 
the Truth

Part 1 - Lynn Mickelsen

Publisher - Grace Campion Gardener

Copyright 2013 - Grace C. Gardener

Author - Grace Gardener

Grace_Force Printed Edition

Smashwords eBook Edition
the Truth

Part 1 - Lynn Mickelsen

by Grace Gardener

AKA Lynn Pezzutti Mickelsen

The Truth is a companion book to 'The Conversation'

A hard copy of 'The Conversation' can be ordered from Grace Gardener

514 Americas Way #3212, Box Elder, SD 57719

Grace_Gardener@aol.com

Grace-Gardener.org

Other books by Grace Gardener - 'Garden of the Light'

and the young adult novel - 'Confusion turned to Chaos.'
Dedications:

Dedicated to my daughters whose strength and intimate knowledge of good and evil will be a strong moral compass to guide us on an honorable path through the third millennium.

Dedicated to all those who tortured, raped, helped to keep me captive, and tried to kill me.

Dedicated to all prisoners without walls.

Note: The cover is an un-retouched picture of my aura. I was told the white spot above my head is God, and the many oblong white specks are my Angels.
Introduction

I had been the unwitting slave-prisoner of a Satanic Church for most of my life. My ex-husband, Peter Mickelsen, was the prince and Rita Denman was the princess of the church. I first learned about this aspect of my marriage and my life during a totally bizarre, repulsive, five-hour conversation with Rita – the self-proclaimed Whore of Babylon - one summer day in 2003 a few days after my fifty-first birthday. I knew, as she spoke, I had fallen into an abyss of insanity I had no idea existed. I thought, if what she said were true, my life had never been my own. I had been a participant in my seemingly normal life without living it; because I had been routinely tortured, drugged, electrocuted and mind controlled by Rita and Peter on an almost daily basis. They did this to steal my money and my memories.

I dismissed every assertion in the conversation as the ravings of a sociopath. She told me everyone I've ever met, known or loved had been murdered or brainwashed into hating me. Rita told me of over a hundred people their church "sacrificed" over the past fifty years. She told me deaths, which I had thought were of natural causes, were really murders, and I was the murderer.

She further accused me of being the one in their legends capable of taking them down and thus changing the course of the new millennium. She said she had been lying to everyone about me, my whole life, so they would want to kill me. She used drugs and torture to make everyone hate me. "Everyone in north Jersey hates you," she told me.

If Satanists believe I can chart the outcome of Armageddon to a better, greener, more peaceful world – who am I to argue?
Preface

This is a companion book to 'The Conversation.' There are portions of my five-hour conversation with Rita Denman in this book as well. The chapter on twenty traits of Satanists is repeated here because that's important knowledge to help keep you safe.

Many Satanic legends about me began before I was born; but many of my life experiences have become legends over the years, so I tell my version of those legends here in the Truth.

I expect many, many people in the computer, music, and entertainment world to come forward and validate who I am. I expect many people in Satanic Churches to come forward and validate who I am, as well. I'm gonna need all the help I can get.

This book had to be published now, so please ignore the many typos, etc. Thank you.
Chapter 1 - The Apocalypse

Apocalypse is a Greek word that means 'The revelation of ancient knowledge or truths.'

This book answers various, diverse questions about Armageddon, organized religion, the meaning of life, the nature of God and humans. The information in this book will be disconcerting to many of you who were raised believing in an Organized Religion. Much of this was written for those currently in the Satanic Church because they were taught I was going to start a war, that's one of the many lies they learned about me. The Truth is, with your help and God's help we're going to stop war. I am now, and always have been, an advocate of World Peace.

Rita Denman had been the princess of an intergenerational Satanic Church, and she spent sixty years of her life learning the ancient knowledge through oral tradition. She said she thought she may be the only person in the world who knew as many secrets, since most of what she knew wasn't written down anywhere. She told me that she accumulated the knowledge over the years, because many elders of her church entrusted to her the secrets they knew, because they believed Rita to be the most evil, bloodthirsty witch-princess who has ever lived. They were certain that Rita was the Whore of Babylon, and therefore it was important that she know certain truths that were only entrusted to the most vile Satanists, and even then, only on a need to know basis. Many of her secrets like the secret that Adam the first man was black; and that Jesus Christ was black, were kept a secret from everyone, including other Satanists. Since Christ was a black Jew and hate is an important ingredient in Satanism, Satanists are taught to hate Jews and black people.

Rita divulged these little-known, closely-guarded secrets to me during a five-hour telephone conversation, detailed in my book, the Conversation.

Rita said a blueprint for destroying the world is contained in the Satanic Book of Revelation. Satan worshippers have stockpiled the Weapons of Mass Destruction, for their own personal use. Our Armed forces were sent to find the WMDs, in the Middle East, but they had been moved to the tiny African Nation of Djibouti. Some are possibly in Yemen, Syria, Palestine, the Mediterranean Sea and Somalia. When I met up with John Alexander in 2011 he was surprised I knew that. John Alexander is the name of the man who was hired to find new ways of torturing people. He was paid eighty-million dollars by our government to be the head of torture at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. That's not his real name but that's the name most Satanists know him by. He is, or was, a brutal mass murderer and a Major General in the NSA and Air Force. He was a high-ranking member of several Satanic Churches in the US. He was the man responsible for stealing my memories and giving me a nerve disease that mimics Multiple Sclerosis.

When you read the Truth you'll wonder, "How did she survive?" The bigger question is, "Why did she survive?" I survived to bring you the ancient knowledge so together we can make the world a cleaner, brighter, more peaceful place.
Chapter 2 - The Truth Me

In 2007 God named me Grace.

This is a short book, only 31,000 words, it details four events that people have called miracles, and only two of the dozens of murder attempts. It contains some of the same information contained in 'the Conversation,' so it's a quick read.

If what Rita says is true, and I've been ritualistically sacrificed more than once; it must also be true that God has kept me alive to tell this story.

According to Rita I'm still considered an enemy of the Satanic Churches. It had been determined, nearly sixty years ago, that I was the one in their legends who would change the outcome of Armageddon: so I had to be destroyed, because I would change the Satanic Churches' way of life. For that reason, Rita set on a campaign to discredit me. She, and her church, abducted and killed or brainwashed everyone in my family, and everyone I know and love, to believe I'm someone I'm not.

I've been to Heaven where I met Christ. I talk to God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit (the Lady) regularly. I always feel the strong presence of the army of Angels that surround me. Throughout this book I refer to them as "my peops," (pronounced peeps) meaning, my people. They guide and protect me. I'll be happy to get back home to Heaven.
Chapter 3 - My Marriage

I was controlled with drugs, torture, electrocution, suffocation and hypnotism most of my life. I was brainwashed into marrying the prince of a Satanic cult and mind controlled into staying married to him for twenty two years.

Each time I questioned the status quo or asked for a divorce, or I started to figure things out, which Rita said happened "all the time," I was brought in for a "tune up." Most of the time I was so sick and out of it, it was an enormous struggle just to get through the day.

I believe, now, I had spent the vast majority of my life and marriage to Peter in a waking coma. I didn't remember the hideous torture or the various murder attempts until very recently.

For the most part, our marriage appeared normal to our neighbors, to anyone who met us, and to me, too - I was allowed to remember the normal stuff. I was mind controlled into trusting Peter and forgetting all the horrible things he continuously did to me, and to my children.

Over the twenty-two years of my marriage I felt my friends and family fall away. I discovered, during the conversation, my loved ones had been systematically brainwashed into hating me. Those who refused to hate me were killed. Rita claims to have gotten all of north Jersey to hate me. She said that when I try to destroy her way of life, all of northern New Jersey will rise up against me, and then the rest of the country will follow. We'll see.

It was two years after my conversation with Rita, and after sessions with two psychologists, before I accepted her explanation of what happened to me as a possibility. Psychologists know Satanic cults exist and they know how mind control works and just how powerful it is.
Chapter 4 - My Children

My oldest daughter is by my first husband, Dave. Her name is Mariah. Peter and Rita began torturing and raping her at one month of age, three years before I first remember meeting Peter.

Rita told me that my middle daughter, Allison, born eleven months after I married Peter, was not slated to be a cult member. That didn't stop them from using her in rape and torture rituals.

My youngest daughter, Brooklyn, was bred in a rape ceremony nine months prior to April Fool's Day. Rita was frustrated that my soul became so bright and filled with Angels that none of the onlookers were able to witness the rape.

I learned the repulsive truth that future princes and princesses are tortured and raped more often and with more force than other cult babies. Brooklyn was bred to be the princess of the Satanic Church, but her soul was powerful and bright white, even as an infant: and so, instead of choosing another prospective princess, Rita and Peter took it as a challenge and decided to torture her more than any other human being in the history of their church. During the conversation Rita detailed some of Brooklyn's heinous torture; sometimes she was tortured to death. I could feel my mind and body crumble as I listened. I didn't believe her while we were on the phone: but, I believe her now.

Brooklyn has had the most horrifying life imaginable. The cult never could get her soul to turn black, so another princess was eventually chosen; and Brooklyn was brainwashed, through even more torture and electrocution, to kill me and then herself. I'm so proud of Brooklyn. She is a wonderful human being even though her life has been nothing but a string of bad luck perpetuated by her father and this north New Jersey cult. She's had so much horrendous bull-shit happen in her lifetime. She stays in the area through mind control. My warnings only anger her. Allison helps Brooklyn when these things happen. If Peter's cult tries to hurt her again, everyone will know who did it.

Brooklyn's yearly near death events, highlight and heighten the need for publishing this book. My girls know I can write, they know I have a lot to say, they know I frequently talk to God, and they know I'll publish something. Peter and Rita, and now the new princess and prince Rachael and Eric, have hurt Brooklyn, Allison, and Mariah and their friends and loved ones long enough. I'm so sorry for the thorny, rough road they've been through. Here's hoping this exposé will end it.

My three girls survived many murder attempts to be the hope of this millennium.
Chapter 5 - My Health

As impossible as it sounds, I didn't know any of this was happening to me because I fell asleep in my bed and woke up in my bed. I was abducted while in a drugged sleep. All I knew was I was unhappy, I very occasionally had unexplained bruises and other marks on my body, I'd wake up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, and my health was quickly deteriorating. My symptoms included migraines, blurred vision with intermittent blindness, chronic diarrhea, right-sided weakness, severe pain and muscle weakness, diminished cognitive skills, an inability to remember nouns, uneven gait, numbness in my limbs, and serious back problems. Drinking from a glass and holding a fork had become difficult because tremors in my hands were so severe I could no longer play guitar or draw, and my writing was illegible. I was essentially bedridden. For lack of any other medical cause, I was finally diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 1996.

I never would have dreamed the cause of those symptoms was my marriage to a Satanic prince. Never. For the first fifty-one years of my life I believed people were essentially good and I had never believed in Hell or the Devil. I've always just looked for the good in people.

If all you look for is the good, all you'll see is good! That was my biggest downfall.

Memories of things that happened to me years and years ago have recently surfaced. It is my own memories and things Peter and other cult members told me over the years that corroborate Rita's assertion in this book.

The internet is a wonderful source of articles containing corroborating evidence. I used information in only one internet article while writing this conversation. I used the internet to double fact-check what Rita claimed was possible.

In an effort to deal with these horrific memories I've spoken with psychologists. Four psychologists have assured me that while what I say is crazy - how I say it is not. They've each assured me it's the people who do the things recounted in this book who are psychotic; but I am sane. No easy feat, btw, any people who have endured life-long torture and escaped are in mental institutions and make no cohesive sense at all.

Several doctors have confirmed my ongoing physical injuries are consistent with my claims of torture. I still endure sharp continuous pain.
Chapter 6 - My Aura

Satanic cults perform a ceremony to see a person's soul. That ritual revealed a pillar of brilliant, white light emanating from me. It encircled my body and extended from floor to ceiling. Cult members routinely went outside to see if the light went into the sky. The light was so bright that the candles normally used during these soul ceremonies weren't necessary because with no lights on at all, the basement at midnight glowed brighter than a Hollywood movie set. Many cult members were unwilling to look at my light for fear of being blinded. The light pillar was brimming with floating, beautiful, silver and gold leafy flecks resembling Angels, and it frightened Rita and the elders of the cult because all of this meant I was the one in their legends. According to their legend, the leafy flecks are an army of Angels and the person with the great light is a threat to Satan and to the survival of the Satanic religion as a whole and has to be killed according to Satanic Church Law.
Chapter 7 - Satanic Church

Rita Denman and Peter Mickelsen's Satanic Church operates in northern New Jersey. It's a church that worships, Satan, the son of the god of the Earth, Beelzebub. It has a bible, and a loose moral code, which is rarely followed. Murder, rape and torture are encouraged – as long as there's a reason, and the reason can be fabricated. I refer to it as a cult throughout the book since the members worship an entity other than God.

They refer to their higher power as god, or the Black.

Rita said she doesn't think most of her followers know her god is spelled with a small 'g.' Her bible is hand-written and her parishioners aren't allowed to have a copy. Since it's an ancient religion, dating back to Cain and Abel times, there are many denominations or factions of Satanic Churches; more so than the much more recently founded Christian and Muslim religions.

There are Satanic factions of the Muslim religion. Unlike other Satanic Churches, they operate above ground and recruit openly. The Taliban, and other Satanic religious groups, rape and torture children to crush their spirits and gain followers. The news media would like us to believe ALL Muslims are evil. This is simply not true! The mutual distrust the news media propagates becomes a reason, though, to abandon any idea of Muslims and non-Muslims working together.

The Catholic Church has underground factions that are Satanic, some of which were popularized by the book the 'DiVinci Code.'

Incredible as this all sounds, many members of Satanic Churches don't realize they're worshiping the Devil. Satanists hide in plain sight. By day they look and sound ordinary and boring.

I opt to capitalize Satanic, as you would Catholic, because it should be grammatically correct, and to do otherwise would negate their significance.
Chapter 8 - Armageddon

Rita's bizarre contention is that the Book of Revelation, which is also in the Catholic and Christian Bibles as the posthumous word of Christ, was originally written as a directive from Beelzebub on how Satanists should bring about the end of the world. Rita boasted, the terrible things happening right now are caused by people. There are enough of these diabolical humans to make Satan's plan doable; and then blame the resulting hardship on God, their nemesis.

Satan, or the Black, is victorious in their version of the Book of Revelation.

Satanists claim to be one-third of the world's population. Rita said Satanists often use the one-third analogy, as in the Book of Revelation, they claim one-third of the Angels followed Beelzebub out of Heaven when only a handful actually did. I know scores of people who are Satanists and I've met many more since this conversation. Having worked with statistics, I estimate the Satanic Religions comprise two percent of the population: a more accurate number of followers would be one hundred forty million.

That may not sound like a lot, but realize one hundred forty million people strategically placed, many in powerful positions: advisors to the President, advisors to News programs, owners of TV and Radio Stations, heads of the World Bank, Generals and Colonels in the world's Armed Forces, the holders of electronic information stored on "clouds," makers of GPS tracking, and so forth, can wreak real havoc on the people of the Earth.

There are hundreds of Satanists who will come forward to attest the validity of her assertions of murder, rape, torture and planning for Armageddon.
Chapter 9 - Opposing Armageddon

Even though the target date has come and gone Satanists will continue to do everything in their power to bring war, pestilence, famine and disease to our earth.

Rita said "good" people won't try to stop the Satanic Church, since they believe what's happening is the will of God. Satanists wrote the Christian version of the Book of Revelation to say Armageddon is God's work and Christians have to believe the Bible as the unquestionable word of God, and if anyone says otherwise he should be exposed as a blasphemer. Consequently, Satanists expect Christians to roll over and play dead while they take over the world.

In an effort to discredit me, I will be called a blasphemer by Satanists pretending to be Christian, and by Catholics and Christians. On the flip side - I expect Satanists, from around the world, will step forward to proclaim I'm telling the truth.

If all the non-Satanic religions and those who believe in treating others with kindness and respect cooperated, we would be an unbeatable, infinitely powerful force!

If Christians, Muslims and Jews were to work together we would be a mighty force.

Even if all the Christian religions got together, imagine the good we could accomplish!

Because of Free Will, God doesn't just reach down and fix everything. Making the world turn in a righteous direction is something we have to want to achieve. Once we combine the world's righteous organized religions with good people who have Heaven as their goal, we can enlist the help of whatever name you have for the Creator and the Angels, and things will turn around. The new day of a clean, lush, green, peaceful Earth with an abundance of clean water and food is coming very soon.
Chapter 10 -

How Satanism Hides in Plain Sight

Rita's claim, "We own the Police Department, the Fire Department, the high Sherriff, and some other members of the Sherriff's Department, some Town Council members, School Board members, some Mayors, some Lawyers and Judges, and the DA's Offices in our counties."

I believe that claim because I ran into members of the Police Department, two members of the Morris County DA's office, a rape crisis advocate, and a lawyer, who all stopped me from getting Peter arrested, saying, "It's not against the law for a husband to rape his wife."

