 
Through a misted glass

By David Marsh, MD, PhD

### Copyright © 2013 David Marsh

Smashwords Edition

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All people's names in this book are changed to protect their privacy.

### Forward

The human brain is the most fascinating thing in the universe. It is massively complex and dynamic. Despite my love of the mysteries of time, space and nature, nothing else holds quite the appeal of studying the brain, or for me, the idiosyncrasies and flaws of the human mind. There are many more than we know. The human brain is capable of perceiving of and understanding such things as the complexities of theoretical mathematics, quantum physics, can create music, art, and conceive ideas and concepts far beyond our ability to manifest them, can contemplate itself, even contemplate itself contemplating itself, and is powerful enough to allow our us to do amazing physical feats that are uncommon in the least. Yet it can also fall into traps, deceive and trick itself and can be so gullible as to believe anything without a shred of proof.

In the following chapters we see 10 cases of people who believe they are or have been cursed, were or are in possession of a cursed object, or have been affected by a cursed place. These are real people, all of whom have paid a price of one kind or another, for their experience. Their names have been changed to preserve their anonymity. I make no judgement about these persons. I offer no clinical evaluation of their stories. That is not the purpose of this book. What you will find are the stories of curses as seen through the eyes of the people who live under these unusual circumstances and related in their own words. That they have allowed me to include their stories is a testament to their resilience. It is my sincerest hope that more people will send me their stories of curses so that we may have a deeper understanding of the mental processes involved with both the victims and the perpetrators. My contact information is at the end of this book, and I promise you the same anonymity and non-judgemental respect if you contribute to this research. Lastly, I have included tips on finding resources for those who believe they have been or are victims of curses so that they may find tools for coping with their situation. Removing curses is not my bailiwick.

### Chapter 1

At age 17 Lauren was a bright, happy girl and a devout Christian. She was a member of her church's outreach program, and an 'A' student at school. When the opportunity came to travel to the border of Mexico and Guatemala on a missionary trip, she was excited to go. Lauren, and five other members of the church youth group accompanied six adults who would all go and help build sanitation systems, wells, work the crops and spread the word of God. The trip was for a two month stay during the summer, a gruelling time to go. They stayed in what amounted to shacks, but this didn't matter to the kids. They were on an adventure. The villagers were friendly, helpful and ready to share.

It was in the second week that the village was visited by a Bruja, or witch, so the villagers said. The old woman came through the village and some people went to leave food or clothing in her path. The villagers said this was to prevent any wrath from the witch in the form of failed crops, wells going dry, babies disappearing and so on. All the missionaries had been told such beliefs existed but to refrain for arguing these beliefs, and more importantly to never engage the Bruja's and Brujo's of the area. Though no one believed in their magic, it wouldn't do to upset the villagers.

The witch visited again a few weeks later, and this time took something from a child without the item being offered. Lauren saw this, and felt angry toward the witch. But, she held her tongue, remembering the warning not to upset the villagers, plus it was not her nature to confront an elder. She did, however ask one of the village girls her age to explain why they allowed the old lady to take from them. The girl told Lauren a tale of disappearing babies, some stolen straight from the womb and children vanishing in the night that shocked and angered Lauren. The girl said the lady was older than anyone could remember, and possessed great magic that no one could defend against. She said it was much better to let the old lady have what she wanted, thus gaining her protection rather than incurring her wrath. Lauren was angered, and a bit frightened, but still remained quiet, even respectful of the woman, though she would go nowhere near the old woman on her third visit.

Then some weeks passed, and Lauren all but forgot the witch. Lauren had become good friends with the girl, who was her age, and had given the girl several things, including a black and grey silk scarf. The girl considered it her prized possession, and wore it all the time, tying her hair with it. It isn't hard to figure out what happened next. The witch showed up, attempted to take the scarf. The girl resisted for a moment and was about to relinquish the scarf, when Lauren had stepped in to intercede, pulling the scarf away from the old lady. But the witch had a strong hold and refused to back down, so Lauren twisted the woman's thumb to make her let go, which she did with a pain filled screech. By now village and missionary adults came, and pulled Lauren and the girl away, taking them far from the woman. Adults tried to see to the woman, making offerings and platitudes but she hobbled out of the village, pausing only once to stare after Lauren and the village girl.

The morning of the second day after the incident, a blood dipped chicken feather was found on the door step to both girls' homes. This caused a general alarm among the villagers, and the missionaries decided to leave early after consulting with the village leaders. Lauren was devastated, as was her friend, but they vowed to stay in touch.

The two exchanged letters every month or two, the incident seeming to have no ill effects on either. A year passed, and Lauren got a letter from her friend saying the girl was getting married to a nice boy from another village. Lauren told her news that she graduating and considering college. Six months later, Lauren received a letter saying the girl was pregnant and happy to be living with her new husband. Lauren sent congratulations. Four months later Lauren sent a letter saying she too was getting married. The return letter told Lauren that the girl had a miscarriage earlier that month. Lauren was devastated for her friend, but remembered the stories about the witch and babies. She tried to put that out her mind and sent her friend a letter of condolence. She never heard from the girl again. Lauren married 6 months later. Her life was good, she worked at a local restaurant and her husband had a good job with a factory. Then the moment she had waited for happened: she was pregnant. The thought of the witch, the feather, and the stories niggled at her, but she faithfully went to prenatal appointments, and adhered to the diet and lifestyle the obstetrician had advised. She was told both she and her baby were healthy and doing well. In the final week of her first trimester Lauren had a miscarriage.

A year later, she conceived again, and though her anxiety levels worried her doctors, she remained diligent to their orders. Meanwhile the effects the miscarriage and the new baby she carried brought stress to marriage and family relations. Her family, devout Christians all, urge Lauren to place her faith in God and pray for a healthy child. Her husband watched Lauren as the pregnancy progressed and Laurens fear of the curse increased. He strongly advised her to seek psychiatric help. Unfortunately his insurance would not cover this treatment, and they could scarce afford to pay for it themselves. Lauren became overly worried as she came to into her second trimester, and again she had a miscarriage.

Lauren was now a solid believer in the curse. Her family brought in church 'experts' who sought to either counsel her in respect to the curse, and even to remove the curse. She became so obsessed with the curse that she slipped into a deep depression, losing interest in life and the things she once cherished. Her health declined as she ate and slept left. Her husband worried consistently and much to his surprise and consternation, almost one year after the second miscarriage, Lauren announced that since she could not bear his children, she wanted a divorce to set him free to find a wife who could give him the family he so wanted. He finally convinced her to seek mental health intervention, paying for it out of pocket despite the strain this put on their lives, and 8 months later Lauren was again pregnant, in therapy, and attending church rigorously. Outwardly she appeared content, even happy. Inside, she was on the verge of a breakdown. She remained convinced that the curse would take this child too, and secretly vowed that when it did, she would leave and live the rest of her life alone, never considering a happy life with children. This outward calm did not fool Laurens mother, however, and she continued to search for a religious solution to Laurens curse. As Lauren approached the second trimester, she mentally held her breath in anticipation of what she now considered an inevitable conclusion to her pregnancy. Her mother found, through church channels a catholic priest from South America who was in the US and was reputed to have knowledge of such curses. He agreed to see Lauren, and after the initial conversation said he could remove the curse. He performed this ritual and Lauren felt better, but still apprehensive. The priest told her this was normal but assured her the curse was removed. Lauren states that the somewhat bizarre ritual was almost as frightening as the curse itself. The second trimester came and went, and Lauren gave birth to healthy baby boy. Lauren, her husband, and their son continued with normal lives after that. Lauren successful conceived and birthed two more children.

### Chapter 2

Dean had, since he was a child, been fascinated by his grandfather's tales of his travels abroad and his collection of souvenirs from far off exotic lands. One in particular held Dean's attention more than the others, so much so it became an obsession. This object was a small carved wooden figurine from Mongolia. His grandfather noticed the boy's obsession and told Dean that the figurine was reputed to carry a curse to ward off or punish thieves and assassins. Rather than deterring Dean, the story increased his obsession. At age 16, Dean could no longer control the impulse to possess the figurine, and one day stole it from his grandfather's house.

Within days Dean knew something was wrong. His speech began to deteriorate and he developed symptoms resembling Turrets Syndrome. He would, often in mid sentence, change from coherent conversation to violent outburst of unrecognizable torrents of word-like sounds. As suddenly as the outburst would begin, they would stop leaving Dean embarrassed, shocked and fearful. His father thought the Dean was acting out, and promptly administered increasingly severe punishment at each outburst despite Dean's adamant protest that he did not mean to do it, nor did he understand why he did these things. In fact he suspected the stolen figurine. He decided to return the figurine and see if this strange behaviour stopped. Dean snuck into his grandfather's house on a day he knew his grandfather would not be home, and had just opened the glass case in which the figurine belonged, when he heard a sound and turned to see his grandfather watching him.

Although fearing the worst, the conversation with his Grandfather went well. The only problem, as his Grandfather saw it, was that he did not believe in curses, and told Dean it was all in his head. Perhaps if Dean tried to absolve himself of the guilt from stealing, he would stop the odd behaviour. He told Dean he forgave him for the theft, and Dean should take that forgiveness to heart. Dean felt better, and went home. Not two hours passed and the behaviour started again, only worse. Dean's mother spoke with Dean's Grandfather, and both agreed Dean should get some help. Dean's father, on the other hand, still believed Dean was acting out, or worse, had suddenly become a 'bad kid'.

Dean's mother and Grandfather took Dean to see a psychologist. Though sympathetic to Dean's plight, the psychologist came to the same conclusion as Deans Grandfather: it was all in Dean's head. However, when Dean told the psychologist that he was sure this was a result of a curse, the psychologist changed his view and told Dean there are no such things as curses, and to believe in such a thing was counterproductive. Dean's Grandfather told the psychologist the story behind the figurine. The psychologist explained to Dean that he was having a psychosomatic reaction to his guilt for stealing the figurine, nothing more. At that moment, Dean went into one of his episodes and once over, the psychologist told Dean's mother that this may be a mental illness and that further test were needed to determine if this was illness or if Dean were, indeed, acting out.

After months of test the psychologist suggested Dean should be admitted to a facility to help troubled youth. Dean's father, angry over the secret visits to the psychologist, agreed. Dean's mother, however, had been observing Dean throughout, and was convinced there was more to this than juvenile rebellion or mental illness. Dean had never displayed rebellion before, and prior to the theft of the figurine, had never been in trouble. The psychologist then asked a hard question. He prefaced the question with a fact about juvenile rebellious behaviour by stating that few things cause a youth to change this dramatically. One thing that did precipitate such behaviour was abuse, particularly sexual abuse. He asked if such a situation were possible. Dean's father quickly noted that he was, indeed, a stern father, but had never had any reason to lay hands on Dean. Both Dean's mother and father categorically denied the possibility of sexual abuse. The psychologist told them that a stay at the facility would make sure that was the case, as the personnel were trained to get to bottom of such dilemmas. Reluctantly Dean's parents agreed to let Dean go to the facility.

Within a month, the facility determined Dean had not been abused, but concluded Dean suffered from an as yet undiagnosed metal illness, noted that the episodes were gaining in intensity and duration, and advised Dean's parents to seek psychiatric treatment for Dean. Dean was taken to a psychiatrist. The school year was about to begin, and there was debate about whether Dean should attend or not. The psychiatrist advised that Dean should attend, and assured the parents that this illness would be diagnosed and treated soon.

School became a nightmare for Dean. The psychiatrist diagnosed Dean with Schizoaffective disorder, and started Dean on a regime of anti-psychotics and a sedative. The result was that Dean operated in a stupor punctuated by these episodes, which were unaffected by the medication. That was 6 years ago, and today Dean remains under psychiatric care, maintaining an impressive array of anti-psychotics, sedatives, and other prescription drugs. Dean has been in and out of treatment facilities, and shows no sign of improvement. Dean's Grandfather notes that the figurine, if indeed cursed, was destroyed, but to no avail. He further stated that his inquiries concerning the curse made that he made to Mongolia garnered mixed response. The best being that such a curse was specific to Mongolia and it would be unlikely anyone outside Mongolia, and only a rare few inside Mongolia would be able to reverse or remove the curse. Dean's Grandfather went back to Mongolia in an effort to seek a solution, but was unable to find anyone who could help.

### Chapter 3

Tim needed a new car. He looked around, but couldn't find what he wanted, in the price range he wanted. His brother, Seth, told him to try the sheriff's auction for impounded vehicles. Tim didn't really place much faith in the auctions, but did look at the list of upcoming automobiles that were soon to be auctioned. Low and behold, there was a car he wanted, a 1971 Dodge Dart. He went to the impound yard and saw that the car wasn't in bad shape, and was a car he could restore and drive. On the appointed day he took his life's savings and went to the auction. It was a cold and rainy day, and few people had come to bid on the 8 cars that the sheriff had set up for auction. Tim waited for the Dart, and noticed an intense young man staring at the car.

As the auction progressed and the Dart's time approached, the young man became more agitated. Tim asked a deputy if he knew the young man, and the deputy replied that the Dart had been the man's car, but he had been unable to pay impound and towing fees. The deputy said the young man was forbidden to bid on the car, but he suspected that the other young man with the previous owner was going to bid on the car for the previous owner. Tim asked if that were allowed, and the deputy just shrugged.

