November 14, 2023 was the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322


My Son Was Murdered, The Killer Walks Free, Your Child Could Be Next!

FAQ: What are the most visited pages on this website and how many visits do they get?

Several years ago, I wrote an article on how to write different types of magic uses, or rather how I personally write various types of magic users within the context of my Quaraun books. Today that page is one of my top ten most visited articles. It gets 50 to 500 views/reads/hits/visits per day depending on the time of the years and has had over 200k visits total since it was published.

Amphibious Aliens: Debunking The Atwater Family's Alien Abduction Hoax with more then 30MILLION reads since 2007 and The GoldenEagle: Debunking Stephen King's World's Most Haunted Car Hoax with over tenMILLION reads since 2007 still rank as the two most visited articles on my website, but, neither of those are writing related.

Writing Medieval Servants is my most visited writing related article with over 7MILLION reads.

The most requested, but apparently not so easy to find writing article is EelKat's Park Bench Method To Writing (you have to scroll half way down the page to find it. It's after the list of writing prompts). The name of the page is NOT "EelKat's Park Bench Method of Writing" which is why you guys have so much trouble finding it, LOL!)

This website was started in 1996 and has 1 to 3 new articles (all written by me, I am the only writer on this site) published almost daily. In 2017 we crossed ten thousand articles published. As of 2023, EACH article gets MINIMUM 10 to 70 reads PER DAY, with the high traffic articles getting 500+ reads per day.

And since December 2019, my website now gets three hundred thousand to 7 million reads per month - well over ONE HUNDRED MILLION PAGE READS PER YEAR, making it not only the single most trafficked site in the State of Maine, but also one of the most visited websites in ALL OF NEW ENGLAND!

{{{HUGS}}} Thank you to all my readers for making this possible!

 TRIGGERED! I'm a Straight Cis Woman, but I am deemed Too Gay For Old Orchard Beach, Are you too gay for the bigoted, minority harassing, white power, gay hating psychos of The Old Orchard Beach Town Hall Too? 

Stolen Car: Has Been Found & Brought Back Home! THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP!

By EelKat Wendy C Allen

Author, Artist, Art Car Designer, Voodoo Priestess, and Hoodoo Rootworker

Author of Cozy & Gothic Fantasy, Sweet/Fluffy M/M Furry Romance, Cosmic Horror, Space Opera, & Literary SoL genres. I write Elves, Fae, Unicorns, & Demons.

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Formerly the lens titled: Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

Ranked #3,397 in Cars, #229,210 overall

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

On May 5th, 2010 between 1PM and 4PM Maine's famous "Haunted Car" The Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330 was stolen from Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. We know who stole it, but they are refusing to give any information about what they did with it. Please if you have any information about the whereabouts of this car, please contact:

May 8th -- Contact info removed--- Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

Unfortunately as it was moved from person to person, it got cut in half and partly dissembled. ICKY, ICKY mess, but at least we have found it and the guy who has it now is helping us get it back where it belongs. I'll worry about what to do with the remains of the remains of my car once it's back home safe and sound again.

Contents at a Glance

  1. UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!
  2. Riding Back Home
  3. Home At Last!


Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!

The Goldeneagle is back home safe and sound. Thanks to all the people who helped me locate it, helped me buy it back from the scrap yard that it had been sent too, helped me move it and helped me pay the movers for it's long long 4 hour trip back home. Well, here it is as it looks today. As you can see from the pictures of it before it was stolen, verses the pictures of it after it was stolen 10 days ago, it suffered badly at the hands of the thieves. Oh well. I guess we will just have to rebuild.

Riding Back Home

Home At Last!

UPDATE: May 11, 2010: The Goldeneagle Has Been Found!Yes, we have now verified that the car sighted on May 8th, was in fact my car!

I have just returned, from the long long trip to verify that the car reported found and suspected of being my car, was in fact The Goldeneagle. It has sustained much damage in it's move, as you can see from the photos below. We are now working with a mover to get it brought back home and it shall soon be back where it belongs.

This is the first time I've seen it since it was stolen 6 days ago. The last 6 days are the ONLY 6 days of my entire life, that I have not been in this car. And actually, the damage is not as bad as was described to me over the phone - thank goodness! I talked with 7 different people on the phone, all of whom had seen my car, all of whom told me the car was now cut in half, but from there the reports varied, so until today I had no idea how badly it had or had not been damaged. While every one was telling me something slightly different, they all agreed on the fact that the car they had seen was now in 2 pieces, which confirmed the fact that each person had seen the same car while it was on the move across Maine. The last sighting of my car, it was reported heading towards a scrap yard, a place that makes a business of crushing cars. I knew the place people were talking about, that they thought my car was heading to, and so called them, and they did have my car, or at least a car that fit the description of my car had just come in shortly before my call to them, so they set it aside out back to wait for me to come take a look at it myself and see if the car they had was my Goldeneagle, and it was, as you can see from the pictures below.

I've just come from there and yes, as mentioned by every single person who called to report having seen my car, the Goldeneagle has been cut in half! Also some parts of it were already removed and sold before it reached the guy who has it right now. The floor boards are gone entirely, a result of the original mover dragging it on the ground behind his truck. But, floorboards are easily built by hand out of sheet metal, so that can be fixed.

All 4 wheels, and tires, and the rear axle were not with it, by the time it reached the guy who has it now, and no one seems to know what happened to them or where they went. Again, however, these are all parts that are replaceable, so, these too can be fixed.

Thankfully, the guy who cut it in half, cut it at the body to nose seam joint and it's a simple welding job to fix. Unfortunately the frame underneath the body (which was already cracked as a result of a tree falling on the car some 20 years earlier) has twisted out of shape and I suspect is beyond repair, but building a new frame from scratch will not be hard to do, and getting a Polaris frame (which will fit a 330 with slight adjustments) is not hard to do either, so the frame is fixable.

And oddly enough, most of the reports were telling me of body damage, which as it now turns out that most of the damage described as having been received in transit, was ACTUALLY the damage that was done to it by vandals last March, BEFORE the car was stolen on May 5th, and NOT damage it received while on it's move across the state. The damage you see done to the doors, was a result of the vandals prying open the LOCKED doors and as I said that had happened on March 18th, as did the holes in the fenders, and the other various twists and bends in the metal.

And considering the condition of it (it's last day of use consisted of a nose dive into the Atlantic Ocean, thus why the extensive rust) all in all, it survived it's trip rather well. And other than being cut in two and losing the floor boards and an axle, all in all it really did not sustain all that much damage in it's move across the state. It can be fixed.

I took these pictures of it's current state to a mover, and he thinks he can move it with a fork lift without any farther damage.

Arrangements are now being made to bring it home - in a few days the Goldeneagle will be back where it belongs.

Thank you once again, to all the people who helped me locate my stolen car {{{hugs and kisses}}}} to all of you!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

On May 5th, 2010 between 1PM and 4PM Maine's famous "Haunted Car" The Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330 was stolen from Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. We know who stole it, but they are refusing to give any information about what they did with it. Please if you have any information about the whereabouts of this car, please contact:

May 8th -- Contact info removed--- Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

More information about this car can be found at the following sites:

She claims that my car has a demon living in it. She also claims that that so-called demon is killing members at our church, via me casting spells and sending him out after people. She claims that the only way to put an end to the very long list of things she claims this "demon" is doing (deaths, illnesses, weather patterns, etc) is by taking my car and having it crushed in order to kill the so-called demon that she believes lives in my car. I may have Autism and not understand a lot of things, but even I know that these things she's claiming are nothing but the ravings of a madman.

I seem to recall, "Thou shalt not steal" being one of the 10 commandments. What, are they TOO Christian to bother with that one or something?

She stole my car. She is not denying she stole my car. She's quite proud of the fact that she stole my car. She sold it to have it crushed as scrap. A 1964 Dodge 330 Limited Edition, of which there are less than 1,000 known to exist in the entire world, one of the rarest cars there is, and SHE SOLD IT FOR SCRAP! For $80 dollars. She sold it for $80. OMG! Where is her brain? Can any one say Judas Iscariot and 30 pieces of silver? Not only is it a rare and irreplaceable car, but it's famous - I have tourists flocking to see it every year. People think the car is haunted.

My mom is not the only one who calls it demon possessed. Others say it has a ghost living in it. UFOlogists think it's some sort of energy magnet for UFOs or some weird theory. It's been in books and on TV, this car, is the car known as "The Goldeneagle". It has web sites and fan followings and T-shirts and mugs with it's picture on it. It's only been stolen a couple of hours and already fans of the Goldeneagle are going into an uproar online. I mean we're not talking about some little family car here. We're talking about a paranormal icon. This car is a legend. To people around the world this car is some sort of, I don't know, paranormal hotspot or something.

I just want my car back. I don't care if she did have it crushed, like she claims she did. I still want it back. Even if there's nothing left to finish restoring, I still want it back. I'll turn it's remains into a monument so that NO ONE will ever forget the lengths she went to to hurt me.

The only thing I had left was my car. She has already, burned, smashed, cut up, broken, trashed, set fire to, and destroyed everything else. Her going to my friends, family, and church telling people to stay away from me because her false claims I am demon possessed or a witch, cost me all of my friends years ago. Her running to my bosses have cost me my jobs. Year after year I try to ignore her steady constant defamation of my character. Year after year I try to ignore her calling me demon possessed or accusing me of being a witch. For years now, I kept telling the police and trying to ignore her and go on with my life, but she keeps on doing it and the police keep on ignoring me. Why? I have my own life. Why is she so obsessed with me? Why is she stalking me like this? Why won't she leave me alone? and why is no one doing anything to stop her?

