheelchair after trying to kill me with a fucking shopping cart? The FBI, thinks she's the wife of the septic tank construction worker, and they think she attacked because the Atwaters a few weeks earlier had bragged that they was going to have me send Etiole to kill the blond shopping cart wielding woman's husband.

You remember that Kendra women who showed up at every store and restaurant I went to from 2006 to 2016? Do you know what the FBI found out? She was a friend of the Atwaters's on FB, Twitter, and Pinterest and every time she showed up, including the golf club attack November 14, 2013 when I was 8 months pregnant and she killed my baby and left me paralyzed with a broken spine... the FBI found out that the day before EVERY Kendra attack, her and the Atwaters had an argument on social media that included the Atwaters bragging that I was a witch and Etiole was a demon and threatening to send us after her ... and that was Etiole's baby she killed by the way. Ben's adamant that it wasn't his, neither would be tested to find out, but there's no one else, and if Ben says it's not his, will that just leaves Etiole, and he can't talk. Prior to that I've had 7 miscarriages, Ben denies all of them, Etiole can't talk so he can't deny anything. They are the only 2 men in my life, so take your pick which one the father is. The ten beheaded children - they were fosters. I was their foster mother.

And this attack this week, these people screaming "suicide demon" at me, my car and Etiole... why are they doing it?

A homeless man was hit by a train this week, and they are blaming me, my car, and Etiole, saying that the painting on my car is sending suicide brainwaves out. They are fucking crazy.

I knew that homeless man. The one who got hit by a train. He was my friend. I met him in August 2021. He never told me his name.

As for the homeless man who was killed by the train this week... if he IS your Todd, you people treated him like shit. I've been out there with him every day from August til the day he died and I saw the shit to people did to him. You didn't give a shit about him. You bullied him. You teased him. You destroyed his tent. You smashed up his food. You cut up his clothes. You people pushed him around laughing and left him in tears every single night. You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Every one in the Cutts Street area ought to be ashamed of what you ALL did that man. 

And you have the gall to attack me, my car, my friend?

Why?

I'm the ONLY one who was there helping him.

I'm a Mormon. It's what we Mormons do. When we see people in need, we Mormons help them. We Mormons live by Christ's example. We treat others as we would like to be treated ourselves, that is why we Mormons are always kind to people. 

You people attacking me - you're the exact same people who was out there attacking him.

He had at least 7 campsites set up along both tracks. You have to get close to the train to get to any of them. But be careful if you want to go look at the remains of his worldly possessions, a train comes through every 20 to 40 minutes, it takes 18 minutes to walk to his campsite, and the train is going 120MPH on that stretch.

One campsite he had a fire pit dug out, with some rocks laid up beside it. He cooked and ate there, what few times he had food, though he didn't have food every day.

Not far from that campsite he had a 5 gallon bucket set up in the bushes to make a makeshift outhouse toilet. That one is right near where he died.

There were multiple places where he moved his little yellow tent to. He moved it every few days.

There's 2 campsites where he stashed bags of cans and bottles he collected on the side of the road. At one point he found a shopping cart and was using that to move stuff from one campsite to another.

There's 2 buildings, one a storage unit the other a factory, that he used to sneak into on raining nights, to sleep outside of the rain. Police took to parking at both buildings and chasing him out every time they saw him.

He showed up in August, and originally kept everything he owned all together in one location. It was clear he'd never been homeless before, and didn't know unwise that was. He learned fast how house dwellers treat the homeless though, and quickly took to dividing his things across lots of locations so that if one site got destroyed by haters, he wouldn't lose everything he owned.

Most of the summer he had the tent, but 2 weeks ago, right when the cold got here, someone sliced it to ribbons with a knife or scissors. I assumed it was the woman who harassed him every time. Whoever she was, she really hated him. He didn't have anyplace to sleep after that and that's when he started walking on the tracked, just stand in the track, going back and forth in circles, for hours on end.

I walk my dog 3 to 4 times a day through this area, so I saw him several times a day. He always stopped to talk to my dog and say that his dog was recently taken away and he missed his dog and his son.

Almost every night, a gang of thugs would arrive to harass him. Usually 4, sometimes 5 or more people. Usually 2 girls and 2 guys, in their 20s to 30s. They knew him somehow and boy did they hate him. They were the ones trashing his things. They'd arrive and yell and bully him. Sometimes the two guys were riding bicycles and would drive circles around him yelling at him. He was being harassed REALLY bad.

Originally, when he showed up, he had a bag of clothes, so he was changing his clothes daily. But one day someone cut up his clothes into thousands of tiny pieces and threw them out into the street, so after that he only had the one outfit he was wearing, and nothing else to change into, so he didn't change his cloths for 3 months.

He used to hide food in the bushes, so he could come back later to eat it, but the bully gang would search the bushed looking for his things, deliberately trying to find his stuff, and whenever they found his food stashes, they would stand on the sidewalk near the big black storage unit and throw the food into the road in front of oncoming cars.

The people who were harassing him were really mean to him and going out of their way to be as evil as possible to him. They hated him really bad and very clearly had a personal vendetta against him. I got the impression that the girl who was the ringleader, from the way she was always yelling at him, that she was probably an old girlfriend and that the others were he clique of yes-men-friends.

Police were out there every day.

The girl and her group would bully him, and he'd try to run away, than she'd call the police and say he was harassing her. Then her and her friends would run down the road giggling and hide in the bushes to watch the police show up and look for him. The police were constantly stopping to talk to me to ask if I had seen what happened.

The police would show up nightly, usually to chase him out of sleeping behind houses. He had a really hard time finding a place to sleep, where people didn't call the police on him, that's why he started climbing down into the ravine at night, to hide down there and try to sleep. But the Saco River water is cold and the temps in the ravine were below 30f even when the rest of town wa still at 50f. It's not a good place to try to sleep, but it's the only place he was able to find where people didn't chase him out.

There are 3 ravines. He went back and forth between all 3 of them.

He went up to Rotary Park a lot too. He would sit at that ravine and watch the geese. There is a flock of Canadian Geese that live there, and a beaver damn. Me and my dog climbed down in there almost every day, because there is a flat place where you can sit beside the river to meditate. During that last couple of days, he took to pacing there by the beaver damn frantically. He was very upset. Lost in his thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. You could see something was really wrong by that point.

He probably had more places I didn't know about. He stayed up here at night, so it was mostly early morning/sunrise, and late evening/sunset, and after dark, that I would see him.

He headed towards the library direction in the daytime.

We saw him most every morning around 5 to 6 AM. He often walked with us in the morning. 

We saw him again most every night between 10PM and 1AM, and again, he often walked with us.

He rarely said anything. Was very quiet, very silent. You could see he was deeply upset.

It was after his tent got slashed and then that same week, the temps dropped to 20f at night with freezing rain, that he got very upset, very agitated, and took to pacing on the train tracks in a frantic, obsessed manner, while talking to himself very fast and very hyper and no longer seeing anything going on around him.

He was very upset over the tent being destroyed. He no money to buy another one. And winter was coming. He was terrified he'd freeze to death out there under the trestle train bridge over the ravine.

Each night it grew colder and with the growing cold, his franticness grew worse. And the bullies kept showing up and harassing him, teasing him, laughing at him.

He was going through absolute hell and he kept saying no one in his family cared. Kept saying, he kept begging them to let him come in out of the cold and they laughed in his face and told him to grow up and be a man. He said no one loved him and no one cared if he froze to death out there.

6:27 PM on the 19th of November - he was hit by a train.

Some people are saying he jumped.

Other people are saying the gang that was bullying him, pushed him.

I don't know which it was.

All I know is he is now dead, and I never even knew his name. He was a just a homeless man who needed a friend and so he walked with me most every night for the past 3 months. He didn't have any one else. No one loved him. No one cared what he was going through. And he was treated like shit, just because he was homeless.

A homeless man is still a man, and everyone in this fucking town ought to be ashamed of how deplorably they treated that man every day for the past 3 months, he was bullied and teased and pushed around, what little he owned destroyed while the bullies laughed as the they through his belongings in the road in front of cars.

The people around here treated that man deplorably.

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

However that homeless man died, wither he jumped or wither those bullies pushed him - either way it was those bullies who killed him.

No one should ever be treated so deplorably, that they lose the will to live, and that's what those bullies did to him. They made him lose his will to live.

This could have been avoided, this poor homeless man was bullied to death, and you people who bullied him, there's a special place in hell for dip-shits like you.

Was he murdered?

Was it a suicide?

Who knows?

I don't know.

I just know there are a lot of people saying a lot of things and most of it's wrong.

Like most people are saying they talked to him 10PM on the 20th, but I know for a fact that the 911 call was made at 6:27PM on the 19th.

Was there 2 deaths on the train one day after another?

I don't know.

You know what I do know? He wasn't killed by fucking demons or aliens. What the hell? That's the most popular version of what happened going around town. That an alien suicide demon killed him. Who thinks up these things? Why are there people who even believe in demons to begin with? I don't get that at all. All this talk of demons and aliens and curses. I don't believe in demons or aliens or curses, so I think you're all crazy. How can you believe demons are real? What's wrong with these people?

This homeless man, he said he knew who I was. Said his family knew me. Said he remembered me from years ago. I don't know. I do not remember him, but he was maybe 30 years younger than me, so if he remembered me from when he was a child, than I probably wouldn't recognize him.

If he is the Todd people are talking about... there was a Todd at church, the Mormon church, years ago, decades ago. I didn't know them. They were friends of my Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, so they knew him, not me. I don't think I ever met them.

Me and Etiole the two people you are attacking and slandering and spreading rumours and lies about, have done more the help fed and cloth and keep warm in winter snow, the homeless in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine, than anyone else in the state. Maybe instead of spreading your vile ugly rumours and lies about me and Etiole, you should take the time to get to know us, and find out who we really are. Because what we are, is two humans ostracized by society because we look different, two humans, branded as a witch and a demon, because I wear the traditional cloths of my people and Etiole has no skin.

And while you stand there yelling and accusing and threatening, me and Etiole are out there helping the homeless, who often don't need to be homeless, they often have parents, spouses, siblings any one of whom COULD take them in, but WON'T. The homeless man who killed himself with the train this week, every evening before sunset he walked to his family's house and begged them to let him come inside out of the 20F cold. Every night he returned to the ravine to sleep in Etiole's den, and tell us, his family told him to go away, grow up, and learn to be a man. And now he's dead, because his family didn't care, that he was terrified he was going to freeze to death when the first snow came. That should not have happened. But his family hated him so much, they wouldn't even give him a blanket, because they wanted to teach him a lesson. And now he's dead because of their cruelty.

Me and Etiole tried to help him, but his family hated him so much, and he couldn't live with that. He so desperately wanted his family to love him. It's all he talked about. How much they hated him and how much he wanted them to love him. The last straw was his son. His family took away his 5 year old baby and had started teaching his son to hate him. He tried to bear his parents hating him, his wife hating him, but he could not bear the thought of them turning his own son against him.

What happened to that homeless man this week, could have been prevented if he had had, just one person in his life - just one family member, just one friend, who cared enough, to let him come inside out of the cold. How many homeless people die ever year, so senselessly, because some toxic, spiteful relative thought the homeless person needed to be taught a lesson? The answer is HUNDREDS. It happens every day. I would suggest you look at what happened to that homeless man this week, and you look at how cruelly people treated him. Than look at yourself and how you treat your own children. Compare yourself, to that homeless man and ask yourself, how much like those bullies are you? Were YOU as toxic and cruel to your children, to your parents, to your friends, as people around here was to him? If so, than try to change yourself, become a better person, so you are not like them. 

You want to know the worst part of this homeless man's train death?

I have been TELLING EVERYONE AROUND SOUTH STREET for the past 3 months what was going on, and NOT ONE single person who listen to me or go out there and check on that man.

Why?

Because they were too busy laughing at me, calling me a witch, and gibbering about demons to listen to me.

And it turns out 90% of them were FRIENDS AND FAMILY of that homeless man are right now kicking themselves for being too bigoted at me, to listen to what I was saying about that suicidal homeless man who was in desperate need of help.

Had the locals STOPPED bullying me long enough to actually listen to what I was saying... that homeless man would not be dead under a train right now.

You stupid idiots!

You had your fun and now a man's dead because of it.

You were all too busy calling me a witch and calling my friend a demon, to pay attention to the fact that I KNEW that man was talking about jumping in front of a train!

He talked about it constantly and I couldn't get a damned one of you to listen to me.

What did you ALL say?

*"It's just a homeless man. Why should I care?"*

I didn't know his name.

I had no idea the people who were saying: *"It's just a homeless man. Why should I care?"* were his friends and his family. They were prejudice against ALL homeless people in general, that they wouldn't go out there and try to help a homeless man, and now they are walking around the streets saying, they wished they had believed me, they wished they had gone out their to the trestle, to the ravine, to try to help the homeless man I was asking them to help, because they now know, if they had only gone out their to check on the suicidal homeless man, they would have found out who he was, and found out, they knew him, found out he was their friend, found he was their family.

Had they only stopped laughing at me and my homeless friends long enough, they could have saved the life of someone they knew and loved.

There's the power of ignorance and bigotry for you.

They hated homeless people so much, refused to help the homeless so much, that now someone is dead, and even in the days after his death, they were out their laughing and joking "Just a dead homeless man, who cares?"... until the police showed up to tell them: "We IDed the homeless man..." and now those people who were laughing at the dead homeless man on the train tracks are struck with the horror of realizing, he was their own family, their own friend, and had they only listened to the "the crazy demon witch" they could have saved him.

Help people instead of hurting them.

It's not hard to do.

Helping people is much easier than hurting them.

Just think, if everyone treated everyone else with kindness, there would be no more murders and no more suicides in the world.

I've seen so many suicides in my life, precisely because I spend so much time with the homeless of Maine. I see it over and over again. People, who are homeless, but have families, that live less than a mile away from the cardboard box they sleep in at night. Parents, siblings, spouses, aunts, uncles, cousins, less than a mile away. Americans are so cruel to their own families. So many suicides, that could have been prevented, if only their families had not abandoned them, not turned on them, not cast them out, not ostracized them, not shunned them. Most people I meet who are homeless, don't need to be, because they DO have families, but their families don't care about them.

There are more than 2,000 homeless people, right now in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine. And every one of them has local families, who COULD help them, who COULD feed them, who COULD give them a place to sleep, they just WON'T. And it's always the same story. Prideful parents and spiteful spouses want to teach them a lesson, saying it's good for them to be homeless. The local parents and spouses of Maine's homeless population disgust me.

And with December days away, we all know what happens now. The blizzards will move in. And in April and May of 2022, the police of Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine, will do what they always do every year: go out behind stores and dumpsters looking for bodies. Every year, no fewer than one hundred homeless people freeze to death during blizzard season. EVERY YEAR. Every town in York Country will have at least 4 homeless people frozen to death. It's worse in Cumberland County. Each DISTRICT of Portland, will have a dozen or more homeless people frozen to death by spring, just like they do every year.

All the homeless who will freeze to death this winter, and next winter, and the winter after... just like last winter, and the winter before, and the winter before that, they ALL have local families. They ALL have local parents, local spouses, local siblings, local cousins, locals aunts and uncles, who will ALL deny them help, who will ALL deny them food, who will ALL deny them places to sleep. EVERY homeless PERSON who freezes to death each year in Maine, had someone who COULD have helped, but WOULDN'T.

And worse than freezing to death... are the suicides. As blizzard season draws near and the nights get colder, the suicide rate starts to skyrocket as the homeless beg their families for a scrap of food or a measly blanket, and get doors slammed in their faces instead. Every year, during the 2 weeks before blizzard season starts, every year, there are more than 300 suicides by homeless people here in Maine. And every one of them, kills themselves, because they fully 100% believe their family hated them and wanted them dead. 

Why don't you take a step back and look at yourselves and what you are doing and why you are doing it and who you are doing it to. Me and Etiole, we are no threat to you. We've never been a threat to any one. The ONLY threat out there is YOU jackasses who keep trespassing and coming up in here to beat us up because of some damned rumours you heard! Slanderous rumours spread by stupid ass busy bodies and believed ONLY by retarded jackasses like yourself.

Do you want to know WHY I help the homeless people, men like Etiole and that man who was just hit by a train? Because I used to be homeless and I know what it's like to be out there scared, confused, alone, not knowing where the next meal is coming from, having to daily fight to survive because so many hate and attack homeless people.

Look at this picture. This is me. This is where I lived from May 9, 2006 to March 31, 2015

HERE:

Me and Etiole, we are out there trying to help the homeless. Letting them know there IS someone who cares. Letting them know, they have a reason to live. I was homeless for 9 years. I lived under a 8x6' tarp for 9 years. And during that time, I learned who my friends were. I got no help from my parents, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my church, my friends. No one. I have 3 brothers, they were the only ones who helped me. There are 400 people in my family. We are Gypsies, most men are polygamists and have 5 or more wives, no wife has fewer than 8 children, most women in my family have given birth to more than twenty. There are 400 people in my family, all of whom I had helped many times, several while they were homeless, I gave them a place to stay and food to eat. And when I became homeless myself, those very same people, not only turned their backs on me, they did it with cruel violence.

I know what it is like to be homeless, to live outside during Maine's blizzards, to have no one who cares. I know what it is like to go 12 days without food and be scared of starving to death.

Look at THIS picture again, and let me tell you how it got taken:

October 7, 2006, broke Maine's world record for the coldest day ever at -47F (minus 47 degrees before zero) before windchill factor... that picture with the snow, it was taken that day, by my brother, who came to check on me, because he was scared I'd die in that cold. He came to help, when no one else did.

And that same day, in Portland, just 7 miles away, more than a dozen homeless people were found frozen to death, in a dumpster, on St John Street, they had climbed into together to try to huddle together and get out of the cold.

THAT is WHY I make a point of seeking out and helping the homeless in Maine. Because I know what it is like to survive, and I only survived, because I had a brother who cared and came looking for me.

And you people, especially you families, who go out of your way to make life miserable for the homeless people...

You people all ought to be ashamed of yourselves!

This homeless man who found Etiole, he said he knew the people who were spreading some of the worst rumours of all about me and Etiole, oh he had a list too - of a lot of things I had never even heard before - way more rumours are flying around out there about me than I knew about and some of them are pretty bad - and this man, now dead by the train, he not only knew these wild slanders going around, he said knew who are STARTED them - the knew the SOURCE of the rumours, and he said, he felt they were doing it, because hey were trying to turn attention on me and away from themselves, and he said, he read the article the FBI asked me to write about what happened and he knew which word was wrong. He said it made him sick when he realized which word in the article was wrong and what the correct word was, because as horrible as the crime is, it becomes so much more worse, when you know what the correct word is. And he was horrified, to learn that, that word, was withheld from the public, and only the killer would know to use it instead of the word that was released to the public. He knew it. He knew what it was. What word was wrong.

Did he actually know the killer? I don't know. 

I mean on one hand, he's just a homeless man and well, I've known a lot of homeless people and often they are homeless because of mental illnesses, so, he wouldn't be the first homeless man say he knew something and actually did not.

On the other hand, he's not the first person to say he knew something and then suddenly die.

I'm sick of every time someone tries to help they end up dead.

And I tell that to the FBI agents and they say: "You don't know who we're dealing with. We've been after this heroine gang for years."

No you're right, I don't know who we're dealing with.

But you know what I do know?

In the 7 years since my children were beheaded...  I'm sick and tired of more and more people getting hurt.

Yes, I can see the drug dealers the FBI is after are dangerous mother fuckers. You don't have to tell ME that these people are dangerous, they boiled my children in oil, cooked them like fried chicken while they were still alive, sawed off their heads, nailed their heads to my motor home, braided their intestines together and hung it on the awning of my motor home like a fucking Christmas garland! So, yeah, I think I might be pretty well aware how danger these sons of bitches are!

You know, when my children died, their heads were cut off, their arms and legs also cut off, their organs and intestines cut out. Their heads nailed to my door, their arms and legs hung from ropes in the trees, their intestines tacked up around the roof edge of my motorhome like Christmas garlands... with in an hour, I had gone out there and taken them down, so they wouldn't be on public display.

I did not want my children's bloody remains hanging in public for all the world to see. I cared about my children, I loved my children, enough to go out to the crime scene, and pick up every single last, itty bitty, tiny, cut up piece of all 10 of their bodies.

It was horrible and disgusting, and made me vomit every few minutes, I was scraping my children's mashed up body parts - hundreds of pieces, nailed all over the front of my motorhome, their body parts hung like Christmas ornaments from the awning! That's why there is no more awning on my motorhome, I couldn't get the blood stains out.

Do you know what it is like, to spend a week, searching every inch of your yard for fingers and toes, of your own children?

I do. Because I had to do that.

You are so desperate to know what information was withheld from the news?

Georgie had his face smashed off with a brick.

Bela had her jaw ripped off while she was still alive.

Emily was boiled alive.

You still want to know what information wasn't in the news?

There's a reason I don't talk much about what happened to my children, because I don't think most of you could stomach it. But I'm their mother and I'm the one who had to pick up all their parts.

It made me sick to have to do it.

But I didn't leave them there like that.

I had the decency to take them down and give them a respectable burial with all of their remains in the coffins...

No one would help. No one single person. Not my parents. Not my mother. Not my father. Not my husband. Not my siblings. Not my aunts. Not my uncles. Not my cousins. Not my friends. Not my church. Not my neighbours. No one. They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." One relative, the Colonel, my father-in-law, he offered to help, but he was in very bad health, and couldn't get nurses to let him come to help. He died a few weeks later.

My ten children, where cut up. Heads here. Legs there. Their intestines braided together and looped garland style around the awning poles of the motorhome.

It took the killers hours to decorate my motorhome with the remains of my ten children.

It took me hours to get them down. The motorhome is 12 feet tall. I don't have a ladder. I couldn't even get a friend or neighbour or relative to come over with a ladder so I could reach the entrails hanging from the awning.

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

Well, you know what? I was their mother and I didn't want to see them like that either!

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

I was their mother and I did not want that to be my last memory of them!

NO ONE... not one single person in my family - not my parents, not my siblings, not my aunts, not my uncles, not my cousins, not my church, not my friends, not my neighbours... NO had the decency to help me get them down! NO ONE saw what was done to them that day. No one but the police and FBI are even aware how bad the situation was, because NO ONE CARED!

The ONLY people who know the full details of what happened are me, who found the bodies, the FBI who is investigating, and the murderers.

No one else.

No one else saw the bodies.

So ANYONE going around town claiming to have details, IS THE MURDERER or knows them, because NO ONE ELSE has those details.

And THAT is why the information was kept out of the news.

My children were murdered by a psychopath who turned their bodies into bloody Christmas decorations... and NOT ONE OF YOU GAVE A SHIT!

They spent weeks making those pieces of so called artwork out of my children's bodies.

And no one helped me take them down.

Not one of you!

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

Do you think I wanted to see them like that?

Do you think I wanted that to be my last memory of them?

I'm their fucking mother!

I learned fast on May 15, 2015, who I could rely on who I could trust... and the answer was NO ONE.... no one but the FBI agents who had the decency to help when no one else would.

I could have done what the rest of you all did and said the same thing you all did: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." But I didn't, did I? No! I didn't leave my children scattered remains of public display for all to see. I care enough about them to take them down, no matter how sick it made me, no matter how disgusted I was by it, no matter how much I didn't want to see them like that.

I loved my children, so when they were murdered, cut to pieces and strewn everywhere, I made sure to pick up every last piece.

And HOW have you people TREATED me in the 7 years since than?

I'll tell you... when I go to my church, The Saco Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints - they threw rocks at me when I tried to go inside. Five weeks in a row they slashed the tires on my car. I have an antique Volvo with white walls - each tire cost $2k to replace, and you did it 5 weeks in a row! One Sunday, they poured etching fluid on my windshield, I had to buy a new windshield. Their teens and children ran around singing the infamous chant "Too gay for the family friendly church". Fellow Mormons. I'm shocked. That's not the Mormon way.

It became too expensive for me to go to church because the repairs from the weekly vandalism while my car was in your parking lot was more money a week, than I make in a year.

THAT is why I stopped going to church the same year my children were murdered.

Because you people treated me like shit!

And what of my friends?

I've not seen or heard a word from any of them... NOT ONE... in 7 years.

I was in the hospital with a broken spine, broken hips, broken knees, broken legs.

My vertebrae are crushed and can not be operated on. So it can never be fixed.

Did anyone visit me in the hospital? No.

Did any one visit me after I got out of the hospital? No.

Were they there for me, when strangers with golf clubs, attacked me in a parking lot, while I was 8 months pregnant, killing my baby and breaking my spine, leaving me paralyzed for 5 months, and 18 months relearning to walk? No.

My relatives? My Aunt B* started posting the message on my FaceBook wall: "The next head nailed to a door will be yours!"... something she initially posted 3 hours BEFORE my children's heads were nailed to my door.

While her brother Mervin Bruce set about to created HUNDREDS of social media accounts on FaceBook, Twitter, Twitch, hundreds on EACH, to spam pictures of severed head memes all over my profiles. While the adult children of his brother David took to posting photos of themselves carrying assault rifles and the words "This is the gun I'm going to blow your brains out with" was written on the photos. THAT is how my family - my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins reacted to my children being murdered.

I've not seen or heard from my brothers in 7 years. My father and one brother though they live with me, hasn't said a word to me in 7 years. And you've all seen what my mother does on my social media accounts.

After my children were murdered, everyone around me had one of 2 reactions: to treat my like the plague and completely shun me, or two turn psychotic violent and start harassing me online and offline.

It's been seven years, and I've yet to sit down and talk to anyone about what happened to my children, because I have no one to talk to.

And ONLY have no one to talk to, because you people made it so. I HAVE tried to reach out, to all of my relations, all of my friends. They hang up on me, slammed the door in my face.

I didn't just lose my 10 children the day they were murdered, I lost every single person in my life.

And then there are the neighbours, both the ones neighbouring my farm in Old Orchard Beach, where the murder took place AND the ones neighbouring my apartment in Biddeford... look at what you do: they hit me and my dog when you see us walking by, you throw rocks at me, you yell at me and call me a witch, you shout out anti-gay slurs, you scream "god hates fags" as I walk by.

Why?

Why do you do these things?

And right now, Thanksgiving week 2021, there is an angry mob roaming the forests of Maine, looking for Etiole, screaming they are going to kill the demon!

I am not a witch and Etiole is not a demon.

Why do you people say those things about us?

What is wrong with you people?

Why are you doing this?

And then the police and FBI say they have to keep these things out of the news?

Why?

They say the way my family died is too upsetting for people to read about.

No fuck? You think? At least they only have to read it, I'm the one who had to spend weeks scrubbing blood off the walls and doors and windows.

No. That's not okay. 

It's not okay for people to not know the fucked up shit these criminals did to my children!

It's not okay for witnesses to not know the danger they put themselves in if they come forward.

The FBI had 3 surveillance trucks on Main St, Cutts St, and Bradbury St all summer. They wanted me to change the paint on my car, the FBI phone number added to my trunk - to see HOW the people living on those 3 streets would react. 

Who would do what? 

What would be said? 

Who would go where? 

Who would attack my family first? 

How would they attack? 

What would they say while attacking? 

I knew how dangerous painting the FBI phone number on my car would be going into this. They said it would be, considering how violent the murder of my family was. 

Well now the FBI has SEEN FIRST HAND front row seat from that fake so-called FedEx truck in front of the apartment, what people do when I paint my car. 

Did they get the information they wanted? I don't know, but one man is dead and another man is dying. 

And I've HAD IT!  

What I do know is I'm sick of the damned secrecy, I'm sick of being required to not tell the public what happened to my family, I'm sick of MORE people dying because the FBI wants to sit back and wait, I'm sick of the local jackasses calling me a witch, I'm sick of the local idiots calling Etiole a demon, I'm sick of locals having psychotic meltdowns because I painted a mural on my car! 

And on top of all that, I'm without 2 friends right now, because one was hit by fucking train and the other one was gunned down 2 days later. 

Well I hope the FBI got the fucking ass information they needed because I've had it with ALL of this bull shit!

I'm tired of 7 years of not being allowed to talk about what happened to my family.

I'm tired of being required to change words in blog posts, because the FBI doesn't want certain words released to the public.

I'm tired of my family and friends being terrorized by jackass filth thug drug dealing lunatics.

I'm tired of bombs. 7 now. I've survived seven fucking bombs now. Two just this week alone. One in my car and one in my bedroom.

I'm tired of being your fucking guinea pig. My family was murdered 7 years ago, and I've not even had time to mourn because the FBI showed up and "Oh do this for us" and "Do that too"... we couldn't even have a funeral, because each of my ten children was chopped up into hundreds of pieces, and oh by the way guess what... that word I'm not supposed to use? You will notice I haven't used it in this post, I'm word the FBI asked me to use instead. So, if you happen to know which word in this post is WRONG and what that word SHOULD be... ask yourself how and why do you know the correct word, because you should NOT know the correct word, and if you do, chances are high, you've somehow had contact with the person who chopped up my children.

I'm sick of not being allowed to talk about my children.

They made me take all of their pictures down. There are no pictures of them anywhere on any of my social media profiles sine June 2016, because the FBI wanted all their pictures taken down. Why? So they could change that fucking word. 

You ALL know me... you who follow me... look at my pictures... which ones are gone? Thousands of them. I had more than 1,000 pictures just of Bela.

You all remember Bela.

And Georgie.

And Emily.

And Pippi.

And Cleo.

And I'm not allowed to say the names of the others.

I had to unpublish several of my books, because Cleo was on the book cover, because the books were a serious of non-fiction-day-in-the-life books about her.

How many of you reading this right now, have a copy of the book: "Cleo's Great Escape"? 

If you have a copy of that book, go get it and look at the book cover. 

That picture on the cover. That's Cleo. 

That's an actual photo of her. 

You want to know how Cleo died?  They held her stomach down over a circular table saw and cut Cleo in half while Cleo was still alive, and they hung each half of her to either side of the door of my motor home.

So, yeah, I'm pretty aware that these people are fucking dangerous.

But the people coming forward, calling that FBI number on my car, they don't know. They do not know, how dangerous these killers are, precisely BECAUSE the FBI won't let the information of HOW my children died be made public.

Each one died different.

Only Emily was boiled.

Only Cleo got a table saw.

They killed them using ten different, psychotic fucked up ways.

The people who killed my family are fucked up.

Normal sane people don't do the kind of fucked up torture shit that was done to my family.

And you know what's the worst part of all of this... MOST of the 120+ people who cam forward as "witnesses" and then dead in fucked up ways a few days later, turned out to NOT be real witnesses. They were just bored people looking to pull a prank, see if they could hoax the FBI, see if the FBI could tell if they were lying or not. It's bad enough when ACTUAL witnesses die after coming forward, but most of them were just pranksters trying to prank the FBI, and now they are dead, because, well as the FBI put it: "You don't know who we're dealing with here."

No. I don't. I have no idea who these bastards are. But it's pretty damned obvious the FBI does in fact know who they are otherwise they wouldn't keep saying:  "You don't know who we're dealing with here."

I don't understand all the stupid ass secrecy, but I'm tired of it. Okay?

I'm just fed up.

Two people close to me got hurt really bad this week, one of them is dead. My car got it's insides blown out and now I have weeks of repairs to look forward to, after just getting it back, from it being repaired for 3 years from the last time it got attacked back in February 2019. My apartment building got  vandalized to shit, one neighbour moved out this morning scared the fuck out of her mind, all the wires got cut off the building by a fucking lunatic. I was attacked by 6 sociopaths with rifles, who shot Etiole and used their cars to vandalize the hell out of Rotary Park. Seven times in the past hour, a woman has shown up on the neighbours front porch screaming "witch" and "demon" and yelling "you gotta get a new car whoop-whoop!" - not the same woman 7 times, now 7 different women have done that so far not today, but in the past hour - there's been a lot more throughout the day - none of them seem to be aware they are at the wrong door.  And that all just this one Thanksgiving Day week!

I want my fucking life back!

I'm an author. I used to publish 52 short stories a year, 4 or more novels a year, and 2 to 3 non-fiction articles a day. I published on average 2million words a year. I haven't published a damned thing since the FBI showed up after my family was murdered,not one thing in 7 years.

I can't even make an attempt to go back to living a normal life because every time I do the FBI is all "No, no, no, we need you to do this, we have to catch them. "You don't know who we're dealing with. We've been after this drug gang for years."

You know what? Fuck you!

My family died! And you jumped on that fucking piranhas! You don't give a shit what I'm going through. You don't give a shit what the surviving members of my family are going through. You don't give a shit that witnesses are dropping dead left and right, falling out of the sky and landing in front of trains. People are dying and you don't give a fucking shit, because all we are to you FBI agents are fucking tools for you to use, to get to some drug lord that I don't even know who it is or what the fuck it has to do with me or how my family ended up being killed by someone like that! Clearly you know why some drug lord killed my family, but I have no clue. I'm a Mormon. We don't use drugs or have connections to drug dealers.

I am tired of you FBI agents coming in here and using me and my car and my apartment and my family and my friends and my neighbours, to try to catch some drug gang that I don't know how in the hell I could even be connected to in the first place!

Is the FBI going to pay for the repairs to my car? No!

Is the FBI going to pay for the repairs to my apartment building? No!

Is the FBI going to pay for the medical bills for either me or Etiole or anyone else? No!

Of course not!

They are just going to continue to do what they have been doing for the past 7 years: sit on their asses in that fake ass FedEx truck out front, listening to every conversation, of every family, of every apartment, in every house on this street, and not do one other damned thing.

I'm tired of this.

I want my life back.

My family died seven years ago, and you won't let me move on, because you have some drug dealer you want to catch.

I have a missing older brother, I'm trying to locate. I have a career I'm trying to do. I have have 4 novels that I'm trying to write and edit. I'm trying to live my life, and everything I try to do, gets interrupted by vandalism, harassment, and attacks from total strangers who are somehow connected to that drug dealer who is also a stranger, because the FBI wants to take advantage of the fact that my family was murdered.

Well, I can see WHY, no one else who's family was murdered, was willing to help you, and I'm questioning why I should continue to help you, because it's been more harm than good, it's brought nothing but even more death and destruction, it's brought gangsters to my front door at THREE different apartment buildings now!

I'm crippled. I can barely sit up, let alone walk. I'm bedridden 12+ hours a day, and I'm asleep the rest of the day. I'm legally blind. I'm almost deaf. I have rheumatism and chronic tendinitis, COPD, OCD, Kanner's Syndrome, and post traumatic stress disorder. I have no grip strength, no bladder control, my doctor won't let me lift anything over 10lbs because my muscles fall off my joints if I do. I can't hear people coming, I can't see them coming, I can't fight back, and I have people running up behind me with golf clubs, baseball bats, and big ass fucking boulders. I have lunatics waving guns and rifles in my face and driving circles around me in tricked out pimp cars. A nut job drove up with a fucking gatland gun on the roof of a school bus!

And for what?

I now have $20million in medical bills, a bomb blew up my house and my horse stable, and killed my horses and my bantams, so now I don't have horses or bantams any more and I have to live in a scum dive apartment in fucking ass Biddeford of all places, All because after rebuilding my house on my farm in Old Orchard FIVE TIMES NOW a fucking lunatic with a backhoe drove over it every time I rebuilt it!

And why the hell did you put us in Biddeford? If I was going to choose my apartment, the last place I would pick is Biddeford! Yeah, I get that you wanted us as close to your precious drug lord as possible, but why did it have to be Biddeford!

Oh yeah... and that word I can't say, because the FBI says so... I had 83 of them and they're all dead too! 

Why?

So the FBI can catch some drug dealer, a heroine ring, that they claim is the one who murdered my family?

Why would some heroine dealer kill me family?

I can guarantee not a one of them took drugs. 

And if you say, well, kids and teens, you never know... yeah, but theirs that word that is DELIBERATELY WRONG and that word, when you know the correct word, makes all the differance in the world.

I guarantee, Bela, Georgie, Emily, Pippi, Cleo, and the ones I can't say the names of, were not running around buying drugs, because it'd be pretty difficult considering what they were.

The connection is the Atwaters. The people killed my family, did so, because they got the wrong fucking information. They were supposed to attack "a green trailer" that was sitting in the Atwaters's yard, the vardo that's been in my family for decades. That same week, there was a construction crew in my yard, so I moved my motorhome next door, to park in their driveway next door. I live at 146. My motorhome is usually at 146. It was in their yard next door at 148, because there were 3 dump trucks in my yard doing work, and I moved the motorhome so they had room to get up in the yard. And my motorhome is a famous monster truck rally icon. It's No Hurry, the official Monster Energy Drink Monster Truck built by Monster Truck builder Alan Berry. It's Monster Energy Drink Lime Green. The attackers were told to attack a "green trailer" which was a dark green wooden vardo parked out back, and the day they arrived, my neon lime green motorhome was sitting in the driveway in front of the vardo.

And that's the ONLY reason, my family died.

They were after the Atwaters, not me, not my family. Of that the FBI is 100% certain. And it's because of a fight they had with a construction worker over a septic tank. Of that the FBI is also 100% certain. And I'm on a "need to know" basis, so, how any of that connects to a drug gang and heroine dealers, I have no clue, but somehow it does, according to the FBI. I don't "need" to know any more than that, so, they tell didn't tell me any more than that.

I was not the intended target.

My family were not the intended targets.

My motorhome was not the intended target.

I just happened to park my motorhome in the wrong driveway on the wrong day, and be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And you people running around with your stupid ass rumours, you NOT helping the FBI''s investigation any at all. In fact you're hindering it a hell of a lot.

What happened to me was supposed to happen to the Atwaters, but I don't know why.

I don't know what the hell they've got themselves involved in, but I do know, FBI Agent Andy Drewer told me to tell every one in the family, my brothers, my mother, my father, to stay the hell away from the Atwaters, because they are the ones connected to the drug dealer. According the Agent Drewer, anyone with the Atwaters when they go down, is gonna go down with them. Bruce is now dead - maybe - it's faked his death 4 times now and, no one saw his body and there was no funeral, so no one knows 100% for sure if he's dead or not. The day before his most recent supposed death, he bought plane tickets for New Zealand. According the Agent Drewer, Bruce ran in with some gang in Boston. A big gang. One of the biggest in America. And THAT is who killed my family. He was sick, avoiding the hospitals because there was a warrant out for him, so he tried to get some drugs in Boston, and than ran off without paying for those drugs. And so all of his relatives became targets after that. And that's why he vanished November 24, 2019, with only the word of one daughter to say that he's dead.

So, because the uncle who runs around calling everyone demons, the uncle who used to be one of Heaven's Gate's leaders, the uncle who locked me in a cage when I was 8 and left me there for 27 years, because HE fucked over some Boston drug dealer, my family is dead, because apparently, they thought he was hiding out in the Atwaters's yard in a green trailer, and somehow the Atwaters fighting with a construction worker over a septic tank, caused the drug lord to think Bruce was in the Atwaters's yard hiding in a green trailer.

Mervin Bruce Atwater, the SAME guy who started the demon rumour about Etiole ALSO ran around claiming to be one of Heaven's Gate's leaders, and that doesn't tell you he's crazy?

It's crazy as all fuck, but hey, this is the uncle who bragged that he helped kill 39 people at Heaven's Gate because he thought god was running in from planet Kolob on Comet Hale-bop, and the same uncle who started the Amphibious Alien rumour about Etiole, and the same uncle who started the demon rumours about Etiole, and the same uncle who kept little girls in rusted cage (I stall have the cages by the way, I've showed you them in several live-streams), so why should I be surprised, that this same uncle tried to cheat some Boston drug lord and then got my family killed by hiding out in the Atwaters's yard?

Mervin Bruce Atwater was a funking lunatic who was obsessed with aliens and ufos and demons and ghosts, that's WHY it was the only thing he ever talked about. And he got hung up on Etiole and my 1964 Dodge and obsessed over telling everyone he could find online and offline that Etiole was an alien demon and my car was haunted.

I had hoped now that he was dead, the rumours would die with him, but no, look at what's going on this week!

Some homeless ma got hit by a train, and suddenly half of Biddeford is running around calling me a witch, calling Etiole a demon, and saying, now a DIFFERENT car - the Volvo, not the Dodge - it haunted!

What the fuck!

What is wrong with you people?

In the past few week, new information came forward about the 2015 murder of my family and the FBI asked me to hold up on painting the mural on my car, and to instead put the FBI info request message there for a few weeks to see what would happen. They wanted to see WHO would react and WHAT they would do.

On the hood of my car was written: "On April 10, 2015 ten of my twelve children were kidnapped. On May 15, 2015, ten of their heads were nailed to my door. Have information, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322" While a shorter version of the message was on the trunk. They asked me to park my car in the BACK of the building, in the hedged in yard, where it could be seen by only 2 windows. The car left the yard. No one other than people living in those 2 windows could see it.

The FBI, suspected, that the construction worker who fought with the Atwaters over the septic tank, than drove a back hoe over my house, was connected to this porch woman, and they wanted to see, how fast word got back to him, that a message about my dead children was now painted on the hood of my car.

The answer?

Ten hours.

Within ten hours, the FBI surveillance truck in Old Orchard Beach, reported back to the FBI surveillance in Biddeford, that he had a raging fit and was now on the warpath, because of what it said on the hood of my car.

My car never left the yard and could ONLY be seen by 2 windows. Meaning someone in one of those 2 windows, was his informant.

Three days later, the FBI said is was okay to paint over the words and finish putting the mural on the car, that mural, that I had started painting months ago and stopped because the FBI wanted to put that message on my car to see who would do what because of it.

So, 3 days later, I painted the JellyFish over the words on the hood and WAS going to finish the hamsa on the trunk, except, things started happening. A lot of things, fast. While I was in Old Orchard, getting ready to paint off the words on the trunk, HE showed up... the back hoe driver, on September 24, 2021, this time in a dark green pick up truck. Accompanied by a blond woman, whom, I've seen hanging around with my Aunt B for years. She's got really distinctive hair, like a blond Afro. She stood in my driveway screaming about "the little yellow house" odd seeing how that house has been gone for 9 years. Meanwhile the man who fought over the septic tank with the Atwaters, drove back and forth and drove back and forth and back and forth and drove back and forth and back and forth and drove back and forth and back and forth and drove back and forth in front of my driveway for 10 hours, while I stopped painting and sat their watching him wondering what the hell he was doing.

The FBI said, don't take the rest of the words off yet. Leave the trunk words on, we want to see who else reacts to them.

And throughout October and November, people have been reacting a lot.

And boy oh boy people reacted.

And I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of so many people dying so senselessly, because of some drug lord who thinks nothing of killing everyone, just so he can sell drugs.

And I'm tired of the FBI using my family's murder to get to him.

I'm tired of not being allowed to do anything because the FBI wants to wait and see what happens.

I'm not involved in your stupid ass drug dealer.

My family was killed by mistake, because the jackasses mistook a green motorhome for a green trailer.

And FBI jumped on that, saw it as an opportunity.

Well, I don't see my family as your fucking opportunity.

They are my family. And they're dead. And you don't care.

They aren't tools for you to use.

My family is dead at the hands of some drug lord who we never had anything to do with to begin with, they got the wrong fucking house, and you've dragged so many people in my life into this.

Ben has people following him now.

What is wrong with you people?

You couldn't get enough attacking one old man (Etiole) so now you are going after another one?

He's scared to drive any more because thugs follow him to his house.

I'm being shot at in Rotary Park.

Etiole was gunned down by lunatics.

I'm sick of this.

I want my life back.

And if Etiole dies, I'm done. I'm not going to do one damned more thing for you fucking FBI agents who don't give a shit about us. Etiole is the only one who's always been there for me through everything. I'm sick of you using us. I'm sick of being hurt and I'm sick of watching others get hurt. Find someone else to help you take down your damned drug lord. You trained for this type of stuff, I didn't. You chose this path in life, I didn't.

Also, I am being flooded with people showing up at all of my known addresses (I have several in several towns), all of whom are raving and ranting and gibbering and mumbling and someone named Todd.

They are saying things like:

And yes, I do have them on camera saying these things, most of them seemed to be unaware that I have a camera on me that runs 24/7, which is odd, as anyone who follows me online knows I've not turned that camera off since June 2016, when the FBI gave me instructions to RECORD EVERYTHING and send the footage to them EVERY TIME ANY ONE DOES ANYTHING. So, yeah, everything you people are doing and saying IS recorded and the FBI has it.

But here's the thing, I make no secret of the camera, and it streams to Twitch and YouTube so, my followers are watching you people do this as well... and that raises red flags... you see, anyone who knows me knows to stay away from camera range if they do not want to be on the livestream.

That's one thing that has stood out with the Boston drug group that my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater got messed up with: they DO KNOW the camera is on and they stay away for the most part since they realized this (since October 21, 2016, when one of them did get on film and the Old Orchard Beach Police arrested in a few hours later).

Since the 4-door white truck driver's arrest, the rest of the Boston drug group backed off as none of them wants to be on a YouTube or Twitch livestream. This is also when the Kendra woman disappeared and has not bothered me since.

The ONLY people who've been stupid enough to get in camera rage SINCE October 21, 2016, have been local people connected to the Atwaters/Scottish Travellers, and NO BODY ELSE.

Well, here's the thing, as near as the FBI can tell, the Boston drug lord didn't know who I was, didn't know how famous I was, didn't realize that millions of people were getting daily updates on the attacks, UNTIL the 4 door white truck ended up on camera. The FBI thinks the Boston drug lord backed off BECAUSE they looked me up and found out who I was, realized that if they kept harassing me, they'd all go down hard just because sooner or later the wrong one of them would get caught on camera. You see, the last thing the Boston drug lord wants is for anything he does to be on camera.

Now, anyone who reads my blogs or watches my streams or reads my books or reads my websites - keeping in mind I write more than 200 (two hundred) blogs and websites, knows that every minute of every day of my life is posted online somewhere, and because of this MOST local people know to stay out of camera range if they don't want to be online.

And now this week there are these people who are gibbering nonsense about Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd... and... uhm... seem to be completely and totally unaware, they are doing it on camera.

That's means a few things: 

1. It means, they don't ACTUALLY know who I am, are unaware I'm the Gypsy Witch from The Thinner and have 30million devoted Stephen King fan followers watching them make idiots of themselves.

2. It also means, them not being followers of my online, they are unaware that I don't know who this Todd person is. I know no one named Todd either online or offline. It appears that someone is running around TELLING people that I'm saying this or that, and those people are just blindly believing them, without do any fact checking at all. It also appears that some one is deliberately going out of their way to work these people up in a frenzy. In fact, it looks like there is someone out there who has a psychotically vehement hatred for me and is just trying to slander me as much as they can to as many people as possible to TRY to get a mob to attack me.

3. These people are showing up in my driveway, coming up to me on the sidewalk while I walk my dog, approaching me while I'm shopping at WalMart, coming up to me while I'm at the library... and it's not a few people - it's well over a hundred people randomly coming up to me at every place I go... they are saying thing like: "You can't say ___, ___, ___ or ___ about Todd." Alongside of saying stuff like: "I'm fine with you saying ___ and ___ about Todd mother because she's a bitch." And yet, I know no one named Todd, nor do I know his mother, which means I've never said anything about this Todd or his mother. And I'm left wondering what they are talking about and why they think I had said the things they think I said. I can't understand why these people think I'm talking about Todd or his mother, when I don't even know who is Todd or his mother? But it's a HUGE amount of people doing it - MASSIVE amount of people - so whoever is spreading this rumour, they are spreading it on huge levels, to massive amounts of people. 

3A. One elderly man walked up to me today, a man probably in his 80s. Wanted to know if I was EelKat, than proceeded to tell me that, all week, he has been receiving weird spam emails - the emails are three thousand words long, he said, and all the same - he said they call me a lot of nasty words that he said he was too polite to repeat, and he said they mostly focused on Etiole and the topic of aliens and demons. He said he was very confused as he doesn't know ANY of the email addresses sending it to him, and stated that it looks like everyone who sent it to him, were just mass spamming the email to 100+ randomly generated emails, in an attempt to get the email out to as many random people as possible. He said he had received the same email from more then three dozen people that morning alone and he's been getting it steadily for the past few days... so based on what he told me... it's A LOT of people, random-spamming 100+ random-emails over and over and over and over and over and over again, all day long, for the past several days. 

4. When I ask what they are talking about they respond with: "All that stuff you wrote on FaceBook about Todd and his mother!" But I've not written anything on FaceBook about their precious Todd or his mother, seeing how I don't know who Todd or his mother is.

5. It means that somewhere on FaceBook there is an account that is pretending to be me. I don't like being impersonated, so I want to know where this account is, who is running it, and why they are slandering me by making it look like I have said things which I never said at all.

These people act like they think I know what they are talking about, but I've no clue!

They are saying: "You can't say this or that about Todd!" And I'm just here completely clueless wondering who in the hell Todd is and what exactly it was that I was supposed to have said about this guy that I don't even know who he is? 

Nothing these people are saying is making any sense. It leaves me wondering if someone online has a social media account, that either is impersonating me or somehow these people THINK is me.

THIS is my FaceBook account here: https://www.facebook.com/EelKat

THIS is my Twitter: https://twitter.com/EelKat

And that's it.

I don't have any others. So whatever you people are reading on other accounts, was NOT posted by me and is someone impersonating me.

6. That means that these fucking bastards shot Etiole over something posted on FaceBook about this Todd guy, posted by someone pretending to me, and yes I AM fucking pissed that someone pretending to me instigated this and got Etiole shot.

7. If YOU know who Todd and his mother are, please contact them both and give them fucking hell - tell them their jackass fanboys shot my friend and they can both burn in hell with their fucking fanboys; tell them to get this Todd's fucking fanboys out of my face and under control. If Etiole dies from these gun shot wounds, I'm going to hold Todd whoever the hell he is, his mother, and his fanboys responsible.

8. It means if they were actually reading stuff written by me, they would KNOW that I've never mentioned any Todd or any Todd's mother before.

9. It looks a lot like a stunt pulled by one of Mervin Bruce Atwater's crew. They've done things like this before. There was a time when they had over two dozen FaceBook profiles all of whom were impersonating me, back in 2010 and they caused a lot of trouble back than. FB banned them all for it, so those accounts are gone now, but I wouldn't put it past them to have made more. The Atwaters are fucking shit. They like to stir up trouble. They like to get people fighting than sit back and laugh while they watch the fight. 

These people showing up (most of them Atwaters and their friends) in both my Biddeford and my Old Orchard locations this week, are accusing me of one thing after an another and smashing things up while they are here.

They are accusing me of talking about J* and I've never mentioned J* ever!

They claimed they read it on my FaceBook. 

THIS is my FaceBook account here: https://www.facebook.com/EelKat

I've had that account since 2008 and you can scroll back through every post I've ever made, and you can SEE that I have never said anything about J* ever, not once, all the way back to 2008!

They are accusing me of talking about Todd and I've never even heard of Todd! I know no one online or offline named Todd.

Again, they claimed they read it on my FaceBook. 

THIS is my FaceBook account here: https://www.facebook.com/EelKat

I've had that account since 2008 and you can scroll back through every post I've ever made, and you can SEE that I have never said anything about anyone named Todd ever, not once, all the way back to 2008!

They are accusing me of talking about Todd's mother and I've never even heard of Todd, so how the hell could I even know who his mother is? I know no one online or offline named Todd, nor do I know anyone who has a son named Todd.

Again, they claimed they read it on my FaceBook. 

THIS is my FaceBook account here: https://www.facebook.com/EelKat

I've had that account since 2008 and you can scroll back through every post I've ever made, and you can SEE that I have never said anything about anyone named Todd ever, nor his mother, not once, all the way back to 2008!

Now today, November 29, 2021, I also have people in my yard, talking to my landscaper, bragging "I know what happened to the fucking Volvo!" and then telling him stuff completely wrong, because you were not there and you were not a witness, you are just the town gossip spread even MORE slander, rumours, and lies about me!

Today, one of them is talking about a car accident with my car. They said and I quote: "Well it turns out the car was rear-ended 3 years ago." No. The car was rear-ended September 26, 2016, 5 years ago. And it happened on a livestream, so anyone can look up my VOD archive and go watch it. It's not a secret. It was a red min-van, astro-van type a hit and run driver. Old man with a straw hat was driving. Police looked for him but never found him.

The big attack on my car - the one that damaged 90% of the body, removing the paint and marbles - was February 2019 (2 years ago), and it was done by a gang with New York plates, all of them armed with baseball bats and long metal pipes, one was a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi (the ferrai looking model), the others were white and drove a blue Buick and a silver 2 and a half door pickup truck. One woman was a very big fat woman (hugely obsess - around 300lbs+) with short permed sausage curled blond hair she didn't have a baseball bat - she was carrying a big foot long kitchen knife and a 3 foot long white pvc pipe, one was a redhead woman with dark dyed red stick straight bobbed hair, the other 2 were white men who had baseball caps pulled down low on their faces so you couldn't see anything but dark shadow. The men had baseball bats, they went into the 27 High Street Apartment building at the time owned by "Two Brothers and a Truck" (a local real estate company named "Two Brothers and a Truck"). They smashed out all the windows in the halls. smashed out the drywall then started pulling out wiring and pipes, they smashed off the rails of the stairs all 3 floors. They ripped the door off the 102 apartment and beat the shit out of the 2 women living there, smashed up the appliances (fridge, stove, etc) and threw them out into the hall. They pulled out sinks and flood apartment 101 below. They smashed their way back downstairs, trashes 3 of the cars in the parking lot - a white Cadillac escilade, a black pickup truck that used to be red with yellow flames, and my Volvo. Both the other to cars belonged to the Martel family at apartment 201, and the police said the owner of the black truck was the intended target. They said he owed money to a heroine drug dealer and skipped out on paying and the drug dealer sent the 5 thugs to trash the place, bu when they got there they didn't know which apartment to go after or which car, so they just trashed every apartment and every car. Police arrested them that same night. They did over $230k in damages to the building. City condemned the building, everyone had to leave, that's when we moved to Cutts Street and why my car didn't come with us - it went elsewhere to be rebuilt, which took until May 2021 to do. It arrived at Cutts st May 2021 where I preceded to repaint it. I lived on 103 at the time, and it happened during a Witcher 3 livestream on Twitch, so not only did all my viewers see it happen live, but I have the video footage and yet again the VOD is in my archive you can go watch it for yourself.

The following day the State Police Drug Team arrived with drug sniffing dogs and found a huge stash of cocaine and heroine in apartment 201 and arrested the Martels. A woman at 101 was beaten to death by 2 other men, not connected to the other events, and those 2 men were also arrested. The Martels are in-laws of the Atwaters, the man arrested was my uncle and was the brother of Paul Martels the one currently in prison for having built the Boston Marathon bomb. AGAIN, the event was caused by my uncles and they stupid gang thug life.

In total 8 people were arrested that day, 1 woman died, a child died a week later as a side effect of injuries that day, 3 others ended up in the hospital, 3 cars were totalled, $230,000 in damages was done to the building, and 27 people ended up homeless.

THAT was the attack that caused my car to need to be rebuild and repainted, not the rear-ending event.

And YES, EVERY ONE of these attacks, ALL OF THEM - more than 200 of them since 2013, I have them ALL on video, I have the video footage of all of them, and the FBI has the footage of them all as well, because I gave all the video footage to them when they showed up asking for it, so if you were ever in any of the video footage doing any of these attacks, the FBI does know, they HAVE seen you. 

Did I mention the camera runs 24/7? 

I can PROVE every single event I list off here, because I have the video footage of ALL of them.

Nothing about my life is hidden.

I have no secrets.

My life is an open book.

Every minute of my life is archived and available for you to watch online.

You can go watch those videos and SEE the attackers FOR YOURSELF.

Smile: you're on fucking candid camera, EVERYTHING YOU HAVE DONE WAS RECORDED!

If you didn't want to be on camera, you shouldn't have gotten near me.

And yes, you standing at my backdoor this morning at 10AM, bragging to the landscaper, about "turns out the car was rear-ended 3 years ago" - I have THAT on camera too!

And yes, I have the video footage of both the times my car was totalled.

The rear-end accident September 26, 2018 (3 years ago) AND the baseball attack that took off the marbles in February 2019 (2 years ago).

So, no, you got the events mixed up. The one 3 years ago was the attack on the Martel Family - who are in-laws of the Atwaters and are related to me that way.  I told you, I had to rebuild my car TWICE.

You are mixing up the facts of multiple events.

  *   The Dazzling Razzbury 1 - the original paint job was done in May 2012. That is the one that had all the Voodoo Veve painted on it. Large sections of the car were not painted, rather instead coloured duck tape, bumper stickers, and glitter gemstone stickers had been used to make skull and cross bone patterned around the car. There were also orange Moxie cans glued to the roof. The entire paint job had a layer of of purple glitter spray paint over it. This is the version that was seen at the Monster Truck rallies and was seen set up along side BigFoot at various events in Maine.

  *   In 2014 The Dazzling Razzbury 1, was seriously vandalized, while parked on Water Street in front of Homer's Bar, by a key or screwdriver, or something similar, which scratched off most of the paint job. Police assumed it was done by drunks leaving Homer's Bar.

  *   In 2014 I painted The Dazzling Razzbury 2. This 2nd paint job, is the one most people are familiar with. The novel BoomFuzzy was published earlier that year and sold 57million copies, earning $12,000. I used that money to buy 2.5million flat-backed marbles and swanski crystal beads, repainted the car with a red and yellow fire-bird on the hood, a blue pigeon on the trunk, green moray eels on the doors, all in glow-in-the-dark black-light paint (the car glowed in the dark at night, if left sitting under a street light for an hour), and then went over the design gluing beads and marbles of the same colours on top of the mural.

  *   In 2015 the car was vandalized several times by a local church group, a group of all women, who claimed to be from New Life Church in Biddeford. They accused the car of being "too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach" and slashed the tires and door on multiple occasions throughout the year. This is why the doors were repainted several times throughout that year and why it no longer has white-wall tires.

  *  In September 2018, the rear-end hit and run, happened on the Ross Road on the bridge crossing the Goosefare Brooke Ravine. The back bumper was damaged and the frame twisted and cracked. The body had to be lifted off the car and the frame restored, but the paint job was not changed as it was not damaged.

  *  In 2019, the car received more tan $30k in damages, during the drug gang attack on the 27 High Street apartment complex. The car sustained signification body and mechanical damage. In the space of under 15 minutes the 5 drug gangsters decimated all the glass marbles with baseball bats, reducing them to pulverized, powdered, shattered glass shards.  The damage was to the extent that I did not dare to drive the car, due to the jagged shards of broken glass from the shattered marbles. Should someone lay their hand on the hood or fender, they would have quickly found their hand a bloody mess. In short - it was not safe to have the car on the road. The car was taken to a garage for repairs, where the mechanical parts were restored, while the body underwent the year long sanding job that was required to file down and remove the shattered remains of the 2.5million broken marbles. The car was seen on the road a few times throughout 2019 and 2020 while it was being taken back and forth between repair locations. Finally in April of 2021, it was fully restored, sanded down to the bar metal, painted with black primer, and in May 2021, returned once again as my daily driver.

  *  In May 2021, The Dazzling Razzbury 3 - the third paint job - was started, and for some unknown reason, WHILE I was painting the picture of Etiole on the side, 2 men showed up in the driveway and had a total psychotic meltdown over aliens... which you all of course saw, as I was live streaming that day, as I am every day. A few hours later one of the men returned to find me painting the Eye of the Grigori (the blue wings of the archangels) and had a gibbering meltdown about blue penises staring at him from the door - again, you all saw him do it as we were live streaming. The following day while painting the two Eyes of God on the back bumper, a women showed up screaming "WIIIIITCH!" and threw herself on the sidewalk in some sort of a fake seizure, while shrieking that "the evil eye is strangling me, she's trying to kill me with her car!". Moments later a man ran over, told the woman to get up and stop being an idiot, than said "that's not an evil eye, that's a protection symbol Gypsies use to ward off demons and curses" He than dragged the woman down the street and into the house 2 buildings down from us. After that, EVERY DAY, the same woman showed up in the driveway - wither I was painting or not - to gibber that the eyes of my car were "boring a hole in my brain" and "it's sending me messages". And every day the man dragged her away apologizing and saying she was off her meds.

   *   June 2021 the massive heatwave hit and the paint job was put on hold due to I had no shade to park the car in, so it was too dangerous to sit out n the sun long enough to paint. I had to wait for the heat wave to end, before I could resume painting.

  *  September 2021, the heatwave finally broke, but my father had triple by pass surgery and was in the hospital for several weeks, so the paint job did not resume immediately. This was complicated by 4 deaths in the family, each a week apart, meaning we had 4 back to back funerals the same time, while my dad was in the hospital. One death, as you know, was one of my kidnapped children, returned, which sparked the FBI to return as well, because we had not seen Pippi in 6 years, and she had suddenly been returned, now 10 years old (she had been 4 years old when she was kidnapped on April 10, 2015). And right after a second one died, bringing he total of the dead up to 11 now.  12 children were kidnapped, and as of September 28, 2021 now 11 of them have been found dead.

  *  October 2021, with the sudden return and death of yet another child, the FBI asked me to change what I was painting on my car, to see if they could lure out/trick the kidnappers into making a mistake and revealing who they were. This is WHEN and WHY the FBI phone number appeared on the car.

  *  Throughout October and into November, LOTS of people began to show up both at my Biddeford apartment and my Old Orchard farm, and it became clear VERY quickly that someone in our apartment building was connected to the kidnappers.

  *  At this same time, the Atwaters went haywire, becoming more frantic and more violent with each passing week. The FBI started going door to door of the Atwaters and asking to talk to them, but got most of the doors slammed in their faces.

  *  On Thanksgiving week, all hell broke lose, and I still don't know what happened. But several people - one woman in our apartment building, and over a dozen Atwaters, all had total, brutal, violent meltdowns, some arriving with rifles. ALL of them began gibbering about someone named "Todd" and accusing my car of sending suicide demons to kill him. I think whoever Todd is, he might be dead, but I'm not sure. They seem to think I know who Todd is, and they are ALL saying that he became obsessed with the words on my car believing that he knew the kidnappers. There are a dozen plus people rambling on gibbers about this Todd fellow, and none of them give enough coherent or logical info to fully understand what they are talking about. It's all just weird bits and pieces of rambling nonsense mingled in with death threats. That same week a local homeless man got hit by a train, and that seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back as the following day, the shit hit the fan, with half of the Cutts Street district of Biddeford, dozens and dozens of people, showing up on Reddit and FaceBook to have total psych deranged meltdowns of troll posting insanity, alongside them also showing up at Rotary Park armed with guns, and 6 of them attacking and gunning down Etiole while calling him a suicide demon.

There are A LOT of people, all very local, all connected to the Atwaters, having some serious psycho-deranged shit feasts this week, and I'm not sure why. The ONLY thing they have in common is gibbering weird shit abut Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, Todd, alongside claiming the eyes on my car are watching them and telling them to all kill themselves.

Like the weird gang of church women from 2015 who claimed my car was gay and was making people near it turn gay, this group of clearly high as heck, drug addled people, are claiming that my car is making every one it drives by commit suicide.

Just as the Bible-crazed lunatics of 2015, accused my car of have gay demons in it, now these clearly high on drugs lunatics of 2021 are accusing my car of having suicide demons in it.

They claim that the eyes painted on my car are sending out brainwaves telling everyone it drives by to commit suicide.

It is more than obvious that the people saying my car is sending out brainwaves, are VERY HIGH on drugs. They are wild eyed, frantic, hyped up, and gibbering total madness.

No sane, sober person is going to believe a car sends out brainwaves of any sort.

No sane, sober person is going to believe a car is gay.

No sane, sober person is going to believe a car is demon possessed.

No sane, sober person is going to believe a car is telling them to commit suicide.

The people saying these things are neither sane, nor sober.

I don't know what kind of drugs cases people to believe or say the things these people are saying about my car, but I am terrified of the crazy freaked out shit these people are saying.

These people are fucking psychotic out of their minds high on some sort of drug that makes them thing cars compel them.

Growing up in Old Orchard Beach, I've never seen people on drugs before. I had always heard rumours how bad the drug problem was in Biddeford, but damn, I had no clue how psycho deranged drugs make people act.

The Atwaters, they are crazy. But these Biddeford freaks, these are drug addicts with some serious messed up drug induced shit going on in their heads.

But yeah, there you have it, the sequence of events to the 3 paint jobs of my car.

I'm still trying to finish painting my car, but it's pretty terrifying being surround by the psycho deranged drug addled freaks of Biddeford and having them trance around in my driveway gibbering about utter lunacy every time I try to paint my car.

The locals in the Cutts street area have some seriously fucked up drug addiction problems and I don't like the dope heads standing in my driveway gibbering demon shit while i paint my car. These people are fucked up BAD! 

But, back on topic, again, that 2019 attack was nothing to do with me, it was my fucking Atwater relatives again, getting messed up with drug dealers. That's ALWAYS what the problem is. The Atwaters and their drugs are a problem, because they are constantly butting heads with drug dealers and not paying them.

Did you ever notice how every time people start accusing me, Etiole, or my car of crazy shit, it always turns out that the accusers are messed up on drugs and caught up in messes with drug dealers?

What is it with these freaky ass drug people flocking to my car!

Why can't they leave me alone!

Why can't they take their drug someplace else?

That's why I keep asking the Atwaters to leave me alone and stay out of my life.

I'm sick of them, every time they get in trouble with some drug gang, they show up here and start asking me for money. But I don't have any money. My income has never yet had a year of reaching $5k (I make less than five thousand dollars a year - in case you forgot I'm a Literary Fantasy novelist, and that genre don't pay shit because it's no a popular genre). 

March 31, 2015, they showed up, the fucking Atwaters, asking for $30k - thirty thousand! They said Bruce had been arrested for trying to saw his wife's foot off, and when the police asked why he did it, he started gibbering about Heaven's Gate and god being and alien from Kolob like he always does, so they not only arrested him, they put him in that mental institute behind the Saco Good Shepherd Catholic Church. Judge set bail to $30k and his sons refused to pay it, so one of his sister's showed up demanded I give her $30k. They've got it stuck in their heads that I'm a millionaire because I'm an author, and they had all sort of conspiracies about me "holding out on them" as they put it, and they said they deserved the money more than me.

That happened 2 weeks before my family was murdered and that's why THEY - the fucking Atwaters - where the number one suspects by every police officer and FBI agent on the case, right from the very beginning.

These other people who run around saying I'm accusing them.... uhm... no... they are just whinny people trying to get their 15 minutes of fame... the Atwaters, my uncles and their drug crew have ALWAYS been the only ones who were suspects, those other people saying they are being accused are just saying that to try to get attention.

These people attacking right now this week, again it's the fucking Atwaters and their crew, and anyone telling you otherwise, hasn't got a clue what's going on.

The Atwaters are the founders of The Bacon Street Gang, if you live in Biddeford, you know them, the founders of the Maine Division of Heaven's Gate (in the Dayton and Buxton area mostly), the founders of a group called "The Loyalest White Knights, More Loyal Than the Loyal White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan" (mostly in Bangor and Palmyra). Severally of the older generation (the ones in their 70s to 90s) call themselves The Scottish Mafia (even though they are not Mafia, they just call themselves that). They are constantly getting in gang wars with other Gypsy and Traveller Clans, most notably a group from Connecticut known as The Cyr Clan" and more recently a group from Rhode Island that claims to be Irish Travellers. 

The very reason I avoid all contact with the Atwaters is quite simply they are all gangster thugs and are always involved in chop shopping cars, stealing metal, drug dealers, illegal gun running, prostitution, moon-shining, and drug dealing. They are constantly getting in gang wars with other chop shoppers, metal scrappers, gun runners, whore mongers, moonshiners, and drug dealers. Drive by shootings are a daily thing for them. Not a one of them has ever been to school, none of them have birth certificates or social security numbers, none of them have ever been vaccinated for anything, because they don't go to doctors. They live off grid, are predominately squatters driving in a huge caravan of 400+ cars/trucks/school buses/rvs/and vardos that set up massive tent villages behind any random farm they find. Only a few of the Atwaters are settled or have houses. They live fully off grid, no drivers licenses, no legal license plates, no inspections, no registrations, no bank accounts, no credit cards, nothing. They claim the government is run by Satan and the social security number is the mark of the beast. They are very extreme extremist FLDS Mormons (Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints). Stephen King choose them for The Thinner movie precisely because of how freakishly outlandishly bizarre they are. They rarely come down to Southern Maine, usually stay North of Bangor, so we don't often see the down here in The Greater Portland area.