The Fire Department Chief refused to make a report when our carbon monoxide alarm went off, because Peter left the hopper door open on our coal stove. By law I was supposed to report the alarm going off, and he was supposed to make a report. He said, "You don't really believe your husband is trying to kill you?" And added, "It's too much paperwork."

Rita recalled the Fire Chief incident, and added, "That's how it works. Like magic. It's the Black watching over us."

It's the strategic placement of cult members in society that protects and hides them. As in the case of David Koresh

David Koresh in Waco, Texas; he was operating, for years, as the Devil personified. That Waco cult operated exactly the same way this New Jersey cult operates. They had breeder women, and they tortured and raped their children. They used drugs and torture to keep their followers in line. The only difference was the cult in Waco, Texas was contained on a compound; and the cult in New Jersey is scattered through homes in Morris County, NJ, and the surrounding area. The New Jersey cult had to have more people in law enforcement and government jobs, because of the size of the area being protected.

The Waco cult was shielded by Waco officials, in the cult, living on and off the compound. When anything got out of hand, or they were investigated, members of the cult would cover for them, and give Moran a heads-up. They both had the same setup - lawyers, police officers, drug and law enforcement officials, and school officials, all in place to cover up whatever needed to be covered up. The one thing they didn't think of, was to get someone into the Department of Tobacco and Firearms.
Chapter 11 – The Conversation

The observations I had after the conversation are set apart in italics. Thoughts I had during the conversation aren't.

I'm risking my own life by bringing the world this ancient knowledge. It was an arduous task just sitting through this horrific, ghoulish exchange, as Rita exposed her knowledge. The next part of the chore was to retain the knowledge and make some sense of it. Then I had the hideous, gut-wrenching mission of writing it all down, and last I had to find a way to bring it to the world without being stopped by those who don't want this information to get out.

Spiritual leaders of today, like the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey and even Gary Zukav, have the same message as this book. They're all tapping into the same Creator's energy. The two things to be learned from this book and from several present day Gnostics are:

1. The key to happiness on Earth is altruism.

2. It is essential that the good, ethical people and religions of the world begin to cooperate and work with each other - Team Righteous!

It has already begun with Occupy Wall Street. People are coming together cemented by a righteous cause.

Writing this has been emotionally excruciating; but I continue because I'm certain this is something God has asked me to do.

We can't fight evil if we see no evil!

Knowledge of good and evil is crucial because without it - evil is poised to win.

A note to Satanists, you're welcome to do an about face any time. You'll be happier - I guarantee it.
Chapter 12 - My Childhood - Miracles?

When I was small enough that grownups had to squat down to get to my eye level they would ask me questions about their lives, ask for advice, or to solve a problem. I was always taken seriously. The questions were easily answered, the advice was simple, and the problems were always surmountable. I had some idea this was strange because of my mother's reaction and because my sisters, who were older than me, were never asked.

I had a less than ideal childhood. My mother didn't want me, she told me I reminded her of her "sin." I was the product of a short-lived affair. She says she suffocated me in my crib on a few different occasions, only to have me wake up in the morning as though nothing had happened. She neglected to feed me for the first few months of my life. I lived through it because my three-year-old sister used to climb up on the kitchen counter to get a bottle, then, still on the counter; she opened the refrigerator to get milk, filled the bottle with milk, climbed down and fed it to me. (I still have a sensitive stomach.)

The pediatrician was about to put me in the hospital because I was still six and a half pounds at three months of age. My mother told him she would start to feed me, and she did. In my weakened condition I developed pneumonia: the pediatrician found out about it only because he came to the house to take care of one of my sisters. He told my mother to put me in the hospital but she refused, hoping I would die. As she told me this, years later, she began fuming because I didn't die.

When I was four months old my family took a taxi through Times Square: my mother opened the taxi door, and set me out on the street. The man in the car behind us had seen what she did and he stopped, picked me up and brought me back to her. Even though the story has been recounted to me I swear I can remember it.

I remember as a toddler, my mother once held a bobby pin in my hand and tried to get me to put it into the electrical outlet. She remembered she would be electrocuted as well, and when she tried to put on a rubber glove, I broke free and ran to my room and locked the door.

As I learned to walk my mother would literally send me into the street to play in traffic.

Each failed murder attempt infuriated her and became yet another reason to beat me. She believed that every breath I took, I took just to make her angry.

My mother never had a nice thing to say about me. I grew up hearing I was ugly and stupid. She beat me regularly, telling me I was bad.

When I was very young, while being berated and beaten, I heard a woman's voice telling me not to believe my mother. I heard her again when I was about five and again at age twelve.

This angel woman, the Lady, saved my physical life many times and she saved my emotional life by telling me my mother was wrong to say I was bad. I've gotten advice from Angels as long as I remember. It's always been Angels and God who has given me advice to give others.

Growing up I wasn't allowed to play with my two sisters, Tricia who was a year and a half older, and Karen who was three years older than me.

I used to play with Nellie Johnston and occasionally with her little brother, Stevie. Nellie's mother worked and was out of the house for long periods of time and they had no babysitter. I think, for some fee, my mother agreed to keep an eye on Nellie but she never kept much of an eye on me, consequently Nellie and I were back and forth between houses and roamed our Nutley, New Jersey neighborhood all day.

One day, a red-haired woman appeared in Nellie's living room. I was in the kitchen; she came in after me and asked,

"Nellie is that you?"

I said no and called Nellie into the kitchen.

"Oh Nellie, it's so good to see you. It's been such a long time you probably don't remember your old Auntie."

With that she snatched Nellie up and danced around the kitchen with her. "Oh, I haven't seen you in so long; it's so good to see you."

Nellie had the good sense to ask the woman how she got in the house. She lied and said I had let her in. I told Nellie I hadn't. The red-haired woman complained, saying, "Why spoil such a beautiful moment with who let who in?" And she danced and laughed and whirled Nellie around.

I didn't know who Nellie's aunts and uncles were. I didn't know it was wrong for preschool children to be alone in a house. Evidently, Nellie had some rules she was supposed to follow; she was probably not allowed to let anyone in.

"Oh look at you, you're so dirty, I'm supposed to clean you up." She said merrily. "Your mother wants me to wash your hair."

Now, it wasn't completely unusual for Nellie to have a bath at my house, and occasionally my mother would wash her hair. My mother referred to Nellie as a street urchin and assumed her mother must be too tired to bathe her after a day's work, so I didn't think much was odd about that statement.

The red-haired woman laid Nellie out on the kitchen counter and put her head in the sink and began washing her hair.

Nellie screamed and said it hurt. I walked over to the sink and there was red water pouring down the drain. I asked the red-haired woman what that was, and she replied it was magic shampoo that turns red.

She told me to, "Go home now," because she wanted to spend some time with Nellie.

I went home and told my mother but she had already started drinking and, though I tugged at her hand, she swatted me away and never bothered to go next door to investigate.

I returned to Nellie's some time later to find Mrs. Johnston at her bedside weeping. I asked her who was in the bed. She said it was Nellie. It didn't look like Nellie. Her hair still looked wet and it was spread out like a crown over the pillow. Her face was a blue-black color. I asked what was wrong and her mother told me she was dead. I'm not sure I knew what that meant. I didn't know what else to do so I reached out and rubbed Nellie's arm and shoulder; her mother started to stop me. Within seconds, Nellie opened her eyes, turned her head slightly toward me and gasped, "Hi." She blinked a few times, her mother swooned. Nellie asked, "Do you want to go outside?"

Her mother cried for me to keep her down and then ordered Nellie, "Don't get up."

"No, no," I answered, holding one hand on each of her shoulders, "We'll go out and play another time, it's getting late and you were dead."

"No, don't tell her that! Don't let her get up. I'm calling the doctor."

Nellie's hair wasn't wet, it was caked with blood. The woman posing as Nellie's aunt had scratched her head with her sharp nails and held her over the sink until she had bled to death.

Later I gave a description of the red-haired woman to the police.

Mrs. Johnston must have told some people what had happened with Nellie, because after that, people started coming around, asking me to touch them or to give them advice. I didn't suppose anything that had happened was unusual, so I never put two and two together that anyone thought I had anything at all to do with Nellie's miraculous recovery.

Another near death encounter happened some months later. My mother came into our house and asked me if I knew what happened to Stevie. She began questioning me, saying our neighbor's tree had fallen on him. I told her I had no idea. When she said it was the big tree on the corner, I was out the door in a flash. There were people standing around the massive tree that was being cleared away. Someone in the crowd said the men clearing the branches had discovered Stevie's body. I worked my way through their legs. People asked each other who the dead boy was.

"Stevie Johnston," I told them.

A wife asked her husband, "Is that an ID?"

A woman asked if his parents knew. I pointed to their house.

I knelt by Stevie, put my hand on his shoulder and nudged him. "Stevie," I whispered.

"Stop," a few people in the crowd said, "Don't move him."

"Oh, she's too little, she couldn't move him if she tried."

Someone else said, "What does it matter – he's dead."

I disliked hearing that, so I nudged him again, "Stevie, it's me. Wake up."

"Oh Honey, he can't wake up," a woman moaned.

A heavy older man took a step toward me with the idea to take me away from Stevie,

"Sweetheart, he can't hear you."

I didn't believe him. I knew it was disrespectful but I didn't look up at him. I just I kept my hand planted on Stevie's shoulder. Stevie's body moved, like it was a flat bicycle tire being inflated.

The ambulance arrived.

Stevie wheezed and smiled.

There were gasps and exclamations in the crowd. I heard things like, "Oh my God," and "He's alive?"

"Where am I? I can't see," Stevie could hear the crowd.

"Open your eyes," I told him. He did.

There were more gasps and some screams.

"You're in Jimmie's yard. They thought you were dead. That's why everybody's acting so weird; but you're not dead." I had some trepidation after what happened to Nellie, "Are you?"

"Oh, is that what it was?" Stevie answered. "I was someplace else and you came to bring me here."

"Alright, alright get away from him. Let us do our job. Get back. Everybody get back, now." The ambulance men placed a stretcher right next to Stevie; they grabbed his shoulders and legs, plucked him out of the ground, and got him onto the stretcher.

Stevie's mother arrived from work, and saw Stevie was alive. She found me standing in the crowd, fell to her knees in front of me, held my arms and said, "I thank God for you: you've done it again. God sent you to me to be our guardian angel." She hugged me and said, "I've got to go with Stevie now."

"He'll be alright," I called after her, "He's gonna be fine." I knew it.

She breathed a sigh of relief; "Thank you-thank you," she said as she put her hands on her heart in gratitude: tears flowed into her smile as she bent over to climb in the ambulance.

It was God, not me, who had brought her children back.

This time there was a whole crowd of people, not just Mrs. Johnston, who saw her dead child come back to life. This time many, many people were talking about what had happened.

People started coming around to see me, people I didn't even know. Some wanted advice, many wanted to touch me, pregnant women wanted me to touch their bellies, many wanted me to touch them in hopes of being cured, and some women wanted me to bless their children. I touched them, if that's what they wanted. I told them to ask God and He would bless them or their children. I was always puzzled when people were surprised it was that easy.

"I can?" They'd say, or, "He will?"

"Of course you can," or, "Of course He will," I'd answer.

More people started showing up after the first round of seekers claimed I cured them or gave sage advice. And then there were some who came around wondering how I did what I did.

Some of them wondered if I used a magic spell or charm or if trickery was involved. Some of them stayed out front of our home and waited outside until I came out; and some came and knocked on the door. At first my mother was only annoyed, but as time went on and we were interrupted more frequently she became frustrated and angry. She said, she felt like it was Halloween every day with trick-or-treaters coming to the door every five minutes. I didn't feel it was nearly as bad or intrusive as she did.

Meeting Rita: I remember one day Stevie, Nellie and I sat on a bench on the side of the Johnston's house. Even though we weren't allowed to, we began talking about what had happened to Stevie. She must have heard us through the kitchen window because Mrs. Johnston came out of the house and scolded us for talking about it.

"It's just too strange," she said, "Something like that isn't supposed to happen."

There were some people who just thought the three of us were freaks: Nellie and Stevie for dying and coming back to life, and me for being the one who touched them as they did. Some people stared and pointed; but for the most part, people were very appreciative and kind. Most people were complementary.

On another day Nellie and I were sitting on the same bench and a short round woman and her large child walked right into the Johnston's side yard and came up to us. Even though she looked about 5'6" and 150 pounds, I thought the child must be about twelve years old and I couldn't exactly tell, but I thought she was probably a girl. She was larger than the short round woman, who I thought must be her mother.

The round woman wanted to know which of us was Lynn. Then she angrily asked, "What did you use to bring the boy back to life? Do you have some kind of charm or a mojo or brew that you use?"

I looked at the large, frightened child. I suspected she was afraid of her mother so I didn't want to tell this woman anything.

"No," I said.

"Well, how did you do it then? Some kind of incantation?" She grew angrier.

"No," I said.

"Come on now. Come on, tell me. Tell me what you did. I won't hurt you."

I looked at the child for some indication that this woman was not as awful and frightening as I suspected. The child still appeared scared so I hesitated to say anything at all.

At last the large child spoke, "It's all right, you can tell her."

"I just told him I was there. I told him to open his eyes."

"You touched him, too, didn't you? Tell me! Tell me what you did," the mother insisted.

"This is private property," Mrs. Johnston appeared in the doorway, "You're trespassing here."

"But, I just wanted to ask the girl some questions."

"Well, you can't. If you don't leave, I'll call the police." Mrs. Johnston sounded like she'd do it, too.

"No need. We're leaving." Then she turned and pointed to me, "I'm going to keep my eye on you," then pointed to her eye.

The detestable duo left.

Very, very few people who visited me were as insufferable as those two.

Many people claimed I healed them.

People continued to come around as news of my "powers" spread.

Over the next few years, it had become my father's job to answer the doorbell when it rang at dinnertime, and he would send them away. The doorbell rang during dinner one evening, , my father got up to send the visitors away, and as he did my mother jumped up from the table, slammed her fork down and cried, "I can't take this anymore! We have to move." About a year or so later we moved to Upper Montclair, New Jersey when I started fourth grade and the stream of people ended.
Chapter 13 - My Life As A Slave

I was told, years and years later, that there was another part to this story.

One summer afternoon in 2003, when I was fifty-one years old, a woman named Rita Denman called to tell me my life had been an illusion. I'd known Rita since 1975 and, for the first time, she told me there were scores of significant events in my life. That phone call is detailed in the book 'the Conversation.'

Rita told me, the short round woman of that detestable duo was named Dot and that she had been the princess of a Satanic Church, and her daughter, the large child, was Rita. The incident had been a pivotal point in her life, as she was a top contender for the role of princess when she turned twenty-three.

Some cult members felt surely Rita should be the next princess since I had answered Dot only after Rita spoke up. All I had wanted was some kind of assurance that the woman I was answering wasn't totally evil; I had wanted her daughter to give me some indication that her mother could be trusted. Rita exhibited no kind of superpower. She was afraid of her mother and I knew it. I should have trusted my intuition and my angels, and I shouldn't have answered.

Rita was crowned the new princess when she turned twenty three.

The other thing their visit with me did was cement the idea that I should be killed before I got too powerful; and, in the meantime, I should be watched. Rita and Dot felt sure I was the one in their legends so a few of the Satanic Churches in the area got together to decide what to do about me. It was determined I should be destroyed.

For instance, when I was seven I went to the hospital to get my tonsils out: my surgeon didn't remove them but shredded my throat with the scalpel in hopes that it would heal as one lump of hamburger that would block my breathing and swallowing ability, and I would die. My memory of the surgery is - I felt terrible, and, I never did get ice cream afterward. My throat hurt so horribly I couldn't talk or eat for weeks.

Our pediatrician called to ask my mother if my surgery had been scheduled yet. She told him I'd had the surgery a few weeks ago. On his way home he stopped by our house to check on me. When he got there he expected my mother would call me in from playing. Instead, he found me lying in my bed, so emaciated my eyes were sunken in; and so weak I couldn't hold my hand up. He pinched the skin on my arm, and I surprised that my skin looked old and it didn't bounce back when he let go. My arm and hand didn't look like mine.

"He butchered her. Why didn't you call me for a referral? Who was the doctor who did this to her?"

He told me I had to eat or I would die; and that I had to eat in order to keep my throat open; because if it healed that way, I would die. My angels must have heard him because immediately after that I was able to eat and swallow. In fact, I was able to eat while the doctor was still at the house. (That was back in the day when doctors made house calls.)

As soon as the doctor left, though, my mother told me not to worry about it, I didn't need to eat if I didn't want to.

That may have been one of the first of many, many murder attempts on me by Satanic Churches.

That same Satanic surgeon had done the same horrific surgery on other children who died soon after. He chose his victims according to when the child arrived at the hospital. The Hospital offered an option to either drop the child off the night before or the morning of the surgery. If a child was brought to the hospital the night before the surgery, the surgeon took that as a signal that the child was unwanted and so was a prime target for a Satanic sacrifice.