All I had left was my car, and now it's gone. I have nothing left to lose now. No further reason to live. Nothing to look forward to. No dreams. No hopes. My dream to restore that car was the last dream I had left. All the other hopes and dreams I had, where already taken away by her. The police knew what she was going to do. The police knew she had threatened to take my car. The police knew that she had trashed my car March 2010, The police knew that she had already may an attempt to steal it a few days after the vandalism. The police knew. And The police did nothing. She does everything in her power to make life hell and not worth living, and for 20 years now I've been coming to The police, asking for their help. Twenty years, begging The police to do something, anything to stop her madness, stop her hate, stop her violence. Twenty years The police have stood back and done nothing. October 2006, my house was burnt down, after she threatened to burn it down, and I became homeless, and still The police did nothing. Why? Why aren't The police doing their job? Why? Why won't The police stop these ludicrous hate crimes? Why won't The police stop her acts of violence and terror? Why did The police let her steal my car? I don't understand. It's their job to stop criminals. Why won't The police stop her?

That car was all I had left. The police knew she getting ready to take it. The police knew. The police could have stopped her. The police knew and The police did nothing. Why?

Why didn't The police believe me? Why didn't The police help me? Why didn't The police listen? Why don't The police care? Why do The police allow this to go on? Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Why? I can't take this any more.

But I am asking anyone now: PLEASE HELP ME FIND MY CAR. Please bring it back. And don't underestimate the length I will go to to get this car back - in ANY condition. There is NOTHING else in the world, more important to me, than this car and there is nothing I won't do to get it back. It was all I had left. Without it, I have nothing left to live for. I can't go on like this. Every day she comes up with some new way to make my life hell, and she's already trashed and destroyed every thing else I owned. All I had left was my car. Why didn't The police stop her?

She is the same person who did this on March 18, 2010:

I am getting sick an tired of dealing with increasingly psychotic and childish people. The vandals have struck once again - but this time, they got caught in the act and I know WHO they are. There are two vandals, a man and a woman - husband and wife, from the Saco ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Maine.

I arrived home tonight to find them IN my car. In my locked car, which they had removed the door of to get into. They broke the lock off the back passenger side door. They removed both the front and back seats from my car. They slashed the seats of my car and ripped out the stuffing. They slashed the headliner of my car and pulled it off. They took the arm rests off the insides of the doors.

This car - being a 1964 Dodge 330 worth approx $50,000 has just received nearly it's value in damage at the hands of 2 "good Christians".

I will be posting pictures of the damage tomorrow - both here and in a new chapter of For Fear of Little Men, which I shall write tonight.

The worst part of it is - it's one of my relatives.

I fail to see the logic behind these increasingly idiotic and senceless acts of vandalism. This is the same relative who broke into my house a few years back and burned all of my manuscripts and artwork too.

I'm seriously questioning her sanity and wondering how to go about having her institutionalized as criminally insane, if any one has any advice on how to go about institutionalizing this woman before her acts of violence get any worse - please let me know.

She is doing this, because she claims that I have a demon. She says it is alright to do these things to me, my pets, and my belongings, because she says God tells her it is alright. She says that God wants her to drive out my demons. Her constant talk about her belief that I have a demon is baffling.

While I am not the only person she accuses of being demon possessed, I seem to be the only person she consistently vandalizes in this manner.

This is the same woman who goes to my church and tells my Bishop I am a witch, the same woman who has tried for several years to have me excommunicated from the church, her reason being that a am "a demon possessed witch who puts curses on her". That accusation alone should have told the Bishop and other church leaders that she is a raving lunatic.

This is the same woman who on multiple occasions attacked my dad with an ax - twice sending him to the hospital.

She is the woman suspected of having burned my house down 4 years ago.

FAQ: Why Do People Believe This Car Is Haunted, Cursed, or Possessed?A Brief History of The Goldeneagle

For 30 years, the Goldeneagle has sat in my garden, silent and motionless, sitting on top an ancient Native American grave yard. Originally it was one of many cars that lined this hill. Mechanics have long baffled over our difficulty at keeping a car running. We buy on average a new car every 6 months, a necessity caused by the inexplicable fact that once a car is parked too close the The Goldeneagle, it never runs again. The only answer mechanics have ever been able to come up with was that our driveway must be on top of some sort of "natural electrical fault line" which drains the power out of the cars, thus causing irreprible damage to the battery, alternator, and electrics. Local people with more superstitious beliefs, point to The Goldeneagle, saying that it has an energy sucking demon in it that drains the electricity out of everything that passes it. They point out that it is not just cars, but also watches, radios, cameras, clocks, and other electrical items which also die once in contact with the car. Indeed they have a point. It is a puzzlement, that could possibly explained by the last day of this car's life.

The "electrical sucking" problems are a more recent development however. The car, when brand new, was a problem from the day it left the showroom. Driving it was near impossible, as was controlling it. Every one who ever attempted to drive it, compared it to "Herbie The Love Bug" saying it had a mind of it's own and would not go where they wanted to go. You could sit for hours trying to get it to start, than give up, only to have the engine come on on it's own. There was no way to adjust the speed of it. If it was moving, it was going 80MPH or 35MPH. There was no in between, and it went fast or slow without warning. Mechanics who examined the car, said they could find nothing wrong, but assumed it was a problem with it's control system. You see, this car was an unusual model. A limited edition. A prototype, less than 5,000 of them were built, today this car is one of less than a thousand presumed to exist, though some estimate there may be fewer than a hundred of them left.

This model, a 1964 Limited Edition Version of a 330 Coronet, was made from September 1963 - January 1964. Technically it is a 1963 Dodge, that was built using parts from both the left over parts of a 1963 Coronet and the later 1964 330, thus the difference from a Limited Edition 330 and a regular edition 330. There in lays the problem. The 1964 330 is a push button car, while the 1963 Coronet is just a regular key operated car. In other words, they combined push button technology on a none push button car. The regular edition 330's did not have this problem, because they were push button cars, made to be push button cars. Because of this unique combo feature of the Limited Edition versions of the 330's, mechanics assumed that The Goldeneagle's problems stemmed from that. Somewhere in the system, when connecting the push button wiring in, something must be faulty they said. However, while mechanics had a logical and rational answer for our car's inexplicable activity, several locals, preferred the superstitious answer, of saying the car was possessed and had a demon controlling it.

Than there was, however, the doors. While driving down the road, switching from 35 to 80 to 35 again, the doors would suddenly fly open, the seat belt unbuckle, and it was, hang on for your life or going flying out on the pavement head first. Because the car is so huge and can move 8 people, we often carpooled locals to church on Sunday. However, this event was short lived, as after a few times of this door flinging habit, they began to swear the car had "pushed them out". While church members kept their distance saying a demon in the car had tried to kill them, mechanics said the problem was three fold - caused by faulty locks, damaged seat belts, and cracked rocker panels.

The car was originally intended to be one of the town police cars. Old Orchard Beach had bought a whole fleet of Dodge's that year. The Goldeneagle, however, did not see duty with the rest of the fleet, because it's problems were there from the very beginning, straight from the factory. An elderly man bought the silver still unmarked police car, and with a paint brush, painted the entire car in gold leaf, named it The Goldeneagle, and it became his rarely used family car. The Goldeneagle stood out, a sight for sore eyes, it's thick, cracked, dripping, brush streaked paint job, made it a sight from hell. It's mad dash habit of unexpectedly speeding than flinging it's doors open, caused people to run from the streets when they saw it coming. With it's gold streaked paint resembling fire, it's brazen lipstick red interior, a white jagged grill that looked like teeth, and big round head lights that looked like eyes, the car was dubbed demon possessed, and quickly became a local legend. Unable to control his car, the elderly man put it in storage, and it sat unused for years, no one dared go near the thing, and locked away, it was quickly forgotten.

Than in 1975, the car was discovered locked away, nearly new, and with almost no mileage on it at all. Because people were terrified of it, believing it to be haunted or possessed; it was going to be crushed. But my father not believing in local superstition around the car, and seeing it silly to crush a nearly brand new, though badly painted, police car brought it home. My dad, an antique car collector at the time, offered $100 to buy it from the crusher and brought it home. My father was convinced that the superstition behind the car being demon possessed were nothing but people's imagination, and he set out to a total rebuild from the ground up, to put an end once and for all to the unexplained activities of this bizarre car. My father's theory was it had serious factory built mechanical problems, thus why the massive rebuilding of it. The car spent a year in pieces and finally it reemerged, a metal-flaked orange, with thick neon red hippie shag interior. It went from demon terror to flashy pimp-mobile. However, rebuilding it, did nothing to stop it's habit of driving off, opening doors and "throwing" people out of itself.

Over the next 7 years, the car would go to more than 40 different mechanics for an evaluation. Oddly, of all the places we took it, there was only one mechanic, who would continually work on this car, again and again, and again. It became a monthly habit to take the car to him. What was odd about this was that in the past three day, my car was stolen, chopped up, nearly crushed, stripped down, passed from person to person, and eventually landed back where it had originally started out: in the yard of the only man to be able to work on it all those many years ago. The guy who has it right this moment was only one of over 40 mechanics that worked on this car, trying to find out what was wrong with it. I was quite surprised actually, when an anonymous tip came to me, yesterday, telling me that they had seen my car earlier that morning being hauled towards his business and they suspected it was on it's way to him. Well, having had most of my cars there at one point or another, and knowing this man and his business, I called him, and indeed, my car was in fact there, and I had called him just in time to stop it from being scraped. He has set it aside and it is now awaiting it's ride back home. This fact no doubt, will cause these superstitious people to claim the car possessed the truck driver to take it to that particular place, knowing it would be saved from the crusher if it could only get to the one man who had a past history with this very car. But in any case, all these years, no mechanic has ever been able to cure the car of it's odd little habits.

When my father first brought it home it was assumed that the car was in near perfect condition. This assumption was based on the fact that it had seen almost no road time as a police car and had seen very little road time while owned by the elderly man. Upon bringing it home, a new discovery was made, one that no one had before been aware of - this car, before being put into storage, had been submerged in salt water, a fact that was revealed, when my father stripped it down to try to find out what was wrong with it. The discovery of the car's connection to the ocean, had only just begun. In the few short years we drove it, it would take several flying leaps off roads, piers, and bridges, and do a nose dive straight into the ocean, as if being dragging in by a magnet. It is unknown how many times this car went underwater, but it is suspected now that this alarming habit was what caused the elderly man to lock it up all those years prior.