The Dart finally came to the auction block, and the previous owners friend open the bidding with a modest $100.00. Tim bid against the man for a minute, the price reaching $350.00 before the pair stopped bidding, he previous owner glaring at Tim the entire time. The auction dropped his gavel and yelled 'Sold!' and pointed to Tim.

The previous owner suddenly leapt upon the car, and pointed at Tim. 'I curse this car and every owner from this day on! This car is mine, and as long as it is out of my ownership, only pain and suffering shall any new owner know!' Deputies grabbed the man, and dragged him off the car, but not before he was able to take a small jar of paint from his pocket and draw a strange design on the roof.

At this point, the deputies' hand cuffed him and took him to jail. Following the commotion, several people talked about the previous owner, stating he was a practioner of Black Magic and Witchcraft, had been a troubled youth, and was implicated in several mysterious incidents in the town he lived in the north part of the county, over the years. Tim blew the talk off as idle gossip and meanness on the part of people. The auctioneer's employees threw a few buckets of water on the car, as Tim paid for his project car, and soon the painted symbol was a puddle on the ground. Tim open the car, inserted the key, never once believing the car would start, but surprisingly it did, and he took his prize home.

Over the next few weeks, Tim spent many free hours working on the car, restoring it to its former glory. Finally, after nearly a years' work, Tim finished his car. He had a small party to celebrate, and his wife, brothers and sisters, and a few friends came to see Tim's masterpiece. Many pictures were taken of the shiny, perfectly restored car. The big moment came when Tim offered to give everyone rides in the car, starting with his wife. The car stated perfectly, and Tim and his wife rolled out of the driveway. Two blocks away, the car hiccupped once and then stated to accelerate of its own accord. Tim attempted to stop the car, even putting it out of gear and killing the engine ignition, but nothing worked, and in desperation, he turned into an embankment on the side of the road. Frightened, but unhurt, they sat, the car steaming, but stopped, dirt from the embankment still making ticking sounds as it fell out of the sky from the impact. Family and friends showed up, and everyone helped push the car back onto the road. The car was un-driveable, so Tim towed it back, apologized, and said maybe next time everyone could ride.

Tim couldn't for the life of him, figure out what had happened. He carefully examined and tested every part of the acceleration system. He replaced it all anyways, with new parts. He repaired the damage to the right front from the impact, all the while thinking about the previous owner. Tim did not believe in the supernatural, but he did believe in self-fulfilling prophecy IF someone allowed such things to invade their thinking, so it was with stern resolve that he finished the repairs and made ready to drive the car again.

Again, the car was finished, and Tim decided that the first ride would be solo. He left the driveway one late fall day, carefully feeling the car out for any hint of a problem. The ride went well, and Tim shook his head at himself for even being timid over the car. He drove the car all that weekend, and had no problem. Monday morning Tim and his son got in the car the take the son to school and Tim to work. Three miles into the trip, the car once again took on a life of its own, and without warning turned down a one way street. Tim instantly killed the ignition and slammed the vehicle into reverse, and the car died there in the street. Tim and his son were shook up, and the angry honks of oncoming traffic brought them out of shock and forced them to push the car off the road. Tim called to have the car towed back to his home and for his wife to come pick Tim and son up to continue on to work and school. After dropping the boy off at school, Tim's wife expressed serious doubts about the car, and begged Tim to sell it off. Tim thought about that all day at work, and when he returned home told his wife he would, indeed sell the car.

Tim posted the car on a car sale website, and many people wanted the car. One man, Ron, from another state was the person who bought it. Ron was a collector and looked forward to adding the car to the many he already owned. Ron arrived inspected the car and made ready to drive it home. Tim, his wife and son were quietly apprehensive about the car, and it was only as Ron was getting in to leave that Tim's son mentioned the curse. Ron laughed it off, and with a wave, drove away.

Ron got into his own state before the now insidious Dart showed its true nature. On the interstate, a few miles from a large metropolitan area, the car came to life. Ron says one minute he was driving along enjoying the ride, next minute the car accelerated and the steering became difficult to control. Ron fought the vehicle for several minutes, nearly missing many other cars in the Darts headlong rush down the interstate. He killed the ignition, and dropped the vehicle into neutral, all to no avail. Finally the car swerved off the road and dove down a hillside, careened across another road and came to rest several hundred yards into a harvested corn field. Ron spent several minutes just gathering his wits as the sound of distant sirens closed in. Investigators later reported they could find no cause that would substantiate Ron's claims about the cars strange behaviour. Ron was not accustomed to being mistaken, nor did he accept the premise that the car could have a mind of his own. He had the car gone over from bumper to bumper very thoroughly. No faults were found. Ron would not accept this verdict, and proceeded to test the car. The car behaved like any ordinary car for several weeks, until one evening when Ron had a date in the car and again the car veered off the road at speed, nearly killing a group of pedestrians, Ron and his date. Again Ron had the car dismantled, checked completely and reassembled. Again, no fault could be found in the car. The third time the car came to life was at a rally, where amongst other vintage cars as someone simply sat in the car when it was not running, the car started, and lurched forward, nearly pinning Ron and two others between the Dart and another car. Everyone blamed the person who had sat in the old Dart, but she steadfastly maintained she could not have started and wrecked the car, as Ron had the only available set of keys in his own pocket at the time. Ron repaired the car and promptly sold it.

This time the buyer was from yet another state, and had the vehicle transported to his home state. On the way, the car slipped lose and came crashing down off the flat bed it was travelling on nearly killing the truck driver and rolled into a plate glass window of the truck stop he had stopped at. Upon delivery and much apology, the new owner, Carl, had the damage repaired, and promptly took the car for a spin. On his way home, the car showed its true colours and took him on a short but wild ride through a park. Carl faced an enormous ticket, and had the car checked for a flaw that would cause the erratic driving experience. Of course, no defect was found. Carl was perplexed, but as he had several collector cars, it was nearly 6 months before he took the now sinister Dart out again. This time, the car behaved properly. However, his daughter borrowed the car when she was home on holiday from college and once again the car transformed into a terrifying monster. She and a few friends had driven to the beach where they stayed all day. As the sun set and she decided to go home, the car had other plans and as she crossed a causeway bridge the car veered off, and somehow jumped the barrier lining the bridge, throwing her and a passenger out before plunging into the water 40 feet below. She and her friend sustained injuries, and Carl, not one to keep such a car, had the car crushed at a local junk yard that next weekend. Carl did not attend, however the crusher operated later told of a horribly abnormal screaming sound issuing from the car as it was flattened. He stopped the machine fearing a break down or other catastrophe. He and the yard owner looked the situation over carefully but could not find any reason for the noise. Just as they turned from where they had been standing nearly inside the car, the crusher seemed to come alive and utterly flattened the car. Later it was determined a failure had occurred in the hydraulics, coming within inches of injuring or possibly even killing the men.

Thus ended the cursed Dodge Dart. The car, now a cube of metal, was sent to become usable steel at a mill, but the yard owner says on some nights that same blood curdling scream from the Dart can be heard as the crusher finishes its day.

### Chapter 4

This is perhaps the saddest, strangest curse story I have ever seen or heard of.

Fumiko was a bright, vibrant young Japanese girl living in Tokyo. She had a great job, a great education and great prospects for her life. Then she met Hiroshi. At first things went really well. They had common interest, enjoyed each other's company and were falling in love. But this only lasted a year. Fumiko said Hiroshi started making difficult demands on her time and was showing signs of intent to abuse her physically. Despite the fact both Hiroshi and Fumiko's parents approved of the relationship, and possible marriage, Fumiko broke off the relationship. According to Fumiko, Hiroshi took the break up badly, and finally after a month of fighting over the dissolution of the relationship, Hiroshi went to a practitioner of supernatural arts, and paid to have a curse cast upon Fumiko.

One night, after going out on a date with another man, Fumiko returned home to find a straw doll placed on her pillow. She was near hysteria when she phoned her father and the police. Investigations failed to determine how the dolls were placed in her room, or by whom. This happened six more times, each time after a date, and each time the police could find no means of entry nor could they determine the origin of the dolls. Police were sceptical about Fumiko's claim that Hiroshi had cursed her, but they interrogated Hiroshi each time. Hiroshi denied any involvement, provided a solid alibi, and even claimed that Fumiko had become the strange acting participant in the relationship, and it was he who broke it off, not her. The police had no evidence to arrest or detain Hiroshi. After some discussion with her parents, it was decided Fumiko should move to another city, leaving no forwarding information. She transferred to Nagasaki. It would be five more months until Fumiko dated, and once again, upon her return, there was a straw doll on her pillow. Nagasaki Police failed to determine how the perpetrator gained entry, or who had made the doll. This happened four more times over a three year period, each event placing more and more stress on Fumiko, and each time Hiroshi was questioned and removed from the suspect list. Police tried surveillance, cameras and other means of catching the perpetrator, but to no avail. Fumiko would go on a date, and suddenly the doll would be there, on her pillow when she returned. No one went in or out during the time of the date, prior to the date or even weeks before the date. The police were mystified.

In desperation, Fumiko accepted a company transfer to Sydney Australia, in hopes she could escape the curse. Again, the scenario played out as before. Any date was followed by a doll on her pillow. Again, the police were unable to determine who placed the doll or how. Again, Hiroshi was questioned and denied any involvement, denied hiring someone to cast a curse, and maintained it was he who broke things off. Fumiko suffered weightless, sleep deprivation and a number of other stress related physiological effects. She stopped dating, but said she still had the occasional felling as though something was watching her. She remained in Sydney for five years, and quit her job, accepting a position with another company and moved to Los Angeles California. She told no-one, not even her parents. She placed her last hope on this move to finally dodge the curse. But, she was in no hurry to test out the new surroundings by dating, and it would be almost a year before she did. Once again, the doll appeared, and she was crushed by the curses tenacity. She called her parents, who were worried, and everyone agreed it was time to call in experts. It was through the grapevine that Fumiko found me. I was in Washington State attending a conference when a student research assistant called and told me Fumiko's story. I contacted friends and set up a team to look into this curse.

We performed every test and analysis we could. We asked for and received several of the dolls and any associated evidence, from many of Fumiko's former cities of residence. Each doll was made from local material, nothing anomalous. We poured over family, friends and Fumiko and Hiroshi's testimony, police reports, and video tape. We found nothing. However, a very astute research assistant had one final idea: Perhaps it was Fumiko who made and placed the dolls. He and another RA set up a date for Fumiko, but followed her every move with care prior to the date. They searched her home carefully, and found no hidden dolls, telling Fumiko they were looking for supernatural traces. The day before the date Fumiko got in her car and drove. She went far from LA, into farming country. She was not aware that the two RA's were following. She finally stopped at a hay field. There, under the watchful video eye of the RA's camera, they observed Fumiko cut hay stocks, bind them into a doll, all the while appearing to be singing a song the RA's could not identify, then she packed up and left to return to LA.

We waited for her to go on the date, watching on cameras installed with Fumiko's permission, and though we almost missed it, we saw the final incriminating act. Fumiko had placed her laundry basket on the bed, removed the clothing and almost before it could be seen, removed the basket and flipped the cover over the doll in one slick movement. In slow motion, it was clearly evident. But, the camera had not lied.

I told the RA to enter Fumiko's apartment and remove the doll while Fumiko was on her date. Fumiko returned, and went to her bed to look for the doll. When she did not find it, she searched the entire apartment. That's when we knocked on her door. Fumiko barely stopped searching, and when we were finally able to get her attention, we showed her the doll. I spoke quietly, calmly and with confidence as I related what we had seen, showed her the video and asked her why. She continually denied what we showed her. She said the curse was real, and Hiroshi had made it so. Fumiko began to cry, and became hysterical. She called her parents and gave a very different story of what we had done. She ordered us out of her home, and refused to see us again. Two days later, her parents arrived, refused to listen to us, or view the evidence, and took Fumiko home to Japan. Neither Fumiko nor her parents would return correspondence or calls and I never saw her again. I later contacted Hiroshi and this is what he told me:

'I left Fumiko. She was possessive and jealous of any girl I spoke to, or she imagined I spoke to, though I had no romantic thoughts of anyone but Fumiko. Her behaviour became odd, and I would find things of mine destroyed. So, I left. I was ashamed to tell my parents, so I let Fumiko's story of deciding to break up stand. I never hired a witch or desired to harm Fumiko. Frankly, I was glad she out of my life. Then the police started coming, asking where I had been, if I done all these crazy things to Fumiko. Of course, I had not, and my movements and locations were all verifiable. But the police still seemed to think I had something to do with it. They even followed me sometimes, questioned my friends and family, and pried into my private life. I didn't care. I had nothing to hide. I wish her only good things, and hope this is finally over for both of us.'

### Chapter 5

Joan was an avid collector of Native American artefacts, such as Kachina dolls, drums and mask. Her home was a veritable museum of items from all over North America. To wander through her home was a journey through Native American history and mystique. Her tastefully lit displays were designed to highlight the primitive, and the frightening quality of each piece. She was willing to pay exorbitant prices for the right item, but this item had a price she was much unprepared to pay. Joan lived in Scottsdale Arizona with her retired husband. She regularly shopped many antiquities dealers who specialized in Native American art.