Her church teaches no one loves their children. It's the Satanic Churches' entitlement to kill or torture or mutilate unwanted children. Rita told me the red-haired woman, who had posed as Nellie's Aunt, was a witch. She said the woman and her entourage were forever on the lookout for children left home alone. They reckoned no one cared about children left home alone, so it was entirely appropriate that they be murdered. She had informants who would notify her whenever there was a child she could access. The red-haired woman grew her fingernails long, and if she could, she would wash the children's hair in the sink and the evidence of their death went down the drain. She killed as many children as she could, as many ways as possible, because it gave her pleasure. Rita said, when she had time, she posed them and spread their hair out like they were a princess with a crown. It was her tribute to killing them while they were young and innocent. When she grew older she covered her front porch, in Dover, New Jersey, with mutilated dolls, each representing children she had killed. One of the crushed dolls was Stevie, one with the top of its head missing was Nellie; and two were me.

There had been six other murdered children in the northern New Jersey area whose deaths were attributed to this one murderer, but I had been the first living witness. The description I gave the investigating officers was entirely accurate, but since one of the responding officers was a member of the cult, the description was changed when they got back to the precinct.

There were many cult members involved in Stevie's murder. He, too, was murdered by people who prey on children who are left home alone. Two of them got his best friend, Jimmie, to stay away from Stevie, while others killed Stevie. Still others got a big old tree to topple onto the place they had laid Stevie's body. Rita said the men who felled the tree on Stevie were the same men who found his body and masqueraded as tree clean-up personnel to watch the scene unfold.

Rita told me Stevie's murder was also a test for me. She said, most of the people in the neighborhood believed that Mrs. Johnston was mistaken when she saw Nellie lying dead in her bed. They thought I did nothing more than wake her from a sound sleep. Since it was one of their own who did the killing, the consensus of the Satanic Church was that I brought Nellie back to life: but she had only been dead a short while and her body was intact. They knew Nellie was dead because the red-haired woman and her entourage told them she was dead and they knew what time she died. Consequently, the Satanic Church felt that if Stevie was killed, and then if his body was crushed under a large tree, and no one knew he was there, he wouldn't be found for hours; and so I would not be able to bring his squashed, decomposing body back to life. It's a little game Satanists like to call, 'fun with neglected children.'

The Satanic Churches in northern New Jersey decided my 'powers' were greater than any of their own witch doctors so I had to be watched, or better yet, killed.

Rita continued there had always been a teacher from one of the Satanic Churches in each of the schools I attended.

After we moved to Upper Montclair, New Jersey, the red-haired woman was now a gray-haired lady. Back then, she brought cookies to our house saying she was our neighbor and baked a few extra cookies and wanted us to have some.

The next time she brought a bag of cookies I offered to pay her. She declined payment saying she enjoyed doing it. She asked if I was home alone. I hesitated because I knew I wasn't supposed to say I was home alone, even though I was, but I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. I've always been a lousy liar. The gray-haired lady took my hesitation as a 'yes.'

"This is a special cookie;" she pulled a cookie out of the bag and handed it to me. "See - with the nut right there in the middle?"

"Yes. Oh, thank you. We really did enjoy them."

"I made it special for you. I want you to eat it. I want you to eat it right now while I watch."

I thought it was an odd request. I took a bite, "Ummm. Very good."

"Here," she pointed to the nut in the middle again, "Eat the center. Eat the nut. I made it special for you."

Now, I really didn't trust her. This was too much like the scene in the Grimm brothers' fairy tale where the evil witch wants Snow White to eat the apple.

I took a bite and tucked the nut in my cheek.

"Now swallow. Let me see you swallow."

I swallowed making sure that the nut didn't go down my throat.

"Now swallow again - go ahead."

I swallowed again; this time some grains of the cookie went down my throat.

"Good. Good, I love to see children enjoy my goodies. I'm so glad you liked it."

"Thank you," I said. "Goodbye."

I closed the door and ran into the bathroom and spit the nut out into the toilet; I put the rest of the cookie by the sink.

I gargled and spat in the sink.

I went upstairs and did my homework. By the time my parents got home I was sick as a dog. I told my mother it was the cookie lady and I was sure her cookies were poison.

"How could you say that sweet old lady tried to poison you? You're horrible to accuse her of that."

I told my mother what the gray-haired, cookie lady had said.

The gray-haired lady never did come around again - not that we saw, anyway.

About forty years later Rita told me I was two of the dolls on the gray-haired lady's porch. The gray-haired lady told Rita there was enough poison in the nut to kill a horse, and since she'd seen me swallow it, she counted that as a murder, even though I didn't die because, she said, it wasn't her fault that I had powers.

The only power I had was to distrust someone who said such odd things. The power of reasoning, the power of logical thinking, or the power of deduction.

My Marriage to Peter: Rita told me that Peter agreed to be the Prince of her cult if she could get me to marry him. He chose me when he first saw me while I was touring Montclair State Teachers' College with my cousin when I was in eighth grade.

I said hello to him even though I heard a voice, that I thought was an inner voice, say not to talk to him. I immediately sensed I had done something terrible.

I heard God's voice and two other voices, who I now believe were Jesus and the female side of God or the Holy Spirit: the Lady's voice.

As soon as I was done saying hello to Peter, I heard a conversation that my Father, Uncle and Cousin couldn't hear.

God's Conversation with the Lady and Jesus -

God said, "Well, that's it then."

"That couldn't be it," the Lady sounded extremely concerned.

"There must be something," Christ said.

I felt God's answer, 'No.' then He thought for a second and answered. "She's the last. There's no one else."

"She can do it. I have faith in her," Christ asserted.

God felt He had more pressing matters.

"I'll watch her then," the Lady said.

"I'll watch her, too," Christ added, "I like her."

The Lady added, "Me, too. I've been watching her all along."

"You have? I have, too," Christ said.

"Her?" God asked them. "And you think she can do it?"

"Yes," the Christ and the Lady answered.

"Alright," God relented. "If you'll both watch her. If you think she can do it I'll watch her, too."

I heard Them so clearly, I looked around to see if I was overhearing a conversation: but I wasn't. I stopped walking, and when my father turned around, I asked if he had heard anything.

"Heard what?" My father answered.

"None of you heard that conversation?" I asked.

"Stop dawdling and keep up with us," My father said.

I grew up Catholic so I'd always been taught about three persons in one God. I kind of assumed, or I'd been taught, that the three Spirits of God knew all things simultaneously. I was always taught that God knew everything, that He knew what I was up to twenty-four hours a day.

This was so different from anything the Catholic Church taught me, but, only the Lady sounded as though She knew. Christ sounded as though He checked in on me frequently, but God hadn't been watching me all that much. Now, I got the distinct impression He would be watching me much more closely, which concerned me at first but then I realized that the Lady and Christ were real happy with me so far and they felt God would be too, so I eventually stopped worrying because I'd always been told God watches us all, all the time, anyway.

That conversation the Creators had about me, always stayed with me. That was something my captors never erased. At very low times in my life I was so mad at God I didn't believe in Him and I questioned whether the conversation was real. Now that I've escaped my Satanic captors I understand what They were talking about: and now I understand evil.

I know God is an enormously busy guy. He has infinite patience. He is totally creative. I refer to Him as the Creator. I refer to His female counterpart as The Lady: and Christ I refer to as Jesus or Christ.

At age twelve I didn't have any idea what they were talking about. All three of them sounded very concerned, like I was in for a really rough ride.

This was a definite question and answer conversation in which a decision was made to watch me and the consensus was I could do it. Whatever it was.

I was aware it was something spiritual and frightening.

I didn't know, until after I divorced Peter and a psychologist helped me to make sense of my conversation with Rita, what exactly it was I could do. For years the only direction I got from the Trio was to write. What I can do is write what I know and let people decide.

I believe people will decide to take the righteous path and keep evil at bay.

After reading this book you can also decide why it was Rita called and imparted her church's ancient, secret knowledge to me.

The Lady, Christ and a battalion of angels weren't the only ones who were willing to watch me.

Keep Your Friends Close And Your Enemies Closer

Rita knew that Peter wanted me but the cult never bothered to find out anything about me. She assumed she knew. She thought I came from a family who loved me.

Once the cult found out the girl Peter wanted was the same little girl they had been keeping tabs on, the decision was made to allow Peter to marry me. Those who didn't agree with Rita and Dot's assessment were murdered. The cult killed Dot's oldest son, Rita's brother, because he was next in line to become prince, and he would have interfered with their plan to make Peter the next prince and allow Peter to marry me. A Satanic prince isn't supposed to be married. Peter agreed to kill me on our wedding night. It's inconceivable he didn't realize that he would never be married to me if he killed me. Peter has never been a brain trust.

Every Move I Make...Somebody's Watching Me

From eighth grade until I married Peter, at age twenty-eight, my life was a series of bizarre occurrences, much like the movie, "Straw Dogs." My parents ignored signs of break-ins and rapes: and I was in the dark regarding how, why and who was doing these things to me, because the cult used the drug, Ruphinol, aka roofies. The torture sessions and rape rituals were videotaped. I was put under constant surveillance at age twelve. Most of my life, I have been videotaped. I was continually abducted, tortured, drugged and ritually raped.

I went through a period of not believing in God; because, how could He allow so many terrible things happen to me?

Aside from saying hello to him when I was twelve, I first met Peter when I was twenty-three after I had been married to my first husband for almost three years.

My wedding was supposed to be a white wedding, meaning the bride is killed in her wedding dress. We didn't have sex on our wedding night, because that night, Peter raped and killed someone else in New York City instead of killing me.

Once I married Peter, the surveillance increased. Rita didn't trust Peter to tell her everything, so there were shifts of people assigned to me around the clock. My every move was under scrutiny and could be used as a reason to either kill me or have me tortured. Their Satanic Church had access to satellite surveillance through Army intelligence. There were spy cameras and microphones scattered throughout the house. Expensive equipment was installed on the telephone pole outside of my bedroom window and someone manned the camera. They could remotely focus, zoom in, and change the camera's focal point in the bedroom. After the internet was in place some of the footage was edited down and put on the internet as porn. The idea of that invasiveness is as repulsive as everything else they do.

Rita plans to use the pictures to discredit me when the time comes. During the Conversation she told me, "No one will ever believe you, we have pictures of you doing everything, and what we don't have we can make up and you'll be too embarrassed to do anything."

Attempted Murder

The murders and murder attempts failed because Christ and the Lady were making good on their promise to watch over me.

When I think back on my life, I think some of the cult's surveillance and murder attempts would almost be comical if they weren't so wholly evil.
Chapter 14 - Me and My Shadow

Rita told me, over and over, that she wanted the world to see me the way she wanted the world to see me. She said she got inspiration from Beelzebub, who told her he wanted others to see me as loud, egotistical, retarded, rude, crude, pigeon toed, pushy and impossible to get along with. Rita enlisted a barrage of women whose assignment it was to make the world believe that they were me. She wanted to discredit me as a preemptive strike, because she was certain I was going to take her, her church and her way of life away.

What these women did was, walk around bow legged and pigeon toed, their hands on their hips, and their noses in the air, yelling, "I'm Lynn Mickelsen, look at me, look at me. You're all nobody, and I am somebody!"

And then, most times, the imposter would point to someone close by and yell at him maliciously. Other times, she would strip naked in public areas, such as malls or restaurants, and then yell, "I'm Lynn Mickelsen, I'm important, look at me," until the police, who were always cult members, arrived and pretended to take her off to jail. Sometimes the restaurant would be trashed beyond repair.

Rita told me, I won many prizes I never received, because they were intercepted using, surprisingly easy to duplicate, ID. I even won a huge sweepstakes, and some wretched woman, claiming to be me, came out of a house down the street from me, showing only a library card and an ACME card as identification, told them I didn't want the prize and to get the hell out. She got so abusive that the Prize Patrol left. I never even got any notices about prizes in the mail, because my mail, while in the Mail truck, was being scrutinized, picked through and sometimes stolen, by my daily guard. Mail persons are required, by law, to lock undelivered mail in their vehicles while out walking their routes. Mine never did.

I've won other big prizes, a few cars, etc. The prizes were all intercepted using only secondary IDs, and an outrageously hostile personality. Rita said they just wanted to get rid of me.

ISIL or ISIS

ISIL is not Muslim it is Satanic-

I get residuals for the TV shows I was in and the songs I wrote and all that money and all the money I made as a Satanic Church slave went, and still goes, directly to the church which is, among other horrific things, funding and training ISIL.

If you give money to the Tea Party, or any of the really large non-profits, just know that part of that money goes to ISIL.
Chapter 15 - My Name Change

Story - My Life Changed Again in 2007

One day, in the Spring of 2007, an assistant at my doctor's office told me another one of their patients had my name. She said the woman was so foul and repugnant that no one could stand her.

I recognized Rita's handy work, immediately.

The assistant went on to say that, "While the woman pranced around the waiting room, yelling, "I'm Lynn Mickelsen; I'm Lynn Mickelsen; I have to go to the doctor! Look at me, I'm important!' she fell, and no one got up to help her."

She asked me, "Can you imagine falling in a room full of people, and no one helped her up? That's how horrible this woman is. She's the polar opposite of you. With you, and I wanted you to know this, I'm not gay or anything, but I wanted to give you a compliment. I never give compliments, so I'm not sure how to say this. I wanted to tell you that it makes me happy to see your name on the roster for the day. I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to brighten my day.

"When I saw your name on the roster, I was excited to see you." She said again, "I'm not gay," then she quickly glanced at me over her shoulder.

"Thank you," I thanked her for the compliment. "I didn't think you were gay. I'm not either," I told her. Then, I quoted Seinfeld, "Not that there's anything wrong with that." We chuckled.

"I think, people must tell you things like this all the time. I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to tell you," she heaved a sigh and turned toward the window. "When this other woman showed up, the other Lynn Mickelsen, she was so obnoxious, I felt like I was punched in the stomach. I felt cheated. I wondered how someone with the same name could be so totally different." She looked over her shoulder at me.

"Well, thank you. For a first try, that was excellent. That was one of the nicest compliments I've ever received," I replied.

"See. See, that? That's what I'm talking about - I was nervous about doing that, but you just complimented me on my compliment, and you made me feel better. Maybe I should give compliments more often."

We can easily discover opportunities to help people, if we just try to find them.

I saw an easy opening to make her life better. "Of course," I said. "It's my philosophy to give out compliments as often as possible. I look for things I can give a compliment for. Compliments are great – and they're free." I put my hands out to the side, palms up, smiled and shrugged, "Compliments don't cost nothin', so give 'em out as often as you can."

"Where should I start?" She asked earnestly.

"Start with your children. Think about things you like about them, and then tell them."

"They'll wonder what happened to me. I've never complimented them," she confided. Then she thought a second, "Nope never."

I tried not to let on what a vastly sad statement that was, "Well, it's never too late to start. And then, when you get used to it, you won't want to stop."

"That's the hard part. Keeping it up. I don't think I could do it." She turned and faced me, "How do you do it?"

"Do you believe in God?"

She nodded.

"Well, you can always ask God, that's what I do, pretty much. Very often I ask for the right words to say."

"I've never asked God for anything." She said, "I wouldn't know how."

I leaned forward in the chair and told her sincerely, "Talk to your Guardian Angels then. That's really who I ask. Everyone has Guardian Angels assigned to them. They're God's helpers and they're easy to talk to, and they're always ready to support you. They're the ones who guide you, if you listen."

"I've never told anyone this, but, sometimes I think I hear my Uncle." She asked, "Is that what he's doing - guiding me?"

"If it's good advice. If it's something that'll make your life better, then it's guidance from an Angel. Anyway, giving compliments is a wonderful thing. Especially from a mother, it's very important to hear compliments from your mother. It'll let them know that what they're doing makes you proud, and that's important. It'll strengthen your relationship with your children."

"Oh, we have a good relationship." She stopped to think about it for a second, "It's like my relationship with my moth..." she stopped and was visibly shaken to realize that her relationship with her grown children was like her relationship with her mother. She muttered to herself, "I'm just like my mother. I swore to myself I would never be like her."

"It's not too late to change that." I heard footsteps outside the door. "God gives us all Angels to help us." The door handle turned and the door began to open. "Don't forget to ask your Angels for the right words."

"Thanks." She turned to face me, "I will."

My New Name

Later that day, at home, I began to think about changing my name. God interrupted my thought, which is something He had never done before, and hasn't done since; it was very jarring. He said, "You will be called Grace."

I argued for a minute saying, "Me? Naah, I'm not Grace."

God said, "You will be known as Grace."

I replied, "I don't even like that name."

God repeated Himself as though He hadn't said a word before, "Everyone will know you're Grace."

I had argued with God over many things many times before and I knew enough to stop. It was a simple enough request. I wanted to change my name, anyway because I didn't want to be associated with my ex-husband who was also my captor, my jailer, a murderer and a rapist.

So, God chose the name Grace for me and I chose the last name Gardener and God okayed it.
Chapter 16 - Tom Cruise

What Rita told me during the conversation. The actual story is in the next Chapter.