We had the car four years, when it began to "attract death" and locals began pointing a finger at the car claiming it's demon was now killing people. In 1979, a ten year old girl on a bike, was hit by a car and killed instantly. She died in our driveway, under the front bumper of The Goldeneagle. Though not the car to hit her, it's presence on the scene of the crime, caused an out cry, to crush the car and kill it's demon.

An alarming discovery was made years later, when it was discovered that this was not the first young girl to see such a fate. Many years before we had acquired the car, my Aunt B, when just 2 years old, had likewise been hit by a car, though again not the Goldeneagle that hit her, it was there at the scene of the crime, and it had been blamed for causing her near death. This scene of young girls dieing or nearly dieing inches from The Goldeneagle, would repeat itself many times, and became the thing that would make this car a legend.

Dead dogs, cats, and birds, began to show up, around the car with no explanation as to how they got there, and than, the thing that terrified many - one day at church, the car lept off by itself, "chased after" two small white terrier dogs and crushed them. This event was witnessed by nearly every member of the church. It would be the last time we would take The Goldeneagle to church on Sundays, instead using the blue station wagon after that, because of the outcried of hate and terror from members whenever they saw the Goldeneagle.

While the other habits this car had, were scaring people, it was it's connection to death, that had caused the outright terror, that would result in the many years of vandalism. For over 30 years The Goldeneagle has been consistently vandalized. We had had it only 2 years, before the first attack on it by locals, who filled the gas tank with beach sand, and the entire fuel line had to be rebuilt as a result. From the mid 1970's - 1980's, we weekly found the car egged, marshmallowed, t-papered, and keyed along with messages to crush it to stop the curse. It has in it, it's third windshield, a result of rocks having been thrown at it on multiple occasions - once while we were driving in it: the rock came threw the windshield and missed my forehead by millimeters. While we knew who a few of the vandals were, we never found out who was behind most of this long years of attacks on the car.

The Last Ride of The Goldeneagle and Why the Woman Who Stole It, Hates It So Much

When I was 9 years old, an event would happen to terrify every one, and cause the car to never be used ever again. A hurricane lashed wildly up the coast, not unusual, seeing how we live on a beach. My self-proclaimed "prophet" cult leader grandfather had phoned from Utah to say that a fire would kill us all. He than phoned my grandmother in Biddeford and told her the same thing. This was not an unusual happening, as he was a raving lunatic and had made hundreds of such wild "prophecies" every week for years. The difference was, around midnight my grandmother called us in terror to say that her house was in flames. Without a thought we all piled into the Goldeneagle, it being the fastest car we had, and sped the way to Biddeford We arrived on Graeme Street to see the giant Victorian mansion nothing but towering flames and my grandmother running down the road hugging her cat. She lept into the car and we drove around Biddeford waiting for the fire to stop and trying to calm her down. It was one of Biddeford's biggest fires, spreading out to neighboring houses and the town was in a panic trying to keep the fire from spreading to the 1700's Congregational/Temp Saco ward Mormon Church next door. The giant ancient church with it's towering stain glass windows is unique around here, the goal was to save the church at all costs. All costs, cost my grandmother and five other families their homes, as the fire swept up the block burning everything in it's path. With the Goldeneagle cruising on the scene of Biddeford's giant fire, rumors started up, that the car's demon had started the fire.

Two days later, with the hurricane still raging down on us, half the town evacuated, and flood waters now nearing the town hall, a woman on East Grand Ave, doubled over, coughing up pools of blood, with 4 feet of water and rising fast, power lines down, and brilliant blue flashes of electricity coming from the power lines and sparking across the water, no ambulance could get to her. It was our Goldeneagle that would suddenly take an 80MPH nose dive down Maine Street, and into the raging hurricane tossed Atlantic Ocean with it's 20 foot waves, water flashing with wild electrical power lines, and water well over the roof. The drive went on underwater for nearly a mile to East Grand Ave. With the woman in the car, the entire car filled to the dash with ocean water fast turning red with blood, we were speeding back up Main Street and reached the Town Hall Hill, to be meet by 3 police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance, all of which followed us on the fastest car ride I have ever been in as we drove the dieing woman at speeds far in excess of 100MPH all the way to the Webber Hospital some 15 miles away.

The combination of the off the chart speeds (the hand marking our speed had gone all the way around and broke off), and the long drive under salt water, fighting against a raging hurricane, put too much stress on ever fiber of the car. When we finally stopped, opened the doors, let the water drain out and got the woman into the hospital, the car would never move again. The trans was shot, the engine waterlogged, the frame cracked, axles twisted, both back wheels hanging side ways, and the leaf springs left who knows where behind somewhere under the ocean. A friend who saw the high speed chase, and had joined in behind the police, drove up behind us in a light blue VW. The giant 19 foot long Goldeneagle was tied to the bumper of the tiny VW and towed home, parked in my rose garden, and would never move again until May 5, 2010, when it was stolen. Alarmingly, it was this very same woman whose life had been saved by this car, who was the woman to steal this car and sell it to be crushed, claiming it had a demon in it. Since the day of the high speed cash that saved her life and killed my car, she has maintained the theory that it was the car that had caused her health problems to begin with, claiming the car's demon had cursed her.

My Rose Garden: The View of the Goldeneagle From The Road --- Can You See It?

Behind the Roses: A Car Hidden From the World --- a Close Up of the Same Spot in the Photo Above

The Rise of The Rose GardenOn Being Homeless and Living In a Dead Car

When I was 9 years old, I did not yet have a garden. I did however have a car, which I bought for $1 from my father. The car was turned into an office and I would set out to writing the Twighlight Manor series, while using the Goldeneagle as a writing desk. If I was outside of the house, I was inside of the car. I pretty much lived in the car, and it was not unusual for me to take my meals outside to eat in the car and often, stay out at night and sleep in the car. As a general rule, I spent only one or two hours a day, for the next 20 years, NOT inside of this car. I grew up on a cult compound. While I could not escape the cult, I found I could escape having to listen to their constant preaching, by locking myself inside of The Goldeneagle and reading or writing and ignoring their delusions about all the evil that existed in the world outside of their cult.

My constantly in the car all day and all night for years on end, resulted in my getting to see people's fascination with it. It seemed, my car was some sort of tourist attraction for visitors from Quebec, who for some odd reason, flocked to my car every summer and stood around chattering in French. Nearly every one of them would attempt to buy it, with offers going higher and higher. The highest offer I have yet received, for the car I paid only $1 for, was $50,000, an offer that came long after the car had collapsed to the ground and had to be lifted up on cinder blocks to protect it.

The problem here, is I have Autism and I can not deal with even just one or two people around me with my having a panic attack. So these daily visits from dozens and dozens of French Canadians was driving my batty and I had to do something to stop them from flocking to my car. On the other hand, than there were the local religion crazies, who were daily dropping by to throw eggs at my car. I had to stop that at well.

To protect it from the vandals who thought it was cursed, and Canadians who seemed desperate to buy it, a garden was built around it, thus hiding it from the sight of the world. By the time I was 11, the car could no longer be seen, as pine trees, blackberries, lilacs, and roses, grew up over and around my car. I never did a thing to trim them, letting them grow wild, and by my late 20's they had become a huge jungle, and local vandals seemed to have forgotten my car existed seeing how not even NASA Satellites or Google Maps, had been able to see. People have stood only inches from the car and not known it was there, not until March 18, 2010 that is, when the vandal woman who would steal and sell it on May 5, 2010, came in and tore up all my bushes, uncovered the long buried and forgotten to the world car, and smashed the living hell out of it (see photos above).

While I had always planned on restoring The Goldeneagle, it's last drive through the ocean, had cause serious damage and massive rust problems, which prevented me from doing anything loud or harsh around the car for fear of it crumbling. Yes, the rust had gotten that bad. It was the fact that the rust had gotten so bad, that was the reason the vandals were able to do so much damage so fast, with so little effort. For years my comings and going in and out of this car had been delicate and gentle. I knew what to touch and what not to touch. I knew where it's weak spots were and how to avoid them. The vandals in their brutish ox in a china closet manner had ripped off the doors, and jumped in. The result was the instant disintegration of the entire floor. Once the floor had crumbled it was a simple matter of pulling off every thing else and throwing it.

Oh yes, I knew years ago, what would happen if any one touched this car in even the slightest manner. You have to remember, that I am homeless. I have been homeless for many, many years. This car IS my home, my house. I lived in this car. I knew how to keep it from falling apart, and I knew that under no circumstances could any one ever be allowed to touch it in it's frail delicate condition.

The problem with having Autism, is you have a server disability that prevents you from doing pretty much almost everything, and bars you from getting hired at places that would rather not hire you, but than, you have to deal with laws with also say Autism is not considered enough of a disability for you to get disability help from the State, either. It's all I can do, just to find enough food to feed me and my cats. Finding a place to live or a way to restore my car, is near impossible unless I can find someone who will hire an Autistic woman who only knows how to read, write, work on 1964 Dodges, grow roses, and embroider. I don't know how to do anything else. I can't count, I can't do math, I can't do money, I can't tell time, and most stuff that people seem to think is easy, I can not understand at all.

In fact, guarding this car is the only real thing I have ever done with my life. It is a vigil I took very seriously thus why the fight to get it back. Guarding this car and protecting it from vandals, IS my job, my purpose, my duty, my life. To protect this car at all costs - that is what I have done since I was 9 years old. Only this, and nothing more. There were no adults in my life to teach me how to do anything else, and so for 30 years, it's the only thing I have done, because it's the only thing I know how to do. Had I the money to rebuild it and drive it, I would in a heart beat. That would not be hard at all. I know every inch of this car. It's like a giant jig saw puzzle. I'm good with puzzles. Give me a puzzle that takes the average person weeks to finish and I'll have it done in less than an hour. Give me the parts to rebuild my car, and it'll be on the road in days. Putting it back together is not the problem, it's lacking the pieces needed to put it together that is the problem. But guarding, protecting, and working on this car, it really is the only thing I know how to do. For the last 30 years, I have done nothing else, for the simple fact, I was never allowed to do anything else, today, I don't know how to do anything else.