However, they have been down here quite a lot since January 6, 2021. They were at the Capital attack, and they arrived in Biddeford Jan 7, in my driveway - the Cutts St one, chanting "God - King - Trump - God - King - Trump - God - King - Trump". THAT is when the FBI arrived again. Jan 15, and asked me to change all the articles on my website, to remove the one specific word and put a different word in it's place. And that's when the fake FedEX FBI surveillance truck showed up as well, they said they put them in a lot of locations and were watching a lot of people. They had a lot to say. My Aunt B*, the one we'd previously be warned to stay away from, she was in DC at the Jan 6 riot, and her ex-husband Paul is in prison right now for building the bomb that killed people at the Boston Marathon in 2013. The FBI arrived here in Biddeford, with lots of photos of bombs wanting to know if I could id who had made them, because, the Atwaters have a history of bombs, a big history of a lot of bombs. 

New evidence came forward about April 10, 2015, as a result of January 6, 2021. 

Evidence which says, someone really close to me, HIRED the man who drove the backhoe over my house in 2013. One of my relatives PAID him $600 to do it, gave him fake documents, claiming it was a demolition permit, and he was duped into think they owned the house and that the house was empty.

Evidence which put the murder weapon - a very unique one-of-a-kind weapon that is over 200 years old - the murder weapon of my children, in DC on Jan 6.

Evidence that now suggests, a relative was the murderer, and the murder was done to frame someone the Atwaters were fighting with back in 2015.

The FBI has been trying to get a Boston drug dealer, and the attacks in 2015 and 2016 were largely by his group, however after the 4-door white truck was foolish enough to not only get caught on camera, but the license plate was clearly on camera too, and the driver arrested that same day - the Boston drug dealer backed off and from his group there were no more attacks, and that included the Kendra woman.

After the death/disappearance of Uncle B* November 24, 2019. ALL attacks stopped completely. Everything. Everywhere. Online and Offline. And the FBI was at that point satisfied that my family had been murdered by my Uncle B*, which is what most of the evidence had suggested all a long.

Until September 19, 2020, when one of the biggest attacks ever happened, to my farm in Old Orchard Beach. My next door neighbour had hired a construction crew to do yard work. My neighbour gone for the month, was not there when the yard work was done. The construction workers stole the $10k my neighbour paid them, never did the yard work, and instead, drove yet another back hoe into my yard, to cut down several 500 year old pine trees, and drive over the vardo, which is now crushed flat, they took my neighbours boat and tossed that into my yard, they drove over my father's station wagon which parked in my driveway at the time, they pulled up my hedge of 15 foot tall cedar trees, and they dumped lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of heroine all over my yard. I had never seen heroine before, so I had no clue wat it was. All I knew was their were bags of stuff and lots of syringes everywhere. I called the police, and they arrived and spent the day picking up lots of drugs out of my yard.

My poor neighbour was out there crying and apologizing. Yeah, I knew they wouldn't do something like this. They are good people. So, my neighbour is stuck trying to get their $10k back, but the construction group they hired turns out to have been fake and showed up offering to do the job, apparently just so they could attack my yard, and the FBI and police are trying to figure out who the hell did this to my yard.

So, the FBI was back. Now confused. Because on one hand it looked like it was done by the Boston drug lord, but on the other hand it looked like it was done by my Uncle B* to frame the Boston drug lord, except my Uncle B* had supposedly been dead for over a year by that point. Seeing how B* had faked his death 4 times in the past, the FBI now wanted to find out, had he faked his death again? Was he still alive? Was this a copycat, trying to make it look like B* had done it and if so, who was the copycat?

This is when the FBI asked me to remove all pictures of my family from my website, and remove all the names of all the children, except for: Georgie, Emily, Bela, Cleo, and Pippi. 

The FBI suspected that, as the whole thing was kept out of the news and 6 years had now gone by, it was highly probable that MOST people in the area, even people whom had hugged my children in person, had buy now forgotten I ever had any children at all. The FBI explained, it's very common for people to forget the children and pets of their neighbours and relatives, if they do not see them frequently. The FBI explained a common problem with witnesses is that, after a few years, they forget, that their neighbour was even a victim of a violent crime, and forget that their neighbour used to have 10 children playing on the front lawn, they forget the things they don't see daily. And chances were high, that NO ONE on my street, even the people who had spoken to, played with, and hugged my children, would even remember that my children had existed at all. 

And because of this, the FBI wanted to find out WHO remembered what.

The killers, would remember what they had done to my children.

And given how they were killed, the killers would likely remember things like race (keeping in mind these for fosters, so not the same race as me), eye colour, and hair colour.

But would any one else? The FBI said it's unlikely. So remove all the pictures of them, from off the internet. Every website. Every social media. Take down every picture. Then in all the articles mentioning them, use find replace, to find THAT word and change it to to THAT word instead, and let's find out, who knows what, who remembers them, and why, because THAT will reveal who the killer is.

My mother, my father, my 3 younger brothers, and Ben, were the only ones told the word had been changed. They were told NOT to use that word again, no matter what, no matter who they talked to. They were told to use this other replacement word instead. To date only one of them has complied to this request. And of the ones not complying, only Ben has given a reason, his reason being: "I will not tell a lie." When asked "Not even to save the lives of future victims, keeping in mind, mine are just 10 of the more then seven thousand slaughtered in Old Orchard Beach in the past 7 years. Seven thousand is a very big number. And the killer is clearly a deranged psychologically deranged mad man who has no intention of stopping." Heads have been found throughout Saco and Old Orchard, and in May 2021, they started showing up in Biddeford, arranged in 3s, at several crossroads off Main Street. The number is more than 7,000 heads have been found since 2015, and according to the FBI, it started several years before the attack on mine and the total number is closer to 20,000. Twenty thousand heads, in the past 10 years, is very big number.

One has only to look at every telephone pole on every street of every town in southern Maine to see what I'm talking about.

How many of those flyers have YOU put up on telephone poles?

Chances are really high, that no matter who you are, if you live in southern Maine, you've put up at least one in the past 10 years.

The kidnapper/killer fancies them-self an artist. Making art out of torturing their victims to death, then returning the finished art piece back home a few weeks later.

The earliest known ones happened on the Pane Rd in Scarborough throughout 1999, and were dozens of beheaded black labs and black cats all found along side the headless bodies of teenage girls. The beheaded Oullette girls were the first known HUMAN victims.

Because of the FBI phone number on my trunk, new information has just been uncovered about the beheaded Ouellette girls of Pine Point in Scarborough and their long cold case, was just reopened a few weeks ago. And it's believed the killer of my family, is the same one who killed them.

My family is NOT the only case being investigated. The FBI is looking for a serial killer that has for nearly 30 years beheaded tens of thousands of cats, dogs, birds, goats, horses, all pets... and in 1999, started beheading human victims as well.

Collectively known as The Cascade Murders, because the BULK of the killings have happened on The Cascade Road, and the 2 roads that cross it Ross Rd and Portland Av, the beheading murders of 120+ Humans and 7,000+ cats and dogs, span 21 towns in 3 states, over a period of 40 years.

The FBI wants information, about ANY and EVERY beheading to occur in Maine in the last 30 years, be they animal or human, because they think its the same person doing ALL of the beheadings.

With how long it's been happening they think the killer is in their late 60s to early 70s at least.

So you people who showed up TODAY and said I should give up, it happened a long time ago... the most recent beheaded happened September 28, 2021, a little over a month ago, on that dirt road beside the tressal train tracks.

We're are not looking for justice for the past, we are looking to put a stop to the killings THAT ARE STILL HAPPENING RIGHT NOW... and chances are really high, that that homeless man who was hit by the train 7 days ago, was the latest human victim, of that very same killer.

Look at the flyers on the telephone poles on Main street, just put up this morning. What do they say? Go read them for yourself. More go up every day. Dozens of families every month. Look how many families are suffering. Look at how many families are begging for help. Several hundred families, just in Biddeford, right now. That's not justice for the past, that trying to put an end to this epidemic of terrorism that has plagued our area for close to 40 years now.

FBI has spent a lot of focus on one... location... a weird place, surrounded by barbed wire... dead cats and dead chickens, hundreds of them hand like decorations from the trees and the fences and the gates. Black cats and black chickens lay on the ground, laid out to form big star shapes. The Heaven's Gate Compound. Well, they certainly like to dissect and mutilate cats and chickens and German Shepherds, that for sure. I only been there once, and I'll never go back. My uncles are insane, as can be seen by the hundreds and hundreds of tortured to death black cats hanging from the compound fence.

But here's the thing about that... It's THAT uncle - a man now in his 90s - the one with that compound, up in Bangor, it's HIS children and grandchildren, who keep showing up here in Biddeford, to scream and yell. It's them showing up on FB and Reddit and Twitch to post all the crazy shit you see posted on my accounts there. They are the ones who keep posting pictures of themselves holding assault rifles and the words "this is the gun I'm going to shoot you with" on my FB wall. They are the ones who are the MOST pissed off over what is painted on my truck.

My question is this: Bangor is a 5 hour drive, and before November 19, there were pictures of the new paint job of my car online. So, how did they know what was painted on my car? I started painting it May 2021, and I've only taken it to the WalMart in Biddeford, Rotary Park in Biddeford, Temple Ave Beach access point in Ocean Park district of Old Orchard Beach, Biddeford PetSmart, and my farm in Old Orchard Beach. All of those places are less than 15 minutes away from my Biddeford apartment driveway. The car hasn't been anywhere else, as I'm still recovering from the gold club attack that broke my spine and left me in a wheelchair. I'm still relearning to walk, and I'm 12+ hours a day laying down in bed because I can't sit up for long yet, meaning I can't drive more than a few minutes to a time yet, because of severe back pain. So, I ask again: How did you know I painted my car? And why did you drive 5 hours to yell at me about it?

And, for that matter - why are you yelling at me about it?

All it says is to call the FBI if you have information about the murder of my family. Why is THAT making YOU so upset?

Should you not WANT the murderer of your nieces and nephews found?

Why are you so upset that the FBI is asking the public to help locate the killer?

You should be happy that the FBI s trying to put the murderers of YOUR family members in prison.

Why are you so angry that the FBI wants to find out who killed members of YOUR family?

The innocent have nothing to fear from the FBI.

I must question, WHY it is, YOU are in such a huge panic over the FBI call request on my car. 

ONLY the guilty party has any reason to be made upset by that. 

ONLY the murderer themselves would have reason to panic in terror at my asking witnesses to come forward about the murder of my family.

You are making yourself look VERY GUILTY with your words and actions.

WHY are you so very AFRAID of the FBI request on my car?

The innocent have nothing to be afraid of.

If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.

What are you hiding that has made you so afraid?

I ask this same thing of porch bitch as well. The woman, who every day, when my neighbours are gone to work, stands on their porch and shouts obscenities at my car.

Why are you standing on my neighbours porch yelling at my car every day?

What is it about what it says on my car, that has made YOU so upset?

WHY are you so very AFRAID of the FBI request on my car?

The innocent have nothing to be afraid of.

If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.

So why stand on the porch on the front of my building and yell at my car every day. Also... you do know I have you on camera yelling at my car right? Should I show the video footage to the old couple who live there, what it is you do on their porch every day while they are gone to work?

YOU are the most angry of all. Your wild vehement hatred for my car is unfathomable.

Why are you so full of hate?

Why is it you are so angry at the request for help in finding the killer who killed my family?

What do you know?

Who are you so desperate to protect?

No one who is innocent of the murder of my children, would have any reason to stand on the porch of my building and yell at my car. Are YOU the killer? Do you HELP saw off my children's heads? You certainly make it look like you are, when you stand on the porch yelling at my car. You are making yourself look VERY GUILTY by standing on the porch yelling at my car.

The ONLY people who have ANY REASON to be upset about my car, are the killers and anyone trying to protect the killers.

If you are upset about my car... ask yourself: WHY?

Why are you scared of the FBI?

The FBI are nothing more then federal police officers.

They are police officers who are called in, when a situation crosses state lines, meaning rather than calling in 2 or more separate state police departments, 1 federal police department is called in, instead. The murders have happened in multiple states. And in Maine, there have been murders in 21 towns... beheadings, by this same killer, have happened in TWENTY-ONE towns in Maine, in addition to other murders in others states as well.

It's NOT JUST my family, my 10 children, whom the FBI is seeking information about.

The FBI is seeking information about EVERY and ANY beheading - human AND pets - to have happened ANYWHERE in New England.

So, do know that if you are upset and screaming at my car, you ARE making yourself look like you are involved in the serial murders of 120+ people and 7,000+ cats and dogs, in 4 dozen towns, in 3 states, over the past 30 years, and by looking guilty, YOU AND YOUR FAMILY - siblings, parents, cousins, friends, lovers, coworkers, they're ARE already being investigated now, to find out WHY you are are very upset over my car. You did a hell of a lot of screaming in front of the FedEx truck that was parked 3 feet from the porch you was standing on. Do you have any idea how many life sentences the killer is look at getting once they get caught... did I mention the beheadings include 120+ Humans? That's 120 life sentences. Are you CERTAIN you want to be standing on the porch, in front of that FedEx truck, yelling you hatred for my car? It's too late now, every one connected to you is already being investigated now, because, well, you did make yourself a suspect when you stood on that porch and flapped your mouth off.

I've 4 book releases due in 2023, and the car is being repainted with characters from the novels on it, for the upcoming book release, the FBI phone call request has been on my car since 2015 - but it used to be on a sheet of paper taped to the back side windows, but while painting my car, I took the paper off the windows and repainted what it said onto the hood and trunk of my car. The words have not changed. They are the same words that have been there on my car for 7 years. The anniversary number changes each year, but otherwise it's exactly the same as it has been since 2015. The only differance is the flyer on the window was just a sheet of paper and you had to get close to my car to read it, while the words on the trunk are nearly a foot tall and can be seen for many meters away. 

I repaint my car every few years. I've done it ever since I had this car. The paint fades over time, it has to be repainted every 4 or 5 years. And EVERY time, the first thing I do is paint words all over the car, usually verses from the Bible and Book of Mormon (I'm a 5th generation Mormon), so that the whole car is covered with something. It takes about 2 years to paint the pictures as I am using a #6 round brush and a micro-fan brush - both are tiny brushes used for painting tabletop gaming minis. I paint the entire car with just those 2 brushes, that's why it takes so long to do the full mural that eventually covers every inch of the car. The words will eventually be covered by the mural. They always are. The words are there so that there are no large sections of the car left unpainted while the final mural is being painted.

Just take your head out of you ass and LOOK at the pictures being painted on my car. You can SEE they are the book covers.

HERE, compare the side of my car to the book covers:

SEE?

Can you see now why you people are making such big idiots out of yourselves?

I print paperback copies of my books up at local print shops, and then set up booths at libraries, bookstores, festivals, fairs, conventions, and other events all over New England. My car is parked at the front of the events, to let my readers know where the event is. 

I've sold books this way since 1978.

And I've ALWAYS painted my cars with book cover murals based off whatever the latest release novel is that I'm selling at the event.

You people are making absolute asses out of yourselves, running around saying the paintings on my car are curses to send suicide demons after people. And you're total idiots if you believe even half to ludicrous slander you spread about me.

This time is the first time the words were something OTHER than verses from the Bible and Book of Mormon. This time the words were the the the FBI plea that has been taped to the window these past 7 years. 

The plea to call the FBI, in NOT new, it's been on my car since May 2015. You just can see it better now because it's now painted on the trunk instead of taped to the window.

I was going to paint over the large FBI plea, the mural covering the trunk, and put the flyers back up in the window, but considering what has just happened, I think I may leave the trunk as is and NOT paint a mural over it now.  

There you go, THAT is why the FBI message was put on my car.

It has nothing to do with fucking suicide demons and I'm sick of you jackasses spreading you wild ass rumours about me.

You're nothing but a bunch of trouble making busy bodies who can't mind your own fucking business.

You accuse me of being gay, yet I am not.

You call me a witch and yet I am a Mormon.

Your actions and your words say more about YOU than they do me.

Are you that desperate to harass me, that you are now grasping at every straw you can find? Perhaps you should look in the mirror. Your own hatred and bigotry is the problem.

You only try to blame me for these things, because you can't take responsibility for your own cruel actions. Attacking me daily, weekly, monthly years after year, because you don't like how I dress, because you don't like my car, because you don't my none-white family... does nothing but further prove you are a small minded hate filled person.

You try to dehumanize me, by calling me a witch.

You try to dehumanize me, by calling me gay.

Why?

Does it make feel like a big man to harass a crippled elderly women who never did anything to you?

You use the words witch and gay as tools of hate.

Because you are paranoid, you believe in witches and curses and demons, and try to put them in places, where they are not.

Because you hate gay men, you see gay things, where there are none.

You are an evil person. THAT is why you attack my family. 

I am not the problem. My family, we stay up here and mind our own business. It is YOU who trespass on farm, you who stalk us, you who hurt us, not because of anything we did, but simply because you have a severe mental disorder that causes you to see elderly women as witches, causes you to see gay as evil, causes you to vandalize my cars and my farm, causes you to murder children and nail their heads to door.

Why are you so obsessed with me and my family? I think that is the thing I understand the least. Why can't you just mind your own business and leave us alone? We are not bothering you, why are you bothering us?

By their fruits, ye shall know them. Your evil acts are evil fruit, that prove you are evil.

Even if I were gay or a witch, what would it matter? Witches are not evil, nor are gay men.

Evil people do evil things.

The things you do to my family are evil. 

Hate is evil.

Bigotry is evil.

Bullies are evil.

Murder is evil.

And you've done all the above, therefore YOU are evil.

You ONLY think I'm a witch, because you watched Thinner.

You DO know The Thinner is a fictional movie, right?

Why are you here? Why are you bothering us, again?

I must question, WHY it is, YOU are in such a huge panic over the FBI call request on my car. 

ONLY the guilty party has any reason to be made upset by that. 

ONLY the murderer themselves would have reason to panic in terror at my asking witnesses to come forward about the murder of my family.

You are making yourself look VERY GUILTY with your words and actions.

WHY are you so very AFRAID of the FBI request on my car?

The innocent have nothing to be afraid of.

If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.

What are you hiding that has made you so afraid?

I'm not bothering a single damned one of you, so why the fuck are you bothering me?

Why can't you stupid ass people leave me alone?

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be in my yard.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be chasing down Etiole.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be having psychotic meltdowns over my car!

What is wrong with you people?

Fucking brain dead herd mentality that's all this is.

There also seems to be a need to ask you people to pull your superstition crazed heads out of your asses, and find out what the fuck Voodoo is to. It happens to be a CHRISTIAN RELIGION, also known as Folk Catholicism. It's a branch of the Catholic Church. It has absolutely nothing to do with Wicca, Witchcraft, curses, death spells, demons, or sticking pins in dolls. That's all phoney baloney mumbo jumbo from stupid ass Hollywood horror movies that think slandering a religion is all fun and games. Voodoo is a branch of the Catholic Church that DOES NOT worship Mary, and instead deals with the Archangels, also known as The Loa. And you'd know that if you had enough intelligence to stop being a retarded conspiracy crazed idiot and do some actual real research into the REAL WORLD Voodoo religion, instead of watching stupid ass fictional horror movies and believing horror movie bull shit as actual fact.

One of you ran around screaming like a lunatic and rest of you all decided to join in.

Etiole is NOT an alien.

Etiole is not a demon.

I am not a witch.

None of my cars are haunted.

I've been saying it for years. Why won't you listen to me?

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

Hey, I know where there is a brain available right now, on Cutts Street.

You know what, that homeless man's brain, two fingers, and a foot, are still laying out there on the railroad tracks, now 3 weeks after he got hit by a train, you know because "he's just a homeless man" and nobody gives a fuck about cleaning him up off the fucking tracks! Maybe you should go out there and get his brain. You could certainly use one, seeing how you don't have one of your own already!

I'm sick of you calling Etiole a demon.

I'm sick of you calling Etiole an alien.

I'm sick of you calling me a witch.

I'm sick of you saying one car after another is haunted.

This whole thing boils down to your fucking white privilege. You know that right?

Your white ass can't stand the fact that we non-white Gypsies live here, so you have to make up stupid ass supernatural spooky shit about us.

You don't like that I wear the traditional dress of my people instead of dressing like an American, so you feel justified in calling me a witch and making up spook occult lies about me.

I wear hijab and veils and caftan and silk and it bother's you that I'm not scum diving in trashy t shirts and jeans like the rest of you.

I paint my cars, same as we painted our wagons and vardos for centuries, and it bothers you because it looks different.

Etiole is a Jew, and your anti-Semite white privilege kicks in to hate him for being born Jewish.

Etiole has scars, so you're scared of him

I'm different.

Etiole's different.

My cars are different.

And when you get right down to it, that's ALL any of this is about.

Me, Etiole, and my cars don't fit in with your fucking ass white privileged ideas of "normal" and that makes you uncomfortable and you try to make the uncomfortable go away by dehumanizing us with your stupid ass rumours.

There are no witches.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are just a bunch of whinny ass white privileged brats running around making trouble for anyone who's not white enough for them.

Grow the fuck up!


FBI Agent Andy Drewer out of the Portland, Maine FBI office is in charge of this case. If you have information about the April 10, 2015 murder of my family or any of the attacks on our home and relatives - give it to him not me.

He can be reached @ +1-(207)-774-9322 

Or you can go to his office and talk to him in person: 1 Middle Street, Portland, Maine - 4th floor FBI. The building across the street from the Portland Police Department, behind the courthouse. The entire 4th floor is the FBI office, you can't miss it.


 Okay, so the weird Todd crew was back, but this time they are saying "Todd Murphey". Nope. Don't know any Todd Murphey. I told you, I don't know anyone named Todd. But I do know the Murpheys. They are my abutting neighbours. They own Etiole's Swamp. Have you got the name wrong? And the day and year of death wrong? Timmy Murphey is my cousin who was beheaded by the Ku Klux Klan in June 2013. They left his body at the crossroad of Ross Road and Cascade Road, then 2 weeks later left his head at the crossroad of Portland Ave and Ross Road. Me and Timmy Murphey were the same age and we grew up together, our parents being abutting neighbours and all.

... Also, the Murphy's from Pine Point - you don't mean my cousin Murphy who was beheaded June 2013 on the Cascade Road? 

The big white cross on the Ross Rd Cascade Rd intersection - that's his cross.

The Murphy's of Pine Point have been through hell since their oldest son was beheaded in 2013, 2 years before my family was beheaded.

The newspaper reports were dramatically different in both cases, from what actually happened - as have been EVERY murder in the Cascade Murders - with the Murphey beheading the newspaper said it was a motorcycle hit by a truck and the family was told by the FBI to not let anyone know he was beheaded on the Cascade Road.

I know this because I was one of the people in the group that found his body, laid out with no head at the crossroad of the Ross Road and Cascade Road where his mother put up the big white cross that still stands there today. His head was returned 2 weeks later on the cross road of Portland Ave and Ross Road. 

They live right next door to me. My farm in Old Orchard is right on the Pine Point border. The Murphey land abuts mine.

The FBI and lawyers of the murder trial of my family desperately wanted the Murphey's to testify in court because their family members had been beheaded 2 years before mine were - both on the same street. They were witnesses to the April 10, 2015 murder of my family and they refused to testify in court. They are scared out of their minds, after first their family and then m family 2 years later were all beheaded on the same street.

Their family were beheaded in one of the Cascade Murders 2 years before my family was beheaded. The Murphy's were there April 10, 2015, their driveway abuts mine - they stood in their yard and watched the whole thing happen - they were witnesses to April 10, 2015. 

No, you got the name and date of death way off. His name is Timmy Murphey and he died June 2013.

9 years ago.

Timmy Murphy is one The White Monkey Children.

There were were 34 of us originally, all the same age plus or minus a year or two. Helen Pearly of Pine Point, used to have a pet White Monkey, and got lose one day. Ran out into the woods, and she asked the children in the neighbourhood to look for it. Me and 33 cousins, on September 23, 1978, we went out into the swamp that was owned by Timmy Murphy's dad, looking for Helen Pearly's White Monkey and what we found was Etiole instead. He was starving to death. We're the children who took care of him and nursed him back to health.

When we took the adults out to see Etiole, the parents never made it all the way to where Etiole was. They found a field of plants, called the police, 8 Old Orchard Beach police officers showed up, then a few dozen state police showed up, after a few hours the FBI showed up. They set up lots of spot lights in the forest and spent days out there digging up what they called 26 acres of drugs. They called in Maine's largest drug raid, said there was $30million in drugs in that field, in 1978, when a million dollars was actually a lot of money. That's why the parents never met Etiole, the drug raid happened the same day.

The FBI questioned all 34 children, asking specifically if we knew anyone named Cyr and showing us a photo of a man, 31 of them, the 31 who would all end up dead and sawed up over the next 3 years, all identified the man as "Bryan" and described him with "a robin egg blue truck" or "a sky blue datsun". The FBI explained that the man in the photo had been planting massive drug fields like this all over the state and that he was working for very dangerous people, to run if we ever saw him, and to take a good look at the plants in this field and memorize what they looked like so that if we ever saw plants like this again, we should call the police immediately. 911 did not exist back than, so a police officer named Adam and one named The Babe, each gave all us children their phone numbers. The oldest of us children were 8 while the youngest was 3. We did not understand most of what the police told us, and our primary concern was getting help too the injured elderly man we had found in the swamps. While the rest of the close to 100 police and FBI agents set out to digging up, bagging and tagging the vast acres of plants, Adam and The Babe went with us children to find the injured man. Etiole was gone, but near where we had found him, was a Human skeleton, bug up out of the mud in the swamp. The police dug the rest of it up and took it with them.

The drug field covered many acres and was on land owned by The Aherns, The Davis, and The Murphys, so all of those adults, had to be interviewed by the police and FBI as well. They too were all informed of the dangers of The Cyr Clan, told this was a dangerous drug gang from Connecticut that had been setting up drug fields like this in at least 6 different states.

The Murphys, they own Etiole's Swamp. That's how close of abutting neighbours they are to me. A lot of people mistakenly think I own Etiole's Swamp, no, the swamp borders my land, but the swamp belongs to the Murphy's. And they know Etiole. They've seen him. All the Murphy children and grandchildren have. They've been leaving food and blankets out there for him for decades.

And then one by one, The White Monkey Children disappeared. But ONLY the ones whom had identified the man in the photo as "Bryan with the blue truck". The 3 of us whom did not disappear, had never seen this "Bryan" person and the fact that it was known WHICH children had IDed him, caused the FBI to suspect one of the police officers at the crime scene, had passed that information on to the drug growers whom had planted the field.

People became terrified of the swamp.

There's quicksand out there, that had always scared people, now there were drug dealers out there, and on top of that, the children were describing a disfigured homeless man whom they were sneaking food out there to as well. Huge chain-link fences multiple miles long, went up around the swamps, as terrified parents, began asking the children to draw pictures of Etiole, and the pictures we drew, caused parents to call him either a demon or an alien grey. The fact that all of us children described him as being shorter than we were (he's 4'8" tall, nearly a midget - only shoulder height to an 8 year old child) didn't help.

All parents - except for mine and the Murphy's - stopped letting their children bring food to Etiole. For the next 50 years, my family and the Murphy family would be the only ones to ever see Etiole, touch Etiole, feed Etiole, and take care of him.

Than in 1982, the 10 year old Dutrumble girl died during the battle of 4 - 5 - 8.

458 was a yellow car, owned by her parents.

By 1982, thirty one of the 34 White Monkey Children had vanished without a trace.

And the week the Dutrumble girl died, 4 - 5 - 8 - the yellow car - it vanished too.

The Battle of 4 - 5 - 8 was the day The Cyr Clan arrived in a mass hoard in Old Orchard Beach, and the day we met it's leaders - the Bonny and Clyde style brother and sister duo Bryan and Anne. They stormed 142 Portland Ave, attacking the big yellow dome house, surrounding it, and then more then 70 adults all armed with belt driven wind up crank machine guns that shot thousands of bullets a minute, let out a mass fire on my farm at 146 Portland. Police arrived and set up on both sides with the police officers shooting at each other, as a clear divide between dirty cops and police actually doing their job was revealed.

Anne stoof on top of 4 - 5 - 8 screaming: "Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!" in between each round of bullets she unleashed on the Atwater and Murphy children.

"Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!" that was the single to scatter and run, because it meant the gun was reloaded and about to rain down on us again.

"Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!"

One of the Murphy boys standing a foot away from me got his head blown off. He was 8 years old.

And then a terrified little blond girl, ran for the swamps, trying to make to Etiole, jumped on top of the 1964 Dodge 330, then turned and ran for the nearest bike, jumped on and sped down the driveway, trying to avoid gun fire, drove head on into and on coming car as her head was flattened under the tires. And Anne went nuts. It was her daughter.

"Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!" became "fourfiveeightfourfiveeightfourfiveeightfourfiveeight" super super fast.

She jumped into 4 - 5 - 8, drove to Macs garage, filled 3 cans of gas, drove back and started pouring gas all over the dome house. When Anne lit the match, Bryan started running, no one knew why, but he ran like Satan was on his heels, screaming: "Get down! Get down! Run! Run!" He jumped in the robin egg blue Datsun and was moving well over 100MPH when he hit Portland Ave.

As a tower of flamed climbed up the dome house, everyone stopped shooting and started asking what was wrong with Bryan, what the hell was he scared of. My dad, a fireman at the time, ran to the dome house and unchained Max and Ebony, the 2 big Newfoundland dogs chained to the front door, and just as he was running with the dogs across 144 lawn, we found out why Bryan ran... the giant mushroom cloud that was seen in Hew Hampshire, Vermont, and Massachusetts went up over the town. Police said after that there had been a meth lab in the back room of the dome house.

The Battle of 4 - 5 - 8 was the largest and bloodiest of Old Orchard Beach's shoot outs.

"Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!" Anne's voice rings through my nightmares to this day. I have severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a raging phobia of guns, a crippling agoraphobia because of 4 - 5 - 8.

Not before or sence have I ever seen anything more terrifying than The Cyr Clan.

"Four! Five! Eight! Hahahahahaha!" I have night terrors and insomnia for 5 decades because of these words.

Until June 2013, it was just 3 left: me, my cousin Mike, and our cousin Timmy Murphy.

But June 2013 our cousin Murphy was beheaded, and became one of the victims of The Cascade Murders.

The backhoe arrived and drove over my house August 8, 2013. FBI said the driver was one of Bryan's inlaws, and warned that Bryan was out of prison and was targeting the remaining White Monkey Children.

Two more Murphys died brutal freak deaths before the end of the year. The FBI warned of 3 churches, owned by Bryan, who'd become a minister while in prison. The FBI said he was using the church congregations to incite mobs against all the survivors of the Battle of 4 - 5 - 8.

April 10, 2015, ten of my children were kidnapped.

May 15, 2015, their heads were returned, nailed to my door.

June 19, 2016... a horrible discovery was made on a dog walking livestream, through The Reclaim BlueBerry Plains, on the Ross Road... that morning a freak tornado hit Old Orchard Beach. We'd never seen one before. After the storm stopped, me and my dog Marcy walking up into the Reclaim Blueberry Plains to film the damage... and the whole town of Old Orchard Beach, knows what we found.

The tornado had ripped open the side of the GooseFare Brooke Ravine, and out tumbled 4 - 5 - 8 all rusted, the old yellow car, not much left, with the sawed up bones of the 31 missing White Monkey children, my cousins, tumbling out of the trunk... buried there on the Ross Road for over 40 years.

Hysteria about Etiole started up with the locals again. They blamed him for the dead children, while the FBI arrived pointing fingers at a heroine drug group they called The Cyr Clan. And I moved Etiole. He fled the swamp on Murphy's land. 

Are you people saying that this homeless man who showed up in August, who you call Todd Murphy ... and is related to Timmy?... because if THAT is what you are saying, then you've just opened up one hell of a BIG can of worms... I didn't know he was one of the Murphys. But that explains why Etiole let him close. Etiole's not scared of the Murphys. He knows them. He lived on their land close to 50 years. They saw him daily. They took food out to him every night. They are one of the White Monkey families who was taken care of Etiole since the 1970s. 

There are so many questions now... because this means yet another one of The White Monkey Children, has died yet another, very violent death, that has once again been kept out of the newspaper, just like the rest.

I don't even know what to begin to think.

I had no idea the homeless man whom had been visiting Etiole all summer was one of the Murphys. This changes things A LOT. And the fact that he was pumped full of heroine AND died one of the most violent deaths ever in our family, I seriously doubt his train death was a suicide. If what you are saying, is that that dead homeless man on the train tracks is related to Timmy, than,  he was most definitely murdered by the Cyr Clan and that was no suicide.

If you REALLY believe this Todd guy you people keep talking about is connected to my cousin Timmy Murphey, then you NEED to call FBI Agent Andy Drewer and TELL HIM that... don't tell me, tell him. There is nothing I can do with the information you tell me. I don't know your Todd. I can't pass third hand information to the FBI. If you think your Todd is connected to my Timmy, than you NEED to tell that to the FBI agents in charge of the case.

I am deeply upset by all of this.

FBI Agent Andy Drewer out of the Portland, Maine FBI office is in charge of this case. If you have information about the April 10, 2015 murder of my family or any of the attacks on our home and relatives, and yes, the Murphys are my relatives - they are not in-laws- they are my 1st cousins - give it to him not me.

He can be reached @ +1-(207)-774-9322 

Or you can go to his office and talk to him in person: 1 Middle Street, Portland, Maine - 4th floor FBI. The building across the street from the Portland Police Department, behind the courthouse. The entire 4th floor is the FBI office, you can't miss it.

Thanksgiving Day Update:
November 25, 2021
Hey look... ANOTHER FUCKING BOMB!
I've now survived 6 bombs!

Thanksgiving Day Update:

November 25, 2021

Hey look... ANOTHER FUCKING BOMB!

I've now survived 6 bombs!

 Answering your FB questions all at once...

No. I do not have an update on Etiole. He was shot by some jackass local lunatics 3 men and 3 women, none of whom I've ever seen before. Though somebody who saw them, said they thought the 6 shooters were from Pine Point in Scarbughouh and are connected to the Cyr Clan, so yeah, high probability they ARE the same people who beheaded my 10 children April 10, 2015. FBI is looking into it.

From what locals are saying, the jackasses who shot him are FB friends of my mother's who decided to take it out on me, after having a fight with her on FB, because somehow they thought shooting my friend would teach my mother some kind of lesson. 

No, I still don't know who this fucking Todd person is, I already told you I don't know anybody by that name, not online or offline. I don't know what they are talking about. I don't know what my mother is talking about either.

Yes, I did see her out their having a screaming meltdown.

No, I don't know what's going on, I've NOT seen or heard from her in years, she just showed up screaming "Todd this" and "Todd that", just like the 6 shooters were doing. They were screaming "Todd this" and "Todd that" too. I have no clue what any of them are talking about.

No, I don't know who the jackasses parading around Rotary Park with rifles are either. 

No. I don't know what's going on. It started a few weeks ago when someone beat the shit out of my mother's car with a 2by4, and now there is some kind of gang war going on between the Irish Travellers and the Scottish Travellers. They been going back and forth attacking each other's cars and houses all over Old Orchard Beach, Biddeford, and Saco for about 8 weeks now. Apparently, near as I can tell, whoever this "Todd" is, he was part one of those groups and other group killed him and now they are no longer smashing up cars with 2x4s, now they are running around with guns shooting each other because someone died in the middle of their stupid ass petty feuding.

The Irish Travellers rolled in from Tennessee and South Carolina about 8 weeks ago. They been setting up squatting camps on farms all over Dayton and Buxton area then driving around Biddeford every night, lead by a dark green pick-up truck.

They've been stripping metal off everything in the Main St/Elm St/Cutt St area - I see them out there every night when I walk my dog. They are out around 3AM. A few weeks ago they stole a few hundred railroad spikes of the the train tracks, there at the Amtrak Crossing, the one with the gate. They've been taking grills, bicycles, lawn chairs, even doorknobs right off of front doors of houses. Anything made of metal. They drive down Main street every night around 3AM doing it. Big green pick up in the lead, lots of other pickups parading along behind. They chop shopped two cars parked near the McAruth Library one night.

They tried to squat at the event hall on Bradbury Street the first day they arrived in Biddeford. You all saw it. That big Trump School Bus with all the trump flags and the Gatland gun mounted in the roof. They built an army tank out of a school bus. And they didn't bring that thing up here because they plan to do some blacktopping. They are getting ready to take out something or someone. They had it set up in that chain link fence area on the corner of Bradbury and Cutt street, but police chased them out and that's why that yard has been roped off with the yellow crime scene tape ever since.

FBI has been watching the houses of several clansmen on both side for the past few weeks - look out your front windows. You'll see them. There's 3 on all sides of Cutt Street right now this minute, They've got my apartment surrounded, since Etiole being shot they are watching everyone who gets near my apartment... they are thinking a bigger attack, possibly a car or house bomb is in the works.

Yes. My car WAS tampered with. Someone attempted to put a bomb in the exhaust pipe yesterday. That's what you saw happen at WalMart when I started my car last night and went boom... the bomb failed thank goodness. Hey, look at that, I'm still alive. Thank you for driving by last night and not helping, than letting me know on social media you saw it happen.

Why did someone try to kill me at WalMart last night?

I don't know. But it was probably the same person who shot Etiole 2 days ago.So, yes, as usually, it appears that this is YET AGAIN a case of my mother having a fight with her friends and her friends attacking me, for no reason other than they were pissed off at HER.

Which would explain why they are people I don't know. I don't hang around with the same crowds she does. 

They act like they think I know what they are talking about, but I've no clue!

They are saying: "You can't say this or that about Todd!" And I'm just here completely clueless wondering who in the hell Todd is and what exactly it was that I was supposed to have said about him? 

Nothing these people are saying is making any sense. It leaves me wondering if someone online has a social media account, that either is impersonating me or somehow these people THINK is me.

THIS is my FaceBook account here. https://www.facebook.com/EelKat

THIS is my Twitter. https://twitter.com/EelKat

And that's it.

I don't have any others. So whatever you people are reading on other accounts, was NOT posted by me and is someone impersonating me.

Near as I can tell, this Todd person died a few days ago, and they are all on a hootenanny warpath over it ready to kill everything that moves, and are grasping at every straw they can find to blame everyone they see for his death. And for some reason, because there is a painting of Etiole on my car, one of them got it into their heads that Etiole is watching them through the painted eyes on my car, and sending suicide brain-wave signals to them and causing high rates of their clansmen to commit suicide... or at least THAT is what they said at Rotary Park.

My thought is this: you're all fucking crazy! My car is not sending suicide brainwaves out.

What the hell?

Last year you were claiming my car is gay and sending out gay brainwaves to turn the locals gay, now this year you are saying my car is possessed by a suicide demon and telling you to kill yourselves? What the fuck? Do you people ever step back and listen to yourselves?

You people need psychiatric help. Your conspiracies about me, my car, and Etiole are getting crazier with every year.

Do you people really have nothing better to do when obsess over me, my car, and Etiole?

What started this? I have no clue.

Near as I can tell, my mother is having a social media battle with someone on FaceBook and is doing what my mother ALWAYS does and dragging my name into things I'm not part of, slandering my name like she ALWAYS does.

I have my mother BLOCKED on FB and Twitter and everywhere else, because ... well... LOOK at what she is fucking doing right now this week?!? Yeah!

Why do you think I blocked her!

She's fighting with fucking drug dealing criminal Pine Point gangsters online, then apparently, from what others are saying she started bragging that I was a witch and Etiole was a demon, and they were so retarded they fucking believed her, so they shot Etiole 2 days ago and put a bomb in my car last night.

I KNEW when people showed up screaming Etiole was a demon and I was a witch, that my mother had to be involved somehow. She always is. She is ALWAYS the one who gets these fights started and she is ALWAYS the one who started the stupid ass witch and demon rumors. I am a 5th generation Mormon, not a witch, and Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because he was tortured in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2.

And you fucking morons who believe he's a demon and think I'm a witch can all burn in hell!

She's fighting with fucking drug dealing criminal Pine Point gangsters online, then apparently, from what others are saying she started bragging that I was a witch and Etiole was a demon, and they were so retarded they fucking believed her, so they shot Etiole 2 days ago and put a bomb in my car last night.

Someone just told me, that my mother has been posting all over social media saying that she hired me to cast a death spell on some FedEx worker!

What the hell?

And you believed her?

Really?

You all should know what my mother is like, better than that by now. You've SEEN her do this enough times before!

My mother FULLY BELIEVES that I am a witch, not as in wicca the religion, but as in, a demon changing. She believes that her real baby was a boy and was kidnapped by Satan who left me in exchange. It's why, from the time I was 8, until the FBI rescued me in 1996 when I was 31, I spent 27 years locked in a rusted raccoon trap cage, in a woodshed, with no insulation, and no windows, only brought out on Sundays to parade me around for sale to the High Priests of the Cape Elizabeth and Saco Wards of the Mormon church. Etiole, tried several times to break open the cage, after breaking into the room, to let me out. And every time he did, I spent the day with him, in the swamps. And she would find me out there, drag me back, let her brother Brucie beat me in the face with bricks, then lock me back up again. That's WHY I never went to school. And THAT is why, she believes Etiole is a demon, because according to her only a fellow demon would try to save me.

Also I'm 30 years older than the oldest of my younger brothers. Did you know that?

Did you also know I have 2 older brothers? Maybe you should find out what happened to them? One of them is the boy who burned down the Old Orchard Beach high school after 14 police officers, tied him naked to the back of and Old Orchard Beach Police Car and drove to Biddeford's Rotary Park and hung him by his testicles from the big flagpole that Rotary Park afterwards took down and put a skating rink up in it's place. ... they did that to him because he wore a pink suit to the prom. He was 14 years old when they did that. You DID KNOW that THAT was my older brother, right? And that I based my main character Quaraun, in my novels off of him. Where is he today? Life in prison. He murdered the families that did that too him, a year later when he was 15, when he locked them in the Old Orchard Beach High School and than bunt it to the ground.

Have you all forgotten that there was me and 2 brothers in the 1970s... and then 30 years later there were 3 more brothers who are young enough to be my grandchildren? I have 5 brothers you dolts. You seem to have forgotten my 2 older brothers the same way you forgot my 10 children.  :(

Why are people so easily forgotten?

The oldest brother is about the same age as my mother. She is not his mother. Leo's wife was his mother. 

My family are flds Mormon most every one of them practice polygamy. My father had another woman before my mother and for a while had both. The first woman had a baby boy. A few years later my father added my mother who was 14 and the marriage wasn't legalized until she was 16. She also had a baby boy  but he died. In a jealous rage she kept attacking the first wife and her son saying her son should have died instead.  I was born a year later, and committed the sin of being born female. She was infuriated that "the whore" got blessed with a boy and she got cursed with a girl. Daily told we were "unloved and unwanted" my brother's mother became Terrified her son would be killed by the jealous deranged second wife. She fled, meet a man named Leo whom she married and he legally adopted my older brother. 

My father spent nearly a decade doing what he called "throwing a monkey wrench in their marriage to force her to leave Leo and come back". Monkey wrenching involved horrendous levels of harassment and vandalism to Leo and everything he owned and everyone he loved. 

Leo slapped several restraining orders and lawsuits on my father,  my mother,  and the Atwaters. The feud reached the point of gun fight shoot outs, including the battle of 4 5 8 with Leo seeking out the help of group called the Cyr Clan because he was Terrified the Atwaters were going to kill him and his family. 

The fighting finally stopped in 1982 when the 10 year old Dutrumble girl at 142 Portland Ave got killed during the battle of 4 5 8.

Leo and my father fought over child support constantly. Leo showed up with the boy monthly demanding child support. My father bought him a giant Tonka firetruck. My parents fought about the Tonka truck constantly because it cost several hundred dollars in a time period where that was nearly the entire year's income. 

My parents continued to fight about the firetruck for more than 40s years. 

I only ever got to see my older brother for a few minutes each month when Leo came to pick up the child support money. I do not remember my older brothers name. My mother only ever refers to him as "Leo's brat". My father has called him Ray and Roland and Townsend. 

Leo picked up the money instead of his wife because she was scared the Atwater clan would beat her to death and take her son.

The first set of murders he was 15 years old.

No one saw him set the fire. He went to prison on conjecture and rumors alone, without any evidence. The entire town accused him of being gay because at age 14 he wore a pink suit to the prom, and was stripped naked, tied to the back of a police car, dragged 14 miles to Biddeford Rotary Park and hung in the flagpole for 3 days before any one would take him down. He almost died. A year later the people who did that to him died when the high school burned down. There was no witnesses and no evidence that he was there. He was arrested and with no evidence and practicly no trail, he went to prison while he was 15 years old. 

After my older brother went to prison Leo stopped coming over. And my mother burned every photo and document mentioning my brother. The entire family shunned him and pretended he never existed at all. And they beat hell out of any one who mentioned him.

There is no one my mother and Atwater brothers hate more than him and I learned a long time ago to never mention my older brother as it was the fastest way to getting a brick to the face.

He was released from prison several years later but, I was unaware of this. I found out he was out of prison only because he went back to prison a few years later. I found out he went back to prison because my mother gathered up her relatives to celebrate his getting a life sentence. They had a big picnic party celebrating and several of the men, regaled themselves in bragging how he ended up with a life sentence. 

They claimed to take him to a bar, then start a brawl, which he got in the middle of, and they proceeded to beat people to death, than fleed, leaving him alone with a bunch of dead drunks. Having already killed several people back when he was 15, he was immediately tossed back into prison with almost no trial at all. They bragged that they knew they could get him back in prison and that's why they set him up. They laughed and joked that he had a life sentence for something he didn't do. 

Throughout all their bragging they never said his name, only calling him "Leo's brat ". They were quite proud of themselves for his going back to prison. 

I started trying to find him after this, because if what they said was true then he got a life sentence for something he didn't do. If what they claimed that day is true, he didn't start that fire or lock those people in the school,  and he didn't kill the people in the bar either. 

I want to talk to him and find out his side of the story. I've never heard what he said happened. 

The first murder happened in Old Orchard Beach Maine. But the second one happened in another state. I don't know which. 

He had Leo's last name but I don't know that either. 

Because he was so young the first murder was a locked record and not in the news. And without knowing either his first name or last name or which stare he was sentenced in, I don't know how to find him. 

Every time I mention him or Leo I get beaten up. The entire clan goes into infuriated rages if you mention him, but I don't know why. They hate him more than they hate anything else. 

The hatred appears to be largely because he is illegitimate, as this is what they cite as his crime most often. They pride themselves in no divorce and no step children and no illegitimate children. He is an illegitimate child which they say makes him a demon. Again with their stupid demon beliefs. 

My 3 younger brothers don't even know they have 2 older brothers... 1 in prison and 1dead, because no one in the family is allowed to talk about them. 

No one has ever visited him. He's been in prison for now more than 50 years, for something he may not even have done. He doesn't even know he has 3 younger brothers.

I have been trying to visit him, but I can not get any one in the family to tell me his name or what prison he is in.

That is why I was asking online if any one knew where he was.

And why I was trying not to let my parents know I was looking for him, as they have a vehement hatred of him.

Unfortunately some of my mothers relatives found out I was looking for him, and have gone and contacted one of my younger brothers saying that I said he was in prison when, that is not what I said at all.

Because of this my mother and my father have found out I was looking for my older brother and THAT is why my car blew up last night at Walmart.  

Turns out my father has gone into a violent warpath,  attempted to set fire to my bedroom (yeah, that weird fumes during yesterday's livestream, I found out where they were coming from after the stream) and tampered with my car and did significant damage to the apartment building...not just our apartment,  but the neighbors as well. 

What has happened this week... my friend being shot, a bomb in my car, all the breaking attacks you saw during livestreams, putting that quasi bomb oil thing in my heater beside my bed to try to burn my apartment down, cutting all the wires off the building....THIS IS WHAT MY PARENTS FUCKING DO EVERY TIME I TRY TO LOCATE MY OLDER BROTHER!!!!!

They hate him so much that they go to these psychotic extreme levels of harassment and vandalism every time I try to find him.

Do you see NOW why I asked you to help me find my older brother but don't let my parents or the Atwaters know?

Yeah, THIS is WHY I didn't want him or my mother to know I was trying to find out what prison my older brother was in so I could visit him.

Though she was not his mother, he and my older brother have different mothers, my mother has had serious issues with seeing demons everywhere ever since that happened.

The next brother. Died when he was still a baby.

I was a born a year later. And my mother had a psychotic meltdown over the horrors of giving birth to something as vile and wretched as a female. Since the day I was born, she's been saying demons stole her baby boy and put me in it's place.

Etiole has never hurt anyone. He is a kind, gentle loving man. He took care of me when my mother and her brothers were too busy with their fucking Heaven's Gate group to remember that the children in the cages needed to be fed once every few months at least. We are very fortunate that Heaven's Gate decided to kill 39 by tricking them into a grape koolaid suicide, now aren't we? Because THAT event is WHY the FBI raided and found me and rescued me from the cage.

And THERE, is your source for the fucking suicide demons. Fucking Heaven's Gate. My mother's brother Mervin Bruce Atwater was one of it's leaders. Did you people FORGET THAT PART?

And what does Heaven's Gate believe?

They believe god is an alien from the planet Kolob, and will user in Armageddon riding on the back of a comet. And they believe there are ONLY 133,000 people on the planet who ARE NOT gay alien demon shapeshifters. They believe the 3rd world war will be the Gay-pocalypse, when everyone BUT the 133,000 saints, will suddenly transform in the twinkling of an eye into gay alien demons, at which point god will fly in on comet Wormwood and all 133,000 of them will turn into the arm of heaven at the trump of jubilee and do battle for god.

They're fucking crazy in case you hadn't noticed.

And THAT is WHY I have my mother and her brothers and all of their psycho crazy alien abductee, MUFON member, demon fighting, ufo crazy friends BLOCKED from all my social media. They are all raving lunatics!

All they ever talk about is demons and aliens and witches and curses, and every time they get together on FB, I end up with angry mobs in my driveway, calling me a witch, calling Etiole a demon, and I'm fucking sick of my mother and her brothers sending her stupid ass violent, gun toting, demon crazed, ufo crazy friends to my house, my farm, my apartment... now I can't even walk my dog with out them ganging up on my in the streets and at Rotary Park!

I don't know what you fucking people are fighting about.

My mother likes to fight.

She likes to start fights.

And SHE'S the one you're fighting with NOT ME, so back and fight with her and leave me the fuck alone!

YOU SHOT MY FRIEND AT ROTARY PARK AND YOU TRIED TO KILL ME LAST NIGHT AT WALMART!

Your fight with my mother doesn't involve me or Etiole, so leave us the fuck alone!

And she likes to send her thugs to attack my family because she's pissed off that commited the sin of giving birth to a female.

I'm sick and tired of your violent jackass thugs showing up attack me and my family, every time you get into a fight with my fucking mother and her thug brothers!

I have no part of the fucking Atwaters! I HATE them! 

If you are mad at the Atwaters, go take out on them, not me. I'm not one of them. I spit on the ground the fucking Atwaters walk on!You shot my friend, calling him a demon.

They don't care about Human life. No. They are too busy raving and ranting about aliens and demons and witches and curses to care about Human life. The only thing that matters to them is fighting and guns. They care about nothing else. They care about no one.

Evil people do evil things. By their fruits ye, shall know them.

I don't know who these people attacking us are or why they are attacking. All I know is they are somehow friends of my mother's.

Why are they doing this?

Why did they shoot Etiole? He's never done anything to anyone. He hides in the woods, too terrified to be near anyone. He's never bothered any one. But he is a homeless man. That seems to be the only excuse any one around here needs to hurt another person. And Etiole doesn't talk. Verbal communication has never been possible with Etiole. He's almost blind. Almost deaf. Crippled and mute. But homeless.

Being homeless and being ugly, that are his crimes. For that alone people hate him.

His life has been so much hell.

There is so much hatred for the homeless people and I do not understand why.

Do they feel nothing?

No shame?

No guilt?

Why do people treat the homeless like this?

A homeless man is still a man.

He still deserves respect.

This ia disgrace.

This is an absolute, utter disgrace.

How does something like this happen?

There are so many sad and lonely people in the world.

Life shouldn't be like this.

I am so horrified and sickened by the locals and their treatment of this man.

How is it that we live in a society that can treat a homeless man like that?

How is our society so cruel?

How can people live with themselves, doing the things they do to the homeless?

How often do things like this happen to the homeless?

How often does this sort of thing happen and no one knows, because so few see it?

This is wrong.

This is so terribly wrong.

We live in a cruel world.

Everything happening this week, makes me so very sad. More so than I usually am.

And I don't have Etiole to talk to now.

I have no one.

Usually it's the locals in Old Orchard Beach who go looney-tune psycho-nut job on us. This week -Thanksgiving Week, November 2021 - this week week it's the locals of Biddeford and they fucking shot my friend, so let's spend some time to talk about what's going on.... because I've had it with you fucking bastards out of HELL!

Repainting my car for the 7th anniversary of the murder of my family - April 10, 2015 at 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach Maine - 14 police officers used hand band saws to saw off the heads of 10 of my 12 children the youngest was 4 the oldest 16 - 1 officer got 6 months paid leave the other other officers were not punished at all - this is white men do to us non-whites - that's what we Gypsies have to live with here in Maine  

April 10, 2015, ten of my children were kidnapped by a mob of 70+ people, business owners of Old Orchard Beach, lead by 14 police officers from Old Orchard Beach, Scarborough, and Saco, Maine, who accused me and my car of being "too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach" on May 15, 2015, they returned to nail the heads of my children to my front door, at 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine... have information? call FBI agent Andy Drewer @ 207-774-9322

 The number is now 55 of the 74 people who helped murder my children April 10, 2015 are now dead by their own hand - This is probably why you shouldn't kill the children of a Gypsy witch who's familiar is the Archangel of Suicide - Etiole's fast making fast order of killing all of them ain't he?  tik-tok counting down Etiole's 7 year clock - and they're now dying off faster and faster as we get closer to the 7 year anniversary....or so say the locals who are attacking my family THIS WEEK.

I'm so damned sick of these brain dead conspiracy theory jackasses and the ass wipe slanderous lies they run around spread about me, my car, and my family.

Apparently there was yet another suicide... the 55th one so they say... caused by me supposedly sending Etiole after them.

I'm left wondering what the fuck are these people talking about and who the fuck wound them up this time.

Whoever it is who sent you shit heads here, go back to them and give them hell instead.

I'm tired of you people spreading these stupid ass witchcraft and demon lies about me.

I'm a Mormon, 5th generation.

And Etiole is a local hermit, a homeless man, a Jewish Nazi Concentration Camp Survivor who is disfigured because of how badly the fucking WW2 Nazi's tortured him. He's NOT a demon and I'm sick of you people showing up here wanting to kill him, for stupid ass things he didn't do.

He's a crippled, disfigured 90 year old man who can barely site up. Leave him alone!


What is it, you said to me at Rotary Park today while I was walking my dog? You said that Etiole is watching you from the door of my car, and you accused me of driving by you every day until you ALL kill yourselves from the guilt of murdering my children... uhm... so are you admitting that you murdered my children here? Explain that to me. 

You do know I live on this street and I have drive in and out of my driveway to get to the store and I've walked my dogs daily in Rotary Park since the 1980s, more than 40 years. What the fuck is wrong with you?

As for Etiole, Quaraun, and BoomFuzzy being painted on my car... In case you didn't notice the 45th anniversary of my novel Friends or Forever is in 2 years, it takes me 2 years to fully paint my car every time I do it, which I've done, for look, I've had this Volov for 30 years now. Friends Are Forever it the story about Etiole, also, there are 4 new Quaraun novels being released in 2022.

I repaint my novel characters on my car for EVERY big anniversary and EVERY new release of my novels. And I have done this on over 20 cars, since the the 1970s.

I sell my books out of my car at events across Maine every summer, THAT is why there are characters from my novels painted on the car.

But there you go again, jumping to false conclusions and tossing blame on witches and demons, like you always do.

You fucking idiots! What is wrong with you?

But explain to me THIS: Why is it you said this to me in Rotary Park today, November 20, 2021: You said that Etiole is watching you from the door of my car, and you accused me of driving by you every day until you ALL kill yourselves from the guilt of murdering my children...

You stupid idiots. 

You do know that by saying that you did just admit that you are the one who murdered my children and you think I'm trying to drive you to suicide with guilt by painting my car.

Think about your words there for a minute. Think long and hard, because there's an FBI investigation trying to find out who the murderer is, and NO ONE other than the murderer would think to say, what you just said.

You are evil people and murder is vile... 

Did no one ever teach you murder is wrong?

You cut my car in half, you pumped sewage into my motorhome, you drove a backhoe over my house, you razed my farm, you broke my spine with golf clubs while I was 8 months pregnant killing my baby, you left my palized for 5 months, I spent 18 months relearning to walk, and you cut the heads off 10 of my children and nailed them to me door!

WHY?

Because you thought I was gay? 

More than a 100 people stood in my driveway chanting:

"Too Gay For The Family Friendly Town of Old Orchard Beach, kill or be killed, remember Saco Shaw's"

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!

You cut my children's heads off, because someone found a head in Saco Shaw's ice cream freezer, and you claimed the murderer was a gay transvestite. I no nothing of the Saco Shaw's murder. All I know, is you vile people said I was gay because I wore pink, you said my car was gay because it was pink, and murdered my children while you said it, saying that was why you were murdering my children.

And now, where are you now... in my driveway again, now in 2021, raving and ranting about the suicides of your own children?

How does your children's suicide got anything to do with me?

You DO realize I didn't know you people were involved in the murder of my children, until you showed up in my driveway saying your children's suicides was my fault right? 

You ARE aware, that by accusing me and Etiole, you ARE admitting that YOU murdered my children and nailed their heads to my door, right? 

Did you think of that part before you showed up here today?

And you DO realize I'm passing your name to the FBI seeing how you OPENLY ADMITTED to murdering my children, right?

You ARE aware that your CONFESSION is a CONFESSION to having sawed the heads off of ten children ages 4 to 16 and nailing their heads to their mother's front door?

Are you CERTAIN you WANT to be CONFESSING that your child commit suicide over guilt of YOU murdering my children? Because if the FBI finds out your CONFESSION to MURDERING my children is real, you WILL get life in prison. You DO  KNOW what it is you just confessed to, right?

Do you even know what it is you are CONFESSING to, when you say that my car guilted your child into suicide over your involvement in April 10, 2015?

No?

Will let's talk about that, because if you REALLY want to accuse my car, DO KNOW that that means YOU murdered my children and the FBI has been looking for YOU?

Are you still sure that's the CONFESSION you want to be making?

You don't think before you act, do you?

And you're blaming Etiole. Really? Etiole is a fictional character from a novel, you stupid superstitious jackasses. Accusing a fictional character once again?

What is it with you local jackasses and your stupid retarded ass belief that a merman from my novels is a real Demon out to get you?


There you go again, calling me EelKat, Etiole's friend. Why? If you really believe in Etiole so badly thinking I would send Etiole after each and everyone of you, then why did you kill my children? You retarded fools. I do not believe in either demons or aliens. That was my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, leader of the Maine division of Heaven's Gate.

Do you realize the first time you jackasses attacked me over Etiole... I was THREE (3) years old. I was still a baby. I was 3 years old the first time a mob of people showed up on our farm calling me a witch and Etiole a Demon. And that, like every time, it was caused by my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, a leader of Heaven's Gate - the murder-suicide UFO cult that killed 39 people - him running around town saying I was a demon possessed witch.

I was 3 years old, the first time you jackasses violently followed the fucking herd without using your brain. There is something wrong with you people. This is not normal. You might should step outside of Maine and look around, because people in other states don't act like this. I've been crippled since I was 4 years old - from a two foot long foundation nail being driven through my hip, to drive a demon out of me. You people are insane.

It's been 50 years and you haven't stopped yet. Etiole, the REAL, Etiole, is an elderly homeless man who has no skin because of acid burns he received in a Nazi concentration camp in France, in WW2. He came to Maine as a refugee in 1953, and you people fucking attacked him calling him a Demon because his skin is burned off. That's why he hides in the swamps, lives in the woods and is scared shitless of you jackasses. I found him starving to death in the Ross Forest in 1978, and I started leaving food and blankets out there for him. And because I help a homeless man, you fucking jackasses call me a witch and call him my familiar. Do you have any idea how stupid you people sound when you call me a witch and call him a demon?

Seeing how you are so scared of Etiole, here, have this:

Yes... I DO, still have it... even after you cut it in half and sold it to Freeport Scrap Yard. I found it and got it back. And according to the posts you are posting on social media, this The World's Most Haunted Car is right now powering a voodoo doll for EACH and EVERY one of you who stood in my driveway on April 10, 2015.

But then again, you know, I don't believe in curses either.

Do you know the source of this picture? This picture you are posting all over social media and claiming is voodoo dolls to curse you? It was taken in 2010 at a birthday party. My children lined their dolls in front of my car. My children were still alive when this picture was taken, 5 years before you murdered them.

See how foolish you are now? 

You SAW evil in a picture where was none. What does that say about YOU?


You are now in 2021 standing in my driveway saying you are not scared to die? That's what Dan Feeney said... funny... he wasn't the one who commit suicide was he? Or how about Police Officer Bruce Savoy... how many people in his family are dead now? 

My question is, why you here saying that at all? WHY are you getting in my face at Rotary Park and saying "Think I'm afraid to die?" You are threatening me, and yet, I've never threatened you or anyone else. I also don't know who you are. I've never seen you before. You weren't in my driveway April 10, 2015, but you imply that you were. This confuses me.

Also, bringing your giant black dog snarling up to me while you say that and say "I'm not scared of you or Etiole", is you using your dog for criminal threatening and using your dog as an assault weapon.

But I also ask... WHY would you be scared of me or Etiole? It makes me ask who has been feeding you lies about me? Who has been feeding you lies about Etiole? 

I am a crippled elderly woman. I can barely stand up. I've been paralyzed and bedridden since the golf club attack November 14, 2013. I'm only just now in 2021 just starting to walk again, and I can barely do that. I have no grip strength so I struggle to even hold me cane. The golf clubs damaged my spine, my nerves, most of my organs don't function because of the nerve damage to my spine. I struggle to even breath, just sitting up in bed is enough to collapse my lungs. I have no bladder or bowel movement control, I have to wear diapers. What exactly is it you think I can even do?

And Etiole? The old hermit Nazi concentration camp survivor? He's over 100 years old now, he hasn't been able to walk, or sit up, or eat on his own, in almost 20 years. He's dying. What exactly are you expecting him to do?

Let me tell you something about Etoile. Three months ago, a homeless man found where Etoile lived. For the past 3 months, Etiole has been taken care of that homeless man. The homeless man has lived in the ravine since August. Because his family threw him out of his house, took away his 5 year old child, took away his cat, and took away his dog. Every night for the past 3 months, while walking my dog, I encountered that homeless man on the Cutt Street rails, and talked him out of killing himself with a train. Every day for 3 months, he told me how his parents hated him, treated him like shit, how his wife left him and took the baby, how he had nowhere to go and no food to eat. The police wouldn't help him. The hospital wouldn't help him. Etiole gave him a place to sleep at night and I was giving him food. My income is only $4k a year, I barely have enough food to feed myself. For a while he had a pup-tent, that he set up in the ravine, but a few weeks ago, vandals sliced it up with a knife, so he no longer had protection from the cold, just when frost hit. Last night, I was at the gate, and I couldn't get to him in time, he was too drunk to hear me and too far away, and with my lame leg, I can't run, - I SAW HIM, jump in front of that train BECAUSE his family didn't care and he had no one.  I was the last person to see him alive. I don't even know his name. He never told me or Etiole his name.

That homeless man who jumped in front of the train last night, because his parents hated him, he's not the first homeless man me and Etiole have taken care of. How many homeless people have you helped? I've helped hundreds over the years. I can barely afford to feed myself, but I always find a way to feed the local homeless too. As for Etiole, he does not go out in public because of what he looks like. He is so badly disfigured. House dwelling rich people beat him up when they see him, break his bones, call him a demon. It's why he hides in the forest. But homeless people are desperate for help, so they don't care what he looks like and them he helps.

The two people you are attacking and slandering and spreading rumors and lies about, have done more the help fed and cloth and keep warm in winter snow, the homeless in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine, than anyone else in the state. Maybe instead of spreading your vile ugly rumors and lies about me and Etiole, you should take the time to get to know us, and find out who we really are. Because what we are, is two humans ostracized by society because we look different, two humans, branded as a witch and a demon, because I wear the tradition cloths of my people and Etiole has no skin.

And while you stand there yelling and accusing and threatening, me and Etiole are out there helping the homeless, who often don't need to be homeless, they often have parents, spouses, siblings any one of whom COULD take them in, but WON'T. The homeless man who killed himself with the train this week, every evening before sunset he walked to his family's house and begged them to let him come inside out of the 20F cold. Every night he returned to the ravine to sleep in Etiole's den, and tell us, his family told him to go away, grow up, and learn to be a man. And now he's dead, because his family didn't care, that he was terrified he was going to freeze to death when the first snow came. That should not have happened. But his family hated him so much, they wouldn't even give him a blanket, because they wanted to teach him a lesson. And now he's dead because of their cruelty.

Me and Etiole tried to help him, but his family hated him so much, and he couldn't live with that. He so desperately wanted his family to love him. It's all he talked about. How much they hated him and how much he wanted them to love him. The last straw was his son. His family took away his 5 year old baby and had started teaching his son to hate him. He tried to bear his parents hating him, his wife hating him, but he could not bear the thought of them turning his own son against him.

I would suggest you look at what happened to that homeless man this week, and you look at how cruelly his family treated him. Than look at yourself and how you treat your own children. You compare yourself, to the family of that homeless man and ask yourself, how much like them are you? Were YOU as toxic and cruel to your children, as his family was to him? Than try to change yourself, so you are not like them.

You know, when my children died, their heads were cut off, there arms and legs also cut off, their organs and intestines cut out. Their heads nailed to my door, their arms and legs hung from ropes in the trees, their intestines tacked up around the roof edge of my motorhome like Christmas garlands... with in an hour, I had gone out there and taken them down, so they wouldn't be on public display.

I did not want my children's bloody remains hanging in public for all the world to see. I cared about my children, I loved my children, enough to go out to the crime scene, and pick up every single last, itty bitty, tiny, cut up piece of all 10 of their bodies.

It was horrible and disgusting, and made me vomit every few minutes, I was scraping my children's mashed up body parts - hundreds of pieces, nailed all over the front of my motorhome, their body parts hung like Christmas ornaments from the awning! That's why there is no more awning on my motorhome, I couldn't get the blood stains out.

Do you know what it is like, to spend a week, searching every inch of your yard for fingers and toes, of your own children?

I do. Because I had to do that.

You are so desperate to know what information was withheld from the news?

Georgie (age 16) had his face smashed off with a brick.

Bela (age 14) had her jaw ripped off while she was still alive.

Emily (age 16 - Georgies twin sister) was boiled alive.

You ARE aware THAT is you just confessed to, yes?



You still want to know what information wasn't in the news?

Now, you are absolutely, 100% certain that THIS is the crime you want to confess to having committed, right?

YOUR child, commit suicide, BECAUSE YOU BOILED my 16 year old to death, boiled her while she was still alive, then sawed her head off, nailed it to my door, sawed her legs off, hung them over the door. Pulled her intestines out, and braided them along the edge of my awning... THIS the WHY your child commit suicide, yes? Because they knew you DID THIS? Is that REALLY what you are saying?

If you want to confess to doing that to my child, I have no issues turning you over to the FBI right now.

And child torturing sociopaths like you, won't last long in prison you know. They'll have to put you in solitary confinement to keep the other prisoners from beating you to death over what you did to my child.

You ARE aware THAT is you just confessed to, yes?

You're not just a bitter person spouting off anger at the first person you see, right, you ACTUALLY want to say that THIS CRIME is why your child commit suicide? You outright SAID, your child commit suicide BECAUSE it says these words on my car: "Have information about the murder of my FBI? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

You should be more careful what you say, because there WILL be an FBI investigation into you, your family, and your child's suicide now, to find out, if YOU really are the one who boiled my 16 year old Emily alive than braided her intestines on my awning, and nailed her head to my door.

You do know you shouldn't confess to crimes unless you actually did them, right?


Are you CERTAIN you WANT to be CONFESSING that your child commit suicide over guilt of YOU murdering my children? Because if the FBI finds out your CONFESSION to MURDERING my children is real, you WILL get life in prison. You DO  KNOW what it is you just confessed to, right?

My mother runs around all over the state looking for them. Emily and Georgie. Emily and Georgie. It's all she talks about. She REFUSED to come help take them down, because she kept saying: "They're not dead, I'll find them" She believes they are still alive and is still right now looking for them. She drives all over the state trying to find them.

There's a reason I don't talk much about what happened to my children, because I don't think most of you could stomach it. But I'm their mother and I'm the one who had to pick up all their parts.

It made me sick to have to do it.

But I didn't leave them there like that.

Look at Cutt Street this week. The shortcut the children take to school through my backyard. Or rather don't. Not every parent has the decency to pick up after a dead child. No one should have to see that and half the children in Biddeford have seen it already. 