This is an excerpt from the five hour conversation The phrases in italics are the thoughts I have had since the conversation. Everything else is what had been thought and said during the conversation. I took this out of the book 'The Conversation' because it is more a cautionary tale explaining why things go so terribly wrong for me and for many people. if they can do this to someone as popular as Tom none of us are safe. It gives you some idea of the scope of their power.

"Tom Cruise doesn't deserve to be happy. He interfered with us. That whole Universal Studio thing. He shouldn't have gotten involved."

"What whole Universal Studio thing?" I pointed out, "He's an actor, isn't he supposed to get involved with movie studios?"

"No, stupid. This had nothing to do with the movies. I'm talking about the time you and Brooklyn were at Universal Studios. You should never have gotten her to try out for that movie. You caused us a lot of trouble. We had to call in favors from all over - even in Florida and California," She scolded.

'Really?' I had no idea what she was complaining about. None. I've never had my daughter, Brooklyn, audition for any movie. She and Alison had a fuzzy-in-the-background spot on an obscure TV commercial once. Our trip to Universal Studios in Florida was around February of 1991 – give or take a year or two.

"I never had Brooklyn try out for any movie."

"Yes you did! Liar! You're nothing but a stage mother! You put Alison in that movie Popeye. We had to torture you for days for that! And now you tried the same thing with Brooklyn."

"Alison was not in the movie Popeye. It was a baby boy who looked like her. And anyway if you claim to have someone watching me twenty-four seven you should know I didn't spend any time in California or wherever it was that Popeye was filmed," I countered.

How could she possibly think the baby who played Sweet Pea was Alison? She said over and over that I had been under constant surveillance since I was twelve. How could Alison be in a movie without Peter and Rita knowing about it? Peter should have noticed that I was away from home for several months, even if the 24 hour surveillance didn't. Rita constantly looked for "reasons" to torture me. She kept saying so many things that didn't make sense. I tried to stay calm.

"We counted the minutes. She was on-screen for less than an hour." She stated with some authority. "We could have missed it. You could've snuck out and put her in the movie and snuck back home. Then you changed her name for the credits, that's what they're called, credits, isn't it? You changed her name for the credits so we wouldn't find out."

"That's not how movies work, Rita. Those actors are on the set for days and weeks and even months. I would have had to have flown out to where they were making the movie and then hang around for a while and then fly back - you should have noticed I didn't do that. You're just looking for any excuse to have me tortured. You don't need a reason. You just need an excuse \- they're different."

"You can't talk to me like that! I'll have you killed! That's another reason to have you killed; and make no mistake about it – you'll be dead this time next week," She screamed. "If I say it's a reason, it's a reason! And anyway, you didn't learn your lesson, you made Brooklyn try out for a movie at Universal Studios and that made us work over time for almost a month – maybe more.

"The cops in Florida were looking for you," she continued, still making no sense. "You were on the News for days. Your answering machine was full! We had to forward your number so you'd stop getting calls. We had to figure out who called you. Who was trying to interfere with our work? We had to call in favors - lots of favors. And we found out you had people you knew who we didn't even know about. I don't know how you do it. Everybody in every town you've ever lived knows you." She scolded, "You're not supposed to do that. You're not allowed to talk to people: but you break the rules. You talk to people all the time. And they like you! Imagine that? I tell my followers you have a magic charm, because you're such a goody two shoes there's nothing to like. You shouldn't use that charm, it makes our job harder. Everybody - everybody who meets you has to be tortured and sometimes killed! Everybody who called you about Universal Studios had to be tortured into not recognizing you and hating you. You should stop talking to people. We had to torture them all into hating you. It was a nightmare trying to keep up; you have so many people who love you," her voice lowered in wonder, "really love you, men and women. I never knew women could feel love for other women. I thought they would have to be queer or something. That's what I told them, anyway, that you were queer, but that didn't seem to matter. I never realized so many people could feel the way they do about you. Trying to get them to hate you was more than we could handle. When Tom Cruise got involved in looking for you, he made it National News or World News or something. It was horrible!"

She grumbled, "That's when we realized – that's when we made the decision – we agreed we had to go into your past. We had to find everyone you ever knew and make them hate you. We had to kill some of them because we couldn't get them to hate you."

Rita got back to the subject, "It was complicated keeping the truth from you. There were a few times we thought it would be impossible, especially after that Cruise character decided to butt in. We still can't figure out why he did that – so he had to pay. You both had to pay for making our job so hard."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Her church tortured people from my past and even killed them for calling me?! I wasn't breathing. My Angels reminded me to breathe and that none of this was my fault. Torture was Peter and Rita's pleasure and any excuse to torture and kill people was their responsibility not my burden. Still it was physically painful to hear. I could hear Christ calming me and requesting that I continue the conversation. The phone cord was only about eight feet long so I laid down on the dining room floor. 'And what of Tom Cruise? What did they do to him?'

She asked, "Where are you? Where did you go? Are you still home?"

"I'm still here," I answered; completely aware whoever was watching me was letting her know they could no longer see me sitting in the chair.

My peops urged me to keep her talking.

"They can't see you. Did you leave?" She asked.

"Rita, you're having the house watched, you know I'm still here, I'm lying down on the floor. Are you talking about the tour we took at Universal Studios?" I was pretty sure that's what Rita was talking about so I didn't wait for an answer. "All I remember is when they asked for volunteers at Universal Studios, Brooklyn ran right up onto the stage. There was nothing I could've done about it. She raised her hand, but the guy didn't call on her so she went up anyway. I didn't make her do anything. There was absolutely nothing I could have done about it."

"Well, we had to get you out of there. We knew if we got you, that Brooklyn would follow. What we didn't know was that everything was on tape. They filmed everything there. They had films of you walking down the hall and a lot of films of Brooklyn trying out for that movie. We injected you and we told people you were drunk, and that's usually enough. People don't want to get involved with a drunk woman- so that's usually the end of it. But not at Universal Studios. They put you on the news: they put Brooklyn on the news: everybody was calling you. Every time there was a film of you or Brooklyn on the TV, we broke in and stole it – but, they had copies. They must have had copies everywhere. You had hundreds of messages from people we didn't even know existed. It was a mess. And just when we thought we'd gotten it under control, Tom Cruise got himself into the picture, I'll never understand why. He offered a reward or something. So he had to suffer. He shouldn't have monkeyed in our business."

Note: I can remember much, much more about the Universal Studios incident now than I did when Rita told me this story. In fact, I didn't remember any of it except going to Florida on a vacation. I also knew that my daughter, Brooklyn, didn't even remember the Florida trip at all.

I remember being puzzled at some of the strange events, such as no messages on the answering machine, but the cult made sure I couldn't remember anything else. Rita claimed to have tortured me to death twice after the trip.

"Rita, you can't expect me to believe this. This is all so impossible. It's impossible! How could you get to Tom Cruise? How could you get to all my old friends? You can't kill people without going to jail. I don't believe any of this!"

"Oh, believe it. It's true. It's easy. We own all of north Jersey, so we own the whole world."

"The whole world is in north Jersey?" I quipped, "How can you own north Jersey?"

She told me how they operate.

"We can do anything we want to anyone we want!" Her voice softened in admission, "Except Paul McCartney. He wouldn't accept a drink. How dare he? He thinks he's better than us! We couldn't get near him. We tried everything we could think of. How dare he think he's better than us?"

"He probably doesn't let anyone near him," I interrupted. "After what happened to John Lennon he's probably scared. I'm surprised he doesn't have bodyguards."

"He does have bodyguards. We couldn't get past them. We own the world. No one is better than us. We had to teach him a lesson." Her voice lowered as if she were talking to herself, "We made an exchange with one of our churches in Scotland. It wasn't a fair exchange, all they wanted was to have someone murdered and that was so simple, we just did it as a drive by." She thought a minute, "I don't know why that's all they asked for." Then she continued, "They couldn't get close enough to Paul, either. He thought he was too good for them, too. So they trashed his house while he was at the hospital with Linda." Her voice brightened, "That'll teach him. They really did a number on his house. Sir Paul, ha! They broke down walls and demolished everything in sight until the cops finally showed up and they almost got caught. The message has been sent. He understands now that he can't be better than us. I think they did several million dollars in damage and all we had to do was pull a trigger. So you see, we can get anybody - anybody at all," Rita said with great bravado.

"How about the president? Can you get to the president?" I chided.

"We don't need to get to the president; there are others who do that. And besides," she realized, "he's one of us, anyway, so no one really needs to get him. But before Bush, Baby Bush, that's what you call him, right?" She paused for my answer.

"Yeah, the one in now? I call him Baby Bush, the one in ten years ago I call Daddy Bush."

"Yeah, before Baby Bush was president we always had someone in the White House, well not us, but one of our churches – someone with our beliefs." She hesitated. "There's a club called the Builderberg Society, which has had every American president as a member. In order to get elected, I think, the person running has to agree to keep certain people as advisors and listen to them. That's why so many things go wrong and so many campaign promises fall by the wayside. The candidate sells his soul to the Devil in exchange for getting elected."

Then she became excited, "We do have someone! We have John Alexander in our very own church and he's an adviser to the president, so yes, we can get to the president!"

I felt hollow, "Okay, so you killed somebody for one of the churches in Scotland and you had Paul McCartney's house trashed?" I asked with concern and mistrust, "And somebody Peter knows advises the president? How come I don't know any of this? I don't believe you. You would have gotten caught. I would know something about it! I was married to Peter for twenty-two years! What you're saying is impossible."

"It hasn't been twenty two years! I'm so glad I'm having you killed. I hate you so much. I'm telling you this because I need you to believe me; I need you to be afraid of me. That's important – everyone's afraid of me. I need you to understand you'll be dead in a week." Rita asked, "You've heard of Dirty Tricks Clubs or a Little Harmless Fun Clubs or After Hours Clubs?"

"I've heard of After Hours Clubs," I answered.

"What do you think we're doing after hours? The only people awake and up and around after midnight are people who want something to happen to them. We make it happen. If it's a woman, then we know she wants to be raped. If it's a prostitute, then we know she wants to be raped and murdered. Everyone out between the hours of twelve and dawn wants something to happen to them. Maybe they want to be tortured? Maybe they want to be mutilated or killed. It's up to us to make that happen for them. We generally refer to ours' as a Dirty Tricks club, because everybody loves dirty tricks."

I thought about the sheer horror and insane ridiculousness of that statement, "I don't think people who are out late at night want that. Maybe they have something to..."

"Silence!" She yelled. "I am right! I'm always right! I'm omniscient! If I say they want to be murdered - then they want to be murdered. All we do is provide a place where people can go to accommodate all those people who want to be killed or tortured. People who want to do the killing, raping and torturing come and join us.

"That's how I found Peter," she continued, "I could see it in him. I knew he wanted to torture and rape and murder and I knew he'd do anything for me. I had many men get in my way. Those who were supposed to be prince opposed me. I even had my brother killed. I had to. He liked you – can you imagine? But I wanted Peter. My mother agreed, because he was so pitiful and hateful, we knew he'd do anything for me. That's why I wanted him for my prince. In exchange I gave him you." She muttered and grumbled, "I thought you'd be dead by now. I thought I would have killed you by now, but make no mistake - you'll be dead by the end of the week."

"You'll be caught," I asserted.

"Us? No. Ha. Impossible." It was clear by the tenor of her voice that she summarily dismissed the idea. "People join us, I don't know how they find us, but they always do. After we do something really outrageous that makes the news we always get a few dozen new followers. Like the time we ate that baby alive in Milford, Pennsylvania. We did that for you – that's another reason to have you killed – we do a lot for you. That stunt worked out well for us, we got almost a hundred new followers. They found us, the police couldn't find us; but a hundred other worshipers did. They loved it and wanted to be part of it.

"They join us to watch torture and murder which makes them feel powerful and in control, sometimes for the first time in their lives. They hear our Bible and everything suddenly makes sense to them. They feel at home. They want to worship the ruler of the Earth, not the Creator of Heaven and Earth."

There are a few names for the Devil in the Bible, probably referring to different fallen Angels. We generally speak of the Devil meaning all of the fallen Angels and the souls who have joined them since the creation of man, which was the point in time along the evolutionary ladder when God put an immortal soul into the human animal. We say 'the Devil' like there's only one.

Evidence of evolution is in the story of Esau and Jacob. God reminds me to remind you He did not write the Bible. He created us using evolution as His clay.

"The Black is the reason we're here. We have the Devil to thank for this temporary life. So we worship the Black since this is the only life we know and the only Earth we have. We don't tell our new followers that's who they're worshiping, but in time they find out and by then it's too late because we've convinced them the things they've done, in the name of the Black, are too horrible for God to ever forgive. We tell them since they're going to Hell anyway they might as well enjoy the ride."

She continued, "Sometimes worshipers don't realize that when I say, god, I'm talking about our god - the Black. We have a trinity, too: Beelzebub, and Lilith his female half, and their son, Satan." Then she whispered to herself, "I don't know what he needs Lilith for. Women are worthless.'

I didn't comment on her whispered comment because I would have been accused of ESP. "First of all, I don't believe in the Devil, and B, there's nothing you can do that God can't forgive," I told her.

"Oh, you're so stupid! I know you don't believe in him that is, but you should, he's real - I've seen him. And I know as well as you do, there's nothing you can do that God can't forgive: but that's not what we tell our followers, or we wouldn't have any - well maybe not any \- but we'd have a lot less. We like to portray God the way Satan sees Him."

"So you lie to get followers?"

"All religions lie!" Rita snapped.

She had me there.
Chapter 17 – The Scope of the Cover-Up

UNIVERSAL STUDIOS FLORIDA AND TOM CRUISE

When I put the pieces together I realized the scope of this was mind boggling! I'm including the rest of this story to demonstrate how invasive and thorough this cult can be. Remember they had about three hundred fifty members at the time, probably less. Other Satanic Churches worked with them, but it was still a mighty feat. She said the Satanic Church in California that helped them get to Tom was the Scientologists. This one incident indicates Satanic Churches could possibly be capable of some of the other outlandish claims Rita made throughout the conversation.

I'm also including this story because there may be many people who remember this incident and can corroborate it for me. Not those who called me, of course, since their memories were erased through electroshock torture and drugs: but, probably people who still work at Universal Studios, the Florida Police, the Florida News or even those who saw it on TV.

The reason Universal Studios and Tom Cruise wanted so badly to find Brooklyn was they wanted her to play the girl in the film The War of the Worlds. Dakota Fanning got the part. She did a fine job.

The sad truth is, people get abducted and children go missing every day. It rarely gets past the local news and sometimes doesn't even get reported. If the power of Universal Studios and Tom Cruise didn't make little Brooklyn reappear, what chance do the children who disappear on a daily basis have?

The True Story

Peter, Alison, Brooklyn, and I took a trip to Florida when Brooklyn was about eight, so that would have been around 1991. One of our stops was Universal Studios, because Alison and Brooklyn were interested in seeing the Nickelodeon exhibit. One of the stops on the Universal tour was to show how movies were made \- or that's what we were told. Brooklyn had always expressed a desire to be an actress so she immediately raised her hand. The MC, who did the choosing, chose all the girls up front who had their hands raised. Brooklyn had her hand up but she wasn't chosen. So when the man said, "That's it. Is that it?" she just hopped up and ran up toward the stage with her hand in the air. He noticed her coming and said, "Oh, there's another one. Sure, come on up." The MC said that it was to be a scene about an Earthquake and the girls on stage should imagine the ground was shaking and they were very afraid. Brooklyn took that direction and made her whole body shake, rock and roll, while screaming and she finally fell down. There was a woman in the audience who really enjoyed her performance. The woman was a talent scout for Universal.

After the presentation was over, the crowd continued on the rest of the tour, the parents of the girls on stage were asked to come to a room to sign a release. Peter and Alison and I headed off to the room, after I explained to Peter that Brooklyn was one of the girls on stage. Brooklyn ran up to us to ask if we'd seen her performance. I said, "Yes, you were the best one!" She was called back to the group of girls. A nice-looking, young woman walked up to me and said, "She was the best one. Everybody thought so. Did you see that crowd reaction? Did you see how they applauded for her?"

"I thought there was more applause for her," I replied, "but then, I'm her mother so I'm a bit biased."

"So you are her mother, that's what I was going to ask." I said yes I was her mother, and she told me how much she enjoyed Brooklyn's performance. I told her Brooklyn had always expressed an interest in acting. Then the woman said, "This wasn't a normal part of the tour. We were actually screening for a part for a Tom Cruise movie that will be out in about four years. We've been trying to find a young girl to play his daughter, because the girl the studio has in mind doesn't look anything like him and she's a little bit too young." She said she'd do a real screen test on Brooklyn but was certain, regardless of those results; Tom would want to do a screen test with Brooklyn. The nice-looking, young woman wondered if I would mind meeting Tom Cruise. I laughed and said, "Of course not," and added I thought Tom Cruise looked a lot like my brother. She wanted to know if my brother had ever done any acting. The conversation was getting very exhilarating. She went on to say that I might get a tiny, one-line spot in the movie as well since she felt I had universal good looks and it would be cheaper for the studio to hire me as a bit actress, so that I would be on the set when Brooklyn was on the set, than it would be to hire someone to watch Brooklyn since she was under age. She said she wanted to try something and she asked me to look frightened - so I did. I happened to be looking at someone when I put on a terrified face and gasped. The man, I happened to be looking at, got frightened; I said, "Ooh, I scared that guy," and the nice-looking, young woman and I both laughed.