She was visiting one of her favourite dealers when she noticed one particular mask behind the dealer's desk. Though rough and unadorned, the mask had a captivating quality that caught and held ones attention. Many would later say there was a malevolent quality to the mask that would cause the hair on the back of one's' neck to stand up in apprehension. Joan inquired about the mask, and the dealer told her this one was not for sale. Joan knew everything had its price and proceeded to negotiate. The dealer was adamant that Joan did not want this one, but was hesitant to say why. The more he attempted to dissuade her, the more Joan wanted it. She became frustrated with the dealer, having known him for many years and never having seen him refuse to sell an item. Finally she pried from him the reason he didn't want to sell: the mask was cursed, bringing horror and terror to anyone who possessed it. The story went that this mask was a ritual mask, one considered very sacred and treasured. It had been stolen from the tribe to which it belonged, and would not rest until returned to its proper owners. The dealer intended to return the mask through his trade channels. He related a story of nightmarish proportion of his own ownership of the mask in an effort to dissuade Joan from buying the mask, but to no avail. She wanted it, and would pay whatever it took to have it.

Greed and avarice often over rule common sense, and this situation was not different. Joan wanted the mask, and had money. The dealer, while attempting to save a valued customer from the mask, succumbed to his own greed and for a great deal of money finally relented and sold the mask to Joan. Perhaps if they had known a more detailed history, Joan wouldn't have bought it, nor would the dealer have sold it.

You see, the curse of the mask was such that getting rid of it did not remove the curse. This curse stayed with each and everyone who ever possessed it no matter how long they possessed it or however innocent the reason, continuing to terrorise and haunt those people, each attack gaining strength and becoming more invasive, spreading out from the person who possessed it, encompassing those whom the person loved and befriended, never resting in its relentless drive to be returned to its rightful place. Later, Joan would see the enormity of her mistake as the testimonies of those involved would finally come to light. Stories of madness, ruin and hardship, told in hushed and trembling tones, frightening beyond her wildest nightmares would be related far too late to save her and her family.

The dealer insisted that Joan sign a handwritten statement that absolved the dealer from all liability for any damage from owning the mask. Joan laughed, but signed anyways, she being an educated person who did not believe in such foolery. With triumph in her eyes, she left the dealers shop, mask in hand. As she drove home she knew the perfect spot on which to hang the mask, smack in the middle of the centre wall of her elaborate collection, the place of honour so to speak. Upon reaching home, she regaled her husband with her tale of her purchase. He winced when he heard the price she had paid, but as long as she was happy, so to was he. Joan was thrilled that her new prize would be showcased this weekend at a dinner party she had planned, one the included her daughter, her son in law, and her cherished grandchildren who were arriving from Chicago for a long waited visit.

There was still much to do in preparation for the big weekend, but first and foremost, Joan wanted the mask placed its position of honour. She worked hard to get the placement just perfect. Hammer and hanger in hand, her husband placed the mask on the wall. As he moved away, the hammer slipped from his grip and in a strange vision he saw the hammer, of its own accord, strike his wife, over and over. The vision was so clear and lucid that he could feel each blow from hand to elbow as though he were swinging the hammer, hear the sound of bone being smashed and smell the coppery odour of blood and brain. The vision came to an abrupt end when the hammer hit the floor with a thud. Her husband, shaken and bewildered, looked at Joan and saw she was unharmed as she fussed over the now mounted mask. He took a moment to regain his wits, slowly picked up the hammer and carefully put it away. Later he would say the vision was so vivid and real that he should have known something was amiss.

Joan's daughter and her family arrived, and everyone settled in. Joan's grandchildren, ages 7 to 10, had mixed feelings about Joan's collection. The oldest, a boy, though it was cool. On the other hand, the two girls found the mask, dolls and other items downright creepy, and were always a bit on edge when visiting Joan. The new mask, however, seemed to absolutely terrify the youngest, who went to great lengths to avoid the room it was in. The mask didn't waste any time preying on the family.

Scottsdale doesn't get much rain, but when it does it is often accompanied by powerful thunder and lightning storms. The sky can be filled with bolts stretching across the sky and thunder shakes the ground, setting off burglar and car alarms, causing interruptions to power and phone and making high noon as dark as twilight. The night of the dinner was just such a storm. Like a scene out of an old horror movie, things kept going wrong, things which any other day would have been laughed off. Lights flickered, walls shook, the house creaked and moaned, and windows blew open. Despite the violent, raging storm everyone remained good natured and attempted to enjoy dinner.

Toward the end of dinner, there was a lightning strike, accompanied by loud thunder outside the house and the power failed plunging the house in darkness and silence. Joan and her husband were old hands at Arizona storms, and candles were lit and flashlights produced. At some point someone asked where the youngest grand daughter was. Joan's son and law found her standing in the door way to the room where the mask was displayed, staring at the mask. A weird trick of light reflected from somewhere outside illuminated the mask, rain on the window making the mask appear to be alive, moving as though talking. The little girl appeared to be listening. Her father tried to pull the child away, but she acted as though in a trance. Her mother, Joan and Joan's husband all came in and attempted to break the spell between the mask and the child, finally succeeding when the girl's father picked her up. No one could explain the weird light, and no one could deny the eerie effect that they were seeing.

The little girl, as though woken from her trance, looked at Joan and said: 'Their coming for you.'

The lights came back on at that moment, the eerie effect vanished and everyone moved uneasily back into the dining room. Later the girl's mother and Joan would try to get the child to explain her statement, but the child remembered nothing of her encounter with the mask. The storm still raged as everyone went to sleep. All the inhabitants had disturbing dreams, but it was the grand daughter who awoke, screaming in the wee hours of the morning. She related a dream of faceless men attacking Joan and taking the mask.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone related dreams of intruders, faceless and ominous, attempting to relate messages concerning the mask. The messages were vague and unclear, but Joan got the message; get rid of the mask. He daughter and son-in-law decided to end the visit early and return home, deeply saddening Joan. But, she also felt that it might be a good idea. She had no explanation for these dreams and visions, and whether these things were result of the dealer's allegations of a curse, or just a trick of the mind, she didn't want her family haunted by this mask. She called the dealer and told him all that happened. It was then he related similar stories revolving around the mask. He said despite his having sold the mask to Joan, his ordeals still continued. He did, however, agree to make some calls and try to help Joan with the mask.

The dealer called the man he obtained the mask from, but that man, a character of a somewhat dubious reputation, flatly refused to have anything to do with the mask, and further refused to offer any provenance for the mask that might help determine what to do. Next the dealer called a trader in Native American antiquities and sought help there. This woman appeared to know something about the mask's reputation with owners, but could only repeat a rumour that stated the mask needed to be returned to its rightful owners to stop the activities. The rumour went on to say that all who came into contact with the mask would suffer, and that some had mysteriously died. Meanwhile Joan was making a few calls of her own to a professor of Native American studies who agreed to come see the mask in an effort to try to identify the tribe. Joan offered to bring the mask to him, but he firmly declined, saying he would come to her.

The professor arrived, examined the mask, consulted several books and suggested two tribes he believed the mask may have come from. He said he could contact friends from each tribe and see if they had any knowledge of this mask. Joan asked him if perhaps he might just take the mask to these tribes and leave it with the correct one, but he adamantly refused. He took a photograph of the mask, then left.

Joan decided to remove the mask from display and store it in a warehouse until the professor could determine the tribal ownership. She carefully packed it, and she and her husband drove to warehouse and locked the mask inside. Joan admits she was hoping against hope that simply removing it from the house would stop the nightly terrors and mysterious activities she now firmly believed were caused by the mask.

That night as she walked through her house, Joan wanted to believe that he home was now quiet again. No replacement had been displayed where the mask had been, and as she entered that room to decide what would go there, she saw a spectral image of the mask hanging where the original had been. Slowly and deliberately she calmed her shattered nerves and moved closer to examine the ghost mask. She went to a desk, took out a camera and took several pictures, some with flash, some without, then called to her husband. He came in and froze in his tracks on seeing the ghastly apparition of the mask. Both stood staring in horror. He was about to turn away when a vision of such clarity and vividness almost brought him to his knees; the vision of Joan engulfed in fire, torturously attempting to flee, himself laying motionless beside her. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the phone rang, breaking the vision. Joan answered the phone. It was the warehouse owner. The warehouse was on fire.

As luck would have it, Joan's storage unit survived, but she was now totally convinced that the mask was cursed. The next morning she called the professor to see what he had learned, but there was still no word. Joan was nearly frantic to be shed of the mask and its unearthly curse. She placed ads in small papers dedicated to trade in Native American artefacts in the hope that the mask would take its curse and go elsewhere. Each night was filled with vivid and horrifying dreams of faceless people approaching Joan and her husband, the beings making gestures and speaking words no one could understand. Both Joan and her husband were fast reaching the ends of their ropes. Joan's husband took to staying away from the house. Friends, who used to visit daily, no avoided the house, many having seen the ghost mask hanging on the wall while the real one remained in a box in Joan's closet. Many of her friends spoke of strange, deep, rumbling sounds and unexplained events such as cups and saucers that had just been set down disappearing, to reappear somewhere else.

A week went by, and finally the professor called, his voice strained and tense. He believed he had found the masks' tribe. Joan was ecstatic, but puzzled at the professors lack of enthusiasm. She asked what was wrong, and he only replied he would tell her when he saw her. Later that day, on the professors instructions, she and her husband brought the mask to a parking lot near the north edge of the city to meet the professor. He was still tense as he explained what he knew. It had taken a lot of time and many calls, but he had found the tribe. They had been able to describe the mask in great detail, and would take the mask back. However, Joan, accompanied only by her husband, must deliver the mask to a point on a long, lonely stretch of desert road far from Scottsdale. No one was to know where the tribe was located. She was to go now, which would make her arrival just after sunset. Joan was more than a bit sceptical, but desperate to be out from under the curse. The professor felt there was no reason to doubt the tribe's representative, and that Joan and her husband would be safe. Joan and her husband talked it over, and decided this was their best shot. They left the parking lot, a hand drawn map and directions provided by the professor in hand, mask on the back seat, and drove.

They arrived at their destination after doubting the validity of the map several times. The area was desolate and as darkness approached, forbidding. They crested a small hill on the dirt road, driving slow on the wash boards, when they saw several figures standing in the road ahead, figures, reminiscent of the people in the dreams. They slowed to a stop several feet away. The air was still and silent, neither Joan nor her husband daring to move. In their headlights, one of the men stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting. Joan's husband rolled his window down and called out in return. The man in the road gestured that should come out. Joan recalled that they did not look threatening. The group was six men, five of them very old. Joan's husband got out, insisting Joan wait until he signalled her to come out. Joan's husband and the men spoke briefly, and Joan's husband returned to the car telling Joan to bring the mask and come out. The sky was just tinged with the light of the setting sun, stars filling the sky as she handed the box with the mask to a gnome of a man, old and smiling. Only the younger man spoke English and translated to Joan that the mask had travelled far and long to get here. They were grateful to Joan for returning it. Joan tried to ask who they were, what tribe they were from, how the mask had been stolen, what it represented, but they were adamant that no questions be asked and that Joan and her husband leave and forget this evening. But Joan had to ask if the curse would be lifted or not. The old man spoke for a minute, and the younger man translated: 'The mask is back where it belongs. This is all it wanted. All those who experienced the mask's power would be free now. However, remember that old things carry the resonance of power. These things of the Nations had purpose. People who do not understand that power can bring harm upon themselves and others.' Far off in the desert, coyotes howled, and without ceremony or even a good bye, the men walked to their pickup trucks and drove off down the dark, lonely dirt road.

Few people would readily admit they had owned or had contact with the mask until now. Those I spoke with related tales of terror that plagued them from the time they first encountered the mask until the moment Joan returned it to the tribe. Some had endured these horrors for decades. For all of them, the nightmare was now over. Joan refused to tell me which tribe the mask had belonged to, stating it was part of the agreement upon returning it that no one should ever come looking for it for any reason ever again. Joan wasn't willing to risk the mask wrath again, even though, as she put it, she had only had a small taste of the mask power.

### Chapter 6

Stan was a curious fellow. He was a giving and trusting sort who didn't mind lending a hand to friends and strangers alike. He owned a small business which, while never making him rich, did provide a suitable lifestyle and comfort. Stan was curious in that he was superstitious. Three on a match, touch wood, avoid black cats crossing his path... simple superstitions which in public he laughed about, but deep inside was the core of his belief that one could make or break one's own luck through such superstitions. But even the most careful person makes a mistake, has a bad day or simply forgets a small detail. For Stan, visiting New York for the first time, he had a bad day and believes he failed to show compassion at a crucial moment. He became victim of being the wrong person at the wrong time in the wrong place.