Why has it not been picked up? Oh yes, you were too busy shooting my friend, accosting me in Rotary Park, and sending your gang thugs to try to scare me.

Well, now I'm back home from the park, and I'm writing this, because I don't like being threatened, I don't like guns in my face, and I'm fed up with you shit head locals blaming every damned death, suicide, and murder in York County on my, my car, and Etoile!

 ...because... you claim my car is sending you brain wave demon signals from suicide demons?

What the fuck?

How is my car sending brain wave singles and what the fuck are suicide demons? You're fucking crazy!

What the fuck are you even talking about? 


You know what, instead of slandering me with witches and demons, maybe you should go clean up that mess out there.

When my children died, I had the decency to take them down and give them a respectable burial with all of their remains in the coffins...

No one would help. No one single person. Not my parents. Not my mother. Not my father. Not my husband. Not my sibles. Not my aunts. Not my uncles. Not my cousins. Not my friends. Not my church. Not my neighbours. No one. They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." One relative, the Colonel, my father-in-law, he offered to help, but he was in very bad health, and couldn't get nurses to let him come to help. He died a few weeks later.

My ten children, where cut up. Heads here. Legs there. Their intestines braided together and looped garland style around the awning poles of the motorhome.

It took the killers hours to decorate my motorhome with the remains of my ten children.

It took me hours to get them down. The motorhome is 12 feet tall. I don't have a ladder. I couldn't even get a friend or neighbour or relative to come over with a ladder so I could reach the entrails hanging from the awning.

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

Well, you know what? I was their mother and I didn't want to see them like that either!

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

I was their mother and I did not want that to be my last memory of them!

NO ONE... not one single person in my family - not my parents, not my siblings, not my aunts, not my uncles, not my cousins, not my church, not my friends, not my neighbours... NO had the decency to help me get them down! NO ONE saw what was done to them that day. No one but the police and FBI are even aware how bad the situation was, because NO ONE CARED!

The ONLY people who know the full details of what happened are me, who found the bodies, the FBI who is investigating, and the murderers.

No one else.

No one else saw the bodies.

So ANYONE going around town claiming to have details, IS THE MURDERER, because NO ONE ELSE has those details.

And THAT is why the information was kept out of the news.

My children were murdered by a psychopath who turned their bodies into bloody Christmas decorations... and NOT ONE OF YOU GAVE A SHIT!

They spent weeks making those pieces of so called artwork out of my children's bodies.

And no one helped me take them down.

Not one of you!

They all said the same thing: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." 

Do you think I wanted to see them like that?

Do you think I wanted that to be my last memory of them?

I'm their fucking mother!

I learned fast on May 15, 2015, who I could rely on who I could trust... and the answer was NO ONE.... no one but the FBI agents who had the decency to help when no one else would.

I could have done what the rest of you all did and said the same thing you all did: "I don't want to see them like that. I don't want that to be my last memories of them." But I didn't, did I? No! I didn't leave my children scattered remains of public display for all to see. I care enough about them to take them down, no matter how sick it made me, no matter how disgusted I was by it, no matter how much I didn't want to see them like that.


I loved my children, so when they were murdered, cut to pieces and strewn everywhere, I made sure to pick up every last piece.

Any decent parent who loved their child WOULD. And I question the decency of a parent who DOESN'T!

And HOW have you people TREATED me in the 7 years since than?

I'll tell you... when I go to my church, The Saco Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints - they threw rocks at me when I tried to go inside. Five weeks in a row they slashed the tires on my car. I have an antique Volvo with white walls - each tire cost $2k to replace, and you did it 5 weeks in a row! One Sunday, they poured etching fluid on my windshield, I had to buy a new windshield. Their teens and children ran around singing the infamous chant "Too gay for the family friendly church"

It became too expensive for me to go to church because the repairs from the weekly vandalism while my car was in your parking lot was more money a week, than I make in a year.

THAT is why I stopped going to church the same year my children were murdered.

Because you people treated me like shit!

And what of my friends?

I've not seen or heard a word from any of them... NOT ONE... in 7 years.

I was in the hospital with a broken spine, broken hips, broken knees, broken legs.

My vertebrae are crushed and can not be operated on. So it can never be fixed.

Did anyone visit me in the hospital? No.

Did any one visit me after I got out of the hospital? No.

My relatives? My Aunt Barbara started posting the message on my FaceBook wall: "The next head nailed to a door will be yours!"... something she initially posted 3 hours BEFORE my children's heads were nailed to my door.

While her brother Mervin Bruce set about to created HUNDREDS of social media accounts on FaceBook, Twitter, Twitch, hundreds on EACH, to spam pictures of severed head memes all over my profiles. While the adult children of his brother David took to posting photos of themselves carrying assault rifles and the words "This is the gun I'm going to blow your brains out with" was written on the photos. THAT is how my family - my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins reacted to my children being murdered.

I've not seen or heard from my brothers in 7 years. My father and one brother though they live with me, hasn't said a word to me in 7 years. And you've all seen what my mother does on my social media accounts.

After my children were murdered, everyone around me had one of 2 reactions: to treat my like the plague and completely shun me, or two turn psychotic violent and start harassing me online and offline.

My husband ran off and had a psychotic breakdown, now all he does is go back and forth between kissing Kat Kerr's ass and sucking up to whatever God of the week he's following this week. His lost in a Bible, he's shut out the entire world and hasn't talked to me in 7 seven years, other than to spam "near death experience" and "trip to hell" youtube videos at me, at a rate of dozens of them a day. He's shut down completely, I don't know if it's even possibly to reach him any more. He's now suffering from massive amounts of amnesia and can't remember anything beyond the last trip to heaven/hell youtube video he watched.

It's been seven years, and I've yet to sit down and talk to anyone about what happened to my children, because I have no one to talk to.

And ONLY have no one to talk to, because you people made it so. I HAVE tried to reach out, to all of my relations, all of my friends. They hang up on me, slammed the door in my face.

I didn't just lose my 10 children the day they were murdered, I lost every single person in my life.

And then there are the neighbours, both the ones neighbouring my farm in Old Orchard Beach, where the murder took place AND the ones neighboring my apartment in Biddeford... look at what you do: they hit me and my dog when you see us walking by, you throw rocks at me, you yell at me and call me a witch, you shout out anti-gay slurs, you scream "god hates fags" as I walk by.

Why?

Why do you do these things?

And right now, Thanksgiving week 2021, there is an angry mob roaming the forests of Maine, looking for Etiole, screaming they are going to kill the demon!

I am not a witch and Etiole is not a demon.

What is wrong with you people?

Why are you doing this?

Every single death.... since that Cyr-Dutrumble girl that got hit by a car at 142 Portland Ave in 1982... that was the first time you did this... every single death, accident, fire, and suicide to happen in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine. every death, causes large crowds of people to show up in my yard, calling me a witch and demanding I hand over Etiole while calling him a demon.

Today is the 55th time since the murder of my children, that you people have arrived in my yard over what YOU claim is the suicide of one of the children of the people who killed my children.... the 55th time you have arrived calling Etiole a Suicide Demon. The 55th time you have blamed me, witchcraft, Etiole, and demons, for the suicide of someone I had never known, had no way of knowing, and would not have known they even exists or had died, had you NOT shown up in my yard to accuse me and Etiole of killing them.

You'd think it was the 1600s and the Salem witch trials were still going on, the way you people act.

It's November 22, 2021

NOT

November 22, 1621!

For crying out loud! 


What is wrong with you people?


Why are you doing this?

Etiole is sick, he can barely move, and I've had to move him to a new location, away from the home he's been at for 50 years, because you people are trying to kill him for no reason at ali!

What is wrong with you?

You people and your blind hatred, you are insane!

And most of you are people whom I don't even know. I'm a stranger to you and look at how you treat me.

What is wrong with you people?

So HOW DARE YOU show up here to yell at me!


I've seen so many suicides in my life, precisely because I spend so much time with the homeless of Maine. I see it over and over again. People, who are homeless, but have families, that live less than a mile away from the cardboard box they sleep in at night. Parents, siblings, spouses, aunts, uncles, cousins, less than a mile away. Americans are so cruel to their own families. So many suicides, that could have been prevented, if only their families had not abandoned them, not turned on them, not cast them out, not ostizized them, not shunned them. Most people I meet who are homeless, don't need to be, because they DO have families, but their families don't care about them.

If you have a homeless son or daughter and they come to you at 1AM on a 20F night, while it's freezing rain outside, and they ask you, to let them come inside, and you do, what his family did November 19, 2021, and tell your child, to learn to be a man, go back out into the 20F freezing rain, than YOU ARE the problem, and you DID drive your child to suicide. Your so called tough love, isn't love, it's just cruel toxic hate, and you getting off on being a bullying fucking dick to your own child, and you know it.

There are more than 2,000 homeless people, right now in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine. And every one of them has local families, who COULD help them, who COULD feed them, who COULD give them a place to sleep, they just WON'T. And it's always the same story. Prideful parents and spiteful spouses want to teach them a lesson, saying it's good for them to be homeless. The local parents and spouses of Maine's homeless population disgust me.

And with December days away, we all know what happens now. The blizzards will move in. And in April and May of 2022, the police of Old Orchard Beach, Saco, and Biddeford, Maine, will do what they always do every year: go out behind stores and dumpsters looking for bodies. Every year, no fewer than one hundred homeless people freeze to death during blizzard season. EVERY YEAR. Every town in York Country will have at least 4 homeless people frozen to death. It's worse in Cumberland County. Each DISTRICT of Portland, will have a dozen or more homeless people frozen to death by spring, just like they do every year.

All the homeless who will freeze to death this winter, and next winter, and the winter after... just like last winter, and the winter before, and the winter before that, they ALL have local families. They ALL have local parents, local spouses, local siblings, local cousins, locals aunts and uncles, who will ALL deny them help, who will ALL deny them food, who will ALL deny them places to sleep. EVERY homeless PERSON who freezes to death each year in Maine, had someone who COULD have helped, but WOULDN'T.

And worse than freezing to death... are the suicides. As blizzard season draws near and the nights get colder, the suicide rate starts to skyrocket as the homeless beg their families for a scrap of food or a measly blanket, and get doors slammed in their faces instead. Every year, during the 2 weeks before blizzard season starts, every year, there are more than 300 suicides by homeless people here in Maine. And every one of them, kills themselves, because they fully 100% believe their family hated them and wanted them dead. What happened to that homeless man this week, that WAS preventable. He killed himself less than an hour after his family refused to let him come inside out of the 20F freezing rain. Had they not sent him away telling him to grow up and be a man, he'd still be alive right now.

And now I ask you, you who accosted me at Rotary Park today... how much are YOU like that man's parents? Your child, who you say commit suicide this week, how much was he like that homeless man who jumped in front of train? Take a good long look at yourself. Go back over everything you have done and said to your child, this past year. You'll quickly see, you've no one to blame but yourself. I've seen HUNDREDS of suicides, and I've yet to see one that was NOT caused by a family treating the victim so cruelly that they no longer wanted to live.

Why don't you take a step back and look at yourselves and what you are doing and why you are doing it and who you are doing it to. Me and Etiole, we are no threat to you. We've never been a threat to any one. The ONLY threat out there is YOU jackasses who keep trespassing and coming up in here to beat us up because of some damned rumors you heard! Slanderous rumours spread by stupid ass busy bodies and believed ONLY by retarded jackasses like yourself.

Look at this picture. This is me. This is where I lived from May 9, 2006 to March 31, 2015


Me and Etiole, we are out there trying to help the homeless. Letting them know there IS someone who cares. Letting them know, they have a reason to live. I was homeless for 9 years. I lived under a 8x6' tarp for 9 years. And during that time, I learned who my friends were. I got no help from my parents, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my church, my friends. No one. I have 3 brothers, they were the only ones who helped me. There are 400 people in my family. We are Gypsies, most men are polygamists and have 5 or more wives, no wife has fewer than 8 children, most women in my family have given birth to more than twenty. There are 400 people in my family, all of whom I had helped many times, several while they were homeless, I gave them a place to stay and food to eat. And when I became homeless myself, those very same people, not only turned their backs on me, they did it with cruel violence.

I know what it is like to be homeless, to live outside during Maine's blizzards, to have no one who cares. I know what it is like to go 12 days without food and be scared of starving to death.

Look at THIS picture again, and let me tell you how it got taken:


October 7, 2006, broke Maine's world record for the coldest day ever at -47F (minus 47 degrees before zero) before windchill factor... that picture with the snow, it was taken that day, by my brother, who came to check on me, because he was scared I'd die in that cold. He came to help, when no one else did.

And that same day, in Portland, just 7 miles away, more than a dozen homeless people were found frozen to death, in a dumpster, on St John Street, they had climbed into together to try to huddle together and get out of the cold.

THAT is WHY I make a point of seeking out and helping the homeless in Maine. Because I know what it is like to survive, and I only survived, because I had a brother who cared and came looking for me.

And you people, especially you families, who go out of your way to make life miserable for the homeless people...

You people all ought to be ashamed of yourselves!

If your children are killing themselves, did you ever think, it might have something to do with YOU being a dick and treating them like shit, and has absolutely nothing to do with me or Etiole. We are two strangers to you and have has no clue who you or your children are.

I know what it is like to have dead children. Remember? My ten children had their heads nailed to my front door. And I could have been sympathetic to your plight, had you not stormed over here, barged into my life, and started threatening me for no fucking reason at all!

If YOUR children are killing themselves, it is probably YOUR fault. Chances are high that you treated them the SAME WAY you are treating me right now. I've only had to deal with you when you trespass in my yard. They had to live with you every day for years. It's no wonder they killed themselves, having to deal with a violent, domineering, hate monderging bigot like you.

I'm a stranger. You're child's suicide has nothing to do with me. Perhaps you should look in the mirror. Look at the witch ranting, demon spewing, gay hating, conspiracy raving you are yelling at me, a stranger. If you can talk to a stranger like this, I've no doubt you talked to your child every day that way too. You have no one to blame for your child's suicide, but you yourself, so get out of my face and leave my family alone.

You accuse me of being gay, yet I am not.

You call me a witch and yet I am a Mormon.

You think a fictional merman from a novel, is a real live demon or alien, whichever it is you happen to be calling from one day to the next.

Your actions and your words say more about YOU than they do me.


Are you that desperate to harass me, that you are now grasping at every straw you can find? Perhaps you should look in the mirror. Your own hatred and bigotry is the problem.

You only try to blame me for these things, because you can't take responsibility for your own cruel actions. Attacking me daily, weekly, monthly years after year, because you don't like how I dress, because you don't like my car, because you don't my none-white family... does nothing but further prove you are a small minded hate filled person.

You try to dehumanize me, by calling me a witch.

You try to dehumanize me, by calling me gay.

Why?

Does it make feel like a big man to harass a crippled elderly women who never did anything to you?

You use the words witch and gay as tools of hate.

Because you are paranoid, you believe in witches and curses and demons, and try to put them in places, where they are not.

Because you hate gay men, you see gay things, where there are none.

You are an evil person. THAT is why you attack my family. 

I am not the problem. My family, we stay up here and mind our own business. It is YOU who trespass on farm, you who stalk us, you who hurt us, not because of anything we did, but simply because you have a severe mental disorder that causes you to see elderly women as witches, causes you to see gay as evil, causes you to vandalize my cars and my farm, causes you to murder children and nail their heads to door, and now causes you to return to blame a fictional character for the suicide of, how many did you say it was... 55 children? Well I'm glad YOU are keeping count. 

Why are you so obsessed with me and my family? I think that is the thing I understand the least. Why can't you just mind your own business and leave us alone? We are not bothering you, why are you bothering us?

By their fruits, ye shall know them. Your evil acts are evil fruit, that prove you are evil.

Even if I were gay or a witch, what would it matter? Witches are not evil, nor are gay men.

Evil people do evil things.

The things you do to my family are evil. 


Hate is evil.

Bigotry is evil.

Bullies are evil.

Murder is evil.

And you've done all the above, therefore YOU are evil.

You ONLY think I'm a witch, because you watched Thinner.

You DO know The Thinner is a fictional movie, right?

Why are you here? Why are you bothering us, again?



What else did you do on April 10, 2015? BESIDES  murdering my children? Let me think... you brought Old Orchard Beach Public Works Excavation crew here, you cut down my trees, my apple orchards, my grape vineyards, my great-grandmother 200 year old hawthorn trees, her 200 year old rose bushes, her 200 year old hosta... more 30,000 perennial flowers: lupines, lilies, daffodils, all my flower gardens... you dug them up, you razed my land. Every inch of it. You dug down 6 feet deep, taking my lawn, my top soil, you left nothing behind but 2 inches of sand on top of ledge.

God in the Bible says he punishes the wicked.

Eye for an eye.

Tooth for a tooth. 

What was it the Town of Old Orchard Beach loved the most? The nature preserve.

The Reclaim Blueberry Plains on the Ross Road.

In 2020... a crew of land moving excavators, clear cut 27 acres The Reclaim Blueberry Plains on the Ross Road, cut down the trees, dug up the blueberries, took the topsoil 6 feet deep, leaving only 2 inches of sand on ledge, in a great big 27 acre hole, where the The Reclaim Blueberry Plains USED to be on the Ross Road.

Oh, and for pity's sake, according the the screaming mob of jackasses in my yard, it gets so much worse.

What was it again, that was the REASON the town murdered my family and other families and razed my farm? What was it they were chanting in my driveway? Could it have been these words:

"Too Gay For The Family Friendly Town of Old Orchard Beach"

Oh, my, will you just LOOK at what is sitting on top of what USED to be The Reclaim Blueberry Plains on the Ross Road... why, it's a gay community. One hundred condominiums, each 4 families... all exclusively GAY families of course.

Oh dear... did someone raze your nature preserve and remove all your beautiful plants and drop a great big GAY community on top of it?

Oh dear, oh dear!

And you are telling ME this... why exactly?

You might want to watch out there - your gay-hatred is showing.

I'm not gay, but even if I was, what does it matter to you, a stranger, and what has any of this got to do with your kid commiting suicide?

Again, what the fuck?

Stalker much?

You seem pretty obsessed with me on some hefty abnormal levels.

Did you know I only found out the Blueberry Plains were gone in May 2021, more than a year after they were gone, because you idiots decided to show up in my driveway and chant your gay hatred and accuse me of putting evil gays in your beloved nature preserve? Why do you idiots keep showing up in my driveway?

Do you really have nothing better to do than run to my farm and say it's my fault every time you see a gay person?

Once again, I ask, what has that got to do with me?

And are you certain it's a gay exclusive condo?

Your bigotry and stupidity is showing again.


Happy 7 Year Anniversary by the way, I think God might be a little pissed off at what you did and is throw karmah at you.

Can you explain to me the significance of why 7 is so important? 

Sacred numbers and stuff are rather lost on me.

I never went to school you see, so I never learned math, and I can't count or tell time or do math.

I was 37 years old when I started taking adult education classes at a local high school, got my GED that same year. After that, I made a point of going to every college within a 2 hour driving distance of my and just signing up to take every writing course they had. I can't sign up for a degree program because I can't do numbers of sciences, but I can sign up as a "community student" and take 3 to 5 classes per semester, just part of the college community enrichment programs. So I've spent the last 20 years attended 1 class here and 1 class there at dozens of colleges throughout New England, not getting a degree at any of them, but finally learning how to do grammar.

That's been a big struggle for me. Being someone in my 40+ just learned to read and write for the first time, surrounded by kids teens to 30s who've been reading and writing for years. And because of this, learning so late, I doubt I'll ever feel competent as a writer.

But the thing is, you spouting off you significance of 7 being sacred numbers and 7 being a curse... that means nothing to me, I have no ability to grasp the concept of numbers. I have Kanner's Syndrome, actual Autism, not Aspergers. I have a very difficult time understand the concept of numbers.

I understand that you love them, and you especially love the number 7 and hold it very dear, and are having a psychotic meltdown because it's almost 7 years since my family ws murdered and apparently that means something to you, but, me with my Autism and lack of education, I have no what you are talking about.

You might want to clarify WHY it is you are so obsessed with the number 7 and WHY you are panicking over this being the 7th anniversary soon.Why is the number 7 such a big threat to you?

Yes, the 7th anniversary is coming up.

Happy 7 year anniversary.

But why are you panicking over it?

I do not understand.

Your logic is flawed and highly irrational.

You want a witch's curse? Yet I am not a witch, nor do I believe in curses, but I will pray that God swiftly sends you hate mongering bigots to Hell where you belong.


For all you waving Bibles in my driveway, it's not the host of Heaven coming for you... it's the hosts of Hell.


Hail Satan. It's HIS work you're doing. Not God's.

YOU are evil people, you prove it by your own actions.

I'm not a threat to you, I never have been.

But you ARE a threat to me.

I've never hurt any of you.

You murdered my family.


Happy 7 Year Anniversary!

UPDATE: November 23, 2021:


well, it was bound to happen - there are 4 children on the Cutt St sidewalk trading body parts for trading cards - I told you people you needed to go down and check the Cutt street crossing and clean it up -

also, why are you people all saying 10PM?

You ARE aware the 911 call went out at 6PM, right? 4 hours earlier than the time you're all saying?

Let me check my phone... oh yes...  6:27PM exactly, actually; you're also saying the wrong day - the call was made on the 19th not the 20th;

you weren't hugging him at 10PM on the 20th you fucking liar - he's was already dead at 6:27PM the day before!

you're citing the wrong time and the wrong day and you're also saying the the wrong fucking street -

Cutt Street is a half a mile away, you know where I live;

are you SURE you're talking about the same death I'm talking about;

because the street YOU talking about is quite a long drive for me, and what I'm talking about is right here

you got the wrong day, the wrong time, and the wrong street


and that fucking mess should have been cleaned up 5 days ago - why the hell did you leave it there? the police say they picked up everything, but, it really doesn't look like you even looked there at all - are you SURE you looked at Cutt Street? you are saying South st and I DID say Cutt street- that's about 5 streets down from South St -

-if you're saying you have all the body parts, than you might consider there may be TWO bodies, Cutt street IS over a half mile away from South St -and the 911 call was 6:27PM on the 19th not 10PM on the 20th - everyone knows the children use that Cutt Street shortcut to get to school - why did the police leave that there? dozens of children have seen it now, every dog walker in Biddeford has seen it now - have you people no respect for the dead? where are the parents?

when my children died I had the decency to go out there and pick up the body parts, I didn't leave them for the public to gawk at - now there are children running down the street carrying them!

good god!

what the fuck!


he's been laying there for 5 days now!



It's deplorable that THIS is how the homeless are treated.

My friend was hit by a train at the Cutt Street crossing, just past the gate, at 6:27PM on the 19th.

You're saying your child was hit by a train at 10PM on the 20th at South Street.

Did it ever occur to you that it might have been 2 people, hit by 2 different trains on 2 different nights?

You ARE aware there are an average of 10 people killed at the crossing around York Hill EVERY year, and there have been years with more than 30 deaths - they RARELY make it in the paper, but living on the tracks like I do, I've seen a lot of them, so, I know, 2 train deaths one day after the other is not unheard of, it has happened before.

But besides that - you fucking jackasses had no right to attack me in Rotary Park or Etiole at the ravine. You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

And you'd better start praying Etiole doesn't die from what you did to him. I'll send EVERY MUFON member, alien abductee, and UFO watcher on the planet, right to your front door if he does. You want to see an angry mob?

They're crazier then you people are. And just like you, they don't believe Etiole is Human either. They think he's an alien. You both crazy.


Did you forget my uncle Mervin Bruce atwater was one of the leaders of Heaven's Gate and he sent the bulk of 1997 to 2016, doing nothing but telling everyone on the internet that Etiole was an alien and rising hell and chaos for me and Etiole at every turn, because he was sending so many MUFON people to my yard every week for years. 

I've spend decades trying to take down all the slanderous alien and UFO crap he spread about me and Etiole. He's the reason so many people think Etiole is not Human. You people who call Etiole a demon and an alien, you ONLY do so because you blindly follow one of Heaven Gate's leaders. Heaven's Gate murdered 39 people March 1997, it was one of the largest cult murders in history, did you people forget that? THAT is the type of sociopath you people are following. THAT lunatic who helped convince 39 people to kill themseves under the shadow of comet HaleBop, Mervin Bruce atwater, HIM... he's the one who started the rumour that Etiole was an alien. He's the one who started the rumor Etiole was a demon. Fucking Heaven's Gate. You're following the teachings of fucking Heaven's Gate when you call Etiole either and alien or a demon.

Well,let me tell you something about Mervin Bruce Atwarer - than monster was a peadophile, who caged little girld 4 years olds, 8 year olds, and sold them for sex to Mormon High Priets. And me mad up alien abduction rumors about EVERY ONE of those 140+ little girls he did that to. He made up the alien rumors about those girls, to gaslight them, to make them look crazy, in case any of them ever grew up and tried to tell anyone about the child prostitution ring he was running.

Etiole is not alien. And no demon.

Those rumors were made up by a pedophile who was trying to gaslight the children he sexually abused.

Etiole tried to help the little girls escape from their cages. THAT is WHY my uncle Bruce targeted Etiole as well. And took advantage of the fact Etiole was disfigured to call Etile an alien and demon.

There are no aliens or demons, just a criminal uncle who was trying to cover his own criminal ass.

But he went BIG, didn't he. My uncle Bruce. He contacted every alien and ufo guru and organization out there, and those people are so damned desperate to believe in aliens, that they REFUSE to believe the truth,.

They REFUSE to believe Etiole is a French Jew Nazi concentration camp survivor.

They are 100% convinced, that I'm trying to hide an EBE from them.

They refuse to believe he is NOT an alien.

And YOU just shot their beloved little alien.

How do you think they are going to feel about that?

They're crazier then you people are.



Etiole has 300-million fans, they firmly believe he is an EBE, there are entire churches - extreme fanatics - who worship him as a Pleasian.

You'll have Heaven's Gate to answer to - they think he's god.

You'll have David Icke himself on your ass. You ARE aware that Etiole is David Icke's beloved little shapeshifting Illuminati reptilian, right? Half the people who show up in my yard it's because David Icke sent them here. You just beat the crap out of David Icke's beloved little shapeshifting Illuminati reptilian alien grey. You didn't think of that part, did you?

Everyone knows what the UFO people are like, and Etiole is the one they call: 

   * The Amphibious Alien


   * The White Reptilian 


   * The Loveland Frog


   * The Blue-Eyed Grey Alien


   * The Memegwesi of The Saco River Curse 

-Did you forget that?

After Roswell and Area 51, Etiole is the most famous UFO/Alien/Cryptid phenomena in the world -and YOU just tried to kill him- the MUFON people will tear you apart if Etiole dies. 

Answering Reader Question:
What happened to Etiole?
Is he okay?

He was shot, by a local lunatic.

No, he's not okay.

Yesterday at Rotary Park, Biddeford, Maine, a group of people armed with rifles, went down the track team trail behind the soccer field and started shooting... scared the crap out of the 50 or so children and their 100+ parents, got the 30+ dogs in the dog park howling... the sky filled with thousands of Canadian geese, and the park goers assumed the group was hunting geese and started commenting on the fact that hunting was not allowed in Rotary Park.

A few minutes later, a gray/white haired, bearded man, who looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, but not as fat, with a black dog of a German Shepard-Lab mix look, and a woman with pageboy greyish-blond hair, both about late 60s, marched up to me in the park, bragged they had killed Etiole, stating that he has caused their son whom they called "Todd" to jump in front of a train 3 days earlier. 

They said he was obsessed with the painting of Etiole and the "evil eye" painted on my car. THIS:

It's NOT the evil eye as they called it. It's The eye of The Grigori Archangels aka The Watchers, from the Apocrypha in the Bible. It's the blue wings of the Seraphim Archangels aka The Watchers. The Watchers are my Guardian angels. I paint them on everything, I sew it on tapestries, it's on my car, my motorhome, I embroider it on pillows and clothes, paint it on mirrors, paint canvases art for art galleries with it. It's the blue eyes wings of the archangels as described in the Bible. I'm not sure why they were calling it the Evil Eye.

After I stopped going to the Mormon church I started practicing New Orleans-style Folk Catholicism. Started using Catholic Bible, wearing Rosary, using saint prayer cards and novae candles. I'm an ordained Voodoo Priestess rank of Medsen Fey. I have been since September 23, 2010. Painting archangel wings on everything is a part of folk Catholicism.

They said he believed the "evil eye" on my car was there specifically to put a curse on him, and that he believed the painting of Etiole was there just so that "Etiole the suicide demon" (as they called him) would be constantly driving by and watching him to drive him to suicide. They outright accused me and Etiole of killing their son, by painting these pictures on my car!

I paint the archangel wings on EVERYTHING and I have for over 20 years now.

I paint the archangel wings on EVERYTHING and I have for over 20 years now.

Behind them were 4 trucks: 2 black pickups with big oversized wheels, a dark green truck-type suv, and a rust-orange-copper truck-type suv. The 2 pickups had young men 30sish driving them, the orange suv had 2 blonde girls about early 20s both with very long waist leagnth stick straight hair. 

The older couple with the dog, railed on Etiole this and Etiole that, saying the word "Etiole" a few dozen times, while gibbering wild nonsense about Etiole being a suicide demon, and saying that my car had guilt tripped their son into killing himself because he was scared the FBI would put his parents in prison for killing my children April 10, 2015.

The older couple and the black dog got into the dark green suv and than all 4 trucks, drove circles around my car, revving their engines loud like race cars and squealing their tires, spinning in fast circles around me and my car in the Rotary Park parking lot, while they screamed out the windows of their trucks bragging that they had killed Etiole. The 4 of the trucks then speed out of the park, doing at least 75MPH. I don't know which way they went as I went to go look for Etiole after that.

Etiole has been staying down in that area of the Saco River lately, as the new dam downstream and the recent back to back storms disrupted/flooded the area he was staying down closer to the NorthDamn SmokeStack.

It was why I changed my dog walking habits from walking at Mechanics Park to walking at Rotary Park.

I moved him to a new location away from the local area, out of York County completely. He is refusing to go to a hospital, he's too scared of people to go to a hospital.

I don't know if he'll live.

The attackers was 6 people in total (3 men, 3 women, and 1 dog) in 4 trucks total, I don't know who they were. I've never seen any of them before. I don't know anyone named "Todd" so I don't know who they were talking about either. There may have been another dog or maybe a child, I'm not sure which, but something was moving around in the backseat of the orange suv.

I don't know who they were. A gang of crazy, hysterical, deranged psychopaths near as I could tell.


The locals around here are crazy psychotic with demon and witch superstitions, and they love their guns. People shoot at every old woman and disfigured man they see, while screaming witch or demon. It's a really big problem up here in Maine. And when they say "witch" they don't mean like wicca the religion, they believe witches are a type of female demon. They don't believe witches are Human, so they think it's okay to shoot them because in their minds it's no different than shooting a deer or a duck. 

People around here, they believe I'm not Human, just like they believe Etiole is not Human either. It's why they are so violent towards the both of us. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in this area who DOES NOT believe I'm a witch aka a female demon. And the locals are just so brain dead in terms if education and illiteracy, that there is no way you can convince them elderly women are NOT demons, no way to convince them disfigured men are NOT demons. The locals are borderline retarded due to crazy amount of incest in this area. 

Biddeford, Maine had the Guiness World Record for the city with the most incest on the planet - the plague is in the town hall - and according to that of the 27k residents in Biddeford, 19k of them are mother/son, father/daughter, or brother/sister married couples. Biddeford residents are excessively proud to have the Guiness World Record for the most incest on the planet. And it shows, with how they march around too illiterate to either read or write, while shooting at elderly women and disfigured men, calling them demons.

This is the shit we have to put up with here in Maine.

I don't know how they knew where Etiole was. I never tell anyone where he is. I never have. I won't. I've protected him from the public since 1978. I know in August there was a homeless man showed up under the trestle bridge at the back train tracks. He found Etiole, started staying down in the ravine with him. That homeless man died earlier this week. I'm left to assume that homeless man had told people about Etiole and where Etiole was. Seeing how the homeless man died a few days ago, I'm left to assume the thug gangsters who shot Etiole were probably relatives of the homeless man. 

I

If what these 6 people said was true:

Than there is considerable reason to believe that that homeless man DID NOT COMMIT SUICIDE and was rather MURDERED by these 6 people... stuffed full of drugs to the point of overdose and THROWN off the bridge in front of the train NOT jumped of his own volition.

And if that's the case, the Biddeford Police Department and the FBI need to investigate his death as a possible homicide, NOT a suicide.

If what these 6 people said is true, that woman who made the claim to be the homeless man's mother, according to her herself, is the one who murdered my family April 10, 2015, and the homeless man was about to call the FBI and tell them that, after seeing what was painted on my car. I have no way of knowing who this woman at Rotary Park is or if what she claims is true or not but she claimed that dead homeless man was about to turn her over to the FBI because of what was painted on my car and she sounded pretty damned happy that he was dead. Smug and happy.

Smug and happy and bragging that both the homeless man and Etiole were out of the way and no longer a threat to her. I've never seen this woman before, but she looks a LOT like the blond woman from 2013 golf club attack (at Southern Maine Community College in South Portland) and the 2016 shopping cart attack (the one who in 2016 drove a gold Volvo suv wagon at Scarborough WalMart where she tried to kill me with the shopping cart), and shows up in my driveway in Old Orchard - walks, she never has a car there - to shout gay hating slurs at me, - this woman in Rotary Park, looks enough like the other blond woman, that they could be sisters.

I don't know who this homeless man was, he never told me his name. He only just showed up recently, a few months AFTER I painted my car (I painted it in May 2021, and he showed up late August) and he did make a point to hang around the train tracks every night, waiting for me to walk by, I pass both Cutt street and the tessle almost every night and everyone around here knows that, he always waited for me at one or the other and jumped up and started talking to me soon as he saw me ... he acted like someone who had something to say, but was scared to say it, so said other things instead. Like I said he was standing on the train tracks every night for 3 months, he waited for me to walk by and then head down to the ravine after I did, and I kept asking him to please not stand on the tracks, it's so very dangerous. He desperately had something he wanted to say to me, but whatever he wanted to say to me, he never did. 

I also don't know who these 6 people who attacked me in Rotary Park are, I've never seen them around here before, it'd be difficult to find anyone around here I've not seen before, I walk all the main roads and side streets every day - I know the faces of everyone around here. I don't know who they are or how exactly they are connected to the homeless man, but they seemed very adamant in thinking they were safe from the FBI, now that he was dead.

If you know the names of any of these seven people, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer @ 207-774-9322 AND call the Biddeford Police Department and tell them both EVERYTHING YOU KNOW about this situation.

If what these 6 people said in Rotary Park is true, then THEY are the ones who beheaded my children and nailed their heads to the door, and they murdered that homeless man to make it look like a suicide, because he went to them and told them he was getting ready to turn them in.



As for the crazy conspiracy theories this woman was spouting off about the reasons why my car was being painted... it has nothing to do with her! I don't even know who she is.

I'm an author. And I sell paperback copies of my books from booths at festivals, carnivals, fairs, state parks, car shows, all over the state every summer, any place I can rent a booth and sell books, I go there. I've done this since 1978. This is nothing new.

And I ALWAYS paint my cars to match the book covers. My fans and readers like to get pictures of themselves with me and my car while they get their books signed.

You people with your stupid idiotic conspiracy theories. My car being painted has nothing to do with any one of you. How the hell arrogant and self centered ar you people, that you would even think it was?

I've done this to more then 20 cars for more than 40 years, and every one of you knows that, I've lived here for 50 years, you've watched me do this for 5 decades now.

There is a mural of Elves and Unicorns and Archangels being painted on my car and these fucking jackasses have seen fit to see that as deranged conspiracy theories of me sending suicide demons after them!

What the hell?

You people are insane!


Stop being so damned fucking retarded. Stop pulling your damned bull shit conspiracy theories out your ass!

Pull your face out of your ass, open your eyes, and LOOK AROUND...

I'm painting the book covers of my novels on my car and you can fucking see that if you would pull your damned conspiracy theory filled head out of your ass long enough!

BoomFuzzy and Quaraun are the main characters from my novels. Not suicide demons sent to kill you. BoomFuzzy is a unicorn and Quaraun's an Elf.

You fucking idiots!

How the hell damned retarded are you!

As for Etiole on the car... in the novels I have him written as Quaraun's great-grand son. He's a half--Elf/half-merman who shapeshifts into a 6 winged Archangel with blue wings that are covered with eyes.

Again, NOT a demon of suicide or anything else.

You imbeciles! What is wrong with you!

Me painting my novel covers on my car, because I'm an author and have a book signing coming up, is NOT a reason for you to run around shooting people with guns and pushing people in front of trains!

Grow the fuck up!

  The Scared Pink Jelly Fish on the hood, IS main character Quaraun, in his true form, because I write about shapeshifters and Quaraun is a female jellyfish, who transforms into a male Elf.

Again, these are NOT suicide demons, or any other kind of demons.

Also, they are characters from Fantasy novels. They are fictional. They are NOT real. 

You have a serious problem with not being able to tell the difference between fictional fantasy and real world reality. You should have that checked by a doctor, because it's not normal for people to run around saying cars are demons sending them secret brain messages from fictional novel characters. You've got some serious mental health issues if you believe that's what my car is doing to you.


And they are not watching you or sending you secret messages. If they ARE, than you might want to see a psychiatrist to get that checked out, because those voices in your head are YOU telling yourself those things. My car is NOT sending you secret messages through telepathic brain wave singles. There is something seriously wrong with you if you ACTUALLY believe that's what my car is doing.

Leave me alone.

Leave my family alone.

Leave my friends alone.

Put your fucking guns away and go get psychiatric help, because you fucking need it.

YOU are are a jackass, who likes to shoot people with guns. 

Stop trying to blame me and my car for you being a sociopath!

I've 4 book releases due in 2022 and 2023, and the car is being repainted with characters from the novels on it, for the upcoming book release, the FBI phone call request has been on my car since 2015 - but it used to be on a sheet of paper taped to the back side windows, but while painting my car, I took the paper off the windows and repainted what it said onto the hood and trunk of my car.

The words have not changed.

They are the same words that have been there on my car for 7 years.

The anniversary number changes each year, but otherwise it's exactly the same as it has been since 2015.

The only difference is the flyer on the window was just a sheet of paper and you had to get close to my car to read it, while the words on the trunk are nearly a foot tall and can be seen for many meters away. 

I repaint my car every few years. I've done it ever since I had this car. The paint fades over time, it has to be repainted every 4 or 5 years. And EVERY time, the first thing I do is paint words all over the car, usually verses from the Bible and Book of Mormon (I'm a 5th generation Mormon), so that the whole car is covered with something.

It takes about 2 years to paint the pictures as I am using a #6 round brush and a mici-fan brush - both are tiny brushes used for painting tabletop gaming minis. I paint the entire car with just those 2 brushes, that's why it takes so long to do the full mural that eventually covers every inch of the car. The words will eventually be covered by the mural. They always are. The words are there so that there are no large sections of the car left unpainted while the final mural is being painted.

This time is the first time the words were something OTHER than verses from the Bible and Book of Mormon. This time the words were from the FBI plea that has been taped to the window these past 7 years. 

The plea to call the FBI, is NOT new, it's been on my car since May 2015. You just can see it better now because it's now painted on the trunk instead of taped to the window.

I must question, WHY it is, YOU are in such a huge panic over the FBI call request on my car? 

ONLY the guilty party has any reason to be made upset by that. 

ONLY the murderer themselves would have reason to panic in terror at my asking witnesses to come forward about the murder of my family.

You are making yourself look VERY GUILTY with your words and actions.

WHY are you so very AFRAID of the FBI request on my car?

The innocent have nothing to be afraid of.

If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.

What are you hiding that has made you so afraid?


The words on the hood and doors are already painted over.

I was going to paint over the large FBI plea, the mural covering the trunk, as well and put the flyers back up in the window, but considering what has just happened, I think I may leave the trunk as is and NOT paint a mural over it now.  








NaNoWriMo 2021
Untitled Quaraun Novel Vomit Draft 
WIP
Days 1 to 11
(Nov 20, 2021)

We crossed 50k in 6 days!

Now at 72,548 words...

And it probably requires some sort of trigger warning, but BoomFuzzy is in this one and we've already reached scenes of depression, suicide, and wrist slitting, so yeah, all the usually BoomFuzzy fare is here, just so you know.

Spoiler warning, if you are worried about such things - the ending of the story has been written. It'll be fleshed out and expanded as we go on, but, the base end is now in the draft.








~o0o~





"I will accept any physics mumbo jumbo," said Quaraun to no one.

Quaraun standing in a meadow, next to a stream, and a little ways from civilization. In the distance he could see a spire of smoke rising into the sky.

"This is your journey," Quaraun said as he watched the smoke drift skywards and mingle with the clouds.

A wolf walked up to Quaraun.

"What are you doing?" it asked.

"Seeing how many times I can say 'I don't know'" Quaraun said still watching the spiral of smoke mingling with the clouds.

"Well what do you want to do?"

Quaraun looked around as the smoke made its way into the sky.

"I haven't the faintest idea. What do you think I should do?"

The wolf looked around as well.

"I feel that I am on a path in the forest of information," Quaraun said. "And every new thing that I find is a new idea, a new story line, that could take me anywhere. There are two paths up ahead. I don't know which to take. I thought if I watched the smoke up there, the wind would blow it one way or the other and I would go on the path of that direction, but the smoke just goes ever upward."

"What do you think the choices in life are?"

Quaraun frowned, than said: "This is an adventure. This is your adventure. Your life is your adventure. My life is my adventure. Today our paths cross and become a single adventure. Who knows what adventure I will encounter tomorrow."

The wolf stared at Quaraun.

"Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're either a crazy elf or a genius."

"I'm talking to a wolf. Wolves can not talk. Either I have gone insane and thus I AM a crazy Elf or I have discovered a way to communicate with animals, in which case I am a genius. Or perhaps, you are dead and I am just a Necromancer talking to a ghost that chooses the form of a wolf."

The wolf gave Quaraun a sideways look.

"I think that you might be on to something. I have been called worse names by much worse people. I will let you make that diagnosis."

"Well than. Enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?"

"Your life," Quaraun said. "Or your death. Which ever it may be."

"I wasn't planning on dying. You think the Humans will just let you waltz in and take their homelands?"

"Probably not."

"You are a weirdo, you know that, right?"

"I've been called worse."

"A weirdo in a pink dress."

"I like pink."

The wolf ran off into the forest.

Quaraun laughed as he finished cleaning his blade and tossed it into his pack.

"I will accept any physics mumbo jumbo," said Quaraun to no one. "As long as it gets me more information. How long do you think I have been doing this for?"

He began walking.

"I don't know," said a voice.

"Hello?" Quaraun looked around but saw no one. "Who is there?"

"You know you can trust me."

"Can I?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then, who are you?"

"I am the one who hides in plain sight."

Quaraun frowned. "Yes, I have no interesting people who hide in plain sight. Good dy!" Quaraun pulled out a book and began flipping through it's pages, searching for something

"What are you reading?" The voice inquired.

"Are you still here?"

"I am. What are you reading?"

"A Practical Introduction To The Use of Crystals and Stones In The Four Branches of Crystalomancy," Quaraun said, reading the words on the cover.

"I see," said the voice. "Well, you've already got my attention, so I guess I will tell you my name. I am Farshaun, and it is good to meet you."

"But I haven't meet you. I see you no where. Who are you? What do you look like? To me you are nothing but a disembodied voice and if I can't see you, than I have no interest in you, no matter you're interest in me."

"Well, I suppose you're right about that. I am Farshaun, but you may call me Farshaun. I am a Druid, and have been for many years."

"Farshaun is exactly the same as Farshaun."

"You are quite right."

Quaraun closed the book. 

"You are quite the elusive man, Farshaun, but I suppose I will get over that when I meet you. When will I meet you and when you say you are a Druid, what exactly does that mean? I've met many Druids and they never agree on what exactly a Druid it."

"Oh, you are going to meet me soon. In fact, you are meeting me right now." 

"I am? How?" Quaraun asked with a little bit of anxiety in his voice. "Where are you? I still don't see you?"

Farshaun laughed. "You will meet me in the heart of the Faerie Forest. There, you will see me with your own eyes, and then you can judge for yourself who I am."

"So you are a Druid who lives in a Faerie Forest?" Quaraun asked.

"I am," Farshaun said.

"And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"But of course."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I am the Druid who has the FeyStones. I also know where the Faerie Stones are hidden, and I will use those FaeStones to help you get home to ElfLand."

"ElfLand? Are you mad? There is no such place. Besides, I am the last Elf. All the other Elves are dead. There is no place for me to go home too. The world is my home now. I sleep in a tent on the side of the road, in a new village, a new forest, every night"

"Yes, there is. There is a Faerie Stone in the Elven ruins of the old abandoned city of Silva. You will see it when you meet me. You can go home then."

"I have no desire to go 'home'. I already told you, I live on the open road. I am a silk merchant and a vagabond wizard for hire. I travel wherever the road takes me. And 'home', is never a place it takes me because I live in a tent. I live out of my pack. My home is on my back."

"I see. Well, I hope you are satisfied with your decision to meet me somewhere, because I must be going. Good luck in your journey, friend."

"You can't just leave!" Quaraun shouted, worried the bodiless voice was already gone. He was lonely and enjoyed the company of someone to talk to. Even a strange voice with no body, that might possibly have been just an imaginary voice in his head for all he knew. "You've not yet told me how to find you. I don't even begin to know where to look for you."

Farshaun chuckled. "I will be found if you are looking for me. Go to the Elven ruins and look for the Silken Lady. She will guide you to me."

"What Elven ruins? Where? I know of no Elven Ruins in the area. And who is the Silken Lady? How will I know her?"

"You will know her, because she is you. Good bye."

Quaraun didn't understand what the strange disembodied voice meant when it said "she is you".

"I am confused and I have no reason to seek out the Druid or the Silken Lady or the Elven Ruins in the Faerie Forest. And I have no need for Faerie Stones of travelling to ElfLand. What a bother. And none of it helped me to decide what path to take." 

The Faerie King is a tyrant most foul, a bane upon humanity, and an affront to all that is good. Were he a hero, this is who Quaraun would be meant to slay. Quaraun however, was not a hero. He was not the one to slay the Faerie King. He had no wish to do so. In fact, he had nothing but endless, undying love for the evil King of the Faeries. Quaraun would play a different role. He would be the one to put a stop to the human scourge. He would be the one to save Lich King from Hell. If only he could figure out how. BoomFuzzy was dead. BoomFuzzy was now a Lich.

It hurt like the worst possible way. But he wasn't alone in this quest, no he was not alone at all, and he felt as though he finally understood what being alive means. He suddenly realized he'd never known happiness before. His mind raced with possibilities and his spirits soared, and as he walked down the road towards Faerie City, he decided that maybe he had found his future. Maybe he really would make things better for the world.

Maybe he really was just a crazy wizard.

"I have been sick," Quaraun said to himself. "Perhaps both the wold and Farshaun were just hallucinations. Fever images. I seem to able to only communicate properly with animals and ghosts those under the influence of drugs, drinks, or other forms of mind-altering substances. I... oh dear. Perhaps I am going crazy. I must have a brain fever, except I have no brain."

A few days later, Quaraun found himself sitting in a small scullery of an isolated farmhouse, being served a hot meal, by the farmer's wife.

"How do you like your eggs Benedict, Mr. Quaraun?"

"Not very well, Mrs. Hightower. And it's just Quaraun. No Mister."

Mrs. Hightower smiled. "I can fix that."

She set down the plate before him and took out the spatula. "Now we just wait for the cheese to melt..."

"That was fast."

"I've made enough to feed the entire town."

"I can see that."

"They are better than what you will find any place."

Quaraun smiled. "I wouldn't dream of trying anything less."

The door opened and two men appeared in the doorway, both in long dark cloaks with black hoods drawn down and their faces covered. They were dressed in black leather jackets and black pants with knee-length boots.

Their swords were strapped across their backs. Both men held bows and arrows ready in their hands. They both wore daggers, which they hid under their coats, and both carried wicked looking knives on belts and inside boot tops. The shorter one spoke.

"What's going on here? Momma! Who is this man! He's one of them, isn't he? Look at his ears. He ain't no Human!"

Both Quaraun and Mrs. Hightower stood up straight.

"Nothing to worry about, son. We were merely having a little dinner and conversation."

Both men's faces were concealed behind the masks of black leather. One of them looked around suspiciously. He then turned to Mrs. Hightower.

"Do you have anyone else here tonight?"

"No, why would there be anyone here? Why do you ask? You're frightening me. What's going on?"

"There is something wrong here," the second son replied. "I thought everyone who lived here was dead."

"Dead?" Mrs. Hightower repeated. Her face became pale and her eyes grew wide.

"You heard me? You died with Pa, years ago."

"I'm... dead?" Mrs. Hightower looked like she would faint.

"What did you say?" Quaraun asked.

"Who are you? What are you doing with Ma?"

"I... I'm Quaraun. I saw the light on and asked if she had any food to spare. I've been walking for days with no food. I decided to hide out in this little village until I could recover from a massive virus that nearly killed me."

"You're sick?"

"I was..."

"You got the plague?"

"No..."

"How do you know?"

"It's not the plague. I just need a place to rest and sleep for a few days, is all. Your mother..." 

"Ma! You go back to your room. You know you aren't supposed to talk to strangers."

"There is something wrong here," Quaraun said.

"Someone killed everybody here in the village. I think it was the Fae."

"Are all three of you dead?"

"Yes! This is a ghost town. We are all ghosts. So how did you see us?"

"I'm a Necromancer?"

"What? You mean one of those guys who raises corpses up as monsters?"

"No. I can see dead people and talk to them. I often can't tell if a person is dead or alive or if any one else can see them or not. I end up talking to dead people in a crowd of living people, who can't see the dead, so they think I'm a crazy old coot talking to himself. It's rather embarrassing. But who killed you? And when?"

"The Fae."

"The Fae?" 

Quaraun asked.

"We saw their shadows when we arrived and we followed them to see what they were up to. As they walked away, we followed them, until they reached the ruins of this ancient Elven ruin near the Elven Ruins. The building was still standing, except for the walls that had collapsed and the ground covered in moss that had grown over the stones. The Fae attacked the building. They killed all the humans inside. Then the rest ran after them, and fought back, trying to destroy whatever was left of the building. After the fighting, we managed to escape and fled into Faerie, where I met you. There wasn't anybody else. So you're the first real living people I've seen since coming here. I hope you can give me some kind of direction or guidance to find the Silken Lady so I can go back to my home, and I won't be alone anymore. I have always hated the Faeries, ever since I was born."

Quaraun and the woman looked at each other, puzzled.

Quaraun said. "And you're sure all these deaths are real? That everything we have experienced together is real?"

"Yes, yes, of course. The things we witnessed were real. Now I need to find the Silken Lady and kill her so I can go home.



~o0o~



~o0o~



~o0o~


~o0o~









Quaraun had been walking for many hours, and grew weary.

"I need to find a place to rest," the elderly Moon Elf wizard said to himself. "I don't think I can make it to the village down there before sunset. It looks to be a farming community. Not likely to have a tavern. Or an inn. Or even a brothel. And no common Human is likely to rent a room to either an Elf or a mage for the night. Oh dear. I do believe, tent it is. Let's see? Where can I set it up? I do so hate being alone. I miss BoomFuzzy. I wish he was here.  I wish I had companion again."

Quaraun set out to setting up his tent, oblivious to the his words carelessly spoken. Quaraun knew well, the dangers of starting any sentence with the words: "I wish". Quaraun knew the danger better than anyone, for he was a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order, and any wish spoken near him, was automatically granted, whether he realized he had granted it or not. For thus was the nature of wishes, when on was a Di'Jinn.



~o0o~


Nearby, down in the valley, others were also thinking about the farming community and heading there for the night. But these men were not looking for rooms to rent. They were looking for rooms to raid.

A crew of bandits roamed the valley, seeking unsuspecting victims to loot. 

The day before, they had been sent on an assignment, from the bandit chief, to destroy the village. The mission was simple enough, but as soon as they arrived it quickly became clear that this would be a harder task than they thought. For at that very moment, on the other side of the valley, a lonely Elf had said the words: "I wish" and an evil, dark Faerie king heard his plea and quickly came running to the world of Men.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, the bloodthirsty Faerie King Gwallmaiic. The vicious Phooka, the bloodthirsty black Unicorn, responsible for the extinction of the Elves. Where King Gwallmaiic went, his enchanted Forest of No Return followed. He took his whole valley, it's forest, it's volcano, and it's palace with him.

The Forest of No Return encircled Fire Mountain, and magic, not water, flowed from the rivers. It's trees walked like men, and it's mushrooms grew big as trees. Fire Mountain and The Forest of No Return, did not exist on Earth. They were places in the Realm of Fae. Places that appeared on rare foggy nights. 

Pepper Valley and its accursed mountain, its Fae filled forest, and its haunted gingerbread house, appeared at sunset and disappeared with the sunrise, taking with it, any mortal foolish enough to enter into the Elf Eater's enchanted Pepper Valley.

Pepper Valley could appear any place, any time, any where, and when it left, it took with it entire cities, lone travellers, or roaming bandit, whom had the misfortune of wandering into the valley of The Elf Eater.

The Valley was the constantly moving home of the Faerie King, King Gwallmaiic, a Phooka, many thousands of years old, born in the days when the Woolly Mammoth still roamed the Earth, old enough to have witnessed the crucifixion of Christ. A Phooka whom two centuries ago, had commit suicide and was now cursed to walk the land of the living as an incorporeal Lich. 

And so it happened, one fateful night, that Pepper Valley and it's Fire Mountain, home of the Lich King, appeared to grant the wish of a lonely old Elf, in the very location, that these unfortunate, unsuspecting bandits had set out to raid.

They entered the village from the side of the hill, coming out at a small cliff, and as they neared their destination, they began to see signs of life, that had disappeared.

The road was deserted, the buildings were silent, and there was no sign of any people or animals. They kept walking down the path through the empty streets until they came across another path, which ran parallel to it, but not so close that it became part of it.  It ended in another cliff, with more ruins in the distance. There were no people there either.

“What the hell is this place?” asked Hoseok. He looked around, noticing a few houses further up the hill, but no people or animals anywhere else. His eyes scanned the village.

“It looks like... nothing,” said Jihoon. “There’s nothing here, except those houses up there. It looks like everyone just vanished. I was certain I saw lights in the windows and people on the streets when we were coming down into the valley. Where did they all go? What are we supposed to do now?” 

“We need to leave,” Yoongi replied, “or we might never get off this mountain alive. It's haunted I tell you. I can feel it. The air feels wrong.” He looked to Seungcheol. “How did you find this place? We haven't seen a living soul since we got here.”

“There is,” answered Seungcheol. “Just, not right now. I was just looking around. This place isn't abandoned, there's food fresh land out on the tables. I'll bet they heard us coming somehow and are hiding in some secret dugout. We're gonna find someone, you'll see. Let's stay together and keep an eye out.

The aim of this mission was to infiltrate the villages of the valley and kill off most of its inhabitants in order for them to steal away all their crops and livestock. They’d gone through three towns during the first two days. 

 Their first week passed without incident as they scoured the villages for food and loot. But here, today, they found nothing but empty houses and abandoned farms. They also found no sign of any other people. It was as if this village were only inhabited by ghosts.

It was a farming community, with a few buildings scattered around. But there were no guards. 

No other citizens. 

No horses.

No chickens.

No dogs.

Nothing. 

It seemed to be deserted.

It had been a week since they'd entered the kingdom. All they'd done was explore, scout, and search for anything useful. 

As the week dragged on, the team grew more confident about the task at hand. As long as the target was unaware they were out there, everything would be okay. There would be no survivors here anyway. ut in order for no one to survive, there first had to be someone to kill, and here there was no one.

This town, this village. Something was wrong with it. They  found no sign of any people. It was as if the people had instantly vanished one day. 

Meals still on the tables. 

Horse carts stopped dead in the middle of the road, their contents still packed. Their riders and horses gone.

Farm tools laying in the fields as if the people vanished while still using the. 

This was completely out of place. 

The bandit crew made their way through the deserted village, going from house to house, puzzling about where the people could have gone? 

Had they fled, just dropped everything and run? 

From a dragon perhaps? 


~o0o~


Meanwhile, just outside the village...

The rich, lush green valley lay ahead, just a few days ride. Of course it was just an outpost of civilization, an outpost here in the common lands. She had been here before, and had no need to suspect, that another valley, Pepper Valley, had materialized on top of the valley she knew.

A lone woman, with long golden hair, riding on her war horse, barely made it to her town. Goblins and their dreaded war hounds galloped along behind her. They were a few miles back, but they were coming here next. 

The only way to head them off was to cross the field there and take another path through the trees. But where could she go? She needed food and water for both herself and her steed. Maybe she could get supplies at the farming village ahead. 

She could see farm town just over the horizon. But the closer to the town she got, the more nervous she became. 

Something felt wrong. 

She couldn't place her finger on it. But there were not many people living in this area, what could possibly happen? Her heart beat faster when she saw the entry gates to the village. 

And that's when she saw it. 

A large group of men, standing outside a large farmhouse. 

All talking amongst themselves. 

They didn't seem dangerous.

She decided to approach them.


~o0o~


At that same moment, behind the deserted farming village, in the forest along the edge of the valley, beside a quiet stream leading to the lake, was set up a small pink and fuchsia striped silk tent. 

Inside the tent slept an elderly Elf with long white hair, wearing pink silk robes made out of the same striped pink silk as the tent. Wrapped up in warm, soft fur pelt blankets, breathing softly and peacefully. The only sounds that filled the air around the tent was the soft trickle of water over stone. 

No one was watching when the trees arrives. Huge mast trees, sprouting up like mushrooms, in places where moments ago, not trees had been.

A thick heavy fog, rolled down off the mountains, as the rumbling roar of an angry volcano, echoed through the night.

Something rustled in the grass outside of the tent, causing the elderly Elf to stir. 

Strange sounds. 

Strange winds. 

Ghostly howls.

Quaraun opened his eyes, sat up clutching a fox pelt round his thin bony shoulders, and looked out from beneath his silken curtain. The first thing he noticed was how very many trees there were blocking his view. He felt certain the trees in front of his tent had not been there when he set the tent up a few hours earlier. And the air, it smell different. As if the valley was not the same valley he had pitched his tent in just before sunset.

But Quaraun had no time to question the change in the air or the different trees, for there in the grass stood a large creature, which was almost like a dog but with longer legs, horns, and a pointed snout. 

A black dog, with black feathers on it's wings, and cut crystal eyes, made out of blue glass. The dog looked purple in the moonlight, and had a ghostly blue glow. 

All around the dog, little miniature fuzzy, wuzzy fluffy white angora bunnies, with long bloody vampire fangs, munched on mumbling mice in the mid-night moonlight.

The dog barked and bounced excitedly. It wagged it's matted braided purple tail cheerfully when it saw Quaraun. 

“Hello!" Quaraun said to the strange dog.  "Who are you?"

The beast did not answer, Quaraun had not expected it would. Most creatures didn't talk. The dog-creature turned and scampered back into the forest. Barking and yipping happily as it went. And the herd of undead bunnies bounded after it. 

Quaraun sat alone once again.

"How odd. And how cold. It was not so cold when I set up the tent. I can see my breath in the air. Oh dear. I do believe it is cold enough to snow. It's still summer. Are we far enough north for snow? I did not think I had travelled that far. BoomFuzzy loved the snow."

 Quaraun sat in the doorway of his tent, watching the full moon and thinking about his dead lover BoomFuzzy. After a while Quaraun reached for his cane, braced it firmly on the ground got up and stretched. His joints cracked and popped. Old age was catching up with him. 

"Ow! I hate being old. My bones creak worse than a rusty door. If didn't hate using magic so much, I suppose I could heal myself somehow couldn't I? Eh? Why bother. It's not like I have anyone who cares about me. Every one I love is dead. And every one else on the planet hates my and has a price on my head. I wonder how much The Guild wants for my head these days? There must not be any Justice Mages around here. I've not seen a single wanted poster of myself in weeks. Now. That tree. You I want o see up close."

Quaraun tottered over to a tree, leaning heavily on his cane and trying not to trip on the tall wet, night grass. It was the biggest tree. The one that was nearest to where he had been sleeping. Quaraun walked around the tree several times, running his gold plated fingers across it's bark, felling it's ridges, smelling it's leaves, listening to it's branches, and finally pulled down some moss, which covered the bark.

"No, you are most definitely an actual tree. For a moment I thought you were a mimic, or a monster, and an enchanted Faerie forest coming to haunt me. But you are an actual tree. Nothing magical about you. Odd, I can not you remember you being here. I am getting old. And senile. How did I ever set my tent up next to such a large old oak tree and not notice you here." 

Quaraun should have been looking at the two pine trees to either side of the oak, or paying attention to the fact they two of them were particularly careful to always stay behind him, no matter which way he turned or which way he looked.

Quaraun would have noticed the two uprooted trees that were lumbering around behind him, had it not been for the shriek of a dying mouse, that startled him and attracted his attention away from the trees.

The old Elf turned and looked to see a rabbit standing there watching him. A freshly killed mouse hung limp from it's lips. 

"You look like one of BoomFuzzy's marshmallow vampire bunnies. And your ears are longer than mine."

Quaraun began laughed loudly at the thought of the rabbit's long twitching ears and how much they resembled his own. Humans often called Quaraun by the nickname "Rabbit Ears" for the foot tall long thin ears that he held high over his head. The rabbit heard him laughing, and the creature's own long ears flattened against it's head and it took off running.

"Oh dear. I did not frighten you away. Well, we've a busy forest tonight, haven't we? Too bad none of you are someone I can talk to."

Quaraun left the tent flap tied open so he could see outside. Then he crawled back into bed. He laid on his side, looking outside the tent. 

Outside there was nothing but trees and bushes. 

Bushes and trees. 

Nice. 

Quiet. 

Peaceful. 

Relaxing. 

Grass and leaves. 

Moss and mushrooms were scattered here and there. He closed his eyes thinking about the strange creature he had just seen. 

What was a it called? 

He did not know. After some time he fell asleep again. 

Weak and delicate. 

The smell of decay and death was overwhelming. There wasn’t anything that could save them. He knew this because he didn't know how to live without his family, they were everything to him. Strange creatures had come to take him away. His mother was dead, her blood staining the carpet and flooring in front of the fireplace. Her head shattered, he brain smashed. The jellyfish inside slaughtered. His father had gone crazy from grief. She'd never be coming home again. The tears came easily as he held her broken body, sobbing silently into her hair as he cried. 

"No... No... No..." he whispered over and over as his sobs became louder and more desperate, his voice shaking as he begged for a miracle. But there was none to be found. He'd been living like this for weeks, now in the desert of the Di'Jinn, in the marshlands along the desert, but it still hurt. 

It still ached. 

He felt empty inside, as if he was dying slowly while she was still alive. 

ZooLock had always told him not to cry about things he couldn't change. And maybe ZooLock was right, but he was also the one who had brought this upon himself. 

His father was gone, his mom too, leaving nothing but chaos behind. There was no hope left, no point in holding on to the life he had before. 

Moving forward. 

Forward. 

To something new.

No. 

Gone again. 

More death. 

Now BoomFuzzy too.

Quaraun lived his life in mortal terror, fear to love anyone or let anyone love him, terrified that they would die if he loved them, that they would die, if they loved him.

Sleep was the thing Quaraun dreaded most. His nights were plagued with thoughts of death. His mother. His children. BoomFuzzy. All dead. All bloodily dead.

Red. Just red. That's all you see.

Trapped in a room with red walls. 

There's a desk with red papers on it.

Red was the colour of death.

And the colour of blood.

It stains his hands.

More red. More blood.

Blood that can never be washed away.

He closed his eyes. But all was red.

So much blood.

Blood that stained the floorboards and the bed sheets.

But also the bed itself, as well as those who slept there.

Four children laid in a row. All dead.

Covered in blood.

It was the same blood that was spilled in front of him in his nightmares.

In his dreams, he is back there. 

In front of all the people he killed that day.  His father. His uncle king. His wife. His four beloved children. He sees them again. They stand in front of him, all bloody and lifeless. Blood on their clothes, blood in their hands. Their mouths open, but no sound comes out. 

No matter how hard they try to speak, nothing happens. 

Reaching out to him, they walk through the fog of the Swamp of Death.

They watch him, laughing at his pathetic attempts to defend himself. 

Laughing at his failures. 

At how weak he is for even trying. 

And then, one by one, they step forward, towards him, raising their hands. 

Their fingers pointed straight up.

His breath hitches, his vision blurs. 

He tries not to blink. 

He doesn't want to miss any of what they do to him, the way they touch him and hurt him. 

Touch him with bloody hands. 

Touch him with bloodied lips. 

With bloody eyes. 

With bloody hands, holding him down, forcing his head back against the floor, crushing his skull with their fists.

He can feel the blood trickling down his neck and over his shoulders, onto the bed sheets below.

It is red tears that fell from red eyes.

From black eyes, turned red, from shedding too much red.

Red and black.

A black cat, with the same colour stripes as the night sky. It's eyes red, it's paws black.

Waiting for Emmett.

Two soul tat met for the first time.

One red.

The other black.

Two soul mates both born from the same stars in the sky.

Two soul mates, their destinies to intertwine for eternity.

"Are you alright?" The came from behind a pair of deep brown eyes.

Red.

The colour of blood. The blood of a child.

It falls to the ground, landing on the cobblestone road. 

It glitters in the sunlight and for a moment, it seems to reflect back the sun's rays. 

It is a beautiful sight to behold.

Red, glistening blood.

In his eyes, the red letters shine with an almost supernatural glow. And that make him feel sick. He looked away from it, looking to his feet where he can still feel the heat radiating off them. 

But his feet are red too, soaked in the blood of his children, but they aren't glowing, instead they are covered in a thick layer of ice.

"This isn't my doing," he muttered turning around and running off down the street as fast as he can go. "No! It wasn't me. I didn't do that. I couldn't! I wouldn't!"

He needed to get away from this place; he just wanted to be alone. He doesn't want to think about this anymore. 

To forget. 

Must forget.

If only he could forget. 

He wanted to forget about the blood.

The blood of his children, in the writing on the wall. 

So much blood, tainted everything in this town.

And yet... they keep returning, like a plague. 

The memories.

Every time he closed his eyes, or breathed deeply, he heard their screams echoing through his head. He wished he could do something to stop them, to make those sounds go away, but there was nothing he could do. 

All he can do is run away and try not to think about it.

The red blood of his children, covering over everything.

He ran through the village. People scattered in all directions, screaming. He tried to stop, but he couldn't. It was like he was made of stone.

Red.

Stone stained red. Soaked in their blood.

The accursed colour red. Colour of blood.

And all he can do, every time, is look at it, and wonder if he'll ever see another colour again.

Because even when they were gone, the blood still remained.

He wished he could forget it, too. But he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. 

Because it wasn't just his fault, was it? 

It was theirs. The villagers. They deserved to die so that the blood would stay clean. So BoomFuzzy could return. That would make him feel better, wouldn't it? Make things better.

But it didn't. 

It didn't help at all. 

The blood remained on every surface; it stained the floors of his house. 

The nursey.

His clothes. 

His hands. 

Everything. 

It made everything seem more real, more vivid.

It made every moment with them, the times he'd spent with them, hurt more than anything else.

He wished it would all end. But he knew it wouldn't. No matter how many times he tried to erase everything, he knew he couldn't.

No matter what he did, the blood stayed.

So he ran. And ran. He tried everything he could think of to escape the memories, but it never worked. The blood would always come back. Even after he'd stopped thinking about it.

The blood. The blood on his hands.

On his clothes. On his face.

Red. Red blood.

The blood of his children.

Words on the wall, written in their blood.

Written in their blood, with his own hand.

A red light.

A red letter.

Red.

The colour of blood.

As one gets closer to death.

He looked around the room in despair, the same room where he used to play with his cousins and pretend that his parents weren't...

When he opened his eyes, he felt like he hasn’t slept at all. That’s not true. He had actually slept for a few hours. But that was the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness again. Or, more accurately, being woken by someone poking him in the shoulder. He groaned quietly and turned over to see who it is, but the person moved away from him quickly so he couldn’t see their face.

He sighed. 

There are two people here with him? 

That is a problem. 

Usually he would be able to recognize one of them immediately, but they must have blended into the background during his sleep, as usual. He knew them well enough, though, and that meant he recognized this person too. 

The name didn't ring any bells, nor did it seem familiar. They don’t look like a friend or foe, either, so maybe he should ask? 

If there were enemies here, why didn’t he hear any fighting when he woke up? That would mean they weren’t enemies, right? 

Right. 

Maybe.

Red.

The colour of blood.

Blood that can never be washed away.

No more tears.

No more blood.

Just red.

"Quaraun!"

"Huh?"