The whole time Peter kept saying, "I can't believe this is happening." He appeared very nervous. I took it for excitement, but I was wrong. It looked like Peter gestured for the man who got frightened, to come over. The frightened man came over and told the nice-looking, young woman that her boss was looking for her. The woman laughed and turned away because she didn't know the frightened man and she said to me, "I am the boss." The man said again, "You're wanted over there in that room," and pointed across the room to an open door. I said "It's okay if you need to leave."

"This is important. They want you over there," the frightened man persuaded.

The nice-looking, young woman said to me, "I have no idea what this is about. I'll be right back." As she turned and walked away Peter grabbed me from behind and said, "Let's go." I told him I wouldn't do that to Brooklyn, this was her big chance. I asked Peter if he heard what that woman was saying? His answer was that he heard and that's why we have to leave. I said again I wasn't leaving. Peter stood right behind me and grabbed both of my arms at the bicep. He said, "Just once I'd like to see what you can do." Then Peter addressed the frightened man, "Go ahead - do it. What are you waiting for?"

"You said you wanted to see what she could do," he answered.

Peter shook his head, no, and said again, "Do it."

I was trying to break free. Some of the people around me expressed surprise and apprehension and asked, "What's going on?" The frightened man shot my left thigh with a hypodermic needle. As I collapsed I remember Peter saying to the crowd, "She's just drunk."

A man next to me said, "She wasn't drunk a minute ago. What are you trying to pull?"

I tried to say, "No" but couldn't. That's all I remember.

Evidently this caused a huge disturbance.

The frightened man and Peter were able to get us out of there. Brooklyn and Allison were too scared not to listen to their father when he told them we had to leave.

I don't know what happened to the young woman. I hope she's okay.

The next day, back at the Ramada Hotel, I was walking along an outdoor hallway when a woman stopped me and said I looked a lot like the woman on TV. I told her I wasn't on TV. She became excited and told me she thought she'd seen me on TV. Again, I told her I wasn't on TV, I thought she thought I was an actress. With that her husband came around the corner. She asked him and he agreed. He said we should call the police. As he turned to leave, Peter and the frightened man came up from behind me and shot me with the drug, and as I fell I heard the woman screech, "That's exactly what happened on the news! I can't believe this is happening."

I felt a jolt and a thud and I realized I couldn't move because I was up rolled up inside a rug. I heard men, I thought one of them was Peter, talking and laughing and walking away, so I moaned loudly. Peter and the frightened man unrolled the rug and were astonished I was alive. They dragged me into the car and I fell back to sleep.

I sometimes wonder if I should have stayed quiet and I might have been found rolled up in a rug at the dump. The police may have put it all together and Brooklyn would have been much better off. Then again, reality sets in and I know, I would have starved to death rolled up in a rug in the dump.

When we got home to Roxbury, NJ from our eight day trip I was surprised to find there were no messages on our answering machine. There were usually a few people who didn't know we'd be gone, and my daughters have friends who call regularly. I would have expected about twenty messages. When I tried to talk to Peter he asked, "Why? Are you expecting messages?"

I said something like, "Well, yeah, even when I go to the store I have a message when I come back. This has been eight days; I'd expect at least a dozen messages. Somebody switched the tapes. Where's the tape that belongs in the machine?"

He just got jumpy and wandered off. Typical Peter.

Later that day our TV broke.

One odd thing that happened – I was walking the dog when someone came up to me and introduced herself as my neighbor and she told me there had been a disturbance at Universal Studios and some equipment was destroyed and that Brooklyn was wanted by the police. I told her she must be mistaken because Brooklyn volunteered to be in a demonstration of how movies are made and how actresses were expected to act scared. The special effects were filled in later. Brooklyn didn't destroy anything.

My neighbor, whom I didn't know, said there was a lot more to it than that. She thought Brooklyn destroyed some property and we were expected to pay, or something. She wasn't sure. She was surprised no one else told me about it. "They're making a big deal about it," she said. I asked who I should call and she didn't know.

Perhaps, if she had known who I should call I would have called; but as it was I did nothing because I was certain Brooklyn didn't destroy property. I felt she must be mistaken. I really didn't want to sit in court defending myself and my daughter in a lawsuit brought by Universal Studios.

When my daughters came home from school they told me Brooklyn had been on TV and I should call someone. Again I asked, "Did the kids who told you about it, did they tell you who I'm supposed to call?" They said, "No." We decided I should call the police. When I did I was told I must be very narcissistic to think that Tom Cruise would want to get in touch with me. I told the police officer who answered, it wasn't just me he wanted to talk to, but Brooklyn, too. I asked to speak with another officer and he said they were too busy to run errands for me and hung up.

The next day Allison and Brooklyn got off the school bus buzzing with the news that Brooklyn may have landed an audition to be in a movie with Tom Cruise.

The second time I called the Roxbury Police I was told they gave a description of me to the Orlando Police. I asked how they got a description of me. He said Peter dropped off a picture and they sent it, and the Orlando Police said I wasn't the one they were looking for. I asked about Brooklyn.

"Listen Mrs. Mickelsen, it's not you they're looking for. Not you or your daughter. Stop wasting our time," He snapped.

"Who did you check with? Can I have the name or the phone number or some idea of who it is I'm supposed to call?" I asked.

"Jesus, lady. Get over yourself. It's not you, alright!" he yelled and hung up.

I was tortured for that.

There were many things I could have done if I felt better. I could have gone out and bought a new TV, but I felt terrible and the torture sessions had me convinced there was nothing I should do.

I have to wonder why no one who knew us, or none of Brooklyn's teachers, called Universal or the Orlando Police, and if they did, what happened to those calls? I would have, if I had known someone, and they didn't return my call, and there was a problem that made it to National or World News, I'd like to think I would have done something more than call and leave a message.

Rita said there were urgent messages on my answering machine that she and the gang intercepted. That's how they knew who to abduct and brainwash. She had several women intercept my phone calls and they told the callers I didn't want to talk to them.

She told me, there were many, many calls to the Roxbury Police Department telling them who it was in the video. Those calls were intercepted and passed off as crank calls. There were a substantial number of Roxbury Township Police Officers who were in Rita and Peter's church since Rita, Peter and several other cult members lived in the same township.

There's a computer program used to intercept and reroute calls, or even logged in walk in complaints, whenever the name of a cult member shows up on the Township's computer. Even with that -how they could have kept me so completely unaware of something that was on the news for a few days? The only person I can remember who got to me was a neighbor I didn't know, and she had the story all wrong. How is that possible? The cult kept me drugged and tortured for about a month after our Florida trip so perhaps I just can't remember.

I cover how the church works together to accomplish such a feat in - How They Operate in the book - The Conversation.
Chapter 18 – Cult Legend

Heaven and Hell Collide

Rita said this event is now a cult legend - legend is her word, not mine.

Waking up in Heaven

I stood on a path amidst a stunning flower arrangement of staggering scope and intensity. The plants and colors were spectacular - like shimmering gems, delicate blown glass shapes, some like fine silk, some like gleaming, rich velvets mingled among delicate lace petals. The beautiful, intricate stems \- several fine and twisted, others straight – elegantly supported blossoms, as big as my head. All manner of flowers blooming together sharing their colors and beauty so that the whole garden was a vast 3D collage.

I noticed a man, far to my right, walking slowly toward me.

I mused at how the foliage was so perfectly and intricately arranged yet growing in a garden – if it is a garden, I wondered. The man to my right smiled, pleased that I liked the garden so much.

"This place is amazing! What is this place?" I asked: my eyes still exploring the winding pathways of exquisite trellises and hanging plants resembling gold wisteria, orange grapes, purple honeysuckle and blue roses.

"Heaven."

"This is Heaven?" I immediately thought better of that question because there certainly wasn't anything like it on Earth, it defied the laws of physics and gravity, not to mention the rules of gardening, so I added, "I guess it must be." It wasn't like any place I'd ever seen and the flowers weren't familiar. "It's really something, truly beautiful." I turned to focus on the beaming gentleman who now stood by my right shoulder. "And who are you?"

"Jesus," He answered.

I'm in Heaven and I'm talking to Jesus, I thought. I figured I must be dead but didn't remember dying. I could have asked Christ what happened but didn't. Right then I was too happy to be bothered with the particulars.

"You don't look anything like your pictures," I joked.

At first Jesus laughed because He knew there were no pictures of Him, not any done of Him while He was alive, so no pictures could possibly look like Him; but then He realized I was commenting on the fact that He was black and of course all the pictures show a thin, light-brown-haired white man with a beard; then He really, really laughed.

He asked if I'd like Him to show me around. Certainly I would. I was euphoric.

"Sure," I giddily replied, "There's more?"

Christ grinned, glad to be able to show off Heaven. 'Of course there's more,' He thought.

I realized we could talk without speaking. 'How cool.'

With a smile He brought me to a meadow of glowing green grass and trees.

'This is like the Emerald Isle.' I'd been to Ireland, but I'd never seen land such a stunning, glistening color green.

Christ looked at me quizzically.

"Like Ireland." I explained and then began to think of, maybe, a more religious way to describe it and started to say, 'Where Saint Patrick lived,' but He shrugged that off and said He got it at Ireland. I couldn't tell if He knew who Saint Patrick was. At any rate, He wasn't interested in continuing that thought.

"It's all so tremendously beautiful, I love that color green." I leaned toward Him, "I'm not usually a big fan of green."

Jesus chuckled. "I'm glad you approve," He joked back. He was only half joking, it seemed. He was genuinely pleased. He gave the impression He was proud of Heaven, which, of course, He should be.

'You'll like this.' He brought me to a lush, leafy forest with hills, streams, waterfalls, and trees with huge hanging branches all surrounded by sparkling, sapphire water. I thought it was cool that Christ knew I'd like it, but then I thought, 'He knows all of us, our intimate thoughts, everything, and I thought, who wouldn't like it?' Just appreciating what He created pleased Him. I didn't feel it necessary to worship Him or please Him. Quite the opposite. It seemed like He was a long-time friend.

Jesus asked how I felt. I said fine. He looked at me and grinned and waited until I thought about the answer. "Fine," I was pleased to report, 'really, really fine. Better than I've ever felt.' His grin turned into a most wonderful smile. I smiled back thankful for being in a most glorious, magnificent place with a man who was caring, funny, kind and concerned for my happiness, eager to make sure everything was perfect. I couldn't imagine encountering such a compassionate spirit on Earth.

This Jesus was a man so content, so funny, so concerned, so helpful, so full of joy, so masculine, so sure of Himself. Not at all the lamb. Not at all the sometimes namby-pamby, sometimes almost effeminate Christ of the movies and European paintings. More a younger Springsteen / Denzel / Clooney character \- a decidedly masculine, confident, charismatic character. Christ had the magnetism and charm of Bruce Springsteen on stage; the self assurance, humor, masculinity, and appeal of Denzel Washington and George Clooney. If He was the drippy, soft spoken guy you see in the movies, five-thousand people at a time, would not routinely show up in the desert while He was giving one of His sermons. If you think about it, He would have to be that charismatic and charming to draw the kinds of crowds He did in the desert.

While I marveled at the forest, thinking I'd stay in that place a few hundred-thousand years, Christ asked if I'd like to see His house; causing a joy explosion in my heart. I felt humbled, privileged and truly blessed.

Each effortless step traversed many miles; it struck me how enormous Heaven was - like Earth - only it appeared infinitely vast, dazzling and perfect. I realized Earth was a tiny, finite Heaven: I realized that Earth must have been made in Heaven's image.

Jesus brought me to His house. Each room was the size of Pennsylvania. I oohed and aahed.

I gasped and marveled at all the beautiful works of art, fountains, sculptures, waterfalls, and tapestries made of mosses, lichen and tiny flowers. I embarrassed myself because I couldn't stop gushing. Each piece was placed perfectly without clutter or gaudiness. It wasn't like any house I'd ever seen. Finally, I explained I wasn't just telling Him it was beautiful to make Him feel better. Christ interrupted saying He knew I wouldn't lie. He said, 'That's something I appreciate about you, that you make people feel better about themselves. You always seem to find the right words to say.' I took the compliment and shut up.

We smiled at each other for awhile.

I thought, He's a handsome man but He looks nothing like He's portrayed. Nothing at all. He doesn't even look Jewish. I would have expected Him to be a dark-skinned Jewish man. I figured He'd have dark skin because of the area of the world He was from but I have to admit I was surprised He was black. I thought about how nice it was to be there with Him and how easy He was to please. I felt bliss.

"Would you like to live here?"

The question caused another joy explosion in my heart.

Does He mean Heaven or His house? – I wondered. My soul leapt. My heart was pounding. I was beaming.

God's voice interrupted, "You can't stay: you have work to do."

"No, they don't need..." I started to say they didn't need me at the bank that badly, thinking it was my salaried job He meant.

Waking Up Dead

"You have work to do." The voice said again; and a hand that fit me in its palm came between us, scooped me up, and, it felt to me like I was crashed hard, face down, into my bed. Then God said, "Lift up your head." I tried but couldn't.

"Lift up your head." He quietly requested again.

"I can't," I thought back. Then, with a hand about twice the size of my own hand, He put His fingers on my forehead and His palm on the back of my head, and He pulled my head up. When He let go my face plopped back down into my soggy pillow. I thought surely He would ask me to try harder, instead, without another word, He lifted my head again and this time turned it to the side so that my face was out of the pillow.

"Now get up," He requested. I sat up on the edge of the bed. "Breathe," He said. I did. A foul odor overtook me. I could feel and taste a slick, metallic liquid on my face and I knew I had to get it off because it was making me sick. I looked at my soggy pillow and realized my face had been pushed so hard into it that there was a lasting indent where the pillow molded to the shape of my face.

I thought of calling the police but God wanted me to wash off. I got up and turned on the shower. I was struck with my own putrid smell. I began to shower and found feces molded between my legs. (A body defecates and urinates shortly after death. That, and no breath or pulse, are the indicators paramedics use to determine death.) When I realized what it was, I threw it in the toilet and scrubbed my crotch. I looked at the washcloth and saw it was saturated with red blood. I gasped! I immediately realized using a washcloth on skin that had been decaying moments ago was a huge mistake.

I hopped out of the shower, yanked a wad of toilet paper off the roll and held it to my crotch.

My legs were already red with blood and there were expanding puddles of blood on the floor. I thought, "God, if you want me to stay alive, this bleeding has to stop." I waited to see how fast the blood would come through that toilet paper but it didn't. I waited some more and then gingerly took off the toilet paper. My crotch must have stopped bleeding before I applied the toilet paper and even before I prayed; it stopped bleeding so quickly there was only one tiny speck of blood on the toilet paper. The floor had two puddles of blood bigger than both feet, and my legs were drenched in red.

Using only my hands and soapy water I gingerly finished washing off, aware the amount of blood I had just lost should surely have killed me.

I went back into the bedroom and checked my pillow, it was soaking wet with some very metallic smelling liquid which I believed was ether. There was a deep impression where my face had been pushed hard into the pillow. I realized that even smelling the pillow should have put me back to sleep, but it didn't.

I had been dead, my husband had killed me, but I didn't do anything about it. I felt like I wasn't supposed to. God asked me to stay calm and say nothing. (I know now it would have done no good. The policemen on call that day were cult members. My call to 911 would have been routed to them and I would have been tortured horribly for trying to get my husband, Peter, arrested.)

Peter came home very early from work and was surprised and visibly shaken to discover me sitting on the couch – ALIVE! I had been blue, stiff and dead when he left at 9 AM.

After he collected himself, he went through the house and cleaned the crime scene. I was still woozy and sick but I was able to follow him, trying to piece things together, trying to see some sign of remorse or guilt. He went to the bedroom and pulled the dirty sheets from the bed. Peter stated he would throw them out or burn them. He cleaned some of the blood on the bathroom floor and he never once asked what happened to me to cause such a large pool of blood. He never asked if I was alright or where I was hurt. He intentionally left enough blood on the bathroom floor to scare the daylights out of our young daughters.

Peter collected the many glass bottles of whatever it was he had used to soak the pillow. They clanged and jingled in the wicker waste basket. At one point he stopped to smell a bottle to make sure it was what he thought it was and almost toppled over, recovered and shot a venomous stare at me as though I did that to him. "I used them all," he muttered and shook his head in disbelief.

Peter picked up the empty coffee cup from the nightstand, turned it upside down and stared at it quizzically.

Earlier That Day

I didn't know it but earlier that day, on the morning of the ether murder, Peter brought me coffee laced with sedatives and poison enough to kill me. When he handed me the coffee he had told me to remember that the last thing he had done for me was nice. I thought it was odd that he brought coffee, and it was an odd thing to say, but then again, Peter managed to say odd things quite often.