Stan had visited one of New York's finer restaurants with a few friends and was strolling back to his hotel, enjoying the fall weather. He had had several drinks, and was not all that pleased with the food that he had been served. Stan wasn't a food snob by any means, but the small portion, high price and lack of any flavour sensation had put him in a slightly irritated mood. He had just left his friends at a corner, and was only a few doors from his hotel when an old woman accosted him. He had difficulty, whether through her thick accent or the haze of alcohol, understanding the woman. What was clear was that she wanted something, probably money, and was very intent in her manor. Normally Stan would make an effort to understand, and if possible, help, but tonight he was already irritated and without his usual patience. He should have just kept on walking, but he made the mistake of engaging the woman, and subsequently became frustrated. With a great deal of exasperation, he pushed her aside and walked toward the hotel. This was his second mistake. The woman spoke loudly in a language Stan couldn't understand, and made strange gestures toward him, then with a final evil glare, walked her own way. Stan, in an alcohol fog, laughed her off, and went into the hotel.

He entered the elevator, still miffed but chuckling over the old woman, took out his wallet to retrieve his room key card, pushed the button for his floor... and dropped his wallet. Freakish as it sounds, the wallet fell perfectly through the crack between the lobby floor and elevator floor. Stan made a belated grab for it, missed, and the doors closed. Stan hit the lobby button, but the elevator was already set for his floor, so he rode up, then back down to the front desk. He explained to the desk clerk what had happened, and she called a maintenance man. The man went to retrieve the wallet, and when he returned it to Stan, the wallet was coated and soaked in grease and foul water. Stan was upset, but there was nothing for it but to go to his room, and clean whatever he could salvage from the wallet. He went up to his room, and tried the key card, but it would not work. Back down to the front desk he went. The desk clerk asked his room number to verify he was a guest, but at the precise moment, the computer went blank. It would be two hours before it came back online. Fortunately the clerk could check the paper work for Stan's room, but this took an hour as the paper receipts were in disarray. Finally she gave Stan a new card, and he returned to his room. Upon slipping the card into the slot, the card became stuck, and the door would not open. So, again, Stan returned to the front desk, where the clerk called maintenance. The maintenance man and Stan went to the room, and the maintenance man found that the lock was gummed up with sludge from the wallets tumble into the elevator shaft. He finally resorted to a mechanical key which allowed Stan back into his room, but the lock would have to be replaced and cleaned. That couldn't be done until morning. Stan entered his room, cleaned his wallet, and went to bed hoping that the morning would bring a new day and better luck.

The next day Stan went out and enjoyed the sights. He went to several places and made the best of his last day in New York. Tomorrow, he would fly back home. It was around noon, and he decided to get something to eat. He went into one New York's favoured delicatessens and ordered. When it came time to pay, Stan reached for his wallet, but it was gone. He barely had enough in his pocket to pay, and frantically searched for his wallet. It wasn't on his person, and he attempted to retrace his steps, but the wallet was gone. He returned to his hotel, searched his room but did not find the wallet. His airline ticket was still in his briefcase, so he could get home. The hotel had his credit card on record, so his bill would be settled, and the forwarded him money for a cab to the airport based on that. Stan was furious. He knew he hadn't taken the wallet out and left it anywhere. He was pretty sure he hadn't been pick-pocketed. He called his credit card companies and told them he had lost his wallet, and once he was sure that his hotel bill and other charges he had made would be paid, had the companies re-issue new cards. The flight home was gloomy.

Stan arrived at his home airport, went to retrieve his car and remembered his ticket had been in his wallet. It took several hours to straighten that out. Once clear of the airport, Stan went to his bank, and drew money out, then went and bought a new wallet. Tomorrow would be spent getting new ID, social security card and other items one normally keeps in a wallet. Stan went home and had a stiff drink. He purposefully put his wallet on his dresser as he settled in. He called his business, made sure all was well, and called his girlfriend to say he was home. She came over later that evening and he told his tale of woe, omitting the forgotten part about the strange old woman. She said it was a bad bit of luck and he was home safe and sound so everything would be ok now. And it was... for a few days.

A week or so later, Stan had his replacement credit cards and ID, all placed his new wallet. He went to nearby town to buy supplies for his business, his girlfriend accompanying him. Stan bought what he needed for work, and they decided to have a late lunch before returning home. When it came time to pay, Stan's wallet was missing again. This time a new wrinkle was added to his dilemma: his car keys were also missing. They and the restaurant staff searched the restaurant. No wallet. Stan's girlfriend paid for lunch. She also had a spare key for his car and house, so the searched the car, but didn't find the wallet so they went home. Stan was in a deep depression. Once again, he called the credit card companies, and went through the ID replacement process.

This pattern repeated itself several more times over the next year: Stan would replace everything and then lose the wallet and keys again, but each time new elements were added. Now he would find even the change in his pocket, sunglasses, nearly everything he carried gone. Stan was facing clinical depression. Stan's girl friend recalls when Stan finally remembered the old lady. They were in front of Stan's store when Stan saw another old lady who triggered the memory of the first. He laughed it off as he told that story, but his girl friend knew what had happened for what it was: Stan had been cursed. Stan laughed that off too, but his girl was adamant that Stan was in trouble and needed help of the not so ordinary kind. Stan's girl friend, whose relatives were from Romania, was familiar with old family stories of Gypsy curses that would plague a person for a lifetime, tales that reached far back in Romanian history. Whilst Stan's girlfriend wasn't entrenched in that belief system, she didn't discredit such things. Reluctantly Stan agreed to let her call some relatives to get more information.

Meanwhile new events began to occur that slowly forced Stan to believe. He was pulled over, and could not find his driver's licence, insurance card or registration in his car. That mess cost him time and money. His credit cards were cancelled twice by what was termed a computer error. His bank account went into the negative several times and after long and bitter arguments with the bank, would be discovered to have the cause of clerical error. Stan's car was wrongfully repossessed and his house had a lien placed on it by mistake.

Throughout all these extraordinary events, Stan and his girlfriend sought a way to remove the curse. Her family told them they should find a Gypsy Witch as only such could remove the curse. One doesn't look up Gypsy Witch in the phone book, and they searched high and low, asking everyone who might know someone who could remove this curse. They met many who made claim to being able to remove the curse. These people charged huge fees, but inevitably were unable to remove the curse.

Stan, by now, was exhibiting all the symptoms of clinical depression and PTSD. His business, home life and social life suffered. He was in therapy and taking anti-depressants. He had spent thousands on attempting to remove the curse to no avail. Stan never knew what new twist to the curse would happen or when, saying it was like walking through a minefield while blindfolded.

To date Stan has never found anyone who could remove his curse and has spent tens of thousands of dollars in attempts to so. His wallets, money and personal items that he carries continue to mysteriously disappear. Other financial disasters continue to occur, adding thousands of dollars more to the cost of this curse each year.

### Chapter 7

Toby had long dreamed of leaving Nebraska and visiting Australia. It was his ambition to go and see the outback, meet some Australian girls, drink Australian beer and camp and hike places the tourist never saw. His two best friends, Tyler and Cory also loved the idea of going to the Land Down Under, so all three saved for two years and in that year between high school and college, went to Australia. They planned on a month, backpacking all over the country, and seeing the places most tourists didn't see. While passing through Cooktown in Queensland, they saw the Trevethan Mountains on the map and asked locals about camping and hiking there. People told the boys that this was rugged and unforgiving territory that had claimed the lives of many people. Some spoke of a strange terrifying beast called the Queensland Tiger that roamed the deep and steep crevasses and huge black granite boulders of Black Mountain and of gigantic Pythons that lived in the caves. This only intrigued the boys more. Some of the more experienced bush hunters and station hands told the boys it was no joke, that to go there was a huge risk. Experienced people and inexperienced alike never came back from there. They all said the boys were ill advised to go there. It was too easy to become disoriented in among the black rocks, caves and deep crevasses, and an injury could mean death as there was no immediate help out there. All this only served to further excite the boys. They would see the real Australia. In a last effort to dissuade the boys, a few old times told them of the Curse of Black Mountain.

The Curse went that those who entered, not only risked life and limb but if they should enter the caves, they would risk madness. No one knew why, but for as long as people could remember, the few people who did survive the caves were never the same after. The old timers said it was best to see Black Mountain from a distance. They wouldn't elaborate as to the nature of the madness, but the boys could see they were clearly serious about the issue. They did, however, relate the long and tragic history of the mountain. Many unexplained and mysterious disappearances have been attributed to these black mountains. Both humans and cattle have wandered into the Black Mountains and disappeared without a trace never to return. The first record of a mysterious disappearance was in 1877. A station hand on horseback was out searching for some cattle that had strayed into the mountains. He, along with his horse and cattle, were never seen again. Thirteen years later, Constable Ryan, stationed at Cooktown, tracked a wanted criminal to the scrub at the edge of the mountains. He ventured into one of the caves and both he and the criminal disappeared without a trace. Later, a Prospector named Renn went in and never came out. Then Harry Owens, a local station owner of Oakey Creek rode his horse over towards Black Mountain early one morning looking for stray cattle. When he failed to return his partner informed the local Police Sergeant and went looking for Harry. Both men failed to return and the police conducted a massive search of the mountain in an attempt to find them. Two Aborigine police officers entered one of the caves; one of them came out and was so unnerved by his experience that he could not give a clear account of what had actually happened to him. In 1932 Harry Page disappeared and was found dead after a search by an Aborigine tracker. Two young men set out to solve the mystery behind the disappearances; they also were never seen again. Aborigine trackers went in after them but even they disappeared into the mysterious mountains. All disappearances were thoroughly investigated by local police who combed the mountains in search of the missing persons. No bodies or even evidence that they were ever there has ever been found. The general thought is that they fell into one of the many deep crevasses amongst the boulders, or became disorientated and got lost in the maze of caverns beneath.

An old Aborigine among those trying to dissuade the boys told them that no Aborigine would even approach the mountains. The Aborigines called it Kalkajaka, or Mountains of Death and native legend had it that back in the age when the human race was young, there dwelt among the tribe in the vicinity of the mountain range a terrible medicine man whose name meant Eater of Flesh. So great was his craving for human flesh and so great was the dread the superstitious tribesmen felt before his powerful magic known to spirit away even a strong man that they sometimes allowed him to eat an old woman or a diseased tribesman. One day, however, being very hungry, he overstepped his boundaries and partook of a young chief, whom he found asleep. Caught in the act, the tribe rose up against him, but an evil spell helped him change into a monstrous snake. Hissing away, he made his home in the very heart of the barren and desolate Black Mountain. Only hunger could drive him out. Ever since then, people as well as animals have been disappearing there.

The boys considered this, but Toby thought it was all just tourist trap hype. Cory and Tyler were more reserved, and they voted to err on the side of caution and just go out that way and camp near, but not in the mountains. Toby laughed at them, but agreed when they became more adamant against his arguments. The next day they were headed the twenty six kilometres south toward the mountains.

They drove south, watching the rock-strewn mountains becoming larger. They had to take several cattle roads and dirt tracks to get closer, but soon found a suitable place to camp. They set up their tents, cooked a dinner and had a few beers, talking late into the night. They turned in to the sounds of wind in the scrub, and were soon fast asleep. Sometime in the night a frightening sound, not a scream or growl, but something in between... something almost... triumphant... woke them. They spoke from inside their tents to each other, wondering what could make such a sound, and where it was. The rest of night passed in fitful sleep for the three.

Early the next morning, as the others slept, Toby went for a run, and wound his way toward the black boulders. He was determined to see what had made the awful noises last night. He stopped as the sun rose and surveyed the area carefully. He was no tracker or even a good woodsman, but he felt that during the day, if he didn't go too far into the rocks, he would be ok. He just wanted a peek. He went into the boulders, not too far, and looked for anything that would give him a clue to what lived here. He saw a few goanna's and heard rooks calling their mournful cry. Then he saw a track. It was almost as big as his hand, and looked like a dog print to Toby. He looked further and found another, then another and followed them. He rounded a big rock, and saw a shallow crevasse in front of him. Whatever made the track clearly went down, so Toby did too.

At the bottom he found more tracks... many more, all coming up and down the floor of the crevasse. He opted to go deeper into the crevasse. Not long after, he spied the couth of a cave. He stood debating whether to go in and have a quick look or go back. By now the sun was well overhead and it was hot. Toby had no water and no compass but decided to have a quick look in the cave and then retrace his steps before his friends got too worried. He stepped inside and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dark. A few moments later he thought he could see a dim light further in, and carefully went along the passage to find out what made the light. He passed an intersection, and entered a cavern. It was not a huge cavern, but was filled with boulders. A small path wound between them. Above, the ceiling broke through and a shaft of light fell to the floor below. Toby wandered the path until he could look up through the hole. He stood, turning, marvelling at the hole and sky he could see through it. Then he heard a noise somewhere in the cavern recesses, and decided this was enough, he had to tell the others, and convince them to come back with him and explore.