"Weak. I feel very weak," Quaraun said, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face. "Where are you?"

"Ah, Quaraun, you are finally here."

"Huh?"

"You are the one I have chosen to accompany me on this quest. What are you doing here?"

When Quaraun awoke it was dark. No. There was no one there. It was only a dream. No one was ever with him. Every one he loved was dead. He was alone, as usual. Quaraun got up and went outside, looking around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, until he noticed that the sun had set. He began walking towards his tent, when suddenly someone called out to him.

"Excuse me!" a woman's voice called out. "Can you show me where the livery stables are?"

"Stables?" Quaraun asked, looking around and seeing no one there. "Stables? There are no stables around here."

Unfortunately, Quaraun's ears acted somewhat like antennae and he could pick up sounds from many miles away, just as clear as if they were standing beside him, and he assumed this was the case now, for there was no woman to be seen, and this far out in the middle of the forest, there was no possibility of a literary in the area. He laid his long ears back, tucking them under his impossibly long twelve foot Rapunzel hair.

There was a village near by, down in the valley. Quaraun had seen it the day before. He could have gone there and looked for a room to rent, a bed to sleep in, so as to not have to sleep on the cold hard ground. Quaraun preferred to sleep in his tent, in the forest, away from Human populations. He was the last Elf. Few Humans these days even believed that Elves had ever been once real, so it was generally best to avoid Human villages until scouting out the beliefs of the local cultures and knowing their thoughts on magical creatures, like Elves.

Sadly Quaraun knew he could never live among the Humans. They were quick to judge anything deemed different, and he was certainly different. He knew most people feared him, some even hated him, sometimes simply because he was an Elf, other times because he was a mage. 

A wizard. 

A necromancer. 

The Pink Necromancer no less. 

And yet, many respected him, mostly for his power. Tales of The Pink Necromancer were legendary and there were few who would dare risk his temper. 

Now that he was awake again, Quaraun could not get back to sleep, so he took to writing.

"...a black mirror, a silver dagger, and a white feather. A white bird's wing, on its head, and a white cloth with black lines over it as a bandage for a wound.

A white dress, black feathers on top of each head, black clothes, and white boots. 

A black crow carrying something in it's talons, feathers ruffled like they had been through wind. An empty cage, with its contents long gone.

The three children who had been playing with the ravens before, now standing beside him. They were no longer laughing or screaming as they used to, but their eyes seemed dull with grief and despair, tears running down their faces, hands shaking as they looked around at what was left of the forest they had once known so well.

There were trees and flowers everywhere, birds singing, animals running through the field, rabbits hopping from tree to tree, butterflies and butterflies flying in the air. The raven in front of them, though, was still just dead; nothing was alive anymore. There were no life, no movement, no life except for that one little, white feather floating in the air, drifting up and away until it could no longer be seen. He watched as it fluttered further away into the sky.

He felt like he should be angry or sad about this..."

Quaraun stopped writing and read what he wrote. Than puzzled and wondered why it was he had written the words he had.

The old Elf felt lonely without anyone there beside him at night, so he began to softly sing. 

A soft quiet song. 

A lullaby. 

The lullaby he had sung to his four small children, two sets of twins, two girls and two boys, each two years apart. 

He missed his children. 

They had been murdered, poisoned with tainted chocolate, them their throats slit. A haunted memory of the blood filled nursery, plagued Quaraun's tortured sleep. 

Two girls age twelve, two boys age ten, murdered in a bloody magic ritual.

Quaraun stopped singing. 

Tears streaming from his eyes.

"I loved my children," Quaraun said to himself. "But I loved BoomFuzzy more."

Quaraun had murdered his children on the one hundredth anniversary of BoomFuzzy's death. An attempt to resurrect BoomFuzzy, with a blood sacrifice, life for life, exchanging the thing he loved most of all, his children, for the return of his long dead lover.

The exchange had worked, but not completely. 

BoomFuzzy's soul was back. 

Ripped from the land of the dead, now cursed to roam the land of the living. 

A incorporeal wraith, a ghost with no body, worse, a Lich with no flesh. Enraged by what Quaraun had done, the Lich immediately fled, to where Quaraun did not know. And so once again, Quaraun was alone, separated from now not only the one he loved, but now with no family to love either.

And so Quaraun wandered the world. In search of BoomFuzzy's tormented ghost, while seek a way to restore the wraith into a physical flesh body, that they could be reunited in life, once again.

The wraith had no voice to speak with the living. 

No flesh to hug and hold. 

Alone. 

Lonely. 

Lost. 

Tormented.  

It would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Nicer to have someone to hold. BoomFuzzy in his current Lich state, could talk to no one, hold no one. He could only reach out and try to touch them, his hand going through them, and far back in horror as he watched them crystallize in a horrible blue death, a frozen blue ice, The Crystal Plague spreading throughout their body, starting at the location he had touched.

They died. 

Everyone he touched.

Everything he touched.

Every plant.

Every animals.

The Frost Lich's frozen touch of death, struck terror in the hearts of mankind.

So many dead. Entire villages, buried in ice. All because of him. Because he were looking for something. Someone. A lover lost. He wasn't afraid anymore. 

BoomFuzzy. 

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. 

King Gwallmaiic. 

The most feared Faerie King of all time. 

Now the most feared Lich the world had ever known. He didn’t care anymore. He'd roamed the world trying not to freeze everything he touched, but he no longer cared. 

Depression filled his mind. 

He wanted death. 

He crazed for death. But he was already dead. 

Now undead. A flesh-less corpse walking among the living.

The Phooka of a Thousand Deaths, he roamed the world endlessly killing himself over and over again, in search of a way to die and stay dead.

But he was soul bound to an Elf.

To Quaraun.

And as long as Quaraun lived, the Lich could never fully die.

The Lich grew to hate Quaraun. His lover from once before, was now his curse that trapped him in this state of existing not dead, yet not alive. 

For as much as Quaraun loved BoomFuzzy, BoomFuzzy hated Quaraun. 

Hated Quaraun for the wish misspoken, that had bound their souls together, trapping them for eternity, always connected together, always separate, never together. The Lich that once in life had been BoomFuzzy, thought to kill Quaraun and free himself of this curse.

So many lay dead in his path. If only he hadn’t touched them.

The Lich had come this way, drifting through these forests, freezing everything he touched. A path of frozen trees, only days ago, lush, green and full of life, now stood dead, frozen, strange blue crystal points, skewered through their bark, trunk, and leaves. Everything touched by the frozen wraith had the life sucked out of it, and nothing but frozen blue quartz crystals left behind.

He passes by the village.

The villagers flee before him, and he laughs. 

This is their world. Now his.

They are the rulers, he is the servant, no more.

In life The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley had been a holy terror, a warlord who marches his armies across nations, slaughtering all in his path. No one understood why Quaraun loved him. What Quaraun ever saw in such an evil man. But now, The Elf Eater was long dead, and his frosty Lichified wraith roamed the earth, striking more fear into the hearts of humanity than he had ever done in life.

Nothing but frozen blue ice. 

Nothing but deadened snow. 

Nothing but the cold.

The Lich had found a cave hidden within the forest, deep into the mountains. He had crawled into it and slept, and when he awoke, it was time to go again, searching for some fresh game. It didn’t matter what it was; something big enough to eat would do. Anything larger was gone, killed, or fled. No one dared approach the lair of the Lich, who was known for being cruel and merciless.

But even he couldn’t find an endless supply of food here. There were no animals nearby, and they knew better than to wander too close. Even if there were, there was still the risk of his touch freezing them in place, trapping them forever inside his lair. 

So they stayed away from the lair, watching it from afar, hoping that someone else might stumble upon its depths. 

But no other had, since the Lich had come to live there.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been at the lair. 

It felt like it had been centuries. 

Days. 

Nights. 

Seasons. 

Time had ceased to exist. 

Only days mattered anymore, days that meant nothing, only days where the Lich was alone, and hungry. 

When it felt like all was lost.

To kill the Elf Eater, destroy the wraith, rid the world of this icy lich, was the battle cry of millions of cities, millions of villages, who lived in mortal terror that one day this lich would walk through their village and leave behind, as it always did, nothing but icy death.

And while most sought to destroy the Lich, Quaraun sought to free him, restore him to life, release him from his frosty flesh-less cursed existence. 

And that was why Quaraun was here, in this valley, whose name he did not know, near a village he also knew not the name of. 

Quaraun was following the Lich that was all that remained of BoomFuzzy, and it had walked through he mere days ago.

To free the lich, to bring him back from the brink of death, to find the rare flower that could re-energize his corpse and bring him back to life... that was his goal. Why he followed the Lich's icy trail.

And so Quaraun, he followed the Lich, keeping silent, keeping his eyes on the horizon where the Lich travelled, and keeping watch for any sign that BoomFuzzy might be coming near.

And then he came to a river.

A river, flowing fast, flowing far.

He followed it upstream, moving closer to the riverbank, until finally he realized it was not an ordinary river.

An icy river.

An icy river running through an icy forest.

The river was alive.

Quaraun followed the river, and found its source, and it was not natural. Not normal, not natural at all.

There was no water. But rather strange magic that looked like water, smelled like water, tasted like water, but was not water.

There should have been, with the rivers in this place.

This place was supposed to be frozen over. 

This was supposed to be lifeless, dead land. 

Dead ground. 

And yet... life pervaded, even though the footsteps of the Lich had walked through here.

This river ran through it as though it were alive. As though it flowed with life. And as it moved, the air around it grew warmer, the light brighter. And suddenly, Quaraun could feel warmth on his skin, and smell summertime. 

Summertime!

What a strange place.

For a moment he hesitated, unsure if he should continue onward. 

Wasn't the river dangerous? 

If the water froze, wouldn't it trap the whole world under ice?

And if the river was frozen, wouldn't it freeze him too?

Or worse?

Wouldn't the undead creatures within be trapped, trapped forever beneath the ice?

Yes. Yes. 

He had to hurry. 

Had to reach the end. Before the sun set and the moon rose.

And so Quaraun continued on, until at last he came to this clearing, where he had set up his tent for the night and now sat humming to himself, trying to calm his frazzled nerves, after be awoken by the blood spattered nightmare that haunted him every night.

This was no place for a nightmare. 

It was beautiful here. 

Pristine, serene. 

A small quiet meadow full of plants, lush with greenery. 

A pond off the side of the river, full of cat tails and water lilies.

Quaraun sat wrapped in BoomFuzzy's furs, for many hours and listened to the soft hum of the crickets, cicadas, and frogs croaking and chirping and buzzing. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was lying in the soft warm furs that lined BoomFuzzy’s bed. 

The furs were soft and fluffy and smelled like BoomFuzzy, smelling of anise, gingerbread, peppermint and wormwood, and there was a comforting heat that wrapped around Quaraun when he slept. Quaraun wondered if it could feel as comfortable to anyone else, but he never felt more comfortable than when wrapped in BoomFuzzy's fur pelt blankets. 

He didn't know what else it could do for them other than being so soft and warm. It had been his favourite thing to do on rainy days or cold nights. After a long day at work, he would come home and curl up under one of the furs in the bedroom of BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house. He always fell asleep faster there.

Quaraun opened his eyes, glanced out the open curtain-door of the tent, and looked up at the starry night sky. It glowed a soft golden hue over the trees and he sighed, resting his head back down on the fur pelt blanket. 

Suddenly Quaraun sat up and pulled the covers off as he remembered where he was. He was not snuggled up asleep in the safety of BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house. 

No. 

BoomFuzzy had died centuries ago and Quaraun was alone. 

These were BoomFuzzy's furs, kept these many years, from BoomFuzzy's bed, but BoomFuzzy had long been dead. 

Quaraun was alone. 

Alone, sleeping in a secluded grove on the side of the road, as he always did now. 

Sad and alone. 

Lone and chilly.

Wandering the world, to wherever the road took him. With no aim, no goal, and no purpose. Ever on his search to find a way to resurrect his dearly beloved BoomFuzzy. 

He was lost. 

Lost to the world. 

Lost and alone.

Lost to time. Lost to all that made life worth living.

Dead and cold.

Cold and dead.

Quaraun sat in his tent staring at the moonlight shining down, all silver and grey on the lush green plants, making them shimmer blue under the frosty ice crystals.

Quaraun held is breath, staring, panicked at the ice crystals forming over the leaves. Shimmering, sparkling, in the moonlight, like sequins of velvet.

Quaraun looked out the tent, looking past the river, past the pond, and there in the trees, he saw it.

A dark figure, looming in the moonlight. 

Watching Quaraun.

Quaraun's blood froze like the ice on the plants around him.

His heart skipped a beat.

"BoomFuzzy!"

It was the Lich.

The Lich, awoken, risen from his slumber.

The Lich, walking towards Quaraun, a big, grinning smile on his face.

The fuzzy, frost Lich frost spread like a blight across the meadow freezing everything it touched.

The river froze. The grass froze.

The tent glazed over, the fabric stiff with fuzzy, frosty, ice.

If the water froze, wouldn't it trap the whole world under ice?

And if the river was frozen, wouldn't it freeze him, too?

Or worse?

Or would it freeze him completely, and leave him frozen in place, frozen forever, with no hope of return?

And then he thought of the gingerbread house and BoomFuzzy, and BoomFuzzy's words of kindness, and remembered all the times he had fallen in love, and remembered the Phooka's words, his promises to take him home.

Home. 

Home with BoomFuzzy. 

Back in the warmth of the gingerbread house.

Home, in BoomFuzzy's arms. In BoomFuzzy's bed.

The word brought joy to Quaraun's heart. Home. Yes!

The Lich, the Lich that in life had been BoomFuzzy, was there, his hand reaching out to Quaraun, beckoning, inviting Quaraun into his cold, icy embrace.

"Follow me home, lil one," BoomFuzzy's voice said, drifting ghost-like on the wind.

No.

No!

NO!

Sunrise slowly crept across the meadow, and chased away the frozen fog. Melted away the frost on the grass. And chased to the shadows, the Lich that could not bare to step forth in the sunlight.

"No! Don't leave me!"

But the Lich was gone.

Quaraun closed his eyes and back away from the door, and hid in the back of the tent.

All that ever mattered now, was to find his friend. Find the man who would love him so very much, that when he returned to BoomFuzzy, he would have someone else, by his side.

Quaraun had been wandering through these lands, trying to find a way out, a way back to his own realm. But now, looking at this icy river, the idea of returning to those shores sounded wonderful. Perhaps he would make it back there. Perhaps he could find a way to save BoomFuzzy, and bring him back to the land of the living. 

So he would follow the river, keep track of its flow, make sure it went straight forward, and stay in it as long as he needed to. Then, when he felt the need to return, he would return.

He would return. 

With the new spring he had found.

Quaraun wandered the world, going from town to town, looking for books, tomes, scrolls, diaries, notes, anything written by a mage. 

Any mage. 

Scoring the world for clues, to any mage who might ever have tried to cheat death, tried to resurrect a loved one. Anything that Quaraun could learn that might be of some sort of usefulness for bringing BoomFuzzy back to life.

Quaraun now sat awake, looking around and wondering what he should do next, than he remembered that he had seen a small farm village up ahead. He decided to pack up his tent, and explore the village. Perhaps it had a library or a book collector, or maybe even a village which, someone who might have access to magic spell books he could study and read and take notes from.


~o0o~


Back at the farm village, the men, grew antsy. They seemed unable to leave the village. Try as they might, every time they went out of the front gate,, they immediately found themselves back in front of the large farm house again, with no clue how they got there.

"Dark magic's afoot," one man said.

The others nodded and agreed. Just than an unearthly looking blond woman, riding a large white stallion rode up. She was out of breath, and so was her horse.

"Excuse me!" She called out to the men. "Can you show me where the livery stables are?"

The men stared at her, terrified, as if they had seen a ghost, then suddenly bolted in every direction, running away from the women.

"How rude!" she declared as she climbed down from her horse and set about looking for someone to help her.


~o0o~


Back in the forest, Quaraun busied himself in packing up his campsite. And than began walking towards the direction of the village. If it had a stable for renting horses, than surely it was big enough to also have a saloon, maybe even one with goof quality Fairy Wine. 

It was unlikely. 

Faeries were the only ones able to make good quality Fairy Wine, and they rarely wholesaled it out to Humans. Besides, BoomFuzzy was dead, and not even the best Faeries made Fairy Wine like BoomFuzzy did. 

Hailed among Fae at the best of the Master Faerie Chefs, BoomFuzzy, though famed among Humans for being a warlord, had been famed among Faeries as the chef, every Fae chef dreamed to become.

After some time of walking he came upon a small clearing with some bushes, which were growing around one side of it. In the centre of the clearing there was a large wooden building. Without thinking anything odd about doing so at all, Quaraun entered through the front door, without knocking and saw two women sitting near the fire. They both turned to look at him.

One woman had black hair, very light brown and looked to be about twenty or thirty years old. Her face did not seem very friendly. 

“You have come from afar.” she said in a cold voice, but with slight curiosity mixed in.

“Yes,” responded Quaraun. “It has been quite some while since I saw any human being in this forest.”

“We have lived in peace for many decades now,” replied the other woman. “We do not require anyone to visit us.”

“I am sorry,” replied Quaraun, looking down, then back up again. The two ladies looked at each other.

“What are you called?” asked the other woman in a kinder voice.

“Quaraun,” answered Quaraun.

The black haired lady smiled. 

“A pleasure.” 

She got up and went over to stand next to the fireplace where Quaraun was standing. 

“What is your name?”

“Quaraun,” replied Quaraun softly, bowing slightly. 

The black haired woman giggled lightly.

“I see. You are the star Liberace of the stage!” She exclaimed. 

"What?"

"Liberace."

"What is a Liberace?"

"Who?"

"Who?"

"Yes, who is a Liberace."

Quaraun noticed that they were both wearing the same clothes as he was, something was not right here. No one dressed like Quaraun. With all his pink silk, pink ribbons, pink bows, pink feathers, pink glitter, pink ruffles, pink crewel, pink gemstones, pink beads, pink rhinestones, and pink fru-fru, no one in their right mind would even dream of dressing like Quaraun, except, maybe Liberace.

Even Liberace wouldn't dress like Quaraun, unless maybe he had a bad hair day.

Quaraun also made all of his own clothes, right down to the cloth. For Quaraun was a silk weaver and embroiderer and tailor. So it wasn't possible for anyone else to wear his clothes.

Quaraun stood and stared at the women, and while he watched them, they suddenly vanished, as did the house around them.

"How odd," was all Quaraun said as he turned back to the path and continued on his way.


~o0o~


Back at the abandoned village the bandits were feeling uneasy. 

No one lived here. 

There weren’t any villagers around at all. 

They were beginning to feel like they might actually succeed in taking down the place with just themselves and their weapons. They couldn’t understand why this deserted town had been chosen specifically.

They decided to move on when their third week began. There was a small stream nearby that the villagers said flowed into a lake. It would be easy for them to find a suitable location to set up camp for the night. 

While setting up camp, as they started to pack, there was suddenly a loud thump outside. It sounded like someone hitting a tree with an axe. Was this sound the first sign of life they had encountered since their arrival? 

A quick glance at each other and they all rushed outside to see who it was. It was hard not to notice how dark it had gotten. The only light coming from the moonlight filtering through the clouds.

It seemed like hours of walking and nothing had happened.

They looked out towards the road. Nothing could be seen. No lights from houses or vehicles either. All they saw was trees swaying ever so slightly in the wind and the sound of a distant engine rumbling somewhere deep inside the woods.

A few minutes passed by and they continued to stand there, waiting. 

Still nothing happened. 

They heard movement to their right. 

Someone else was here too. 

They looked over at whoever it was. They recognized this man. He was the person responsible for the death of one of their men back when he had taken their prisoner away. He must have come here to make sure everything was okay. He was not from the village ether. A stranger, just like them. He wouldn't know where everyone had gone too.

It appeared as though he was trying to keep quiet but there was no way to hide his footsteps and how fast they were getting closer. When he finally reached them and stepped between them and where he had entered earlier, they saw that it wasn’t him that made the noise after all.

Standing right behind him was another soldier. One of their own, they realized. His face twisted in surprise as he turned quickly back around.

“By the gods! I didn’t think anyone was out here. What are you doing? Did we forget something at camp? Is it safe to return now? We should go back before anything happens.”

Just then there was a loud crash.

They turned around to see that the woman from earlier lay unconscious on the ground. They approached her slowly. One of them lifted her up to see if she was alright. She woke up when the men approached and glared at them. She pushed past them and ran towards a nearby building that was filled with barrels. The barrels seemed to move.

The men went after her and followed her inside. They saw her pick up one of the barrels and turn it over. She then smashed the barrel open on top of a man’s head. He fell onto the floor bleeding out. As they looked closer they could see his eyes moving under the blood that spilled.

The woman ran from the building as the men scrambled around their fallen comrade.

Outside the woman ran, terrified, looking in every direction for a place to hide. As she ran down the street, she spied a small alley between two buildings and turned down that corner, nearly slamming into Quaraun who was bent over rummaging around in a pile of crates.

"Hello," Quaraun said as he stood up to address the woman. Then noticing the distress on her face added: "Is something the matter?"

The sounds of angry men, yelling and shouting, did not give the woman any time to answer. She shoved Quaraun aside, knocking the old Elf off his feet, as she ran past him and continued her fear filled flight.

As Quaraun struggled with his cane, pulling himself to his feet, the tumble-bumble herd of angry men, came tearing down the road, they too knocking him over as they ran past in search of the murderess who'd killed their friend.

"Oh dear," Quaraun sputtered as he once again reached for his cane and struggled back to his feet. "Every one does seem to be in a rush around here."

Curious as to what was going on, Quaraun made his way in the direction the men had gone, after the woman. He stopped when he saw the men up ahead, and ducked back behind a pile of boxes that stood near the corner, then peeked out to watch what was going on.

As they crept towards a window at the edge of the building’s porch, two men entered one of the houses and left. The door closed behind them, and then everything happened so fast. 

One man ran past them, towards the road. Two others turned towards him; then they fired. A second later, four arrows whizzed towards the man, striking him in the side and chest. He fell to the ground and didn’t move. 

Three more men burst from behind another house. One pointed his sword straight at the first man who’d run out, while another raised his axe and prepared to attack the others.

Without thinking, Quaraun let out a scream. A moment later, he felt a sharp sting in his arm. It took him a split second to realize an arrow had hit one attacker in the stomach, and then he realized they’d caught sight of him. The remaining three men now  charged at him, weapons drawn. 

One held his shield up high over his head, while the other two held their swords in front of them, pointing at him. Both carried clubs. The last had the axe that he used earlier.

Quaraun drew one of the Elf Eater’s cursed daggers. The magic dagger flashed as the first two attacked him. One grabbed hold of his dagger hand. The other lunged forward, swinging his club. Quaraun dodged away, while the dagger, taken on a life of its own, flew through the air and stabbed the attacker in the face.

The other three quickly surrounded the elderly wizard, raising their blades high above their heads.

Before anyone could strike, the Elf Eater’s twin daggers slashed at each of them. 

All three fell. 

One landed hard on his side. 

One on his leg. 

Another on the floor. 

The third stumbled backwards, holding his knee. He dropped to his knees, dropping both his clubs. His eyes bulged as blood seeped between his fingers.

Quaraun spun and darted into a nearby doorway. Behind him, one attacker groaned and tried to get up. As soon as he moved, one of the cursed daggers lashed out and connected with his neck. The attacker collapsed onto the floor.

Quaraun turned his attention to the second assailant who managed to pull himself to his feet. 

Quaraun didn’t give his attacker enough time for a proper fight. A fireball exploded from his mouth, setting the room on fire. 

The attacker screamed as Quaraun ran forward and plunged the enchanted dagger into the bandit's chest. The assassin dropped back to the ground, twitching as his body was consumed by flames.

The remaining assassin, still standing on his injured leg, swung his club at Quaraun. The old wizard jumped to the side, allowing the blow to miss. 

The assassin growled. He then turned around, ready to charge. Before he could attack again, a large, green blur rushed past him, knocking the attacker down once more. It took no time at all before the creature stood over him, looking down at the fallen foe.

Its head whipped around and looked back at Quaraun. Its eyes were yellow. It raised it's left arm. It began to glow. The light grew brighter until suddenly it burst apart, revealing... a dragon? 

The dragon stared down at the unconscious warrior. Then, without so much as glancing over at it, the dragon turned and charged towards the door behind Quaraun, leaving it open. Without so much as a glance back, the dragon vanished into the hallway, taking the door with it.

Quaraun darted into another doorway, then another. After about thirty seconds, he finally reached a dead end.

He stopped, turning around and surveying his surroundings. The room he stood in was large, but it ended abruptly at a stone wall. The two daggers floated back to him and obediently took their place at his side. His eyes fell on the dead end. If he went down the steps at the far end, it would take him to the bottom of the stairs.

There was nowhere else to go.

So he did.

After stepping off the steps, the stone floor crunched beneath his feet. He walked down the hallway for a couple of meters and stopped, glancing both ways, taking in the room. It contained nothing except a desk, some chairs, shelves, and a door. 

He glanced at the door. 

To his surprise, it opened easily and swung inward, exposing the corridor beyond. A small room opened to one side of the corridor. 

Quaraun stepped inside. He closed the door and looked around. A wooden chair sat beside the desk, pushed against a wall. He approached it slowly, monitoring his surroundings.

“Hello?” he called.

No answer.

The old Elf cautiously stepped closer to the table. Quaraun set his pink heart-shaped bag on the table and began rummaging through it. Once he’d found what he needed, he pulled a book from his pink bag. The old wizard carelessly put his pack on the floor and set his two daggers beside it. He then carefully placed the book on top of his pack.

He reached into his pocket and took out his wand and pointed it at the book. With a flick, the book burst into flames, leaving nothing behind but ashes.

Quaraun sighed. 

 “Well that won’t work.” 

He picked up his bags. He left the room.

Quaraun made his way down the hall. Once again the sound of stones crunching under his boots sounded like thunderous claps of thunder. His hair stood on end as if the very air itself had an energy. Quaraun shivered and turned another corner.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

The old wizard peered into one of the rooms and then peeked inside. As usual, there was no sign of life. He sighed heavily and went on his way, making sure not to get lost on his way back. After a few more turns, the hallway ended with a single large doorway. He paused for a moment and looked into the room.

It was a bedroom. 

There were two bedside tables. 

One had a lamp on it while the other had a vase of flowers. 

A soft light shone on the bed and a warm breeze blew gently in from outside, carrying with it a faint scent of flowers. Quaraun could see a pair of slippers sitting on the floor beside the bed. He smiled. They seemed like such sweet, simple things. So typical of Humans. He couldn’t help but think how odd they are.

Quaraun moved towards the windows.

“I hate being here,” he muttered. 

Then Quaraun moved towards the chair. When he reached the chair, he sat. It creaked softly under his weight. He leaned back and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. 

He waited. 

An hour passed. 

The sun outside began to set. The shadows grew long, deepening the room. Still, nothing had changed. Not even the sound of a horse approaching could be heard. It was odd, the level of silence in this town, in this house even. 

Quaraun shivered, than glanced around the room. It was getting cold, in this place. Unusually cold, frigid even. As though a Lich's frost was encasing the outside of the building.  And there was no fireplace nor wood stove to be seen. He was wearing only thin silk robes, not nearly warm enough for the intense chill that filled this stone walled cellar room. He had hoped to find a place to light a fire and warm himself, but it appeared this cellar was mostly used by it's resident as a reading room, and served no purpose otherwise as living quarters.

Quaraun heard a sound.

"Hello?"

He stood up and turned around. 

"Is someone there?"

There was no reply.

No one was here, at least not yet. But he knew from experience, they would come eventually. He walked around, looking for the stairs down. If someone could have entered here without his knowledge, he didn't know if he would be able to stop them before finding out who or what was behind the door on the other side. 

Quaraun finally found them and descended into the darkness below him. Once he felt that he was far enough away that no one else could possibly hear him, he spoke again. 

“Hello?”

Quaraun sighed when nothing happened. 

He walked further into the cellar until he came across a door. He tried the doorknob, finding it to be locked. He pressed his ear against the wood of the door. He heard some whispering coming from inside the room. 

Curious, Quaraun knocked on the door three times, waited, then did so twice more. 

“I'm sorry, but I don't think anyone is home." 

He frowned when he got no response. 

After knocking a third time and receiving no reply, Quaraun tried the knob once more. This time, it opened easily. He stepped inside.

The small living area was dimly lit with a few candles set upon various surfaces. The smell of incense filled the air. There wasn't a single thing in sight

He heard no further sounds, so he sat back down and contemplated if he should use his wand to create a flame-less fire or put on a fur coat from his bag.

Quaraun yawned and stretched his limbs.

Finally, Quaraun stood up, picked up his pack, and walked towards the window. His eyes were very tired. This strange, intense cold was making him very sleepy. Quaraun stared out the window, the ground above was eye level to the bottom of the cellar window, so he could clearly see the ground and part of the sky and not much else. There was no light source, just the moon and stars.

The only sound that could be heard was that of the crickets and cicadas outside.

Quaraun turned around, looked at the fireplace, then back out the window, then at the stove.

There's not a matchbox here either.

Quaraun shrugged, and walked towards the fireplace.

As soon as he came near the fireplace, he felt an intense heat coming from it. He shuddered and stopped walking. 

Looking back at the fireplace, Quaraun saw a small flame had appeared on the logs. Quaraun slowly started to approach the fireplace again. When he touched one of the logs, he felt it burning hot. 

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Quaraun quickly backed away from the flames. 

Quaraun walked towards the window instead, then went back towards the fireplace. As he got closer, he noticed more and more flames appeared around the fireplace. It felt like there was an inferno going on. 

As fast as he could manage, Quaraun ran from the room and closed and locked the front door and window. Then he collapsed against the wall and started catching his breath.

That was too close! Quaraun thought.

As Quaraun continued catching his breath, he looked at the windowsill. On top of the sill, next to a large glass jar, was some kind of plant.

Just then, something crashed into the windowsill, causes Quaraun to jump back startled. When he looked to see what it was, he saw a large black bird, and eagle of some sort, laying on the ground by the window. It stood up and stared at him. It had gleaming black-blue feathers, brilliant crystal blue eyes, and huge sharp black talons. It cocked it's head sideways, staring back at him for a moment and than flew away.

"What a strange looking bird," Quaraun said to himself. "I wonder what it was. I've never seen one like it."

Quaraun turned back to look around the room once again.

His gaze fell on a stack of books sitting on the desk. He reached for one. It was old. The leather binding cracked, and its yellowed pages flapped gently. He set it aside and picked up another. This one had a chocolate brown velvet cover, the exact type of brown velvet as the cassock BoomFuzzy always wore.

"BoomFuzzy," Quaraun whispered as he ran his gold armoured fingers over the soft velvet binding. He turned the book over to look at it's cover. The covered was embossed with gold leafing, exactly like the ones on the covers of BoomFuzzy's boxes of chocolates. "Oh my!" Quaraun gasped when he read the title of the book.

The gold words said:"Quaraun".

Quaraun opened the book, turning it's delicate vellum pages carefully. He recognized the calligraphic handwriting on the pages. 

It was BoomFuzzy. 

BoomFuzzy had written this.

"Quaraun is an ancient Moon Elf wizard. A powerful mage, whom has lived for centuries beyond his natural life expectancy. He is known as the most dangerous and knowledgeable wizard in all of the Realm of Fae."

"BoomFuzzy wrote this," Quaraun said as he closed the book and tucked it away inside his pack."But when? I was not yet a wizard when BoomFuzzy died. I was just a child. I became a mage after his death. Because of his death. BoomFuzzy could not have written this."

Quaraun pulled a box of BoomFuzzy's BoomFudgy ButterCream Filled Chocolate Covered Apricots from out of his tiny heart-shaped bag of holding.

He stared at the velvet covered brown box with the friendly gold letters on the top. 

Such wonderful dark chocolates. 

Such horrible dark secrets they held inside each bloody bite.

BoomFuzzy had died centuries ago. One bite was deadly. BoomFuzzy's last box of BoomFudgy ButterCream Filled Chocolate Covered Apricots.

The last thing BoomFuzzy ever made.

The last thing BoomFuzzy ever ate.

BoomFuzzy had poisoned the candy.

A horrible, terrible poison.

One that dissolved organs, and caused the eater to die coughing up a pool of their own blood, mixed with their dissolved entrails.  And the victim would die a gruesome, bloody death.

But that's not all.

BoomFuzzy also used this poison when he made the chocolate.

BoomFuzzy's last box of BoomFudgy ButterCream Filled Chocolate Covered Apricots. The box of chocolates BoomFuzzy had made to kill himself with.

BoomFuzzy had committed suicide.

This horrible box of chocolates killed BoomFuzzy.

Quaraun had found the remains of the dead man, in the old gingerbread house.

Quaraun had found him in some kind of secret room.

BoomFuzzy's secret room was not secret anymore, now that Quaraun knew about it. 

Now was haunted.

Haunted by BoomFuzzy's ghost.

And no amount of running around would make it go away, because every time he stopped, something bad happened.

Quaraun was sure of it, if only to try to understand what had been done so deeply wrong, but all he could do was shake his head sadly, and take his sweet time eating every single one of the boxes in his small hands.

He'd eat the whole box of the last one. 

He'd make sure of it.

There were more important things to worry about though.

No. 

This was not a pleasant thought.

This was a horrible thought.

A memory. 

That's what this box was now. 

A memory of the day BoomFuzzy died.

Quaraun opened the box. The deceptively heavenly aroma of bitter sweet dark chocolate, soft, fluffy buttercream, and gooey fruity apricot jam wafted out of the box. 

Five chocolates were gone. 

The rest still remained.

"I loved my children," Quaraun said out loud. "But I loved BoomFuzzy more. I murdered my four children. This candy is poisoned. I gave them each a chocolate from this box. This horrible box of poisoned chocolates." 

Quaraun stared at the horrible boxes of chocolates that had taken so many lives.

"I knew what they were, I knew they were full of poison, and I did it, anyway. I knew how BoomFuzzy had died. I knew what BoomFuzzy had done to the food. And I gave these to my children anyways. Five are gone. One for BoomFuzzy. Four for my children. The rest remain."

Tears streamed down Quaraun's cheeks.

"Why? They were sweet and innocent. Innocent and sweet. Pure and kind. Kindness is a rare thing. So few are kind. No one has ever been kind to me. I am too different to be accepted or welcomed in any society. Unloved and unwanted, outcast and abandoned. Yet they were innocent. They were not cruel and hateful like everyone else."

Quaraun put the box of poisoned chocolates back in his bag and fell silent once again.

Quaraun picked up the next book from the stack. 

A beautiful tome on the subject of necromancy, written by the Great Lich Lord himself.

How interesting. Quaraun pocketed the book.

Quaraun looked at the stacks of tomes. Quaraun picked up the next book from the stack. 

This time, Quaraun didn't read it. He simply sat and looked at it in his hands as if he could see the words printed there as if they were alive. But they weren't alive. They were only plastic and paper and glue. But they weren't plastic or paper. Not anymore. Not when Quaraun had given them life, brought them into this world with all its horrors and suffering. 

Not when Quaraun had made these beings who he now knew would forever haunt his nightmares. 

His thoughts. His fears. And his memories.

They were Quaraun's nightmares, no more, and no less. 

As Quaraun flipped through the pages of the book until he came to the part where Quaraun found out about his past.

There, on an old copy of some book that had sold for over five hundred gold coins back then, was a small paragraph written in red ink on a blank page. 

"'The world does not want people to be good.' That's what he said. This same man that I'm supposed to kill because he killed my best friend," Quaraun thought with a heavy sigh.

He turned to the next page. 

A picture filled the book, and for a moment, Quaraun's heart skipped a beat.

It was the image of the first person he'd ever killed: Gibedon the Great. Quaraun quickly shoved the book in his bag and grabbed the next one.

Quaraun read over the title."The History of the World." Quaraun placed that book back down and opened another. This book was newer and less damaged, but it's pages were blank. There were no words written in it.

He set it aside and pulled another book closer. 

The cover read: "A Treatise On the History, Theory, and Practice of Witchcraft, by King Gwallmaiic."

Quaraun gasped at the name. King Gwallmaiic. BoomFuzzy. BoomFuzzy was just a nickname, a name Quaraun had called him, his real name had been Gwallmaiic, King of the Faeries. Could he have written this book? that was now two books in this stack, written by BoomFuzzy. This was a most odd and curious discovery.

This time, he removed a thick red book from the stack and opened it. He scanned the page, reading. Then he placed it back on the stack and picked up another. 

He read it. 

Replaced it. Then he picked up the next one. 

Quaraun moved onto the next book in line. The cover read: "Treatise on the Art and Science of Magic."

Quaraun held it up and read the words engraved along the top right hand corner: "King Gwallmaiic."

These books belonged to BoomFuzzy. Quaraun was certain of it. He pocketed this one as well in his pink bag of holding.

Again he read. Again he put the book where he found it. 

Once more, he reached for another book. He read the title and chuckled lightly. “The Dark Side of Camelot,” he read out loud. 

He flipped open the cover. The book read: “I have always liked stories about knights who fight the evil sorcerer, Merlin.”

Quaraun sighed deeply. He shut the book, put it back, got up, and went to the desk. Unlike the table, there was nothing on it. He contemplated opening one of its drawers, however; he decided against it.

Quaraun went back to the table and sat in its chair once again. He laid his elbows on the arms of the chair and rested his chin on his fist. He picked up “The Dark Side of Camelot” once again, opened it, laid it on the table, and stared blankly at the open page muttering the line: “I have always liked stories about knights who fight the evil sorcerer, Merlin.” to himself a few times.

“Merlin wasn’t evil,” Quaraun stated to no one. “Nor was he a sorcerer. Why writes this crap?”

A sound on the stone stairs interrupted his thoughts. He heard footsteps. The sound echoed throughout the empty hallways. Soon after, a woman came running down the hall. She gripped a torch in her hand. She stopped short when she saw Quaraun.

Quaraun looked at her. She was tall, taller than him, had blonde hair, blue eyes, and light freckles on her cheeks. Her lips were thin and full. She wore a loose, billowing white blouse, long blue skirt, black boots, and a black leather belt. She had the regal air of royalty about her. A queen or a princess, perhaps. She did not move like a commoner. 

Quaraun recognized her as the woman whom had run ino him on the street. She was the same woman whom was being chased by the angry men whom had lost her so chased after Quaraun instead, causing him to end up in this very room.

The woman smiled awkwardly at Quaraun, than continued looking frantically around the room. She looked as lost as he felt. Quaraun was used to be lost though and this woman seemed to have never been lost before.

"Did you see them?" she asked Quaraun.

"See who?"

"The Goblins and their war hounds."

"No. I've seen no Goblins here. Nor any war hounds."

"They're coming you know."

"Are they?"

"They were about an hour behind me when I arrived this morning."

"Well, that was many hours ago. Perhaps they passed this village by?"

"I don't think so."

The woman sighed and dropped onto a chair near the fire.

"Perhaps," she said softly, and closed her eyes. Her head drooped forward and for just a moment Quaraun thought she might fall asleep, but then she sat back upright and opened her eyes. 

"I must go now," she told Quaraun.

She started to rise, but Quaraun put a hand on her arm. 

"Would you mind staying a little longer? At least until you're sure they are truly gone?"

He knew it wasn't much, but he could use company. Especially since he'd found himself in such dire circumstances lately, which was more dangerous than having someone who could actually help him find something. That would just have to do, even if she didn't believe it.

The woman looked at him. Her face lit up slightly with hope, but then she frowned in confusion. 

"Do you need something?"

"No. I just... it's lonely. I get lonely. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"Men usually want more than talking."

"No. I'm a eunuch, you do not have to worry of such things with me."

"A eunuch? I don't think I've ever met one before."

"Can I offer you food?" Quaraun asked, feeling guilty that he had not offered sooner, since the woman was clearly still hungry and tired.

"I don't eat anything except raw meat. Or vegetables, I suppose," the woman responded.

Quaraun nodded and began to search through one of the shelves. In the midst of doing so, he realized she hadn't moved from her seat.

"Oh... Whatever became of the men who were chasing you?"

"Don't know. Don't care. I've got to find the key."

"Key?"

"Yes."

"What key?"

"Shhhh. Let me listen," she hushed him, than placed her ear to the wall.

She paused when she saw the long corridor full of doors, and opened each door, looking into each one of them, and then hurriedly looked around again before leaving. Her blonde hair flew wildly around her shoulders. 

Quaraun noted her clothes were torn and dirty, as were her boots and gloves. It appeared she had been running for a while, chased perhaps, and like himself, was looking for a place to hide to escape attackers. Quaraun watched her go.

Finally, she disappeared around the corner. Quaraun frowned. That was strange. Why had she fled? Who chased her? What did she see?

It was quiet now. 

No sounds at all. 

The still silence of the chilly night air filled the room. Quaraun closed his eyes and rested his head on the table. He fell asleep. For how long, he did not know. 

Minutes? Hours? 

He could not tell.

A sudden bang made Quaraun jump up wide awake.

“Who goes there?!” someone shouted.

Someone laughed.

Someone else spoke. 

The words muffled. Quaraun could not make them out.

Quaraun stood up and grabbed his daggers.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway again. Coming closer. Closer. Quaraun held his breath, not daring to make any noise. Whoever it was, they were almost here and there was no place to go. No place to hide.

Another bang. This time, Quaraun jumped. He nervously clutched his daggers. Whoever it was, they were getting close.

“Who is there?” the voice repeated.

Quaraun remained still and silent.

A figure stood in the corridor. A man. Wearing a dark cape with a hood. He held a knife in one hand, blade outward, and a torch in the other. No, two men, both in dark hooded capes.

The first man gestured with one hand for Quaraun to follow him.

“Come here!” he yelled.

Quaraun hesitated for a moment.

“Oh, it’s you, Quaraun,” said the second man. “I thought it might be someone from town, or bandits from the woods. Can’t trust no one these days, you know? But I guess it’s just the three of us then.”

“Do I know you?” Quaraun asked.

“Me? Ha ha!” he laughed heartily. “I’m so stupid! You’re the Elf I was told about, right?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, I’ll tell you something, Elf. We’ve been following you since we left the village today, and we gonna catch your tail and drag you back to the village and lock you up good.”

“Wait, what?” Quaraun stood, feeling very confused.

“I’m not one of your people, eh?”

“Uhm... no?”

“Just some poor unfortunate soul wandering around this hell hole. I have nothing in my pockets, so how am I going to pay for food and drink if I can’t find the money somewhere?”

“You don’t have a wallet?”

“Nope. Need money to survive now, don’t we?”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“That I would be.”

“You plan to turn me in for the reward money?”

“I do.”

“If money is all you need, I have gold I in my purse. I can give it to you now. You can pretend you never saw me and just let me pass.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that. Wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you see, it’s like this. I’m the additional guard of the castle, see? Can’t let someone like you escape my first day on the job, now can I?”

“I suppose not.”

"Stop lollygagging and move."

With hesitation, Quaraun picked up his things, pocketed the book titled “The Dark Side of Camelot”, and followed the castle guard and his companion.

The two guards led Quaraun down the halls of the castle until they reached their destination, a hallway leading to a stone staircase, leading up a tall stone tower.

"There it is Rapunzel," the guard said pointing to the tower.

"Rapunzel?" Quaraun asked.

"You're hair."

"I understand the reference. I don't understand what it is I am looking at."

"Your tower. With only one door at the top of the stairs. A tower, taller than your hair. I don't doubt you can grow your hair long enough to climb down with it, but it'll take you a few decades. And by that time we will have found the princess without you getting in the way."

"You intend to lock me in a tower?"

"Oh yes. Fitting for one with hair like your's, yes?"

"I'm not sure if that was intended as a joke or an insult."

"I know." 

The other guard chuckled and turned back to face the entrance to the tower. He gestured toward the entrance of the tower. 

"Go inside then. Make yourself at home."

Quaraun looked between the two guards who had been escorting him. Then he started walking forward, feeling uneasy about entering a strange place with two strange men. One of them was obviously the king's advisor. That meant he could not trust either of these people.

So what made the situation even more uncomfortable was the fact that he didn’t have anywhere to go. No friends here in, nobody to speak with. Nobody to turn to for help.

He entered the tower and went straight into a narrow corridor. The walls were covered with old tapestries and paintings of various events throughout history. He wondered how anyone could find something so beautiful in such a bleak, empty place.

It must have been some sort of trick that allowed them to live like this when the rest of the world seemed to be starving or dying. It also explained why they would choose to work for this monster. If he had been forced to choose between working for the king and working for the man who was hunting him, the former sounded much better.

As they walked through a winding hallway, they came to an area that resembled a cross between a hospital and a dungeon. 

It was lit with torches and hung with iron bars. There were cages filled with people screaming in pain, some injured as well. They passed a young boy sitting by himself against one wall.

"Ignore them," the guard said to Quaraun. "They're not there. You didn't see anything."

"I didn't?"

“No. And besides. I got a princess to find. Up to your tower like a good little fairy tale waif with cursed hair, now will you?”

“Princess?” Quaraun recalled the blond woman he had seen only moments ago. Was she the princess of whom these men spoke? Quaraun was more interested in finding his ghostly undead soulmate than helping these men find their princess, though it did occur to him, that helping them, could get him out of his current situation of being tossed in prison. "What sort of girl is she? Is she an actual princess?"

“Yep. She went and run off again." 

“What sort of princess needs being guarded for, by men like you?”

“The kind that makes kings weep with jealousy, of course!”

"Ah! Of course. Now why didn't I think of that?"

The tall man, who was presumably the captain of this castle's guardsmen, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially in Quaraun’s ear. “She’s a sorceress."

"Is she?"

"Um-hum."

"So... she's a sorceress?" Quaraun mulled this thought over in his mind. A sorceress would certainly explain several of the strange, unnatural happenings of this day.

"Aye."

"Aye?"

"Yep."

"No, you said, aye."

"Same differance."

"Are you Scottish?"

"Nope."

"Than why use a Scottish word?"

"Why you interrogating me over a silly word?"

"Words are not silly."

"Says who?"

"Says me. I say."

"And what right have you to say?"

"I'm a Di'Jinn. We use words, true meanings of words, to power our spells. Bad things happen when you use a word and use a modern slang meaning and not the word's original true meaning. Words are very important. Never say they aren't."

"I'm the guard here. You're the prisoner. Now shut your trap, before I shut it for you, ya hear?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"But you said this princess you are looking for is a sorceress, can you tell me more of that?"

"You know," the taller guard added, his tone now hushed again. "If you wanted me to tell you the story of how her parents died, fighting dragons and she was whisked away by Griffons, I would sit my ass right down in that chair over dair and do so, eh?"

"But it wouldn't be what actually happened to her would it?" Quaraun understood the man was being sarcastic.

"No. It would not."

"Than why would you tell me it?"

"What part of I am the guard here. You are the prisoner. Now shut your trap, before I shut it for you, do you not understand?"

"I got the impression if you was going to hit me you would have just done it outright and not told me beforehand, so I'm thinking you don't want to hit me at all, in which case I am lead to believe that it is perfectly safe for me to continue talking to you."

"Arrogant one, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You admit it?"

"I know what I am, no reason to hide it. Just accept my flaws and continue on with life. That's all any of us can do. Besides, I prefer to be honest in all things. Less things to try to remember, if you always just speak the truth about everything, yes? Tell me, this sorceress, is she dangerous?"

"The Daughter of Vengeance she is."

"The Daughter of Vengeance? I believe I've heard that before."

"Yeah, that's her name. And she hates me for no reason at all."

"Does she now?"

"Don't even get me started on what she gone done dids to the other guys in town."

"Other guys? What other guys? There is no one in town, except a crew of bandits, which I think she killed. The rest of the village is deserted."

"Aye. That do be me point." 

"Now, come on, will you? Be a good evil sorcerer and come along nicely."

"I'm not an evil sorcerer."

"You're Quaraun the Insane, aren't you?"

"Yes. But I'm not evil."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard it before. The super villain is always the hero in his own story. Come on. We got a nice prison cell for you. Then I can get back to catching the princess. We don’t want her getting caught by the enemy now, do we?”

“Who is the enemy?”

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"Have you been living under a rock?"

"Apparently. Tell me what it is I don't know."

"About her?"

"Who?"

"Didn't you read the letter I wrote to Lady Janna?"

"Who?"

"Lady Janna."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."

"The letter, Elf. Where is it?"

"What letter?"

"Hah! I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Quaraun felt very confused. Though the guard looked like a Human, he was talking like a Faerie, and Quaraun was having trouble following the fast pace Faerie-style logic of not saying everything and changing topics very quickly. BoomFuzzy had always done that, BoomFuzzy being a Faerie, and so Quaraun had often been left clueless to half the things BoomFuzzy talked about.

"It's from the book," the guard continued.

"What book?" Quaraun asked, as he followed the guard up the tall spiralling stairs, leading into a very tall stone tower. While the second guard walked silently behind, jabbing his finger into Quaraun's back every time Quaraun stopped walking. "Will you stop that!" Quaraun yelled as he spun around and slapped the guard behind him. "That hurts! I'm not trying to escape, now poking me!"

"Now, now, Njord!" the leading guard called down, "Stop poking his ladyship."

"I'm not a ladyship!" Quaraun snarled.

Quaraun was in fact a female JellyFish type Thullid, living as a male Elf, so he was using male pronouns, though he was biologically a she and not a he. With this in mind, Quaraun took great offence to being called by any female pronouns, ladyship included.

The guard had continued up the stairs, but seeing how Quaraun had stopped walking, he turned around and made his way back down to where Quaraun stop. By the time he made his way back to Quaraun, Quaraun was now yelling at Njord, threatening to kick him down the stairs.

"My what a bitchy prisoner we have."

"HE STEPPED ON MY HAIR!"

"Uhm... ya hair be as long as de t'ree of us combined if we sto on each ot'er's heads."

"That doesn't give him an excuse to step on my hair."

"Ya do'na take to being a prisoner very well, do you?"

"He's stepping on my hair!" Quaraun screamed frantically.

"Ah. Yes. I do forgets about ya hair." The guard stared down at the stone steps, where Quaraun massive mess of twelve foot long glossy, slippery, silvery white hair, trailed down the stairs behind him, and the second guard, Njord, was standing on the tresses. "Njord, his ladyship has requested you stop stepping on hims hair."

"We should just cut it off," Njord said. 

"NO!" screamed Quaraun as he pulled his hair closer to him, winding it up on his arm like a rope. "You'll kill me if you cut it! I'll bleed to death!"

"Hair doesn't bleed," Njord laughed.

"Mine does!" Quaraun shrieked hysterically. "I would bleed to death if you cut it."

"Hair doesn't bleed. . ."

"Mine does," Quaraun repeated again, fear filling his voice now.

"That's not possible."

"It is. My father cut my hair short once. It bled for days. I was anemic for months. It took over a year for the sliced off ends to fully heal, and nearly twenty years for my hair to grow back. It was incredibly painful the whole time. The wounds on the ends of my hairs are still scarred. The scars on the ends are very sensitive to touch. The nerve damage never fully healed."

"Aye, that's true," the guard captain stated. "I remember that. Him were sick for years after hims hair were cut. Him almost died."

Quaraun gently pulled up a handful of hair and ran his gold armoured fingers across the scarred ends. The hair withered, wriggling away from his touch. Moving as though it were alive.

"You have, magic hair?" Njord asked. "It just moved on it's own. I saw it."

"Magic? No. Not magic. Well, I guess by your mind, you would see it as magic."

"But it bleeds?"

"Yes. And it hurts when you step on it. The nerves are sensitive."

"Nerves? In your hair? Scars on. . . but. . . you can't have wounds on your. . . you hair. . . Hair. . . doesn't. . . hair doesn't bleed. . ." Njord stopped talking and watched Quaraun's hair as it moved. Slithering around him, like a massive pile of thousands of tiny, wiry snakes. He moved closer to get a better look at Quaraun's strange hair. "It's not hair, is it? It's. . . it's. . . is it tentacles?"

"What are you?"

"I'm a JellyFish."

"A JellyFish? You're joking."

"No."

"These are tentacles?"

"Yes. I told you, I am a JellyFish. My body is pink and covered with lovely purple ruffles, and my tentacles are long and white and glossy and silver and look like hair. I already said this."

"You hair isn't hair."

"No."

"That's. . . I don't know what it is. That's why you never cut it? It's actually part of your body?"

"Yes."

"They move on their own. How much control do you have over them? Can you move them at will, like arms and legs?"

"I can. I can use them like hairs to grab things and pick things up, or to reach up in the tops of tall trees and pick apples without a ladder. I could climb with them if I wasn't scared of heights. I can walk on them like feet should the Elf's feet get tired."

As Quaraun said this, he suddenly lifted himself up off the ground, and by all appearances looked to be gliding, levitating, several feet in the air, his feet not touching the ground. It looked as though he was flying, unsupported by anything, but upon closer examination, Njord saw that the hair nearest the ground had grown stiff, rigid, and was lifting Quaraun's body up into the air.

"I was once overpowered by my attackers and they shaved my hair, I was left bleeding to death, as my blood drained from the thousands of severed tentacles."

"That. . . must have hurt."

"It did. This cutting of my hair left me in agonizing pain for months, and while, like any JellyFish I can regrow my severed jelly-limbs, it takes 30 years for my tentacles to grow back!"

"Thirty years?"

"Yes!"

"That's a long time." 

"During that time I had to make the claim that I could no longer cast magic."

"Why?" 

"Without my hair,  I can do nothing. I am a cripple."

"Cripple?"

"Yes. This Elf. His legs are lame. The Hanging Tree left me crippled for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry."  

"Are you?"

"Yes." 

"No one ever is."

"Sorry?"

"Yes. For hurting me. Everyone hurts me. They think it is fun."

"Has no one ever not hurt you?" 

"No. No one but BoomFuzzy. He took care of me. That is why I did not die. I meet him the same day they cut my hair. He saw I was hurt. Injured. I lived with him in the gingerbread house, those thirty years, while regrowing my hair. He was kind to me, when no one else was." 

"No one is ever kind to you?"

"No. No one."

"Ever?"

"No. Never. Not before. Not sense. I've no one who cares about me. No one who loves me. BoomFuzzy was the only one. And now he is dead and I am alone."

"Why has no one ever been kind to you?"

"I'm seen as a monster. No one ever makes friends with a creature like me. No one ever tries. No cares if I live or die. I have no friends. My family was murdered. I am alone. I went into hiding, citing that my hair is the source of his magic powers. So my enemies would not know how helpless I was without my hair."

"Is your magic abilities connected to your hair?"

"The truth is far deeper than that, though. The Elf's body is weak and in frail health. I rely heavily on my stinging, strangling tentacles to survive. My Elf's body is badly injured, with a lame leg, and I can barely walk with the Elf's legs. I move with my hair, most all of the time, carefully wearing these long skirts to hide my feet, hiding the fact that I'm actually walking on my tentacles and not on my feet." 

"You can walk on your tentacles and fly over people that way."

"Yes. But that would terrify Humans. They would call me a witch and crush me under rocks or drown me with chains tied to my feet. You know how Humans are when they think there are witches about."

"Are you also able to use your hair as a weapon?" 

"Oh yes. When threatened, and feeling I have no other way to escape, my hair takes on a Medusa-like life of it's own, lashing out at my attacker, either pulling them away, or wrapping around them."

"Can you kill people with your hair?"

"I can. I have. When confronted by life-threatening situations, I have been known to use my hair to strangle my attacker to death."

Quaraun glided back to the ground, and gently sat himself back down on the stone steps of the tall spiralling staircase. His hair slithered around, coming to rest snuggled around his body as if protecting him, hugging him, and keeping him warm.

"Being a JellyFish, similar to the Portuguese Man of War, my tentacles are full of highly toxic venom and I can also sting my enemies to death. But, with my hair-tentacles cut off, I can barely stand, let alone walk. And I hide the fact of my being a JellyFish from most people. Only people I strongly trust know that I am actually a JellyFish. Thus why the claim that I can not use magic and must go into hiding, after my hair is cut. Cutting my hair is cutting off thousands of arms and legs and causes me serious injury. It takes a long time to heal with ninety percent of your body is sliced off and chopped up."

"You really are a jellyfish."

"Yes. I live inside the Elf's skull after I ate his brain. I let my tentacles grow out of his head like hair."

"Aren't they heavy? I mean, tentacles must be even heavier than hair, and hair that long is pretty damned heavy. That many of them, that long, they must be heavier than the whole rest of your body."

"They are."

"How do you walk?"

"I manage. I rarely use the Elf's feet or legs. It is why I wear long full shirts with ruffled trains. The skirts hide the fact that my legs are not being used and rather I am gliding over the ground, using my hair to move instead. My body was made for swimming. Not walk. But this ocean, your water, this planet it is toxic for me. I could not swim in it. And I die out of water. So, I live in this Elf and get by the best that I can."

"Okay," the captain said, clapping his hand briskly. "Enough abut your magic jelly-hair. Up the stairs. Up. Up. Up! We can't spend all day focusing on you. We got a princess to capture too you know. We already lost her once today. We can’t lose her again, right?”

He turned to Quaraun and said: "Here, have a book. A favourite of mine. You can read it in the tower, now move ya pretty lil' ass up the stairs before I kick it up there!"

They continued the long walk up the tower stairs until they finally reached the top, where stood a single door. The guard pushed through the large oak door with a large key and held it open for Quaraun to walk through, while holding the torch aloft. Quaraun entered cautiously. 

As soon as he stepped inside, Quaraun found himself in a small, dark room. 

A small, dark, empty room.

The only thing in the room was a single small oil lamp on the floor and a rusty iron bed beside it. 

Nothing else. 

Just the lone oil lamp. Just the dusty, barren room. 

No sign of anything else. 

Nothing. 

There was literally nothing here apart from this one small lamp and that old rusty bed frame. It was like a prison or an insane asylum. Quaraun had never been in such a place in his life. His heart started to beat faster than ever.

There was a large barred window on the far side of the room and a small barred window on the wall opposite the bed. Quaraun sat down on the bed.

"You carry a whole house full of gear in that little tiny bag of yours, what's bigger on the inside, so we figured you didn't need any decor in here. 'Cepting a bed. I know you ain't got no bed in your pack. You just sleep on the floor on a pile of furs."

"How do you..."

"So there's a bed. Nice soft mattress and everything, in case you decide to go all princess and the pea on us. Decorate this room to your heart's content, Rapunzel. This is your home now."

"I'm not Rapunzel."

"You're hair says otherwise."

"I am Quaraun, The Pink Necromancer. You already know this."

The guards did not respond. Instead they huddled in the corner talking about the missing princess and now completely ignoring Quaraun, as if he wasn't there. 

Quaraun looked down at the book the guard had handed him: "Differences in the Courtship Rituals of the Bugbear and the Ogre" said the title.

"THIS is good reading? For who?"

Quaraun flipped through the pages. This book is very clear mostly due to the excellent, well-planned chapters and because of the well-done illustrations. This clarity allowed one to determine that the book had very little useful information, and was nothing more than pornography intended to show off the genitals or ogres. Quaraun didn't know whether to be horrified or mesmerized by the lewd illustrations. Though flawed, one can definitely see that the contents contained some original thought. It was easy to determine that this book was extremely informative on the genitalia of ogres. Examining the book, Quaraun found informative pieces of paper with notes commenting on informative information in this oddly informative book. Quaraun placed the book on the bed wondering why the guard would own such a bizarrely useless piece of trash.

Quaraun got up off the bed and went over to the window. The tower was impossibly tall. Too tall. Many hundreds of feet tall. No man made tower could support this height. Clearly this tower had been built by magic. A magic prison, for a magic mage. Quaraun suspected the tower had not been built at random and had in fact been built, just especially for him. But by who? And why?

The dizzying height was making Quaraun nauseous, so he moved away from the window and sat down on the bed once again, and contemplated his situation. And then pondered it some more.

Quaraun realized that no one here cared enough to question him. That felt odd. And the guards seemed to already know everything there was to know about him. No. One guard. The captain knew him. But how? He could not remember seeing such a Human before. Njord on the other hand clearly did not know Quaraun.

Njord stood by the door, looking bored. The other guard, was hopping around like he was high on drugs that made him hyper.

It seemed they both expected Quaraun to do something. 

Quaraun looked around the room. It felt... familiar. Like de ja vu. The sensation that he had been here before. Nothing looked familiar though. The plain, bare stone walls were covered with dust, decades of dust collected on the stone floor. Rust stains dripped down from under the bars on the windows.

After several minutes of silence, Quaraun glanced over at the castle guard. He whispered to his companion. His voice carried easily to the Elf. Quaraun strained to hear what the guards said.

"... he feared her more than anything!"

"Who? The Magician of Destruction?"

“... and so we got to wait until tomorrow night to take him. The princess comes first and if she’s not back by morning, well, it’ll be hard finding her. I can tell you that much...”

"She has to come back! We need the spell book! She took it! Without it..."

"Yes. Yes. I know. We will find her."

"We? Don't you mean YOU?"

"Yes. I will find her. Don't worry."

"Sure, right?" Njord said sarcastically. "She'll turn up. Don't worry. We won't lose track of her! We fucking already lot her once! You know Capt' we really don't have the slightest clue where she went. And now we got Pink Rapunzel here to deal with."

Their whispers continued drifting across the room, floating by on the icy fog of the cold night air. Quaraun was lost in his own thoughts now, though and no longer heard what the two guards had to say.

The cold was bothering Quaraun. It was bothering him a lot. This morning he had woken up in his tent, with a nice warm breeze, chilly, yes, because of the nearby ocean, and the depth of the valley, but still warm none the less. He was good at reading the weather, and all the signs of the wind and the clouds and the birds and the trees said that this entire week was going to bright, warm, and sunny. 

And why shouldn't it be? 

It was mid-summer after all. 

Even here in the North, they had months without snow. 

Months with green grass. 

Months of planting seeds and tending crops. 

And yet, it was so cold now, that ice crystals were forming on the stones of the wall and floor. A glaze of ice, was growing up the metal posts of the iron bed. 

Winter was crouching in on them.

No.

This was not winter.

This was a Lich frost.

A Lich was nearby.

Very nearby.

Likely standing in this very room.

Quaraun looked back at the guards.

The ice on the walls was thickest there by the door, near where they stood.

One of those guards was a Lich.

Quaraun watched the guards and listened as they spoke of the missing princess and their desperate need to find her, but, noted that they seemed in no hurry to leave the door and actually head out to look for her. That too seems to Quaraun, very odd.

Something was not right here.

None of this was right.

Quaraun got up off the bed and moved to the other window this time. Looking through the small hole, he could see the castle's courtyard below. 

Nothing was alive.

There were no people.

No movement.

The same as it had been in the deserted village earlier.

Not even any animals.

No birds.

No frogs.

No crickets.

The only living thing outside, that moved, was the mist. The slowly swirling mist of shimmering frost crystals, freezing everything it crossed.

Glazing the outer walls of the castle with fuzzy frost.

Castle? 

No. 

From here he could see it was not a castle, but rather a very large grey granite manor, shaped like a horseshoe. A large stone manor, with two long stone wings running from either end. The courtyard in the middle between the two wings. A grove of apricot Lich trees, growing around a glass conservatory, and overlooking a white marble water fountain.

Apricot Lich trees?

No. It can't be.

Quaraun squinted his eyes to better see the rocks lining the paths. Not rock. No. Gumdrops. Fences made of peanut brickle. Lemonade in the fountain, not water.

BoomFuzzy.

It was BoomFuzzy's garden, which grew candy behind the gingerbread house.

The gingerbread house?

Was this the gingerbread house?

Quaraun looked down at the rust stains under the window. He touched it. It gave way to his touch. Spongy and soft. It wasn't rust on stone. It was the gingerbread, showing through it's stony illusion.

The Twighlight Manor? It can't be. But it is. He knew it was. He'd been in it before. But that meant... BoomFuzzy. Thais was BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house. 

Quaraun looked back at the guards.

BoomFuzzy.

The guard. Not Njord, but the hyper one. Had he not said he remembered the day when Quaraun's hair had been cut? And was he not the source of the ice on the walls? That guard was BoomFuzzy. 

Or rather, BoomFuzzy's Lich. 

It had to be. 

There was no other logical explanation for any of this.

Quaraun was now more confused than ever. For if this was BoomFuzzy's ghost, BoomFuzzy's Lich, and BoomFuzzy's haunted gingerbread house, than why the charade? 

Why hide from Quaraun who he was? 

Puzzled and confused, Quaraun made his way back to the bed and sat down on it once again. This time he lay down on the bed, his gold armoured fingers crossed over his chest as he stared up ar the stone ceiling and watched the ice crystals as the living frost moved and spiralled along the stones.

The bed didn't feel as comfortable as it had before. For now the oppressive weight of worry, bore down on him. As did the silence. The guards had stopped talking and now stood silently watching Quaraun as he lay in silence as well.

Quaraun laid quiet for a while, trying to puzzle things out in his mind, trying to figure out how the hell he had ended up here, and how BoomFuzzy could possibly be here.

Quaraun tried to remember the last few days, but it was all a blur. He couldn't remember anything before walking up in his tent with that strange dog and it's pet rabbit looking at him.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few days.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few weeks.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few months.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few years.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few decades.

He couldn't remember anything of the last few centuries.

His mind simply went for BoomFuzzy's death to the deaths of his own children to the night he woke up in the tent looking face to face at that strange looking dog.

 Still laying on the bed, Quaraun turned his head towards the window and took a deep breath. Then another, then another. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he began to feel calmer, his heart began to calm down, his mind calmed down, and his confusion began to ebb away into the darkness of unconsciousness.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep once again.

Quaraun woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was alone. The guards were gone. How long had he been asleep?

Quaraun got up and walked over to the door. He opened it and saw a young woman standing there. She was wearing a dark blue dress, her long blond hair cascaded over her shoulders.

"You!" Quaraun said, recognizing the women he's seen being chased by the bandits. The same woman he saw again in the cellar reading room.

"Shh! Not so loud," she said."The guards don't know I'm here."

"You've changed your clothes."

"What? Oh. Yeah. Forget about that. What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to meet my sister, here," Quaraun answered automatically, forgetting his sister was dead. "Have you seen her?"

The blond woman shook her head. "Nah, not since yesterday. But what are you doing here in this tower?"

Quaraun shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. Maybe I wanted to sleep some more, like Sleeping Beauty. Sleep for a thousand years while I grow my hair out even longer,, long enough so I can climb down out of this tower."

She looked at him skeptically, uncertain if he was being serious or not. Which he was. Quaraun was always serious, and he was contemplating sleeping here in the tower for a thousand years and growing out his hair even longer. Being a pure blooded Elf he could slow down his heart rate and go into a comatose, meditative state of deep relaxation. Elves often did this when they were injured, as a way to heal themselves, growing back new limbs, removing scars. It was why Elves were always young and beautiful and devoid of scars or missing limbs.

"I thought," the blond woman said. "That you were supposed to be n your tent down by the river."

"I was in my tent, but than I fell asleep and ended up here."

"Oh. Right. Well, you want me to get you something? A book maybe?"

"A book?" Quaraun smiled and nodded. "Oh yes, please. Yes that would be nice. I like to read. And I was looking for a book."

"Alright. Here you go." The woman handed him a book.

Quaraun looked at the book she had placed in his hand: "The History of Essential Summonings" Quaraun flipped through the pages and found inside some personal notes, in an archaic tongue, unrelated to the book, scattered throughout the book. Along with bookmarks marking informative information. This book was of above-average clarity thanks to the good diagrams. A short look at the book showed that it was reasonably useful. Especially the chapter on Liches, which was of particular note to Quaraun. Quaraun looked up intending to thank the woman for the book, but she was gone and the door was closed and locked as it had been before.



~o0o~



Quaraun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on the palm of his hands. His brow furrowed. The last time he had seen the princess, she was with him. Wasn’t she? If that was her. He couldn’t be certain, as he was a stranger in this town. He did not know the royal family. As the two guards talked, Quaraun wondered what the girl’s name was. Was she a prisoner? He couldn’t recall there being any processes here in America. Why were they chasing her? Did she run away? 

“It’ll be our fault if she escapes,” one guard said.

“But he won’t come out unless the princess is there. So if he doesn’t show, then what?”

The castle guard chuckled. “Well, then we kill him.”

Silence followed.

After a moment, the companion spoke some more."What if the princess has a mate? Huh? What then? Tell me that. What if she didn’t get out on her own? What if someone helped her escape?"

“Like who? She doesn’t know anyone around here.”

“What about that necromancer over there? He showed up right after she ran off, didn’t he?”

The guard looked at Quaraun.

“That’s true. Maybe the girl knows him. Maybe she meets him somewhere.”

“Maybe so.”

They both glared at Quaraun, wondering if the old Elven necromancer had helped their princess escape.

“Hmmm, maybe not. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Me neither. I mean, look at him. Old man can barely walk. Drags his leg and leans on a cane. You think he could scale that wall and get her out?”