Peter told our grammar school-aged daughters that I was very sick and may not live through the day. They didn't want to go to school so they could stay with me, but he threatened them. Killing me and letting them find my body was to be their indoctrination to evil.

After I fell asleep from the drugs, Peter suffocated me by pressing my face hard into the pillow for five minutes, then he raped me, and then he waited until I was bluish-white and rigor-mortis set in. Next he poured six, four-ounce bottles of ether around my face, soaking the pillow entirely; ensuring I wouldn't wake up, and I wouldn't be able to breathe.

Then he went to work. He was supposed to let our young daughters find my dead body when they came home from school as part of their indoctrination into evil.

Peter thought about the crime scene he had left, and so he decided he would go against her directive because he thought he should be the one to find my body. Too many things could go wrong if it were left up to the girls. Things such as police finding ether bottles strewn over the floor near the bed and an empty coffee cup with sleeping drug residue in it.

Peter drugged me again before our daughters came home from school that day so he could tell them I was dead. They were enormously upset, but cautiously optimistic since I was breathing and mumbling - straining to tell them I wasn't dead. Peter insisted that sometimes dead people breathe for a while after they're dead. Our daughters had been brainwashed from birth to believe everything Peter said, but they didn't want to believe I was dead.

Hell in a Cellar

Instead of just asking me, Peter drugged and abducted me that night to find out what had happened – to find out why I was alive. He took me to an exclusive cult gathering that included a doctor. The princess, Rita, didn't want all the members to find out what she suspected. They laid my naked body out on their "altar." The doctor put his nose to my flesh and confirmed that I was dead and decomposing. "It's a very distinct smell," he said. Several people put their noses to my arms and chest to smell what death smells like.

"That's it," the doctor said, "she's dead."

"Then, how is she breathing and talking?" the witch princess asked.

"Well, she must not be dead anymore."

"How's that possible?"

They didn't know.

The cult questioned me.

I told them about seeing Heaven. I tried to tell them how beautiful it was but they didn't want to hear it. Rita, the witch princess, called for, "Silence!" Cult members aren't allowed to know Heaven is a beautiful place because if they knew they may not choose to go to Hell. I told them about meeting Christ. I told them how charming, caring and funny He was. They asked what He looked like. I told them He was much bigger and more masculine than in the pictures. I told them Christ was black.

"Then, it wasn't Heaven. Christ isn't black," the doctor stated.

"Well..." Rita hesitated because she knew their legends had just been substantiated. Ancient Satanic teachings, long since abandoned, taught that Christ was black. Almost everything about Christ has been changed by the Satanists over the years. That detail has been left out of Satanic teachings, as well, because that fact made it more difficult to instill hatred toward black people in disciples of the Prince of Darkness, and because no one has been able to corroborate it for centuries. Rita knew for sure I had been to Heaven since I knew Christ was black – that confirmed it. "That's what our ancient teachings say."

Everyone looked at each other, then back at Rita.

"That Christ is black?" They wanted confirmation.

Rita nodded. "It was Heaven alright because how else could she know that? That information isn't anywhere." She looked around at the silent, sullen, stunned faces of the coven, "Is it?"

They all agreed they'd never heard that before.

Rita asked me, "Were you expected to worship and bow to Him?"

"Not at all. It felt like He was a long-lost, loving friend."

Rita raised her head and turned slightly, "He made her bow and worship Him," she bellowed.

"What are you doing? It's only us here and we all heard her."

"That's right. You all heard the truth." Rita told them, "Well, you're next then. I'll have to consult with the Elders, but, I think we'll have to take turns."

"Take turns what? Torturing each other?" the doctor asked. "I won't tell anyone. Don't you trust me?"

"I'd trust you more if I erased the memory of tonight," Rita vibrated, mimicking electrocution.

With fear as his motivator, another man proclaimed, "I won't repeat what I heard, I don't even believe her."

Rejection of this ancient truth angered Rita. She snapped, "But you have to realize this is in our..." Rita thought better of the statement she was about to make. "How about the rest of you? Do you believe her?"

"Well, I wouldn't do anything to hurt the church, so I know I wouldn't talk about the black Christ. If word of that got out to our minions, we wouldn't have any anymore." The doctor added, "And all that stuff about how beautiful and the intense feeling of euphoria in Heav..."

"Silence," Rita screeched. "We, here in this church, have to keep what Lynn told us, our secret. If any one of us breaks this vow he will be killed."

Someone was instructed to get a video camera to record me as I told about Heaven and Jesus as evidence to be shown to the elders of the cult and shared with other Satanic cults, if necessary. Again, I was stopped from sharing the good news about the astonishing beauty of Heaven.

Next they asked how I woke up. I told them about being thrown into bed and about God telling me to lift my head and then pulling my head up in His hand. Peter was upset and shaken that God had been in his bedroom.

They asked how I was able to walk and I told them, "God told me to get up and I did."

They asked what I did then, and I told them I took a shower and how I found the feces molded to my crotch. They asked the doctor how long it takes for feces to dry and he wasn't sure; they were trying to establish how long I'd been dead, but couldn't. Peter talked about the amount of blood he cleaned up and the doctor determined I should have died from that alone.

"What made her bleed like that?"

The Doctor shrugged and grunted.

Rita reprimanded Peter for cleaning; saying he should have made me clean it; but Peter reminded her I was in no condition to clean. They laughed and said, "Because she's dead." And then it occurred to Rita that this was a perfect opportunity to make fun of me – a favorite pastime of Peter, Rita and their cult.

The omniscient princess Rita began taunting me like a kid. "You're disgusting - you pooped your pants. Nah, nah you pooped your pants."

The infallible prince Peter added, "Poopy pants."

They all snickered, cackled and howled at how funny they were. The putrid princess repeated, "She's a poopy pants."

They mocked and chanted, "Poopy pants. Poopy pants."

Just hours earlier, I had been in Heaven, seeing an extraordinarily fantastic, beautiful world; talking to, and being complemented by, the most extraordinary man who has ever lived: and now I was drugged and naked on an altar in a demon-swine person's dark cellar, being made fun of because I died and my body reacted to death as all finite bodies do - it evacuated its waste and began decomposing. They were teasing me because they killed me.

Someone stripped an electrical cord. Peter put the bare wire ends behind my ears. The cord was plugged in. My aching body was jolted with electrical shock. They tortured, then brainwashed me and told me to forget what had happened, to forget I'd been to Heaven, to forget what Christ looks like, to forget my husband killed me.

Three more long shocks of electricity.

Rita recited, "You won't remember any of this."

I thought, "Like hell I won't."

I didn't!

Rita made everyone present swear they'd never tell another living soul.

During the Conversation Rita told me the story of Heaven and a black Christ spread like wildfire. She heard it from someone in Texas just days after it happened, complete with details like I thought Christ was the gardener. She said it was being told in Europe within a week. During the Conversation she told me, my story of Heaven has been cult legend for a quarter of a century.
Chapter 19 - The Truth about that Legend

This particular ether murder "attempt" was part of an ongoing series of attempts that began about the time I was in eighth grade. (I had the annoying habit of waking up after I was pronounced dead.)

Why was ether necessary even after rigor mortis set in? The cult reasoned that if I woke up this time, the ether would put me right back to sleep, and with my face pushed so far into the pillow, I wouldn't be able to breathe and I would die again.

They didn't count on God pulling my face out of the pillow, allowing me to breathe without being affected by the ether, helping me to stand and walk, and curing my decaying skin.

Rita told me this was only one of many, many times I woke up after being pronounced dead. How did they think I "woke up" all those other times without God's help?

Satanists couldn't allow us to know how happy life on Earth could be and how simple Heaven is to achieve. So Satanists, and heads of organized religion, changed Christ's message to suit their own agenda.

I now know the work I must do is to expose evil. God wants me to let the world know the simple fact that there are people who believe in and worship the Devil and they have Hell as their goal. They want to end the world as we know it, so they can rule the Earth. There are people who walk among us who would like to create Earthquakes, cause world-wide financial ruin, start plagues, engineer famine and on and on; because they believe that's what the Black wants.

Satanists belonging to religious cults that date back to the time of Christ are required to hate black people because they hate everything about God. Their oldest teachings say God is black and Adam, the first man, was black and Jesus was black. My meeting with Christ validated a belief that had been abandoned, by all who didn't possess the ancient knowledge, due to lack of recent confirmation. Those at the invitation-only cult meeting that night were both relieved and troubled to get my information.
Chapter 21 - Legend

Basement Lightning and Thunder

This is a first-hand account of what Rita called the legend of Lightning and Thunder in her church Basement. The church lost close to a hundred members that night because they were too frightened to return. This story spread like lightning (pun intended) through cults world-wide and is still being told a quarter century later.

Another Miracle

Some years after I went to Heaven, I was sitting and talking with George, Rita's husband, in the basement of their home, the same basement I was taken to after waking up dead (another cult legend.) Part of the basement was cordoned off with sliding floor to ceiling panels. Peter and I had been invited to Rita's fiftieth birthday party. I could hear Peter and Rita talking upstairs. I could only pick up a word or two of the conversation but plans were being made and something very sinister was being planned.

"They're going to kill me aren't they?"

George just looked at me. If he said anything he would be killed, too.

"Is there any way out of here?"

George glanced at the stairs that led to the kitchen where Rita and Peter stood planning my murder.

"I mean any way from here. Anyway out through the basement -- a window or something?"

George shook his head no. The doorbell rang. It was more guests for her birthday party.

Rita yelled down the stairs, "You stay there. Drink your drink. I don't want you to meet my other guests. Stop talking to George. I made that drink special for you. It's my birthday and I want you to drink it."

My Angels told me if I went upstairs I would be stabbed. If I stayed and drank the orange soda I would probably be killed, too. 'We'll do our best,' they told me. They weren't being a comfort to me at all. My health was an issue; I was quite ill all the time and very weak. I suffered for thirty years -- a victim of Peter's drugs, suffocations, electrocutions and torture. The symptoms I developed from the years of continuous abuse mimicked multiple sclerosis. Getting stabbed would hurt, I reasoned, and there would probably be a fight. Either way I would die. I could usually figure a way out of these situations. My guardian Angels were eerily silent that night. So I stayed.

After the roofies, that were in my orange soda, took effect, Peter went back home to get our daughter, Brooklyn.

Her birthday party got underway in a torture chamber in Rita and George's basement. They had sliding doors made of paneling that hid torture equipment including gurneys with straps on "altars" on pedestals raised high enough for partygoers to see the torture and anticipated "sacrifice."

First George was tortured to find out what I told him. Once they realized I knew I was going to be killed; that was a green light for them to do exactly that and still get my soul. They felt that since I knew I'd be killed, that's the same as suicide, and in their "church" people who commit suicide go to Hell. (Not true, by the way.)

Since Rita was the cult princess she was able to order any type of sacrifice or torture for her birthday. This was her 50th birthday and that's a milestone in any satanic cult. Satanic cult creatures rarely live to the age of 50. Any minor transgression is reason for a death sentence. You can't leave a cult except by murder - either you have to murder someone to get out or you have to be "sacrificed." Age 55 is also an important age because that's when obsolete cult members will be sacrificed. If you're one of the higher-ups in the cult your 50th birthday is extremely special and Rita was turning 50.

Rita loved the way Peter and my daughter, Brooklyn, screamed. Since I never screamed during torture, which was an ongoing irritation to Rita, she ordered a double torture, where it was her hope and desire that if something went wrong she could then kill me. She intended to make sure something went wrong. Her minions were expecting a sacrifice. It was her feeling that if I were allowed to hear my daughter scream the way she screams during torture sessions, then I might want to do something about it and that would be wrong and a "reason" to kill me.

One of the drugs the cult uses puts the person in a mild coma. A combination of drugs made me aware of what was going on around me but powerless to do anything about it and I would be unable to remember it the next morning. I felt like I was dreaming. It was a familiar dream where my whole body was in terrible pain and there were several people surrounding me, taunting me, and no one would ever help me. Sometimes in these dreams I could hear the voice of my husband, or Rita, or one of my friends, but they never helped me. I never spoke or screamed during the pain. It wouldn't have done me any good, anyway, since Rita and George had double soundproofing put in their basement, my screams would just be for the cult's enjoyment. As the torture increased and the pain worsened, my soul's light grew brighter, bigger and more intense.

This time, since it was her 50th birthday, and my torture was for her pleasure, they decided to give me a third shot of a pain inducing medication used for torture by the CIA, Army Intelligence and now, the NSA. When the drug is used during an interrogation, one shot generally induced enough pain to get almost anyone to talk. Two shots are sometimes used on the tougher criminals who are alleged to have information. If someone doesn't talk after two shots of this drug the interrogation is generally stopped because an additional shot can cause seizures, strokes and heart attacks and in that state the prisoner is rendered helpless and unable to talk, so a third shot is useless. (Dick Cheney told me in 2012 that he'd never seen anyone survive the third shot.) Since they weren't trying to get information, and since it was her birthday, the decision was made that the risk was acceptable and the third shot was to be administered in hopes to, at least, get me to scream - and hopefully die. This is the preferred method of torture for the most evil cult members who did something that endangered the cult. Rita told me the most hardened rapists and murderers scream for mercy during this torture and then most of them invariably die of heart attacks and strokes.

While they were preparing the third shot I could hear someone else screaming in the background. 'Someone else is in pain - as much pain as I'm in,' I thought. I wondered where I was. 'Perhaps I'm in the hospital.' The screams came into better focus and I realized it was my daughter, Brooklyn, who was screaming. 'Perhaps we'd been in a car accident and Brooklyn and I were badly hurt?' Brooklyn sounded like she was in agony and I decided to try to get to her. I knew it would take all my strength, since I was writhing in pain from the two shots I'd been given, but I decided I needed to try.

Brooklyn was about fourteen years old and had been brainwashed kill me. She had been the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful child in the world, but she had been furious with me on and off for some time now. Brooklyn had been abducted and tortured on an almost monthly basis since she was a month old but still the light of her soul would not go out. Brooklyn's soul had been slated to be delivered to Satan even before she was conceived in a rape ritual, so the Satanic Church that owned us believed it was imperative for her soul to turn black. If a soul doesn't turn black by the time the child is nine years old, the child is then encouraged to kill a parent or someone else and then kill herself out of guilt. The cult implanted memories into Brooklyn that accused me a doing terrible things to her. It was not only distressing but extraordinarily confusing to me to be accused of crimes like rape; or even to be accused of simply screaming or calling my daughter names and acting in ways I never acted. The cult routinely told Brooklyn her mother didn't love her or hated her and wanted her dead.

Brooklyn's soul was white. It shown a pillar of bright white even when she was born.

Now Brooklyn was screaming in the darkness. She was screaming for help at the top of her lungs. She was screaming for her mother to help her.

So I decided to try to get to Brooklyn, even though I was in staggering pain and I couldn't see. Just as I started to move I felt the sharp pinch of a needle jabbed into my side. Within seconds the pain was even more excruciating. The pain felt as bad to me as the screams of my daughter sounded. I could feel my heart jump and sputter. I could feel every muscle in my body spasm. My skin, my eyes, my teeth, my bones, even my hair hurt like I was on fire and there were knives stabbing me.

"I'm coming, Brooklyn," came out as a mutter rather than a call. Immediately the demon swine in that basement that night rushed to Brooklyn's side and told her, "Your mother will never come for you. Your mother hates you. She wants you to suffer."

I heard this and moaned loudly trying to say they were liars.

"She doesn't like that," Rita clapped and gleefully announced, "Say it again."

"Your mother hates you, she loves to see you suffer," they taunted the young girl.

"No!" Then I tried to get up through the pain but found my arms were strapped to the table where I lay. Rita told me in 2003 that my light glowed and swelled and temporarily blinded a few Satan followers.

"She can't get to her. She can't be allowed to get to her," Rita demanded. "She's done it. She's gone against my wishes. She has to be destroyed." Rita was terrified of the expanding light and the growing commotion in the room. "She can't be allowed to get to her. Give her the fourth shot."

"But that will kill her." Peter said pointedly.

"That's what I want. It's my birthday. That's what I want. She wants it, too. Remember she told George she thought we would kill her." That was the end of the argument. Peter always gave in to Rita. Rita had told me the prince of a Satanic Cult is supposed to be the strongest member; but in this north New Jersey cult the strongest member was the princess.

I felt a needle stab my side, the feeling was almost imperceptible, but it was a pain different than the pain I was already experiencing. I was aware of the conversation that preceded the jab and realized this shot meant death.

My heart turned to granite inside my chest. The rock grew. It filled my chest. I could no longer feel my heart beat. It had been jumping and doing back flips with the third injection, but now it was silent - entombed in stone. I could see the darkness get darker. I could hear people say I was dead. I remained in unfathomable pain. Even the rocks, now growing down my arms, were excruciating.