He started walking back, when he realised he wasn't sure which way to go. Paths went in all directions, and because the floor was uneven rock, he couldn't tell which path he had come down. Despite the shaft of light, it became too dark to make out small details once you moved a few yards in any direction. Panic threatened to overtake him, but he managed to keep his calm and sat to think it through. He finally chose the path was fairly sure was the one he came in on and carefully walked down it. Time has a way of expanding, making seconds seem like hours, when a person is disoriented and frightened. So it was with Toby, and after what seemed like an eternity of wandering this tunnel, he felt air blowing against his face. Thinking he was almost out of the cavern, he quickened his steps... and nearly fell down a craggy crevasse inside the cavern. He barely saved himself, hurting his knee and arm to keep from falling into the crevasse. This finally shook whatever calm Toby had, and he was panicked. He stumbled blindly back the way he had come, and eventually found the cavern with the hole. He looked about, but still could not determine which path was his, then remembered he could see the light here from just inside the passage, so he climbed one of the steep and sharp boulders to see if he could detect the entrance. But the rock was almost like a shard of glass, and Toby fell from the rock at a height of around 9 feet. Not a great height, to be sure, but with all the jumbled boulders about, he took a glancing blow to his head, and twisted his ankle in what would normally be a recoverable fall. Toby was dazed and in pain, bleeding from several cuts. Limping, he plunged along whatever path opened to him, falling from time to time, and crying out in the vain hope someone would hear him, then bursting into alternating crying and laughing fits. He imagined monsters at every turn and behind every boulder. Suddenly, directly behind him, shrouded in darkness, Toby heard something breathing heavily. It was approaching slowly and Toby wet his pants in blind fear. Later Toby would swear that whatever it was in there had spoke to him, saying: 'I smell your blood, and it smells good to me.' Toby screamed and ran as hard as he could, bouncing off boulders and walls, adding injury at every turn.

Toby didn't know how long he had been running through the tunnels and caverns, but finally he saw the light at the opening and staggered out. He lay quiet for several minutes, just glad to be out. Then he got up and against great pain, ran as best he could back to camp. It was nearly sun set when Cory and Tyler, who had been out searching, and were also headed back to camp for the long walk to the highway to get help, heard Toby screaming, crying and laughing hysterically as he ran blindly through the bush. Both Tyler and Cory said Toby was incoherent and didn't recognize them. They had to tackle him and hold him until he calmed down enough to let him go.

They hastily broke camp, Toby useless in his dementia, and drove him to Hospital. The ride was very long and nerve racking. Toby would doze, only to awaken screaming and hollering incoherently. Once there, the staff took Toby in and notified the local authorities. Tyler and Cory could not relate much, and could only stand by helplessly as their friend slipped in and out of his tortured consciousness. Tyler called Toby's parents and told them what had happened, and Toby's mother left on the next flight to Australia. The authorities tried to question Toby a few times, but he remained delusional and unresponsive. There was little anyone could do but hope Toby would recover.

The doctor said Toby was near exhaustion and a little dehydrated, his injuries, while serious, were not life threatening and would heal well. The injury of most concern was the blow to head. The doctor feared it may have caused some damage but only further testing could tell. Two days later, Toby's mother arrived and found her son more calm, but still apt to have nightmares and episodes of demented behaviour. The test showed Toby had suffered a minor concussion, but no permanent damage was found. The doctor said Toby could go home in a few days. He had no answer to why Toby was irrational and incoherent at times, but felt this too would pass.

Tyler and Cory hesitantly told Toby's mother about what the locals had related about where the boys had camped. The authorities told her that these things happened to people who were lucky enough to come out the Black Mountain alive. Toby's mother made the arrangements for Toby and herself to fly home on Toby's release. Tyler and Cory would forgo the rest of the vacation and fly home as well.

Once back in Nebraska, Toby underwent extensive physical, neurological and psychiatric testing, but no conclusive diagnosis was made concerning his mental state. Time did work to heal Toby, and the nightmares eventually became few and far between. He was finally able to tell his entire story, often becoming agitated and upset, but he was able to resume his life and lead a fairly normal existence. However, there were times, unspecific and random, when Toby would swear that whatever was behind him in that cave had followed him and was waiting for the right moment to strike. When this happened, Toby regressed to his state of that day in the caverns. He stated that when he entered that mountain area, he became cursed and that he was sure the mountain, or something within it, was bound and determined to take his life... the life that got away. Four years later Toby was walking in the corn field behind his parent's house. No one was there to hear if he screamed... no one saw what happened... all that is known is that Toby died out there, a look of unabated terror on his face, hands still clawed into the ground as though he were trying to escape something.

### Chapter 8

Aokigahara, also known as the Sea of Trees is a forest that lies at the base of Mount Fuji in Japan. It has been claimed by local residents and visitors that the woods are host to an abnormal amount of paranormal phenomena. Strange lights in the sky, and other unexplained aerial events have filled its skies, rumblings and blood curdling noises issued from within the forest, apparitions prowl the borders at night. In Japanese mythology it is one of the seven gates to hell. It is an ancient, untouched forest reportedly inhabited by many historical creatures including weird animals, monsters, demons and ghosts. But the most sinister reputation for this beautifully haunting forest is its reputation as a place where thousands of people have committed suicide over the centuries; suicides that many report are instigated and assisted by the demons and ghost within, a phenomenon that continues to this day. This is the story of one person's brush with the suicidal persuasion these demons and ghost are capable of.

Taoka considered himself a rational, logical person. He did not believe in ghost, UFO's or any other such non-sense. He was well educated and travelled. He was respected in his field of journalism and what he wrote was researched, despite often being controversial. Taoka was a skeptic, and was not above attacking long standing beliefs that were antiquated or based on myth and not fact.

Taoka was in his office in Osaka one day when an old woman requested to see him. She told him her son had gone to Aokigahara to commit suicide against his will. Taoka was, of course, sceptical as he heard the story. Her son had not originally gone to Aokigahara to commit suicide, but to hike and take pictures of Mt. Fuji as he and his friends had done many times before. However, once inside Aokigahara forest, this time something went wrong. The boy and his friends had hiked for hours and were returning to their car. It was late evening, the sun setting and twilight was upon them. The four of them walked, single file along the path, laughing and discussing the many pictures they had taken of Mt. Fuji when the lead boy looked up and saw an odd mist ahead. He stopped, pointing it out to the others, who quickly grabbed their cameras to capture an image of the eerie mist. Before any could snap a shutter, the mist coalesced into a figure, haunting and threatening. The group froze as words came to their ears, words spoken in the commanding voice of a samurai.

"Your sadness precedes you. We feel the pain within each of you. You need not bear this pain any further. Come and let this weight go! Join us! Join the Gods!" said the visage as it took the form of a samurai warrior in complete battle dress.

This warrior was not alone, however, and other misted shapes began to coalesce around them, surrounding them... hundreds of spectral beings, gathering in the woods, taking up the chant of "Join us!" and pressing closer in on the boys. They appeared to glow in the approaching darkness, arms stretched out to the boys. The woman's son said the combined voices and claustrophobic tightness of the spectral gathering nearly drove them mad, but he made a desperate grab for the other three and dashed through the wraiths and out of the park. However the warrior, standing on the path behind them, raised his sword and pointed it toward them, made a final declaration: "You will be back. You will join us. You cannot escape your curse of pain and suffering until you return." The boys scrambled into their car upon hearing this, and vowed never to come back.

The woman told Taoka that her son, and one of the other boys, did go back, however. Each went on separate occasions and each hung themselves in the forest. The woman said her son suffered deep depression after the experience in the forest. He was haunted by nightmares and daydreams where the strange misted spectres called to him, coaxing him to return.

Taoka listened, took notes, and was sympathetic; however he didn't believe the woman right off. He researched her son, and found that the boy had committed suicide in Aokigahara. He went on to research Aokigahara and found that it was, indeed, a place where many had taken their lives over the centuries. He read of the rumours and myths surrounding the forest, and the more he read, the more he was convinced there was something worth investigating and reporting.

Taoka had spent hours reading about Aokigahara. Now it was time to go see for himself. He decided that the best was to do this would be to go and camp out for a night. Telling only his editor, he set off to spend a night in Aokigahara. He brought cameras, video gear, and audio recorders, telling his editor he would come back with evidence either way as to this legends. This was the last time anyone saw him alive.

When Taoka failed to return to work, his editor contacted the local prefecture police at Aokigahara and reported Taoka missing in the forest. They would not find his camp for two days. It would be another six days before the police would give any details, few as they were, to Taoka's editor. These details and the summary they provided were not good enough for Taoka's editor and family. Taoka's father had political pull and was finally able to get the detailed account and copies of the photos, videos and audio recordings the police had found at the camp site.

Taoka's father, mother and editor met in the editor's office where they each read the report, each finding becoming incredulous with each line. The report read like a cheap horror movie, full of references to the video and audio recordings that made Taoka sound insane. They then looked at the photos, but found nothing in them that was unusual. The video and audio, on the other hand, were a different story. Apparently Taoka had set both the video and audio recorders to tape everything when something in the woods had awoken him. The entire last three hours of Taoka's life played out both on and off camera in chilling detail.

It was about one in the morning when Takao whispered into his recorder that something was in the woods outside his tent. Then they could hear the sounds of him fumbling with the video camera, after which the drama played out. This is what the video recorded.

Taoka leaves his tent, the camera just outside facing away from the tent. The camera has infrared ability, so the image is ghostly and in shades of grey, black and white. Taoka's eyes appear to glow in the unusual video. He stands and faces the woods, shining a flashlight around. Then he speaks, asking who is there. There is no answer. Taoka turns off the flashlight, approaches the camera and whispers that he will let whoever is out there come to him. An hour passes, and we see Taoka nodding off to sleep, sitting in front of his tent. Another twenty minutes passes, and suddenly Taoka wakens with a start. He looks about, frightened and confused. He is speaking to someone, many someone's all around him. The camera, however, sees no one but Taoka. The audio recorder hears no one but Taoka. Taoka is pleading with the people or creatures only he sees. He is telling them that he is happy and that their claims of his failed life are incorrect. Taoka becomes more agitated and confrontational attempting to justify some his decisions. He begins to cry, telling the non-existent visitors that they must stop bringing up the past. He tells them that his failures are indeed sad and tragic, but not enough to make Taoka want to die. Then Taoka sobs, saying a girl's name over and over, apologizing about something he did to her, saying that he was young and stupid and did not know how bad he had hurt her. He cries, tears flowing, and nods as the voices only he can hear talk to him. He says thank you, and that he has always hoped someone would understand and be sympathetic to a boy's mistake. He continues to nod, saying he was sorry for the things he did to his parents as a boy, to things he had done to people at school and work to get ahead, and things he had done to various women in his life. Apparently the voices are sympathetic and understanding because Taoka thanks them many times.

Then Taoka is silent, listening to the voices, nodding, his shoulders slumped and his posture indicating defeat and resignation. Slowly he stands, and walks to his car off camera. The audio recorder, in his pocket, records sounds of the car boot opening and closing. Taoka moves past the camera, turns away, toward the woods, something coiled in his arms. He speaks to the voices saying that they are wise and he is glad they understand and is happy they will accept him. He extols them for the truth that they have shown him about his worthless life. By now, Taoka has entered the woods and the camera no longer sees him. The audio recorder faithfully takes down each crunch of leaves and twigs, each sob, each word as Taoka moves through the woods, his conversation with his unseen guides indicating that he is being led somewhere.

Finally Taoka has stopped, and his parents and editor hear the sound of Taoka working at something, the hiss of fabric against wood, the clunk of metal on the ground. All the while, Taoka is saying "It is for the best..." Then they hear the sound of hard breathing, and scraping sounds. Taoka calms his breathing, tells his imaginary guides he is ready and they hear some scuffles and sound reminiscent of a stringed instrument being plucked. There is the sound of struggling, chocking and heels of shoes hitting tree trunk. The struggle last for over two minutes, Taoka gurgling as his struggle weakens. He has hung himself from a tree branch using a tow strap from the boot of his car. Finally the recorder hears only night sounds common to the woods until it runs out of tape.

Taoka's mother has left the room long before this, unable to bear her son's tragic fate. His father and his editor remain. They have heard everything. They do not know what to think of this. Taoka's father slowly collects the report documents and all the copies of the video and audio tape, places them in his brief case. He stands, bows to the editor, and leaves, collecting his wife on his way out. There will be no story in print, on TV or on the net about Taoka's sinister death. Taoka's father destroyed the documents and tapes, unable to accept that his solid and dependable son died this way. Taoka's mother never speaks of this event. Taoka's editor will have many tortured dreams about Aokigahara, but will never address the myths or legends surrounding Aokigahara. In typical Japanese fashion, they have all placed the whole event in a compartment in their minds where the event and all they have seen and heard will remain untouched forever.

Hundreds die in Aokigahara every year. The Japanese government tries to keep the facts and rumours about Aokigahara under wraps. They know that people will come to have a look, and most may die if they do, so this is subject is avoided. Many who die here leave notes. Few leave an adequate explanation. Some do, however, mention the spirits, insightful and non-judgemental, that helped them to see the senselessness of life and promised eternal freedom from pain if they will just let go and come join the spirits of Aokigahara.

### Chapter 9

Depending on who you speak to, Palmyra Island is either an isolated Pacific paradise or hell-cursed rock of death. Palmyra is actually an atoll located about 1000 nautical miles south-southwest of Hawaii, placing it almost exactly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It measures approximately a mile and a half in length by a half mile wide, and is one of literally thousands of such specks that dot the ocean. It has he classic circular shape, a shallow lagoon in the centre, and several vegetation covered islets around this lagoon. Palmyra is not near any shipping lanes, so it largely remained remote and deserted. Local fauna consists of mosquitoes and other insects, lizards, land and coconut crabs, a huge bird population, and, until 2011, a large population of non-indigenous rats. The islands have palm, coconut trees and mangrove bushes forming a thick jungle. The coral reef and lagoons at Palmyra are a breeding ground for gray and blacktip reef sharks.