“But what if he did? Necromancer, you know? Maybe he can fly.”

“Necromancers don’t fly.”

“Even so, maybe he can help us find her. Use magic to lead us to her.”

Silence followed for a few moments as the guards eyed Quaraun suspiciously.

“He showed up right when she escaped, though, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“Maybe he took her than sat around waiting for us. Maybe there are others in on it with him. I’ll bet they helped her escape while he sat in that room waiting to be a distraction for us, to give her time to get out of here while we fussed over bringing him here to the prison cell.”

Quaraun shook his head, no.

“Yeah, probably not. But you’ll help us catch her, won’t you?”

“Will I?” Quaraun asked.

“You will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’’re a necromancer and you’ll be executed for practising dark magic. But maybe if you found our princess and brought her back to us, we could forget where we put the key to this here prison cell and you could just walk on out of here.”

“I’m the world’s most powerful wizard,” Quaraun said."What makes you think I couldn’t just walk out of here right now?"

“He knows where the princess is,” the companion said. “I can feel it. You can see it in his beady eyes.”

“I don’t have beady eyes,” Quaraun said. “I have eyes that are fine and clean and blue and clear as cut crystal.”

“I can feel her too,” the guard ignored Quaraun’s comment about his eyes. “Can’t you feel her?” He asked Quaraun.

“No,” Quaraun replied. “I cannot feel her anywhere near me.”

“Yes, you can. I can feel her and you know why? Because I know you can and I can feel what you are feeling.”

“How could you possibly feel what I am feeling?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the companion said."Just tell us where she is. It;s a lot easier to keep the keys if we have her in our hands, isn’t it?"

“Keep the key?” Quaraun asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, come on! Come with us! Let us take you to our princess. Then you can tell us what is wrong with her and why she isn’t home yet and where her other little friends are.”

“I don’t believe you,” Quaraun said. “I don’ believe you or your story about a princess. This is America. They don’t have princesses in America. Something is not right here. Not with any of this.”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” the companion said. “She needs to be returned to us or we might just go crazy.”

“I think you already went crazy. None of this makes sense.”

“That old man will probably kill us for taking her and then try to kill us for kidnapping her.”

“Kill you and then kill you again?”

“Oh, yes!”

“You’re ghosts, aren’t you?”

“The old man wants her there by morning and we’ve lost her.”

“Old man? What old man?”

“The old man, of course! But enough about that. Your little friend the princess, she left her keys.”

“She did?”

“She did!” the guard exclaimed. “So, do you know where she is or not?”

“I don’t even know who she is. You haven’t even told me that much yet.”

“Or, tell us, should we go looking for her?”

“I don’t know. How should I know?”

“We can’t find the key anywhere. Do you have anything special, like a talisman or a spell or any kind of magic that will let us find the key for her?”

“He don’t know how to do magic. Look at him. He’s only an Elf. He wouldn’t know what kind of magic would open the lock.”

“We Elves are more likely to know magic than you Humans and you already know I am Quaraun the Insane, The Pink Necromancer, the world’s most powerful wizard. Of course I know magic, but give me one good reason why I should help either of you?”

“No, no, no!” scolded the castle guard. “Don’t upset the old mage. We don’t know where to find her. We need his help.”

The guard turned back to address Quaraun. “We have to find her. You’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?”

“I am a necromancer.”

“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“No,”

“Well, it’ll have to do. Do you know where the keys are?”

“What keys? I don’t even know what you two are talking about.”

“Oh, dear.” The guard paced around the prison cell, stopping to stare out the barred window. “Where would she have hidden them?”

The two guards left the prison cell, talking about searching the rooms for the key. A few hours later, they returned, stating that they had searched all the rooms and found nothing.

“We will ask our friend the necromancer,” the guard said as he entered Quaraun’s prison cell once again. “You, Necromancer! Where is our princess?”

Quaraun sighed and leaned back. “There is nothing I can tell you.”

This continued throughout the evening and into the next day, with the guards continuing to leave, search the castle, then return to report to Quaraun that they had found nothing.

Quaraun could easily have escaped his prison cell at any time, but so bemused was he by these two ghostly guards and their bizarre pursuit of this mysterious princess, that he decided to stick around and see if he couldn’t figure out more of what was going on.

Quaraun suspected these guards were part of a curse, as was this castle, for Quaraun was certain the castle had not been here the night before.

No. He was sure of it.


The night before, he had entered this strange village to find its farm lands deserted, it’s houses empty, and a group of bandits attacking him, chasing him. He'd run into a farmhouse to hide, and somewhere along the line, opened a bedroom door which had led down to a cellar. There he had read a few books, only to be interrupted by the woman, he could only a assume to be the escaped princess. After which these 2 guards appears and lead him upstairs, where the door no longer led to the farmhouse bedroom, but instead opened into this castle, where he now sat in its prison cell.

And that meant something happened last night, but he could not think of anything, besides the fact that his head hurt terribly and he was very hungry. 

But no one else felt the pain when they passed out, and no one else seemed to feel it either.

After some more hours of the same routine that followed, Quaraun realized something strange was going on. The guards would check the dungeons, but would never enter them, nor visit any prisoners in the area. They were always the last ones to return to the cells after they finished, as they didn’t want to stay long, even though the rest of the guards often spent hours there. As for the corridors, there would only be one way from one hallway to another; through a large room filled with coffins, where most of the guards slept or meditated. 

As Quaraun pondered this new phenomenon, he noticed one odd thing, the only person the guards allowed near the dungeon was him.

When the guard first saw him in that coffin the other day, he looked like an ordinary man, except for the chains that held him. However, those weren’t just normal chains; they were enchanted chains, binding him in the coffin until he would die.

“There is strange magic at work here,” Quaraun said to himself. “And where there is magic, there is a mage behind it.”

He picked up the book titled “The Dark Side of Camelot” once again, opened it, laid it on the bed in front of him, and stared blankly at the open page muttering the line: “I have always liked stories about knights who fight the evil sorcerer, Merlin.” to himself a few times.

“I wonder? Could this be a spell book? And a clue?”

The guards were arguing again. Quaraun watched the pair through the bars as they stood together in front of the prison door.

“Interesting. The room keeps changing. That was an oak door last night. Now it has bars on it.”

As the sun began to set on this Quaraun’s second night in the prison cell, a loud crash, sounded from outside the dungeon. The two guards ran from their post at the door.

Quaraun glanced towards the door, then back at the book. He closed to book and placed it face down on the mattress. He took a deep breath and listened, waiting, but no further sounds could be heard.

Suddenly, a ghostly visage of a woman appeared in the room. Her hair glowed golden. A pale green mist surrounded her. She raised her staff in front of her and chanted words Quaraun could not understand. He tried to speak to the lady, but no sound came out.

And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished.

Just then, Quaraun heard the cell door open. The two guards tumbled in, each carrying an oil lamp. They placed their lanterns on the floor and looked around the room, then stared at Quaraun.

“What was that?” one guard asked Quaraun.

“What was want?”

“We heard a sound in here.”

“I heard a sound too, but it came not from in here. I heard a crash coming from outside.” Quaraun pointed to the barred window as he spoke. “The crash came from out there.”

One guard looked out the window.

“I see nothing but trees. And a tree down across the gate. That must be what we heard. Wait... I see something.”

The other guard rushed to the window.

“What did you see?”

“I saw ... something. It was moving fast. And carrying a white light.”

The other guard scoffed. “So what? You saw a white light. That means nothing.”

“No, there was more. The light moved like... like ... flames.”

"A fire? There is no fire. This place is cold and it will get colder still and soon."

"I was like a fire though."

They looked out the window again. Nothing seemed to be out there. The only thing visible were some trees in the distance.

Quaraun spoke up.

"Burning did you say?" Quaraun asked.

"Yeah. Like fire."

"That could be important," Quaraun started to say, but was unable to continue the rest.

"That means nothing!" Snapped the first guard. He left the window and marched up to Quaraun. "Do you know where you are?"

"A strange village?"

"Stop being crass. What is this place?"

"This? This is a prison."

"Yes. It is. And we are the guards and you are the prisoner and you don't talk unless we say so, you hear?"

He stomped back to his companion still by the window.

"Fire you say, eh?

"Yes."

"Blue flames..."

"What are you talking about?"

"A white light, like hot blue flames. Like flames."

"And what exactly are those, eh?"

"I don't know. a Will O the Wisp maybe?"

"A will O the Wisp?"

"Yeah."

"You read too many fairy tales. A Will o the Wisp, eh? So what exactly are those?"

"I don't know. But they come from up there. From beyond the mountains."

The first guard shook his head.

A long pause followed as the two guards scanned the area.

Quaraun stared at the open and now unguarded prison door. He suspected, if he so choose to do so, he could walk out the door right now and neither guard would notice. However, he was intrigued by the overall mystery of this place, so sat on the bed, unmoved.

Finally, the guards returned to their post. Their conversation resumed with some comments about how Quaraun should be grateful for his safe haven, but how he was lucky to be caught, and even better to still be alive and imprisoned in the first place.

They talked about their plans for Quaraun, how he must be treated. They didn’t seem to realize the real meaning of what they were saying to Quaraun.

The next morning, the men returned to Quaraun. Once again, they demanded answers and Quaraun gave them none.

Then they left.

Two days passed as Quaraun awaited the return of these two men. Each day they returned multiple time to question him. Interrogation by both men. And through this, they learned nothing from Quaraun, but Quaraun in turn learned much from them.

Quaraun learned quite a bit more about this town and it's residents. The people lived here surround by forests that were surrounded by mountains, and they believed witches and ghouls came down from the mountains at night to haunt them.

As Quaraun lay alone and quiet on the rusty iron bed, listening for voices or footsteps in the hallway, he thought over what he had learned.

He knew something was wrong with this place, this world. This realm? He had a feeling he was no longer on Earth. Magic and sorcery filled the air. 

The king, the queen, the court mage, and a local witch had all gone missing one each week, one after the other. Out of fear, the guards had locked the princess in the tower, hoping it would save her from going missing as well. But than, on the day of Quaraun's arrive the princess had escaped, and was now missing as well. Than the Will o the Wisp appeared in the village. But still, something was wrong with this castle. Something magical. He could feel it. Something was very wrong with this kingdom. And very wrong with it's people. They were wraiths. Ghosts of some sort. He felt certain of this. He suspected these people were trapped in a curse, lost in time. But why? Why would someone want this place and everyone who lived in it gone, separated from Earth?

Quaraun did not have an answer for any of it. All he could go on was what little he had seen and what little he had heard from his two scatterbrained guards.

Quaraun closed his eyes. His mind wandered back to the day he had arrived here. Think. He had to have noticed something. Something out of place. Something wrong. But no. Nothing. He could think of nothing.

One thing he did notice however were these guards themselves, seemed exceptionally odd. 

Just then, he heard it. Footsteps. 

Running. The sound of someone running down the stairs outside of his room. The sound coming closer. Closer. The cell door flung open and there she was again. The woman he had seen his first night here. Her eyes were wide with terror. She looked around, scanning the room, eyes searching every corner. Her gaze fell upon Quaraun. She took a deep breath, released it, than took another. Slowly she approached him. She took another deep breath as she slowly walked towards him, and Quaraun wondered if she was about to faint. She seemed to have trouble catching her breath, as though she had been running very far and very fast and only just now stopped to catch her breath. Finally she sat beside him, legs crossed.

She opened her mouth to speak to him, but than said not a word. She then jumped off the bed and ran frantically to the window. Something outside frightened her and she ran back to the bed and jumped on it. Quaraun slowly got off the bed. He walked around to the other side to see her face.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

She looked up at him, shaking.

"Who are you?" She asked. "Where am I?" What happened? Who are you?"

"My name is Quaraun, and I don't know where we are. I'm not sure how I got here myself. One minute I was in a farmhouse going downstairs to the cellar and next minute I'm in the dungeon of a castle. I think the door at the stairs must have been a portal."

She got off the bed again and crept slowly to the window. She peered between the bars. Then she turned towards him.

"Quaraun?"

"Yes."

"I think I've heard of you. You're a necromancer, right?"

"Yes. I am."

"I think... I think..."

"Yes?"

"I think we are trapped in a book."

"A book?"

"Yes. I was reading a book about Camelot and suddenly I was hear. I think the book is cursed."

Quaraun pulled the book about Camelot out of his bag.

"You mean this book?"

"You have it?"

The woman rushed forward and tore the book from Quaraun's grasp.

"Oh! It is! This is it! Where did you find it?"

"I saw it laying on a table in the farmhouse. Picked it up and started reading it. You ran into the room right after that. Than two guards showed up and brought me here."

"Quaraun, my dear friend, lease, you must help me."

"Friend? We are not friends."

"But you are a wizard, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Than if this book, truly is cursed, you could break the spell, couldn't you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'd have to know more about the curse and the mage who cast it."

"Merlin!"

"Merlin?"

"Yes. Merlin the evil sorcerer. He cast the curse."

"How do you know."

"He must have."

"But how do you know?"

"Well, who else would have done it?"

"But, the Merlin I know is not evil, nor is he a sorcerer. If he cast the spell, it was not a curse, it was made to stop something evil from getting out."

"Evil? No. No! You got it all wrong. See, he wanted someone to go crazy and kill every one for killing his wife."

"Morgana?"

"Yes."

"You suggest that someone murdered Morgana?"

"Of course!"

"First I heard of it."

"Maybe the book has something to do with the magic being used."

"Hard to say."

"A spell he set to prevent anyone who was good from getting out and stopping him."

"Stopping him from what?"

"He needs power."

"For what?"

"How should I know?"

"Maybe we can ask him?"

"Maybe."

"What about the guards?"

"What about them?"

"They didn't take away the book?"

"No. Obviously."

"Then maybe they know something."

"Maybe. Maybe we should talk to them first."

"No!" The women seemed horrified by this idea.

"Why not?" Quaraun asked.

"Why should they tell us anything?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"No. No. We need to talk to Merlin. He's been trapped here since the beginning of time."

"Well, maybe someone in the village can help us?"

"With this kind of magic?"

"What kind of magic is it?"

"Well, you know, anything really."

"Anything, eh?" Quaraun's suspicions were rising.

"Yes. Anything."

"Like what?" Quaraun asked.

"Like... oh ... I don't know."

"Why would Merlin need power. I think that's the important question here."

"I don't know. Why does he want to protect people? Why does he keep them safe? What does any of that mean for him? Why does he want to kill people? Why will he kill more people?"

"And what makes you think Merlin has ever killed anyone?"

"Because he said so."

"Really?"

"Yes. And now look at you. Look at the state you are in."

"I'm doing quite fine, actually," Quaraun said. "I've been catching upon my rest and my reading. Do you really think I'm trapped here? I can walk out of this prison any time I want to. I'm the world's most powerful wizard. The magic in this place if barely a piffle."

"Barely a piffle?"

"Yes. It's minor magic at best."

The woman took a deep breath once again, trying to calm down before speaking to Quaraun again.

"Look at yourself, I've never seen you like this."

"Never seen... you don't even know me! Nor I you,"

"You're locked away in a prison cell."

"I'm fine. I think of it as being off on holiday."

"You're not fine."

"Why are you trying to convince me of it?"

"He is evil!"

"Is he?" Quaraun wasn't sure he liked this woman. She sounded as though she fully believed Merlin to be evil and yet, Quaraun knew Merlin was not evil at all. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong and he didn't like it at all, not one bit.

"I'll give you some examples." The woman reached down a pulled a knife from her boot."There is Morgana. There is Gwen. Consumed by his lust for power, and in a desperate bid to secure more resources, Merlin made a pact with the most powerful dark forces of evil: Himal Kedar. He has promised to destroy all the homes of the people and give Himal Kedar a decisive military advantage over them if only the dark forces would lend him their armies to conquer the lands of the valley!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Himal Kedar lives in a world of dragons, demons, and monsters."

"I know who Himal Kedar is. His hair rivals mine. He's a mage from Tibet." 

"These dark creatures constantly war for control of his land, leaving the few human kingdoms in the shadow of a dark and powerful force. But now, the kingdoms of man are fighting back, slowly assembling an army to reclaim their world!"

The woman stared wild eyed as she said these words, still clutching her knife as she spoke.

"I think you have taken too much of something. Ergot seeds perhaps?"

"You are Quaraun, a male half-demon sorcerer living in the town of Belthazzar in the kingdom of Szrahdori."

"I'm what? I'm not a demon, I'm an Elf." 

"You are a prodigal mage who seems to be afraid of something and is fearful of doing magic."

"Well, I suppose that's true... wait... what are you talking about?" 

"You are a skilled alchemist who has developed a special compound that increases a soldier's melee attack by 25% for a period of three hours."

"No I didn't." 

"You have become a respected member of the local militia."

"No I haven't. I hate military and fighting and wars and battles and weapons."

"What do you do?"

"What?"

"Tell me what you are going to do?"

"I'm going to finish reading this book and than find a way to escape from this tower, and look for BoomFuzzy's Lich, like I was doing before I meet any of you."

"What? No, you ain't playing along right!"

"Playing along? What?"

The old wizard looked at the women in silence, and than shook his head in disappointment. 

"Sorry," he said "Magic is a dangerous game, even for an Elf half-demon Thullid like me."

The woman stared at Quaraun in silence.

Quaraun sighed, and then said: "I really need to finish reading my book."

"Very well. I will leave you be," the woman said as she left the room.

The wizard turned back to his book and decided to read until his mind is filled with knowledge.

Quaraun laid on his bed. Closed his eyes. His mind wandered back to the day he had arrived here. Think. He had to have noticed something. Something out of place. Something wrong. But no. Nothing. He could think of nothing. Nothing at all.

A soft rapping at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He rose and went to the door. Swinging it open, he saw a dark-skinned man in a black robe.

"BoomFuzzy?"

The man smiled and said: "It's been a long time, Quaraun."

"BoomFuzzy?"

"You know me?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've been searching for you for centuries."

"Oh, I wasn't questioning your knowledge," the man said. "But I was curious as to whether you still knew me."

"I love you. I'd never forget you. You are my only love, my one and only."

"I love you too."

"I know."

"Why are you here?"

"Here?"

"In this tower?"

"To slay a dragon," Quaraun said.

"Oh?"

"No. That's not right. Something's wrong. A curse. I think a sorceress has cast a curse on this valley. It's messing up my ability to remember things or to even see things clearly."

"Oh, I've known of a few curses in my day, but nothing like this. You must take this to the Dark Lord. If anyone can break this, it's him."

"The Dark Lord? Who is he?"

"The darkest of the dark. Dark Lord."

"Dark Lord... Is he the guy with all the tentacles?"

The man's eyes widen, then he spoke again: "Not ZooLock. No. HellBorne The Summoner of Darkness."

"Not ZooLock?"

"No. HellBorne."

"What about The Daughter of Vengeance?"

"I knew her. She cursed my father's soul. It's her. Go to Kai. He needs to know."

"Who is Kai?"

But there was no answer.

BoomFuzzy was gone. Quaraun wondered if he had ever been there.


~o0o~


When Quaraun woke up the following morning, he looked out the window to discover the landscape had changed. The Twighlight Manor had moved. No longer in the lush green valley, no longer overlooking the deserted farming village, the huge haunted house had gotten up during the night and dragged itself to the  base of Fire Mountain.

Fire Mountain, in Pepper Valley. Home to King Gwallmaiic, the Elf Eater, leader of the Lich Lords. The frozen, blue crystal skeleton, whom in life, had been Quaraun's lover: BoomFuzzy the candy maker and gourmet chef.

The courtyard and its undead apricot trees still sat to the back of the building as it always did.

"Why are we at Fire Mountain?" Quaraun pondered out loud.

Quaraun looked up at the sky. "Oh my!" he explained.

The sky was no longer there. A huge blue, cut crystal glass bubble, a dome, a magic sphere, sat down over them. Quaraun spent several minutes examining and contemplating the shimmering cut crystal overhead. 

"We are in a glass bottle," Quaraun said. "Oh dear! We are in a genie bottle. This is very bad. Who would do this? Who even could? Di'Jinn magic is rare. And the Di'Jinn are dead, save me, and maybe ZooLock."

Seeing how there were no guards at the door once again, Quaraun decided to see if he could get outside and take a look at Fire Mountain up close. It was, after all, BoomFuzzy's home. If he was going to find anything that would help him resurrect BoomFuzzy, it would be here, wouldn't it?

To his surprise the door was unlocked. There were no guards outside either. Looking down the stairs of the tower, the tower no longer seemed so very tall. So it took him not nearly as long to get back down to the bottom as it had taken him to reach to the top.

Quaraun stood at the front parlour of the manor house, looking outside. He decided on the easiest was to go about entering the volcano's underground castle, then slowly snuck out of the Twighlight Manor. Though it appeared he needn't have been so cautious. There was one gate on the ground level, and it was neither barred nor guarded. There had been no guards anywhere around the tower or the courtyard either.

Once outside of the castle, Quaraun made his way to the edge of Fire Mountain and set out to looking for the entrance into the palace he knew was in the lower levels of it's cave system. He hadn't gotten far when he spotted someone else. 

They were running away from a group of black shapes. Quaraun quickly started to follow their lead. They seemed determined to escape.

At least until one of the black shapes stopped, whipped around and ran directly at the person, knocking them off balance.

Quaraun tried to determine what the black shapes were, and they appeared to be large birds, or perhaps small dragons. They were too far away for him to be certain.

A few moments later a black bird with blue crystal eyes flew at him, cawing angrily.

"What? Arrgh!" Quaraun screamed as the bird flew at him, clawing at his hair with his talons. Then as suddenly as it had appeared, the bird flew away.

"Damned bird," Quaraun muttered as he pulled out his silver hairbrush and began smoothing his shiny whit tentacle hair back into place. "Wait. Isn't that the same bird that attacked me before? How odd. It is stuck in the gene bottle as well, I suppose."

Quaraun looked down the road again, hoping to catch sight of any sign of the other black creatures attacking the other two people. But they appeared to have disappeared now. Both the mysterious crystal birds and people they were chasing were now no where to be seen.

Quaraun looked up at the stars, and the sky was a dome of blue above him, and he felt the cool night breeze running through his hair. He turned south and started walking down the road.

Quaraun carefully made his way closer to the mountain once again, scanning the roads and paths along it's edge, looking for see if one went inside the mountain through some doorway or tunnel.

Quaraun heard a noise behind him. He looked back down the road to see a new figure approaching. A different person, not one of the two whom had been chased by the crystal birds. This figure was smaller, a Dwarf or a Gnome perhaps, and coming towards Quaraun, very slowly, approaching with caution. Oddly, they were holding a glowing white stone above their head. They appeared to be in a daze or trace, walking without seeing, zombie-like.

Quaraun was about to continue on the road south when the figure caught up to him. He was shorter than Quaraun, but broader across the chest.

The being saw Quaraun and screamed out in a language Quaraun had never heard before, neither Gnomish nor Dwarven, gibberish words mixed with grunts and shrieks. He raised his arms up to shoulder level, still screaming, still walking very slowly. 

Quaraun thought he saw a glimpse of long white fingers, like a bog mummy's, hanging down from the being's arms.

Quaraun watched the strange not-Gnome. Quaraun decided to help the poor man. He is clearly a stranger to the area, as was Quaraun.

Quaraun approached the not-Gnome and said in Elvish: "Hello, little brother. Do not scream such a strange words.  May I help you?"

The creature made no response, continued screaming out strange words, and attempted to reach Quaraun. The not-Gnome drew his broadsword, a common Dwarf weapon, and said: "Go! Run!"

"What is it you are doing here?" Quaraun asked.

"Get away from me!"

"But why?"

"Please! Go!" the not-Gnome begged, pleading at Quaraun. His eyes were wild, terrified, and desperate.

Quaraun stepped forward.

"Don't come near me!" The not-Gnome held the sword in both hands, pointing the blade forward at Quaraun. In doing so, he had let go of the glowing white stone, which now remained in place, floating a few feet above the not-Gnome's head. The not-Gnome's eyes glowed a vivid purple colour.

"Please! Get away!" the not-Gnome said, his voice becoming deeper and more sinister. He took several steps towards Quaraun.

"Tell me why!"

"Go!"

"It's all right," Quaraun said, slowly backing away. "I'll not hurt you. I meant no harm. I'm on your side. I just thought you looked tired, carrying that big stone and need help. I meant no offence."

The strange being continued to scream and glare at Quaraun.

It took Quaraun a while to realize that the creature was laughing. It was an unpleasant, grating sound, like a cross between a lion's roar and fingernails scratching on a chalkboard.

Not knowing what else to do, Quaraun decided to introduce himself.

"My name is Quaraun. Who might you be?"

"Njord," the creature said.

"Njord? Is that your name?" Quaraun asked, but the not-Gnome said no more.

He continued to stand, glaring at Quaraun, his eyes still glowing a lurid purple. This time, he reached for his sword. But the glowing stone remained above his head, and he could not grab it.

Njord's eyes glowed brighter. The purple colour darkened even more, becoming a deep purplish red colour, turning nearly black.

His face became longer and more pointed, his snout elongated, and his teeth appeared, sharp and deadly. Quaraun could feel his fear.

A low growl, rumbled from Njord's throat.

"Forgive my presumptuousness," Quaraun said to the not-Gnome. "But you see, I'm afraid I am lost. I do not know this area. I was asleep by a mountain stream leading into the valley, then I woke up in a deserted farming village, and two men locked me in Rapunzel's tower, and than I woke up here, and I'm all so very confused, I do not know how to get back home. You don't think there is any chance you could help me, is there?"

The not-Gnome considered Quaraun for a long, silent moment. He snorted once, then began to scratch at his neck.

"You know, it is quite rude to not speak when spoken too," Quaraun stated.

Njord shook his head and replied: "No. No. No help for you. No help for anyone! Go home! Find a place where no one knows you. Don't stay here too long. Be gone, gone, gone!"

Njord began to run, shouting and screaming incomprehensible words. Quaraun knew so many languages of so many races, he couldn't understand how it could be that he couldn't understand Njord's words. The creature rushed away from Quaraun, his head down and his long arms pumping.

As Njord passed, Quaraun noticed a small black bird with sparkling cut crystal eyes, sitting on Njord's shoulder. Whispering into Njord's ear. Quaraun began to suspect that Njord was just a puppet, controlled by the strange crystal bird.

As he watched, the bird flew into Njord's ear, and Njord screamed, as blood sprayed from his ear. He began to run away from Quaraun, screaming.

"What are you doing?!" Quaraun shouted at the bird.

And then Njord turned the corner around a corner.

He vanished.

Quaraun waited for a few minutes, but the not looking back didn't reappear. Quaraun walked further up the street. He wondered if Njord would ever return.

Then he felt something touching his shoulder. He reached up and grabbed hold of what he thought was a cobblestone, but when he pulled away it was a shrivelled up and almost completely dry skin.

"Argh!" Quaraun screamed and threw the lump of dried skin as far away from himself as he could. 

Quaraun looked around. There was no one else.

The dried skin began to crumble.

And Quaraun screamed again.

The piece of flesh rotted before his eyes, maggots formed and crawled over it. Then the horrid thing turned to dust and blew away in the wind. Quaraun stood there, staring at the empty space where the vile creature was a moment ago. His heart was beating wildly and he was sweating.

This place was strange. 

Full of magic. 

Dark magic. 

Wild magic. 

Faerie magic. 

He would have to be careful. It would never be wise to fall into a Faerie trap, of this Quaraun knew for certain. He had heard too many tales of innocent Elves getting caught by the cruel and bloodthirsty creatures that dwelled in the Forest of No Return.

He looked around for the Faerie Stones or Fey Crosses or mushroom Faerie Rings. He knew if Faeries were in the area, they would have built a sacred circle of some sort, some place they could stand and not be seen.

Then something caught his eye. Something lying in the dust. Something he didn't recognize. Something like a rock, only larger. An old, battered looking stone, maybe the size of a fist, but its surface smooth, almost glassy. It lay near some bushes growing beside an old path. 

It seemed oddly familiar. Maybe he'd seen it in the market earlier this year? He must have. 

Quaraun knelt down to pick it up. He picked up the stone and turned it over and over in his hand. Something was etched on its surface, something that reminded him of two L's back to back. At first glance, it seemed unbroken.

"Hmm..." Quaraun thought. "I've seen this before. But where?"

Then he noticed something sticking out from underneath the thing. A piece of cloth. A dark, grey cloth.

Quaraun reached out. His hand touched the cloth. The fabric felt warm against his skin. Like fine smooth, soft satin silk.

Quaraun moved his finger slightly, touching another part of the fabric underneath. Something hard, and round.

His finger traced a shape. 

A symbol. 

Something Quaraun recognized.

A star. 

He recognized it from somewhere. 

"I know!" Quaraun said to himself. "It is a symbol that was carved on the forehead of one of the skull's in BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house. The skulls that..." Quaraun paused, his voice quivered. "The skulls that he used the day he turned himself into a Lich. The day BoomFuzzy died."

Quaraun felt sick, his stomach churned. He took a step backwards.

"You shouldn't have done that," a voice whispered aloud. 

Quaraun stood up and looked all around but there was nothing. No one. No where.

"They shouldn't have died," the voice continued. "He deserved to die. Look at what killed him. That monster's power has driven him mad! He should have stayed dead! You shouldn't have brought him back!"

Quaraun looked down. The grey stone was glowing. A low rumbling came from inside it.

"It is time to choose, Elf." the voice boomed from inside the stone.

"Choose?" Quaraun asked, looking up at the sky, still looking for the source of the mysterious voice. "Who? What? I do not understand. Please. Explain yourself."

"Do not let your fear of death drive you to do this, for death will follow you no matter your choice."

"I don't understand. What do you want from me?"

The stone began to glow brighter, brighter, hotter, and then it melted away, leaving behind a pile of ash and bone. A windstorm picked up and blew away all the sand from the road, exposing the bare stone ledge of the cliff.

A carved skull appeared on the ground before him. The star on it's forehead, matched the star which was carved into the stone, ledge ground. On each point on the star on the ground, hovered yet another glowing stone. 

Quaraun slowly backed away. 

As he did so, the skull lifted up off the ground and followed him, the five glowing stones doing the same.

The skull turned into blue crystal and hovered before him at eye level. 

"Go ahead," it said. "Make your choice."

Quaraun looked down. The road was now filled with a sea of bone ash and dust, swirling around him, faster and faster, bubbling up from the ground all around his feet.

"What magic is this?" Quaraun asked. 

"Choose!"

"Choose what? I don't know what you mean. I don't understand what you want me to do!"

As the wind whipped the dust into his eyes, he could see the crystal turning a deep shade of blue. 

"You are our Maker," it said. "You are a servant of the Dark Gods."

"I serve no gods, dark or light," Quaraun answered angrily. "I AM a god! I am the Sacred Pink JellyFish. People worship me, not the other way around. It is YOU who should kneel at my feet!"

"But you serve only the Dark God. You will not listen to any other voice but his! We need you!"

"Ha! The Dark God? He is dead. And his son had turned into a monster. A great black fire breathing eagle."

"No," The skull said. "He has returned to us. We have seen him with his own eyes, He is still alive. He needs you."

"No one needs me. No one loves me. No one wants me. I am outcast from society. Cast out to wander the world alone. Unloved and unwanted."

The blue crystal began to spin, swirling the bones and dust around it, faster and faster, faster than Quaraun could blink.

"Make your choice," it said.

"No!"

"Choose!"

"I refuse!"

The swirling stopped. 

A bright blue crystal grew out of the swirling, hovered before Quaraun, and then turned into a young girl. 

A young girl, carrying in her hand a pink jellyfish.

"Who are you?" Quaraun asked.

"I am the Angel of Death," she said, holding the pink jellyfish in the air. "Is THIS what you are?" The girl held out the wriggling jellyfish.

"You look like a girl."

"I AM a girl. But I serve the Dark Gods. And you are no god. You are nothing but a jellyfish, living inside of an Elf. You are a parasite." The girl shook the jellyfish in her hand violently. "THIS is what you are!"

Quaraun did not answer. He simply watched, his face void of expression, as the girl squeezed the jellyfish. The creature fell limp. 

Dead. 

Quaraun was shocked and horrified. Images of his mother's murder flashed in his mind. Her brutal bloody murder, the day the Moon Elves, smashed open the head of Quaraun's Elf mother, to reveal the jellyfish living inside. 

Mother's ever loving tentacles, ripped from her body, and lovely moon umbrella stomped on and squashed flat.

The girl dropped the dead gelatinous thing from her hand. It landed in the dirt, unceremoniously. He took a few steps back and turned away. His eyes were watering, he could feel the tears threatening to fall. 

He hated this. 

He hated death. 

He never wanted to be part of any of this. 

All he ever wanted to do was swim free with the other jellyfish, free in the ocean. But now he was stuck. 

Stuck forever. 

Trapped.

Trapped in the body of an Elf, never to have freedom again. He stared at the ugly, crushed corpse of the jellyfish the girl had killed. So beautiful moments before. 

Alive. 

Now dead.

Quaraun paced back and forth, feeling trapped. Trapped.

"What do you haunt me?"

"I am Death. I am the bringer of death."

"Your words mean nothing to me," Quaraun said.

"You are The Pink Necromancer. You speak to the dead. You speak for the dead. You steal my dead from my Swamp of Death."

The girl began to laugh, her face twisting and contorting as she did. A Jack-o-Lantern's head began to form where the little girl's head should have been, her arms stretched outward, longer, twisting, spiralling, turning green and sprouting vines. 

To Quaraun's horror the girl, morphed and melted away, turning into a grinning, Jack-O-Lantern headed scarecrow.

"No!" Quaraun said, stepping back, away from the scarecrow. "No! That's not how it works! That's not how it works! That's not how it..." Quaraun closed his eyes and put his hands over his face. "The Pissed Off Pumpkin Patch isn't real. It's isn't real. It's just a children's fairy tale."

"Is this your final answer?" Death asked.

"I don't know," Quaraun said. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't know."

"If you do not know than you must die. I must kill you."

Quaraun's ability to think clearly or rationally, had left him. He felt like he was in a dream, but he knew he wasn't. He knew that Fire Mountain was surrounded by The Forest of No Return. 

A Fae Forest filled with dark magic, trickster Fae with morbid illusion. He had to steady his mind. 

Focus. Focus. Focus! 

But on what? 

What? 

The skull! 

The skull was real. 

It was a relic belonging to King Gwallmaiic. 

The skull was real, everything else was not. 

Real... real...

"It's not real," Quaraun said to the girl. "I'm not going to die. I'm not going to die."

"Is this a magic doll?"

Quaraun opened his eyes. The little girl was back. She was holding what appeared to be a black magic doll in her hand. A burlap doll, with button eyes, and red and yellow headed pins stuck all through it.

"Perhaps," Quaraun answered.

He took the doll from the girl's hand to get a closer look at it. But he, should have known better than to do that. As soon as he touched the doll, the girl's voice broke out into a demonic, haunted cackling glee.

"You are such a fool, Quaraun," the girl said. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. Do you see the truth? I am Death. I am darkness. I am the night."

As the girl spoke, something appeared behind her. A large pink jellyfish, about two meters long and nearly three wide. The top half was covered in pink scales and a bright blue underside, and had a bulbous fin that looked like it could easily swallow the entire girl whole. In front of the thing stood the girl no more, for she had morphed yet again and was now a figure clad in white robes, tall and thin with pale skin

"You are not real," Quaraun said to the girl.

"I am as real as anything you will ever meet in this world or any other."

"You aren't here! You aren't real!"

Quaraun closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the girl and her giant jellyfish monster were gone. On the ground at his feet sat the blue crystal skull. Perched on the skull, was a black bird with blue crystal eyes. It cawed at him, then flew away, leaving the skull behind.

Quaraun bent down and picked up the skull.

"This is why I've avoided so long, coming to Fire Mountain. The Faerie Magic is strong here. Wild Fae are everywhere. This close to the mountain, one can trust nothing he sees or hears."

Quaraun put the skull in his bag, and continued on his way around the base of the mountain looking for a way to get into the tunnels beneath it and find King Gwallmaiic's under mountain palace.

Quaraun continued his way to the mountain, and as he walked, every plant he walked past, uprooted itself and started walking along behind him. Every flower. Every bush. Every shrub. Every tree. And every time Quaraun turned to look behind him, they all instantly stood still, pretending they were not following him.

"Fucking trees," Quaraun muttered under his breath. "You ain't fooling no one."

He quickened his pace, hoping to lose the trees. 

After short while he sunk to his knees and sat there, panting from running through the dense forest. He stared up at the canopy above him, watching its shifting shadows dance across the ground. They created strange shapes, like twisted snakes, or giant mushrooms, or the faces of creatures he would never know. It frightened Quaraun to look at it, though he couldn't quite tell why.

The forest around Quaraun grew darker and colder with each passing minute. The temperature dropped even further, making him shiver in his thin silk kimono.

The path Quaraun walked on, grew narrower and narrower until it was nothing but a rabbit trail through the grass, and whittled away to nothing.

"Damn it! Now where do I go?"

A young pine tree scampered on ahead and pointed all of it's limbs to a narrow cliff, leading around and up, the side of the mountain.

"Thank you," Quaraun said to the tree as he took a deep breath and continued onward.

His soft suede soled silk slippers were not made for travel on dusty, untraveled mountain trails like this. His found barely any footing for his cane, and dug his shoes into the ground as he stepped, terrified of slipping and falling off the edge. 

There was no ledge, no rockfall, just bare, sandy dirt, and tiny little pebbles, trickling down the side of the mountain, with each step he took. His heart quickened as he glanced down and saw there was nothing, but a sheer drop to his left and straight up to his right.

With his heart pounded, he kept going and walking. The trees got taller, but there were no birds. No insects buzzed. Even the smell was different up hear. 

Cleaner. 

Drier. 

Far less oxygen than Quaraun was used to. 

He felt dizzy and light headed.

Quaraun stood up and looked at the cliffs in front of him. It went up and up and up and up and up, so far up, that he could not see the top of it. 

Behind him were trees. 

Lots and lots of trees. 

All stil pretending they were not following him, every time he looked back to see if they were still there. 

Big ones. 

Pine trees. 

Old growth. Mast trees. 

Great for ship builders. 

Not so great for people who didn't like to be lost in the forest.

Fire Mountain. 

Here it was. 

A tree branch moved in the wind. Someone was watching him. Quaraun spun around quickly, but found only himself facing more trees. In fact, it was more tress than had been there a few minutes ago.

"Fucking Faerie forest. Can't even trust the trees not to sneak up behind you and kick you off a cliff."

His pale blue eyes darted side to side, anglicizing every movement of every tree. This was definitely The Forest of No Return. He could tell by the fact that several trees had uprooted themselves and were walking around, pacing back and forth, stretching their legs. Roots? Who knows? A couple of the pine trees blinked their eyes and showed their fangs, while a weeping willow slowly inched its way around to the side, trying to get behind Quaraun.

"I see you," Quaraun snarled at the willow tree. The tree immediately rooted itself and pretended to be a normal, ordinary, not enchanted Faerie tree.

When nothing more happened, Quaraun relaxed. Still standing alone in the woods, at the base of Fire Mountain. No one to talk to. No one to ask for help. No one to yell at. Just him an these fucking trees that wouldn't stop following him.

"Hello?" Quaraun called out to the trees.

The entire forest stopped moving. Pine trees, oak trees, maple trees, birch trees... they all stopped walking and stood stiff, pretending to be normal trees.

The air around Quaraun grew colder. Frost crystals began forming on the pine needles below his feet. His breath grew frosty and cold, freezing in the air before his face.

"Lich," Quaraun said, as he looked up at the sky and watched the deep cerulean blue miasma mist swirling through the clouds over the tops of the enchanted trees. He frowned. "BoomFuzzy. Always near. Always watching. Always separated. Always apart."

Quaraun turned back around and stared at the mountain before him: Pepper Valley's infamous Fire Mountain.

He looked around again, hoping for some signs of civilization. 

Something. 

Anything. 

A bridge. 

A road. 

A building. 

A path even.

Nothing.

The trees continued to loom over him, dark and menacing.

"Oh, fuck off!" Quaraun yelled at the trees as they got too close to him. "I'm not scared of you. Now get out of here!"

The trees took several steps back away from The Pink Necromancer.

Fire Mountain.

Maine's ancient super volcano. 

Long dormant. 

One of four largest volcanoes in the world. 

The volcano rumoured to have been so devastating the last time it erupted, that it caused the Ice Age and killed every dinosaur on the planet, by blanketing the planet in ash, preventing the sun's warm rays from reaching the surface and causing instant mass flash freezing of the entire planet. 

Or so say the scientists who study such things. Quaraun was not in the habit of studying volcano, so he knew nothing of Fire Mountain other than a few random passages he had been told.

Quaraun had heard of Fire Mountain many times. Tales of it swarmed through myths and legend. 

But this was his first time ever seeing it. He'd never been here before. He wasn't sure what to expect.

A volcano, so big, so deep, and so ancient, that it was rumoured to contain the world's last surviving dinosaur. A huge, viscous black scaled, fire breathing dragon.

Somewhere there was an entrance. A way inside. And then a way down. But where? How in the Hell does one get into Fire Mountain, to even start to look for the under mountain palace of King Gwallmaiic inside?

The trees began moving closer once more and with a sigh Quaraun continued forward, onward, and upward, up the side of Fire Mountain. He would find the entrance into Fire Mountain, even if it took him days, weeks, months of searching. He hoped it wouldn't take so long.

Quaraun sat on the ground. He was weak and hungry and thirsty and tired.

"I wish I could just find the entrance into Fire Mountain," he muttered to himself, quite forgetting that he was a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order and knew better than to ever star any sentence with the words "I wish".

Just then a large fortified gate, appeared. Quaraun stood up and stared at the huge cast iron fence, that stood around a stone archway. A 1920's neon sign, with art deco neon lights, stood over the entrance blinking the words: "Entrance!" in big, bold, friendly purple letters, while bouncing neon light purple puppies wagged their tails below the word.

"Oh good god, what have I done?" Quaraun questioned as he realized he's made and granted his own wish.

"Congratulations! You me friend has won yarself a prize. The location of the entrance into Fire Mountain!"

Quaraun turned to see who had spoke and found himself face to face with a small dark skinned Faerie, bigger than a Leprechaun, taller than a Dwarf, but standing at only five foot one, he was still shorter than a Human child.

"BoomFuzzy."

"At ya service." 

BoomFuzzy dressed like a ringmaster of a big top three ring circus.

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes!" The Faerie took off his top hat and made a magnanimous sweeping bow at Quaraun's feet, than perch the hat on top of his wild mess of dreadlocks once again. 

"Aren't we just a lucky one, eh?"

"Never." Quaraun shook his head. "No. I have no good luck at all. I have terrible luck. Especially when it comes to Faeries. I am not a lucky Elf."

The Faerie stood on tip-toe and kissed Quaraun's nose, then spun around and pranced to the gate. "Of course y'is. We are always so lucky. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky! Ya should be a Leprechaun wid luck like yars."

"You do realize I've spent the last several weeks trying to catch you?"

"Oh, why of course! I do have so much fun wid de smoke un mirrors. Keeping yar running in circles."

There was a loud POUF! 

And the Faerie disappeared, leaving behind a large pouf of purple smoke and several shards of shattered mirrors.

"Damn you," Quaraun said as he made his way to the iron gate.

As Quaraun get to the gate, he saw a dark skinned Asian solider, with long salt and pepper grey dreadlocks blocking his path. Quaraun tried to walk pass the Faerie but immediately, sharp spears grew up out of the ground, all pointing toward Quaraun and blocking him from going in any direction.

"Ah, uh, uh! Ye shalt no enter. Yar only wished to know where the entrance was. Ya did no wish to get inside."

"Will you stop it!"

"No, no, no! Wishes not carefully word are prone to backfire you know."

Quaraun glared at the Faerie. The solider had glowing blue eyes, made out of gemstones, and wore a cloak made entirely of black feathers. On his fingers where nails should have been, great glossy black talons grew instead.

"You're a Phooka!" Quaraun gasped. "Oh my."

The solider laughed.

"Well don't just stand there gawking at me," the bird man said. "You are in the presence of the Griffin King. Move aside boy."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I must get into the mountain."

"Really?" 

"Yes. Really."

"Why?"

"I have a renegade Lich to catch."

"The one you used to keep locked in a bottle?"

"Yes. He escaped. I wasn't done with him."

"Oh, my, my, my, my, my! Deary me. PoooooOOOOoooor wee lil Necromancer done gone un lost hims Lich?"

The Phooka fell on the ground laughing. When he did all the trees that had been following Quaraun, likewise fell of the ground and rolled around laughing.

"Are you done?" Quaraun snarled at the Faerie.

"Oh, no! Of course not!" The Phooka bounced back up to his feet. "Why would I be? I have so many much lots of time to torture you, remember?"

"Yes," Quaraun answered dryly. "I do seem to recall, being made immortal by a wish gone wrong."

The soldier stared at Quaraun.

"Oh, you're not going to cower in fear of me, are you?" the soldier asked.

"No reason to. You're just a psychotic Phooka."

"Just a..really? Just a Phooka? Is that all I am to you?"

"Just a Phooka."

"I feel I should be insulted." The Phooka looked past Quaraun to the trees. "Be insulted, boys, will you? I don't have the patience to do it myself."

The trees immediately started stomping around in circles looking as insulted as trees could make themselves look.

"So, I'm just just a Phooka, eh?"

"Yes. A psychotic Phooka with a lot of Psychotic trees at his command."

"Do you not like my trees?"

"You're trees are annoying, as they always are."

"Mighty bold of you to say as much."

"Not really, no."

"How so?"

"I've dwelt with Phookas before."

"Have you now?"

"Yes. I have. You KNOW I have. I have to keep putting up with you every few decades, don't I?"

"Oh pooh! You're not being any fun."

"You are dead, why should I be having fun?"

"We are the most fearsome race of all of Fae. No monsters are more feared than we."

"Yes. I am aware of this, but you see, I am Quaraun. The Pink Necromancer. As you very well know."

"Pink? Let me guess," the soldier said, pointing at Quaraun's robes. "You're a Flower Faerie, and this is why you're wearing pink. Am I right?"

"BoomFuzzy! I am an Elf. You know, I am an Elf"

"An Elf? Really?"

"Yes. Do we have to go through this every time you pop up!"

"Well, let me think... why YES!"

"Why?"

"Because you are a Necromancer."

"So?"

"I am dead."

"Yes. I noticed that. I'm trying to fix that."

"Ah yes. And how is that going?"

"Well, let me think... oh yes... you are still dead."

"I'm a Lich, Quaraun. Not much you can do about that."

"You don't have a physical body."

"Yes, let me see, that would be because I am dead. Being incorporeal kind of with the territory."

"Are you going to let me in the mountain?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm....... no."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"My, you're a lil one, aren't you?"

"I am short," Quaraun said, "for an Elf. And you already know that. Plus you're a full head shorter than me. And stop changing the subject."

"Indeed. You're not very tall," BoomFuzzy said. "But you're not very little, I've seen shorter, and that's good enough for me. And I is supposed to be short. I is a Phooka. We all us is short. You Elves is supposed to be tall. Taller than Humans. Yis a runt."

"Can you find something else to talk about?" 

"Are you thirsty?"

"What?" 

"I have water."

"So?"

 "Yar can have some if ya wants it."

"One must never accept food from Faeries."

"Tis not food. T'is water. And I am not Faeries. I am your BoomFuzzy."

"I know you too well to trust you." 

"You'd think you could trust me by now, I've been haunting ya bony lil ass for the past seven centuries."

"You being, BoomFuzzy, is EXACTLY WHY I can't trust you. No can trust you. You'd stab your best friend in the back if you thought you could get a laugh out of it."

"You ARE me best friend."

"That's exactly my point. I will never turn my back on you."

"You are thirsty. Here."

"It could be bottled dust for all I can tell. Faeries never offer real food."

"Not even for a shiny red apple?"

The bottle of water, he held in his hand, was now a shinny red apple. Quaraun smiled, and the soldier smiled back. Quaraun took the apple. 

"There, you see?" the soldier said.

Quaraun threw the apple off the cliff.

"Yes. I do see. I am Faerie Sighted. You tried to offer me a maggot filled rotten apple core."

"But you are hungry and so too are I. But you can eat and I can not, for I am dead and you alive."

"I am not hungry. Only you are hungry. Here, I shall give you the apple core." Quaraun stretched out his gold armoured hand and the rotten apple core appeared in the palm of his bejewelled metal glove. "It is fresh from the garden of the apricot trees in the courtyard below. Eat it. Drink it. And live forever with me."

"If only that were possible. I seem to be lacking a physical body."

"It is possible. I will make it so, if that's last thing I ever do."

"You are the Elf who believes in love. That love survives all. Even death."

"I am."

"Your lover died and left you alone."

"Yes. You did."

"And now you wander the world in search of his missing soul."

"I do. And it would be easier to find a cure for you if you would stop jumping out of your bottle and running away. Every minute I spend looking for you is another minute I don't spend trying to build you a flesh body."

"But you murdered his other lover."

"Gibedon. Yes. I did. I killed Gibedon."

"Why?"

"Gibedon was going to kill BoomFuzzy. He was plotting wit Finderu to overthrow the throne. They were going to kill the King in his sleep. I had to stop them."

"Even though you knew King Gwallmaiic loved him."

"Yes. BoomFuzzy loved Gibedon, not me. I am so sorry I broke his heart. He killed himself a few days after I killed Gibedon."

"Apology accepted," the soldier said. "Now let us go inside, inside this mighty fortress we call home. We'll eat and drink until our bellies ache, till the sky falls in, and then we sleep the sleep of death."

The Phooka opened a massive stone door in the side of the mountain. Quaraun stepped inside the door and immediately it vanished, along with the gate and the solider, and Quaraun found himself standing on the dark cliff, overlooking a deep, ominous looking hole in the ground.

"Just remember, wishes come with consequences," BoomFuzzy said as his vanished once again.

"What consequences? BoomFuzzy what did you do this time?"

Quaraun waited for an answer but got none.

BoomFuzzy was gone again.

"A house wizard dispatches Quaraun to retrieve arcane and mysterious information that only the Thullids possess. A powerful magic item is said to be lost in the ruins of the ancient city," Quaraun said to no one in particular. Largely because there was no one around to talk to. 

Legends told tales of a mysterious mountain, which could appear out of no where, whenever and wherever it pleased. Much the same as The Twighlight Manor did, the same too as The Forest of No Return did. Not surprising as all three were places BoomFuzzy lived and building himself enchanted homes, seemed to be a talent of his. 

The mountain. 

The Manor. 

The forest. 

Disappearing into the mists from which it had mysteriously immersed, the mountain proved itself difficult to find. 

Normally Quaraun did not take on such risks, but, this particular mountain had been on his radar for a while now. For this, was Fire Mountain, home of The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Leastwise it had been his home, centuries ago, when he was still alive.

"What am I doing here?"

Quaraun stood on the cliff, looking down at the gaping black hole. A steam vent, from a long inactive volcano. The ancient, old Elf got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole.

Nothing

He could see exactly nothing.

"There has to be another way in. A better way in. A way in, that doesn't involve me tying a rope to god knows what and hoisting myself down into god forsaken pits of who the hell knows what's down there."

"I suppose, I could just jump in. If I die I'll just start my life over. Won't I?" 

The bizarre question was enough, without having to give an exact answer. 

"How many lifetimes can I live, before I stop reliving the same life over and over again? I never jumped down this shaft before, did I? I don't remember. I've a dragon to get past. Jump it is."

Quaraun did not get a chance to jump, because just then, BoomFuzzy reappeared, and shoved Quaraun off the cliff, while yelling down the hole: "Seemed to recall ya was expecting me to stabs yas in de back. Figured kicking off a cliff works just as well."


~o0o~


Quaraun woke up some time later. 

Laying on the floor. 

Dazed. 

Confused. 

And unable to remember, either where he was or how he had gotten there.

"Why am I sprawled on the ground? I am covered in dirt. On my back. Why am I on my back? How did I get here?" 

Quaraun lay on his back, staring skyward into the darkness. At the ceiling. 

Maybe? Is there a ceiling overhead? 

"I can't see. It is so exceptionally dark. I need to sit up. The ground below me is hard and rock like. It hurts. It hurts so bad."

Stiff.

Uncomfortable.

Painful to lay on.

"Why am I laying on it? It hurts. I hurt. I ache all over. Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Gravel and pebbles are scraping my skin through my clothes. I hate it. It hurts. Abrasive sand is tumbling around my toes, inside my shoes. It hurts my feet. It hurts my toes. I have sand between my toes. I hate it."

When Quaraun couldn't remember what he was doing, he took to pontificating to rumble through random words, hoping one of them would spark a memory of what he was doing. 

Failing memory was the worst part of growing old. Quaraun's failing memory often left him waking up confused, not remembering where he was or how he had gotten there. 

This was the case today. 

Quaraun preferred someone to sleep with him, so they could remind him, when he woke up, where he was and what he was doing there. He hated sleeping alone, because he hated waking up and not being able to remember where he had bedded that night. 

Quaraun tried to remember what he had been doing the day before. Walking, but where? He walked so much, so far, so often, that little difference passed from one day to the next. He had been going somewhere, but where? 

Why was he sleeping on the ground? 

Why not in his tent? 

Or on a bedroll? 

And why was it so damned dark? 

And what was he sleeping on?

Dirt. 

A road? 

"Am I sitting in the middle of the road? Why am I sitting in the middle of the road?"

Quaraun strained his eyes trying to see, but it was nothing but pitch black, thick blackness all around. Not a sliver of light anywhere. 

Nothing to cast shadows. 

Nothing but total blackness. 

The only thing that gave him any indication of how far off the road he actually was, was the soft sound of his voice echoing back from all sides. It made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

What had happened? How did he end up here alone? 

What had happened to everyone else?

Wait? Was there any one else?

How had he ended up alone?

As much as he tried, he couldn't remember anything before waking up just now. Nothing at all. He wasn't even sure who he was. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings and everything just seemed... different. 

A lot more chaotic than normal. And there were no memories to help explain his confusion. No way to tell if he really knew anyone other then himself.

His chest tightened. There was something heavy inside it, something cold and hard and painful. Something he didn't want to be feeling right now. That's when he realized it was fear. Fear that this place would never end. Fear that no one would ever find him. Afraid for himself and everything about himself.

He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very alone.

It took him a moment before he felt the first tear roll down his cheek. He hadn't expected them to start, or to come at all. Tears. Why? Why was he crying. He'd lost someone. Someone had died. Someone close to him.

"Why am I sitting in the middle of the road?" Quaraun asked himself again. "How did I get in the middle of the road? What happened? Where am I? What has transpired? I don't remember. Why don't I remember? Why am I outside? Why is it so dark? Is it night? I can't see anything.  Have I gone blind? No. I've lost my sight before. Briefly. After being struck on the head. It wasn't like this. It wasn't black. It was grey. Foggy. With bursts of colour exploding inside my skull." 

Quaraun put his hands on his head and discovered this was a difficult task when one could not see where one's head was.

"No. This is just darkness. But there are no stars. No moon. Where is my moon? Have I fallen into a hole in the ground? Am I underground?" Quaraun reached around blindly until he felt a sod wall, and long tree roots. "Oh! I AM underground! How did I get underground? Have I been buried alive? Who would bury me alive? Entombed beneath the earth."

Quaraun crawled around feeling the ground as he went, trying to feel something he could recognize.

"I can feel dirt and rocks and dirt and soil and dirt and sediment and dust and dirt. And dirt is everywhere. There is so much dirt. I'm dirty. Where is the edge of the trail? Dust is everywhere. And dirt. It's dirt everywhere. Dirt and dirt and more dirt. I can't find any anything. Is there anything here? Anything at all. No. I can find nothing. It's just dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt and dirt and dirt and more dirt! So much dirt. Why is there so much dirt! I hate dirt. Why does nature have to be so dirty. Why can't it be clean like water?"

Quaraun grew increasingly more panicked the more he found nothing but dirt. As his breathing became laboured, so did his thoughts. 

Thoughts and fears. 

Things were getting more and more out of hand as his panic rose. His breathing quickened as he ran out of air.

"Where is the end? Where is the edge? Where is the edge? Please. Where is the edge? Where is the edge? Where is the edge?!" Quaraun cried as he crawled around in the darkness feeling with his gold armoured fingers for something, anything. 

He stopped for a moment, trying to collect his breath, then continued crawling over the rough dirt. He tried again, then gave up after finding nothing but more dirt.

"Nothing. There's nothing here but dirt and dirt and dirt. Just dirt. Nothing else. There's nothing here but dirt. Where am I? Why did you leave me here? Please. Help me!" Quaraun pleaded.


"Where is the grass? I can't see. I have dirt all over my hands. Why can't I find any grass? I need water or grass. Something to clean my hands! I can't fucking see anything! Why is it so dark? There is no grass. I can't feel any grass. Where is the grass? Why is there no grass? I need grass. I have dirt all over my hands. Why is it so messy? Where is the grass? My hands are covered in mud. I need to clean my hands. I need some grass for wipe this mud off my hands."

"I can feel the dirt, rocks, and dirt, dirt, debris, dust and dirt. And everywhere there is just more dirt. Gravel and dirt and dust. There is a lot of dust. I'm dirty. My hands are dirty. I can feel dirt on my hands. It's drying out my skin! My clothes are dirty. My shoes are dirty."

Quaraun sneezed. 

"Argh!! I have dirt in my nose! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!"  

Where is the end of the road? Dust is everywhere. It's dirty, it's dirty, it's dirty. Is there something here? No. Nothing. I can't find anything. Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, not dirty. 

Why is everything so messy? Where is the grass? 

I can't see. 

My hands are covered in mud. 

I need to clean my hands. 

Why can't I find any weeds? Why is it so dark and there is no grass? I don't feel the grass. Where is the grass? 

Why is there no grass? I need hashish. 

My hands are in the mud, not in the grass. 

I didn't feel the plants at all. 

Why do these things keep happening to me!

I didn't ask for this!

Damned stupid ass wishes!

Nothing. No plants. I don't feel the grass. 

I didn't feel the plants at all.  There was nothing green in my arms and feet. 

I can't see. 

My feet hurt. 

Dirt is getting stuck in every single part of my shoes. 

I can't walk, I can't stand. 

Where is my cane? I can't get up without it!

I can't get anywhere by myself. 

Dirt is sticking to my skin and clothing. 

My head hurts. 

I think my brain has been hit with a hammer or something. 

My whole body feels tired and weak. 

I can't see. How can I go home if my eyes are shut? My eyes were open, but now they feel like I have them closed because my whole head feels too heavy for me to lift. 

The pain is almost gone from my legs, though, and that means I should be able to walk without hurting my limbs or making them bleed. I don't think I have any broken bones.

Damn it, BoomFuzzy! You fucking pushed me off a cliff! I remember that much, you wretch! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you do that? You could have killed me!

And you know what? You're lucky you're already dead and I 'm too lazy to kill you again! You bastard!

I'm trying to help you get your body back and you are not exactly making it easy for me when you pull fucking jackassery stunts like this!

And now I'm stuck here, under this fucking mountain with nobody to save me anymore. 

There's nothing here, just gravel and dirt and rocks. 

Quaraun's shouting caused an avalanche of rubble, soil, gravel, sand, and rocks to come cascading down from above, much of it landing on top of him.

Damn it!

Why am I trapped under these huge, heavy stones?

No! This ain't right. I have to get outta here. 

If I die down here, BoomFuzzy, I'm gonna kill you over and over again for eternity!

Fuck!

Where is my cane? Why do I always end up in these shit storms. Shit! I gotta find my stupid cane and there's no fucking light down here, I can't see a thing and now I've got a fucking landslid that's probably buried my cane so I can't find it at all now. Fuck this shit!

That avalanche wasn't an accident either was it? This is your idea of a joke, isn't it? You pushed them down here on top of me didn't you?

BOOMFUZZY! I know you can hear me.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! 

No! This ain't right. I have to get outta here. 

Fuck!

I need to calm down and breath.

Think nice thoughts.

Calm. Relax. Breath.

Mother's ever loving tentacles.

It's so hot and humid in here. So damn hot! It makes the air so thick I can barely breathe and it feels as if it's getting harder and harder for me to draw air into my lungs.

My throat feels raw and parched from all the yelling I've done.

Damn it! I don't have any water.

I need water desperately, even though I have no idea where any water source might be. 

I'll figure it out later though, I guess. Right now, I have to keep my mind occupied. There's gotta be some sort of light source around here somewhere.

If I find anything, hopefully it will give me directions and make me feel less lost. Even if I do end up being lost in the end, at least my mind will have some peace. 

I'm having difficulty keeping my eyes focused properly. 

I close my left eye tightly and focus my gaze on one spot, then another.

Nothing. Nothing in sight, anyway.

It's just too damned dark down here.

I let my hand drift over and rest upon my forehead.

What was I doing?

Flowers.

Yes. Flowers. I was looking for flowers.

I don't feel flowers. 

I can't feel the trees. Dirty and dirty. And gravel.

It's not just grass. I can't feel any plants at all. Nothing. There are no plants. I can't feel any grass. I can't feel any flowers. I can't feel any trees. It's just dirt and more dirt. And gravel. And I broke a nail. I hate dirt so damned much. Why does there have to be so much damned dirt?

No shrubs grow here. I can't feel any grass.

No ferns. No hedges. No plants. No plants at all.

No foliage. No hedges. No shrubberies. No thickets. 

No briers. No bushes. No grains. 

Why? Where the hell am I?

There are no forests here. No forests. No trees.

No birds or insects. Or any sounds other than my own footsteps crunching on dry, unblemished dirt.

Where is this place? Who made it look like this?

I need a place to call home. But there's only emptiness and me walking in endless circles and not getting anywhere. It's so strange...

But I don't want to be here. I want to find someplace else.

 I don't feel any grass or bushes. No fence. No plants. No leaves. There is no fence. There are no bushes. No thistle. There are no bushes. No grains. No fruit. No fence. No herbs. No vegetation. There is no dike. No weeds. No watercourse. No roses. There are no bushes. No brush. No strawberries, no trees. Neither trees nor seedlings can be found. No seeds. There are no bushes anywhere. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. No trees. No vines. No leaves. There are no banks. 

No berries. No hedgerows. No herbs. No vegetation. No hedges. No under brush. No brushwood. No roses. No bushes. No brambles. No burs.

No trees. I can't find any trees.

No saplings. No seedlings. No timbers. No trees. No trees. No trees. No trees. No trees at all. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless. Treeless.

Where did the trees go?

No vines. No leaves. 

I am not indoors either. 

No floors. No canvases. No chairs. No tables. No benches. No desks. No floors, towels or chairs. There is no table. No carpets. No bed. No bookcase. No furniture at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

Just dirt. And dirt. And dirt. And dirt. And dirt. And dirt. And dirt.  And dirt. And dirt. Just so much fucking godforsaken dirt.

I am outdoors. In nature. In dirty, grimy nature. 

I should be in my tent. 

Sleeping.

I'm tired of this.

I can't do this any more. How does anyone live like this? Why am I living like this? I can't do this any more. It's driving me crazy.

I should be in my tent. 

My tent! Where did that go? Where is my tent? It is right there! My tent! Where did it go? Where is it? Who took it? Why is it gone? What did they take? Is it still there? 

Who took my tent? 

If anyone comes near my tent, I will have them dead before their legs even hit the ground. If anyone tries to steal from me or steal my tent from me again, I will kill them.

But I don't have anything to steal now.

The tent is in my bag. They stole it. Who stole my tent? Who wants my tent? 

My tent! Where is my tent? Did someone take it too? 

Why does everything smell like dust? Or dirt.

There is no table. No carpet, no bedding. There are no books. There is no furniture. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, just dirt, dirt left here by God. Dirt that doesn't belong to Him! Dirt that belongs to me! That belongs to all of us. That belongs to the Earth. Earth of the Earth! That's what dirt is! Dirt that belongs to the trees and gives them life! Dirt that belongs to the animals and sustains their existence! To the birds, to the fish, to the bugs, to the worms, to the jellyfish. To me!

Dirt that belongs to me. I am the Grand High Emperor of the Triple Planets. Everything on the Triple Planets is mine!

Dirt doesn't belong to God. It doesn't belong to him. He can't have it. It should not be his! This dirt shouldn't be anywhere near His feet!

I am a god! The one and only! A god, like Him! But why? Why is this dirt mine?! Why has God given it to me?!

Why do people love dirt so much?!

"Why do they need to touch it?" I ask myself.

The dirt is my treasure. Dirt is how I keep my power. Dirt is the source of my immortality. Dirt is how I control the entire universe. Dirt makes everything I touch shine.

Dirt makes everyone else glow too.

"Why does dirt make them happy?" I ask myself.

Dirt makes everything better. It fills your heart with joy, and you know deep down inside you're in a good place. Dirt makes you feel like nothing could go wrong. Dirt makes you feel free.

This is where I belong, floating through space, surrounded by dirt. It makes me happy and peaceful, it makes me forget about all that's going on around me.

This is where I live. Right now.

Where do I live? What do I call it? Where do I go to hide when the sun is beating down from high above the ground and the air tastes like metal in the back of my throat? Is there an exact definition for the name I'm supposed to give it?

He was out there somewhere when we started our search. He was there. He knew. He knew our planet was dying and he did nothing. He let us die. 

And then we found BoomFuzzy. 

He was there and he was alive. 

And then he wasn't anymore. 

Now he's dead. 

BoomFuzzy is dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead!

He's dead, dead, dead.

All gone.

Gone forever.

Just gone, gone, gone.

And left me alone.

Gone, like he never existed.

I should have died in his place.

No cares about me.

No one wants me.

He had friends. He had people who needed him.

No one needed me.

I should have died instead.

And now I'm back here in this filthy, filthy, dirty world. This dirt filled, filthy, dirt blasted dirt, with its stink and its pain. With its misery and its hopelessness.

No. 

I don't remember anything. 

I don't know where I am or how I got here. 

Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing except that thing called pain. 

So much pain! 

Pain in my leg and pain in my back and pain in my hip and pain in my hands and pain in my head. 

Just pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain!

No.

No more dirt.

I hate dirt.

My hands in my hair again. They're wet and sticky and sweaty, with mud all over them. Dry clay and sticky sweat, equals the worst type of mud at all.

Mud in my hair.

Mud on my face.

Thee mud is everywhere.

I hate it! I hate. I hate it!

Its on my clothes and all around me. Everything is dirty and gross and I just want to get away from it. I don't want this. I want BoomFuzzy back.

I just want to be with BoomFuzzy.

I don't want anything else.

BoomFuzzy is gone to Hell and I'm left here on Earth.

This of not Heaven.

No.

This is the opposite of Heaven. 

The opposite of Heaven. The opposite of Paradise. 

The opposite of Heaven. The opposite of anything. 

This is not paradise. This is Hell. Hell. Hell. Everywhere.

This is Hell. Where everyone who dies lives forever. 

Forever and ever and ever and ever.

Hell, where no one has happiness. No one has peace. Where death is never truly rest. Where pain remains for eternity. Where no one has hope or purpose or joy. This is Hell. Nothing but Hell.

Hell is made of dirt.

Dirt.

Dirt, dirt, everywhere.

EVERYWHERE!

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, just dirt, dirt left here by God. 

Dirt, dirt everywhere. 

Everywhere. 

All over me. 

On me. 

Staining me. 

Drying me. 

Drying me out. 

Drying me out, all over. A

ll around me. 

Soiled.

Soiled.

Soiled.

My pink silks are soiled.

Dirt on me. Mud. Sand. Dust. 

Dried blood.

Damned bloody nose.

Damned scraped knees.

My clothes are filthy. 

Not dirty enough. 

It's worse than dirt and mud, because dirt washes away. Muddy. Unkempt. Wet. Dirty. It dries. 

Not like dirt. 

Not dirty enough.

Not dirt. It takes dirt off. Dirt gets cleaned off.

And so damned fucking dark in here!

I don't know what dirt looks like anymore. 

It's all the same now, the way everything has been for so long.

It makes my eyes hurt.

They sting so hard.

So hard they burn.

They itch so hard.

And yet, still the tears come. And they keep coming even when my eyes stop hurting and my skin stops itching and my throat heals up from being dry and scratchy. They still fall.

When the first raindrop falls, they are almost the last drops of water that trickle through the clouds. When I hear the second drop, I look toward the source of the sound, but it doesn't land where the third drops were falling. Crying for trees. Where are the trees.

There is no forest without leaves. Why am I not at home? There is no canvas. There is no chair. Without seats without seating, there is no carpet without an office. Nothing. Nothing! I'm waiting for a dirty. . . what is this? Do you feel something? What are you? 

Wait. What's this?

I feel something.

What is this? What are you?

It's wood. It's not a tree. It's square. It's sharp. It has a corner. And OW! Splinters. Now I have a splinter! Damn you! What are you? 

