Quaraun the Insane:
Zebulon's Captive:
"Sold! To Zebulon, for two million dollars."



By Wendy C Allen
eelkat_red_scarf.jpgWendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again.

Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer

Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978)

If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title.

List of the published titles still in print:

The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series

What the series is about, for those new here:

The introduction to The Pink Necromancer Series. 

If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters:

My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.

As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.

There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.

The first of the Visual Novels/Video Games for The Adventures of Quaraun the Inane/The Pink Necromancer series is published and available on Itch.io, there are 3 more planned for release in 2026, 6 more planned for release in 2027, and the big 60-hour 80k word 150 page one (Quaraun Goes To the Fair) is planned for a 2028 release.

There is a Pink Necromancer card game and a Pink Necromancer board game, as well as a Pink Necromancer table top RPG supliment for Dungeons and Dragons, all in the works, and to be released over the next couple of years as well.

Health update: August 4, 2026 - in recovery for 6 months+ (at least until mid-January 2027...all book and video game releases are pushed back at least 6 months) see video below for why...
@eelkat

health update #maine #disabilityawareness #wheelchairlife #wheelchairvlogger #multiplesclerosis

♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author
@eelkat Health update: #chickenpox #bellspalsy #RamsayHuntsyndrome #paralysis #recovery ♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author
@eelkat

I seem to have had another stroke (during the night while I was asleep?) #stroke #paralysis

♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

Update Sept 3, 2026:

I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.

I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy. 

update sept 7, 2026

"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?

I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.

So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.

see video below for more information: 


@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

update Sept 15, 2026:

I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed

you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?

all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,

well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.

waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.

update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine

Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.

Quaraun the Insane:
Zebulon's Captive:
"Sold! To Zebulon, for two million dollars."

Quaraun squeezed his eyes shut tight, as if that would hide him from the staring eyes of the Humans in the crowd.

Confusion, shame, and humiliation filled his thoughts.

The poor Elf stood naked, save the collar on his neck and the shackles on his wrists and ankles. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he listened to the auctioneer shouting words he didn't understand. There was no one in the crowd, speaking a language Quaraun could recognized.

The frightened Elf trembled in fear as the Humans in the crowd began shouting. He was not fully certain what was happening, but it was apparent that he was being sold into slavery. Beyond that, there was nothing he could determine for sure what else was going on.

Bidders were allowed to come up front to get a closer look at him. They poked and prodded him. One grabbed him by his balls and spent a moment carefully squeezing each testicle, feeling their size and shape. Quaraun bit his lip and tried to ignore the intense sense of violation he felt, be handled like this in front of so many people. That one paid more attention to him then the others. He argued with the auctioneer.  

The auctioneer pull out a stack of papers. Several of the bidders took turns reading the paperwork. The man whom had grabbed him before, took a firm hold of his balls again, then examined his penis, noting the damage, pointing out the scars, then pulling the foreskin back and carefully studying the glanshead. 

Quaraun didn't know why they were doing this to him. He was terrified. The man yelled at the auctioneer while pointing t Quaraun's scars. Quaraun had long been ashamed of his scars. He hated being naked. He hated letting any one see his scars. He trusted Unicorn and GhoulSpawn and he had trouble even letting them seeing him naked.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to hide.

But the men with guns. The men with tasers. The men with the hard metal nightsticks.

They were all around.



Gypsy Decor Images Provided By Amazon

One at every corner.

One at every door.

Several stood between him and the crowd.

He'd tried running away before. He remembered those men.

They always dressed the same.

Viscous men in blue uniforms.

No matter where they were. They always acted the same.

He didn't know who or what they were. Soldiers of some sort. Every Human village had them.

Last time he ran, the armed men ran after him. They beat him. They tased him.

He'd seen others run. He had run towards a door. Most did. But some ran towards the crowd. Those they shot with the guns. Those Elves died.

Humans were the worst monsters he'd ever encountered. And these Humans, in this time, in this future, they were the worst Humans he'd ever known.

Quaraun desperately wanted to run, but he also wanted to live. Thee memory of other Elves gunned down by the viscous men in blue, kept the frightened Elf standing still, more scared to move, then he was to run.