This car was much more than just my car, it was also my house. I lived in this car - you will remember that I am technically homeless - this car IS my home. Without it, I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything I owned was inside of that car. When they took the car, they left me, quite literally, with absolutely nothing. Like Jesus and Gandhi I own nothing. All I had was this car to live in and now I don't have that any more. Well, I'll have it back in a few days, but I won't be able to live in it any more, because the people who stole it, also cut it up. It's now in pieces. So in essence, they not only stole my car, but they also stole my house. The "tent" thing was next to the car, I used the tent in the winter when it snowed, and the rest of the year, I used the car. Now I have no roof over my head at all. And with no way to put the Goldeneagle back into one peice again, it may be a very long time before I have a roof over my head again.

FAQ: What Is It About You and This Car? It's Beyond Repair, Why Do You Keep It? Why Is It So Important To You?

Because this car is my best friend. My only friend. The only friend I've ever had. I don't have any one else. I have no family. I have no friends. I am alone. I am homeless. I have Autism. I am outcast, by society. I have no one to talk to. I have NO ONE. NO ONE. NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON. I started talking to this car when I was 4 years old, because there was no one else for me to talk to. No one. My family consisted of a group of religion crazed jerks, lead by a self proclaims prophet who had found a cult, and who on his orders, have shunned me since I was 4 years old. Not one of the adults ever talked to me, ever looked at me, ever acknowledged that I existed. They only time I was mentioned by any of them, was to warn each other to not talk to me, because they told one another I was the child of Satan and possessed by an evil spirit. And so, for 27 years, ever since I was 4 years old, I sat in my garden and talked to the only thing that didn't turn it's back on me, the only thing that didn't shun me, the only thing that did not accuse me of being evil: this car.

Etiole, aka The White Monkey, is why, well, not him exactly, but the way I was treated because I refused to deny that I had seen something in the woods all those years ago, when I was just four years old. Because I refused to tell a lie and say that I had not seen "the White Monkey" I was locked up for 27 years, with no human contact outside of the members of the cult compound on which I lived. On what few occasions I was allowed outside of the house, it was to lock me inside of this car.

And the car, aka The Goldeneagle.... I spent 27 years alone in isolation with only this car to talk to. I had no one else to talk to. Just The Goldeneagle. This car became, the only real friend I have ever had. Since I was 4 years old, I was not allowed to have contact with humans. I escaped from the cult at age 30, and the only thing I kept, was this car.

Yes. That one little tiny five minute segment of one day, in one summer of my life when I was 4 years old, is what snowballed to cause everything else, and they won't let it go, my relatives still today nearing on 40 years later, still taunt me and spend an abnormal amount of time contacting every person in every church I try to attend "warning them" about me and "my white monkey". I was barely more than a baby, but they base everything on that one event. I've got 2 uncles who, if I try to talk, they put their hand up and say:

"Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Oh no! No! Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. No! You're crazy, I don't want to hear it. I remember the White Monkey. No. No. No. No. No. You're the crazy girl that ran from the temple. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Your evil spirit will get me. I'm not going to listen to you. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala.see I can't hear you. I'm not listening. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. This is me. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. Not listening. See? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope."

I'd look at him standing there with his fingers in his ears and think: "And he's calling ME crazy? I mean - I'm a kid, he's 60. What, you're telling THAT'S normal? If he's normal I want no part of normal!"

They won't drop it. They won't leave it alone. They have cost me friends and jobs because every new friend I make they rush to "warn them" about me, and every job I get I quickly lose as a result of my relatives "warning" my boss and co-workers about me. I wish my relatives would leave me alone. I wish they would stop harassing me. I wish they would stop hounding me about the white money. They remember the event better than I do. I'm not even sure that my memories of the event are even my own! Not a day passes that they do not obsess and chide me over this event. It was nearly 40 years ago. They act like it was yesterday. I was a baby when it happened. My memories of the event are more of what they tell me happened rather than my actually remembering the event itself.

But it was like that my whole childhood. And my teen years. And my young adult years. And now in my middle age years. As a result, you well very rarely if ever, hear me saying the word "No" vocally. I have a deep dislike of the word, after hearing it repeated 3 dozen times every single time I open my mouth.

But it was every body. My church, my uncles, my cousins, they all treated me like that. My 2 grandmothers and my Aunt B. were the only ones who didn't treat my like I belonged in a straight jacket. The rest were constantly telling me I needed to be in a straight jacket, ever since I was 4 years old, ever since "The White Monkey".

I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone either. If I tried to speak, my relatives would grab my arm, shove me behind them, and than explain "She's crazy, don't listen to her, we don't. She has an evil spirit you know. Remember the White Monkey?" It didn't matter what it was I was going to say or who it was I was going to say it too, it was always "Don't talk to her. She's crazy. Remember the White Monkey." The adults in my life made sure that I would never ever forget the White Monkey, they brought it up every day in every conversation. Normally, I probably would have forgotten the whole thing with in a week. I mean, I was four years old for crying out loud! I don't remember hardly anything that happened to me when I was four. I remember the White Monkey and I remember the temple trip. Why? Because every day I was shushed up, told not to speak, and whomever I was trying to speak to was told "She's crazy. Don't talk to her. Remember the White Monkey." or "That's the girl that ran away from the temple. Stay away from her. She's nuts!" Both incidents happened when I was 4 years old, and they are the only two things I can remember from that year, because no one ever allowed me to forget them.

I got used to the name calling early. My high priest/Sunday school teacher used to think it was weird that when he'd call my name in class, I acted like I was deaf and not respond at all. One day he asked me about it. I was 12, I could not understand why he'd be using my name at all. He tried to explain that that was what people did, but I did not understand him, because no one had ever used my name before. After he met my relatives, and the way they talked about me (they never talked to me, always about me), he realized why I had been so confused by his using my name. After that he made sure to use my name every day. He come over to the house to talk to me and said my name several times. I guess he realized that, I didn't really even know what my name was, because it was not a word I'd ever heard before.

The Goldeneagle, my 1964 Dodge, stopped running when I was 9, but before that, when I was 9 and younger, she used to make me sit in the car. Someone would try talking to me, usually a Sunday School teacher, and she'd freak out if I dared look up at them. I was always supposed to look at my feet, and she yelled and threatened me, if I looked up. I guess that's why I don't look at people when I talk now. I know that seems to upset people, and I try to look at them when I talk, but it's like I'm "gun shy" over it, because for years I was punished for looking at people while talking. I guess in the back of my mind, it's like, I keep hearing her telling me it's sinful and I get all jumpy and nervous about it and stare down at my feet or my hands instead of looking at you when I talk. But than, she'd drag me out of the church and make me sit out in the car. She'd give me "the silent treatment" which I sort of liked in a way, because it was really the only time she ever shut up. I mean, her mouth was always going steady. If she was awake her mouth was flapping, and it was always bitter and filled with anger and hate. I can't remember her ever saying a kind or loving thought about any one. She's just so full of hate. Every other word out of her mouth was bitch, slut, whore, whoremonger, bastard whoremonger, filth bitch, lust, or some other variation of all of the above. I don't remember her ever addressing me by my name. I was always "the filthy bitch", "that child of Satan", "that evil demon possessed witch", "little piece of trash", "the competition bitch", or "that slut assed whore". So, locking me in the car and than sitting there glaring in at me, not saying a word, was sort of relief for me, because I could finally get some piece and quiet for a few minutes. I mean, just for a few minutes to pass without having to hear the word "bitch" twenty times was a blessing!

I spent probably 70% of my childhood sitting in that car. The only times I got let out of my room, was to get in the car and drive to church, get in the car and drive to her hundreds of doctor appointments, or "get in the car you bitch and think about what you did". I did a lot of getting in the car and thinking. And talking. To the car. There wasn't any one else to talk to. After she'd lock me in the car (which was pointless, cause I could unlock it from the inside), she'd turn around and start yelling at my dad. Sometimes I wonder if she didn't put me in the car, just so that she COULD yell at him, without having to keep an eye on me. I liked being in the car when she started yelling at him, because it was safe in there. Safe from the bricks, which she always seemed to have. I never realized it than, but thinking back now, I wonder, why we always had bricks in the house? They were just laying around on the floor and on the table, and when she got mad she'd grab them and start throwing them. I never thought it strange as a kid, because they was just always there, but looking back now, I don't it's normal to have bricks laying around the house like that is it? I mean, I've never heard of any one else doing that? I have no idea why the bricks were there.

My relatives fought constantly. Violent fights. Not just yelling and name calling. Fist fist. Punching each other out. Shooting shotguns at each other. Sometimes, when the fighting got really bad, I'd go hide in the car. When the fighting started outside, sometimes they'd grab an axe off the woodpile and chase each other with it. I'd run for the car, take the keys with me, and lock myself inside. I always had the keys to that car. My dad gave them to me when I was like 5 or 6 years old. That's how it became my car in the first place. If any one wanted to drive that car, they had to get the keys from me. I was about 8, when my mom started calling the car "demon possessed" and tried to sell it. My dad put a stop to it saying "That's her car, you can't sell it unless she says you can." After that my dad made it very clear to every one, that the Dodge was mine, and no one was to touch it. I didn't own much, and birthdays and Christmas were not a big deal because I was a female in the Mormon church, where females have no rights and thus did not deserve parties and presents and stuff. I had one sort of a party when I was 6 and another when I was 8, both involved 3 cousins coming over to help me blow up balloons, than eat cake, than leave. But the rest of my years it was "that bitch don't deserve a birthday." So, the car, was pretty much the only thing I was ever allowed to own.