A beam? A beam, leaned on something.

On what? 

A wall? Are you a wall? 

Yes. A wall. 

Wooden.

Am I inside? I'm inside. No. Yes? Maybe. 

How? How am I inside? There's so much dirt. What is this? Why is there so much dirt inside? It feels like a road, all packed in and travelled on. Busy, busy, like on the highway. No. This is not a highway. I'm not outside. I'm inside. In. . . in what? Am I in a cave? How did I get into a cave? AM I in a cave? Why am I in a cave? Is this a cave? I can't tell. 

Where am I? Where did the beams go. I need to feel them again. Something's not right here. This can't be a cave.

It should be more open. I'll look around. I'll find more wooden posts. I need to find more wooden posts. Oh! There's something else out there! There must be a door. I wonder if it's big enough for me. I wonder what it looks like. I hope it opens. If it's just one door then it isn't too tight for me.

It's not a door but it is something I can open, I think. It's kind of hard but I try. The latch is very complicated. So many buttons and knobs and switches. And a whole bunch of levers and knobs. How is a lever supposed to work, anyway? But I guess I do. I push down a switch and I hear an odd sound.

Click?

Did I hear a click?

Something clicked. 

What?

Where?

I can't see a blasted thing.

How did I get here? 

You're a vertical surface. You can help me up. I won't have to crawl around grovelling in the dirt any more. If I hold on to the wall and walk along you, maybe I can find my way out of here and back into sunlight. Why is it so damned dark in here? I can't see a thing.

Searching. Probing.

Probing. Searching.

Through the darkness, for anything that might reveal to me where I am. 

Piling. Scaffolding. Plank. 

Joist. Pillar. Rough. Old. 

Crumbling. Decayed. Decomposed. 

Mouldered. Rotted.

It will collapse. Oh! It's not stable. It gives if I lean on it.

This whole place will fall in on me.

Wait. I felt, gravel on the ground. Where was that. 

Ah! I found you. Cold. Smooth. 

Hard.

It's a crystal. Is it ice?

Quartz? Maybe? Or Selenite? 

These aren't gravel. 

They're gemstones. 

Am I in a mine? Oh my! Did I fall down a mine shaft? Oh that's not good. Some mines are miles deep. And have so little air. But a mine! No wonder there is no light. I could be miles underground.

Oh dear. That would be horrible, wouldn't it? 

Oh! The dark.

It will go away eventually. I'm sure it'll go away. I can't see anything. I won't find any water or any food. 

Oh no. 

How long has it been? Days, weeks, months? Time doesn't seem to have meaning here. It's like being in the past, but not really. It's not real time and all time isn't real either. But what am I supposed to do now?

I need a name. That's silly. You don't use names anymore. I can't think of one. My name is Joist. What else should I say?

My thoughts wander and my body drifts.

I know this is how things work when you're dead.

No, that's wrong. 

There aren't people who just die from falling.

I feel like I'm drifting. It's almost peaceful.

That's odd, because this is the first time I've ever been able to float. Floating used to be an unpleasant experience, but now it's sort of nice, like floating in a warm bath. I wonder why I can't swim any more? I can feel myself getting tired and tired. It feels like I'll lose consciousness any minute now. But I can feel something, like...

By the feel of the stone and dirt and massive timber beams on the wall, it's gem mine. A Dwarven gem mine. I seem to have found myself in a roughly hewn chamber of some sort. Some sort of cave. Or a tunnel. A sod house, maybe? 

A mine? Oh. It IS a mine isn't it? A Dwarf mine? No? Yes. It must be. It has to be. What else could it be? How did I get in a Dwarf mine? I can see nothing, damn it! The shades of stone, dirt and rot from the huge wooden posts hanging from the walls are all the same. Pitch black. Blacker than my string of black pearls. Where are those? I should wear them again. If I ever get out of here. I need to get out of here.

The beams feel like scaffolding for mine shafts.

I can't find out for certain in this dank darkness.

A tunnel, perhaps?

Under a mountain?

But to do what?  

And where?  

Where am I?  

How did I arrive here?

I simply can not recall.

Why can't I remember?  

Have I stumbled into a mine shaft?

Did I discover a mine by accident? 

I do not remember. Why can't I remember? Why is my memory so poor of late. I forget so much.

It concerns me greatly that I can not remember in what way or manner I arrived at this place. Did I come here by design? Was I abducted? If so, than by who? 

And why? 

And where are they? 

Why would they leave me alone here? 

Why can't I remember how I got here? 

Or was it a portal? Oh! It could have been a portal! Did I fall into a portal? 

Oh! 

I could be any where. 

Any planet. Any dimension. Any time. 

Oh! How would I even know? 

By what means did I come to be here? 

And where exactly was here?  

How on earth am I supposed to get home?

What if I never find a way back to where ever I came from? What then? Will I die here?

I am not sure whether to be frightened or elated. Is it possible for one to die and still be alive? Or will I finally be granted rest after being so tormented?

Is this death? Is this eternal torment?

Perhaps that is not the worst option. Perhaps death itself might be preferable to eternal torment. Perhaps it is better to live forever in hell than to be trapped here for all eternity as well.

If I were trapped here forever, I would die sooner or later. I cannot see the future anymore. There are no more memories, no more thoughts, no more ideas. It has all ended. There is nothing.

I am not going to die like this.

I don’t want to die like this.

If there is anything at all I can do to prolong my stay here, I must. Even if it means suffering endless boredom and isolation.

My name is Quirinus. That's it. No. That's not right either.

The story is over.

Now I need to begin again.

The question before us now is; How many days will it take for someone to notice I've gone missing?

It is dark.  

It is so dark.

So very dark.  

So very extremely dark.

So very extremely, extraordinarily dark.

Ah! What are you? Nothing helpful? Time-worn wooden pilings are leaning against walls. I can feel them. And the walls are made out of stone and collapsing clay. Dry clay. Smooth and silky. It'd be good for my skin. I should take some with me, but I've no way to carry any.

Not a weapon either.

Oh.

Oh no.

And what was that sound? I hear sounds. I don't know what they are. I can't see a thing. I hate that I can't see. I'm wandering in blindness.  

The sound of running water?

Water. Echoing through the darkness.

Running. Falling.

Water.

I'm so thirsty. I need to head towards the sound of the water.

I don't know anything about this place, and neither does anyone else, and if we run out of food or water then we won't last long anyway. 

I'm hungry. And thirsty. There's a spring close by, I can hear it. And maybe there's something else nearby. A stream maybe? Water from the sky. A nice drink after being in the rain. Yes, that would be nice indeed. If I was on land. Which I'm not. I'm underground. Miles and miles underground. Under hill. Under dale. Under mountain.

My head hurts, like someone has taken a stick to it. I try to remember what happened. 

I am in the cave, I think. And then there was... an explosion. And purple smoke. 

And I was running. I was jogging with a bunch of trees. And it made my leg soar. My damned lame leg. I shouldn't have run. It hurt my hip.

And I fell through the floor, no, off a cliff. 

I tried to grab a hold of something, but I couldn't see what. 

Then the ceiling collapsed, and it became dark and I couldn't get up. 

The pain was all over, it felt as though someone had reached inside of my brain and twisted. I can't remember. I just know I was running, and then I hit something hard and black and when I opened my eyes again everything was gone.

I open my eyes to see myself on the ground. 

Oh gods, oh god oh gods I'm going to die. My heart is racing, and I feel faint.

Quaraun continued inching ahead, ever so slowly.

Deliberately. Reaching out. Hands outstretched. 

Into the darkness. Touching the wall.  

The dirt on the wall is thick and dry, barren, parched, but not sandy. It's. . . powdery. 

Caked. Clumping. Smoothly textured like talc mixed with clay. Heavy. It smells like the rich dark peat clay found under a forest's leaf carpet. 

What a wonderful smell. 

Dirt would be nice if it wasn't so dirty. 

I love the smell of dirt. 

I just hate how badly it soils my clothes. And my hands. And my hair. Silk is so hard to get clean.  This clay smells so nice. If mixed it with water it would feel so nice on my skin.

Using his fingers on the earth wall as a guide, Quaraun pursued the passage, hoping to find an exit. Or at the very least, a light. 

Who knew what is lurking in the darkness with me? Beasts. Monsters. Bandits. There could be dangers lurking all around me. I'd not know to run. 

Oh my! What was that? I heard something. There is a great abundance of noise. And soil dribbling down from the sod ceiling with every vibration.

Distant. Moaning.

Rumbling. A mountain that rumbles.

Was this a cavern in. . .a volcano?

Wait, is that lava I heard rushing by? Not water?

It bears resemblance to a mine shaft, but maybe it's not.  

I'm in a volcano.

I can smell it. The sulphur.

It feels like it. This whole place is filled with smoke and steam. The air thickens as if on purpose. It's so hot, I can barely breathe.

I'm sweating buckets. My silks feel clammy. My arms are trembling.

How long have I been here? Hours. Days? Weeks?

"Is anyone there?"

My voice echoes through the dark room. I try again, but no one answers.

What's going on? Why am I stuck here?

I need to listen. For danger. I must take notice of every sound. Be always alert and ready to run. Except run to where? I can't see a thing. Not one single, solitary thing. If I trip, I'll break my neck. How am I supposed to run from danger when I can't even see my own hand? Why the hell is this place so dark? This is the darkest, darkness I've ever been in.

OW!

Damn it! What was that? Stubbed my toe. Now it hurts. I was already hurting enough. Now I hurt more. I didn't need more hurt. I needed less hurt. Damn darkness.

Accursed darkness. 

Damned accursed darkness.

Stupid blackness everywhere.

Eternal blackness.

Why does it have to be so damned dark in this place?

And I'm alone.

I hate being alone. I'm just always alone. No body cares. No one. Ever. Not no one. I have no one. BoomFuzzy's dead. He killed himself. Because I killed Gibedon. I shouldn't have killed Gibedon. I had to kill Gibedon. Gibedon was going to kill BoomFuzzy.  Why did he have to die? I never should have killed Gibedon. BoomFuzzy would still be alive if I hadn't killed Gibedon. He loved Gibedon. BoomFuzzy loved Gibedon. Why did he love Gibedon?

He hid Gibedon from me. He loved Gibedon and he didn't want me to know. I thought he loved me. I loved him. 

I loved BoomFuzzy so much. Why didn't he love me? We were soul bound. I cut my soul in half to be with him. Part of him. Him part of me. I would have loved him forever. I do love him, forever. I'll always love him. Why did he have to die? Why did he kill himself? I don't understand. I miss him. I miss him so much. I feel so alone without him. 

I feel so angry at myself for killing Gibedon.

Why must I get so upset all the time?

How can I make myself stop feeling like this.

I can't sleep at night. I can't eat. My chest hurts. I feel like there is a whole where my heart used to beat. My chest feels empty. I feel empty. Unloved. Unwanted. Alone. 

Why did BoomFuzzy have to die? Why did he kill himself? I don't understand. I miss him. I miss him so much. I feel so alone without him.  I hurt. I hurt so bad. I can't bear it. It hurts like nothing else ever has. It hurts. I feel so lonely.

Gibedon was gone. I killed him. How could I? That wasn't supposed to happen. But it did. I killed him. I killed him for good. Forever. I hurt BoomFuzzy so much. 

I'm going to die alone and I'm going to die sad. 

I can't live without him. I can't go on without him. 

I'll be alone forever. 

Forever. 

Forever, forever. 

Forever, forever, forever, forever, forever. 

Forever. Forever. Forever.

I wish I had a knife. Maybe then I could slit my wrists.

Maybe then I wouldn't have to feel so alone anymore. 

Maybe then, maybe then I'd be free. Free, free, free. 

I'd finally be happy. 

Free! I need to see BoomFuzzy again. 

I need to feel his arms around me again. 

I don't care how bad it gets.

Quaraun collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

Just than a knife appeared in front of him.

Oh!

No!

Not another wish!

I have to stop doing this.

No!

No!

NO!

No more wishes!

Stop with the wishes.

Please.

There is so much darkness here.

Just everywhere.

There could be monsters all around me and I wouldn't know it. I can't see a thing. And this tunnel just keeps going and going. It doesn't end. And I can't see where I'm going. I got to get out of here.

And it's hot and humid. Dry and muggy. Both at the same time. It makes my lungs hurt. And it makes my head hurt. 

And my eyes and my throat. 

It's so hard to breath in here. 

It's so dark and dirty and I hate it. 

And that smell. Sulphur.

But I am so tired.

I need to rest.

Need to lay down.

So tired.

Quaraun lay down on the ground and drifted off into a fitful sleep. Though he'd only been awake for a short while, his fear of the dark had exhausted his mind.

Quaraun was prone to not think clearly when he was afraid.

Prone to panic.

Prone to forget, in his panic, that he had supplies with him. Supplies he could use. Like a lamp. And matches to light said lamp. Both of which were tucked away inside the little bag of holding hanging from his belt.

Quaraun's fear of being lost and alone in the dark, was so great, that he had forgotten, where he was, or why he was there, or what he carried with him.

And so Quaraun wandered through the caves of Fire Mountain, traumatized, terrified, not knowing where he was or how he had come to be there. Not remembering that he had gone to the mountain, seeking the Obsidian Idol, which sat in the bowels of Pepper Valley's ancient volcano.

The hours slowly ticked away, timeless, in the silence of the darkness, of the subterranean caverns of Fire Mountain's underbelly. Quaraun slept, passed out on the dirt path. After many hours of sleep, he awoke once again, to find himself still alone, still in the dark, still so deep in the earth, that there was no way to tell day from night.

It's dark. It's night.

Have I slept all day?

No.

It's not night.

I'm in a mine. Or a cave. A dark, dark cave.

Darkness still. There is no light.

I need to see something. 

There is nothing to see. 

I need light. Without it my mind wanders into its darkest depths, when I can't occupy it. 

I hate it. 

I hate these thoughts. 

I need to get out of here. There's nothing to do. Nothing to see. I can't see anything. My mind is as dark as this damned tunnel that I now found myself wandering in. Where the hell is the exit to this place? How did I even get in here? I need to find a way out, but there's just nothing! Miles of endless nothing. How long is this tunnel? When does it end?

It's ghastly.

Foreboding and ghastly.

Ghastly and foreboding.

I miss BoomFuzzy.

I feel so very alone and abandoned. Just so alone. Alone. Unloved. Unwanted. Left behind. Cast aside. I have no one. I'm going to die down here. Lost and alone. And no one will know I died. No one will know where to look for me. Wolves will eat my body. I'm all alone. Alone. Nothing but darkness all around.

The lonesome darkness all around me.

Above. Beside. Below.

Isolation. Desolation. Seclusion.

Dark and morbid.

Morbid and dark.

The darkness surrounding me. The emptiness.

The silence. 

My ears are ringing. It hurts. All around. My head hurts.

What happened?

How did I fall here?

Where am I? Why am I here?

Why is this happening?

Why am I trapped like this?

This is not what I expected when I woke up this morning.

What do they want from me?

What has this got to do with me?

Why am I here? What is wrong with me?

I need help. I want someone to come for me. To take me home. I want people to love me. To care about me. 

They can't leave me here to rot. They won't. 

That's not how it works. I'll never be accepted if they don't take me back. I need them to take me back.

They should come for me. If they don't, then I'll go mad. 

If they don't then, then I'll kill myself. 

But I can't do that. They must save me.

If only I had some water. Then I could drink some water. If I had water, maybe I wouldn't be feeling this dizzy. I wish I had something to drink. But nothing. Just darkness. This tunnel is huge.

The lonely, lonesomeness of how very alone I feel is bearing down heavy upon me in this endless, eternal darkness.

Gloom and doom.

Doom and gloom.

Depressed and forlorn.

Ominous and sad.

Sad and dismal.

The anguish, bitterness, misery, and despair.

I can feel it all around me. My depression bearing down on me, worse than ever before. Like a sickly presence I can not escape. It follows me everywhere. I hate it. Why won't it leave me alone?

Day and night. 

Night and day. 

Always there. 

Always watching. 

Always waiting. 

Waiting and watching. 

Watching and waiting.

Now, I'm lost in this dark endless cave. I feel the dark depths of despair, crashing down around me. Crushing me heart and soul, body and mind. Mind and body, soul and heart. My soul is cut in half. Half my soul is in BoomFuzzy. And BoomFuzzy's dead. Half my soul is dead. I'm half dead. Half alive. And lost in the dark.

I must escape this darkness. But where? How? I had no idea where I am or which direction in which to go. I am lost and alone, in the darkest cave system I'd ever not seen. If only I had a light.

It seemed to Quaraun as though he had roamed aimlessly in this blackness forever.  His mind crashed deeper into the depth of fretful depression.

He felt so helpless and trapped. He wished he knew what to do. What was wrong with him? What did he need to do to fix it?

Companionless. Despised. Rejected. The darkness around me, left me with nothing to occupy my mind. Alone now, with nothing but my own dark and morbid thoughts.

A loud deafening roar, suddenly interrupted Quaraun self pity. He sat silent, his eyes wide, seeing nothing through the darkness. Silent. Listening. Watching. His eyes detected the flicker of light up ahead. The air became suddenly warm. It was very warm. Too warm. Hot even.

And dry.  

It is very dry.  

The glow ahead flickered in dancing shades of orange.  

A fire? 

Is there a fire up ahead?

Quaraun quickened his pace.

There was a fire.  I can smell the smoke.

As Quaraun wandered through the caves, trying to get somewhere safe, he began to hear sounds. A faint, but distinct sound. He began moving towards the sound. As he walked, the noise grew louder. Soon enough, he heard the sound of someone singing. At first, the song made no sense to him. He could have sworn that the voice sounded almost familiar. Then again, it could've just been the echo of his own thoughts, which seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The song continued, growing louder with each step he took.

Suddenly, the tunnel ended abrupt.

Quaraun hastily fell back and clutched for the wall. His heart raced. The tunnel had ended, yes. 

And suddenly.  

Very suddenly.  

Too suddenly.

A sheer drop off.

A tall, sheer cliff overhanging the dark nothingness below.

I'd nearly ambled off the edge.

Quaraun inched his way back to the edge.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Cautiously. Carefully. Gradually.

He leaned forward to peer over the ledge. At the nothingness below. Darkness. Endless nothing.

Dangerous blackness below.

Ominous gloom above.

It was grim and foreboding.

Foreboding and grim.

I feel so very alone.

The lonesome darkness, all around me.

Above. Beside. Below.

Isolation. Desolation. Seclusion.

The aloneness, of how very alone I felt, was bearing down heavy upon me in this endless darkness. Gloom and doom. Doom and gloom. The anguish, bitterness, and despair. I can feel it all around me. Like a sickly presence I can not escape. 

But the light. . .

It. . .

I saw a light. I know I did.

Where was the light?

It is gone.

Did I not seen a light up ahead?

The glowing flicker of warm orange flames leaping from a fire.

Where is it now?

Did I imagine it?

Surly I had not.

It moved.

It must have moved.

That was the only answer.

Yes, it had moved.

But how?

Has someone carried it away?

Or put it out?

Does that mean I am not alone?

Is there someone else here?

Someone perhaps carrying a lamp of some sort?

Someone whom had been ahead of me, but had now moved on out of sight?

Quaraun got on his hands and knees and ran his fingers along the edge of the ledge.

Perhaps there were stairs. Or maybe a ladder.

No.

Nothing.

But now I am on the other side of the tunnel.

The other wall.

Quaraun stood up, clinging desperately to the wall as he did. Terror filled the terrified Elf's chest as his heart pounded in fear. 

I am scared of heights. And cliffs.

I'm scared of cliffs.

And they are so much scarier now when I can't see them.

Terrified the cliff at his feet would crumble and fall. Tumbling down the side and toss him into the unknown depths of death below.

Down.

Down.

So far down.

Into the pits of Hell.

Hot. Boiling. Bubbling. Tar pits of Hell.

Wait. That's not tar pits of Hell. 

It's lava. Magma. So very far below. I can barely see it.

Am I inside a volcano?

Where am I?

Why can't I remember?

Why is it so hard to remember?

Remember. . .

. . .any thing. . .

Something.

Nothing.

With his back against the wall, Quaraun inched his way away from the ledge. Away from the edge. Back to the safety of the darkness above. Away from the terror of the darkness below.

At least here, there I've a solid stone to my back.

Solid dirt beneath my feet.

Solid stone walls behind me. Solid ground in front of me. 

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true.

The floor was hard and unforgiving beneath his hands, and every time he made one step forward, he felt something give way underneath his feet. 

Every time he fell, he heard the sound echo through the cavernous space, amplified by the walls that surrounded him. He heard the sound of his own screams, too loud for this space. Too loud for his own ears. He felt them ricochet off the stone and into the dark corners, where he didn't dare go.

I can't hear myself scream anymore. My throat feels raw, and all that comes out is a raspy gurgle.

His breath caught in his chest as he saw it: the faint outline of the door at the end of the corridor in front of him. His eyes followed its path to its destination, which seemed so far away. Far, so far, away.

How long will he be able to keep walking? How long would it take before it became impossible to move any more?

If I could just make it another few steps...

He looked down at himself, seeing how badly damaged he was. The blood that dripped from the wound on his forehead was slowly staining the front of his shirt with dark stains

Quaraun looked from side to side, straining to see something. Anything. But no. Nothing. Pure, total, blackness.

Above.

Below.

Everywhere.

He continued to move, slowly, feeling his way with his fingers on the dirt wall. But Quaraun hadn't gone far, only a few feet away from the edge, before the wall disappeared.

He froze. Terrified. He dare not move.

Feeling, the air, I found the other wall. 

A sharp bend that veered the other way.

A tunnel off the tunnel.

Heading down.

But down to where?

I can't see. This is worse than blindness. Blindness I at least saw foggy grey swirls ahead and glimmering lights behind. 

No, this, this is nothing but pitch blackness.

Empty blackness. As though everything had been sucked into a hole leaving nothing left behind.

Quaraun continued inching his way through the darkness search for something, anything. 

The floor of the tunnel sloped down. Sometimes just a little.

 Other times steeply, causing him to trip and fall, and tumble forward, landing hard on the ground. The old Elf skinned the palms of his hands as he flung his arms forward into the darkness, trying to break his fall.  

One such fall was worse than others, as the tunnel, inclined sharply, and Quaraun fell headlong, tumbling and rolling all the way to the bottom.

Dazed. Dizzy. Bleeding. Scraped. Bruised. And confused. Quaraun sprawled on the ground for a few moments, before struggling to stand.

No.

I can not stand. I'm too dizzy. I've hit my head, too many times on the tumble through the darkness.

Blood trickled down Quaraun's face from a cut on his forehead. More blood trickled from a split lip. His pink silks, were growing wet from the blood seeping from his scraped knees.

Quaraun sat on his knees, clutching his hands over his head, trying to stop the spinning, vertigo sensation that was just now swirling around him.

He felt faint.

"No. Don't faint." He said out loud. "Stay awake."

He tried again to stand. Slowly this time. Dizziness flooded through him, pounding though his head, like a herd of horses galloping through his skull. Ocean waves, flooding behind his eyes.

Quaraun squeezed his eyes shut tight, hoping the swaying he felt would go away. His tentacles wrapped tightly around his body, hugging him, comforting him.

By the gods, what is that?

 He had no time to think. No time to react. A giant, glowing yellow-orange slug, the size of an elephant, came barrelling through the wall. The wall shattered and crumbled around it. Blazing hot lava-slime, dripping with golden orange acid, burned through the wall, melting the rock.

A Lava Slug! Good god. I didn't any still existed.

Quaraun scrambled out of the path of the massive, peaceful behemoth as it made it';s way through the mountain, making new tunnels as it went.

Quaraun stumbled and fell, tumbled and rolled, and once again, hit his head and knocked himself out.

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Quaraun heard a pounding noise like the beating of a drum. 

"Argh!" Quaraun woke up. He sat blinking and yawning. 

He looked around and found himself alone.

Everything is hazy and his head ached. 

He tried to remember where he was.

Fire Mountain.

Yes. That's it.

That's where he was.

Fire Mountain.

Home of King Gwallmaiic.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

BoomFuzzy.

"I entered into Fire Mountain, and became lost in the mass network of Lava Slug tunnels.  I must have hit my head when I jumped down the shaft and forgot where I was. Oh dear. Light. I have a lantern in my bag. How silly of me."

Quaraun stood up, but a chill ran down his spine as he heard the drumming sound again, louder and closer. The tunnel ahead of him glowed a deep orange-red, and with a feeling of dread, he knew something is coming for him, and he should run. 

As he turned to flee, he remembered the demons... he was frozen with fear. 

Slowly, Quaraun took a step forward. And then another. He was still too dizzy to move quickly. But the pounding was getting closer and he could smell sulphur.

His legs stopped working.

Quaraun collapsed back on the ground, gasping and coughing.

How long has it been since he last ate? 

Too long. 

It has been too long. Why hasn't he eaten since he left the tent two days ago? What happened? Did he fall asleep? Is that why his stomach hurts so badly? Hunger pangs. That's what it was. He had not eaten in several days. He'd not eaten in the tower. Not eaten in the village. The last time Quaraun had eaten anything was before going to sleep in his tent by the stream, several nights ago.

Quaraun wandered through the dark, sandy cavern. There were many rooms within the mountain, each smaller than the last. But this cave was deep within the mountain, and many rooms were carved into the stone. Even the tables and chairs were carved of stone from the mountain. 

Many rooms had no lights at all, save the moonlight streaming through the holes in the roof. his night however, the ceiling did not reflect the light from the moon, for there was no sky up above. Only the cut crystal blue glass of the bottle they were trapped inside of,mountain and all.

And as usual, Quaraun was alone again.

He felt a sense of loss as he walked through the tunnels.

No one dared come down into the lower depths of Fire Mountain. If they did, King Gwallmaiic would kill them and feed them to his beast, his great black dragon. 

Quaraun never thought that he would one day defy his own rule to never set foot inside Fire Mountain, and now be down here roaming through the darkness of it's endless passages.

Quaraun's senseless sense of foreboding, left him preoccupied with his morbid thoughts and not paying as much attention to his surrounds s he should.

"Yi know..."

"Arrrgh!" Quaraun screamed and jumped and lost his balance and went tumbling to the ground.

"Yis such a klutz," BoomFuzzy said.

"WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT!"

"Talking?"

"Scaring me."

"Me talking is scaring ya?"

"You snuck up behind me in the dark."

"T'ain't my fault yis feard o ya own shadow."

"You pushed me off a cliff!"

"No. I kicked ya off a cliff. That different."

"How is it different?"

"One involves hand, de ot'er involves me foot."

"You could have killed me!"

"No. I t'oughts o dat. It were no far enough for ya to die. Ya barely fell thirty feet. Un most of it was incline. Ya could of walked down."

"You didn't give me a chance to find out I could that."

BoomFuzzy sat down beside Quaraun. "Ya gonna lay in de dirt un bitch?"

"Yes!"

"How come for?" 

"I like bitching!"

"Aye. I noticed. Yis very good at it."

"I pushed me off a cliff."

"Nay. I kicked ya off wee hill."

"Why?"

"Because I knew ya would lay of de ground screaming for de next hour, un ya did exactly dat."

"What is wrong with you?"

"Being dead is boring."

"So you pushed me off a cliff?" 

"Kicked. I kicked you."

"Why? 

"I must liven up me dreary days. Kicking yi off cliff livened t'ings up a bit."

"If you are bored why you go haunt somebody?"

"What'cha t'ink I doing right now?"

"I meant go haunt somebody other than me."

"No one else is so much fun as haunting ya is."

"I..." Quaraun couldn't think of what else to say.

"Ya know, you should be glad I only haunts ya when ya is alone."

"I'm always alone."

"Perhaps I should start haunting ya in public, eh?"

"What difference would that make?"

"No one else can see me. Imagine, ya had one of ya screaming hootenannies in a marketplace because I kicked ya wee lil bahookie in de market square, eh? People already t'inks ya crazy as it is, without ya fighting with me in public."

"Why am I the only one who can see you?"

"Oh, ya ain't. Any one what Faerie Sighted can sees me, also necromancers, spirit mediums, physics, diviners, small children, any on who believes in Santa Claus, UFO crazies who t'inks dey been abducted by aliens..."

"Santa Claus?"

"Eh?"

"You said any one who believes in Satan Claus can see you."

"Aye."

"Why Santa Claus?"

"Oh, not just Santa Claus, also the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Satan..."

"Satan?"

"Satan is not real. Him were imagination of Humans. Azalea, him real. But people who believe in Azalea can no sees me. Only people who believe in Satan."

"So, what you are saying is, gullible people, to stupid to know the differance between reality and fantasy can see you?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Big brains full of science logic can no see Boogeymen."

"Are you a Boogeyman?"

"Eh, depends on who ya ask. We Phookas, we call ourselves Phookas, but Humans have many much names for us. Bogart. Kelpies. Unicorns. Harvey."

"Harvey?"

"Big white rabbit."

"What do you want?"

"'Cake!"

"Cake?"

"Gingerbread."

"Of course. What else would it be?"

"Can we has cake?"

"Why would we have cake here?"

"I don't know. Ya asked what I wanted un I said I wanted cake."

"Are you drunk?"

"Nope. I is Lich. Can no gets drunk."

"You can't eat either. Side effect of having no physical body."

"Aye. But I is hungry. Ever hungry. Never sated. Dreadful."

"I don't have any gingerbread cake for you."

"I don'a need gingerbread cake."

"You said..." 

"Just cake."

"Just cake?" 

"Aye. Just cake with frosting and strawberries and chocolate cake and chocolate chip cookies."

"What kind of cake would you prefer?"

"Gingerbread. Wid strawberries." 

"We had strawberries, but they're rotten so we can't have them." 

"Ya know, I don't like chocolate clip cookies."

"You just said you wanted some." 

"Chocolate chip is too bitter and crunchy and tastes like wet grass."

"Wet grass?"

"Cake wid vanilla ice cream. With lots un lots o sprinkles."

"Oh... oh yeah. Yeah, I bet there are tons of sprinkles in a store. Maybe we'll go look. After we are done being trapped in the bottom of a volcano that someone decided to throw me in. What toppings does your cake have?"

"I dunno. Just cake. Plain."

"That sounds really boring."

"Oh no! But not boring enough to stop me from eating cake with you. I miss cooking. Not been able to cook since I done gone un become a Lich."

"No physical body."

"Aye."

"I'm trying to fix that you know?"

"Aye. I knows. Alright then!" BoomFuzzy jumped up. "Let's go ask some people where to get cake."

"Why? Who? Where? There's no cake or food anywhere on this cursed planet, and everyone but us seems to have disappeared."

BoomFuzzy sat back down.

"Your tummy is growling."

"Yes. I'm hungry."

"Why is me Elf hungry? Have not been eating?"

"No. I haven't. I don't have any food. And it doesn't matter for you. You're a Lich, you couldn't eat it even if I did have any."

"Ya has no food?"

"No. And I've not eaten in days."

"Why has ya no food?"

"I ran out. No markets nearby. I was on my way to Parsonsfield, where all the farms are. I was going to buy food. But, every town I went through was deserted. Not a soul in any one of them."

"Why does ya no just take what ya need?"

"Steal?"

"Aye. Steal."

"I'm not a thief."

"Oh. No! Of course not! Ya just a murderer and a drunk and a drug addict and y pocket every magic book book ya finds. But ya had to have morals somewhere, eh? Why draw de line at no stealing food?"

"I'm not a thief. And I'm not hungry enough yet to start stealing food from people who need it more than I do."

"Ya could just leave money in it place."

"I don't have any."

"No?"

"No."

"Ah. Un how exactly was ya planning to buy food in de market?"

"I trade. You know that. Where are we?"

"In Fire Mountain."

"No. That's not what I meant. Outside. We're encased in glass.  We're trapped in a bottle aren't we?"

"Aye. Usually when I is in a bottle it you who put me dar."

"I didn't put you in this bottle. Nor your mountain. Nor me. There's strange magic in the air. We've been captured by someone. Or something. But not just us, the entire mountain is in here too. That's not any easy thing to do."

"We is in a trap."

"A trap? O Great Lich King, how did you allow this to happen to you?"

"Do no try to be sarcastic, Quaraun. Yis not good at it."

"So why would some stranger capture you and then me too? Let me think about that."

"While ya t'inks, ya can give me dat knife."

"Knife?"

"The one ya wished for what to cut yarself wid."

"Oh. I forgot I had it." 

Quaraun handed the knife to BoomFuzzy, but the knife went no where but to fall through the dead ghostly Phooka's hand and land on the ground. Quaraun stared at the fallen knife.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you can't hold anything."

"Hmmm."

"Does that hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"When something falls through you like that."

"No. I does no feel a t'ing."

"Oh."

Quaraun sat silent for a few minutes.

"We're in a bottle," Quaraun said. 

"Is we?"

"Yeah."

"How ya know dat?"

"The sky is made of glass."

"Ah! Aye. I had noticed de sky look strange. Yes. De sky being glass would account for what it be looking like."

"In an ocean."

"Ocean?"

"We're in a bottle, that's floating in the ocean." 

"We in dair ocean?"

"Mmmm."

"How ya figure dat one?"

"Because I'm sea sick."

"Yis a JellyFish."

"So?"

"How is creature what supposed to live in ocean, get seasick?"

"I'm in the body of an Elf. The Elf gets seasick and nauseated."

"Does ya feel both what him fees un what yis feels?"

"Yeah. It's possible for us to both have a headache at the same time."

"Dat must be awful."

"It is."

 "I don't know what that means. Oh! I forgot. By the way, was that you?"

"Was what me?"

"Back on the road, I found a Faerie stone. When I picked it up, it turned into a blue crystal skull. And than it started talking to me and then it turned into a little girl who was carrying a jellyfish and she killed it."

"I would no killith jellyfish, ya knows dat."

"Yes. I thought as much. I didn't think it was you. I figured that was you at the tower, when you couldn't keep up without speaking Gaelic."

"Elvish be difficult language."

"I know. In any case, we are in the ocean, in a bottle. Someone put us in a bottle and threw it in the ocean."

"I'll agree wid yas, dat we in a bottle, but I do no see ya logic for it being in ocean,. What deviance ya got of it?"

"None. None at all."

"Than why ya thinking it?"

"A hunch?"

"What kinda hunches ya got now?"

"That's a stupid question."

"How so?" 

"It's a hunch that whoever put us here made a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?" 

"Maybe the wrong kind of mistake."

"What makes yer t'inking dat?"

"When I was a child, there were many times I wanted my mother."

"But she were dead."

"Yes, I know. Mother's loving tentacles to hold me no more. But before she dies, she'd bring me things like a blanket or a doll. All covered with embroidery both. She loved to embroider. She taught me to embroider.  She made them. It was she who taught me how to sew and embroider."

"I do no remember, ya mother."

"But then came a time, when I asked, she only brought me books, and then she went away. She was scared. Of ZooLock."

"ZooLock?"

"Yes. It was a long time ago, so I stopped asking."

"Me t'inks yis only speak half whats yar t'inking." 

"But then the last year, the year she died, I finally asked her, and she said they would come for me."

"Who would?"

"The Di'Jinn. They would come and take me away and make me one of them. And they did. And I am one of them. It's why I started calling myself Quaraun."

BoomFuzzy looked confused.

"What's that mean, calling yarself Quaraun? Is not Quaraun ya name?"

"No. I can't remember the Elf's name and I didn't want to use my name."

"The jellyfish?"

"Yes. It's from a poem. The author calls himself Quaraun and says it's a word used in ancient Persia. It means 'at one with god' or 'I am god'. So, I decided to call myself that. And that is the mistake."

"Mistake?"

"Whoever put us here made a mistake. The little girl, whoever she is, she's the one who put us in here. She said, I was not a god. That is her mistake. She doesn't know how I got my name."

"I does no t'inks anyone knew dat, Quaraun. Yar over t'inking t'ings again."

"It's okay. No one does anyways. All that matters is getting out of here and finding her. "

"Who?"

"The girl named Death."

"Death?"

"Here." Quaraun handed BoomFuzzy the paper he had written earlier.

"What dis?"

"I wrote it back in the tent, just before all this weird shit started happening to me."

"Ya also writ it in Elvish."

"So?"

"I can'na read it."

"Oh."

Quaraun took the paper back and read it to the Phookan Lich.

"...a black mirror, a silver dagger, and a white feather. A white bird's wing, on its head, and a white cloth with black lines over it as a bandage for a wound.

A white dress, black feathers on top of each head, black clothes, and white boots. 

A black crow carrying something in it's talons, feathers ruffled like they had been through wind. An empty cage, with its contents long gone.

The three children who had been playing with the ravens before, now standing beside him. They were no longer laughing or screaming as they used to, but their eyes seemed dull with grief and despair, tears running down their faces, hands shaking as they looked around at what was left of the forest they had once known so well.

There were trees and flowers everywhere, birds singing, animals running through the field, rabbits hopping from tree to tree, butterflies and butterflies flying in the air. The raven in front of them, though, was still just dead; nothing was alive anymore. There were no life, no movement, no life except for that one little, white feather floating in the air, drifting up and away until it could no longer be seen. He watched as it fluttered further away into the sky.

He felt like he should be angry or sad about this..."

"So yi has taken up writing?"

"No. I don't normally write at all. I write down notes for spells and magic, research for trying to get you a solid body again. Academic writing. Not this stuff. I don't where it came from. I just wrote it down, because I couldn't sleep."

"So?"

"So? Look at it!"

"I is un I is no seeing ya point."

"Everything that has been happening to me since I left the tent that night, is all stuff I wrote here on this paper first, before it happened."

"Yis saying yi writ yis own future?"

"I don't know."

"What about de t'ree younguns."

"What about them?"

"Ya seen them?"

"No."

"Why did ya write it?"

"I don't know. I think... I think it's connected to all of this somehow. But I can't figure it out. I'm not good at logical thinking you know?"

"Oh, I... I know dat. Yis not smart, dat for sure."


~o0o~


One evening a strange man walked through a portal into King Gwallmaiic's room. This man wore a blue cloak that covered his body, which looked almost like armour. He had blonde hair tied into three buns on each side of his head. He wore a white feather stuck through each bun. His face was covered by a red mask, the edges of which curled up.  His feet and hands were encased in black leather gloves with black metal buckles that were attached to his boots, hobbling his ability to lift his arms or make wide steps He held a staff in his right hand, which he leaned on the table.

"Have you come to slay the Lich King?" the man asked.

"Who are you?" Quaraun asked the strange looking stranger.

"Do not question the Great Lich Lord, mortal. If you value your existence, you will answer my question."

"What makes you think I value my existence?"

"Every one who is alive, seeks to stay that way."

"Ah, well, you seem to misjudge the value of suicide then. For I am very much depressed and thoughts of suicide are my only comfort. My lover is dead and I desire to join him. What say you to that?"

"I am the Great Lich Lord. Do not question the Great Lich Lord."

"You are not The Great Lich Lord, King Gwallmaiic is. I know this, because I am Quaraun, The Pink Necromancer, and I made him. He is my Lich. I control him. Now I ask again: Who are you? And why are you in King Gwallmaiic's throne room?"

"I am HellBorne the Evil, Chaos Dawn-reaper the Cult-killer, Son of the Darkness. I am Master of the Black Tower, I am HellBorne Summoner of Darkness and will be the next Great Lich Lord. King Gwallmaiic, you must help me."

"I am not King Gwallmaiic. I am Quaraun."

"You dare to lie to me? I will make you my first victim!"

The man laughed, and his face became blurred and twisted. Then he was gone.

Quaraun puzzled over this and made a note of it in his notes about the strange happenings of this strange week.

The following night, the man returned, this time finding both Quaraun and King Gwallmaiic in the room.

Quaraun was asleep on the pile of furs that made for his bed. Gwallmaiic was sitting at his desk, reading a book about the war against the Zhents. He looked up from his book when he saw the strange visitor. 

“Well I’ll be!” BoomFuzzy exclaimed, standing up and walking over to the stranger.

The man did not reply or turn around to look at him, simply holding out a hand in greeting. Gwallmaiic grasped it firmly and shook it vigorously. 

“I’ve never seen you here before. Who are you? How do you know where my room is?” BoomFuzzy asked, still shaking the other man’s hand.  

The stranger didn’t seem to notice this, though. Instead, he just stared straight ahead at the king. 

The man’s voice seemed familiar to Gwallmaiic, but he couldn’t place it. 

“You may call me Azathoth. I have come to see the king,” he replied quietly, turning slightly so that his face was more visible to Gwallmaiic.

Gwallmaiic nodded. He wasn’t sure if the stranger could actually hear him, but at least now he knew who he was. 

“Alright then,” he said.

"Well?" the man asked?

"Well, you asked to see me and here I am. Now what do you want?"

"You are King Gwallmaiic?"

"Aye," BoomFuzzy answered. "I am King Gwallmaiic. Candy maker and master chef, warrior and war lord, The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, The Lich King of Fire Mountain, Leader of the Lich Lords. Rapist. Murderer. Cannibal. Necromancer. King of the Faeries. Not quite what you was expecting am I? I a never am. People always expect some tall, buff, good looking young buck, and they get me, short, black, blind, we lil old man, who could almost pass for a Leprechaun if only I had white Irish skin and curly red hair instead of this mountainous pile of grey dreadlocs."

"But you're a Faerie."

"Aye."

"Faeries are always, graceful and flowers and..." 

"That is Trouping Seelie Fae. Flower Faeries. I not dat."

"Than what are you?"

"I is Dark Fae. Solitary. Unseelie."

"Unseelie? You mean Demons?"

"Some call us dat. I is a Phooka."

"Puka?"

"No. Phooka. We not same."

"How are you different?"

"Pucas they is sweet, sickly, nice. Dey help Humans. Take pleasing forms. We Phookas, we terrify and den we eat de Human. Me cousin is Krumpas. Him work for Santa. Santa feed him naughty girls and boy. I used to work for Santa too. I builded him gingerbread village. We Phookas, we not sweet and nice like Pucas. We small furry black creatures with great horns, sharps fangs, and black talons, we turn into tiny goat sized black swamp unicorns with silver horns. and drag people to their watery grave."

"You can't be King Gwallmaiic."

"Why not?"

"He's a warrior."

"Aye. I was a warrior. Centuries ago. Back when I was young and horney. Now I just old and horny." 

"Oh..."

"Now what?"

"I'm sorry," the man stammered. "I don't know what to say. I hadn't planned this far ahead in my scheme. You see, I never thought I would actually find you. I need to think about what I am to say next."

"Well, all right then. Can I get you anything while you think?"

"Just give me a drink. I need it."

"I haven't got anything but water." 

BoomFuzzy handed the man a plastic bottle of water.

"What is that?" the man asked.

"Water."

"What is this container?"

"I believe they call it plastic."

"Plastic? What is it?"

BoomFuzzy shrugged. "I don'know. A gold fleeced sheep from the future gave it to me. He likes to pop in and out of portals just like you do."

The man stared at the innocent plastic bottled water and than backed away.

"No, this is Dark Magic."

"Plastic is Dark Magic?"

"Yes! It's Dark Magic! Evil forces of Darkness created that blasted thing."

"No, I t'ink big brick factories of de future created it. No magic involved."

"It is witchcraft! Unholy witchcraft!"

"Eh?" BoomFuzzy held the bottle up to his eye and stared through the water at the man. "Nope. No witchcraft in it. Just water in a plastic bottle."

"I want no witchcraft!"

"Well, how about the drink of wine?" BoomFuzzy waved his hand and a bar table appeared behind him. "It bottled water from future sheep, absinthe, or I piss in ya mug."

"Then I'll take your piss."

"Okay, alright, green Fae piss it is" Gwallmaiic said, getting up and going over to the bar. He poured himself a glass of glowing emerald green Fairy Wine, than pissed in it.

When he came back over, he sat down again, ad handed the glass of green Faerie piss to the man.

"Is there any ale?" the man asked.

"I t'ought ya come to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Well, dan I pissed in yer drink for nothing."

"You what?"

"So... what are yar doing here then?"

"I wanted to speak with you."

"And ya t'inks I can help ya?"

"Yes."

"What about?"

"About the Lich King."

"I is the Lich King."

"No the other one."

"There is another one?"

"Yes. I am certain  you are not him who I seek."

"Alright. Let's assume there do be another Lich King, which there isn't. How does he fit in?"

"I know you know everything."

"Well, if he is me and I is him, I should knows everyt'ing hims does, eh?"

"He murdered someone."

"I murder lots of someones. I evil Lich King. Killing lots of someones is in job description."

"If he murdered someone, he should have been tried and executed as well. But he wasn't."

"Ya suggests it possible to execute a Lich?"

"Everyone must be tried by the law."

"Ya does'na know what a Lich is do ya, boy?"

"A Lich is a monster, but they still have to be held accountable by the law."

"How do ya propose to kill a Lich King, boy, eh? What manner of big super duper over powered pompous ego maniac mage have ya brought along wid ya?"

"You're not making sense, I'm confused."

"A Lich is an immortal being."

"So?" 

"A type of wraith."

"Yeah?"

"Ya ca'na kill dat which is already dead." 

"You're dead?"

"Aye."

"When did you die?"

"Centuries ago. In Ivujivik."

"Ivujivik? Where's that?"

"In Quebec. In the Deep North."

"How did you die?"

"I am a Lich."

"So?"

"A Lich only happens as a result of suicide. Did you not know that?"

"Is there no other way to become a Lich?"

"No. A Lich is what a wicked person becomes after they commit suicide, provided they killed someone else at the same time."

"Wait, at the same time?" 

"Aye. Murder, suicide."

"So you're saying you not only killed yourself but you killed others with you?"

"Aye. I killed 12 others, laid them out on a 12 pointed star, than minutes later I killed myself, we all died in a great big pile, the 13 of us, and now I is a Lich."

"What happened to the 12 you killed?" 

"We all 13 is Liches. We all killed each other and killed ourselves. We are the 13 Lich Lords, we made a murder suicide pact, a cult of necromancers if you will, and I back stabbed them all by killing them, before any of them got a chance to kill me. It why I the Lich King and they are forced to serve me." 

"So you tricked them into this?"

"Aye. I poisoned their drinks. I poisoned their Faerie Wine."

BoomFuzzy handed the man a bottle of the green wine as he spoke. The man refilled his glass.

"My Fairy Wine is always poisoned. One should never drink it. They drank it up, then went to slaughter each other and all died with murder in their hearts before they got a chance to kill each other, meaning I killed all 13 of them, and yet, they dank the poison willingly meaning they killed themselves."

"So, you tricked them into killing themselves. That wasn't suicide than." 

"Oh no. It was. They was expecting to kill themselves a few months from then. We had a meeting about it. They all agreed to it. Signed a contract. And drank on up. Never suspected a thing. I found a loop hole."

"Loop hole?" 

"I found a lot of them, that lil Elf asleep over dair, him be the biggest loop hole of them all. I tricked him into falling in love with me and exchanging our souls in a soul binding ritual, now not only am I a Lich King, lord over other Liches, but my soul safely tucked away in that Elf's body, but that Elf is not an Elf, that Elf is a Thullid Elder Brain, the Mother Brain herself, and she is immortal, she can not die, because she is the mother of life and every time she dies, she starts life over again, the day she was implanted into the Elf. That Elf has lived ten thousand lifetimes and I am reborn with her every time, because my soul is in her body."

"I'm a demon, and I've been sent to punish King Gwallmaiic."

"And who sent you?"

"My master. My god."

"Your what?"

"My god, my creator..."

"So. You come to slay The Lich King?"

"Yes, and you are The Lich King?"

"I am."

"Are you the Lich King who killed all of the Zhentish?"

"Maybe. I Know not whom I kill. I does no keep track of names."

"I seek the Lich King who stole my love from me. Stole her away in the night while I slept. I want revenge on him. Him I wish to fight."

"Oh good god, that word, again."

"What word?"

"Quaraun, did ya hear what him said?"

"I did," Quaraun answered. He was no longer asleep. 

Quaraun was sitting on the pile of furs staring at the stranger.

"Do you know who I am?" Quaraun asked the man. 

"If you are not the Lich King who stole my love, than I do not care."

"You should care. You should care a lot, for I am Quaraun, Wizard of the Di'Jinn Order, bound by a code to grant every wish placed before me, and you my friend have just said 'I wish' in my presence. And what a careless wish it was. For your wish was to fight a Lich and no mortal will ever live in a battle against a Lich. Thus you have wished for your own death."

"You are..."

"A Di'Jinn and I must grant your wish. I'm so sorry. You should have chosen your words more carefully. Words are important you know. Words have meanings. Humans should learn to be more careful with their use of words. Also," Quaraun turned to BoomFuzzy. "Did you really pee in his drink?"

"Aye."

"What is wrong with you?"

"I is being a dog, today."

"You're what?"

"Ya gotta walk a mile in the metaphorical shoes of a dog, in order to be a good dog, eh?"

"I don't know. I've never tried to be a dog. I'm a JellyFish being an Elf, remember?"

"Aye. But as a dog, I has learned, if ya can’na eat it or have sex with it, ya pee on it and walk away. Of course I could vomit in hims shoes."

"Vomit in.... why?"

"I be Golden Retrieve and go: Oh boy oh boy! Better vomit up me dinner and then eat it again!"

"You are weird, you know that?"

"Aye. But weird is good."

"I suppose. Of course, I'm the one trying to resurrect someone who spends half his life as a dog."

"Aye. And I must make sure to portray him as the goodest boi who gets lots of treats and love."

"But you're a serial killer."

"I said give me TREATS. AND. LOVE. Did I not say dat?"

"You did."

"Ya would no want to be do good old boi's next victim now would ya?"

"No. Especially not since I'm and Elf and Good Ol' Boi is the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley."

"Aye. I knew de treats and love if I to continue being Good Ol' Boy."

"Was that you I was talking to earlier? The wolf? And the dog?"

"Aye. I been practising."

"For what?"

"Ya never knows when one might need to be a dog. I must gets in character. I is shape-shifter. I must learn to be what I be shifted into, now, don't I?"

"I suppose."

"Every character is all about their motivation. So in dis case, it all smells and butt-smells. I must make sure to lick meself or roll in the grass or bark to be let out every now and then. Barking because someone else is barking. Marking territory. Chasing critters. Dog stuff."

"Dog stuff."

"Aye. The key thing is to do me research, talk to as many dogs as I can. Perhaps try living a day or two as a dog, just to get a feel for what life might be like for a man's best friend..."

"BoomFuzzy."

"Aye?"

"Why do you want to be a dog?"

"So I can wag me purple tail. Do ya know we horses can no wag our tails."

Do horses need to wag their tails?"

"No. We has to flick flies wid our tails though and it damned difficult to hit them, when ya has a matted tangled up tail what not made for slapping around like way dogs can do."

"So why don't you just be a horse with a dog's tail?"

"Hmmm. Dat not bad idea." 

"How does this work?"

"How what work?"

"Shape-shifting. I don't understand it."

"That part is easy. I need to practice a little bit though. A bit to make sure I be not gonna mess anything up." 

"How are you going to practice?"

"By changing form and acting like I is what I be."

"Can you control your form?"

"Ya know I can."

"No. I mean... well. I'm not sure wat I mean. When you were BoomFuzzy, you were a white skinned Elf. But in the Di'Jinn desert you were a little black pony the size of a goat. Now you're... you're... a little black man with Asian eyes and horns on your head... I'm... I'm not sure what you are right now."

"I is Phooka. Dis me natural not horse form. I have two form I born with. Dis one and de little black pony wid de silver horn."

"Everyt'ing else is cloths I wear. I change skins and shapes same way ya change dresses."

"That I understand. What I don't understand is the actual HOW in how do you do that?"

"Like this," said BoomFuzzy. "When I shift my form, I change into whatever I am most comfortable wearing and I can wear whatever I want, whenever I want. I can wear what I am most comfortable in any way, I have a range of outfits and sizes. See? I change form now."

"So what are you now?"

"A bear. With fur."

"Don't bears always have fur?"

"No. No. No. I is bear wearing fur coat."

"Oh."

Quaraun was silent for a moment then asked: "Does your name change when your form does?"

"Aye."

"And what is your name, now that you are a bear?"

"Moby. So I can be a dick."

"Aren't you always a dick?"

"Aye."

"You are not always a dick."

"I is big dick today. Twice."

"No you are not."

"Yes. But not always."

"Well, okay. Maybe, but only because you changed in front of me."

"No I didn't."

"Yes. You did. Your clothes changed and you walked off with nothing on. And when we had tea together today, you were just sitting there naked again."

"Dis be me house. I can walks around it naked if I want to, ya know."

"You have company visiting you!"

"I do? Where?"

"ME!"

"Ah! No."

"No?"

"No. Yis is no company visiting me."

"I'm not?"

"No!"

"Than what am I?"

"We is soul bound. Or has ya forgotten dat bit?"

"No. But I sometimes think you have."

"Ah. No. We is soul bound. Which make ya me wife."

"Your what?"

"Yis me wife."

"I'm no one's wife."

"Ya is."

"No I'm not!"

"Why not?"

"Because I am not a woman."

"Yis a female JellyFish."

"Living in the body of a male Elf. Which means yis actually female, De male Elf is just skin ya wears, like how ya wears pink dresses."

"Well, now you're being a dick again."

"Yar sure?"

"I don't know. It's probably not something you can control, it's just how you are. I don't want to talk about it any more. And anyway I think I'm getting cold."

"Here," said BoomFuzzy. 

The Phooka pulled the blanket over the Elf's bare shoulders.

"Thanks," said Quaraun, wrapping the blanket tightly around himself, burrowing deep into its warmth.

"Is that warm enough?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Ye should not wear such skimpy dresses. Filmy silk. Bare shoulders. Iffy ya had boobs they would be falling out of dat. It not even a dress is it? What is dis t'ing?"

"It's called a Sari. It's a long yardage of silk, embroidered and beaded, and just wrapped around me."

"So's yis naked 'cepting a pink toga."

"It's not a toga. It's a Sari."

"Well, whatever it is, it too cold for where we is. Dis not Persia no more, ya know."

"I know."

Quaraun pulled out a book and set out to writing in it.

"What are ya doing?"

"Writing." 

"I can sees dat, ya dolt. What'cha ya writing?"

"At the end of every day, I write down things that happened to me during the day."

"What for?"

"Some day someone may read it and find it helpful. I'm always finding mages' old books they wrote ad they are fascinating to read."

"So what dis book called?"

"It don't have a name. My name is Quaraun. This is my story. Does it need a name?"

"No. Me Name is Quaraun un Dis is Me Story is a good one."

"Well, you're in it too."

"I be glad. I be good hero."

"No you're not."

"I be."

"No you're not. Everyone knows you are evil. I know you are evil, I'm just willing to look past it. Most people aren't."

"I am. I know. I is evil. And yet. I not evil." 

"How is it you, of al people, are not evil?"

"I am a predator. Humans judge evil, by ill intent and malice and greed and lust. Yet a hawk is not evil if it kills a mouse. A wolf is not evil for killing a rabbit. Humans say because they are predators. It is in their nature to kill to survive, to hunt for food."

"I is predator. I kill for food."

"What about the millions of Elves you killed. To the point of bringing Elves to extinction. I am the last Elf. You ate us all, remember?"

"I is Elf Eater. I eat Elves. It is in me nature to kill to survive, to hunt for food."

"And when you ran out of Elves you startling Humans. They felt you were a great evil. A threat. They didn't see you are a predator. They saw you as an evil demonic monster."

"Humans is inconsistent. They judge evil, by ill intent and malice and greed and lust. They say a hawk is not evil if it kills a mouse, but if it kills a baby, they call it evil and monster. They say a wolf is not evil for killing a rabbit, yet a wolf who kills a Man they hunt down out of vengeance and slaughter it, calling it evil and monster. Humans say because these are predators, they are not evil when they kill. Because it is in their nature to kill to survive, to hunt for food. But when Humans become food, Men forget they said the wolf was not a monster, not evil. I am no different. I do not kill for fun or sport. I hunt. I ea. I am not evil."

"Their are those who would beg to differ."

"Ya don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you. I wouldn't be here trying to restore you back to a physical, flesh body if I thought you were evil. I'm just saying, Humans think you are evil"

"Then ya do no see me as evil?"

"Why should I see you as evil?"

"Because I be monster and every one sees monsters as evil."

"Are you a demon?"

"Demon? Hell no. Demon is evil."

"Wait, why is a Demon evil?"

"They is from Hell."

"Does that automatically make someone evil? Just being born in one Realm or another? Is that all it takes to make a person evil?"

"So now ya ask de question, what is evil? What makes one t'ing evil and another not?"

"No. I don't believe in evil. Remember? It's hard to be a wizard and believe in good or evil forces. Magic is neutral. Neither good nor evil. And yet most Humans say magic is always evil, while others divide it off into levels of good and evil. Evil is only as evil as the cold cruelty of your own heart." 

"Then why shouldn't I believe you? You've been nice to us."

"Nice? Me? Nice? I am nothing like you. Ya should know better." 

"We didn't expect to come across a demon. And you're not evil. At least, not all the time, anyway."

"Dey's all evil. Dair's always some donger at the bottom."

"Some who deserve what they get?"

"No, ya silly. Some who deserves what we gives them. These are evil people."

"I don't think so. I don't believe in the existence of evil. To call someone 'evil' is to, dehumanize them..."

"Dehumanize? Yis an Elf."

"I'm the last Elf and live in Human society now, remember? Plus I wasn't raised by Elves. Since I was 9 years old I was raised by a Thullid priest who lived in a Human village. I'm more at home with Humans than Elves."

"Yet ya speak Elvish. And make me speak Elvish to ya, when ya knows I barely know de language."

"I don't make you speak Elvish.

"Ya only talk to me in Elvish. Ya does no talk in a language I can understand better."

"BoomFuzzy. You know better than that. You can speak to me in whatever language you want. I know eighty-four languages, remember? There is bound to be a language you can speak fluently that I can understand. And you changed the subject. I was pontificating and you interrupted mu pontificating and now I don't know what it was I was saying. You made me forget."

"Yi were saying how ya dids no believe in concept of evil and how evil was just a way to dehumanize others."

"Oh! Yes. That's right! Everyone has fears, things they are afraid of, personal things like loneliness, deprivation, or insignificance, and when you call a person 'evil' you put yourself in a mindset of dehumanizing them, removing from them, those fears they have, so that you can see them in your mind as emotionless and pitiable. When you call a person evil, you set yourself in a frame of mind that allows you to remove from them everything that gives them a connection to you, which makes it easy for you to hurt them, tease them, bully them, even kill them, because by branding them as evil, you have labelled them as not a part of worthy society."

"And ya point?"

"I don't believe you are evil."

"Sure ya do." 

"No." Quaraun shook his head. "I don't. I wouldn't love you if I did. I couldn't love you, if I did."

"I am Evil. Evil, with a capitol E."

"Says who?"

"Everybody says so, Quaraun. Ya knows dat." 

"Everybody is wrong than."

"Ya going to be de one tree what stand against the wind, clinging to the cliff when all de rest fell down the mountain together, eh?"

"You are NOT evil."

"Nobody wants me here."

"Here? Then we go somewhere else."

"No. Here on dis planet. Dis realm. Earth hates me." 

"You need to get out of that mindset. I love you and I somebody. And as long as that is true, than not everyone hates you and not everyone sees you as evil."

"Everyone celebrated me death."

"I didn't." 

"They made holidays and feast days on the anniversary on day me died."

"I know they did. It was terrible of them and I hate them for it. Death is not a thing to celebrate or leap for joy about. One should never be happy to see the life go out of another being. That just goes to show right there that THEY not you were the ones with evil thoughts in their hearts and minds."

"T'oughts ya did no believe in evil?"

"I don't believe in evil, as an entity like Humans do." 

"What way at Humans do it?"

"Humans call another evil, so they can feel justified in hurting the person they call evil. They think if they call a child evil, that makes it all right to beat the child to death, because now they can say it was just an evil entity, a Demon or Spirit that just looked like a child. People don't want to admit that they commit evil acts when they beat a child to death, so they lay blame on the victim, by saying the child is evil, saying the child wasn't Human, saying the child was a Devil, so they can feel justified in smashing the child's face in with a brick. In my experience, every person who runs around with the word 'evil' on their lips, is themselves evil and is only calling others evil as a way to draw attention away from how evil they themselves are."

"And all dat comes from a man who beat hims own children to death."

"I didn't... I never hit my children."

"Ya killed them."

"I gave them poisoned candy, knowing it was poisoned. I didn't beat them to death."

"Did ya not do it because ya saw them being evil?"

"I... " Quaraun fell silent.

"So speaking from experience in being one who kills a child while calling them evil, eh?"

"That's not what happened."

"I seem to recall otherwise. Did ya not lay blame de victim for why ya had to kill ya own wee younguns?"

"I don't believe in laying the blame of your own evil deeds on the victims."

"No?"

"No."

"Why'd ya kill ya children, Quaraun?"

Quaraun didn't answer.

"Quaraun. I know what happened. I ghost, remember. I walk among de living seeing all, hearing all, and not being able to interact wid none of it. And somehow ya figured out a way to see and hear me and for dat I am grateful, as it is dreadfully lonely to be a ghost and have no one, not even other ghosts, see or hear you. But all dat means is I saw what ya did. I heard why ya said ya did it. Ya killed ya children, Quaraun, because ya t'oughts they had become evil and ya wanted to save dair souls before they turned evil. Ya said it yarself, Quaraun. Was dat not ya laying blame on de victim, calling dem evil to make it easier for ya to slit dair throats after ya poisoned dair candy?"

"They were celebrating your death."

"They did not know me, Quaraun. They was born after I died. There was no evil in dair hearts, Quaraun. No malice for me. They were singing a holiday son they heard others singing that day at the festival. That's all they did. They did not even understand the meanings of the words. Quaraun, ya killed ya children because ya did no want to hear de words of dat song coming from dair voices."

"They were celebrating your death."

"They went to de village with dair mother to celebrate de anniversary of the day a great monster died and made de world sage to live in by not being alive any more."

"It was your death they were celebrating."

"Aye. But dey were your children, Quaraun." 

"My children were learning to hate you."

"Rather than kill them, ya could have taught them de ot'er side of de story. Taught dem why ya loved me, why dey had no reason to fear me. Ya did not have to kill them. Ya overreacted Quaraun. Ya excel at overreacting. You know dat does ya not?"

"It made them happy to sign about your death."

"There is no greater joy in the hearts of Man then to feast in celebration of me death. And here you be trying to resurrect me, t'inking yarself not evil for doing so and wondering why de Humans wants ya as dead as me. But I comes anyways because I have to.  I is needed. I is hero Humans have no understanding of. De see me as de wants to see me and de wants to see me as evil. So be it. And if I be a hero, I need to be a good one."




~o0o~


Sex. That seemed to be the only thing on BoomFuzzy's mind. Sex. With Quaraun. BoomFuzzy's perverted mind, was spent daily thinking up new and increasingly disturbing ways to lust after Quaraun's lithe little body. Quaraun's small frame would always seem so fragile and breakable under him, but that is precisely why his body held power over BoomFuzzy's senses. 

BoomFuzzy craved Quaraun more than air and food and water, he craved Quaraun like some wild animal in heat and hunger. The lustful Phooka yearned for Quaraun's touch, his voice, his soul, with every fibre of his being and it seemed as if he could never get enough of the Elf. 

And while BoomFuzzy was alive, this was not a problem, for Quaraun's lust for BoomFuzzy mirrored BoomFuzzy's lust for Quaraun, and the two had spent nearly every waking moment entangled with each other.

But now, BoomFuzzy was dead. A Lich. A ghostly, incorporeal  wraith with no physical body. No ability to touch or be touched. Unable to grasp hold of any solid object.

It was Quaraun's lust for BoomFuzzy and the long passion filled nights they had spent together, that drove Quaraun's endless obsession for trying to find a way to restore BoomFuzzy to a physical body once again.

And it was BoomFuzzy's insatiable lust for Quaraun, that kept the dead Faerie from leaving the world of the living and remaining in the world of the dead, haunting Quaraun.

But the dead, too, must rest. BoomFuzzy grew increasingly weary, and this bothered Quaraun. BoomFuzzy would hover around Quaraun for a few hours and then disappear for a few days. Each time his visits were shorter and his abscesses were longer, and BoomFuzzy, seemed to be unaware of this. 

The Lich was growing less aware of his surroundings, and BoomFuzzy's personality was slowly changing. 

The Lich was becoming less BoomFuzzy and more Lich. More wild, mindless, and feral. More monster and less man, with each passing day. This worried Quaraun, for he know, most Lich's were pure monster. Creatures with no memory of their past, no memory of who they were in life. No memory of their families, their friends, their loved ones.

Quaraun knew he was losing BoomFuzzy to the Lich curse. And there was nothing Quaraun could do about it except continue his search for a solution to his quest for a way to save his best friend, who had been dead for almost two centuries.

For centuries Quaraun searched through books, journals, scrolls, and  old manuscripts from ancient times, hoping to find anything useful on how to make BoomFuzzy corporeal once again. He found little to nothing, and began to think that he might need to call upon the Demons of Hell themselves to try and figure out how to fully resurrect BoomFuzzy.

But then, one night, while sitting in the throne room of Fire Mountain, watching BoomFuzzy's ghostly figure fading, just when it looked like he wouldn't have a breakthrough anytime soon, a book fell from the table and landed on the floor, opened at a random page, which had an illustration of what appeared to be a strange looking black and gold orb floating above an empty patch of ground, within which a large tree grew. Quaraun didn't know why, but for some reason, this picture struck a cord in his mind.

Quaraun stared at the page, trying to figure out why this page felt like it contained the answer to saving BoomFuzzy's lost soul from the doom of Lichdom, when suddenly something grabbed the book. The ground below the book opened up and something big and greenish-brown, with sharp teeth and long claws that ended in wicked looking talons, grabbed the book.

The creature looked like a troll. But a huge one. A troll, but, not a troll. Not quite human sized, but definitely larger than a man. Quaraun didn't know what it was. He had never seen a creature like it before.

"Hey!" Quaraun yelled, jumping from his seat and reaching to grab the book. But he moved too late, and the creature, the book snatched firmly in it's teeth, vanished back under the ground and the floor sealed itself back up and if no hole had ever been there.

What could it mean? 

Did it indicate a way to bring back BoomFuzzy? 

Or perhaps something else entirely.

Or maybe it meant nothing at all. 

Was the creature dangerous? That was another question.

It was certainly something different, but not necessarily dangerous. But still, it took Quaraun's book, just at the moment when he saw something in it that he thought might help. 

How would he get it back? 

Quaraun had to focus on saving his friend.

His best friend, whom he loved, and whom he had loved since the beginning of time. His one true love.

BoomFuzzy. 

Whom he wanted more than anything in the whole world. More than life itself. 

More than anything. 

And whom he needed more than anything in the entire universe. Because if Quaraun couldn't keep BoomFuzzy by his side forever, he intended to kill himself and join him, becoming a Lich too.

So Quaraun sat there pondering what this possibly meant, trying to put a name on the creature and why it had taken his book and how to find it.

A few minutes passed, and the only sound in the throne room was the steady soft breathing of the undead Lich. Suddenly, a loud thud came from outside and the door burst open and three men entered the throne room. They immediately spotted the Lich and rushed towards it, swords drawn.

One of them shouted at Quaraun, "Get away from that thing! Get off our land!

"You're land?" Quaraun asked. "Where do you think you are?"

The men stopped and looked around, only now just realizing they were inside of a volcano and not wherever it was they thought they were.

"Where are we?"

"You are inside Fire Mountain, Lair of The Lich King, Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. I am Quaraun, his Necromancer and court mage. How did you get in here?"

"I... uhm...I don't know."

 The man turned to his companions. "How did we get in here?"

"Don't know."

"Beats me."

"What were you chasing?" Quaraun asked.

"A beast. An ogre."

"Was it green?"

"Yes."

"I may have just seen it. A strange green, troll-looking thing, appeared out of no where, grabbed one of my books, than vanished, before I had a chance to react. It was very strange. And before I had a chance to think about what to do about it, you three appeared." 

"You say you saw it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see where it went?"

"No, it vanished as it came, but I'm sure I'll recognize it anywhere."

"Do you know where it went?"

"No. I just said as much."

"When will you be able to see it again?"

"See it again?"

"Didn't you just say you were a mage?"

"I did. I am."

"Well, can't you look into a crystal ball or something and see where it went?"

"No exactly, but, I suppose I could try that and see what happens."

Before the men could answer, they vanished, like a candle snuffed out.

"How odd!" 

Quaraun stood watching where the men had stood, then, knelt to the ground and closely examined where the ogre had emerged from the ground."

"What'cha doing?" BoomFuzzy asked. 

Quaraun looked up to see the Lich's blue glowing skeleton hovering over him. 

"Trying to figure out what is going on around here." Quaraun then told BoomFuzzy of the strange events that had occurred while the Lich was sleeping. "There is strange magic happening here. Chaos magic I'd wager. Being used by someone who is a very powerful sorcerer, but not very knowledgeable in how to use magic circles to keep the magic from effecting the world around him."