Palmyra has a tragic history that began with discover in 1798 by American captain Edmond Fanning while his ship the _Betsy_ was on its way to Asia. The tale of the discovery of Palmyra is a sinister one at best. Captain Fanning was disturbed from sleep three times by strong, vivid premonitions of danger or threat. He finally decided sleep wasn't possible and went out on deck where he ordered the helmsman to heave to in the darkness. At dawn the crew spotted reef of Palmyra Island lying dead ahead that would have ripped the bottom out of the _Betsy_ and sent her to the bottom had the ship not have stopped.

Another American captain named Swale whose ship, the _Palmyra_ , was blown off course in a storm that pushed it onto the island in 1802. It is to Swale that the credit of discover for the island wrongfully goes to as he reported the island to maritime authorities where Fanning only logged his sighting.

In 1816, the _Esperanza_ , a Spanish pirate ship loaded with gold and silver plunder from Incan temples in South America, came under attack from another vessel and a fierce battle followed. Several crewmembers that managed to survive the fight sailed off with the treasure only to strike the reef at Palmyra. As the ship was sinking, they managed to transfer the treasure to the island. There they remained stranded there for a year and supposedly buried the Inca gold under a tree somewhere on Palmyra. They then built two rafts and attempted sail to civilization. One raft was later rescued by an American whaling ship with only a single survivor left onboard who later died of pneumonia. The other raft was never heard from again.

In 1855, a whaling ship was reported wrecked on Palmyra's dangerous reefs, but neither the ship nor its crew were found.

Judge Henry E. Cooper of Hawaii became owner of the island in 1911 for the amount of $750.00. He eventually sold all but one small islet called Home Island, believing that the priceless Inca artefacts of gold and silver remained buried there. Ownership of the rest of Palmyra eventually went to the Fullard-Leo family in 1922, which in 1940 became entangled in a legal battle with the United States government over ownership. The United States wanted Palmyra in anticipation of World War II in the Pacific theatre of war.

Palmyra became a base of operations for air attacks against Japan, servicing long-range air patrols and submarine missions. Gun emplacements, ammunition and fuel dumps, abandoned equipment, bunkers, underground tunnels and buildings, and what is left of the old landing strip remain to this day. Many of the US military personnel who served there said the island had a reputation for bad luck. Planes would be unable to find the island and crash into the sea. Planes leaving the island would become disoriented and fly the wrong way. Other mishaps plagued the island base.

In 1974, the grisly double murder of and Muff Graham of San Diego. According to Vincent Bugliosi's book _And the Sea Will Tell_ , the Grahams had ventured to Palmyra for an extended stay of up to a year, and were most likely killed for their expensive sailboat, the _Sea Wind_ , and the large cache of food stores it contained. Ex-convict and fugitive Buck Walker, and his girlfriend Stephanie Stearns were later tried for the murders. Walker was convicted and received a life sentence, while Stearns was acquitted. Walker and Stearns had sailed from Hawaii to Palmyra on a small, poorly outfitted boat and had taken up residence there. It would not be until six years after the murders that the skeletal remains of Muff Graham, spilling out of an old, rusted and barnacled Navy container, were discovered washed ashore on Palmyra by South African sailors Sharon and Robert Jordan during their own trip to the island in 1981. Mac's body remains missing.

In 1977, sailor Amanda Lane and four friends, while sailing to Hawaii from Micronesia, made a stop at Palmyra but were frightened off the island after the first night by a group of strange "hippies" who had made Palmyra their home. Lane stated that she and her group quickly left the island after the hippies told them a bizarre story about the mysterious fate that one member of their party had suffered.

In 1981, John Harrison, a Canadian yachtsman, along with his two daughters, became marooned on Palmyra after their sailboat was struck by a typhoon and lost its mast. With the help of fuel air-dropped to them by the Coast Guard, Harrison and his daughters managed to motor the damaged boat to Palmyra. They lived on what could be salvaged from their vessel, fish, coconuts, and canned goods supplied by Palmyra's self-appointed caretaker Ray Landrum. They remained on Palmyra for over a month while the United States and Canadian governments argued over who should be responsible for rescuing the castaways. They were eventually airlifted out after spending days clearing the old runway on the island.

In 1987, after acting on a tip from a fishing vessel, a Coast Guard C-130 aircraft sighted a sailboat just southeast of Palmyra. An aerial inspection revealed no sign of life onboard the drifting sailboat and Coast Guard personnel noted that the mast was broken and that the sails were shredded. A week after the sighting, the vessel was boarded by the Coast Guard who found the skeletal remains of owner Manning Edward onboard. The cause of death was undetermined. Before leaving on his three-year voyage throughout the Pacific, Manning had spoken about his plans to visit Palmyra.

In 1989, another sailboat named the _Sea Dreamer_ was travelling from San Diego to Hawaii and was caught in a storm that pushed her far off course and onto Palmyra Island. After a brief stay on the island, the boat again departed for Hawaii but then completely disappeared. An extensive search by the Coast Guard between Palmyra and Hawaii to as far as the west coast of the United States failed to turn up any trace of the ill-fated boat or its four crew members. To read more about Palmyra' sinister history I suggest the book by Curt Rowlett entitled _The Curse of Palmyra Island_ available at Lulu.com

This is the story of Kurt and Una van der Peet who, in their 50 foot catamaran sailboat _Vander,_ were caught in a storm and blown to Palmyra. The tale of the six days they spent on the island repairing their boat is chilling and ominous to hear.

Both Kurt and Una were experienced sailors and boat builders who had many years of worldwide sea voyages between them. They had sailed the _Vander_ from Holland across the Atlantic, around South America and into the Pacific, visiting Australia, the Philippians, Indonesia, Hawaii and a variety of other stops before sailing north for Japan. The storm caught them and for several harrowing days they fought to keep the boat and their selves from sinking. At some point the boat struck something barely submerged in the water, and sprang a leak. The leak was temporarily brought under control, but would have to be repaired as soon as possible. To Kurt and Una, Palmyra was heaven sent when they first saw it. The lagoon, shallow as it was, but still navigable by the catamaran, offered a safe harbour where they could beach the boat and repair the leak. They finally found the channel into the lagoon, and beached the boat on a spit of sand just inside the harbour on Home Island.

It was late in the afternoon of the first day, as the two surveyed the damage to their beached boat beach, that Una saw someone standing just inside the trees. She told Kurt, who looked but did not see the person. Kurt decided to it might be best to have a look around before they committed to repairs. The two set off into the dense jungle. They could hear many birds in the trees and saw some of the long abandoned military hardware as they made their way along. Then they came across a well used path through the jungle. They retreated to the beach and decided to walk as much of the beach as they could, hoping another boat was anchored somewhere and the crew could be contacted. Dusk was fast approaching, causing the couple to abort their trip, and they returned to the boat to eat, sleep and explore a bit tomorrow before affecting the repairs.

Later that night, they awoke to the sounds of people fighting; yelling, harsh words and the sounds of physical violence. Kurt went on deck, but there were no lights, and no one to be seen. Kurt and Una slept fitfully that night.

The next morning Kurt and Una got an early start and explored the island. They would not go to all the other islands that ringed the lagoon, but were fairly certain no other boat was anchored at Palmyra. By now it was noon, and both thought it best to make repairs and sail as soon as possible. They returned to the boat. Even as they approached _Vander_ they could tall something was amiss. There in the sand by the boat was what looked like some drawing of a strange symbol. Kurt said some had to have drawn it, but Una was unsure. To her it could have been done by crabs or birds. Kurt was furious, Una was frightened.

Kurt was bound and determined to find out who was on the island with them. He took a gaffing hook, and marched off into the jungle. Una stayed behind and kept watch over the boat. Kurt was gone two hours before Una began to panic. She stayed on deck watching and waiting. Then she called out hoping Kurt might answer, but the only reply was the wind in the palm trees.

Hours later, Kurt came back. He looked a little shaken, and told Una she needed to see what he had seen over on Cooper Island where the old airfield was. It was late, but Kurt assured her there was no one on the island. They made the long trek to Cooper, and in the fading light of sunset, Kurt showed her a message carved in the wall of an old building: 'We came here to escape a storm. Three weeks and we cannot leave this cursed hunk of coral. Save yourself. Leave if you can before the island traps you. RC and BC, 1989'. Kurt then showed Una what he thought was three graves, long mounds of earth, with stick markers and one end. They quickly headed back to their boat. That night, both would have a great deal of trouble sleeping, the wind sounding like the moans of the dying as it moved through the trees and sea grass.

The next day began early, both Kurt and Una working as fast as they could to fix the damaged boat. Both also kept a wary eye on the trees and other islands. They came to point where they needed a timber for the repairs. They lacked one of the correct dimensions, so Kurt would have to find an appropriate tree in the jungle and cut it down then fabricate the timber. He insisted Una stay with the boat. He grabbed his gear and walked up the trail into the jungle. Una sat on the stern of the boat and watched sharks prowl the lagoon. Twice she thought she saw someone at the edge of the trees, once she thought she heard a woman scream.

As twilight approached, Una grew apprehensive. This task should not have taken so much time. Suddenly the birds stopped making noise, the winds died off, and there was no sound of the breakers on the reefs. It became deathly still. Una stated that air became thick and felt chilly. This lasted for approximately a half hour, but not before Una heard what she swears was a voice repeating the message she and Kurt had read on the building. Just as suddenly, all noise returned. Una couldn't take it anymore and decided to go find Kurt.

She jumped onto the beach with a flashlight and headed into the jungle. She was immediately surrounded by sounds, rustling in the palms, skittering sounds on the ground and the cacophony of the night birds as they started their nightly routine. Once she thought she felt something slither across her foot. She held her calm and proceeded along the old roads looking for Kurt. She came to the road that cuts the lagoon almost in half and leads to Cooper Island, but she was unsure if she should go there, or continue on around the island the long way. She can't remember why, but she chose the long way, and set off toward Holei Island.

Meanwhile, Kurt had been the opposite direction on Home Island where he had found a stack of old wood that was rotted at the ends, but once trimmed would be serviceable. He decided to cut all the spare dunnage and planks he could and was on his way back to the boat with his first load. Unknown to him, Una was headed off in the opposite direction. He returned to the boat finding Una gone. He started hollering her name from the deck, hoping she hadn't gone far.

Una, now more than half way around the island could not hear him. She had stumbled on an old gun emplacement and what appeared to be a bunker in the ground. She thought she could hear voices within. She hesitated, knowing she should return to the boat, but one voice sounded like Kurt's. She called out, but the voices continued without seeming to hear her. She steadied her nerves, and shining the flashlight carefully around, entered the bunker.

Kurt grabbed another flashlight and took off to find Una. When he came to the road that led to Cooper Island, he took it. He ran as fast as he could, believing he saw a flashlight across the lagoon. Just as he reached the other side he was intent on where he had seen the other flashlight, failed to watch his step and fell into a hole.

Una had gone perhaps five feet into the bunker and realized there was no light. She also realised the 'voices' were caused by wind in the bunker. She made her way back out. She tried a shortcut through the grass when suddenly roosting day birds, disturbed by her light, took flight, their wings and cries disorienting and frightening her. She screamed and then ran.

Kurt lay in the hole a moment. He had twisted his ankle. He though he heard a woman scream, but knew the wind sometimes sounded like that. With Una missing, he couldn't ignore the sound, and despite the pain in his ankle, he jumped up and ran toward where he thought the sound came from: Cooper Island landing strip.

Una stopped running, now disoriented. The night was moonless but the sky filled with stars. She sought to regain her composure and determined where he boat was. She would go back and hope Kurt would return.

Kurt, now in agonizing pain, ran onto the old airstrip. He called to Una, but there was no answer. He found a branch to use as a crutch and hobbled along, calling Una's name and searching the airfield and surrounding areas. He searched half the way to Strawn Island when he decided to go back. As he turned, there 25 meters behind him, he saw a figure. It was dark, but in the light of stars, Kurt could see the figure clearly. He shined his light on the person, and gasped. Before him stood a tall, gaunt, man, nearly a skeleton as he was very thin. He had long, dirty, stringy hair and beard, his clothes tatters. The man stared back with wild eyes. He slowly raised his arm, pointing a bony finger at Kurt and tilted his head back, screaming: 'You should have left! You'll carry the island curse with you forever!' Kurt raised the gaffing hook, but the other man turned and ran, disappearing into the jumble of old military castoffs, laughing maniacally. Kurt was on edge, and was now twice as frantic to find Una. After over an hour of continued searching, he knew he would need daylight to look any further so headed back to the boat.

Una made several wrong turns, but eventually wound up back on the trail to the boat. She walked carefully, calling Kurt's name, and searching for any sign of Kurt, but her flashlight was growing dim, and she had little time to search. Once at the boat she saw Kurt's flashlight as he came across the road the bisected the bay. She was so happy to see the beam of light she cried. She went back ashore and started a fire, something she now realized she should have done from the start. That's when she noticed the wood Kurt had dropped off, and knew he was alright.