Quaraun looked away from the blue uniformed beasts and back to the men arguing with the auctioneer. Something in the paperwork had made them angry. There were Humans to all sides of him. Yelling and screaming and waving their hands in the air.

There were too many bright lights, too many sounds, too many smells, too many people, too much commotion.

Quaraun's senses were hyper stimulated. He wanted to scream and make them all go away. His eyes darted towards the men with the guns. They'd kill him if he did, so he remained silent.

Soon the men were shouting at one another, the auctioneer pointing back and forth to each in turn, and shouting with them. One by one the bidders left and went back to the crowd, until only two men remained. The man who had grabbed him by the balls was viciously arguing with he last competitor. 

Though he could not tell what they were saying, Quaraun could tell by how excited the auctioneer had become, and how angry the two men were becoming, and also by the shocked gasps from the crowd, that the bidding price had gotten very high. It was clear from the reactions of every one in the room, that no Elf had ever been sold for the price this bid had reached.

Two very wealthy men were fighting for him.

It appeared that the man whom had grabbed his balls, was somebody famous. A celebrity of some sort, by the way every one else treated him. The auctioneer was excitedly going back and forth between the two men, egging them on into their bitter battle over who would win the Elf before them.

"Two million," the man said calmly. Smugly. He wasn't shouting any more. He knew he had just won.

"Two mill..." The auctioneer stammered, not sure he had heard correctly. "Two? Two? Million?"

The man nodded.

"Two million," he repeated in a cold steadfast voice.

"Two Million!" The auctioneer shouted.

The crowd gasped in unison and fell silent.

Quaraun had clue what 'two million' meant, but it meant a lot. He could see that in the look of awe and amazement on every face in the crowd.

The auctioneer looked at the other bidder. The bidder shook his head and sat back down.

The auctioneer pointed to the first man, the man whom had spent so much time examining his genitals.

"Sold! To Zebulon, for two million dollars."

The next thing Quaraun knew, the men who had dragged him to the stage, were beside him once again,. One grabbed the chains leading to his collar and tugged on them, while the other man nudged him with a nightstick. Quaraun obediently went with them, off the stage and back to the room he had previously been in.

As had been done to him earlier, other Elves were being undressed and bathed and lined up for their turn to be sold. He felt a tug on the chains and realized he'd stopped walking to watch the other Elves. He again followed the men. They took him back to where he'd been undressed, then removed the shackles from his ankles and wrists, long enough to allow him to ree-dress himself.

Once he had put his cloths back on, the shackles were returned to his arms and legs, and again they lead him away by the chains. This time he was taken to a room, where other Elves, already sold before him, were lined up, their chains attached to rings on the wall. Some had chains long enough to allow them to sit on the floor, but most had chains too short and were forced to stand. The two men unlocked an empty ring and hooked Quaraun's chains to it, then left, leaving him alone with the other Elves whom had just been sold.

Quaraun stared around the room at the many faces. Elves of every race, every class. 

Dark Elves. 

Wood Elves. 

Mountain Elves. 

Grey Elves.

A few Silver Elves. 

Lots of Common Elves. 

Young Elves. 

Old Elves. 

Males Elves. 

Females Elves. 

Children. 

Mothers crying for their babies.

Babies being sold as pets.

Couples, separated and crying for each other.

Many were sick. 

Some looked near starved. 

Some were bloody from having recently been wiped. 

Some were bruised. 

A few had broken limbs.

Some looked like they were dying.

The Elves were being sold with no regard for families units.

Families were being torn apart, each member sold to different owners.

There was nothing but pain and suffering every where he looked.

Quaraun noted that he alone, appeared to be the only aristocrat in the group. He was certainly the only Northern Elf. And the palest of what few white skinned Elves their were. He also noticed that it was not at random, that some Elves had longer chains and were allowed to sit.

The Elves with long chains, like him, were calm and docile, not making a fuss, and sitting quietly awaiting their fate. The Elves with shorter chains, forced to stand, were also the Elves that were wiped and bruised and whenever a Human guard walked past them, they lunged at them, viciously. They were on short chains to prevent them the ability to grab the Humans and hurt them. From the amount of scars on the bodies of these Elves, it appeared they'd seen many a slave auction now. Bought and sold dozens of times. Snapping and clawing like wild animals, Quaraun wondered how long they'd been in slavery. How long did it take for a calm quiet Elf to turn into a snarling creature like that?