Over the years it became my safe haven, my only means of escape from the mad house I lived in. It's the only place I've ever felt safe. Ever. Even still today 40 years later - inside that car, is the ONLY place, I feel safe. I got really bad off, as a teenager. I became very suicidal, well, I still am actually, just not quite as bad as I was back than. Tajid's murder, really, pushed me to my limits, I mean, it's not every day you walk into your garden and find your best friend laying there chopped up. You know. I did not deal with it well. And the court trail, just week after week and month after month and for what? My best friend was still dead, and than Lisa B. was dead too. I remember, she was standing over him and I came around the corner, and she was right there, just two inches from my face, we were eye to eye, I looked at her, and than I saw Tajid on the ground, and I knew what happened, and she knew, I knew what happened. I turned and ran like hell, screaming all the way back to the house, and she ran right after me, right on my heels the whole way. My dad heard me screaming and came out of the house, just as I ran running in past him, and he grabbed Lisa, and I don't know how the police got there but next thing I knew there were police all over the whole yard, and Lisa B. was dragged away and I had all these people all around me asking every question under the sun, and than some one handed me a paper and said they'd let me know when the court date was. And Tajid was just laying there. He was still alive and he was just laying there, and Anistatia was still alive too, but her legs were both cut off and her intestines were pull out and her breakfast was falling out of her stomach and the others were dead, John had been drowned in the brook, his neck was broken, by the end of the day Tajid and Ann were dead, I was the only one left alive. I was just so, sick, I couldn't get them out of my head. I couldn't eat for the longest while, not after what happen to Ann, seeing her food just pouring out of her stomach like that. I just. I went numb. That's when I stopped talking. I just shut down. I couldn't deal with it. After the court stuff was over, I retreated to the car, to my Dodge, my Goldeneagle. I stayed there, in the car, for days, and days, and days. I didn't move. I couldn't. There have been so many time, that if I had not had that Dodge, I really don't think I'd be alive now. Just having that car, having a place that I felt safe and protected in, made me feel, comforted and less like wanting to kill myself. I wouldn't be alive today, if I had not had that car to turn to, because I didn't have any one or anything else to turn to. It's the only place, I've ever felt safe.

In 2003, when I was 28, when I lost my high priest, I took Buddy, my dog, and we walked for miles. We walked to the beach. Than walked the length of the beach. We turned around, and walked back the length of the beach, which is 7 miles each way We got to Pine Point, and we walked down the train tracks. Than we walked back home, and sat in the Dodge for days. And than every day after that, rain, snow or shine, until Buddy, got to old last year, we walked that same roght, than came home and sat in the Dodge. I didn't know what else to do. I'd never been without out him before, my high priest that is. And than suddenly I was completely alone. Just me and Buddy, and my car.

But than Buddy died 3 years ago and now it's just me and my car.

My Goldeneagle is the only thing I have left now.

I am alone.

No friends.

No family.

Just my car. Only this and nothing more.

So you see, for 27 years, this car was quite literally, the only friend I had. That is why, I fight for this car. I lost my high priest, the only human who ever talked to me, 7 years ago. I lost my dog, 3 years ago. I can't lose this car, because it's all I have left, I don't have anything else left to lose. You can read the rest of this very, very, very long article here:

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By EelKat Wendy C Allen

Eye of the GrigoriIf you ever made fun of or had any part in the destruction of my farm, and the illegal selling of half of my land to Colliard, you shall lose your land.
tent2.JPGIf you ever made fun of or had any part in my being homeless since 2006 - YES, I AM still homeless in 2023, you shall become homeless.
eelkats_house_before_after.jpgIf you ever made fun of or had any part in the backhoe driving over my house, you shall lose your house.
home again the return of the goldeneagle dodge 330If you ever made fun of or had any part in my car being cut in half, you shall lose your car.
volvo-art-car-eelkat-Dazzling-Razzbury-3-artist-wendy-c-allen-painting3.pngIf you ever made fun of or had any part in my becoming crippled, you shall lose your health.
If you ever made fun of or had any part in the murder of my son, your child shall die an equally horrible death. If you haven't got a child to lose, it will be a brother or sister or parents or spouse or whomever you love the most, and that you should know it was this curse which you brought upon yourself that killed them, they will die on exactly the 7 year anniversary of the very first time, you mocked the death of my child.

Evil men go out of their way to try to drive a person to suicide.

Are you an evil man?

Are you sure you're not?

How many people have YOUR hate filled words killed?

Next time you go to do a mean thing to a fellow human, stop and really think about the consequences of your actions.

Did you ever notice how every one has a story to tell about me, yet not one of them ever speaks the truth?

What lies has YOUR gossiping tongue spread about me?

Did you know...

October 16, 2006, bomb blew up my house because of YOUR lies.

August 8, 2013, the house which replaced the one the bomb blew up, was driven over by a backhoe.

November 14, 2013, my 8 month old infant son was murdered because of your lies.

November 14, 2013, I was beaten up, paralized for 5 months, spent 18 weeks relearning to walk, I'm now crippled for the rest of my life, because of YOUR lies.

Are you proud of what you have done?

Enjoy your eternity in Hell. You earned it. You've certainly worked hard for it.


If you have any information about any of these events, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Update: November 12, 2023

Two days is the 10 year anniversary of the murder of my 8 month old son. The killer has not been found yet. Old Orchard Beach, Maine Police at 207-935-4911 and Portland Maine FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 are investigating the murder of my son so, if you have any information, please give it to them.

UPDATE to add answer to question:

No. I am legally blind. I have been since I was 4 years old. I can not see what she looks like. I go by sound of voice and body smell to identify people. For what someone looks like I have to go by what others tell me. Like I said, I've never seen the woman who attacks, as she clearly knows I am legally blind and stays over 4 feet away from me. 

A person has to be closer than four feet from me in order for me to even make out the blur outline of their body shape/height/weight. But in order for ne to see their face they must have their face closer the EIGHT INCHES.

It's why I CAN identify the Claire woman and the Kendra woman who murdered my son, if anyone ever finds them and gets them in a line-up, I would be able to pick them out, but why I can not identify this weird crazy woman who shows up at the Biddeford apartment and stand yelling on the front porch and killed my dog Mickey in June 2023, and tried to kill me by poisoning my pizza at Round 1, while running around the restaurant screaming the same way she does here.

I can identify her voice and her laugh and her smell, its a very "Minnie Mouse type" high pitch shrieking with a megaphone style booming cackle laugh. And she smells really strong of alcohol drinks but I don't know what type as I am a Mormon and I don't know them. She also has a weird "rotting cat pee mixed with burned cotton candy smell" to her, which I am told by police, sounds like I am trying to describe a mix of "crack and weed" which the police said is some type of drug, but again, I'm a Mormon so I do not know those things. According to witnesses she is very fat, According to both my mother and my father she is well over 300lbs. Around twenty different people said she has "Shirley Temple Sausage curls" hair, while nearly a dozen other people said she has red curly hair, and several more people described her with straight purple hair, while some described her as wearing a "pulp fiction uma thurman wig".

In total well over a hundred people have come forward citing that she shows up on their porch and starts yell at them, and always starts out with some kind of "I got to warn you about EelKat and her demons" rant. They always describe her as "fat", "morbidly obeses", some say "200lbs" others say "300lbs". Some say she is in her 30s others say she is in her 40s. None of them know who she is, they all say she is a total stranger to them and they also all say, they had no idea who I was either.

They come to my apartment, they said, to tell me what she is doing, each of them saying they found out where I was because she told them my address, and they came over to tell me that she was doxxing my family. These people are always citing that they live in the Cutt St/Main street/May St/South St area, all of them saying they live within 3 or 4 blocks of me and that she walks to their buildings, they never see a car. My Biddeford apartment is 409 Main Street and she has shown up here daily from November 21, 2021 (the same day Etiole was shot; he says by her) until May 17, 2022. After May 2022, she showed up every holiday and every weekend, but no longer every day. 

Today is the 12th of November 2023 and she has already been here 4 times this month. At the same time, people around the Portland Ave and Cascade area of Old Orchard, are also arriving saying the same things, but about a man. They cite a white haired man, very skinny, rather short, around 5'6", around 70, is going driveway to driveway, parking a big Power Wagon sized Dodge Ram pickup truck across their driveway, then getting out, waving a rifle over his head, and yell up at their house ALSO saying he is there to "warn you about EelKat and her aliens". 

The two are believed to be grandfather/granddaughter, and FBI suspects they are the husband and granddaughter of the mystery "Claire" woman who murdered my son. They believe, that the homeless man who was murdered November 19, 2021, DID in fact know who the "Claire" woman who murdered my son was, and they believe this white haired man and woman who screams from porches are the ones who killed the homeless man, seeing how, he showed up on the 7 year anniversary of my son's murder, asking for the FBI phone number, claiming he knew who the woman who murdered my son was, but 5 days later he was murdered before he got a chance to talk to the FBI (the federal building in Portland was closed for the holiday week and the homeless man died before they reopened).

These 2, the white haired man and younger woman both showed up November 21, 2021, 2 days after the November 19, 2021 murder of the homeless man, who was murdered in the backyard of my Biddeford apartment, by the way, that week our building was yellow taped and crawling with police, that's why they were picking up the hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of chopped up pieces of the homeless man, which took them 3 days to find all of him. The FBI believes the homeless man was killed by someone who did not want him to identify my son's murderer... this homeless man's death is WHY my son's cold case, was reopened and the FBI once again here asking all the neighbors for leads. 

The FBI believes that the reason these two are hyper going from house to house all around me (I have 2 addresses: 409 Main Street Biddeford and 146 Portland Ave, Old Orcharch; and they are going up and down both streets and all side streets off of both streets), trying to spread slanderous rumors about me, most of the rumors involving some gibberish about demons, aliens, haunted cats, kidnapped cats, schizophrenia, and tons of other similar outright gibbering insanity.