"The book," BoomFuzzy asked. "Ya said it felt important? Will it restore me to a flesh body?"

"I don't know."

"When will you know?"

"Soon. I'm sure. As soon as I recover my book."

"Good. I want ya ta come with me. I wanna show ya something."

"What is it?"

"The dragon's hoard."

"A dragon's hoard?"

"Aye."

"All right, I guess I'll follow."

Quaraun followed after BoomFuzzy into a corridor deep beneath the mountain, and deeper than anyone had gone in years. Down, down, down, past the dungeons and the torture chambers, and eventually they arrived at a small chamber with an enormous iron door.

"We've got ourselves an entrance," BoomFuzzy commented.

"Why are we stopping?" Quaraun asked, confused.

"I gotta go inside the dungeon first," BoomFuzzy explained. "This dungeon has many places where someone could hide."

"Hide from what?"

BoomFuzzy smiled, and then pulled a ghostly Lich key out of his pocket. 

"Hide from what?" Quaraun repeated.

"Me dragon."

"Will we need to hide from your dragon?"

"Eh? I will not."

"Will I need to hide from your dragon?"

BoomFuzzy shrugged.

"That's not very reassuring, you know."

BoomFuzzy unlocked the door and opened it. 

Inside stood another stone wall, but this time, it wasn't solid rock or stone. Instead, this wall looked as though it were made of water. Water trickled across the floor, pooling near the bottom of the doorway.

"There is waterfall on other side of mountain," BoomFuzzy said. "It mirrors back in here."

"I can feel magic here."

"Aye. This ot'er end of stream ya was camped on, remember?"

"The night I saw the strange dog and it's bunny?"

"Aye. Also, we getting close to heart of mountain."

"Is that dangerous?"

"There is lava pools and magma streams down here. And it hot."

"I don't like hot."

"I know. It why I warn ya."

Inside the room, it was hot. 

Just as BoomFuzzy had said. 

Very hot. 

Unbearably hot. 

Hotter than any heat Quaraun had ever felt. 

Hotter even than the hottest day of Summer on the marshes  of Persia.

They were entering the deepest depths of Fire Mountain. The temperature in this room was so high, it actually seemed like a tropical heat wave. It was also so humid, so heavy with moisture.

"Oh, that's not good," Quaraun thought aloud.

"I know," BoomFuzzy replied. "Welp, let's get ya in there quick. Ya might want ta cover yer eyes."

"Cover my eyes?" Quaraun asked.

"Trust me."

Quaraun trusted him. 

He trusted BoomFuzzy more than anyone in the whole galaxy. 

So he closed his eyes and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

Then suddenly, BoomFuzzy screamed.

Quaraun opened his eyes and the stared in disbelief at the spot where the dungeon had once been. But there was nothing there now.  And no sign of what had happened.

"BoomFuzzy," Quaraun called out. "Where are you?"

"I does'na know."

"Are you all right?"

"No, Quaraun," BoomFuzzy replied. "I ain't all right. There's no dungeon."

"There's no dungeon where I am either." 

"It just like it never existed."

"Same here. What happened?" 

"It disappeared when I touched it. I tried to get inside and, well, I must have triggered some sort of spell because I vanished."

"You vanished?" 

"Gone. I is gone."

"How did you disappear?"

"The monster."

"What monster?"

"One what took ya book, me t'inks. Big green and ugly." 

"What did it do?"

"It took me and dragged me underground. Then he disappeared."

"Are you underground?"

"No? I do not t'ink so."

"Where did it take you?"

"It didn't take me," BoomFuzzy answered. "It ripped me off. It just ripped me off of this plane of existence un did left me floating in space."

"Floating in space?" 

"Aye. Floating in darkness. I ca'na see a damn t'ing."

"So we don't know where you are," Quaraun mused. 

"I can see America?"

"America?"

"Aye. It look just it look on map."

"But that doesn't mean we here you are."

"It does."

"How?"

"Because I is flying, dummy."

"Flying?" 

"Aye. And if I is flying, then I do probably be somewhere on planet and yis can fly to me."

Quaraun blinked. 

"Fly? Me? How? I'm not a ghost like you, you know?"

"Try a broomstick."

"A broomstick?"

"Aye."

"Like a witch?"

"Aye."

"Flying on a broomstick is not exactly an option."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a witch."

"Ya does'na know that."

"I know I cannot fly."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"Has ya tried?"

"No."

"Than how ya not know iffy ya can or can'na?

"I cannot. Flying is not something I know how to do."

"Fine, fine, ya does na knows how to fly."

Quaraun sighed. 

"Just tell me where you are, please? Ok? So I can find you."

"Right now?"

"What?"

"Does ya being wanting me to tells ya now?"

"No I want you to tell me next Christmas when we are visiting your cousin Krumpas."

"Okay."

Quaraun waited a few seconds before realizing BoomFuzzy was actually going to wait until Christmas to answer him.

"BOOMFUZZY!"

"Aye?"

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!"

"Yis wants to know now?"

"YES!!"

"Okay. Well, I is on Earth's moon."

Quaraun stared at him, unsure of if he heard correctly. 

"You're on Earth's moon?"

"Aye."

"Now?"

"Aye."

"On Earth's moon, which way is Earth's moon from here?"

"Uh, probably, north by west, I t'inks."

"Northwest?! What are you talking about?!"

"What you talkin' 'bout?"

"BoomFuzzy where are you?"

"I is looking down at America." 

"America?"

"Does ya not know where be America is?"

"Of course I know where America is. I live there!"

"Then what in Hell's name do ya mean ya does'na know where America is?"

"That's not what I said!"

"What ya said?"

"I don't know. Forget it. How did you get on the moon?"

"I do na know."

"Damn it!"

"What we damning?"

"I don't know how to get you back here."

"Oh."

Quaraun paused and began pacing back and forth. After several long moments, he finally spoke again.

"My God."

"What?"

"What the hell is wrong with us?! How can I not know what's going on? I can sense the magic in this world, yes?"

"Aye." 

"That is the power of magic."

"Tis."

"And I have done magic before."

"Aye. Aye ya has. Quite a bit."

"But I have never encountered such a situation. Never encountered anything like this. I don't know what to do."

"Maybe it just takes a little getting used to."

"Getting use to?"

"Well, we need to get used to this."

"Why?" 

"No use panicking."

"We need to know what's going on."

"Aye, but no use panicking til after we know what we panicking over, eh?"

"I suppose. But I'm so confused."

"I know!"

"What?"

"Go find me dragon!"

"Your dragon?"

"Aye!"

"Why?"

"Because, dummy, she can fly."

"She's gonna fly me to the moon?"

"Aye."

"How?"

"She interplanetary dragon. She fly from one planet to another."

"Oh."

And before Quaraun knew it, he was off wandering aimlessly through the tunnels and rooms of Fire Mountain, looking for a dragon he had never seen before and didn't know what she looked like in places he had never been before and didn't know his way through. Soon he was hopelessly lost.

Quaraun was completely alone in a dark, cold, and dusty place. It was so quiet the old Elf could hear his own heartbeat. All around him were walls made of stone, torches lined the walls making everything seem to glow, but they gave no light. Not even a speck of light could be found. The only thing that allowed him to see his surroundings was the light coming from above him. From a glowing ball of light floating along with him. It was so bright, he couldn't see anything else besides its blinding brightness. After his last panic attack in the darkness, he wasn't going to take any chances, so this time he made himself a glowing light ball to following him.

After walking for hours, The Pink Necromancer found himself in front of a huge wooden door. This door was covered in vines and ivy. It seemed ancient, like it hadn't been repaired in decades. Centuries even.

When he touched it, he felt something.

Something warm. 

Something alive. 

Something magical. 

Like something alive but unlike anything he had felt before. 

Something that brought warmth to his soul. 

Something he desperately needed.

Quaraun wanted to open the door and walk through it, but he couldn't. 

It was sealed shut tight.

But somehow, someway, Quaraun knew that he would be safe here. He was sure of that. For some unknown reason, he believed that. He believed that if he was safe inside the mountain cave, then he wouldn't be able to hurt anybody or break anything or damage anything. He was certain.

The longer Quaraun stood there, staring at the massive oak door before him, the more he began to feel calm. His body relaxed as he continued to stare at the door. As he stared at the door it shifted and turned into a man.

Quaraun's breathing slowed and he closed his eyes and opened them again and again until he was sure he wasn't seeing things. No, he was positive. There was nothing wrong with his vision whatsoever. Nothing in this dark, dank room changed.

Nothing except for the door before him, was now a man. His face turned orange. His smile a pumpkin grin. Laughing. His eye blazing triangles. The man continued to shift and morph, until he became a scarecrow with a pumpkin head.

Quaraun looked down at his hands and noticed that they were still bleeding. No. He wasn't bleeding. It wasn't his blood. It was the blood of his children. His four murdered children. The children he had murdered. The bleeding had had stopped, but the colour remained dull, almost lifeless. His face was also bloody. Some of his hair was caked with blood.

"Fuck."

Slowly, he turned around and started moving away from the huge door and towards a corner behind him. When he reached it, he sat down against the wall, leaned back against it, placed his head back, and shut his eyes.

"Not again," he whispered.

Then, without warning, the earth began to shake and rumble beneath his feet.

"RUBY SUCKS!" A little girl's voice yelled.

Quaraun jumped up then froze. There shouldn't be anyone down here. There should be no one in Fire Mountain but himself and BoomFuzzy and BoomFuzzy's dragon. Quaraun pulled out his wand, swished it around under the glowing ball over his head, and immediately the ball disappeared and the tunnel went dark.

"Ruby sucked hard on her lollipop, feeling it's blood drip down her chin."

Quaraun looked around and saw her again. The little girl he had seen before.

"Who are you?"

"Have you forgotten?" The girl giggled and laughed. "I am Death."

Quaraun watched her suck loudly on the red lollipop, blood dripping from her lips. The blood trickling faster, down her chin, down her chest, to the ground, pooling around her feet.

Her hair grew black. 

Her skin grew white. 

Her arms grew long. 

Her fingers turned into claws that reached to the ground. 

Blood gushed forth from her lips. 

She laughed manically.

"Ruby sucks so hard, she is so loud, everyone loves Ruby, she is the best girl EVER, I AM THE BEST GIRL! SHE HAS EVERYTHING I DON'T HAVE! HAHA! HEART OF STEEL! MY BODY IS A TANK AND MY SOUL IS AN INFINITY! EVERY PART OF ME IS PERFECTLY FINE! I CUT THE HEAD OFF A BEAST WHO GOT TOO STRONG AND KNEADED IT ON HIS LEG AND NOW THE BEAST'S HEAD IS A PIECE OF SHIT!"

The little girl was now tall and blonde with big blue eyes. She grinned and laughed.

"You like my jokes?"

She walked closer to where Quaraun was standing against the wall, leaning his back up against the stone walls. He didn't answer. Instead he continued to watch her, frozen in terror. 

She grabbed Quaraun by his shoulders and gently pushed him forward. They both fell on their knees and Quaraun cried out when his back hit the cold, stone floor. He heard the little girl laugh as she crawled toward him, her bloody bare feet making contact with the cold stone.

He was frozen with fear. 

Frozen with panic. 

Frozen with disbelief.

He felt helpless, scared, confused.

"Ruby came to die!"

The little girl reached into her chest and torn her heart out.

"You're not real," Quaraun said to himself. "You're not real."

Quaraun squeezed his eyes shut and repeated the words over and over again. "She's not there. She's not real. She's not there. She's not real..." 

Suddenly, the little girl stopped laughing. Her mouth fell open. Her jaw fell off. Her eyes widened, then fell from their sockets. The hand that clutched her heart fell limply to the side.

"No..." the girl shrieked. "What are you doing to me?"

Quaraun continued saying: "She's not there. She's not real. She's not there. She's not real..." 

"What are you doing?" She screamed. "STOP IT! STOP IT!"

She ran at Quaraun with a snarl, raising her bloody hands above her head. Quaraun rolled across the floor to avoid her grasp. 

"STOP KILLING ME!!!"

The little girl lunged forward. She grabbed Quaraun's leg, and started dragging him across the floor. Quaraun kicked and struggled, but the small, blonde creature only dragged him farther.

"You can't kill me again," she growled, holding him tight. "You won't! I won't let you!"

"Let go of me!" Quaraun cried. "What do you want!?"

"I want to live! I WANTED TO LIVE!"

Quaraun thrashed about, fighting and kicking with all his might, but the little girl never gave an inch in her relentless pursuit. Eventually she threw Quaraun against a rock and climbed onto his chest. With a mighty cry she held him down, straddling him, and lifted a large dagger from her belt. BoomFuzzy's dagger.

Before Quaraun could scream,  the tiny, blonde creature plunged the dagger deep into his abdomen, slicing his organs, cutting into his flesh.

"No!" Quaraun shouted. "No! No! NO!!"

The little girl pulled the dagger out of Quaraun's belly. Blood poured forth, splattering down her face and clothing. She raised the dagger high above her and swung it down. It sliced down across her neck. She fell off Quaraun and rolled onto the cold stone floor, still gasping for air.

As the little girl lay motionless, Quaraun scrambled to his feet. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He dropped to his knees beside the corpse, and buried his face in the little girl's lifeless form.

"Please... please wake up," he whimpered. "Please wake up... no! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me."

Quaraun recognized her now. 

Her daughter. 

Little Ruby. 

Sapphire and Ruby. 

His twin daughters. 

Named after gemstones. 

The girl before, the one that came out of the blue crystal skull, that had been the ghost of Sapphire, and this one the ghost of Ruby. The ones he had killed. 

As Quaraun wept, he heard a soft chuckle. He looked up. To his horror, her expression was as blank as ever, her dead eyes staring right at him. He could see the light of life slowly fading away, but she was still smirking. 

Ruby chuckled again, more softly, and reached up toward him. Her hand curled slightly, as though reaching for something.

And then suddenly, as fast as she had appeared, she was gone. And like the first, where she stood, there now lay a crystal skull on the ground, this one red, and also with a 12 pointed star carved into it's forehead.

The blood and wounds were gone. Quaraun was not injured.

Quaraun picked up the skull.

"I murdered my children. Oh, god, why did I murder my children?"

Quaraun continued to wander through the darkness, for what seemed like hours, not knowing where to go or what exactly to look for. Fire Mountain was massively huge and it could easily take weeks to explore it's endless system of tunnels and caves. Quaraun stopped when he heard a sound coming from the corridor ahead.

He listened, his long rabbity ears twitching. But what he heard was not what concerned him. It was what he could smell. 

The dank stench of decay, the dry dust of bone ash. 

The musty, earthy, peaty fragrance of ancient soil mixed graveyard dirt. 

"Vampires," he whispered. "Oh dear." 

Slowly, quietly, Quaraun crept forward, looking, listening. He could hear voices coming from the room up ahead. Stealthy he made his way to the room and peaked inside. There he saw a strange women. A living corpse, a vampire, walking around, muttering to herself, and ordering her crew of minions around. He recognized one of them as his book thief.

"Come, Dragon!" the woman ordered. "I know you can hear me. It is better for us both if you just give up and surrender. Your Lord and Master is not hear any more. He can not help you. And that twit Necromancer of his is off battling his own demons. Come, Dragon! We have work to do and I need your blood to do it."

The woman waited a few minutes, than shouted: "I, The Vampire Queen Silverwitch from the Kingdom of  the Infernal Teeth of Emerald and the Amethyst Coat of Radiance, cast Mist Blood upon you!"

The Mist Blood of The Vampire Queen Silverwitch from the Kingdom of  the Infernal Teeth of Emerald and the Amethyst Coat of Radiance, immediately flooded the room.  Its crimson hue lit up everything it touched making it feel as if Quaraun were in a deep forest full of thick fog with no visible source of light. The sounds of the storm raging outside filled the silence that permeated the room. It was hard to even hear your own heartbeat. Quaraun looked around for some sort of sign but found nothing. The only thing he could do was wait. As much as he wanted to get out of there Quaraun didn’t dare move an inch because he knew that moving would only make the situation worse. And so Quaraun waited. Waited to see what would happen next.

Quaraun's vision blurred, as tears welled up in his eyes threatening to spill over. His chest felt heavy and tight and the air became difficult to breathe. Quaraun knew he couldn't stay here any longer, The Mist Blood, it was suffocating. His mind raced. 

Where am I? 

Who are these people? 

Why are they doing this? 

Do they know who I am? 

Do they know I am here? 

The room was dark as if it were night time. Quaraun squinted against the darkness. There were two figures standing close by. They spoke quietly among themselves. One stood about three feet shorter than the other. The taller one was the green skinned beast whom had taken his book, earlier. He listened to their conversation and at least, learned some of why they were here.

Queen Silverwitch had come to steal the crystal skulls from the Lich King and take control of Midnight LanceKiller, The Elf Eater's black dragon. But clearly, Midnight LanceKiller, was not going to let that happen.

The woman laughed. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, her face pale as death, her lips stained crimson. A strange creature stood beside her. Her eyes glowed in the light of her dark magic. A wicked smile curled on her lips. Silverwitch was ready to fight. And she knew she'd be victorious. From what her minions said, the vampire Queen had already taken three souls from the victims of the raid on the village below, and another two would soon follow. Silverwitch only needed one more. One last powerful soul. The soul of a dragon.

"Come out you pathetic creature!" Silverwitch snarled, as she looked for the dragon. "I know you're in here. You can not hide from me!"

Silence.

No answer.

Not a sound.

Water dripped from the stalagmites of the cave.

Drip.

Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

No other sound could be heard.

"Fine! Have it your way. But you won't hide from me long. I'll find you."

Silverwitch turned and walked out of the cave.

As the woman disappeared, something shifted in the back corner of the cave.

Something stirred.

Something moved.

Almost like smoke swirling around.

A great pair of glistening green and purple eyes glowed from high near the ceiling of the back wall.

Quaraun gasped, and covered his mouth to stifle his own scream.

There she was. 

The Elf Eater's Dragon. 

And she was huge. 

The size of a giant blue whale. Quaraun had never imagined she would be so big. Nearly as big as the mountain itself. But how? It was not possible for something so large to fit through even the widest of the tunnels into this room.

Oh but she was beautiful. Mesmerizing. Quaraun had never seen a dragon before. He never could have imagined he'd ever be this close to one.

Dark magic surrounded the creature. And a dark miasmic mist swirled all around her.

Quaraun trembled in fear as he stared at the dragon. Trembled in fear of touching her, Fear of touching Midnight LanceKiller. He couldn't believe this was real. Couldn't believe this thing actually existed. 

A dragon. 

A real, live dragon. 

Creatures of myth. 

Creatures long thought extinct for millions of years. 

And yet, here she was, a beautiful metallic black dragon. 

The dragon stared down at him, as she slowly lowered herself down from her perch in the ceiling of the cave, lowering to stand on all fours.

She wasn't afraid of him, and that scared him most of all. Quaraun was used to people being scared of him. Used to people attacking him. Used to having to fight for his life at every turn. He didn't know how to react to something that neither feared him, nor was trying to kill him.

She lowered herself completely to the ground, curling up like a giant cat, and laid there, quiet, still, not moving, watching him. Her lizard eyes, cold and unblinking, like the eyes of a giant serpent.

Quaraun watched the dragon as she watched him. Knowing nothing of dragons, Quaraun didn't know what he should do. Should he stay still or try to run? Could he talk to her? Do dragons talk?

"Yes, we do."

Quaraun's thoughts froze. He had not asked those questions out loud, and the dragon had herd him and answered him. Except, she did not answer with a voice, rather he felt her voice inside his head, like a hive mind, like the hive mind he had had so many years ago with the rest of the Elves. The hive mind of the Elves was gone, as the Elves had gone extinct many centuries ago. Quaraun was the last full blooded Elf, though a few half-Elves were found from time to time.

"You know my thoughts?"

"Yes."

"Can you speak?"

"No. I have no vocal chords. I am a dragon."

"Oh." Quaraun thought about that for a moment and realized he really had no clue what exactly it was that a dragon was. He'd never seen one before. In fact, he'd never even considered the possibility of dragons being real. He had always thought them a fictional fairy tale creature created by parents to scare naughty children. "How do I know the thought I'm hearing are your and not the thoughts of some trickster Fae pretending to be your voice?"

"You don't."

"I suppose that it true, isn't it. But there must be some way to verify your thoughts are yours."

"What would you suggest?"

"I... I don't know. I know nothing of dragons. I never dreamed it possible that dragons were real. I don't even questions to ask you."

"What questions would you ask me, were I not a dragon?"

"I would probably ask you your name and where you hailed from, your nationality, culture. Your favourite foods. Your favourite colour. That sort of thing."

"Your favourite colour is pink."

"Yes. It is."

"You are The Pink Necromancer."

"Yes. I am."

"My name is Njord, I am from Planet Ptarmagin. We Dragons are not native to Earth, it is why there are so few of us on your planet."

"Njord? The not-Gnome outside the mountain. His name was Njord."

"Yes. He was me. I am he. I was also the guard in the tower. The quiet one who followed Master and accidentally stepped on your hair."

"yes. I remember you. You stepped on my hair. It hurt very much."

"Yes. I apologize. I was unaware your hair were delicate tentacles. I thought it was just hair. I did not know it was a part of your body." 

"Are you a shape-shifter? Or do you cast illusions?"

"I am a Purple Dragon of Planet Ptarmagin."

"Purple? Are you not black?"

"Oh no. My scales are purple. But they look black in certain lights."

"But you can change form?"

"I can appear as whatever I want."

"What it your true and natural form?"

"You are looking at it."

"I've seen many strange beasts, many strange people these past few days. Where they all you?"

"Some where. Others were not. The two dead girls were not me."

"I know. They were the ghosts of my twin daughters."

"The Crystal Birds were not me, either. They were the Master."

"The Master?"

"You meet him at the gate."

"You mean,, BoomFuzzy?"

"BoomFuzzy? BoomFuzzy? You call him BoomFuzzy?"

"Yes. The Phooka? He is my BoomFuzzy. Is he also your Master?"

"Yes. My Master is the Phooka who became The Lich King."

"The two guards, back at the tower, that was you and him, wasn't it?"

"Yes. It was us. He and me."

"Why did you put me in the tower?"

"It was Master's idea. He was angry with you. He's not now. It is why he let you out."

"What about the princess?"

"What of her?"

"Is there really a missing princess?"

"Yes. There is. And she is a sorceress as you were told."

"Why is your master looking for her?"

"He is not."

"But..."

"He only said that to distract you. To confuse you. And it worked. Did it not?"

"Indeed it did."

"The girl I met in the reading room, the one with the book about Merlin..."

"That was me."

"So, not the princess?"

"No."

"What about the deserted farm village?"

"It was like that when we found it. Goblins with great war hounds were not far away. I believe they belong to the vampire queen. I suspect the Humans fled when they got wind of it."

"And the bandits, who attacked me?"

"Just common bandits who happened to stumble across you. Nothing more."

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains everything."

Quaraun though silently for a few moments.

"You said you are from Planet Ptarmagin?"

"I am."

"I never heard of it before. Where is it exactly?"

"It is the moon of Planet Vesonta, one of the Triple Planets."

"The Triple Planets? Do you know where they are?"

"They are a long ways from here. In a solar system on the other side of the galaxy."

"I am from the Triple Planets, but I do not remember it. I was injured. I can remember nothing of my life from before this planet."

"Many of our people came to Earth. Few survived."

"Why did we leave?"

"Our sun grew dark. Trees stopped growing. There was no more light. Mushrooms bigger than the trees, grew up in their place. Our beautiful, lush green world died and a dark black world of eternal night took it's place. Ptarmagin is the dark and dangerous world of the undead, now. Ptarmagin is a world of monsters, swollen with endless armies of the undead, where flesh-eating ghouls rule the world, and all living creatures are at their mercy. Some constructed cities that float in the clouds, to escape the monsters of the Mushroom Forest below, but few were found worthy to join the elite in the Golden Palace in the sky. Our home planet is not dead, but it might as well be for those who must fight to survive on it."

"And Dragons come from there?"

"Oh yes. There are many Dragons on Ptamagian, Diona, Vesonta, Flame, and Crystonia. Fire Dragons. Ice Dragons. But our entire solar system is in turmoil. Our sun went dark, and all the planets live in chaos now."

"You said you knew who I was?"

"Yes. You are Quaraun, a human male Necromancer in the kingdom of Quebec."

"I am an Elf."

"Are you? Where are your rabbit ears?"

"I keep them behind me, held down back, hidden under my hair."

"You look like a Human without them."

"I know, it's why I do it. I am the last Elf. My people went extinct centuries ago. Humans today believe us fairy tales. They do not believe we were once real."

"Yes. As they do with us Dragons."

"If I am to survive on this planet, I must hide my ears and pretend to look as Human as possible."

"There are no Humans here."

"Indeed. There are not."

"Then why do you still hide them?"

"Force of habit. I'm used to walking with them down, I don't often carry them high."

"May I see them?"

"I see no reason why not," Quaraun said as he twitched his ears, allowed them to lift out of their hiding position. Quaraun, being a Moon Elf, had exceptionally long ears, standing more than a foot tall over his head, ending in fine points. In each ear was 24 small gold rings. In each ring was a thin gold chain. Each of the gold chains, looped around and connected to one of the 3 gold rings in Quaraun's nose. From his ears to his nose, each chain was hung with dozens of tiny pink quartz and watermelon tourmaline crystal points, and tiny gold charms in the shapes of flowers, hearts, birds, jellyfish, and leaves.

"You have decorated your ears like a Christmas tree."

"Yes."

Why?"

"There are scars on my face. The chains and charms cast shadows and cover my scars."

"They match the gold on your hands."

Quaraun looked down at his hands. He had quite forgotten he was wearing the gold armour on his fingers.

"Do they serve a purpose as well?"

"Yes. When I was a child my fingers were crushed. My hands broken. My hands are dead, I can not use them. They do not move, The bones are shattered, the nerves and muscles are, useless."

"And the gold gloves help this?"

"Yes. They are magic. Enchanted. BoomFuzzy made them for me."

"BoomFuzzy?"

"Yes. He took care of me after... after The Hanging Tree. I would have died other wise. But when I had recovered, my leg was lame, I could not walk normal. I've used the can ever since. But my hands... my hands were dead, and I an a tailor. I weave silk and embroider cloth. I could do this no more. I could not eat. I could not feed myself. I could do nothing that required the use of my hands. So, BoomFuzzy made these gold plate for my fingers, that I may use my hands again. I can not take them off, unless I have someone to put them back on me again after."

"You call my master, BoomFuzzy?"

"Yes."

"Only one calls him by that name. His lover from long ago."

"I am he."

"You are the little Elf from Ivujivik."

"I am."

"Master has spoken of you."

"Does he?" 

"Oh yes. Master deeply loves you. He speaks of you often. He is lonely for you. You touch. Your kisses. Your warm body in his bed."

"I get the idea." 

"You were born in a small village, Ivujivik, just outside the walls of the castle of the Lich King, and you grew up under the close watch of the Lich King."

"King Gwallmaiic. Yes. I knew him as BoomFuzzy. I lived with him for 30 years. In the gingerbread house." 

"You were tutored in magic by him from a young age, and have grown up with no knowledge of much else. You are very good at what you do, and you do magic best of all. You were a great apprentice. He has said so. You were his most faithful student, and are his most powerful Necromancer."

"Yes. That is true. But he is dead. And now I am alone."

"Ptarmagin is a strange place, a far away land, where the undead rule, and Necromancy is an outlawed art. You wouldn't like it there."

"I never said I planned to go there."

"Of course not. It is too far. Too far for us."

"For you maybe."

"For any of us perhaps."

"Who was that woman, just now. The one hunting you."

"We are free to roam where we please and wherever we want. The Dead Worlds are full of monsters. Creatures from the depths of Hell are always there waiting for us."

"Is Hell a real place?"

"Oh yes. Hell exists. A planet that burns in eternal flames, orbiting far too close to it's sun. It's inhabitants suffer greatly. None want to remain there. Many would escape. But Hell exists in the realm of chaos, and it's people are seen by Earthlings are Demons, twisted creatures, half man, half animal. The Humans do not like the Hellions."

"That woman, was she from there?"

"No. She was The Vampire Silverwitch from the Kingdom of  the Infernal Teeth of Emerald and the Amethyst Coat of Radiance, and that sickly fog that she brought with her was called The Mist Blood. The Vampires of Kingdom of the Infernal Teeth of Emerald and the Amethyst Coat of Radiance have heard a rumour about a rare flower that can re-energize a vampire's thirst and raise it to it's former power. There is plenty of danger in searching for this flower, but it is said that a successful adventurer could live as a king in the Kingdom of  the Infernal Teeth of Emerald and the Amethyst Coat of Radiance. And to get the flower, they believe requires the blood of a sacrificed Dragon. She is after Master's crystal skulls." 

"Crystal skulls?"

"Yes. King Gwallmaiic has a large collection of skulls on a shelf behind his throne. He uses them as decoration, but also as ornaments. In his unicorn form he decorates his horn with them."

"My little black unicorn," Quaraun said to himself. 

"They were very pretty, with intricate carvings and nice colours, but more than this, these skulls are very powerful. The Elf Eater used them to control a large black dragon who he calls Midnight Lancekiller."

"And that would be you?" 

"Yes. She was a beautiful, glossy black dragon, with a purple mark, a scar, under her right eye. Her black scales glistened with a purple sheep, like peacock ore. She is kept in a cave under the King's Mountain Palace on Fire Mountain. It was said that a dragon slayer once used these skulls to kill a dragon. And that this was how Gwallmaiic knew of her existence, found her, captured her, and tamed her."

"You are talking about yourself in third person, that's a bit bizarre."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. A little."

"As bizarre as a female JellyFish pretending she is a male Elf, while wearing pink ostrich feathers?"

"I... I am aware that I am not normal."

"A blend of seven luck bringing scents for calling on the seven luck spirits. A candle for love. A book of psalms open on the altar during times of prayer. A combination of all the above. they were in a small jar of honey and mixed with water, a gift for her husband. It would help soothe him when he was feeling agitated and needed comfort while away from home."

"What are you on about now?"

"You are the Elf who cast a love spell on my Master, are you not?"

"Yes. I am."

"Why did you do this?"

"Because I love him."

"And he did not love you?"

"I... I thought he did."

"But he did not. Does not return your love."

"He was kind to me."

"Was no one ever kind before him?"

"No."

"No one?" 

"No one."

Quaraun voice quivered as he tried not to cry. He knew BoomFuzzy didn't love him, but BoomFuzzy was all he had.

"Never?" 

"No. Not ever. Not once. Nor since. I'm not deemed worth of being welcomes into society. I am unique. There is no one else like me. So there is no one who wants me. I'm a freak. No one loves a freak. He was the only friend I've ever had."

"You have lived a very sad life."

"I have."

"You know you were not his first lover, don't you?"

"Yes. He's had many."

"And he has many wives and as many children. Did you know this as well?"

"Leave him alone," BoomFuzzy said to the dragon.

"This Elf..."

"I do no care. Dis Elf is very easily upset and he had enough upset for one day. He also in the habit of killing me lovers, getting rid of his competition, and obsessively possessing over me. I do no want ya irritating him. He'll kill ya if ya push him to far. Him done it before."

"Yes My Lord."

"How did you get back here?" Quaraun asked BoomFuzzy.

"I does'na know. I were suddenly back, as quickly as I were gone. I t'ink it was a spell, dat were time released un it time run out."

"There was a vampire here."

"A vampire?"

"She said something about being after the skulls yo use to control the dragon."

"Me skulls? How very odd."

"How so?"

"They do no control me dragon."

"No?"

"No. Not'ing controls her. She do as she please."

"But she serves you?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"I was kind to her once. A long time ago. She were injured and I took care of her."

"Like you did to me?"

"Aye."

"She loves you," Quaraun said to BoomFuzzy. "i heard it in her voice when she spoke to me."

"I know she does."

"Was she your lover too?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

Quaraun didn't respond.

"She was. She still is." 

"You've had many lovers."

"Aye. Some more possessive and jealous than others."

"You mean, me?"

"Ye are de only lover I ever had, what killed one of me ot'er lovers."

"Gibedon."

"Aye. Ya killed Gibedon. And I loved him very much. I loved ya both, Quaraun. Ya did no have to kill him."

"I'm sorry."

"I know ya is. But what ya did hurt me Quaraun."

"I know. You killed yourself a few days later."

"Aye. I did. And I has told ya why I did before, but ya does no listen to me. Too lost in ya own lil world."

"He was going to kill you. Him and Finderu. Gibedon was plotting to kill you."

"Aye. I know dat now. It does'na make what ya did any easier for me to accept."

"Do you love the dragon?"

"I do. And I believe she may love me as much as ye does."

"I think she does. I heard it in her voice."

"And I hears jealousy in yar voice."

"She lives with you. I live alone."

"Quaraun. Please. Do no do dis."

"I'd do anything for you."

"I knows ya would. Of dat I have no doubt. I seem to have a problem with simpering idiots falling in love with me."

"You're calling me an idiot again, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. What else would I be doing? I'm calling her an idiot too. Yar both idiots. And in case the two of ya hadn't noticed: I AM DEAD! I have no physical body. I can'na make love to either of ya. What is wrong with ya people?"

"I'm trying to fix that."

"Quaraun, ya're head ain't screwed on right. Ya can'na restore a body to a dead spirit. Okay? Millions of mages before ya have tried to do it and none has ever succeed. It can'na be done. It no possible. I come accept my death, Quaraun, ya need to accept it too. I can'na stop haunting ya until ya do."

"Do you want to stop haunting me?"

"No. Quaraun, I do care about ya. Yar not an easy person to love. But I do no like watching ya wish for knives so ya can slice yar wrists either."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm having a hard time dealing with your death."

"I have noticed, Quaraun. Why do ya think I keep popping up in yar life. Ya know I could just leave and go off and do normal t'ings normal dead people do, but it so damned hard when every time I turn around ya be trying to kill yarself. I do'na want ya to kill yarself, Quaraun."

"You killed yourself."

"Aye, and look how well that went. Quaraun, I the one who died, ya'd think I would be the one having trouble coming to terms with it."

"I found you." 

"I is aware of that." 

"You were still alive." 

"I were dair when I died, Quaraun. I knows what happened to me."

"I couldn't save you. I tried."

"I know ya did."

"You took a corrosive poison that dissolved your organs. You drowned in your own blood."

"Ya never should have seen me like that. It messed up yar head. I'm aware that's half the problem."

"You killed yourself."

"Yes. I did. Quaraun, I was dying. Me killing meself had not'ing to do with ya killing Gibedon. Why can no make ya understand dat. I was wounded. I had a serious infection. Gangrene had set in. I would have suffered in agony for weeks. Months. And died anyways. Ya would not have been able to save me one way or de other. And ye was gone. Ya knew I was sick and ya left. I had no way to take care of meself. I never would have done dat to ya, Quaraun. When yi were sick, I never left yar side. I could not get out of bed. I could not feed myself. And you left. You went back to dat fucking bitch wife of yars. Ya left me alone to die, knowing full well how sick I was."

"I didn't think you were hurt that bad."

"Obviously."

"I'm sorry." 

"I know ya is."

"I shouldn't have left."

"No. Yar shouldn't have."

"If I can't bring you back, I want to join you."

"No ya don't. Ya can'na see everything on the other side of life. There is so much in the realm of the dead ya do no want to be part of Quaraun. Not anymore, at least."

"Not any more?"

"Ya used to be innocent, Quaraun. Part of ya still is, but ya taken to killing people to try to resurrect me. Quaraun ya murdered yar children. The Hell that waits ya for that act alone is reason enough for me to want to see ya not die."

"So why is it so damn difficult for me to let you go?"

"Because it does no work like that."

"Then tell me what works like that!"

"There are rules about death, Quaraun. If I were just going to walk away from all of this, thinking ya could move forward on yar own, I would've done it already." 


~o0o~


Spectrophobia: the fear of mirrors. Not a fear that Quaraun needed. He had so many phobias already, and he possessed a great love for mirrors. To be scared of a mirror, was unthinkable. And yet, Quaraun was certain he saw something in the mirror, something that was not in the room. And it made him afraid. Afraid to get near the mirror. Afraid that there was a mirror monster hiding inside.

Quaraun approached the mirror and looked into it. 

He saw his own face looking back at him. 

His own dead face.

This did not make him feel any better.

There’s nothing else like this in his experience. 

A monster. 

An actual living creature that lurks somewhere in the mirror that looks exactly the same as the person standing right beside you. 

It’s a nightmare. 

One that haunts him every night after he falls asleep. 

It’s been years since Quaraun has felt any real fear, even when facing an actual monster. 

All of his fears were of simple things: water, heights, darkness, shadows, milk. 

Things he should have been scared of, enemies holding a gun to his head, monsters about to rip his throat out, these things he fearlessly faced boldly head one, with a level of sheer stupidity that defied logic. 

But an ant running across the road in front of him, sent him into gibbering terror. 

The things Quaraun was afraid of seemed illogical at best.

But never before had he known fear of a mirror.

But tonight is different. 

Tonight felt wrong. 

Something was wrong with the mirror. 

Tonight is not safe. 

Tonight is a nightmare. 

Something bad has happened at last, and now it has come back for more. He can feel it creeping up on him. Creeping through the mirror's silvered glass.

The feeling like someone’s watching him from the corners of the house. From the edges of the mirror. 

He knew what it is, this fear of his, knew the feeling. How it started. The dread. The terror. The irrational fear. And he knew that if it continued like this, then there would be no escape from its reach. This terror would consume him. 

Quaraun's hands are shaking by this point, trembling from the adrenaline surging through his body. He gripped onto the counter top in front of him, digging his gold armour claws into the wood. He felt like crying out in frustration; but the fear wouldn’t let him. The voice in his head that told him it’ll all go away when he stops thinking about it. But the demon behind the mirror's glass didn’t want him too stop thinking. It wanted him to think about it's existence, think about it's life, that it might come to life and emerge from the mirror. Emerge from the mirror and kill him.  If he stopped, he would die.

"Quaraun?" A soft and gentle voice said. 

Quaraun jumped, startled by the sudden contact between them. 

"Is everything alright? Why do you look so distressed?"

No matter how hard he tried, Quaraun just couldn't answer. His mouth was paralyzed, unable to move nor speak. He only stared in horror, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as fear and panic grew within him. 

Something was wrong. 

Very very wrong. 

This wasn't a dream. 

This was no nightmare.

That was the first thing Quaraun thought.

Because it couldn't possibly be a dream.

"This isn't real," Quaraun whispered under his breath. "This can't happen." 

The universe would not let such a horrible thing happen. 

Especially because the universe hated Quaraun. 

Because Quaraun was responsible. He brought death and destruction down upon those who he loved. He killed them all. His children.

"This isn't real... " Quaraun told himself again.

The demon behind the mirror's glass could see the fear in Quaraun's eyes. He wanted that fear gone. Wanted that fear for himself. Quaraun was afraid that the demon in front of him might hurt him. He took a step forward towards Quaraun.

Quaraun closed his eyes. He wanted this to end. He wanted to run. Run as far from here as possible. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to forget that his worst nightmare had come to haunt him and he'll never be free of that nightmare ever again. He didn't want to know anymore.

"Quaraun. Please talk to me."

The voice pleaded and begged, desperately trying to make Quaraun open his eyes so they could look at each other. So he could look into the demon’s beautiful ruby coloured eyes.

Please don't be scary like me! 

Those eyes.

They were beautiful. They were like fire. They were bright red. Like the rubies BoomFuzzy wore all around his neck. Those crimson pigeon blood star rubies. They were the eyes of the devil. His devil. The demon from the mirror's reflection. The evil soul that dwelled inside.

And now that eye of the demon staring back at him was staring straight into his soul.

Quaraun gasped, opening his eyes to meet the gaze of the demon. That sight of the demon caused him to stumble backwards from shock, his foot sliding over the floor and toppling him over onto the ground. He screamed, his back slamming against the ground.

He scrambled backwards on the floor.

Until his back hit a wall.

He slid to the ground, hitting the floor on his side. With his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. His eyes screwed shut, his breathing ragged and loud.

Quaraun felt like crying. Tears fell from his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

He cried. 

He screamed. 

He kicked. 

He cried some more. 

Then he sobbed, his heart racing, racing, pounding in his chest, in the pit of his stomach. 

In his skull. 

In the space between his ears.

All he could think about were the demons eyes, piercing deep into his soul. All he could think about, over and over again, was that pair of eyes staring right back at him. All he could think was that pair of fiery red irises staring straight through him as if he had no flesh and bone beneath.

He cried until he became lightheaded, and dizzy, falling backwards onto his knees, still curled into himself. His body shook violently as his breaths came out short and quick, uneven and heavy. He couldn’t breathe and it was hard to tell where his nose began and his lungs ended. It all just hurt too much for him. It all burned, burned, burned inside of him.

"Quaraun?"

"Arrgh!" 

"Calm down, you're all right."

Quaraun sat up.

"You're spazzing out again," BoomFuzzy said.

Quaraun squeezed his eyes shut than opened them again and looked around. The mirror monster was gone. BoomFuzzy was standing beside him. 

"You okay?"

"The mirror," Quaraun said. "There was something in the mirror."




"Is he always like this?" Njord asked BoomFuzzy.

"Always. Every day, some thing scares him into a gibbering mess."

"What is wrong with him?"

"I died. He was the one who found my body."

"This is the Elf who loved you?"

"Yes."

"Was he always like this?"

"No. I remember a time when he was a happy little Elf, who liked to feed the wild ponies at edge of the marsh, in the desert of the Di'Jinn. And then the Di'Jinn died and he didn't know what to do, where to go, so he went home. To his people. And they hated him. He couldn't understand why. I tried so hard to make them like him. But they bullied him, teased him, beat him up. Every day."

"Why?"

"No reason. He was just different. They all wore blue. He wore pink. They all had short hair. His hair touches the ground. That's all it was. They treated him deplorably. Then the bullying started getting worse. A lot worse. It went from pushing him into mud puddle and laughing at him being wet, to pushing him in front of carriages, and laughing at him being trampled by horse hoofs his ribs crushed under carriage wheels. They started trying to kill him, and laughed. And each more people joined in. Until one day, the whole town attacked him. He'd been read a book under the apricot trees, and night was coming, so he started to go him, to his father's palace, where they lived with the King. He never recovered. He's been like this ever since."

"What happened that day?"

"The Hanging Tree. That's what he calls it."

"He mentioned that before."

"He always talks about it. It's stuck in his head."

"What was it? The Hanging Tree?"

"There was a large oak tree at the centre of town. Ancient. Huge oak tree. Some of the Elves worshipped it. Believed it was magic."

"Was it?"

"I do not know. Elven Magic is different from Faerie Magic, perhaps to them it was. But not to Quaraun. For Quaraun, that tree became a nightmare he can not shake. Oh my poor Elf. I stopped them, before they killed him, but, so much had already happened before I realized what they had done."

"What did they do?"

"Near the tree was a large water fountain. A beautiful peaceful place to sit. The tree and the fountain sat in front of the palace. Quaraun, did not make it inside. Morloch was waiting for him."

"Morloch? Who is Morloch?"

"Quaraun's father. Younger brother to the Moon Elf King. An evil man, who unspeakable things. He murdered Quaraun's mother, when Quaraun was just a small child. Smashed her head in, found a jellyfish inside her skull instead of brain, ripped it out and stomped it into the ground. Did it front of Quaraun. The Elf was the mother of his Elven body, and the JellyFish was the mother of Quaraun. Convinced his son was also a JellyFish, he tried to kill Quaraun as well. The King, rescued the child and handed him over to a priest. ZooLock, the DiJinn priest. The King told ZooLock take the child and run, so, Quaraun came to be raised by ZooLock in Persia, miles away from him home in Quebec."

"That would explain how he dresses?"

"Yes. The very Arabian cloths Quaraun wears, that marks him very much out of place in New England. But the day of The Hanging Tree, Morloch was waiting for him. Poor lil Elf, had no idea what was about to happen."

BoomFuzzy was silent for a moment.

"Morloch, dragged Quaraun to the fountain, held him under the water. Several times.  He almost drowned. Villagers joined in. They took turns holding him under the water. They thought it was funny. They laughed, as they held him down and watched him struggle to breath, struggle to live. He tried to escape. He tried to run. There were to many. Drag him back to the fountain and put him under the water again. The ran, tried to flee the village, but they cornered him. Started throwing rocks at him. Stoned him. They gathered up garden tools, started stabbing him with pitchforks, tearing the flesh off his back with garden claws. His back, is horribly scarred. It's the worst of his scars, for what they look like. There was a Dwarf mine, in mountain beside the palace. Mining tools scattered around the edge. Quaraun, thought he could hide in the caves. He got away again, that that's where he went, so they grabbed pickaxes and crushed his legs so he could not run. Crushed his hands, so he could not fight back. Shattered his jaw so they wouldn't have to hear him scream, smashed out all of his teeth."

"The gold armour he wears on his hands. He said you made it.  He said his hands are dead. Is that when that happened?"

"It is. They held him down, and drove the drove the pickax though his hands. His fingers were barely even still attached when they got done. His fingers, where nearly ripped off, bones splintered out of the flesh, palms crushed, pulverized. From the wrists to the fingertips, his hands were flattened, the bones left little more than powder."

"That is horrible." 

"It was."

"And he was only a child when they did this?"

"Yes."

"And these people, they were adults?"

"Yes. I tried to rebuild his hands, put them back together. I could not. There was not enough left. At the time I was still a warrior, had not yet retired from that. So I had in my employ and armour.  I had him make thin gold armour, fitted to encase what was left of Quaraun's hands, and then I cast a spell on the armour, so that Quaraun could use his metal hands like real hands. I had hoped, in time, his hands would heal and he could use them again without the magic armour. But they never did. So he wears the armour still. He has lovely gold plated fingers on lovely gold plated hands, his real hand encased inside, lifeless and dead."

"The poor thing. But he embroiders and weaves fine silk. Is that not difficult with the gold armour?"

"He learned to adapt. He makes such beautiful cloth now. One would never guess such fine weaving and delicate embroidery were made by one with no hands. When they got done crushing his hands, they dragged him back out of the mines, tied his ankles to a pair of horses, and set the horses galloping. The scars on his face, were from that. He didn't used to have the gold chains going from the rings in his ears to the rings in his nose. He wears those to cover the scars on his face, that came from the horses trampling him, running over his head, dragging is face on the cobblestone. There's no skin on the left side of his face at all."

"I don't think I've ever seen his face. He keeps it hidden. The chains and the veils."

"Yes. Most people look at him, seeing only his eyes and his lips, the rest of his body carefully hidden under silk veils and delicate gold chains, and they think him beautiful. There are many who would hail him, the most beautiful being alive. There are always women, throwing themselves at him, wanting to have sex with him, until the veils come off and the chains removed. He used to be beautiful. He was the most beautiful creature ever born. But the scars erased his beauty. And the worst scars of all are the source of his nightmares. He tells people he is a eunuch. He is not. But it is, I think easier for him to say that, than to try to ever sex with anyone."

"Is he not castrated? He said he was."

"No. Not fully. He is intact enough that he can have sex. He fathered four children, nearly a hundred years after my death, after all. Morloch, after they got done with the horses, they didn't think he would live. Nearly every bone in his body was broken. Most of his flesh was ripped from his bones. I don't know how he lived through it, but he did. And evil hearts that they had, when they saw he was still alive, and still awake, unable to move, unable to scream, they feared he would die to quickly if they beat him any more, they took the rope off the horses, and tied it up in the giant oak tree. Stripped off his clothes. Left him hanging there, naked, by his feet, in the city square. And his father was a very cruel man. Each morning at sunrise, he drove a dagger up into his son's penis. Didn't take the one out from the day before, just drove another one in the next morning."

"That's just terrible."

"If you can ever get him to let you look at him naked, which you can't, the entire length of his penis, front and back, has rows of tiny gold rings from the top to the base. His penis slit in two, after 3 days of daggers shoved in, so on the 4th through 7th days, his father gorged daggers into his groin instead. Most of his belly, is a mess shredded scars. Quaraun has strange patterns of gold rings on his belly, his groin, his penis, and scrotum, which to the untrained eye, looks like he has some sort of piercing fetish. However, to one with knowledge of The Hanging Tree, Quaraun used lots of gold rings, to close his wounds, but the wounds left terrible scars, so he never removed the gold rings. There are 48 in his scrotum, and twice that many the length of both the front and back of his penis. he can still have sex and has fathered children since this happened to him, but it is rare that a woman does not run screaming from the sight of the horrific damage done to his genitals, and that is why he tells people he is a eunuch. It saves him the embarrassment of women too repulsed by his scars to have sex with him."

"Do he want to have sex with women? I thought he liked men? He certainly likes you."

"Aye. He is deeply in love with me. But he likes women as well. He certainly frequents enough brothels. And... well, he has fathered more children since the four he killed. Quite a few, actually. Thirty or so. He does like his prostitutes."

"Are all the mothers prostitutes?"

"Most of them, yes. Once in a while he finds girls who are attracted to his scars and he'll dote on them. Females who can look past the scars and see the very emotional man who desperately desires companionship, become favourites of his."

"But you and he were lovers. How does that make you feel?"

BoomFuzzy shrugged.

"Quaraun wasn't my only lover. He knew that. He loves me. I know that. He's also very lonely. I know that too. I had many before him."

"But none after him, right?"

"None after him no. I didn't love the others. I do love him. He takes care of the mothers. Pays them money to raise his children. But he's not involved with the children. He won't allow the children to even know he's their father. He loves his children, even the illegitimate ones, but he's scared."

"That'll he'll have another psychotic breakdown and kill his family again?"

"Yes. He doesn't trust himself. Doesn't dare to be part of his children's lives. Too scared he'll kill them in some fit of hysteria, because that's what he did before. He's terrified of it."

"He just won't acknowledge them because their mothers are Humans."

"Does that matter to him?"

"It does. He refuses to admit to being the father of a half-Elf. And I fear that may be the source of our current situation."

"What do you mean?"

"That man who keeps showing up in the mirror. He's a half-Elf."

"The one who called himself HellBorne Son of The Darkness?"

"Aye. Looks like a Moon Elf to me. And the only way that could be possible, is if Quaraun is his father."

"Does Quaraun know that?"

"I think he does. He hasn't said it, but you live with someone long enough you can pick up things. Expressions. I think he is aware that the mage who put us and my mountain in a bottle, is one of his sons that he refuses to acknowledge."

"Why would not acknowledge his own son?"

"Fear? I think Quaraun's scared to be a father. After what happened to his first children. I think he's scared, he'd do the same thing again. He did love his children, but he killed them because he loved me more, and he fully believed he could resurrect me if he offered up the lives of his children in exchange. And than when that didn't work, he was left to face what he had done to the children he loved so much. It broke his mind. When you get right down to it, that is why he is like he is today. The guilt of what he did to his children is crushing his mind. The blood he keeps talking about seeing. It's their blood. The blood in the nursery. The Moon Elves drove him out of his mind, after my death. They teased him, taunted him. Made him mean. I started fighting back. Started killing anyone who bad mouthed me. It became a habit for him to ritually slaughter anyone who said anything against me. And one night his children, sang a terrible song, celebrating the Elf Eater's death."

"Is that why he killed them?"

"It is. His sister was the blame. She was their mother."

"His sister?"

"Yes. Morloch was having an incestuous affair with his eldest daughter, together they plotting to kill the King and take the throne, but Moon Elf laws being the way they were Quaraun was next in line to be King, so Morloch, tricked Quaraun into marrying his oldest sister, and she raped him to get those four children from him. He never had sex with her willingly. When the twin boys were old enough to claim the throne, she and Morloch planned to kill the King, let Quaraun be crowned King, then kill Quaraun, let Quaraun's eldest son be crowned King, kill him, repeat with the younger son, and that would leave Quaraun's wife the Queen, and any new husband the King, she was to than marry her own father, and Morloch would be king."

"Quaraun's entire family is horrible."

"They were. I was not yet a Lich. I was just a ghost. So I could not tell Quaraun what they were planning. I tried so many times to reach through the land of the dead to the world of the living, to tell him what they had planned."

"Did he ever find out?" 

"Oh yes. Unfortunately, he found out, from the children. Their mother made up a song about how she would carry out this plan, and she sang it too herself over and over, and the children heard it one day, and were singing it in the nursery, when Quaraun came home that night from his tailor shop."

"Is that why he killed the children?" 

"It was. It was the 100th anniversary of my death, the next day, so that night, he murdered his children, and poisoned all the food in the village, in every house, with the same poison I had killed myself with. And than he killed the King, crowned himself king, and than executed his sister-wife and their father for treason. But that wasn't all. He did something else. Something he forgot he did."

"What was that?"

"He had a friend. A friend since childhood. A little Gnome. She loved him so dearly. She wasn't supposed to be there. She lived in a village far away. She arrived the night before. He didn't know. After every one was dead, He wandered through the village, looking for survivors, and found none. And that's when he found her. Little BeLuna, among the dead. She loved him so much. She loved Quaraun, as much as he loved me. She had never hurt him, was always kind to him, was always there for him. I think on some levels he loved her too. But I saw him through it all. Numb. Emotionless. He killed everyone with such ease. His wife. The children. The villagers. The king. His father. He felt nothing. No pity. No guilt. No remorse. I never seen him like that. It wasn't until he found dead Gnome's body that he any reaction at all. And that's when mind snapped. I couldn't acknowledge that she was dead. Instead he started talking to her like she was still alive." 

"He doesn't know she's dead?" 

"No. BeLuna, he thinks she's still alive. And that's when suddenly he could see me, and everyone else else who was dead. I'm not the only one he sees. He sees the children too. Every night, the four children stand at the foot of his bed."

"He keeps saying the villages are empty. That the people are gone. Is that why? He can't see the living can he?"

"No. e can't. He can see ghosts and spirits and wraiths and Liches, but he struggles to see a single living soul. And I don't know how to help him. I don't know if any one can. I think he need to face BeaLuna's death. Until he admits e killed his best friend, I don't he'll ever be able to heal."

"And all of this happened because of The Hanging tree?"

"Yes. Had The Hanging Tree not happened, none of these events after would have followed." 

"Why did they do it? The Hanging Tree, why did they do that to him? Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"They couldn't figure out how to get into my house."

"Your house?" 

"The gingerbread house. I found out later, what they did to him, they had planned to do to me, and he was the only one who knew how to get into the gingerbread house. In between each thing they did, they stopped and asked him to unlock the gingerbread house, they said they let him go, he wasn't the one they wanted. They were after me. They wanted to kill me. They didn't realize how much he loved me. How far he was willing to go, to save my life."

"But you died right after The Hanging Tree didn't you?"

"Yes. Less than a year later. What he went through, he went through to save my life. I did not know when I was alive. I found out only after I was already dead." 

"You commit suicide."

"I did."

"Would you have, if you had known why they hurt him?"

"I don't know. Probably not. I did not believe any one loved me. And I had someone who loved me an awful lot. I just couldn't see it while I was still alive. But I see it now, with how badly he suffers as a result of my death. I died centuries ago, and his mind it is still like it was yesterday."



~o0o~



Quaraun slipped off the edge and fell in the water. Immediately the frightened Elf was screaming in terror, flailing around, as though he was being attacked.

"It's only water, barely a foot deep..."

"No, you don't understand. He's scared of water. The Hanging Tree. He's terrified of water now. You have to get him out of the water. He'll drown if you don't. I'm incorporeal I can't do it."

"Quaraun, just stand up!" Njord yelled.

"He can't. He has flashbacks. He can't get up. He thinks he's back in the fountain at Ivujivik. He thinks the Elves are dragging him in. He can't get out of the water on his own. He can't see what it looks like, here today. He's seeing what happened then."




A cacophony of voices, all blending together, as other Elves joined with him, also beating the young Elf, for reasons he neither understood nor knew. Confusion welled in his mind, like the water that flooded his throat. The was became dark and dreary. And the air smelt of ash, soil, algae, and mud. The stench of seaweed, crab, and fish, rolled through the town on the fog coming in off the ocean.

The sound of the water filled his ears and drummed in his head as more water filled his nostrils and lungs.

Chiding.

Chocking.

Screaming.

Shouting.

He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t move, but he keeps going. Going where? He did not know.

His heart was pounding in his chest, pounding and pounding until it hurts. His body feels like it's on fire.

Echoing.

Emulating.

The only thing that existed any more was pain and misery. He wanted it to stop. It was too much. But there was nothing he could do. So many hands holding him down. Hitting him. Hurting him. Pain, pain, PAIN!

The world faded away. Darkness swallowed the rest of it until there was nothing but blackness. The only sound was that of the rushing water though his head, like distant crashing waves as they hit the shore below the pier.

A shadow shifted on the horizon and suddenly light flooded the space around him. The blue light of the sun shining down through the water, turning black.

Feeling.

Fighting.

Fretting.

Fuming.

Fussing.

Heaving.

Dying.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.

He knew what was coming and he did not want to be here any longer, but somehow the darkness felt right now. His mind, his spirit, his soul, ripping from his body. Death clutched at his throat. Water blinding his eyes, stinging his throat, burning his lungs. The pressure closing in. Unable to breath. Unable to think. 

And in his mind, only one word: Why? Why? Why? 

Why did they hate him?

Why were they hurting him?

He didn't understand.

He couldn't comprehend.

He could feel himself slipping away and the blackness seemed to welcome him. It was peaceful and dark. There was no light or sound or anything else that could hurt him.

Angrily he pushed his way past the darkness and tried to kick back against his attackers. But there were too many. 

Full grown adults.

Healthy, strong, full grown men against one weak, sickly child.

A headache now on top of the rest. Dizzily he shook and convulsed. The dark world slowly came into focus around him as they held his face to the bottom of the fountain. 

Gargling.

Quaraun felt the water was crushing his head and was certain he was about to drown, when his father pulled him back up and flung him down on to the cobblestone street.

Grunting.

Gulping

Guzzling.

Lifting a hand to his mouth and trying to stop the vomit that was bubbling out of him.

It was so hard to breathe, but somehow he found himself able to choke out what felt like the last of it.

The frightened Elf gasped and tried to breathe, but water had filled his lungs and was still strangling him from the inside. His ears throbbed, his throat burned, his nostrils felt like they were on fire, and his vision was blurred. He could not tell where he was or who was with him.

He gasped and chocked and tried to cough the water out of his lungs. He could neither see, nor hear the crowd which had gathered, and he still was too confused and too in shock to know what it was his father was saying.

Huffing.

Breathing.

Laying.

Waking.

Spinning.

The world was spinning out of control, and Quaraun felt as though everything was happening in slow motion. He couldn’t move, he could only stare at the cobblestone. It looked so far away, so peaceful. So... painful. So, very, very painful.

Inhaling.

Insisting.

Intensifying.

"Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The scream rang in his head. Had he screamed out loud? He couldn't tell. He felt so tired, but he knew it wouldn't be long now before everything faded into darkness and he could rest.

Jumbling.

His thoughts were jumbled.

Everything was a jumble.

The sky was a blur.

The ground too.

Gripping.

Struggling.

Slamming.

Pushing.

Trying to break free.

Breaking free of the crowd.

Lamenting.

Languishing.

The noise around him sounded dull. Everything faded into the background, muffled and indistinct. His hand grabbed his throat, trying to find some way to stop it, any way to make it go away. 

It hurt. 

It hurt so bad. 

His chest was burning and constricting. He felt his lungs would burst. He clawed at his skin, trying to tear through it to relieve the pressure on his lungs.

Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.

In the village water fountain.

The screaming mob, holding him down, the struggle to tear away from their angry hands, holding him under the water, not letting him up, not letting him breath.

The terror of water now, filling his mind, so great that it threatened to drown him, in side the tavern, safe from the danger of suffocating water.

Railing.

Rambling.

Ranting.

Raving. Ripping the air out of his lungs.

He was losing control.

No pain. No pain!

Make it stop!

Make it stop!

No! No! No! 

Please, no!

NO!

He felt the panic rising in his throat like bile, choking him, threatening to choke him to death. The alcohol seemed to burn his tongue as he choked down another mouthful. He couldn't breathe. His vision blurred. Tears ran down his face. 

Pain, pain, PAIN!

Heaving.

Dying.

Muddling.

Muffling.

Mumbling.

Munching.

Crunching.

Crack. Crack.

The sound echoed and replayed in his ears, ringing. It sounded like a million tiny voices screaming at once; screaming at him. Screaming for help. For mercy.

Quaraun was still trying to cough the water from his lungs. The poor Elf screamed and flayed, fighting off the attackers that were not there.

"It's alright," Njord said. Holding the frightened, screaming Elf, close to her, hugging him, rocking, trying to sooth him, calm him "There's no more water. You're on land now. It's alright. You're not drowning. You can breath. Calm down. Breath. It's alright. You poor thing." 



~o0o~





Njord was sitting in a chair beside the king's empty throne, when he heard footsteps entering the room. She turned to see her brother, Ralik aka Lord Headbanger, advisor to King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes.

"Njord!"

"Headbanger! What are you doing here?"

"I heard my baby sister was advisor to some king now. Had to come see for myself."

"Yes. The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, King Gwallmaiic, King of the Faeries, The Lich King of Fire Mountain. yes. But how did you find us?"

"Well, that's the thing of it, isn't it. I don't know. I just woke up this morning and here I was at Fire Mountain."

"Quaraun is here."

"Who?"

"The Pink Necromancer. Strange things happen around him. He has a chaotic area. Attracts chaos energy to him. I don't think he knows he does it either. That's him over there. He's been asleep for hours. Poor dear. Had himself a fright when he arrived. Damned near scared himself out of his mind. Seems he's scared of being alone in the dark, and Master thought it funny to push him into a deep, dark, hole. Poor dear. Screamed himself into a conniption. So terribly exhausted. He feel asleep soon as he laid down. Master set me to guard him. Watch him. Protect him. Come. Pull up a chair. We will talk of old times while the necromancer sleeps."

Quaraun was not asleep. Quaraun, was an Elf. And Elves did not need to sleep. Elves had the ability to put themselves into a sleep-like meditative state, which afforded them far more rest, than sleep did, and as it was rest and not sleep that Quaraun was in need of, this is what he had done.

And so, though Quaraun appeared to be in a deep sleep, he was actually fully awake and hearing everything that was going on around him. And Quaraun was puzzled, for as far as he knew, dragons were very rare. So rare that the dragon of Fire Mountain was said to be the last dragon on Earth. And yet, here was her brother? This was of interest to Quaraun, as, he knew something was wrong with this place, and it's people. 

Quaraun was uncertain if he trusted Njord, even if BoomFuzzy trusted her. BoomFuzzy was not know for having good judgment of the character of others. After all, BoomFuzzy had trusted Gibedon and Finderu, had he not? And had they not nearly taken his throne from right under his nose, because of that trust?

And so Quaraun paid careful attention to the conversation of Njord and Ralik. And he learned much, though he wasn't certain how useful it was.

Ralik, like Njord, was a dragon. Ralik knew many things about the land around him, including that he had spent his entire life wandering the lands with his uncle and grandmothers, who were also dragons. And yet here he was, in the heart of a cursed castle at the mercy of his uncle, being taken to see the king’s advisor for who knew what reason, all because he could see the future. 

So, Ralik could see the future. 

Handy skill. 

Quaraun wondered if this meant Ralik was born with this skill or was he a mage? 

Quaraun felt certain there was a mage to the root of the strange happenings of this week, but who he did not know.

Ralik seemed an alright sort, if a little eccentric, though he didn’t look so eccentric when Quaraun caught sight of him as he followed one of the guards back into the throne room. As soon as Njord entered and saw the man, she gasped. It was only after the guard pulled him away from where he’d fallen against the wall behind him that he remembered to breathe. The king’s advisor looked over at him. 

Her eyes were a deep green. Like two pools of emeralds, the colour of the forest after rain. When he smiled, it lit up the entire room. 

“Welcome to the court,” he said. “I am Ralik, adviser to King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes.” 

Quaraun stood there staring, and Ralik laughed. The sound filled the air around them. 

“Well?” he asked. 

"That's not right," Quaraun said.

"What's not right?"

"Where am I?"

"You are in the throne room of King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes."

"No, I'm not. I'm in the throne room of The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, King Gwallmaiic, King of the Faeries, The Lich King of Fire Mountain, BoomFuzzy the candy maker and master chef. You were talking to Njord. I was watching you and, everything shifted and change. There is strange magic here. You are trying to confuse me. There is something here you don't want me to see."

Ralik blinked at him, a slight frown on his face. His eyes sparkled. It reminded Quaraun of the gems in his mother’s jewellery box; diamonds and garnets glittered and shimmered in the light.

"How can we know your intentions if you keep telling us that?"

Quaraun shrugged. "My intentions are none of your business. My purpose is different. I do not know what mine is."

Ralik frowned deeper, and Quaraun found himself wanting to run. He hated seeing others upset, especially with such good looks. He had no doubt Ralik would be a very handsome man in years past. Even now, though, his features were still boyish, and he had a baby face that gave him the appearance of innocence. But now the lines had grown deep, and his eyes were sharp and knowing, though he kept them warm, friendly, and patient.

Quaraun wanted to hide. Not only did he feel uncomfortable standing before a royal personage, even if the personage was not the most frightening, but he also didn't feel safe. No doubt it was because this was a place built for royalty, but even so, the throne room was dark and cold.

“I am afraid you’ll just have to wait until Njord returns.



~o0o~



"What brings you here to me?" the king asked the man, whom had entered his dining hall. "Is there an attack? Is there a new Dark Brotherhood risen up to lay seize to my kingdom? Fowl mages are always organizing you know. An invasion form another king? Bloody bastards, always plotting against me. Have they finally gotten tired of warfare? Come to their sense? Come to beg for mercy? Come to surrender? Or has something else come to disturb my piece? Speak, man, to what do I own this unexpected visit?"

"Are you King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes?"

"I am."

"I am here to deliver to you a letter from The Pink Necromancer, Quaraun, to King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes."

"The Pink Necromancer? Quaraun? Not Quaraun the Insane?"

"The same."

King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes, sat at his table, eating dinner and drinking wine. He grunted angrily, put down his glass, and wiped his mouth before answer the messenger.

"I do not receive letters from Quaraun."

"..... "

The man stepped forward, handed the king the letter, and when King Raleigh Macias Belladonna Jackal-seeker of the Duchy of the Nine Necromancers in the Realm of the Thirty Coward Volcanoes stretched forth his hand to take the letter, the messenger pulled a ruby encrusted black obsidian dagger from his belt, and with one quick motion stabbed the king straight through the heart. The enchanted dagger gliding through the king's armour like it was butter and locating his heart without any need to aim. 

A trickle of blood ran from the hole in the king's armour. The man pulled out the blade and threw it across the room, Quaraun caught it in his hand, the dagger going straight to his hand like a magnet.

The king coughed violently as Quaraun glided across the room, hovering in the air, propelled by his jellyfish tentacle hair.

"Thank you, Njord," Quaraun said to the messenger. "You've become quick useful."

"With pleasure, My Lord."

Quaraun knelt before the dying king.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Quaraun the Insane."

"Oh yes. How delightful. I hate having to introduce myself to people who don't know me. Now. Down to business. Do you know why I am here?"

"No, and I can't see how it matters, as I am dying. I'll be dead before you can get any information from me."

"Oh contrare! I am the world's most powerful wizard, true Leader of the Lich Lords, as I command King Gwallmaiic. I am The Pink Necromancer, the ONLY necromancer to master full control over life and death. Which means, you can't die until I say you can, and I can keep you alive for years, decades, centuries even. Alive and in pain. Alive and in agony. Suffering, bleeding, in status forever, with a hole in your heart, and your body never dying, ever bleeding, continually filling ever so many bottles of blood to feed to my undead army."

"Like I said, you're insane."

"Perhaps, but I have the upper hand, don't I?"

"You bastard, what do you want?"

"You tried to kill King Gwallmaiic. I want to know why."

"That monster, murders millions of innocents every years."

"That monster is my lover, and I'll hear no one speak ill of him."

The king coughed violently and fell back in the chair he was sitting in.

"Having trouble breathing? Blood filling your lungs? Let's capture this moment forever, shall we?" Quaraun stood up and snapped his fingers. "Freeze the chair."

"King Gwallmaiic appeared, in his true Lich form. The ghostly blue crystal skeleton, dressed in grey rages and iron chains, hovering in the air beside Quaraun. 

The dying king began to scream in horror at the sight of the Lich's ghastly rotten corpse. 

One touch from the Lich's bone finger froze the king's chair solid, not into ice, but into strange blue crystal, the crystal growing quickly, encasing the king making him part of the grotesque chair that was now a part of his body.