In the blackness, to the left and in front of me, I could make out a door. The light that seeped through the cracks around it became slits of a vibrant, bright white. I knew instinctively if I went to the door and opened it, the pain would stop. I would be dead. The torture would be over. My life, to this point, was no picnic. I was sick all the time. My life centered on my children and my husband and for the past several years Peter acted as though he couldn't stand me and my perception of my relationship with my daughters was faulty. I had been tortured many, many times before and sometimes during torture sessions I could remember other torture sessions. I knew this had happened before. I heard the doctor give a time of death. At this point I was exhausted beyond words and in pain beyond comprehension. Opening the door was extraordinarily tempting. I took a step toward it but then heard the anguished screeches of my daughter, Brooklyn. I found my hand on the doorknob. I thought, even if I tried my mightiest, I'd never make it to the place where the screams emanated. It sounded like she was eight or ten feet away and I thought I couldn't possibly get that far. I heard the evil people tell my daughter, again, that I hated her and would never come for her. I heard my husband talk about where he would bury me, in some contaminated Army property in Ledgewood, NJ. I heard him deny that there was a tear in his eye. I heard Rita say that he would be killed, too, if there were. I heard Brooklyn scream for "Mommy!"

I knew that because I couldn't see and I couldn't move, I probably couldn't save her. I took my hand from the knob. I thought if in the morning my daughter found my dead body on the floor she would at least know I tried to get to her. Brooklyn would know I didn't leave her. Brooklyn would know I loved her. She would know they lied.

I brought my focus back to getting up and away from the door with the light. I knew my arm was tied down and knew it would be hard to break the tie so I rolled a bit to my left to try to get momentum enough to roll to my right and swing my arm up.

"What was that?"

"Oh that? That's rigor mortis. I've seen it a million times before. Well not a million, maybe..." Peter paused trying to remember how many people he'd killed or helped kill.

"So soon? I mean it's only been, what, like five minutes or something?" Someone asked.

"Oh yeah, it happens real quick." Peter answered.

"It starts happening immediately," the doctor added.

I realized that's what the rock heart and limbs were. Rigor mortise or not, I was getting up to get to my daughter!

I rolled back to the right and pulled at my arm as hard as I could. It was stopped by the strap, and every muscle in my body burned from the attempt.

A piercing clap filled the air. I thought, 'A whip? Now they're going to start whipping me for trying to get up? I'll have to get out of these straps, blind, crawl to Brooklyn with rocks in my chest and arms, in excruciating pain, all while I'm being whipped?'

That wasn't it.

People screamed.

"Oh my God!"

"Don't say that in here!" Even Rita's voice trembled.

"What the fuck was that!"

People ran out of the room. There were many more people in the room than I realized 'None of them ever tried to help me?'

A man screamed "She's getting up!"

"Aahh! Get me out of here!"

What I'd heard wasn't a whip at all: Rita told me, in 2003, it was the crash of thunder. The piercing clap was accompanied by a bolt of brilliant white lightning that filled the cellar and temporarily paralyzed and blinded some minions.

"What was that?" More swine screamed. More ran - some never to return. A few demon drones left the basement to see if it came from outside. It didn't. The night outside the house was clear and dark and now filled with muffled squeals of swine people running scared.

A young man shrieked, "She's raised from the dead."

In the commotion I tried again to get up. With that Peter suffocated Brooklyn with a pillow, aware that it was Brooklyn's screams that were prompting me to get to her. Someone told him that would kill her and reminded him it wasn't Brooklyn who was slated to be sacrificed. Peter said it wouldn't. He said he did it all the time. As soon as Brooklyn passed out Peter removed the pillow to allow her to breathe.

"See, she's fine," he stated. Everyone of the members still left and watching him were impressed by his "power" and thought it was some kind of magic. It wasn't.

With Brooklyn passed out, I couldn't continue to try to get to her. I couldn't see, and without her screams to guide me, I felt, especially in my condition, rigor mortis and all, and with all the furor, it would be of no use to try. The few still at the birthday party were scared senseless.

The torture was over. Even though I had no pulse, Peter administered the antidote to both of us. The needle broke twice going into me. He took no chances and brought both Brooklyn and I home and put Brooklyn in her bed and threw my heavy, stiff corpse into our bed.

Brooklyn and I both woke up later that day feeling like we'd been hit by a fully-loaded, guided-tour bus.
Chapter 22 - The Legends

Rita told me these two incidences, my trip to Heaven; and the night of the Lightning and Thunder in the Basement, are now legend among Satanic Churches worldwide. These incidents happened over twenty years ago and were legends well before the book 'The Shack' was ever written.

The people who can corroborate these stories worship Satan. Most of the people in attendance on the night of the lightning are expected to come forward to substantiate these and other murder attempts.

People trapped in a Satanic Church must step forward and be counted to shine a light on a church that has operated in the dark for centuries.
Chapter 23 - Twenty Traits of Satanic Cult Members

It's easier for us to accept that we were abducted by aliens than by a Satanic Cult! It's our rigid disbelief in evil, and our reluctance to look for the evil in people, that allows cults to exist!

This chapter is also in the Conversation. This is how they recognize each other. This is how they hide in plain sight. (Both Alexander and Cheney said this was spot on.)

To see an aura just look for light and shadow. It's like in a photo when one person looks dark and the one next to him is bright. Look for actual shadows. If the dark person is not in a shadow, he or she has a dark aura. Make it a habit to notice auras. It's very helpful.

The Importance of the Recognition of Evil

In this new Millennium the understanding and recognition of evil will be of paramount importance. Good people MUST wake up to the fact that there are people on this Earth who mean to do harm. Evil people can pick each other out of a crowd. You're at a disadvantage if you can't. These are the people who will lie, cheat, murder and steal to get what they want. Making others miserable, "dirty tricks," brings them temporary pleasure. If you cross them, they will torture or kill "sacrifice" you.

These people are your friends, co-workers, the cashier who just checked you out, the nurse at your doctor's office, your Army buddies, and the cop on the corner.

People ask me how they can tell who is evil. Others say, "Oh, I would know if my friends were in a cult." No you wouldn't. I was married, for twenty-two years, to the prince of a Satanic Cult, and I didn't know: I may not have an IQ of 220, but I'm not stupid. Now that I've got things figured out I'm compelled to share this with you.

Both John Alexander and Dick Cheney said these observations are spot on. Here are twenty attributes of Terrorists and Satanists:

### Looks – Physical Appearance

Note: Some of these physical traits won't be seen in the members of the Builder Berg Society.

1. The overwhelming majority of Satanic Cults in this country are white.

During Cain and Abel days, it was assumed, God is black, because man was created in God's image, and everyone was black. The earliest Satanists were called Canaanites because they decided to worship Cain for being the first person to end a human life. They wanted to breed themselves as far from God's creation as possible. They wanted to become white. Many migrated north. Albinos were exalted and abused and used in their breeding programs. Hitler continued this breeding program in Nazi Germany. He was breeding, what he thought of as, the Master Race.

Satanists continue their hatred of black people and Jews, since Christ, whom they believe is God, was a black Jew.

2. Tattoo

**The tattoo symbol** for many Satanic Cult members is a small pea sized black circle with a circle of black dots surrounding it. Or three sixes, or a circle with three curled tails coming out if it – the circles of each six is overlapped. Cocopelli, the god of fire and mischief, was the first figure made of two series of three sixes. He's not often drawn that way anymore. These tattoos are usually at the hairline on the back of the neck, but they can be anywhere. A dragon, skull, skeleton, a star, or snake, are popular cult symbols.

These symbols make it easier for cult members to identify each other. Three sixes is the symbol of the Devil in the Book of Revelation, because six has always had meaning to the Satanic Church. A five pointed star or the six pointed star was one Satanic symbol adopted by the Hebrews during the Exodus. Hiding the sixes, as in the overlapping circle or figures, is popular, since the Devil hides.

3. Eyes

People who belong to Satanic Churches won't look you in the eye, since they believe the eyes are the mirrors of the soul.

They take to heart the saying, "The eyes are the mirror of the soul," and they don't want anyone to see their soul. When they're in a trance, which is usually before and during the church meeting, their eyes tend to wander around your face.

As they talk to you, they'll glance at your eyes periodically, like they're trying to look you in the eye; you might mistake this for shyness, or some affliction of their eyelids.

For a day or two before the full moon, until a day after the full moon, they have a decreased capacity to focus, or to pay attention to what's going on around them (which might be mistaken for boredom) because they're in the mode to go to a cult meeting. During this period of time, they may get agitated easily, especially if they have a task to perform at the meeting, such as bringing the torture or sacrifice victim, or the torture supplies.

If you're a neighbor, or a co-worker, of someone who acts strangely every once in a while, pay attention to the phase of the moon. If they're unable to concentrate, are irritable and their eyes are especially evasive, and that happens during the phase of the full moon - think cult.

After age forty, their eyes are dark, with dark circles around them. Some of the women get so unsightly as they grow older, it's difficult to look at them. The black circles and sunken eyes are almost grotesque.

4. The women don't wear make-up.

Women are a subspecies. They're not considered equal to a man, even by other women. They're treated as rape victims only, unless they're dominant in their marriage relationship, due to their standing in the cult. They're not supposed to be attractive. If they wear make-up, it must be undetectable, because wearing make-up is grounds for torture and rape. They teach, if a woman wears makeup, she wants to be raped. They believe only actresses and prostitutes wear make-up, and their Bible dictates actresses and prostitutes are willing rape and sacrificial victims. (That's why there were no female actresses centuries ago.) If you try to be helpful and suggest under eye cover-up, and the woman replies she is not "supposed to" or "allowed to" - think cult. Also, be aware, your suggestion is grounds to torture, rape or sacrifice you.

5. They wear very drab, dark colored or black clothes. They're often unkempt.

This is another rule. It is designed to keep women undesirable. Men should look scary. Most people try to avoid scary-looking people. The Satanic Churches' reasoning is that we're made in the image of God and they want to make that image far from God's image or hideous.

Black is the color of the Devil. Red and black are colors of the Devil; but in cult teaching, red is also the color of sacrifice. Those who wear red want to be sacrificed; so black is the color of choice for Satanists. Black and orange are Witches' colors. White is the color that signifies God, so only dark colors are allowed.

They don't wear white. Satanists are troubled by people who wear white. That can be a handy tip.

Overweight people are often ignored, therefore, people whose religion it is to murder, torture and rape, will tend to be overweight in an effort to go unobserved or unidentifiable.

Nice clothes might draw attention to one's self, which isn't allowed.

**6. Their hair is not done professionally.** (Neither is mine, by the way. I don't like Beauty Parlors and I can't afford it! I try not to look scary, though.)

Again, to keep the women undesirable and the men scary. If their hair is wiry, all the better, because that makes them look more like a witch.

They're allowed to go to a beauty salon to get their hair cut, but would never ask for a cut like a celebrity or anything that would make them more attractive.

7. They may slump.

Satanism is one of many organized religions that allow no pride. Cult members hate themselves. Standing up straight, walking with good posture, is something that would stand out. They would like to be invisible.

This is obviously not just a cult thing: a lot of people are taught to hate themselves as children, so they slump, with the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Note: If your daughter slumps, she is depressed and you need to think about acting like you like her, and tell her you love her every day. Depressed people often end up in a cult.

Behavior

**8. They are not allowed friends outside the cult.** They keep to themselves, they won't talk about themselves or share anything personal. They may not tell you where they're from. The rational for keeping separate is, if they think all people act like cult members they won't know how people really act. They won't know people do things for one another. They won't know people are kind and generous. They won't know what a sense of humor really is. They won't know judging and teasing aren't funny. They won't know how karma and altruism works. Members will never know joy.

Satanic Cults call themselves clubs. They will say it's an After Hours Club, or it's a Dirty Tricks Club, or a Circle of Friends.

If someone brings you to a cult meeting you'll be drugged, usually with Ruphinol, (AKA roofies - the date rape drug), then subjected to a ceremony that looks at the soul. If you have a dark soul you'll be encouraged to come back and after a few meetings you may be brainwashed into joining.

If you have a white soul, but they want you to join for some ulterior motive, you'll be drugged, tortured and mind controlled each time you attend a monthly, full-moon meeting, until your soul begins to turn black. These, once good, people often change their jobs and attitudes, and begin saying things they never said or thought before in their lives. It is a dramatic change and it's disconcerting, to say the least, if you were a friend of theirs before the indoctrination began. You may shrug your shoulders and give up on the relationship; but you should know that person is in jeopardy.

That person may say she doesn't want to be friends anymore, because she has new friends - something she's been looking for all her life. Her original personality may be nowhere to be found.

They're not allowed to enter contests because they wouldn't be allowed to go on any trips or concerts they won.

If you, and an old friend join the same cult, you won't be allowed to see that friend, ever again, without permission, and if you get permission, you will have to call the princess to tell her what the conversation was about, and everything you did, and anyone else you met up with: and/or agree to be surveilled. This puts acquaintances of cult members in constant jeopardy, because, if anyone in the cult meets with anyone outside the cult, that person is watched, and more often than not, abducted, tortured and may even be killed.

It's hard for me to believe that they're capable of a project of this enormity, but, I think enough people keep strict to that rule, and don't see any other people outside of the cult. There are enough members who want the job of surveillance, on anyone, because they enjoy it. After all, they call it a dirty tricks club, and spying on a friend in order to have him or her tortured is a pretty dirty trick, but that's why they joined.

If you know someone who's personality has changed drastically and no longer wants to be friends, because he has "new friends" - think cult.

9. They say and believe that everyone lies.

The Bible says righteous people don't lie; and evil does nothing but lie. {The Roman Catholic Church believes that everyone lies. I said I didn't, so the Priest told me he would hear my confession. He said the statement, "I don't lie," is a lie, and lying is a sin.} Since the cult does nothing but lie, they think and are taught that everyone lies, and if you say you don't, they say you're a liar, because you lied about that. They are very adamant about that point. It's a catch twenty-two. This keeps them hating all people.

If you know someone who lies consistently, be careful of that person because they will lie about you, too. And if you've told them you don't lie, now they know you're a righteous person and now you're in danger, because they can and will take advantage of you. Evil people would like to kill all the righteous people - and would - if it weren't against the law.

People in Satanic Churches lie, they lie to each other and to everyone else -- to the point that they can't keep their lies straight.

Lying about someone, giving false witness against their neighbor, gives them an excuse to torture. They'll say, for instance, that someone is a murderer, just so they can use the accused as a human sacrifice. It doesn't matter that they're lying.

10. They use words like "supposed to" or "allowed" when justifying behavior.

I was talking about sex with one woman who I didn't know was in a Satanic Cult. She told me she didn't like sex; and I responded, "That's regrettable."

She was very surprised and said but, "I thought we weren't supposed to like sex."

I asked her, "According to who?"

She said "It's in the Bible."

I told her it wasn't. I didn't know at the time that Satanists have their own Bible.

She was very shocked and very upset.

Of course, that conversation was before I knew the cult existed. I've talked to many cult members over the years, before I knew about cults or the Devil, and I was always surprised at the things people told me they weren't "allowed to" do, or the things I wasn't "supposed to" be doing. Like noticing things. Remembering events and conversations. Going to movies and concerts. Cult members are "supposed to" live their lives with blinders on. They spend most of their lives in a trance. They're not "allowed to" go to movies or any entertainment except the monthly cult meeting. Some churches, like Southern Baptist Churches, have the same rule. This is so the cult meetings and church services are more attractive. If that's your only entertainment, you're more likely to go. You're not "allowed to" talk to anyone outside of the cult, or to each other, except at meetings, unless you have a high ranking.

You're not "supposed to" be noticed.

If someone tells you their not "supposed to" or "allowed to" do something – think cult.

11. They're not animated. They have a peculiar, sick or morbid sense of humor.

These people will joke and laugh but if another cult member enters the room they'll be reserved and they'll check with the other person to see if it's okay to laugh. They have to get permission to laugh! I think when they're not being watched they'll laugh much more readily; but cult members know they may be watched so this changes their normal behavior. If they make a joke it will always be either at someone's expense or about something upsetting.

If you know someone who always looks over his shoulder during a conversation and sometimes will laugh at your jokes but at other times tells you, you're not funny and gets agitated easily -- think cult.

The only people allowed to be funny are the prince and princess and the elders of the cult. No one else is "allowed to" be funny. When the prince or princess hears someone say something funny they will repeat it, so everyone in the cult can laugh. It could be disastrous for them to laugh at something you said even though everyone else is laughing.

12. They do everything so as not to be noticed.

Everything must appear normal and unobtrusive - their looks, their house, their yard. The yard can be neither weedier, nor less weedy, than their neighbor's yard. Their house should be the same color as the predominant color in the neighborhood, and should be no more rundown nor spruced up than the neighborhood houses. The children should wear clothes that other children wear, not Kmart or Salvation Army, and not Tommy Hilfiger or Sacks, if that's not what other children wear. It would be horrible to have someone say, "Oh look at that child, he's always so dressed up," or "Look at that child, she wears the strangest clothes." (My youngest daughter had her own fashion sense, from the age of three, which got her noticed and that irritated Rita no end. I, of course, didn't know the rules since I was never in the cult.)