Quaraun watched and waited, wondering what would happen. He knew he'd been sold to the man the auctioneer had called Zebulon, but what he was supposed to do next, he did not know.



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One by one Humans were lead out to the room. The guard would unchain the Elf or Elves the Human had won and hand them over to their new masters. As the auction continued, more Elves were brought out to this back room to await being taken away by their new masters.

Quaraun waited for what seemed like hours, before Zebulon came out back here to take him. When Zebulon arrived, he had several other men with him. Many Elves were unchained and each man took two Elves, Quaraun being among them. Zebulon had bought nearly 2 dozen of the Elves, in addition to Quaraun.

Quaraun now found himself herded into the back of a large truck. With one long, single chain, connecting all of the Elves together. The cargo truck had no windows, and only it's roll up door, on the back. As the Elves were pushed up into the truck, Zebulon, called one of his men over. 

Moments later the man was unlocking Quaraun's chains. While the other Elves remained, connected, their chained all attached to the one large chain, Quaraun was now separated from the others. The Human pushed Quaraun forward, up the ramp and on to the truck. At the front was a row of prison bars, forming a cage. The man pointed to the open door of the cell. Quaraun stood and stared at it, wondering why he was being separated from the other Elves.

When all the Elves were on board, Zebulon himself came onto the truck. The Humans talked. Zebulon pointed to each Elf individually, studying papers as he did, and giving his men orders. When he came to Quaraun, he talked to his men for much longer, and much sterner commands were given. Quaraun knew nothing of this language they spoke and was unable to determine what it was they were saying about him.

-------------

"I don't want him getting damaged in transit," Zebulon commanded to the men on the truck. "I paid an arm and a leg get the Snow Elf. This is an endangered species. These Northern Elves almost never come up on the market. I've been trying to get my hands on a white Elf for years."

-------------







The men looked scared of Zebulon, this frightened Quaraun. All Humans were monsters, but when one Human was scared of another... that Human was always the worst monster of all. Following the instructions they were given, the men put Quaraun in the cage and then shackled his chais to the rings on the wall. This made him feel very trapped. Very uncomfortable. and very singled out from the others. The other other Elves were all just sitting in a pile on the floor in the center of the truck. Quaraun was confused and frightened by what was going on. He didn't like being singled out. He didn't like being separated from the group. He wanted to be with the other Elves. These Humans scared him.

Soon the Humans climbed off the truck, and shut the door. With no lights and no windows, it was very black inside the truck now. Most of the Elves were night blind and could not see. Quaraun, being a Moon Elf, was nocturnal, his eyes better suited to seeing through the darkness then seeing in light of day. He could see the frightened Elves huddling together, as the truck's engines roared to life, and with a jolt, started moving. It was soon, obvious, why it was they had chained Quaraun firmly to the wall.

The box truck was made for transporting cargo, not living beings. The smooth metal floor, made it easy to slide boxes across it's surface, but difficult to stand on. At first the Elves tried to stand, but the swaying of the truck and the bumps in the road, sent them tumbling to the floor. Every bump in the road, jolted the Elves. Being all chained together, hen one fell and was sent sliding across the floor, the others went with them.

The truck was small, and there were far too many Elves for the space they were in. Every turn sent them falling and sliding. It was a long trip they were going on and many were be badly bruised by the time they reached their destination. Some became car sick and vomited. Few had ever been in a truck before and were panicked over this strange moving box they'd been locked in.

As the journey continued, and the hours went by, Quaraun was glad he'd been separated from the others and chained to the wall, and not sliding around in vomit and piss, being banged up and bruised with the others. There was no sleep for any of the Elves that night, on the long drive from the auction house to Zebulon's Elf Breeding Farm.

Volume 58: Zebulon's Captive

It was a beautiful sunny, summer morning, when Quaraun's world turned very, very dark. 