The FBI believes they are spreading their wild gibbering slander in a weird attempt to get witness to NOT come forward with information about my son's murder. This in turn has led the FBI to believe that SOMEONE NEAR BY IS a witness to my son's murder and is scared of these two people. It is believed that this weird smear slander campaign these two are doing, is a direct fear tactic aimed at terrorizing someone they know to be a witness. 

These two are bullying and harassing my family on extreme and outlandish levels. The whole thing is very bizarre, and if this woman had NOT started running her gossiping, busy body, slandering mout h off on every front porch in the area, my son's murder investigation would NOT have been reopened. 

The thing is, for 7 years, from 2013 to 2021, there were ZERO leads. 

The mystery homeless man who showed up on the 7 year anniversary, was the first time anyone came forward claiming to know who the murderer was, but he was murdered 5 days later, and 2 days after that these 2 showed up with their wild tales of demons, aliens, haunted cars, etc.  

Interestingly, at the same time, YouTube got flooded with HUNDREDS of deep fake "Golden Eagle Haunted Car" AI generated videos, alongside TENS OF THOUSANDS of weird "anti-EelKat" Reddit posts spread across well over a hundred Reddit accounts. Which in turn caused my website to have a MEGA massive increase in traffic - with now over a million users per month, searching Google for the term "EelKat golden Eagle Ghost Car Wendy Allen Demon Car" (the keyword that Google Analytics says has sent the most traffic to my website since November 2021). In their weird slander attempt, and in making all these weird deep fake videos, and in posting all those weird Reddit posts, they have had an unexpected side effect of RAISING AWARENESS to my son's murder, by sending millions of people to my website. 

I don't do any marketing or promoting of my website, there is the URL painted on my car and the link from my FaceBook profile, together those each around two thousand people. 

This weird smear campaign these 2 have done since November 2021, has had a HUGE impact on traffic to my website. HUGE. With my site going from 10k average monthly visitors to over SEVEN MILLION average monthly visitors. 

This woman and the white haired man, in their mega hyper attempts to slander men, inadvertently caused people to start direct typing the word "EelKat" into Google search engine, which of course cause Google to give them as a search result. In their attempt to BURY all thoughts of my son's murder, by trying to spread crazy rumors about me, they instead caused the page about my son's murder to receive an average of over ONE MILLION NEW USERS visiting it, EACH MONTH since they stated yelling from porches around Biddeford in November 2021. 

Which in turn has also lead to more than one thousand people calling the police and FBI giving tips about my son's murder. 

So, in their attempt to make me look crazy, all they did was make themselves look very, very, VERY guilty, while spreading awareness about my son's murder to people who, before these two arrived on porched in Biddeford and Old Orchard, were unaware of my son's murder. 

But no, back to your question, I've never seen either of these two. I'm blind, remember? Blind since I was 4 years old. Blind from being beaten in the face with a limb from a pine tree. I have been blind for five decades.

And no, I've never spoken with either of them. I'm mute, remember? My jaw was fused shut, from the bone growing back wrong, after being beaten in the face with a cinder block brick, when I was 14 years old. I have been mute for four decades. I was 42 years old when doctors discovered I was not born mute, but was forcable made mute by "medical augmentation" aka torture. In June 2016, I had surgery to allow me to open my jaw properly for the first time in 40 years, but four decades mute, meant my vocal cords never grew properly, never received conditioning, and now today, I still can not speak properly, my voice is barely a whisper, IF I can even form vocalizations at all, which usually I can not. Because of this I have no physical ability to raise my voice at all, I can not scream or yell at all, I am physically, medically incapable of getting my voice to be anything other then a whisper, and even that causes searing pain, resulting in I don't bother trying to speak.

And no, I've not had contact with anyone. From 1983 until 2006 I was locked in a rusted racoon trap cage in a wood shed "room", and there were only 7 people who ever checked in on me that entire time, and they only did that once a week. Needless to say I never went to school. I had a typewriter, and my grandmother brought paper each week. I became very good at typing, because for 27 years, I had nothing else to do. 


October 2006 a bomb blew up that house. I almost died. Someone put the bomb in that "room" while I was asleep. From 2006 to 2015, I lived under a 8x9 tarp at the back of that wood shed.


Out of the entire of my more then five decades of life, I have only had contact with Humans for three years. From October 2010 to November 2013.

In October 2010 I went to the Old Orchard Beach High School and got my GED after 3 weeks of night classes. I got a ride to the DMV and got my driver's permit. Then I enrolled in two colleges York County Community College and Southern Maine Community College, taking five classes per semester. I could not enroll as a degree student because I do not know how to count or tell time or read clocks or calendars or do maths.

At SMCC, three professors (Andrew Parker, Robert Vettes, and Chris M) attempted to teach me how to speak. The SMCC student counselor brought in social workers and a state psychologist who diagnosed me as "a feral child" and stated I had no social skills on any level whatsoever due to what they termed "the most horrific case of child abuse and neglect ever seen in Maine history". They found my not knowing about things like eating utensils, bathing, or communicating verbally to be the worst case of "feral childism" in modern history.

A team of psychiatrists were brought to the college, over a dozen of the world's top child behavior specialists from countries all over the world: to do a study on the "training of a feral child" and to make "attempts to intergrade a feral child into modern American society". They called me an anomaly and a "once in a hundred years chance of a lifetime study subject".

Four of them predicted I would: never drive a car, never learn to talk, never make a single friend, never learn to interact with Humans, never learn to eat with a fork, and never learn  math. 

I became the "test subject" of more then a dozen "feral child studied" which lasted my entire time at college, and ended abruptly November 14, 2013, when a mystery woman who identified herself as "Claire" attacked with a golf club, murdering my baby and leaving me with a broken spine and paralyzed legs.

Even before I became bedridden in 2013, I could not walk unaided. My hip was stabbed with a foundation rod, that was driven through my right hip and out my left thigh. My Uncle Bruce did that when I was 4 years old. I've struggled to even stand, let alone walk, since I was FOUR years old. So being crippled, unable to walk, was not new. But my whole life, it was my hips, and now it is my spine, and a severed nerve bundle in my spinal column.

Since November 2013 I have been bedridden, and the ONLY way you can talk to me or see me is to visit me, visit my bed.

I can not see.

I can not talk.

I can not walk.

Since 2013 I am out of bed fewer then 2 hours a day. 

And NO ONE... not ONE SINGLE PERSON, ever visited me since 2013, or before.

The ONLY people who arrive are the ones who stand in the driveway and on the porch and yell obscenities and hate slurs from the street... and they are too far away for me to see them, and they are too far away for them to hear my whisper if I tried to talk, which I don't. Plus, I can not sit up, it takes well over an hour for me to sit up in my bed, so by the time I am sitting up, they are gone.

So, anyone telling you I have seen them, spoken with them, yelled at them, interacted with them, at ANY point prior to 1983... when I was locked in that cage ... is lying to you. Because since 1983, NO ONE but my husband Benjamin Kitchle Wildes, my grandmother Eva Viola Atwater, and my uncles Bruce, Dickie, & David, and my aunt Barbara has EVER underreacted with me at all. And the only interactions from Brice, David, Dickie, and Barbara was to electrocute me for the fun of watching me pass out, stabbing me with broken glass again for th e fun of it, and beating me with cinder block bricks because breaking the bones of children is funny according to them.

From October 2010 to November 2013, ar the ONLY three years of my life where I ever went outside and had interaction with Humans, and I was seen as so UN-human that 90% of my Human interactions was with psychiatrists who were giddy piss pants excited to have "a real live feral child oh boy!" to study.

So ANYONE telling you they have ever had ANY form of interactions with me EVER in my ENTIRE LIFE, if lying to you, because those interactions I just listed are the ONLY ones that have EVER happened. PERIOD.

You ask how I can remember everything everyone has ever done and said? Easy? Because so FEW people have ever done or said ANYTHING AT ALL, that it makes it each to remember EVERY ONE of them, for the very simple fact that there is literally not one other thing in my life to remember.

More then 99% of the hours of my life have been spent ALONE, in total darkness, in a cage, or alone, bed ridden in a bed, with no one saying ANYTHING to me, no one EVER interacting with me at all... and with fewer then two hundred total interactions with a Human in my ENTIRE LIFE, I am easily able to remember every single one of them.

Two days is the 10 year anniversary of the murder of my 8 month old son. The killer has not been found yet. Old Orchard Beach, Maine Police at 207-935-4911 and Portland Maine FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 are investigating the murder of my son so, if you have any information, please give it to them. 

If you ever made fun of or had any part in the murder of my son, your child shall die an equally horrible death. If you haven't got a child to lose, it will be a brother or sister or parents or spouse or whomever you love the most, and that you should know it was this curse which you brought upon yourself that killed them, they will die on exactly the 7 year anniversary of the very first time, you mocked the death of my child.

Where wee you on your 10th birthday?
I was here:

house-room-floorlessI was looked in this "room" in Old Orchard Beach, Maine for 27 years. From the time I was 8 years old, until I was 31... I escaped in 2010. That's why in 2013 these same people murdered my 8 month old son and crippled me, and drove a backhoe over my house. To punish me for escaping this room.

Where wee you on your 20th birthday?
I was here:


Where wee you on your 30th birthday?
I was here:

house-room-floorlessI was looked in this "room" in Old Orchard Beach, Maine for 27 years. From the time I was 8 years old, until I was 31... I escaped in 2010. That's why in 2013 these same people murdered my 8 month old son and crippled me, and drove a backhoe over my house. To punish me for escaping this room.