Kurt made his way along the path and saw the glimmer of fire toward the boat. He hobbled along faster, praying it was Una that had made the fire, and not hooligans setting the boat on fire.

His arrival at the boat was a great relief to both of them. Una fretted over Kurt's twisted ankle, and went about rendering first aid, then preparing some food. As they ate, Kurt told her of the strange thin man. 'What does that mean, we will carry the curse of the island with us?' she asked. Kurt said he had no idea, but thought the man was clearly mental and most likely dangerous. Una became scared, but Kurt was resolved to keep the man at bay. They decided to fix the boat at first light and leave as fast as they could. The repairs would take a several hours, but both of them wanted to get as far from Palmyra as possible.

The next morning, they were greeted by heavy rain which hampered the repairs. Wind lashed the tiny island and lightning and thunder filled the sky. Kurt rigged a catch system to fill the boat's fresh water supply and both he and Una steadily worked on fixing the boat. It was hard and exhausting labour. As night settled, the storm passed, but they were still hours away from being able to leave. Kurt vowed to make and keep a fire on the beach all night. Both reflected on the night before and considered just how far their imaginations had taken them. The man was a problem, but hadn't attempted any harm, so they would hurry the repairs and leave in peace. They would tell the authorities of the strange man when they reached civilization. They had a strong sense that something about this island was foreboding and sinister, but both believed themselves capable enough to fix the boat and leave unharmed. They slept as best they could, Kurt going often to keep the fire burning. Once during the night Kurt thought he saw movement just out of the range of the firelight, but otherwise the night passed quietly.

The next morning broke bright and clear, a light, onshore breeze keeping the little island a comfortable temperature. However it was also good weather for the mosquitoes, and they plagued the couple as they worked. They would have the repairs completed by evening. Kurt found several of the timbers he had scavenged unusable, when he cut into them to shape them to fit, something he could only find as he worked. There were many false starts on the repairs. As she was bringing a piece of wood to Kurt, Una noticed the strange symbol in the sand had been redrawn and called to Kurt. She also noticed human footprints leading to and from the boat. Kurt said it may have been his prints from where he went to the jungle to relieve himself, but he wasn't certain. Una placed her foot next to a print. The print was much larger than her foot. Kurt did the same, and his foot, too, was smaller than the print. This new development unnerved the couple. The crazy man had been extremely close to the boat and in broad daylight. They kept a constant eye on the jungle as they worked faster to make ready to put to sea. At this point they had only to wait for the caulking to dry, apply some anti-fouling paint and set sail. This would take time, however, and they did not want to spend another night here. Between the hidden rot in the salvaged wood, watching for the mysterious intruder and the hungry mosquitoes, their nerves were shot.

The wind strengthened and with it, afternoon temperatures came up, driving the mosquitoes back into the jungle. They could see clouds gathering on the horizon. It would rain, possibly even storm violently tonight. There would be no departure until tomorrow. Kurt resolved to stand watch with the only weapon they had, a flare gun. Una cooked dinner, and sat with Kurt on deck as the rain clouds let loose. They had rigged a rain tarp, collecting more water to supply the boat with and the sound of the rain was almost hypnotic on the tarp.

Strong winds and torrential rains swept over the island until early morning. Kurt examined the boat hulls at first light, and determined they would need to apply one more coat of bottom paint to be certain they could safely leave. He worked quickly and had the task done in half an hour. Una sat in the stern drinking her coffee and watching for the strange man.

Kurt began gathering up their materials from the beach, making ready to catch the tide and leave. He had less than an hour to do so. Una was stowing gear and coiling the lines they had used to tie the boat to shore, leaving only the stern lines, attached to anchors embedded in the bottom of the lagoon several meters behind the boat. These would be used to pull the boat back into the water at high tide. As she took the last of the gear Kurt handed her, she glanced up in time to see the crazy man charging down the path, a long spear-like chunk of pipe in his hands, aimed at Kurt's back. Una screamed out a warning just in time, and Kurt turned on the man. They struggled briefly, and the crazy man retreated into the jungle.

Kurt climbed aboard, and they waited the tense thirty minutes to high tide. They could feel the boat lifting and knew it would not be long. The crazy man appeared again, screaming unintelligible words as he sought to climb aboard. Kurt repelled him several time, Una hauling on the anchor leads trying desperately to pull the boat free. Kurt hit the man with an oar from their sea kayak, but it seemed to have no effect. Then simultaneously the boat began to pull free of the sand, and the crazy man grabbed a burning piece of wood from the fire and charged the boat. They were now several feet out into the lagoon, but the crazy man was bent on burning the wooden boat. Kurt was forced to aim the flare gun at the crazy man. The man kept charging, so Kurt pulled the trigger. The flare struck the man, and he dropped the burning frond. To Kurt's amazement, the man cast off the burning flare and stood staring at them as Una started the motor and backed away further, hauling in the anchor lines. Kurt reloaded and stood staring back at the crazy man.

Then the crazy man started laughing maniacally and screamed that they could never escape the curse of the island and that they would die as the crazy mans friends had. Kurt went to help haul in the anchors and Una helmed the boat, taking them out the narrow channel and into the sea beyond. Their last image of the crazy man was of him standing by their camp fire, screaming and pulling his hair.

Three weeks later they saw and hailed a British Navy vessel. They dutifully reported the incident, which was passed on to the US Navy. Within a year, the island would be declared a national marine monument and boats and visitors would be restricted. The new tenants, The Nature Conservancy, would land on the island but no one found any sign of the crazy man or any sign of current habitation.

For Kurt and Una, the nightmare wasn't over. No one believed their story, yet every so often they would see the spectral image of the crazy man just before something bad would happen, such as the sudden death of Una's father and the unexpected auto accident in Holland that nearly cost them their lives. These mishaps and more happened often and left both with emotional and mental scars. To this day they will tell you that they made a big mistake stopping at Palmyra Island.
Chapter 10

Tanya and Shana had been friends ever since either could remember. They did everything together, and enjoyed the same things. Life in south eastern Louisiana can be as hard for teens as anywhere else, and the desirable boys can be scarce. At 18, they both met Remy, a handsome young man from Texas who had moved to Louisiana for a job. He was 21, and both girls liked him a great deal.

Both courted Remy and he liked them both. But soon came the day when like wasn't enough, and the pressure on Remy by the two girls to commit to one or the other was fierce. Remy finally picked Tanya, and Shana was furious. According to Tanya, Shana said Tanya would pay for her betrayal. Tanya was happy with Remy, however, and soon forgot the veiled threat. Tanya and Remy became very close, moving in together and even speaking of marriage. But, it wasn't long before something happened. Remy became ill and eventually needed to go to Hospital. While there, Shana visited and told them both a strange, frightening thing: Shana had gone into New Orleans and paid a Hoodoo practioner to curse Tanya. Shana laughed as she told them Remy's illness was the result of this curse. Her words dripped in hate as she told them that whomsoever Tanya loved would become sick... and die. Victory in her eyes, she left, never to see either again. Neither Tanya nor Remy truly believed in curses and nervously laughed Shana off. Remy recovered, and came home to Tanya. Within a few weeks, he was back in hospital, with the same symptoms. He suffered blinding headaches, nausea and weakness. This time he stayed longer at Hospital. Tanya had to work, so she could only visit Remy after work, and on days off. When she did visit, the symptoms would begin to re-manifest. The doctors were baffled, and it soon became apparent that Remy's illness was somehow tied to Tanya. An investigation did not reveal any medical cause that placed Tanya at blame, and Remy was released. Again, a week later Remy was back at Hospital, and again, he recovered quickly. Remy had time to think, while there in his hospital bed. His conclusion was he would leave Tanya. He was released, and went to the house he and Tanya shared, collected his things, and went back to Texas. He left Tanya a note explaining that whilst he didn't believe in curses, something was clearly up that involved Tanya and his illness.

Tanya was devastated, but as time went on she forgot Shana's curse. Tanya moved into downtown New Orleans, working in the French Quarter, and soon met another young man. Robert was an intelligent young man, in New Orleans to study music. He and Tanya hit it off, and soon were dating. One week later, Robert became ill, and the memory of Shana, laughing as she related the curse, came flooding back to Tanya. But, she said nothing to Robert. Robert grew more ill, but had to attend a family gathering in Tennessee, and left to do so. He called Tanya to tell her he was better and recovering nicely. He said he would return that next week. Tanya took this time to visit her own Houdan who immediately recognised Tanya's problem. The Houdan performed a ritual to remove the curse, and Tanya felt a great weight lift off her soul.

Robert returned, and within a week, and shortly thereafter was sick again. This repeated once more before Robert concluded it was somehow Tanya. He left her, telling her he didn't understand why this was happening, but that he couldn't keep getting ill. Tanya pleaded with him, saying she knew a way to fix this, but Robert only wanted to get away from the illness. Tanya became depressed, and sought out the Houdan to ask what went wrong. The Houdan had died of old age earlier that week, and Tanya was near panic. She asked around for another Houdan, but such is a closed society and it took her over a year to find one who would help her. Meanwhile, she risked three more relationships, all ending in the same tragic way: the men physically ill to the point of hospitalization.

At this point, Tanya gave up on relationships until she could find a practioner to help her. She shunned every advance any man made toward her. Finally she met someone who took her to meet another practioner, one reputed to be quite knowledgeable. She rode for hours to a remote place in the Atchafalaya swamp where she met an old woman. The woman saw the curse upon Tanya, and saw too that the curse had once been lifted. The old woman said the problem was that nothing had been done to prevent the curse from re-attaching itself to Tanya. The curse was again removed, and this time a protection was added in the form of a little amulet the woman placed around Tanya's neck. Tanya felt the stain lift from her soul once again, and though she harboured fears that this wouldn't work, she returned home. It would be almost a year before she felt comfortable enough to try a relationship beyond dating.

Tony was a great guy. Not perfect, but great. He could laugh about his flaws and he listened to Tanya. Tanya dated Tony and as time passed, they became close. She told him about her curse and rather than mock her or ridicule her belief, he was sympathetic. It was his idea that they put the amulet to the test and see if the curse was still active. They moved in together, still keeping her place... just in case. Things went well. Life seemed normal and there were no troubles with Tony's health. A month passed and then another and finally they reached the one year anniversary of being together. Tanya never removed the amulet; she was almost manic about protecting it.

Tanya and Tony went to the gulf shores in Alabama for a week end vacation, enjoying the sun and waves. While swimming, Tanya lost the amulet. She was frantic in her search of the beach, and the water but could not find it. In desperation she told Tony to stay away from her, to go home separately and stay apart until she could replace it. Tony disagreed, and refused to leave her. Tanya insisted she wanted to go home and get a new amulet, so Tony drove them home, Tanya tense each second, watching Tony for signs of sickness. Hours turned into days and days into weeks. Tanya couldn't find the person who had taken her to the woman who made the amulet for her, but Tony did not get sick, and began to believe the curse was gone. Time passed as Tanya tried to find the old woman, and Tony remained healthy. After several months, Tanya accepted the curse was lifted and cautiously continued with her life with Tony.

That was five years ago. To date, Tanya and Tony married and Tony never had any health problems attributable to the curse. However, at even the slightest sign of illness such as an ordinary cold, Tanya becomes overly stressed. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Tanya believes it is only a matter of time until the curse finds her and plagues her again.

### Chapter 11

### The psychology of curses

In 30 years of studying curses, I have yet to find a single one attributable to supernatural causes. I would be less than honest if I did not add that I do not ever expect to find one either. Curses are not real in any supernatural sense, yet they may as well be for the effect they have on people at an emotional, psychological and physical level. Human neurophysiology and psychology, being what they are, provide curses, as well as other supernatural events, with all they need to seem real and effective. Armed with a working knowledge of communication, suggestive manipulation and decent storytelling ability supernatural perpetrators ply their trade with amazing efficiency. At their least treacherous, they scam people into believing that, for a fee, they can cast and remove curses. At their worst they use these skills to terrorize people into submission. Curses take the form of 'do this (or don't do that), and something very bad, something you cannot fight or defend against, will happen to you or those you love.' This is an ancient practice, still in use throughout the world today, used by religion, government, law enforcement and of course, others with various diabolical motives. Boys place curses on girls who reject them, and vice versa, friends curse each other when the relationship sours, husbands curse unfaithful wives and vice versa and there are parasitic personalities who use the curse effect to exert a level of control and to force people to pay or behave in a certain way to prevent the so-called supernatural outcome.

On the other hand, some people are ready willing and able to blame a curse, or other supernatural cause, for all their problems, and again, our brains are set up to make that happen. Dodging responsibility for our own mistakes and accidents by blaming someone or something else stems from predator/prey behaviour within communal groups. We see this in apes, orcas, lions and wolves. It is, in essence, a form of self preservation. But, for humans, what better way to avoid responsibility than to blame a mishap on a supernatural event, object or being? The spiritual or religious leaders of the community see this as their bailiwick, and jump right in to provide a solution. A proper ritual to appease the gods, spirits, what have you, will prevent a bad hunt, failed crop or string of bad luck the next time. The ineptitude of the person responsible is attributed to a supernatural reason they cannot be held accountable for. It's a win-win for everyone. In modern society, however, I find it hard to accept this excuse for what are clearly psychological malfunctions or plain stupidity on people's part.