With the three wizards, Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, and GhoulSpawn now living together at Black Tower, life has become peaceful and quiet. BoomFuzzy free to cook to his heart's content, GhoulSpawn lost in reading his books, and Quaraun tending his ever growing rose garden...

One second everything was normal and then next, Quaraun vanished without a trace. Swallowed by a multi dimensional portal that swept away every Elf on the planet, from every where, all at once.

The Elves find themselves in the distant future, imprisoned by a madman named Zebulon. Slave trader. Zookeeper. Side show ring master. Elf breeder.

Quaraun, ever the peaceful non-violent hippie of an Elf, takes a complacent stance to the abuse he receives at the hands of the Humans, refusing to fight back or defend himself.

When Quaraun finds his long lost missing half-Elf daughter, now an adult and being used as a breeder, repeatedly raped and tortured, his complacently wanes, given way to hellish wrath unleashed on every Human he meets.

Leaving a bloody trail of bodies in his path, Quaraun takes his daughter and escapes, eventually finding his way back to his own time...

But time moves differently in different dimensions, and while for BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn only 7 days have gone by... each day here, was 10 years there for Quaraun, who has now aged by nearly a 100 years, is now married to his half-Elf daughter, and is no longer the gentle, peaceful, kind hearted, loving Elf they once knew.

NOTE: Most of the Quaraun series is written in a distinctive "stage play dialogue" style with almost no narratives. The entire series being almost straight up dialogue.

Zebulon's Captive breaks from that format, going almost completely into the reverse, and being almost entirely narrative.

This is the first volume of the series, featuring Quaraun as a mute character. At the beginning he's not talking because he's sold to slavery in a country where he does not know the language. The whole story being told in narrative format of what he sees and feels and is thinking, without him ever having a conversation with the people around him.

By the end of this volume, his tongue has been cut out, leaving him mute and no longer able to verbally communicate from this novel onward in the series.

This is the story that introduces Quaraun as the Grand High Emperor of the Triple Planets, the the evil, serial killing Necromancer who builds the blood thirsty, flesh eating, Twighlight Manor, and primary villain of The Twighlight Manor series.

This 2 part story is continued in "My Two Favorite People"... 

This is the story told from BoomFuzzy's perspective and takes place at Black Tower, telling what happened to BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn, while Quaraun was gone.

TRIGGER WARNING: This is perhaps the darkest story in the series and puts the topic of rape front and center with multiple, graphically violent torture rape scenes played out on page. This volume contains some of the most violent scenes of the entire series.

Three wizards and a Rose Garden


The Elf Repopulation Project




"Sold! To Zebulon, for two million dollars."


Zebulon's Elf Breeding Farm


The Last of The Moon Elves


A Second Moon Elf Found


The Burned Elf

On Writing The Quaraun Series



Articles For Writers on How To Write & Publish A Rapid Release  Series

Want to write like I do? You want this page:

Writing Mindset Shift & Lester Dent vs Kishotenketsu

w/Thoughts on Being one of Dr. Lindstrom's 200 PenPal Students (NaNoWriMo & NovNov 2025)


plus

Polyamory Beyond Fetish: Writing Multi-Partner Relationships

and

Writing Blind Characters

Plus

Elves and Very High, High Elves 

VS

Unicorns and Phookas and Demons

and also

What exactly makes an Elf an Elf?
(What is the definition of an Elf?)

but

Noses, Penis Piercings, And Rapunzel Hair

and

Need Help Defeating Overpowered Fantasy Wizards?

+

Wizards and More Wizards

and Even More Wizards

and Still More wizards

and

MAKE VILLAINS EVIL AGAIN: A WRITER’S BATTLE CRY TO RECLAIM THE DARK SIDE

Have you ever considered:

How Things In Your Life Affect Your Writing

or

Currency In Worldbuilding

and

The Dangers of World Travel

or 

Dragging a Body Through The Snow

and

Talking While Falling Asleep

or

Worldbuilding MoonQuakes and Disabled Characters for Fantasy Writers

or

I have everything but the kitchen sink...
wait, how'd that kitchen sink get in my pocket?