When Satanic Church members need a new car they buy the most popular car, like for years in the 1980s, that would have been the K cars, and they buy the most popular color. In the late 90s it was a white Camry.

They don't change jobs if they can help it. They don't move often if they can help it. Both things would cause new people to become aware of them. If your neighbor or co-worker is in a cult, you will be subject to routine observation, drugged question and answer sessions that include torture, to make sure you're not aware of any unusual goings on. You'll be left with the feeling, you can trust this individual, and you like him or her, even though you can't put your finger on why. If somebody asks you about her, you'll find yourself saying something like, "Oh, you're wrong about Rita, she's okay."

The point is, that person who blends in so nicely could also be a murderer and a rapist and you'd never suspect a thing.

13. They go out late at night. They may appear not to go out at all.

The Satanic Church meetings are on the Saturday night closest to the full moon, unless the full moon is on a Friday, or Sunday, then it will be on the night of the full moon. Some cults aren't that strict – they'll have their meeting on the Saturday closest to the full moon, regardless. The tortures and sacrifices are around 3 A.M. The meetings will begin around Midnight (the witching hour) and run until just before the dawn. A time when, in their minds, only people who are up to no good, are out. If a woman is out before dawn, as in the case of the Central Park jogger who was attacked by Peter, she wants to be raped and murdered. Satanic Church teaching is very steadfast about that. They feel secure with the 3A.M. torture and sacrifice time, because they say only people like themselves are out.

They're not allowed any other entertainment than the cult. Even though many of her church members are musicians, other cult members aren't even allowed go and see the bands play. The other reason cult members aren't allowed to see the bands, is that the bands may get a following, and become famous, and then they would be noticed, and that would be disastrous, so band members would have to be killed. All Satanic Cults don't have the rule of not being famous. Billy Idol and Mick Jagger are in cults, and they're quite famous. Billy's songs are about Satanic Cult rituals.

If you're unlucky enough to be out at 3 AM, and there's a cult meeting outdoors that you stumble upon, you might see lights in a circle. There may be lights in the trees around a clearing in the woods where they have the meeting. Their cars will be pulled up around the clearing with their high beams on, so there will be a circle of light on the ground that reaches upward and a circle of lights in the trees.

If you stumble upon a meeting, they'll drug and torture you because they're positive you're there for that purpose. That's what they're taught and they're not allowed independent thinking. Most likely they will torture you with a cattle prod and tell you they're aliens and the prod is an anal probe and the lights you saw in a circle was a spaceship.

14. They may appear, on the surface, to be good parents. Their children may be less energetic or may look sickly. Their children are usually shy and scared and may not want to have their picture taken, especially for the newspaper.

Intergenerational cults thrive in Russia, Europe and in this country. Their infants have to be indoctrinated from birth. These people only have children in order to add members to the church and to torture them! They think it's their right. The Bible says, "Honor Your Father and Mother," so they teach that means the father and mother can do anything they want to the child. The child chosen to be the future princess is used in rape rituals frequently. All children are raped and tortured. They use electrical shock before a child can talk. After that, they use drugs and other torture. When a child misbehaves he or she is tortured. New members of the cult bring their children to be indoctrinated. I spoke with one man who was happy because he could bring his child, who was now in her early teens, to be raped and tortured into being submissive to him. He called it voodoo and laughed about it. I wouldn't have thought him to be an evil man. The cult thinks raping and torturing children is a positive thing because it makes them submissive candidates for cult membership when they're adults.

When a child reaches early adolescence, and still has not turned evil, he or she can't be in the cult because of it; he or she is tortured and brainwashed into committing suicide. Satanic Churches have been getting away with this for centuries. Satanic Cults boast all teenage suicides are cult related.

Cult parents are taught that the most joyful sound in the world is the screams of a baby.

A cult in northeast Maryland brainwash their children from birth. These children are homeschooled. When they move into a neighborhood close to "their church," they don't tell the authorities they have children, because the mothers lack formal education and aren't equipped to homeschool their children. This also gives them the opportunity to torture the children, and possibly kill them, and no one would know, because there's no record they exist.

These children aren't allowed to play with any other children outside the cult. They are not allowed to talk to the neighbors, and they are not allowed out of their yard. I lived next door to, and across the street from, two of the cult member's families and I only saw the children of my next-door neighbor maybe once or twice a year. I never saw the daughter of the other family at all and I lived there for four years. Those children never went out except to go to midnight cult meetings once a month. They never had human interactions, they never played. They were taught the only fun was the cult meeting. They referred to the cult as "the church" and the higher-ups as "priests" so if the children talked about the cult, they called it "their church" and no one was the wiser.

15. They won't get close.

They may be rude and aloof if you try to talk to them. They'll be pleasant and cordial but not chummy. Just for clarification here, they don't like you, especially if you are a good person. And they really don't want to get to know you. They won't look you in the eye. They go out very late at night once a month around the full moon. Their children may not be allowed to hang around with the neighborhood children.

16. They claim to hate sex. They like rape.

Both men and women are supposed to have no sexual appetite because that goes against what God gave us. God gave us sex to know what it feels like to be in Heaven. The women in the cult will tell you that all women want to be raped. When I asked them individually if they wanted to be raped they hesitated. I know they have been brainwashed into thinking they do, but when asked directly, they can't answer yes. The women watch the rapes of other women, boys, girls and infants during cult rituals. The women are expected to clean up the victims with soapy water and styptic powder. I can't, in my wildest dreams, understand how mind control works to that extent.

Raping children turns those children off to sex. That's the reason Satanists and Catholic Clergy rape children \- to keep them celibate as adults.

If you know someone, male or female, who says they are not "allowed to" have sex or that people are not "supposed to" like sex -- think cult!

A note about sex: The reason many organized religions control sex is to control individuals. Sex is, in fact, a beautiful gift from God that allows us to know how we'll feel in Heaven.

Don't rape or molest the children in your life - it causes crippling mental illness!!!

17. They don't decorate for religious holidays and usually don't attend a Church, Mosque or Synagogue.

Even though Satanic Cult members hate Jews, they often say they're Jewish at Christmastime so they're not asked why they don't have Christmas decorations. But you'll never see them attend synagogue on Saturday nights like your other Jewish friends.

If they do decorate, it'll be on the windows. If they have a tree, it will be in the window so people can see it. A high priest of the cult next-door to me in northeast Maryland put a candle in each window at Christmas-time. It looked lovely and no one would suspect they're not going to celebrate Christmas.

They can, and do, go to church as a front. Don't buy that Damien stuff that they get violent or ill if they go to church. Church is a perfect hiding place. Peter and my family went to church almost every Sunday for fifteen years until Peter killed our Minister when Rita told him he shouldn't be going to church.

18. Their family, friends and acquaintances die frequently of apparent heart attacks.

I wish I had known this fifty years ago.

If you're saying to yourself, "Those people are always going to a funeral," then 'those people' should be suspected of being in a cult. Cult members are killed for various reasons including accidents during torture, but mostly because they didn't carry out a task properly. Often times acquaintances of the cult have to be killed because they become suspicious or say something a cult higher-up doesn't like. The cult member or members who knew that person will go to the funeral, or to the wake, so as not to be suspected. The cult often makes one friend kill another. That task is frequently not accomplished and then the cult member himself has to die.

The Satanic coroner deems the death was probable heart attack. The cult will often, immediately after the death, drug and torture the family members and tell them the loved one died happy and safe, and to cremate the body and not to question the death. Even if the body is checked, NSA torture drugs aren't in a drug screening. Why not?

Many, many coroners are in a Satanic Church. Also, Doctors have to become more aware of cults and they have to start to take them seriously, especially since the military doles out those drugs like they were candy! John Alexander in the cult in north-western New Jersey orders that torture drug by the boatload and no one ever questions why he needs so much. That's our tax dollars at work.

Many members of my family, many of my friends, and many dozens of celebrities were killed using those drugs. I can only assume hundreds more have been killed and permanently injured by NSA torture drugs.

19. They adopt a child who is considered unadoptable as a torture or rape prisoner.

Cult members working in the child welfare and Adoption fields will adopt out children to cult members who are otherwise hard to place. The children become rape and torture prisoners. These children are reviled by the cult.

If a cult member gives birth to a physically deformed child, that child makes a perfect sacrifice. Rita said, the medical community, the coroner, and law enforcement never question when an afflicted child dies. They should. Satan doesn't "allow" his disciples to have imperfect children, but, of course, they do because they drug themselves incessantly. Cult members who have a child with special needs is required to kill him or her.

20. They adopt pets and children for "sacrifices."

Cults will always have a volunteer at a pound or shelter so when an animal needs rescuing, and is in its last hours, then another cult member will "rescue" it. This makes the cult member look like a "good" guy.

The best way to have a housewarming party is to have a sacrifice. If a human sacrifice isn't available, many cult members use the family dog. Ideally their child will do the sacrificing.

If you have a new neighbor who moves in with an animal, and has a party, and then has no animal – think cult!

If you have a new neighbor and suddenly you have no pet – think cult!

If you have a neighbor who is continuously losing pets or doesn't know what happened to his pet – think cult.

If you ask someone where his dog is, and he doesn't remember even having a dog, you're not crazy, that is cult activity.

Each one of these things alone is not necessarily cult behavior but several of these traits together creates a picture of someone you want to be careful around and suspicious of, and anyway, why on earth would you want to be friends with someone like that? Avoid these people. Please make sure you let others you trust know about your suspicions.

Now that you know the traits, it's imperative that you remember them, look for them, and be a watchdog for good.

Remember - these people are home-grown, right-wing terrorists. They exist in every country.

You know the signs that have been around since 9/11, "See Something, Say Something," or, "Report Suspicious Behavior." Do just that! You'll be saving lives!
Chapter 24 - Your Plan B

A quote from David Galland with Casey Research regarding the Stuxnet and Flame Viruses. I've edited down his article to the talking points.

Galland writes -

"You get up one cold winter morning and there's no electricity. If you could log on to the Internet, watch television or listen to the radio, which you can't \- you'd learn that the primary operating systems of a major power transition hub have been infiltrated and destroyed, along with the back-up systems.

As the grid begins to overload, a second hub goes down, then another.

Note that I am not talking about "the Internet" here - but a proprietary system that connects to the Internet in too many ways to count. And, as the Stuxnet attack proved, even if the system is an entirely closed loop, it can still be attacked.

While your first thoughts on discovering you had no electricity, and that nothing requiring electricity worked, would likely be frustration at not being able to instantly access the information as to why the electricity was off... within a pretty short period of time, your thoughts would turn to other matters. Such as heat, or being able to get access to fuel for your car, or the lack of food or water.

A derivation of the Stuxnet virus - the Flame - is beginning to show up in the World Wide Web. While there has been some news and a bit of Twitter traffic about it, so far the reaction among the masses has been tepid at best. Yet, according to computer security experts, Symantec, the virus is built to allow the operators to wipe out computers.

Symantec researcher Vikram Thakur said that the company has now identified a component of Flame that allows operators to delete files from computers.

"These guys have the capability to delete everything on the computer," Thakur said. "This is not something that is theoretical. It is absolutely here."

To be clear, I am not saying the Flame will herald in what's coming next. What I am saying is that it, or whatever soon follows, certainly could.

We have to expunge the crippling dependence of people on governments. Only when people once again learn, in no uncertain terms, that ultimately they have to rely on themselves to better their life - working with their neighbors and others they want to associate with freely - can the world transcend the current morass.

Give a little thought to your Plan B."

\- end David Galland quote -

My comments on David Galland's assertions -

This kind of attack is what Rita was talking about. She said the plan to sink the Netherlands had to do with electricity, computers and a part of a wheel. Major Power Transition Hubs are the brainchild of the people at Google. I can remember naming Google and having conversations with the two programmers and I believe Rita's assertions may be correct. When the hub goes out, the dike system will fail.

As for what we can do - be aware something sinister is in the works. If you have money in electronic form, i.e. stock trade accounts, electronic banking accounts, I suggest investing in a printer and at least printout hard copies of your holdings, probably, twice a week. Make one of them on a Friday after the stock market closes so you have a hard copy of your assets. Buy durable goods. I really think buying what makes you happy makes the most sense, since that's what you'll have in the long run. Redistribute your money; pay off your mortgage so at least you'll have your home. If this happens, it will take a long, long time to get everything straightened out.

Rita thinks the Mormons are in on the demise of the country since the Mormons are looking forward to Armageddon and planed to rule the world in 2013. Thank God Mitt didn't get in. The Mormons have certain stockpiling requirements. They are each required to own a one year supply of food and sundries. I don't agree with that type of thinking. I think prudence is called for. The world will still be here. We can't let chaos rule. We are all in this thing together. The idea that the Mormons and Satanists will survive and the rest of us won't is hogwash.

I do agree with more communal living arrangements. Shared tools, building supplies, 'have' or 'free' tables or areas, swap meets and community gardens are a great start. I also suggest if you have land, plant vegetables. Our food supply is not as healthy for us nor as plentiful as we think. There are plans to sabotage that as well.

What the governments can do is make sure there are manual back-up systems for everything connected to the Major Power Transition Hubs. They should begin dismantling and disconnect everything that can be disconnected. Internet searches will take longer, but the country will be safer.

I whole-heartedly agree with Galland when he says -

"We have to expunge the crippling dependence of people on governments. Only when people once again learn, in no uncertain terms, that ultimately they have to rely on themselves to better their life - working with their neighbors and others they want to associate with freely - can the world transcend the current morass.

Give a little thought to your Plan B."
Chapter 25 - A note about Barack Obama

The world will never know the stellar job President Obama has done and the number of obstacles he has had to overcome. Both Cheney and Alexander chuckled about how if Bush had been president the world would have ended by now. It seems Obama has figured a way out of everything thrown at him.

Americans for Prosperity put the commercial together that said if a website doesn't work a person could die. There's total insanity for you. It was a scare tactic against ObamaCare. If a toaster doesn't work someone could die is a truer statement because at least the toaster could electrocute you. A website can't. Americans for Prosperity, the people who put out the commercial knew the website wouldn't work because, in all likelihood, they sabotaged it. You can't get a commercial together in one day - as Americans for Prosperity did. Americans for Prosperity must have had advance knowledge. They are probably the people who sabotaged the site.

Fear is a weapon. The entities that produce such fear evoking hogwash are Satanic. Americans for Prosperity is a money making group and a tax dodge and in all likelihood they are using their resources to fund Isis or Isil. I know because I named them. I named the Tea Party, also. The Tea Party's objective is to topple the USA and make money while doing it. They are saboteurs. The IRS is right to be investigating them. They pocket 90% of the money they take in, or at least that was their goal when I named them. If you support the Tea Party, know that you have joined a Satanic group. They held the law hostage by tying it to the budget that crippled the government. On January 15th they plan to finish the job.

The treasonous Tea Party is the Satanic branch of the Republican party. The only people opposed to the new healthcare law are people who want poor people to die. The repeal of "Obama Care" has NOTHING to do with money and everything to do with discrediting Obama. The Tea Party is doing everything in its power to ruin the country and keep people fearful and angry because they want to prove their point that a black man can't handle the job of president, by making the job impossible.

The reason Sarah Palin got the nomination for vice president was because the plan was to assassinate John McCain by giving him a heart attack and let Sarah become President, because they were certain, since she's an idiot, she wouldn't be able to do the job, and she would rely entirely on her advisors which would be made up of Satanists, and the earth would be ruined. For that reason, the Tea Party's plan would have worked much better, I was told, if McCain or Mitt had won the Presidency the country would be kaput by now.

I'm currently in the process of trying to stop World War III, which the Tea Party has had planned since before the day I named them.

If the Tea Party continues to exist it should do so as a third party. What they've been doing is illegal.

Barack may want to start referring to the people he's trying to help as working class heroes. Kudos, Baracko.

I would like to see all government employees, military and elected officials take an oath denouncing Satan. Cheney and Alexander thought this wasn't a bad idea.

### Summary

These are my truths that make my life happy. I'm passing them along in the hope they will help you.

This quote may not be mine -

Whether you say, "I can," or, "I can't," you'll always be right.

But these are -

The only difference between CAN and CAN'T is a T.

We're all God's chosen people.

All children are God's children. God trusts His children to our care.

We're all are born with Free Will. It's important to foster Free Will in our children!

Never abuse anyone - especially not your children.

There's no such thing as perfect.

You always have a choice. Heaven or Hell is a choice. Even life or death is a choice.

Our reason for living is to choose Heaven or Hell - beyond that, we should have fun, as long as it doesn't interfere with another person's ability to have fun.

Heaven is a beautiful place and EVERYONE is invited. Allegiance to organized religion is NOT required. Heaven is NOT a club!

Don't judge - just say to yourself, "I'm not better than anyone; and, no one is better than me."

Forgive your parents, but abhor the abuse.

No change can occur if we always do things the way we've always done them.

Question Everything! Rethink Everything!

Each day is a new beginning.

Never pass up an opportunity to help someone.

Give away compliments as often as you can.

Altruism is the key to happiness.

No one gets out of this life alive.

Think Peace! Make it a reality.