You never saw the room Ben and my mother kept me locked in for 27 years from the time I was 8 years old, the one Etiole used to break me out of? Well here you go, photos of it from the 2007 FBI and police reports, THIS is the "room", my mother designed it, my father built it, Bruce hired the priests of the Cape Elizabeth, Saco, and Sanford ward Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to rape me in it... from the time i was 8 until 12, when Ben aka the High Priest came along and declared I was his and from the time i was 12 until 31 Ben kept me in this room only allowing me out on Sundays to attend church. still wonder why I hate the Atwaters? When I was 37 years old the FBI showed up and started the investigation into the trafficking ring the Atwaters ran out of 37 Smithwheel Road and 144 Portland Ave, Maine, this room was a pivotal piece of evidence that was roped off and no one allowed in it because of the FBI investigation... that's why the backhoe that ran over this room August 8, 2013 is such a very big importance... THIS room is what the backhoe was trying to hide. Look close at the floor, you can see the bones of the children who didn't survive.

I'm a survivor of adults who thought selling children to priests was a good income and this room was the biggest piece of evidence the FBI had until the backhoe drove over the house and carried off the remained, doing the biggest tampering of evidence of a fucking murder investigation ... that's WHY the backhoe drove over the house, because the Atwaters were desperate to hide the evidence of this rooms existence, and that's WHY they started the alien abduction hoax about me and Etiole because they thought if they destroyed the room and gaslighted me by spread alien abduction rumors, they thought they could convince everyone i was crazy for saying i was locked in this room for 27 years... but they didn't know before they did that, that the FBI had already been in the room and has HUNDREDS of photos of every inch of it. It was not the only place like this. These Atwater run child trafficking "rooms" have been found in twenty-one states. The FBI has shut down 14 of these child trafficking rings run by the Atwaters. If you support the Atwaters in any way, THIS is what you are supporting. When you send money to an Atwater run fund raiser, you funding building more rooms like this one. That's what they do with your hard earned money. Rooms like this, where small children, are raped and starved. And because the children have no birth records, no ID, they live and die without a paper trail. They exist to be raped daily, until they have their first period and risk getting pregnant, and they the room is locked not to be opened again, until they starve to death. Most die before their 12th birthday.

I'm a survivor, and I survived because of Etiole, because while HUNDREDS of people in Old Orchard Beach, Maine knew of this room, used this room, he was the only person with the moral decency to be horrified by this room and try to stand up to the Atwaters, and try the help the children. He used to break in and try to rescue me. Took me out into the swamps of the Ross Forest. But the Atwaters always found me and took me back.

To discredit me, when I was 14 years old, and escaped to the local police and tried to get help, the Atwaters made up a terrible story: they lied to the police. They told the police, there was no room, and Etiole was a figment of my imagination, they called him a demon at first, and later they called him an alien. The Atwaters spread a horrific lie, telling people that I was an alien abductee. And depending on WHICH Atwater you talked to the story changed wildly: sometimes Etiole was a evil spirit, other times a cryptid, other times a demon, but most often "The Amphibious Alien". 

We had a neighbor back in the 1970s, his name was Stephen King, he wrote about us. My Gypsy family, my car, me, and Etiole. He filmed two movies on our farm, but never once tried to help the children he wrote about. He never tried to help us children, even though his books and movies today exist as evidence that he was well aware of this room and Etiole. Instead, he profited off of our pain and suffering, while 120 of those children were saw up and their bones dumped in the Goosefare Broke Ravine in the Reclaim Blueberry Plains of the Ross Forest of Old Orchard Beach, Maine... bones confiscated by the FBI in June 2016, which led to the arrest of many of the child traffickers at 37 Smithwheel Rod, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, that same year. 

Meanwhile The Atwaters continued to spread their lies about me and Etile, contacting hundreds of alien and UFO and cryptid organizations telling them I was abducted by aliens and Etiole was that alien. Only I have no clue what they were doing and I had never heard of the concept of aliens or cryptids or UFOs, and so I had no clue what MUFON and the UFO nuts were talking about, when they showed up on my farm to interview me and try to catch Etiole, calling him an EBE.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are no evil spirits.

There are no haunted cars.

There was just this room, and the children raped by Mormon priests... Mormon Priests, known as The Atwaters... Mormon Priests who invented the urban myth of a haunted car and a child abducted by aliens, for one reason, and one reason only: to make the children crazy, if those children ever dared tell people about this room.

Rooms like the one at 144 Portland Ave, 146 Portland Ave, and 37 Smithwheel Road, exist all over the State of Maine, and the 3 the FBI shut down in Old Orchard Beach, ran from the 1950s until 2016. I was put in this room in 1983. That's why I have no knowledge of any world event, any movie, and TV show, and books, anything that occurred between 1983 and 2010.

ALL of the children who survived these rooms, ALL of them, have been slandered the same way the Atwaters slandered me and Etiole. Each with stories of aliens and demons. Thirty-one of those survivors, have commit suicide, all who escaped, killed themselves within 3 years because of the alien abduction lies the Atwaters spread about them, alien abduction lies that are no different then the alien abduction lies the Atwaters spread about me and Etiole.

Yes, I am EelKat, Etiole’s friend, but I don’t know why you call me that, because it’s the other way around. He was my friend. He was my ONLY friend. He was the only person in this godforsaken town of Old Orchard Beach, Maine, who did not value money or sex over the lives of children.

There are ONE group of people who call me an alien abductee. The Atwaters and their evil, child raping church group. They call me an alien abductee, simple as a gaslighting method, of trying to make me sound crazy, so you won’t look at what they are doing to children. They try to make all the children they torture look crazy, so that no one will believe the child when child tells an adult about the rooms or the rape. Trust NO ONE who calls me an alien abductee, because THEY are involved in a very big child trafficking ring.

I am not an alien abductee and I never claimed to be, and if anyone ever told you I was, you should look at them with suspicion and ask what they did, that they are trying to make you look somewhere else, to not see what they are doing.

There are ONE group of people who call Etiole an alien. The Atwaters and their evil, child raping church group. They call him an alien, simple as a gaslighting method, of trying to make me sound crazy, when I was 8 years old said an old man broke into the room and took me into the swamps; they call him an alien so you won’t look at what they are doing to children. They try to make all the children they torture look crazy, so that no one will believe the child when child tells an adult about the rooms or the rape. Trust NO ONE who calls Etiole an alien, because THEY are involved in a very big child trafficking ring.

Etiole is not an alien and I never said he was, and if anyone ever told you he was, you should look at them with suspicion and ask what they did, that they are trying to make you look somewhere else, to not see what they are doing.

He is a local homeless French Jewish man, whom I let sleep in my car on rainy nights so that he can stay dry. Retarded locals think he is a demon or alien or whatever else they call him, because he is covered in scars and burns and Kabalic tattoos and number tattoos from being a concentration camp survivor from WW2.

You can see video footage of his living conditions:


and HERE

and HERE. These videos where filmed in 2022

As you can see from the videos, this homeless man whom my sick jackass Uncle Bruce has spent DECADES harassing, has NOTHING, he LITERALLY is living in a hole he dug with his fingernails, in the sand under a fallen tree, and you can see from these videos WHY I let him sleep in my car, and WHY the shit heads of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford Maine who are harassing this homeless man, calling him a cryptid, calling him an alien, calling him an evil spirit, are scumbag pieces of shit who don't deserve the life god gave them.

The Atwaters and their church group are evil, and if you believe their lies about me or Etiole, then you've fallen for their scam, just like they wanted you to do.

There is right now, in October of 2023, a group of people actively going to houses, store, bars, and restaurants throughout Biddeford and Old Orchard Beach, randomly approaching total strangers and and saying "Have you heard about EelKat?" And then going on some spiel involving wild radical tales of demons, aliens, haunted cars, cats, about 40 people near as we can tell, led by an elderly white haired man who drives a dark green pick up truck and a very fat, extremely morbidly obese blond woman about late 30s/early 40s, who people in the area have dubbed "porch bitch" because she goes from porch to porch all over Biddeford screaming from strangers' porches to walkers on the sidewalk, always screaming "Have you head about EelKat?" usually referencing also my Volvo. The FBI believes these two to be the husband and daughter of the woman who murdered my son. If you know who the white haired man or "porch bitch" are, the FBI is actively seeking information about their identity.

I am legally blind, I have never seen either of these people, so I do not know what they look like, I only know what witnesses are telling me they looked like when they showed up at their homes. I also have Kannar's Syndrome, real and actual (non-verbal, low functioning) Autism (not to be confused with high functioning Aspergers; I am only able to communicate by typing, and so here I am, typing, so I am unable to verbally respond to what these people are telling me. I have agoraphobia so, it is often months between me setting foot outside, but I am crippled with a broken spine from the November 14, 2013 attack of the golf club woman who crippled me when she murdered me son and thus I also can not get out of bed or stand up unaided. I do not know who either porch bitch or the white haired man these people are telling me is approaching them are. My son's murderer whom also crippled me, she I can identify if she ever got close enough again, but these two people whom are suspected of being her husband and daughter, I have not seen and can not identify. When you come to me and tell me they have approached you, you do nothing useful or helpful. I can not take YOUR testimony to the police or FBI, because it is YOUR testimony, not mine. YOU have to tell the POLICE and FBI what these people did. Do not come to me and tell me, because other then post this message here, there is nothing else I can do with the information you have provided.

There is some speculation that porch bitch may in fact live in my apartment building here at 409 Main Street in Biddeford, but I have lived here since February 2019, and of the 9 other families here, only one of them has lived here longer than me. Between the 9 families in our building, there are more then people living in this building and to date, I have met none of them.

Initially I had tried to introduce myself to each family in this building however, they are white and I am not, they are Christians and I am Moron/Voodoo, and this Maine where hatred of all things not white and not Christian are at their worst in the entire country.

White hatred for us Gypsies is very bad here in Maine and many in my family have been beaten, tortured, and murdered by the white Christians of Maine.

Does porch bitch live in our building? I do not know. But many witnesses are now saying they have seen her going in and out of the building, so she either lives here or knows someone who does.

With the extreme anti-Gypsy animosity and anti-Pagan animosity the 9 families who live at 409 Main Street have shown my family since we moved in here on February 2019, I would not be at all surprised if porch bitch not only lived here but the others know it, know what she is doing to my family and are not reporting it to the police simply because, that's what white people do to us non-whites.