Writing Absurdist Fantasy Books

but

How long does it take to reach 1667 words? and 50k in one day - is it possible?

plus

What is the average typing speed?

plus

What (self-publishing) platform pays the most (for books)? My top 3 picks. Comparing my results from different places.


and

Knowing what to include when describing the surroundings of a scene

also

Validation Is a Cult

and

Open Strong, Stay Loud

and 

Where are the writers who love writing?

plus

Self-Publishing Success: Does Anyone Ever Succeed at Self-Publishing?

and

Where To Get Writing Ideas?

and

Writing What You Know Might Not Be What You Think It Is

and

Why I do not attend writing groups...are they all like this or just the ones in Maine?

but also

Don't Forget To Just Write 

because Yes, You Can!

Plus

The Park Bench Method of Writing (with 10k writing prompt list)

or

The Park Bench Method of Writing (just the article)

plus:

How did you build your audience?
Not online, that's for sure.
aka How to sell ten million books
aka How I sold ten million books.

Need Writing Prompts?

Conversations with ChatGPT on the art of writing

The Park Bench Method of Writing








While there are around 20k pages on this website, most of them are blocked from search engines, with only around 800 of them available for appearing in Google/Bing/etc search results. The remainder can only be accessed via the various links found throughout this site. This was done deliberately on my part, and I did it because the bulk of the pages on this website are chapters from 138 novels and 423 novellas, so only the first page of each novel and novella indexed by search engines, and the remainder are linked in order, one page at a time, via clicking "next page" at the end of each. So if you are looking for a specific page from a specific novel, Google can't help you.



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Wendy Christine Allen 🌸💖🦄 aka EelKat 🧿💛🔮👻
eelkat_red_scarf.jpg

Wheelchair Fundraiser

@eelkat

i just found out there is yet another bizarre rumour going around. where are these wild rumours coming from? who is starting them? and why?

♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author
@eelkat

since I've been flooded with hundreds of messages the past two weeks asking if I still own "the world's most haunted car", yes, and here it is, filmed today May 18, 2026… but my son Xavier is dead, i am crippled and given that people are AGAIN showing up calling my Dodge "haunted", calling my friend "an alien", calling me "transgender", and spreading wild defamation slander connecting me to Stephen King, I think I need to start taking down the contact information of every blogger, podcaster, youtuber, and social media account spreading these rumors, and sue every single one of them for CAUSING my car to be cut in half May 10, 2010, for CAUSING the backhoe that drove over my house August 8, 2013, for CAUSING my son's murder November 14, 2013, for CAUSING me to be crippled and in a wheelchair November 14, 2013, and for CONTINUING to CAUSE harassers to show up in person to harass me near daily, STILL now in 2026. EVERYONE telling you my car is haunted, telling you my friend is an alien, calling my car "the goldeneagle", calling my friend "Etiole", or trying to connect me or my car to Stephen King, is lying to you. They crippled me when I was 8 months pregnant, and a woman with a golf club, severed my spine and bashed my baby's head in, I spent 9 years relearning to walk, and the FBI is 13 years into the murder investigation and not yet identified the attacker who crippled me and killed my baby, both violently with a golf club and the FBI believes that it is friends and family of the woman who did it, are the ones who started and spread the rumors saying my car is haunted, saying I'm an alien abductee, saying all kinds of similar bs about aliens, ufos, ghosts, witchcraft, demons, and Stephen King connections, even though I don't believe in ghosts, aliens, ufos, demons, and had never heard of Stephen King before 30k of his fans showed up in my yard trying to find my car! FBI believes the backhoe driver and the murderer are the same person and it is a developer who wanted my land and so started the Stephen King, ghost, and alien rumors all in an attempt to drive me off my land, and when it didn't work they drove a backhoe over my house, and when that didn't work they crippled me and killed my son. Why are they doing this? How do I get them to stop?

♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author






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Get an email whenever Wendy Christine Allen 🌸💖🦄 aka EelKat 🧿💛🔮👻 publishes on Medium.

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Do you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Avenue, Old Orchard Beach, Maine on August 8, 2013? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son on November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College and crippled me July 26, 2016 at scarborough WalMart,... they arrived the first time with a backhoe on August 8, 2013, that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since....