"You see?" Quaraun said as he floating closer to the king and came down to hover beside him. I control the Lich and I love the Lich and the Lich will do anything I tell him too, and now I have his dragon too. Both in my command. And you got in my way. I have devoted my life to restoring my lover back into a living flesh body and you tried to destroy his corpse so that I couldn't do that. I'm not happy about this. Not at all. And if you are to save your soul, you need to explain to me why you did it, in a reason that is both truthful and acceptable. Otherwise, you go into a bottle in my pocket with everyone else, and you live forever, trapped in a bottle, attacked to this chair, bleeding for eternity in the Hell I created for you as punishment for your crimes against BoomFuzzy."

















~o0o~







Quaraun headed off to Daemeon's Court to speak to Kai the court mage. Where Quaraun presented his concerns. Dr. Daemeon Emperor of Planet Ptarmagin was a large and menacing figure. A bird, twelve feet tall. An arrogant partridge who seemed to have a lot of power, but little concern for things he doesn't directly control.

























~o0o~





Doomed City. A place of darkness. Where the dead lurk. Where no living can live. This is the land where the people who killed Quaraun's wife and child are now ruling. Where they are holding his son hostage. 

His son, who he knows will never get to see the outside world again. His son, who will never grow up and find love and happiness. Who will never be able to make a difference as a person because he will be dead. He will never see what the sun looks like through a window, or feel the wind against his face, or hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Because of this, his life won't matter. And if that means losing his son forever, then so be it.

His family, the only friends he ever had before his death, have turned him into their weapon. A murderer. He doesn't know when he started believing it all. When he started thinking that he really was some kind of deity, someone better than everyone else, someone more worthy of respect. But there isn't much time for such thoughts right now. 

They're currently inside an abandoned building. A large building filled with old furniture and dusty paintings, which seem like they are about to fall to pieces at any moment. As soon as he gets his son back, he'



~o0o~



It’s an unusually cold night and his hands are shaking as he lit the lamp in the corner of the room.

The lamp was just the beginning though, and soon he had lighted the fireplace, put on some logs and placed it with some kindling from the pile by the stove. He watched as they blazed to life. The wood has been dried for so long that the flames were slow, flickering, and when he tried to ignite them with a spark, his fingers refused to obey him. So instead, he pulled out two books he found on his shelf, one containing ancient languages, the other more recent ones. In each book, there were illustrations. Some of the pictures depicted people who wore animal masks that resemble faces, others are animals and men. He could not help but think how ridiculous it is that such a simple yet beautiful design could exist in such a dangerous world where death and destruction seemed to be a constant presence around them all. The images were abstract and not too detailed, but he liked them nonetheless.

He put the books down beside the fire to read in the dark, but before he did, he turned off the light. If he falls asleep while reading he might wake up with nightmares about what he's done or hasn't done and he didn't want any of that. After getting ready for bed, he sat on his bed.






~o0o~



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~o0o~


"I hate this!" Quaraun screamed stamping his foot. "I wish there was someone here who knew how to get us out of this mess."

"Will you stop wishing for things!" BoomFuzzy yelled. "It always causes trouble. You know that."

No sooner had he said this than a loud explosion rang through the volcano.

"Is the volcano erupting?" Quaraun asked, sounding terrified.

"Oh no," Njord answered."This volcano has been extinct for thousands of years. It won't erupt, it can't because..."

Her words were interrupted by a scream, a THUD and a cry.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Ow! Damn it! Now where am I?"

A man, half-Elf and half-sheep, with bright yellow eyes and golden frizzy, not-quite dreadlocks woolly hair, dressed in an extra-long, and extremely full skirted long green velvet kashimiri coat, over orange chiffon gota embroidery lelenga robes, decorated with yellow sun and pink jellyfish embroidery. He lay on the ground, his hands over his face, wailing in pain.

"Hello," BoomFuzzy said to the newcomer, whom had just fallen through BoomFuzzy and was laying sprawled out at his feet.

"I," the golden fleeced stranger started to answer, but was interrupted by a whooshing sound falling from the sky. "MOVE!"

The strange suddenly bounced to his gold-painted cloven hoof feet and hopped away, just as a bright orange tangerine fizz metal-flake 1974 AMC Gremlin came crashing down on top of BoomFuzzy.

"Well," said BoomFuzzy. "I guess it a good t'ing I is all ready dead. I feel quite certain dat would have killed me."

"You're incorporeal," the stranger said, as he sat down on the ground and tried to figure out where he was. "Why are you incorporeal?"

"Oh, maybe you hadn't noticed. I'm dead."

"Your always dead. Why are you a ghost?"

"Does ya suggest I'm usually not?"

"Wait, something's not right. You don't know who I am do you?"

"Should I?"

"What year is it?"

"I does no keep track of years."

"Could you... uhm... move?"

"Eh?"

"You're standing in the middle of my car. It's kind of freaking me out."

"Ah. Good point."

BoomFuzzy stepped out of the car.

"Yis a nervously lil Elf, eh?"

"I'm not an Elf."

"Ya look like a Sun Elf."

"Yes. I'm a half-Elf. The other half of me's a sheep."

"A sheep?"

"Are your pupils supposed to look like that?" Quaraun asked,  focused on the stranger's yellow eyes.

"Like what?"

"Your pupils aren't round."

"I know."

"You have eyes like a llama."

"Sheep."

"Sheep?"

"I'm a sheep. I have the eyes of a sheep."

"Not like a llama?"

"No! I am most certainly not a llama. I am a sheep."

"Does it make a difference?"

"It certainly does."

"Why? Aren't sheep and llama both similar?"

"No! We are nothing alike!"

"We?"

"I'm not a llama."

"I didn't suggest you were. Though you do smell like one."

"I . . . what?"

"You smell like a bale of hay," Quaraun said.

BoomFuzzy laughed. "You do smell like a barn," he agreed with Quaraun. "Not that I'm complaining, considering I'm a horse."

"You both just say the first thing that pops into your heads, don't you?"

"I do," Quaraun agreed. "Yes. Should I not do that?"

"It's rude."

"Saying you smell like hay is rude?"

"Yes."

"But you do smell like hay. And you said you were a sheep."

"I . . ." the stranger started to retort something angrily, but stopped and calmed his tone. "I'm Gremlin. Used to be a scientist, before that I was a mage, and before that I worked at Rapid Ray's Lunch Van. And both of you should already know that. I'm retired now, and now I'm a shepherd. I live on a sheep farm, behind the Manor. Roderic gave me Luke's farm after Luke died. I live there with SunTa. We look after Antares, he is... well, he's many thousands of years old now, and life has been hard for him. Death has been more so. And neither of you know any of this, is that correct? Neither of you know who I am?"

"No, we don't," Quaraun said, then looked to BoomFuzzy. "Do we?"

"One can live on a sheep farm without smelling like de musty, musky sheep," BoomFuzzy said. "Ya smells like ya sleep in the barn with de sheep."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Ya do?"

"Yes."

"Ya sleep in the barn with de sheep?"

"Yes."

"Ya crazy as he is." BoomFuzzy gestured towards Quaraun.

"Yes. Living with the two of you for the past few hundreds years did that to me. I was normal before I started living with you two."

Quaraun looked very puzzled and asked: "When did you live with us?"

"Apparently in my past and your future. Near as I can tell, we haven't met yet."

Quaraun fell silent for a moment, then asked: "Are you alright? You screamed like you were in pain."

"Yes. I. . . uhm," he hesitated and stared up at the sky. They were under the mouth of the volcano, surrounded by tall lava cliffs and only a very narrow opening at the top. Then looked back at Quaraun. "I fell."

"Into a volcano? Did you trip over the edge?"

"Yes," Gremlin snarled sarcastically. "I like playing at being a Big Horned Sheep with the fucking brains f a retarded bill goat and just run around all day climbing up enchanted mythical mountains and tripping over boulder."

"Oh. You shouldn't so close to the edge."

"I t'ink him were being a wee bit sarcastic, Quaraun," BoomFuzzy pointed out.

Quaraun thought for a moment. "OH! Yes. Sarcasm. I keep forgetting that's a thing people do. I'm not good at sarcasm you know?"

"I know. I was waxing my car..."

"Car?"

"THAT!" Gremlin pointed to the 1974 AMC Gremlin beside him. "And a portal opened up and sucked me and my car in it and we landed here and I don't know why. I shut down the portals decades ago. They are too dangerous. It should have not have been possible for a portal to open up under me. But it did and here I am and I don't know why."

"Well, whatever it was. You took a long fall. Are you okay?"

"I'm dizzy. I hit my head. I have a headache. I landed rump down on my back with my tail backwards. My tail hurts." 

"Do you have a tail?"

"Of course I have a tail. I'm a sheep."

"Do you need help up?"

"No. I think I should sit here and rest for a while."

"Are you okay?"

"I think I broke my tailbones. I shouldn't walk for a while."

"If you can't walk, then you are not okay."

"I will be fine."

"We should put some camphor on it. I have some."

Before the stranger could object, Quaraun knelt beside him, flipped up his robes, and was about to turn him over to tend to his injury, but did not get that far.

"You have no manners!" Gremlin screamed, while pushing Quaraun away.

"You have no feet!" Quaraun exclaimed, when he noticed the golden cloven hooves.

"No. I do not have feet. I'm a cloven footed ghoul spawn of Hell."

"You're a devil from Hell," BoomFuzzy said. "What are you doing in our dimension?

"You're a goat!" Quaraun said.

"I'm not a devil. Yes, I am from Hell. I was born in the Hell Dimension. I'm not from this dimension. And I hate Hell. I born there and I have no intention of going back there. And I am not a goat! I am a sheep. How many times do I have to say it!"

"You really are a sheep?"

"Yes."

"I didn't think you meant it literally."

"I'm a sheep. Cotswold."

"Are you a Demon?"

"Not exactly. Well, yes, I am what Humans classify as a Demon. Though Humans call any creature originating from Hell a Demon."

"You're a Demon from Hell!" Quaraun was now bubbling giddy with excitement. "I've never met a Demon from Hell before!"

"Well don't sound so excited. If a Human hears you getting all goody goody gumdrop excited over meeting a Demon from Hell, they'd shoot you!"

"So you're a Satyr?"

"No. I'm NOT a goat. I'm a sheep."

"Than what species are you if not a Satyr?"

"Ursiug."

"What?"

"Ursiug."

"What is that?"

"An Ursiug is what you would call a half-man, half-sheep."

"Excepting yis half-Elf," BoomFuzzy pointed out. "Is ya not?" 

"Yes.  father was a Sun Elf who passes himself off as a Moon Elf, and raped a sheep girl he met one day. She was my mother. And just like my mother, I have long soft, fluffy, luxuriantly, lush Cotswold sheep's fleece growing from my legs, not short, dry, rough, scratchy, bristly goat's hair."

"Your golden fleece is beautiful, it matches your lovely golden hair. If you're a sheep, then you're a ram?"

"What?"

"A male sheep is a ram."

"I suppose."

"Rams have horns."

"Yes."

"Have you got horns on your head?"

"Somewhere, under my hair. I keep them filed down. I'd look  like a Big Horn Sheep is I didn't. And than I wouldn't blend in with Human crowds. And Humans do behave rather badly to discovering someone with horns, tail, and cloven hoofs. It's bad enough I have to wear long skirts to hide my legs, that alone makes me stands out. But it's worse when they see mu legs. It's pitiful. I have beautiful, but I have to hide it because Humans are so damned prejudice."

"You've a lot a hair," Quaraun said as he petted Gremlin on the head.

"Not as much as you."

"No. No one has hair like mine. Yours is almost dreadlocs. Like BoomFuzzy's"

"BoomFuzzy? BoomFuzzy?" Gremlin gave a questioning glance to the Phooka. "Are you BoomFuzzy?"

"Aye."

"Oh dear. I've gone back very far in time. You ere no longer calling yourself BoomFuzzy when I met you. You hadn't few several hundred years. What year is it?"

"Don't know," Quaraun said, as he pulled out his silver brush and began to brush Gremlin's hair.

"What are you doing to me?"

"Your hair is so soft. It feels like fluffy bunny fluff."

"Yes. It's Cotswold wool. Softest wool of any sheep. But I'm a stranger to you, you just suddenly decide to start brushing my hair?"

"It's almost as long as BoomFuzzy's."

"It is. It didn't used to be. I grew it out long like BoomFuzzy's because you asked me to."

"Did I?"

"Yes. You did. I sometimes think you are trying to make me be BoomFuzzy."

"You're hair is so beautiful."

"Well, I guess it's nice to learn that you in the past is just rude as you in the future and and had your hair fetish before you meet me."

"You don't brush your hair do you?"

"No. Wool is as difficult to brush your tentacles are. My locks knot up after only a few hours of not being brushed. And you... your hands."

"What of my hands?"

"In the future, you've not got your gold finger plates anymore. Evil men stolen them from you. Gold is very valuable in the future. It's been many years since you last brushed my hair."

Quaraun sat silent for a few minutes.

"I like dreadlocs," Quaraun stated for no reason whatsoever.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Oh yes. I know you quite well."

"And your strange golden eyes are like a pleco, not a llama."

"A pleco? I'm a sheep, not a catfish or a llama."

"Pity. I like sea creatures."

"Because you are one?"

"Am I?"

"You're a female Medusa JellyFish masquerading to be a male Elf."

"How does the little Satyr know that?"

"Ursiug."

"That word again."

"I'm an Ursiug, not a Satyr. Satyrs are goats. Ursiugs are sheep. I'm not a Satyr, I'm an Ursiug. I'm not a goat. I'm a sheep."

"Ah! Well, in any case, you've lovely golden hooves. I feel like I know you."

"You do in the future."

"No. I feel like I knew you a long time ago. You remind me of ZooLock."

"ZooLock? There's a name I've not heard in years."

"Do you know him?"

"You could say that."

"Is he the future with us as well?"

"ZooLock? Oh... yes. ZooLock is in my future."

"You've eyes just like his. ZooLock had such lovely golden pleco eyes. He taught me magic."

"I know. He raised you."

"I miss ZooLock."

Quaraun stopped brushing Gremlin's hair and rans his gold plated fingers down the orange and yellow Thullid silk, embroidered with pink jellyfish.

"Are you a Di'Jinn?" Quaraun asked. "These are the robes of a Di'Jinn priest."

"Yes. I am. I'm a Di'Jinn priest."

"The same order as ZooLock."

"Yes. The same order as ZooLock."

"ZooLock word this same outfit, minus the green velvet overcoat."

"Yes. I recall. I there someplace I can rest. My back hurts quite a lot. ink I may have hurt my spine when I landed."

"I've a bed in the throne room," BoomFuzzy said. "Quaraun's been sleeping in it. You can rest there. I'd help ya up, but. I'm dead. Incorporeal. My hand would just go right through ya."

Yes, I... I noticed. How that happen to you?"

"I died. Now I'm a Lich."

"I know, you're a Lich in my time as well, but... you're not incorporeal."

"Ain't I?"

"No. I've seen you like this before."

"Do you suggest," Quaraun asked. "That in your future, he has a body?"

"Oh yes. Very much so." 

"Did I find a way to restore him to a flesh body?"

"You did."

"How?"

"I don't know. You'd already done it before I met the two of you. I need to figure out, how I got here, and how to get back home to my time, because I shouldn't be here."

"Oh, yes, we shouldn't be here either."

"No? What do you mean?"

"We seem to be trapped in a bottle."

"A bottle?"

"Yeah. Not just us, but the entire mountain, the valley below it and The Twighlight Manor."

"The Twighlight Manor is here as well?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was built after... how... uhm... oh dear... do you know about Ongadada?"

"No? What is it?"

"Strange. When was the first time you ever saw The Twighlight Manor?"

"I woke up in it, after The Hanging Tree."

"Did you? Well, now I'm confused. Didn't BoomFuzzy take you to the gingerbread house after The Hanging Tree?"

"He did. The Twighlight Manor IS the gingerbread house. It's a mimic. A big one. She changes form to blend in with her surroundings."

"Ah! I see. So Ongadada doesn't cause The Twighlight Manor to be built, but somehow... were is the Manor? Can I see it?"

"It's outside of the mountain."

"Gremlin?" BoomFuzzy asked, sound very grave and serious. 

"Yes?"

"Ya said yis was a mage."

"Yes. I am."

"What kind of mage are ya?"

"I'm a sorcerer. I deal primarily in Chaos Magic, but I'm also a scientist. And a Portal Master. And a Beast Lord. Why?"

"I t'inks I might know how ya got here."

"Do you?"

"Aye. Just before ya fell out of de sky on me, Quaraun were having himself a mental breakdown, and inadvertently started a sentence with the words 'I wish'."

"Oh? What did he wish for?"

"Him wished dair were someone here who knew how to get us out of dis mess. Dis mess being de bottle we and the mountain is locked in. Do ya know how to do stuff like dat?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I am familiar with bottle genie magic...and...well there's my coat."

"Ya coat?"

"Yeah. My coat."

Gremlin stood up, pulled a wand out of his pocket, walked over to the 1974 AMC Gremlin, tapped it with his wand and immediately the car shrunk to the size of a mouse. Gremlin picked up the car, opened up his coat, revealing that the inside of the coat was lined with hundreds of pockets. He placed the car in one of the pockets.

"I made this coat, essentially using the same concept as genie bottles. The pockets are bigger on the inside, and well, I CAN shrink entire towns and put them in my pocket. If we truly are trapped in a bottle, than that likely means we've all been shrunk to miniature, by a mage who is also a Di'Jinn. I suppose there is some irony in that. A wish granting Di'Jinn like Quaraun, getting corked in a genie bottle."

 





~o0o~



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~o0o~


"Quaraun and Gremlin were sitting at the table, Quaraun reading his books and Gremlin writing down scientific and mathematical equations that Quaraun did not understand. Quaraun stopped reading and sat watching Gremlin scribbling his notes.

"Can you get us out of here?" Quaraun asked.

"I think so," Gremlin answered not looking up from his work. "I have to figure out what year this is and where the nearest portal is, and how to get the entire of Pepper Valley through it along worth the rest of us."

"Can you get the valley out as well?"

"Oh yes."

"It's not too big?"

"No. Anything that can be got into a bottle can be got back out again. I just have to figure out the correct formulae. Believe it or not, I've gotten bigger things than Pepper Valley out of smaller things than this bottle. I moved the VISION-d8 through a wormhole once. You wouldn't understand. It's an intergalactic star-ship, and it's a lot bigger than the valley or the volcano. It's bigger than most planets."

"You said I brought BoomFuzzy back. Into a solid body."

Gremlin paused from his writing and looked over the top of his glasses at Quaraun without lifting his head up.

"Yes. You did," Gremlin answered.

"Do you know how I did it?"

Gremlin put his quill down. Pushed his glasses back up on his nose and sat back, now staring squarely at Quaraun.

"No. Not exactly. You did it before I met you two."

"Oh. Do you know, anything about it at all?"

"Not much. You were always vague about it. From what I understand, you cast a golem spell."

"Golem?"

"Yeah. Kind of a Tulpa thing I think."

"Tulpa. Golem and Tulpa. Yes. I never thought of that. That could work."

"You said something about make a snowman, a unicorn carved out of ice packed snow. And soaked it in the blood of sacrificed dragon."

"A dragon?"

"Yeah. Something about, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, life for a life, love for a love."

"Love."

"You said the thing you had missed in the first spell, was a willing sacrifice, someone who loved BoomFuzzy as much as you and was willing to lose their soul to save his from Hell." 

"Oh my."

"What is it?"

"I know what I have to do, but I don't want to do it. But I must do it."

"In my experience, you're prone to doing a lot of things you don't want to do. People call you a coward, but you're a lot braver than any one I know. You care about others and go to extremes to save your loved ones. A lot of supposedly brave men, would turn tail and run, when you stand and fight." 

"I have to save BoomFuzzy."

"I know, Quaraun."

"He doesn't deserve this."

"A lot of people would disagree with that. He did a lot bad things, Quaraun."

"He's changed."

"Perhaps."

"Do you doubt it?"

"I've seen him... do things, Quaraun. In my time. Things that land YOU in a lot of trouble. And more than once he's tried to kill me."

"In the future."

"Yes."

"The future can be change."

"It can. But BoomFuzzy... his personality... that's not a thing that can be changed in any man, Quaraun. People never change much from who they are."

"I love him."

"I know you do. I don't question that, Quaraun. Your love for him defies logic I can't even comprehend." 

"You think I should not love him?"

"I think he doesn't deserve you love, nor does he appreciate it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Quaraun, he's a violent man with a bad temper. He drinks excessively and used way too many drugs. He beats the shit out of you on a near daily basis. He's abusive, he's vulgar, he's a pervert, and a serial rapist. He murders innocent women and children for the fun of watching the pain and suffering of others."

"Those are things he did in the past. He does not do them any more."

"No. Quaraun. He can't do them any more, because he no longer has a physical body. If you restore him back to a physical body, he's going to go right back to doing those things. I know, he will, Quaraun, because that is what he does in my time. He's not a good person. He's a very bad man. He hasn't changed. He won't change. And he's going to hurt you. A lot." 

"He's never hurt me."

"Perhaps he hasn't yet. But he does in your future. In my past. I've seen it."

"He's kind to me."

"He is. That's true. But he's a manipulative sociopath. Hes good at getting what he wants from people, than turning around and back stabbing them. He's charming and people always like him at first, but then they get to know him, and he's just not a good person, Quaraun."

"You don't like his, do you?"

"No. I do like him. That's why it's hard for me to see what becomes of him... and you."

"What happens to us?"

"The Guild, you know how they're always after you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, they go away after a while. The group doesn't exist any more. But than, another group rises up. A Phooka, with a government job. He gets in a position of a lot of control and political power and he builds a hospital prison. White Rock. White Rock Asylum For The Criminally Insane. You both end up in there. Prisoners. The were after BoomFuzzy at first, not you. But, you tried to get him out and they... they didn't know what you were. They end up finding out about the jellyfish in your head and try to remove it. They thought it was a parasite, and didn't realize it actually was you. A lot bad things happen and you... you don't recover well." 

"I am injured?"

"Yes. And you no longer have the gold finger plates."

"I can't use my hands without them."

"I know. That's why they took them away."

"They want me to be helpless?"

"Yes. I don't know what they did with them. I've searched for them many times. I think they must have destroyed them. Melted them down or something. I tried to make you new ones, but they did this to me when I did..."

Gremlin held out his arm, pulling back his sleeve. A silver coloured metal band was around his wrist. At the centre of it was a bar that went through his wrist, piercing the bone and going out the other side.

"It limits what I can do. Makes it difficult for me to write or do intricate work with my fingers. I've learned to work around it. But it's made of Electromagnetic Faerie Iron, it also limits my ability to use magic, it over all makes me ill. I am an extremely powerful sorcerer, so I can fight through it and still cast magic and build portals, but most mages, this not only blocks their use of magic, some it makes them so sick they die just from wearing it. They put them on you and BoomFuzzy too. BoomFuzzy has them on his wrists and his ankles, and shackled on his neck and arms and legs and chest, and chains, all made of it, and still it barely has effect on him. His powers are unfathomable."

"I have these in your time," Quaraun said as he touched the bands that pierced Grelim's wrists.

"Yes."

"I feel I would hate this."

"You do. You fought back. They... you... I don't think you can do it yet. You have a power and ability, in my time, something you only do when you are cornered and terrified, something I don't think you back here in this time can do yet."

"What do I do?" 

"You're mute in my time. Your tongue's been cut out."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there when it happened. BoomFuzzy wasn't either. You fell through a portal. We tried to find you. And when we did. That had been done to you and we don't know what happened. But after that, you developed a strange power. Sort of a psychic scream. You can kill millions of people for miles around you, by doing it. You killed twenty billion people doing it. All the people on all three of the inhabited planets. All at the same time. I don't know how you do it. But it scares people. A lot. And they put... well, not just these bands. They put other things on you because of it."

"Other things? Like the wrist bands, but not them?"

"Yes. A mask. A muzzle. It keeps your face covered, and your jaw pried open so you can't close your mouth, so you can't scream and kill people with your scream and... and ... so you can't bite any one either."

"Why would I bite any one?"

"You're a Thullid Mother Brain."

"I am. But that does not answer my question. Why would I bite any one?"

"In my time, you are pregnant."

"Pregnant? How could I be pregnant?" 

"You carry a clutch of seven million larvae."

"No. I carry a clutch of seven million eggs. They will never hatch. They can't. I am the last of my kind. There is no male to fertilize my eggs. They are not larvae. They never will be. My eggs are dead. There is no life in them." 

"No. In my time, you are pregnant. You carry a clutch of seven million larvae. And you implant them in people by biting them. The Humans and the Faeries are scared of you. The whole solar system is terrified of you. You're the most feared being of all time. In all the known inhabited universe. They think you are the Anti-Christ. They say you are ushering in Armageddon, but building Satan's army of seven million Demons."

"Do I turn people into Thullids in your time?"

"You do."

"Buy how is that possible?"

"Why would it not be?"

"I told you. I am the last JellyFish. There are no others. It is true I do carry a clutch of eggs inside me. But they are not fertilized. They will hatch. I will never implant them. There are no male JellyFish, nor any other females. I am the last."

"No. There is another Jelly Thullid. And you will meet him one day."

"You say the future can be changed, yes?"

"Yes."

"And that my being hurt in the future is because people are scared of a Thullid take over, yes?"

"That is correct."

"Than is it not true that if I never meet the male Jelly Thullid, and I therefore never get pregnant, than I never become seen as a threat, and these events as you know them, will never happen. Yes?"

"In theory, yes."

"You doubt it could be changed?"

"I've gone back in time and changed those events, already, and the things that happened instead were worse, so I went back and unchanged the changes I made."

"Worse?"

"Much worse."

"Worse how?"

"In the future, you remarry. You have a wife, who love very much. And she gives birth to children, you love so deeply. And in order to stop the events that lead to you being crippled, you have to never meet her. You never marry her, your children are never born, and... one of your sons, goes on to be a very important doctor. He invents a cure to an illness, that changes the world. It saves the lives on millions of people. Changing the events to prevent you from becoming crippled, causes him to never be born and billions of people die without his invention. He needs to be born. I've gone back in time so many times to prevent what happened to you while allowing him to be born and, as of yet I've not found a way to make both things happen. And I finally, asked you, what you wanted, and you love your son, so very much, you said you would rather live the rest of your life crippled, than see him never born. So it was at your request, I stopped trying to save you from that fate."

"Why do you takes orders from me?"

"In my time?"

"Yes."

"Because I love you. I love you and BoomFuzzy both."

"I get the impression, I mean quite a lot to you."

"You do."

"Are we lovers in your time? You and me?"

"We are."

"Are you a Thullid?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You have Pleco eyes. You're a half-Elf and half-Demon. Neither would give you Pleco eyes. Pleco eyes come over time. From being a very old Thullid. And you know things about Thullid, that I don't think any one not a Thullid would ever think of."

"I am a Thullid. This is true. I wasn't a Thullid when I met you."

"No?"

"No. HellBorne did that to me."

The name of HellBorne caught BoomFuzzy's attention. Until this point, BoomFuzzy had sat silently listening to their conversation, but now he spoke up.

"HellBorne?" BoomFuzzy asked. "HellBorne the Evil, Chaos Dawn-reaper the Cult-killer, Son of the Darkness, Master of the Black Tower,  HellBorne Summoner of Darkness who will be the next Great Lich Lord. That HellBorne?

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"We met him a few days ago. He uses a mirror to communicate with us. He's the one who put us in this bottle."

"HellBorne did this?"

"Aye. said as much."

Gremlin's expression grew very grave and deeply concerned.

Seeing Gremlin lost in deeply concerned thought, Quaraun spoke up once again.

"Is HellBorne a Thullid?"

"Yes. He is. Also, he's from the future. I don't know how he got back here. And he's obsessed with you. Defeating you. Killing you. Taking your powers."

"Me?"

"Yeah. He called you The Darkness. And he calls himself The Summoner of Darkness because he summons you to other realms, somehow. I'm not sure how exactly he does it. Blood magic I think."

"Blood magic?"

"Yeah. He is... he is ... uhm... He's angry."

"At me?"

"His father... He... he blames his father... for... uhm... a lot of things. He's just, really angry. At every one. But mostly you. Yeah." 

"Why me?"

"You didn't love him? That's what he said. He said you didn't love him. He wanted you to love him. I think when he was younger he looked up to you. Idolized you. Wanted to be just like you. And, than one day, he grew up and realized you didn't care about him. I'm.... uhm... I'm not sure you even knew about him before he showed up one day mad at you. I don't think you ever even knew he'd been born."

"Should I have?"

"I think so. Yeah. I think... I think you have a lot of children, you don't know about. Mothers who where prostitutes so they didn't know who the father's were. So, you just never knew."

"Is HellBorne my son?"

"I think so. Yeah. Or at least he believes he is. His mother probably told him, he was. I don't know there's a way to find out. He died before things like DNA testing are invented."

"DNA?"

"Uhm... science from the future. You wouldn't understand. Basically it's a way to, look at a drop of blood and tell who your father is."

"Is it accurate?"

"Oh, yes. It's very accurate."

"You have strange magic in your time."

"It's not magic. It's science. I know it may seem like magic to you but, it's not."

"It sounds like magic."

"Perhaps that's because of how I explained it. It's medical science. It's very advanced. And there's a lot more to it than what I explained. I don't know how else to explain it in a way that you'd understand."

"Do you suggest I am stupid?"

"Oh no! No, that's not what I meant. I'm not good with words. No. You're... you're very intelligent. It's just you live in a time, when so many things, discovers, inventions, breakthroughs, they haven't happened yet. I mean, simple every day things, that every body has and uses, cell phones, electricity, jet planes, vaccinations, elevators, plumbing, kitchen sinks, TVs toilets, cars..."

"You have a car. It is a strange thing."

"Yes. You'd think it stranger if you saw it in use and knew how it was used. But there are no roads and no gas stations back in in, what year is it?"

Quaraun shrugged.

"BoomFuzzy doesn't have his body yet," Gremlin continued. "It must be the 1200s then? How long ago did BoomFuzzy die?"

"Two hundred years. Next week."

"Two hundred years." Gremlin looked horrified. "Oh my! We're further back than I thought. It's not even ten hundred yet. It's about 975 A.D. Oh! Oh my! Than it's not been very long ago, since you killed your children, is it?"

"No," Quaraun said quietly, shaking his head and lowering his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I loved my children."

"I know you did."

"I thought it would bring BoomFuzzy back. And it did but... he has no body. He can not touch me. I can not touch him."

"You said HellBorne was here," Gremlin said, changing the subject when he saw how upset Quaraun was becoming.

"Yes."

"And he communicates to you through a mirror?"

"Yes."

"Have you physically seen him here, or just a projection of him?"

"I'm not sure. Is that important?"

"It might be. I lived with him once, and he had a mirror. He used to stand in front of it for hours talking to it. I never paid attention to it. I thought he was just vain. But I'm wondering now,, if it was some kind of communication device, that let him talk to people in other time periods without him actually being there."

Gremlin stopped talking and stared off into the distance, lost in deep thought.

"HellBorne implanted me to punish you," Gremlin said after a few moments. "It is how I became a Thullid. I was a young boy. Little more than a child. An orphan, you took in and took care of me and loved me like a son, even though I was a half-Elf. HellBorne found out and was furious. Jealous. Enraged. He wanted vengeance. So he kidnapped me and you had to rescue me and, when you got there he implanted me. The boy I was died and because the Thullid I am today. HellBorne is a Ratzin, which means he's from my time, because the Ratzin species did not exist back here in your time. It's a new hybrid, type of Thullid that was created by White Rock's scientists. They are Jelly Thullid's. It's how there comes to be a male Jelly Thullid that gets you pregnant."

"Do you know who the father is?"

"I do."

"If I just don't met him, that would solve the problem yes?"

"I suppose."

"Than you should tell me who it is and I simply avoid meeting him or stay away from him."

"Yeah... that's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"Because he loves you every bit as much as you love BoomFuzzy, so, you are not going to ever get him out of your life."

"No one loves me as much as I love BoomFuzzy."

"I do."

Quaraun did not have a response. He simply stared at Gremlin in silence.

"I started taking care of you, because you can't take care of yourself any more. And BoomFuzzy, he walked away. I doesn't stick around Quaraun. Not after he can't use you any more. Your love for him is unfathomable. But he doesn't reciprocate it. He uses you because he knows he can. He knows he can get you to do anything he wants. And when you are too crippled to be of any use to him any more, he lives you alone and doesn't give a rats ass about you."

"He's not like that..."

"He is. And he's the reason you become crippled. Even with the chain s and shackles and restraints of Faerie Iron, he can just walk out of their prison any time he wants to. Punishing him doesn't deter him at all. So, they start punishing you, every time he does anything. And at first it doesn't stop him. But than they hurt you, really bad, and you don't recover. It's only than, after you're not fixable anymore, that he backs off and stops hurting people. But he doesn't do a damned thing to take care of either. He just walks off and leaves you to die."

"He wouldn't do that."

"I've seen it with my own eyes, Quaraun. You are completely blinded by your love for him. You'll never see him for what he is. I know that. You'll never believe anything bad about him. You'll always see the good in him that no one else can see."

"You want me to leave him." 

"I gave up trying to get you to leave him, years ago. I know you never will. You should never restore his physical body. That's the thing you need to not do."

"I have to. He shouldn't suffer like this." 

"You're heart is too  good and too innocent and too kind to understand, that he deserves the punishment the afterlife gave him." Gremlin reached out and covered Quaraun's hand with his own. "You're not evil, Quaraun. You can't comprehend what it even means to think an evil thought. Everything you do, even the bad and evil things you do, you don't do them out of malice or spite or hate. You do them out of love out of a desire to help others. That's what makes you different from BoomFuzzy, and why you'll never be able to understand how evil he is or how much he truly does deserve his current fate."

Quaraun smiled softly, nervously. He didn't know what else to do or say. He didn't know much of Gremlin's words he could believe or trust, and yet, he felt that Gremlin spoke the true. He felt that Gremlin was someone he could trust and believe even though he had no real reason to. The two sat silently together for a few moments, taking comfort from one another.

"I'm going to go try to find the portal, if you want me to find you when I'm done?" Gremlin offered gently. "I believe there may be a portal, near the mouth of the volcano. I'm not sure if it would have come into the bottle with the volcano or not. That is what I need to find out. I'll see you after I'm done," Gremlin replied, kissing Quaraun's forehead before standing and heading for the door. 

Gremlin left the room. 

"What do you think of him?" Quaraun asked BoomFuzzy.

"I t'ink he does'na like me very much."

"Besides that."

"I think he looks at ya de way ya looks at me."

"Meaning?"

"Him definitely in love wid ya. Me t'ink him would go to ends of the Earth for ya. Like ya does for me."

 


~o0o~



~o0o~



~o0o~


~o0o~



~o0o~



~o0o~


Quaraun sat kneeling on the floor, facing the wall, his eyes closed, his head slump forwards, his hands hung limp beside him, covered in blood. BoomFuzzy's ruby encrusted obsidian dagger lay beneath his fingertips, where it had landed when it fell from his hands.

"Quaraun?" BoomFuzzy asked. "Are ya alright? I been looking for ya. Quaraun?"

BoomFuzzy stood in the doorway. Quaraun's back was too him. He could not see the blood or the dagger from where he stood.

"Quaraun? Are ya asleep?"

BoomFuzzy moved closer to the Elf, and quickly realized what had happened. The deep wounds in Quaraun's wrists.

"Good god! Quaraun, yar wrists! What have ya done yo yarself?"

BoomFuzzy knelt beside Quaraun.

Quaraun opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head to look up at BoomFuzzy. Tears were streaming down the Elf's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Quaraun whispered.

"Ya can'na keep doing dis to yourself."

"I'm sorry," Quaraun said again.

"Yar wounds need to be bandaged." BoomFuzzy stood up. "I go get Njord. She can tend to yar wounds."

Quaraun closed his eyes and remained silent, but could not hold back his tears and began to sob uncontrollably. BoomFuzzy knelt beside Quaraun again.

"Tis alright, we will fix ya."

Quaraun shoo his head. "No. It's not all right. And you can;t fix me. No one can. I'm too broken. I'm evil." 

"Yar not evil."

"I am. I can't control myself. I do things I do not want to do. I hurt the people I love. And I don't know why." Quaraun looked directly into BoomFuzzy's eyes, crying worse now then before. "I'm so sorry."

BoomFuzzy stood up slowly, looking around the room. He knew the look in Quaraun's eyes. He had seen it before.

"Quaraun? Where's Njord?"

"I'm sorry."

"Quaraun, what have ya done?"

Quaraun said nothing. He was crying too hard now to speak.

"Tell me what ya did?"

"She'd dead."

"Why?"

"I killed her."

"Quaraun, why?"

Quaraun reached his hand out towards BoomFuzzy, but lowered his eyes away from the Phooka, looking at the ground. 

"Touch me," Quaraun said.

"Ya knows I can not. I is incorporeal."

"You can. And you're not any more. Touch me and you'll see."

Slowly BoomFuzzy reached out and took hold of Quaraun's hand. Quaraun was right. The Lich's hand was solid flesh now.

"Your body stopped being incorporeal several hours ago. You didn't notice, because you were so used to never touching anything. So used to your hand going through every solid object. So you didn't even try."

"How did ya do this?"

"I know what I did wrong the first time. I needed a willing sacrifice. An innocent must die. A life, for a life. I needed someone who loved you as much as I did. Who was willing to die for you. I misunderstood the spell before. My children were innocent sacrifices, but they were not willing to die for you. They did not even know you. Njord was."

"Ya killed her? To give me a body?"

"I had to."

"No. Ya didnot. There had to be another way."

"There wasn't. There isn't. And there was no more time. You, didn't notice, but you've been fading, and your mind fleeting. You were becoming a feral Lich. A few more months and you'd have been gone forever."

"Quaraun? Where is Njord?"

Quaraun pulled a tiny green bottle from his bag. 

"She's in here. In stasis. I will find a way to restore her. She will live again. I brought you back. I'll bring her back too."



~o0o~










As I've made changes to what I wrote previously, and, rather than adding new scenes at the end, instead I expanded on scenes all ready written, and made earlier sections long, I'm going to leave the previous days draft below, so you can compare the two and see how this vomit draft is progressing and changing.





NaNoWriMo 2021
Untitled Quaraun Novel Vomit Draft 
WIP
Days 1 to 10
(Nov 19, 2021)

We crossed 50k in 6 days!

Now at 70,874 words...

And it probably requires some sort of trigger warning, but BoomFuzzy is in this one and we've already reached scenes of depression, suicide, and wrist slitting, so yeah, all the usually BoomFuzzy fare is here, just so you know.

Spoiler warning, if you are worried about such things - the ending of the story has been written. It'll be fleshed out and expanded as we go on, but, the base end is now in the draft.








~o0o~





"I will accept any physics mumbo jumbo," said Quaraun to no one.

Quaraun standing in a meadow, next to a stream, and a little ways from civilization. In the distance he could see a spire of smoke rising into the sky.

"This is your journey," Quaraun said as he watched the smoke drift skywards and mingle with the clouds.

A wolf walked up to Quaraun.

"What are you doing?" it asked.

"Seeing how many times I can say 'I don't know'" Quaraun said still watching the spiral of smoke mingling with the clouds.

"Well what do you want to do?"

Quaraun looked around as the smoke made its way into the sky.

"I haven't the faintest idea. What do you think I should do?"

The wolf looked around as well.

"I feel that I am on a path in the forest of information," Quaraun said. "And every new thing that I find is a new idea, a new story line, that could take me anywhere. There are two paths up ahead. I don't know which to take. I thought if I watched the smoke up there, the wind would blow it one way or the other and I would go on the path of that direction, but the smoke just goes ever upward."

"What do you think the choices in life are?"

Quaraun frowned, than said: "This is an adventure. This is your adventure. Your life is your adventure. My life is my adventure. Today our paths cross and become a single adventure. Who knows what adventure I will encounter tomorrow."

The wolf stared at Quaraun.

"Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're either a crazy elf or a genius."

"I'm talking to a wolf. Wolves can not talk. Either I have gone insane and thus I AM a crazy Elf or I have discovered a way to communicate with animals, in which case I am a genius. Or perhaps, you are dead and I am just a Necromancer talking to a ghost that chooses the form of a wolf."

The wolf gave Quaraun a sideways look.

"I think that you might be on to something. I have been called worse names by much worse people. I will let you make that diagnosis."

"Well than. Enjoy it."

"Enjoy what?"

"Your life," Quaraun said. "Or your death. Which ever it may be."

"I wasn't planning on dying. You think the Humans will just let you waltz in and take their homelands?"

"Probably not."

"You are a weirdo, you know that, right?"

"I've been called worse."

"A weirdo in a pink dress."

"I like pink."

The wolf ran off into the forest.

Quaraun laughed as he finished cleaning his blade and tossed it into his pack.

"I will accept any physics mumbo jumbo," said Quaraun to no one. "As long as it gets me more information. How long do you think I have been doing this for?"

He began walking.

"I don't know," said a voice.

"Hello?" Quaraun looked around but saw no one. "Who is there?"

"You know you can trust me."

"Can I?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then, who are you?"

"I am the one who hides in plain sight."

Quaraun frowned. "Yes, I have no interesting people who hide in plain sight. Good dy!" Quaraun pulled out a book and began flipping through it's pages, searching for something

"What are you reading?" The voice inquired.

"Are you still here?"

"I am. What are you reading?"

"A Practical Introduction To The Use of Crystals and Stones In The Four Branches of Crystalomancy," Quaraun said, reading the words on the cover.

"I see," said the voice. "Well, you've already got my attention, so I guess I will tell you my name. I am Farshaun, and it is good to meet you."

"But I haven't meet you. I see you no where. Who are you? What do you look like? To me you are nothing but a disembodied voice and if I can't see you, than I have no interest in you, no matter you're interest in me."

"Well, I suppose you're right about that. I am Farshaun, but you may call me Farshaun. I am a Druid, and have been for many years."

"Farshaun is exactly the same as Farshaun."

"You are quite right."

Quaraun closed the book. 

"You are quite the elusive man, Farshaun, but I suppose I will get over that when I meet you. When will I meet you and when you say you are a Druid, what exactly does that mean? I've met many Druids and they never agree on what exactly a Druid it."

"Oh, you are going to meet me soon. In fact, you are meeting me right now." 

"I am? How?" Quaraun asked with a little bit of anxiety in his voice. "Where are you? I still don't see you?"

Farshaun laughed. "You will meet me in the heart of the Faerie Forest. There, you will see me with your own eyes, and then you can judge for yourself who I am."

"So you are a Druid who lives in a Faerie Forest?" Quaraun asked.

"I am," Farshaun said.

"And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"But of course."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I am the Druid who has the FeyStones. I also know where the Faerie Stones are hidden, and I will use those FaeStones to help you get home to ElfLand."

"ElfLand? Are you mad? There is no such place. Besides, I am the last Elf. All the other Elves are dead. There is no place for me to go home too. The world is my home now. I sleep in a tent on the side of the road, in a new village, a new forest, every night"

"Yes, there is. There is a Faerie Stone in the Elven ruins of the old abandoned city of Silva. You will see it when you meet me. You can go home then."

"I have no desire to go 'home'. I already told you, I live on the open road. I am a silk merchant and a vagabond wizard for hire. I travel wherever the road takes me. And 'home', is never a place it takes me because I live in a tent. I live out of my pack. My home is on my back."

"I see. Well, I hope you are satisfied with your decision to meet me somewhere, because I must be going. Good luck in your journey, friend."

"You can't just leave!" Quaraun shouted, worried the bodiless voice was already gone. He was lonely and enjoyed the company of someone to talk to. Even a strange voice with no body, that might possibly have been just an imaginary voice in his head for all he knew. "You've not yet told me how to find you. I don't even begin to know where to look for you."

Farshaun chuckled. "I will be found if you are looking for me. Go to the Elven ruins and look for the Silken Lady. She will guide you to me."

"What Elven ruins? Where? I know of no Elven Ruins in the area. And who is the Silken Lady? How will I know her?"

"You will know her, because she is you. Good bye."

Quaraun didn't understand what the strange disembodied voice meant when it said "she is you".

"I am confused and I have no reason to seek out the Druid or the Silken Lady or the Elven Ruins in the Faerie Forest. And I have no need for Faerie Stones of travelling to ElfLand. What a bother. And none of it helped me to decide what path to take." 

The Faerie King is a tyrant most foul, a bane upon humanity, and an affront to all that is good. Were he a hero, this is who Quaraun would be meant to slay. Quaraun however, was not a hero. He was not the one to slay the Faerie King. He had no wish to do so. In fact, he had nothing but endless, undying love for the evil King of the Faeries. Quaraun would play a different role. He would be the one to put a stop to the human scourge. He would be the one to save Lich King from Hell. If only he could figure out how. BoomFuzzy was dead. BoomFuzzy was now a Lich.

It hurt like the worst possible way. But he wasn't alone in this quest, no he was not alone at all, and he felt as though he finally understood what being alive means. He suddenly realized he'd never known happiness before. His mind raced with possibilities and his spirits soared, and as he walked down the road towards Faerie City, he decided that maybe he had found his future. Maybe he really would make things better for the world.

Maybe he really was just a crazy wizard.

"I have been sick," Quaraun said to himself. "Perhaps both the wold and Farshaun were just hallucinations. Fever images. I seem to able to only communicate properly with animals and ghosts those under the influence of drugs, drinks, or other forms of mind-altering substances. I... oh dear. Perhaps I am going crazy. I must have a brain fever, except I have no brain."

A few days later, Quaraun found himself sitting in a small scullery of an isolated farmhouse, being served a hot meal, by the farmer's wife.

"How do you like your eggs Benedict, Mr. Quaraun?"

"Not very well, Mrs. Hightower. And it's just Quaraun. No Mister."

Mrs. Hightower smiled. "I can fix that."

She set down the plate before him and took out the spatula. "Now we just wait for the cheese to melt..."

"That was fast."

"I've made enough to feed the entire town."

"I can see that."

"They are better than what you will find any place."

Quaraun smiled. "I wouldn't dream of trying anything less."

The door opened and two men appeared in the doorway, both in long dark cloaks with black hoods drawn down and their faces covered. They were dressed in black leather jackets and black pants with knee-length boots.

Their swords were strapped across their backs. Both men held bows and arrows ready in their hands. They both wore daggers, which they hid under their coats, and both carried wicked looking knives on belts and inside boot tops. The shorter one spoke.

"What's going on here? Momma! Who is this man! He's one of them, isn't he? Look at his ears. He ain't no Human!"

Both Quaraun and Mrs. Hightower stood up straight.

"Nothing to worry about, son. We were merely having a little dinner and conversation."

Both men's faces were concealed behind the masks of black leather. One of them looked around suspiciously. He then turned to Mrs. Hightower.

"Do you have anyone else here tonight?"

"No, why would there be anyone here? Why do you ask? You're frightening me. What's going on?"

"There is something wrong here," the second son replied. "I thought everyone who lived here was dead."

"Dead?" Mrs. Hightower repeated. Her face became pale and her eyes grew wide.

"You heard me? You died with Pa, years ago."

"I'm... dead?" Mrs. Hightower looked like she would faint.

"What did you say?" Quaraun asked.

"Who are you? What are you doing with Ma?"

"I... I'm Quaraun. I saw the light on and asked if she had any food to spare. I've been walking for days with no food. I decided to hide out in this little village until I could recover from a massive virus that nearly killed me."

"You're sick?"

"I was..."

"You got the plague?"

"No..."

"How do you know?"

"It's not the plague. I just need a place to rest and sleep for a few days, is all. Your mother..." 

"Ma! You go back to your room. You know you aren't supposed to talk to strangers."

"There is something wrong here," Quaraun said.

"Someone killed everybody here in the village. I think it was the Fae."

"Are all three of you dead?"

"Yes! This is a ghost town. We are all ghosts. So how did you see us?"

"I'm a Necromancer?"

"What? You mean one of those guys who raises corpses up as monsters?"

"No. I can see dead people and talk to them. I often can't tell if a person is dead or alive or if any one else can see them or not. I end up talking to dead people in a crowd of living people, who can't see the dead, so they think I'm a crazy old coot talking to himself. It's rather embarrassing. But who killed you? And when?"

"The Fae."

"The Fae?" 

Quaraun asked.

"We saw their shadows when we arrived and we followed them to see what they were up to. As they walked away, we followed them, until they reached the ruins of this ancient Elven ruin near the Elven Ruins. The building was still standing, except for the walls that had collapsed and the ground covered in moss that had grown over the stones. The Fae attacked the building. They killed all the humans inside. Then the rest ran after them, and fought back, trying to destroy whatever was left of the building. After the fighting, we managed to escape and fled into Faerie, where I met you. There wasn't anybody else. So you're the first real living people I've seen since coming here. I hope you can give me some kind of direction or guidance to find the Silken Lady so I can go back to my home, and I won't be alone anymore. I have always hated the Faeries, ever since I was born."

Quaraun and the woman looked at each other, puzzled.

Quaraun said. "And you're sure all these deaths are real? That everything we have experienced together is real?"

"Yes, yes, of course. The things we witnessed were real. Now I need to find the Silken Lady and kill her so I can go home.



~o0o~



~o0o~



~o0o~


~o0o~









Quaraun had been walking for many hours, and grew weary.

"I need to find a place to rest," the elderly Moon Elf wizard said to himself. "I don't think I can make it to the village down there before sunset. It looks to be a farming community. Not likely to have a tavern. Or an inn. Or even a brothel. And no common Human is likely to rent a room to either an Elf or a mage for the night. Oh dear. I do believe, tent it is. Let's see? Where can I set it up? I do so hate being alone. I miss BoomFuzzy. I wish he was here.  I wish I had companion again."

Quaraun set out to setting up his tent, oblivious to the his words carelessly spoken. Quaraun knew well, the dangers of starting any sentence with the words: "I wish". Quaraun knew the danger better than anyone, for he was a Wizard of the Di'Jinn order, and any wish spoken near him, was automatically granted, whether he realized he had granted it or not. For thus was the nature of wishes, when on was a Di'Jinn.



~o0o~


Nearby, down in the valley, others were also thinking about the farming community and heading there for the night. But these men were not looking for rooms to rent. They were looking for rooms to raid.

A crew of bandits roamed the valley, seeking unsuspecting victims to loot. 

The day before, they had been sent on an assignment, from the bandit chief, to destroy the village. The mission was simple enough, but as soon as they arrived it quickly became clear that this would be a harder task than they thought. For at that very moment, on the other side of the valley, a lonely Elf had said the words: "I wish" and an evil, dark Faerie king heard his plea and quickly came running to the world of Men.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, the bloodthirsty Faerie King Gwallmaiic. The vicious Phooka, the bloodthirsty black Unicorn, responsible for the extinction of the Elves. Where King Gwallmaiic went, his enchanted Forest of No Return followed. He took his whole valley, it's forest, it's volcano, and it's palace with him.

The Forest of No Return encircled Fire Mountain, and magic, not water, flowed from the rivers. It's trees walked like men, and it's mushrooms grew big as trees. Fire Mountain and The Forest of No Return, did not exist on Earth. They were places in the Realm of Fae. Places that appeared on rare foggy nights. 

Pepper Valley and its accursed mountain, its Fae filled forest, and its haunted gingerbread house, appeared at sunset and disappeared with the sunrise, taking with it, any mortal foolish enough to enter into the Elf Eater's enchanted Pepper Valley.

Pepper Valley could appear any place, any time, any where, and when it left, it took with it entire cities, lone travellers, or roaming bandit, whom had the misfortune of wandering into the valley of The Elf Eater.

The Valley was the constantly moving home of the Faerie King, King Gwallmaiic, a Phooka, many thousands of years old, born in the days when the Woolly Mammoth still roamed the Earth, old enough to have witnessed the crucifixion of Christ. A Phooka whom two centuries ago, had commit suicide and was now cursed to walk the land of the living as an incorporeal Lich. 

And so it happened, one fateful night, that Pepper Valley and it's Fire Mountain, home of the Lich King, appeared to grant the wish of a lonely old Elf, in the very location, that these unfortunate, unsuspecting bandits had set out to raid.

They entered the village from the side of the hill, coming out at a small cliff, and as they neared their destination, they began to see signs of life, that had disappeared.

The road was deserted, the buildings were silent, and there was no sign of any people or animals. They kept walking down the path through the empty streets until they came across another path, which ran parallel to it, but not so close that it became part of it.  It ended in another cliff, with more ruins in the distance. There were no people there either.

“What the hell is this place?” asked Hoseok. He looked around, noticing a few houses further up the hill, but no people or animals anywhere else. His eyes scanned the village.

“It looks like... nothing,” said Jihoon. “There’s nothing here, except those houses up there. It looks like everyone just vanished. I was certain I saw lights in the windows and people on the streets when we were coming down into the valley. Where did they all go? What are we supposed to do now?” 

“We need to leave,” Yoongi replied, “or we might never get off this mountain alive. It's haunted I tell you. I can feel it. The air feels wrong.” He looked to Seungcheol. “How did you find this place? We haven't seen a living soul since we got here.”

“There is,” answered Seungcheol. “Just, not right now. I was just looking around. This place isn't abandoned, there's food fresh land out on the tables. I'll bet they heard us coming somehow and are hiding in some secret dugout. We're gonna find someone, you'll see. Let's stay together and keep an eye out.

The aim of this mission was to infiltrate the villages of the valley and kill off most of its inhabitants in order for them to steal away all their crops and livestock. They’d gone through three towns during the first two days. 

 Their first week passed without incident as they scoured the villages for food and loot. But here, today, they found nothing but empty houses and abandoned farms. They also found no sign of any other people. It was as if this village were only inhabited by ghosts.

It was a farming community, with a few buildings scattered around. But there were no guards. 

No other citizens. 

No horses.

No chickens.

No dogs.

Nothing. 

It seemed to be deserted.

It had been a week since they'd entered the kingdom. All they'd done was explore, scout, and search for anything useful. 

As the week dragged on, the team grew more confident about the task at hand. As long as the target was unaware they were out there, everything would be okay. There would be no survivors here anyway. ut in order for no one to survive, there first had to be someone to kill, and here there was no one.

This town, this village. Something was wrong with it. They  found no sign of any people. It was as if the people had instantly vanished one day. 

Meals still on the tables. 

Horse carts stopped dead in the middle of the road, their contents still packed. Their riders and horses gone.

Farm tools laying in the fields as if the people vanished while still using the. 

This was completely out of place. 

The bandit crew made their way through the deserted village, going from house to house, puzzling about where the people could have gone? 

Had they fled, just dropped everything and run? 

From a dragon perhaps? 


~o0o~


Meanwhile, just outside the village...

The rich, lush green valley lay ahead, just a few days ride. Of course it was just an outpost of civilization, an outpost here in the common lands. She had been here before, and had no need to suspect, that another valley, Pepper Valley, had materialized on top of the valley she knew.

A lone woman, with long golden hair, riding on her war horse, barely made it to her town. Goblins and their dreaded war hounds galloped along behind her. They were a few miles back, but they were coming here next. 

The only way to head them off was to cross the field there and take another path through the trees. But where could she go? She needed food and water for both herself and her steed. Maybe she could get supplies at the farming village ahead. 

She could see farm town just over the horizon. But the closer to the town she got, the more nervous she became. 

Something felt wrong. 

She couldn't place her finger on it. But there were not many people living in this area, what could possibly happen? Her heart beat faster when she saw the entry gates to the village. 

And that's when she saw it. 

A large group of men, standing outside a large farmhouse. 

All talking amongst themselves. 

They didn't seem dangerous.

She decided to approach them.


~o0o~


At that same moment, behind the deserted farming village, in the forest along the edge of the valley, beside a quiet stream leading to the lake, was set up a small pink and fuchsia striped silk tent. 

Inside the tent slept an elderly Elf with long white hair, wearing pink silk robes made out of the same striped pink silk as the tent. Wrapped up in warm, soft fur pelt blankets, breathing softly and peacefully. The only sounds that filled the air around the tent was the soft trickle of water over stone. 

No one was watching when the trees arrives. Huge mast trees, sprouting up like mushrooms, in places where moments ago, not trees had been.

A thick heavy fog, rolled down off the mountains, as the rumbling roar of an angry volcano, echoed through the night.

Something rustled in the grass outside of the tent, causing the elderly Elf to stir. 

Strange sounds. 

Strange winds. 

Ghostly howls.

Quaraun opened his eyes, sat up clutching a fox pelt round his thin bony shoulders, and looked out from beneath his silken curtain. The first thing he noticed was how very many trees there were blocking his view. He felt certain the trees in front of his tent had not been there when he set the tent up a few hours earlier. And the air, it smell different. As if the valley was not the same valley he had pitched his tent in just before sunset.

But Quaraun had no time to question the change in the air or the different trees, for there in the grass stood a large creature, which was almost like a dog but with longer legs, horns, and a pointed snout. 

A black dog, with black feathers on it's wings, and cut crystal eyes, made out of blue glass. The dog looked purple in the moonlight, and had a ghostly blue glow. 

All around the dog, little miniature fuzzy, wuzzy fluffy white angora bunnies, with long bloody vampire fangs, munched on mumbling mice in the mid-night moonlight.

The dog barked and bounced excitedly. It wagged it's matted braided purple tail cheerfully when it saw Quaraun. 

“Hello!" Quaraun said to the strange dog.  "Who are you?"

The beast did not answer, Quaraun had not expected it would. Most creatures didn't talk. The dog-creature turned and scampered back into the forest. Barking and yipping happily as it went. And the herd of undead bunnies bounded after it. 

Quaraun sat alone once again.

"How odd. And how cold. It was not so cold when I set up the tent. I can see my breath in the air. Oh dear. I do believe it is cold enough to snow. It's still summer. Are we far enough north for snow? I did not think I had travelled that far. BoomFuzzy loved the snow."

 Quaraun sat in the doorway of his tent, watching the full moon and thinking about his dead lover BoomFuzzy. After a while Quaraun reached for his cane, braced it firmly on the ground got up and stretched. His joints cracked and popped. Old age was catching up with him. 

"Ow! I hate being old. My bones creak worse than a rusty door. If didn't hate using magic so much, I suppose I could heal myself somehow couldn't I? Eh? Why bother. It's not like I have anyone who cares about me. Every one I love is dead. And every one else on the planet hates my and has a price on my head. I wonder how much The Guild wants for my head these days? There must not be any Justice Mages around here. I've not seen a single wanted poster of myself in weeks. Now. That tree. You I want o see up close."

Quaraun tottered over to a tree, leaning heavily on his cane and trying not to trip on the tall wet, night grass. It was the biggest tree. The one that was nearest to where he had been sleeping. Quaraun walked around the tree several times, running his gold plated fingers across it's bark, felling it's ridges, smelling it's leaves, listening to it's branches, and finally pulled down some moss, which covered the bark.

"No, you are most definitely an actual tree. For a moment I thought you were a mimic, or a monster, and an enchanted Faerie forest coming to haunt me. But you are an actual tree. Nothing magical about you. Odd, I can not you remember you being here. I am getting old. And senile. How did I ever set my tent up next to such a large old oak tree and not notice you here." 

Quaraun should have been looking at the two pine trees to either side of the oak, or paying attention to the fact they two of them were particularly careful to always stay behind him, no matter which way he turned or which way he looked.

Quaraun would have noticed the two uprooted trees that were lumbering around behind him, had it not been for the shriek of a dying mouse, that startled him and attracted his attention away from the trees.

The old Elf turned and looked to see a rabbit standing there watching him. A freshly killed mouse hung limp from it's lips. 

"You look like one of BoomFuzzy's marshmallow vampire bunnies. And your ears are longer than mine."

Quaraun began laughed loudly at the thought of the rabbit's long twitching ears and how much they resembled his own. Humans often called Quaraun by the nickname "Rabbit Ears" for the foot tall long thin ears that he held high over his head. The rabbit heard him laughing, and the creature's own long ears flattened against it's head and it took off running.

"Oh dear. I did not frighten you away. Well, we've a busy forest tonight, haven't we? Too bad none of you are someone I can talk to."

Quaraun left the tent flap tied open so he could see outside. Then he crawled back into bed. He laid on his side, looking outside the tent. 

Outside there was nothing but trees and bushes. 

Bushes and trees. 

Nice. 

Quiet. 

Peaceful. 

Relaxing. 

Grass and leaves. 

Moss and mushrooms were scattered here and there. He closed his eyes thinking about the strange creature he had just seen. 

What was a it called? 

He did not know. After some time he fell asleep again. 

Weak and delicate. 

The smell of decay and death was overwhelming. There wasn’t anything that could save them. He knew this because he didn't know how to live without his family, they were everything to him. Strange creatures had come to take him away. His mother was dead, her blood staining the carpet and flooring in front of the fireplace. Her head shattered, he brain smashed. The jellyfish inside slaughtered. His father had gone crazy from grief. She'd never be coming home again. The tears came easily as he held her broken body, sobbing silently into her hair as he cried. 

"No... No... No..." he whispered over and over as his sobs became louder and more desperate, his voice shaking as he begged for a miracle. But there was none to be found. He'd been living like this for weeks, now in the desert of the Di'Jinn, in the marshlands along the desert, but it still hurt. 

It still ached. 

He felt empty inside, as if he was dying slowly while she was still alive. 

ZooLock had always told him not to cry about things he couldn't change. And maybe ZooLock was right, but he was also the one who had brought this upon himself. 

His father was gone, his mom too, leaving nothing but chaos behind. There was no hope left, no point in holding on to the life he had before. 

Moving forward. 

Forward. 

To something new.

No. 

Gone again. 

More death. 

Now BoomFuzzy too.

Quaraun lived his life in mortal terror, fear to love anyone or let anyone love him, terrified that they would die if he loved them, that they would die, if they loved him.

Sleep was the thing Quaraun dreaded most. His nights were plagued with thoughts of death. His mother. His children. BoomFuzzy. All dead. All bloodily dead.

Red. Just red. That's all you see.

Trapped in a room with red walls. 

There's a desk with red papers on it.

Red was the colour of death.

And the colour of blood.

It stains his hands.

More red. More blood.

Blood that can never be washed away.

He closed his eyes. But all was red.

So much blood.

Blood that stained the floorboards and the bed sheets.

But also the bed itself, as well as those who slept there.

Four children laid in a row. All dead.

Covered in blood.

It was the same blood that was spilled in front of him in his nightmares.

In his dreams, he is back there. 

In front of all the people he killed that day.  His father. His uncle king. His wife. His four beloved children. He sees them again. They stand in front of him, all bloody and lifeless. Blood on their clothes, blood in their hands. Their mouths open, but no sound comes out. 

No matter how hard they try to speak, nothing happens. 

Reaching out to him, they walk through the fog of the Swamp of Death.

They watch him, laughing at his pathetic attempts to defend himself. 

Laughing at his failures. 

At how weak he is for even trying. 

And then, one by one, they step forward, towards him, raising their hands. 

Their fingers pointed straight up.

His breath hitches, his vision blurs. 

He tries not to blink. 

He doesn't want to miss any of what they do to him, the way they touch him and hurt him. 

Touch him with bloody hands. 

Touch him with bloodied lips. 

With bloody eyes. 

With bloody hands, holding him down, forcing his head back against the floor, crushing his skull with their fists.

He can feel the blood trickling down his neck and over his shoulders, onto the bed sheets below.

It is red tears that fell from red eyes.

From black eyes, turned red, from shedding too much red.

Red and black.

A black cat, with the same colour stripes as the night sky. It's eyes red, it's paws black.

Waiting for Emmett.

Two soul tat met for the first time.

One red.

The other black.

Two soul mates both born from the same stars in the sky.

Two soul mates, their destinies to intertwine for eternity.

"Are you alright?" The came from behind a pair of deep brown eyes.

Red.

The colour of blood. The blood of a child.

It falls to the ground, landing on the cobblestone road. 

It glitters in the sunlight and for a moment, it seems to reflect back the sun's rays. 

It is a beautiful sight to behold.

Red, glistening blood.

In his eyes, the red letters shine with an almost supernatural glow. And that make him feel sick. He looked away from it, looking to his feet where he can still feel the heat radiating off them. 

But his feet are red too, soaked in the blood of his children, but they aren't glowing, instead they are covered in a thick layer of ice.

"This isn't my doing," he muttered turning around and running off down the street as fast as he can go. "No! It wasn't me. I didn't do that. I couldn't! I wouldn't!"

He needed to get away from this place; he just wanted to be alone. He doesn't want to think about this anymore. 

To forget. 

Must forget.

If only he could forget. 

He wanted to forget about the blood.

The blood of his children, in the writing on the wall. 

So much blood, tainted everything in this town.

And yet... they keep returning, like a plague. 

The memories.

Every time he closed his eyes, or breathed deeply, he heard their screams echoing through his head. He wished he could do something to stop them, to make those sounds go away, but there was nothing he could do. 

All he can do is run away and try not to think about it.

The red blood of his children, covering over everything.

He ran through the village. People scattered in all directions, screaming. He tried to stop, but he couldn't. It was like he was made of stone.

Red.

Stone stained red. Soaked in their blood.

The accursed colour red. Colour of blood.

And all he can do, every time, is look at it, and wonder if he'll ever see another colour again.

Because even when they were gone, the blood still remained.

He wished he could forget it, too. But he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. 

Because it wasn't just his fault, was it? 

It was theirs. The villagers. They deserved to die so that the blood would stay clean. So BoomFuzzy could return. That would make him feel better, wouldn't it? Make things better.

But it didn't. 

It didn't help at all. 

The blood remained on every surface; it stained the floors of his house. 

The nursey.

His clothes. 

His hands. 

Everything. 

It made everything seem more real, more vivid.

It made every moment with them, the times he'd spent with them, hurt more than anything else.

He wished it would all end. But he knew it wouldn't. No matter how many times he tried to erase everything, he knew he couldn't.

No matter what he did, the blood stayed.

So he ran. And ran. He tried everything he could think of to escape the memories, but it never worked. The blood would always come back. Even after he'd stopped thinking about it.

The blood. The blood on his hands.

On his clothes. On his face.

Red. Red blood.

The blood of his children.

Words on the wall, written in their blood.

Written in their blood, with his own hand.

A red light.

A red letter.

Red.

The colour of blood.

As one gets closer to death.

He looked around the room in despair, the same room where he used to play with his cousins and pretend that his parents weren't...

When he opened his eyes, he felt like he hasn’t slept at all. That’s not true. He had actually slept for a few hours. But that was the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness again. Or, more accurately, being woken by someone poking him in the shoulder. He groaned quietly and turned over to see who it is, but the person moved away from him quickly so he couldn’t see their face.

He sighed. 

There are two people here with him? 

That is a problem. 

Usually he would be able to recognize one of them immediately, but they must have blended into the background during his sleep, as usual. He knew them well enough, though, and that meant he recognized this person too. 

The name didn't ring any bells, nor did it seem familiar. They don’t look like a friend or foe, either, so maybe he should ask? 

If there were enemies here, why didn’t he hear any fighting when he woke up? That would mean they weren’t enemies, right? 

Right. 

Maybe.

Red.

The colour of blood.

Blood that can never be washed away.

No more tears.

No more blood.

Just red.

"Quaraun!"

"Huh?"

"Weak. I feel very weak," Quaraun said, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face. "Where are you?"

"Ah, Quaraun, you are finally here."

"Huh?"

"You are the one I have chosen to accompany me on this quest. What are you doing here?"

When Quaraun awoke it was dark. No. There was no one there. It was only a dream. No one was ever with him. Every one he loved was dead. He was alone, as usual. Quaraun got up and went outside, looking around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, until he noticed that the sun had set. He began walking towards his tent, when suddenly someone called out to him.

"Excuse me!" a woman's voice called out. "Can you show me where the livery stables are?"

"Stables?" Quaraun asked, looking around and seeing no one there. "Stables? There are no stables around here."

Unfortunately, Quaraun's ears acted somewhat like antennae and he could pick up sounds from many miles away, just as clear as if they were standing beside him, and he assumed this was the case now, for there was no woman to be seen, and this far out in the middle of the forest, there was no possibility of a literary in the area. He laid his long ears back, tucking them under his impossibly long twelve foot Rapunzel hair.

There was a village near by, down in the valley. Quaraun had seen it the day before. He could have gone there and looked for a room to rent, a bed to sleep in, so as to not have to sleep on the cold hard ground. Quaraun preferred to sleep in his tent, in the forest, away from Human populations. He was the last Elf. Few Humans these days even believed that Elves had ever been once real, so it was generally best to avoid Human villages until scouting out the beliefs of the local cultures and knowing their thoughts on magical creatures, like Elves.

Sadly Quaraun knew he could never live among the Humans. They were quick to judge anything deemed different, and he was certainly different. He knew most people feared him, some even hated him, sometimes simply because he was an Elf, other times because he was a mage. 

A wizard. 

A necromancer. 

The Pink Necromancer no less. 

And yet, many respected him, mostly for his power. Tales of The Pink Necromancer were legendary and there were few who would dare risk his