Interestingly, witnesses are saying they believe the white haired man with the big green Dodge Ram pickup truck, lives on Portland Ave, very near my farm.

It is deeply disturbing, if this is true, because that means porch bitch and the white haired man are doing very severe levels of stalking, because my family has lived at 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach since the 1530s, we settled and founded the town, and in 2019 when I moved into this apartment in Biddeford, no one else lived in this building, other then the gay couple who are still here and the only ones here longer than me. And also in 2019, there was no white haired man living near me on Portland Ave. 

This means, the man suspected of being "Clair's husband and the woman suspected of being "Claire's" daughter, Claire being the name the woman who murdered my son, called herself, have moved in next door to BOTH of my addresses within the last 3 years.

Claire used a golf club to beat my 8 month old son's head in with. If you are protecting Claire, know that THAT is the sort of child murdering bitch you are defending.

Claire's identity is the one we want. We want to know who she is. In 2021 a homeless man showed up in my driveway, claiming he knew who Claire was... 2 days later he was dead on the train tracks and splattered across the back of my house, and 2 days after that, this porch bitch woman showed up. We don't know who any of these people are, not the homeless man, not porch bitch, not Claire. We only got the name Claire, because that's what the bald man with her,November 14, 2013, the day she murdered my son, that's what he called her, and she answered him to that name, like it was her real name.

The Claire who murdered my son, she's who we are looking for... and apparently we got really close in 2021, because that's when porch bitch showed up with her wild alien/demon/cat slander, and she's working over time spreading her slander as far and as wide as she can, making it damn clear, she's scared shitless of us finding out who Claire is.

So, NOW, the FBI is not just asking for information about Claire's identity, they now want the identity of both Biddeford's porch bitch and Old Orchard Beach's white haired elderly man driving the mega, big 2ton dark green Dodge Ram pick up.

These 2 people closing in on my family, DAYS after a witness came forward saying he knew who Claire was, a witness who died 2 days later, before the FBI agents had a chance to talk to him... this is terrifying for my family, and it's deeply disturbing.

Porch bitch and her friends are terrorizing my family. And less then a month ago they killed my dog Mickey. There is something wrong with these people. These are NOT good people.

This is very, very deeply disturbing.

This makes them, in addition to everything else: stalkers.

Keep in mind too, porch bitch is the woman who poisoned and killed my dog Mickey only a few weeks ago. And one week before she poisoned and killed my dog, Mickey, she showed up at PortCon 2023, with a gang of about 12 others, at Round 1 in the Maine Mall, and tried to kill me, by peeling back the cheese on my pizza and loading it up with onions, something I am deadly allergic to. I would have been dead within 15 minutes had I eaten it. Porch bitch is dangerous. And she wants me dead. And she thinks nothing of killing my pets. She's proven that much.

There are HUNDREDS of people throughout Biddeford and Old Orchard Beach contacting me, both online and in person offline, telling me that these people approached them at random. They appear to be hellbent on approaching every single person to set foot in either town, so if you are in Biddeford or Old Orchard Beach you'll likely encounter them sooner or later if you haven't already. They appear to have been doing this since around May 2021, but so far no one knows who they are.

One detail though: porch bitch, has been saying some very specific information about the murder that was NEVER made public, and is not in the police public access report, it's only in the FBI's classified report. The ONLY person who knows this detail is the murderer herself, and porch bitch is too young to be the murderer. The blond golf club woman who attacked me November 14, 2013, was in her late 60s to early 70s, she'd be in her late 70s or early 80s today. Porch bitch is young enough to be her daughter or granddaughter. But porch bitch has been saying information that ONLY the murderer would know, so porch bitch DOES have personal contact with my son's murderer and is probably dangerous herself.

She has information that was never released to the public. Information the police and fbi kept out of public access reports. Information that was kept classified so it could be used to identify the murderer. Information she could only get, from the murderer. She is using 27 Facebook accounts and over 100 Reddit accounts to post that information as far and wide as possible, while gathering up a large group from the Sanford ward church to go around Biddeford and Old Orchard Beach also spreading that classified information, while at the same time spreading the rumors and lies that I am an alien Abducted and Etiole is an alien, while also spreading rumors of my cars being haunted, while also making hundreds of deep fake videos on YouTube about me and my cars and Etiole. She is orchestrating a huge defamation slander smear campaign, which you have seen some of the videos about me and my car. Fbi believes she is the daughter of the golf club bitch who murdered my baby and is doing this because Tod Murphy told the FBI his mother was bragging to be the golf club woman. Porch bitch showed up same time Tod Murphy did, in fall of 2021. The Sanford ward people joined her around May 2022. Fbi is currently investigating every one connected to the Sandford ward, and they now believe the golf club woman to have been a member in 2013. You don't have full details of what porch bitch is doing, who is helping her, and how alarmingly large scale what she is doing is, simply because I can not give you full details. There is a lot of information about porch bitch and her crew that I've not said, things the FBI and police are aware of, and you the general public, don't need to be aware of.

These people are actively and deliberately making a massive attempt to compromise an FBI murder investigation, alongside huge levels of victim shaming.

Porch bitch clearly knows who the murderer is, and the FBI is looking for ANY information you have that leads to identifying porch bitch, because arresting porch bitch, is right now, the #1 best chance of also finding and arresting my son's killer.

If you have any information about any of these events, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Never forget: my son was murdered. That's what they want you to forget. They make up crazy rumors and lies because they want you to think about something, anything OTHER then my son's murder. And the ONLY person with THAT motive, is the golf club wielding blond woman, and anyone who is trying to cover up her crimes.

They want you to forget my son was murdered.

Clearly porch bitch is scared shitless that the killer, someone she knows, will be arrested soon, or she wouldn't be so hyper vigilant in her mega extreme slander campaign going on in Biddeford, Maine right now.

Beware of ANYONE who calls Etiole an alien, for he is not an alien and they are lying to you about him, as a slight of hand means of misdirection, to turn you away from seeing their own crimes.

Beware of anyone who tells you I believe in aliens, for I do not, and they are lying to you in a gaslighting technique meant to keep you from noticing the crimes they commited.

Trust no one who tells you I cast curses or consort with demons, for I do neither, and they say these things to you out of malicious motives, to make you look at anything other than themselves. They don't want you to see the sins they do, so they spread wild and bizarre rumors about me and an elderly homeless veteran, in a magicians pallor trick of misdirection. They use me and Etiole as their smoke and mirrors, so that you are looking the other way, while they get away with heinous crimes.

Beware of anyone who calls me a witch, for I am a Mormon, 5th generation, and we Mormons do not believe in witchcraft.

I need not tell you their names, for by their own actions, they will reveal themselves to you.

Pay very close attention to anyone who approaches you to "warn you" about EelKat... because remember too, my name is not EelKat. My name is Wendy Christine Allen. EelKat is a fictional character, a talking back fairy cat, from a Space Fantasy novel. Miss Citten The Eel Kat is Empress of Planet Ptarmagin and she travels to distant galaxies in a star ship, collecting deep space eels from other planets, her name is unpronounceable, so people call her "The Eel Kat" because she is the cat who has pet eels. The book was titled "Friends Are Forever" and it was published in 1978. You have to be severely mentally disabled in order to think that a talking space cat from a Fantasy novel is real, let alone be crazy enough to think that the author is that character. The very fact alone that porch bitch refers to ME as EelKat, that alone tells you the deeply disturbed fantasy prone mental case we are dealing with her. Her inability to discern fiction from reality, and he belief that I, a real person, an EelKat, a fictional space cat from a novel, or her belief that a local homeless veteran, is an alien, or her belief that my Dodge or my Volvo are demon possessed, that alone tells you what type of incredibly dangerous psychopath porch bitch really is. 

You can see video footage of his living conditions:


and HERE

and HERE.

THAT is the homeless veteran, this woman is calling an alien or a demon, depending on which delusion she is babble that day. THAT is Etoile. THAT is how he lives. THAT is who this deplorable woman is harassing.

Pay very close attention to anyone who approaches you to "warn you" about EelKat or otherwise tries to convince you I have anything to do with aliens, demons, curses, or witches, for they are deceiving you, and they do so, to draw your attention away from themselves. 

Never forget, my son was murdered on November 14, 2013, and the killer still walks free, and anyone telling you anything about aliens, demons, curses, or witches, has one goal and one goal only: a flagrant attempt to discredit me, and protect my son's murderer.

They ONLY want you to think about aliens to make you forget my son was murdered.

The FBI is looking for my son's killer AND the identity of the people who are trying to hinder their investigation.

If anyone approaches you and tells you Etiole is an alien CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about aliens to make you forget my son was murdered.

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 

If anyone approaches you and tells you that I believe in aliens CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about aliens to make you forget my son was murdered. 

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If anyone approaches you and tells you Etiole is a demon CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about demons to make you forget my son was murdered. 

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 

If anyone approaches you and tells you that I believe in demons CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about demons to make you forget my son was murdered.

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If anyone approaches you and tells you that I cast curses CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about curses to make you forget my son was murdered. 

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If anyone approaches you and tells you that I am a witch CALL FBI Agent Andy Drewer and tell him who they are. They ONLY want you to think about witches to make you forget my son was murdered. 

Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

They are going out of their way to try to make you forget my son died, by coming up with ludicrous tales of aliens and demons. And the ONLY person with ANY motive to do that, is the blond woman who murdered my son.

They want you to forget my son was murdered.


Never forget, November 14, 2023 will be the 10 year anniversary of the November 14, 2013 murder of my 8 month old infant son, at BugLight Lighthouse Art Studio of Southern Maine Community College in South Portland, Maine. If you have any information about who his killer is, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

They are going out of their way to try to make you forget my son died, by coming up with ludicrous tales of aliens and demons. And the ONLY person with ANY motive to do that, is the blond woman who murdered my son.