... which means it is now only a few weeks from the 14th anniversary of my son's murder. I was 8 month pregnant November 14, 2013, and a student ay SMCC, and coming out of the Buglight Lighthouse art studio after art class, when a still unidentifiedwoman wielding a golf club attacked me, severed my spine, while I was 8 months pregnant, triggered early labour, then killed my son minutes after he was born.

While accusing me of being transgender, screaming "transvestite freak" and "look at that thing, that's Ken's son in a dress"... while I was 8 months pregnant.

eelkats_house_before_after.jpgMy house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son and crippled me, arrived the first time with a backhoe that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since.

The backhoe driver returned November 14, 2013, armed with a golf club, used it to break my spine and smash my baby's brains out on the ground

On November 14, 2013, my son was murdered. I was 8 months pregnant, leaving my college classroom, and just getting into my car, when 3 strangers, a man and two women, armed with golf clubs leapt out from behind my car screaming "kill or be killed, kill the transvestite freaks, kill them all before they kill us! look at that thing! That is Ken's son, look at how it's dressed! kill the transvestite freaks! kill or be killed"... while the bald man and the red haired woman chanted this over and over, the blonde woman, lunged with the golf club.

She severed my spine, I am now a quadriplegic, and been paralyzed arms and legs, and in a wheelchair for 13 years now. She broke my hips, my knees, my legs, ruptured most of my discs, and shattered three of my vertebrae so bad that the shards of bone acted like glass and embedded themselves into my spinal column nerve bundle.

The attack also triggered labour.

My son was born in that parking lot, and he lived only a couple of minutes, before the deranged blonde woman, beat his head in and smashed his brains out, with the same golfclub she had just used to sever my spine and leave me crippled for the rest of my life.

Realizing that I was not transgender, and they'd just murdered a baby, the man grabbed the 2 women and forcibly dragged them away to a 4 door white pickup truck, and they left me there to die.

The FBI told me later, that a few weeks before this attack, and transwoman, had murdered a cis woman, in a parking lot, abou 20 miles away from where I was attacked. The FBI, believes that my attackers, had somehow found out I wrote transgender fiction, connecting my real name to my penname, (my father's name is in fact "Ken", and I do have a brother) and believed that I wrote transgender fiction, because I was myself transgender, even though I'm not transgender. The FBI, believes the attackers, thought I was my brother, pretending to be a woman.

The FBI investigation, into my son's murder, has dragged on for 13 years, and still now in 2026, continues on, with the FBI, still not having yet identified my attackers, and only guessing at what their motive was.

Thus we come to 2014, and the full swing change of the series I write. WHY my series, went from just a transman main character living life, to the full blown Mpreg genre series that it now is today.

Before the attack, I had a chance of having a baby. I don't know. And because I'm in America, I'm too old to adopt. You have to be under 45 years old to adopt a baby. That is the law in America. I was informed this, when we tried to adopt, now that my injuries leave me unable to get pregnant a 9th time.

Thus began my obsessively writing, my transman main character, pregnant. Always pregnant now. Every time. Every story. Stories that now fully focus on pregnancy, labour, miscarriages, babies dying, babies living, raising babies... the whole series, since 2014 has devolved into an outright baby obsession.

Meanwhile, reborn baby dolls were suggested to me by my therapist, and have also become a deeply obsessive part of my life. Because 13 years ago my son was murdered minutes after he was born, because a transphobic bigot mistook me for being transgender, I'm STILL in a wheelchair, struggling to relearn to use my arms and legs, now 13 years later, and I'm still DAILY dealing with police officers and FBI agents who while they are trying to find my son's killer, they are also daily reminding me... oh, yeah, my son was murdered, literally ripped out of my belly, by a transphobe. Who still has not been located and walks free to kill again.

The golfclub woman as she looked during the golf club attack at Southern Maine community college November 14, 2013. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026.

Clairescreenshot.pngIf you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

The golfclub woman as she looked during the shopping cart attack at Scarborough WalMart July 26, 2016. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026.

zzzz999ClaireRed2016-screenshotIf you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

The 2nd woman as she looked at both attacks, her hair goes all the way down to her knees. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026.

Kendrascreenshot.pngIf you have any information about the identity of this child murderer's accomplice, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

I am a legally blind quadriplegic, and low verbal, I have also published 138 novels in the last 48 years. It's not as impossible as people think. The problem being blind and quadriplegic, medically have different meanings then how those two words are used medically.

Fewer than 3% of all blind people see nothing. While 97% people who are classified as fully blind are able to see up to two feet in front of them. Legally blind means I can see more then two feet in front of me but not far enough to see twenty feet in front of me. In my case I can see about eight feet.

Quadriplegic, has varying levels, it means having a damaged nerve bundle in the spinal column causing limited mobility of all 4 limbs, (in my case this was done by a women wielding a golf club, who also beat my 8 month infant's head to pulp on the parking lot tarmak, at the same time she severed my spine with the same golf club; both on November 14, 2013; the FBI investigation into my son's murder and my being crippled has gone on now for 13 years, a few weeks away from 14 years now, and the FBI has still not identified the killer or her motive). Contrary to popular misconception, quadriplegic does NOT mean ZERO movement, it means means limited movement, specifically in means unable to lift arms over head, unable to grip fingers around objects to pick them up, and unable to stand for more then 5 minutes to a time. Because there are so many thousands of nerves in each limb it is actually very rare for there to be 100% no movement, but how much, and to what extent varies by patent depending upon the specific point of injury to the spinal column.

Meaning typing is still possible for over 60% of all quadriplegics.

In my case, it was the lower spine that was severed, cutting off completly my ability to move my right leg, leaving limited feeling in my left leg, and an ability to stand but not walk, with crutches, for the first 9 years. I regained enough nerve growth in my legs by the 9th year to be able to take ten or twelve steps allowing me to get out of bed for the first time since the golf club attack; This in turn lead to me being able to start using a wheelchair, as I was able to sit upright for the first time as well.

Because the shattered vertebrae bone fragments are broken off completly and embedded into the nerve bundle just above my tailbone, doctors were saying I would never walk again, but now at 13 years, I am able to push mu wheelchair like a walker, a distance of almost a thousand steps a day. Though doctors are still doubtful I will ever walk "normally" again, I have proven them wrong, when their said 13 years ago, that I would never walk again at all.

But because of the placement of the damage to my spine, regaining hand use, was always thought possible, it was just a matter of waiting long enough for nerve regrowth, along side daily finger exercises. I was able to continue writing, after becoming quadriplegic, because I still have use of my right thumb, and 2 fore figures of my right hand. And can type 90 words per minute with those 3 fingers.

I however have no wrist strength, elbow strength, or shoulder strength, so I am not able to form a fist, or lift objects, or brush my hair, or my teeth, all thing I have to have my caretaker do. But, those things are not needed for typing. Unfortunately, my pinky and ring fingers are "nerve dead" and drag over the keyboard, and cause horrific spelling errors and typos, which are incredibly frustrating to deal with.

Unfortunately trying to edit errors myself, just makes the errors worse, because those same two fingers drag over the keyboard yet again. Prior to the golf club attack, I rarely had spelling errors; now I got more spelling errors then someone is learning English as second language. Editing is a challenge, that I've had to accept, I simply can not do myself, and I have to hire several editors to help with that.

Low verbal means sounds can still be made, sounds that software programs like Dragon can be trained to recognize and translate, and type into full words. More then half my novels were typed with this method.

I still have a long ways to go before I am anything close to being able to do the things I could do before the golf club woman beat my baby's brains out and shattered my spine. And you know what's more frustrating then how slow mu medical progression has been? The fact that it's been 13 years and the police and FBI are still coming up at dead ends as to who the woman who murdered my baby was, or why she even did it.

My son's 14th birthday is only a few weeks away, but he didn't even get to live long enough to celebrate his 1st birthday, I don't even know why. And I can't wait to regain my ability to walk again, because regaining my ability to walk, means gaining the ability to go outside and start looking for my son's murderer myself instead of sitting at home trapped in a wheelchair waiting for the police and FBI to to find her. So, writing isn't a big priority for me anymore. I only write now, as a way to exercise my hands, in between relearning to walk.

Never let a disability stop you. Plenty of writers, artists, athletes, do not let either blindness, speech impediments, or limited mobility hold then back from perusing their careers.

Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

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