Some people truly believe, and these are the people my concern and heart go out to. Often they lack the tools to understand and rationalize that a curse is only as powerful as they let it be. These are the people that supernatural perpetrators prey on. Many of these are people from places that have a curse myth deeply embedded within their culture and religion. Two excellent examples are the Gypsies of Eastern Europe and the Haitian people of the Caribbean. But you may be surprised how many people from many different classes in America and other 'civilized nations' believe in curses. They believe with a force and conviction bordering on ferocity. These are people across the spectrum of education, wealth and religious belief. Culture and society have always worked to inculcate belief systems that have supernatural elements which conveniently cannot be confronted and held accountable. A _force majeure_ clause in a contract is a good example. Originally these systems were a binding force to aid in group cohesion, to provide meaning to life and its many cycles, to explain why things happen and to lend a sense of security. To wit: a coping mechanism. Thus it was for many thousands of years, and it is not easy to brush away such systems with rational, logical reason. We are social animals, but it goes beyond that. We are a species that craves and needs connection, and these systems are a way to connect to the universe and each other. In opposition to connection is the fear of shame, humiliation, worthlessness and exclusion. People are hard-wired to need a sense of belonging and worthiness to the group, and by extension to themselves, to be able to function in life. Our belief systems and societies attempt to provide that. These systems, shaky and unhealthy as they are, do provide some stability to the world, and are certainly better than nothing. Just imagine the horrific reaction if irrefutable proof were given over that there is no God or Devil, no heaven or hell, no divine intervention, no afterlife... no 'greater purpose' for existence. Most people could not bear the feelings of loss and senselessness associated with such a concept. And that is the rub of the thing: _We need to believe in something._ So the main, unacknowledged purpose, of any belief system is to stave off a reality in which we, as individuals, are solely responsible for our actions and their consequences, determining how to live our lives, with no greater purpose or worth, no Master Plan we all follow to greater good, no supernatural power or force to call upon when man's own methods of resolution fail. No one likes their comfortable but fragile world shattered by the cold, hard brick of reality; particularly the systems themselves (think government, the military/industrial complex, media, religion, corporate globalism, etc). Without such systems to help us cope insanity and chaos, both of which stand hand in glove with the primal, dangerous creatures lying just below the surface of each and every one of us, waiting for the right set of factors to present themselves and make headline news, would reign supreme. But the systems we currently have are flawed, full of inconsistencies and contradictions. Current belief systems play to the minds weaknesses, not its strengths or, more importantly, a balance between the two. The more pressure a belief system applies to people, the more it plays hob with the minds of the populous, and thus, we read of or see on the telly tragic stories about people who decided to give in to the inner beast and play by their own rules. The research of Dr. Brene Brown shows connection, a sense of worth and belonging are the base, root essentials of what drives each and every person to live, leaving shame, exclusion and loss of worth being the true enemies to happiness. All of this is due to the way our minds are constructed, and as always, there will be those among us who will seek to exploit our every weakness, threaten our connections with others and ourselves through the threat of separation from the group and the implication of worthlessness. Curses are one way they do so, and studying curses gives us an understanding of the human mind. This is not all that new. The work of Nancy Etcoff in the early 2000's brought out facts that include happiness and misery are not opposite ends of the same scale and shot down other myths that made life confusing. So, how can curses and other supernatural beliefs still exist even in this day and age of enlightened thinking? How this works is both simple and complex.

It is simple in that all someone requires to cast an effective curse is knowledge of the ways we communicate information, an understanding of how to give suggestibility that tiny little opening to set things in motion and, lastly, a good, sticky story. These three areas of knowledge date back to a time before we had written language, or even decent spoken language. The emotions they utilize and some of the body language they employ date back further and come from parts of brains that were developed before we were even human, back to our reptilian ancestors.

It is complex in that the human mind, capable of art, music, science, philosophy and self realization, is also capable of being fooled by itself and others in astonishingly diverse ways, and does so with alarming regularity. This became inevitable about 75,000 or so years ago, when something happened that would irrevocably change the course of humanity forever. It was then that man suddenly developed the ability to quickly learn new things. During this time man's brain developed its high concentration of Mirror Neurons, as discovered by Giacomo Rizzolatti, et al, at the University of Parma, Italy in the late 1980's and expanded upon by such notables as V.S. Ramachandran. Mirror Neurons are believed to be what allow us to see someone do something and assimilate it rapidly into our own way of doing things. In other words, Mirror Neurons cut learning time and generational transmission of learning down to a mere fraction of the time. They are also believed responsible for empathy. One strong theory as to why we developed such a mass of Mirror Neurons is that 100,000 years ago, more or less, man caught a virus. This virus left some of its DNA incorporated into our own changing the brains structure to manufacture more Mirror Neurons than we should have.

A freak accident of evolution, but not an entirely rare one. Viral as well as many other types of DNA may be found within our own. The majority of that DNA has no effect on our structure. It is estimated that as much as 30-50% of the DNA found in our 50,000 or so genes is nothing more than 'junk DNA' that serves no function. This bit was different and changed us dramatically and we are left with an ever widening and dangerous gap between our ability to develop advanced technology at a very fast rate, largely centred on killing each other, whilst struggling with a primitive, slower developing ability to use this technology responsibly. The neo-cortex, which is the repository of reason, logic and thinking, has developed and adapted, but the mental processes, the software so to speak, has many flaws and 'bugs' that basically keep us from being all we can be. This leap in that single point of brain development has left us with some peculiar idiosyncrasies, one of which is our suggestibility.

There is a favoured saying in the Intelligence Community that the best lies are those wedged between two truths. This is one of the cornerstones of a good curse. If a perpetrator can divine a single truth about you, they will use that truth to divine another truth, and then place a lie or suggestion between them. Research shows it seldom takes more than two truths to make the whole thing work, but a perpetrator will find and use as many as it takes. One primary method of extracting such truths is through 'cold reading.' The best book on this subject is The Full Facts Book of Cold Reading by Ian Rowland. This is a must-have book for anyone who would rather not be taken as a fool by those who use and practice deception.

John Grinder, one of the founders of Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP) said 'Everyone will tell you everything you need to know in the first minute of conversation.' If you stop and think about that, and really listen to what people say and do not say, this holds some truth. Of course, NLP was developed as a tool for self improvement, particularly to aid those in learning and counselling environments. But, as with anything else in the world, Human Nature dictates that for every person who discovers something with the intent of bettering humanity, there will be ten people trying to figure out how to use it for unscrupulous purposes. The concept behind NLP isn't new. People have been using words as a tool for manipulation, both good and bad, ever since we first started talking. NLP defines, refines and utilizes this manipulation to a much higher degree. Still and all, NLP relies on our own suggestibility, pure and simple. NLP uses what is said, how it said, when it said and why then takes that information, determines key elements and removes or replaces specific thoughts and concepts by inserting suggestions into the mind. NLP has become a favoured tool in the curse casters' repertoire. This should in no way imply all NLP is bad. What it implies is that if you do not wish to be manipulated, learn what tools the perpetrators use and how they work. This still is no guarantee you won't be fooled, for the brain is complex and has more ways to be fooled than you realize. New idiosyncrasies are discovered regularly.

The British Illusionist Derren Brown, whom I consider the premier practitioner of NLP and other forms of suggestion proceeds, tongue-in-cheek, to show people the very flaws in the mind that allow them to be fooled. We are all bloody fortunate he chose entertainment as his venue rather than crime. As Derren likes to point out, we are all susceptible to suggestion, no matter how well prepared against it we think we are. Though Derren seldom shares his knowledge and methods, and with good cause, anyone with an inclination to do so can gain a working knowledge of manipulation through verbal means and other forms of suggestion.

They also divine these truths by the things you say, don't say, how you say them, the way you move, the gestures you use, your body posture, the things your body does when certain emotional or psychological stimulus are applied. Only 10 percent of human communication is by spoken word. The rest is body language, facial expression and physiological responses that are detectable to the trained eye and ear. People are seldom, if ever, aware that they transmit data this way and are just as unaware when they are responding to it. American author Pamela Meyer wrote a book titled _Liespotting_ which is perhaps the current, definitive work on human communication written for the general public and expert alike. Though the book focuses on detecting lies and deception, it doesn't take a genius to see how the techniques described in the book can translate into other areas in which one may find it beneficial to tap into these often unnoticed modes of communication. But, go a bit further, and you can extend this knowledge into a means of projecting information to others on a subconscious level, a level often just as powerful as the spoken word.

Ever since we could, as a species, string words together in an understandable fashion, we have told, and listened to stories. Whilst this was, by and large, the method in which we passed on our lore, law and learning, it also became our entertainment and the chief way to express ideas, fears, and hopes. We have told stories far longer than we have written them. In fact, our brains are hard-wired for stories, and often will accept a well told story over solid fact and, on occasion, over what we have seen with our own eyes. As Tyler Cowen, professor of economics at George Mason University points out, nearly every way we disseminate information to each other, from movies, TV, books, newspapers, advertising, etc to our social discourse, is done through stories. The problem is that stories are often used by those with specific, often counterproductive, agendas to manipulate us into everything from buying their products to invading Iraq. He goes on to say that for a story to work it needs to be simple, easily grasped, easily remembered and easily told to others. The story doesn't have to be true, or even factual. And, if the story elicits a strong emotional response, it becomes hard to remove and easy to spread. I have personally seen just what havoc a simple, memorable, well told story can wreak on a person, a village and even a nation.

Another favoured saying in the Intelligence Community is that the road to betrayal begins with one, small, seemingly innocent step. This means an agent who wishes to turn someone from another country into a spy for the agent begins by asking for something that won't place the potential spy at risk. From there the risk escalates. The key is in that first act of accepting, that "Yeah, sure. Why not?" moment. Once you take that first step, the rest are easy to coax out of you. The same holds true for a belief in the supernatural. If you can allow for Supernatural Elements, be it God, Satan, Voodoo, Aliens and so on to possess powers beyond man, then you can allow for curses to be among them, and from there you open yourself to believing anything, often without any shred of real proof. People who make these allowances do pick and choose, but they also don't take much persuading to accept other ideas of the supernatural. This is a staple of curse casting, expanding on your supernatural belief horizon.

These are the tools for misusing the minds suggestibility. To assume for one second those who cast curses, as well as other scams, frauds and hoaxes, are not keeping up with the 'state of the art' in behavioural psychology is foolish. These are their tools of the trade, and the best are always looking for a faster, more efficient way to take your money or control you. The information is out there, one only has to look for it.

I, too, use these as tools to understand the neurological and psychological causes and effects of suggestibility, and sometimes even use them to help people who believe they are cursed. And, I use them in demonstrations to graphically illustrate their effects during talks and lectures. I do not care who you are, what you think you are, what you believe and how strongly you believe in it: I can, and most certainly will, should opportunity arise, show you first hand just how vulnerable you are to suggestion. No one is immune. I have often told my students that all anyone needs to succeed in almost any field of endeavour are these tools and I stand by that statement. That is not to say one could use these tools and only these tools to be a neuro-surgeon, rocket scientist, nuclear physicist or other highly skilled profession, but in the vast majority of occupations in this country, which are not skilled, such as stock broker, lawyer, politician, CEO, manager, etc one could be highly successful by just employing these methods. That is how powerful these tools, used in concert, can be.

One in thirty Americans, regardless of ethnic and cultural background, believes they have been, or are, victims of curses. But, it is only under the direst circumstances that most will reveal this about themselves. This is largely due to fear of being ostracized and marked as 'weak' or 'stupid', the rationale being that smart people do not believe in curses. Yet in 2010 Americans spent over 138 million dollars to have curses cast or removed, on books that detailed casting and removing curses and on products related to curses. They searched 'curse', 'curses' and several permutations with those two words included over 2 million times a month on the internet, finding a staggering 23 million sites dedicated to casting, removing or providing information on curses. The average price in 2010 for removing a curse by a 'real Witchdoctor, Shaman, Medicine Man, Houngan, Vodunon, blah, blah, blah' was $150, and the price for casting one was $250. I have seen $1200 as the price advertised by a 'professional, authentic Catholic priest, specializing in removing any kind of curse'. Their motto: 'No price is too high to save your life and soul or the life and soul of someone you love.' Business is so good that many psychics now openly advertise curse removals. I know of one individual who paid over $30,000 over the years in attempts to overcome his 'curse'. That's big bucks for something we, as 'smart' people, don't believe in, talk about or generally acknowledge. This is one more cornerstone of good curse: people are unwilling to tell others, _especially the authorities_ , they were cursed or scammed. It is embarrassing and socially demeaning to be identified as victim of a curse, more so if your own spirituality was used against you. Incidentally, practioners will tell you that a victim need not know about the curse for it to work. However, they count on the person who has commissioned the curse to tell the victim, even if indirectly. If that doesn't happen, they will make sure the victim knows by other methods. Otherwise, the curse doesn't have any effect.

The fact that people remember things differently from how the event actually happened is also a factor. Our memories, as well as our perception, are subject to 'filters' and other influences. Research has consistently shown that people make lousy witnesses. This, too, is a result of the same neurological reasons we fall for curses, and believe in other ridiculous things. This makes studying curses rather like driving whilst looking through misted glass.

In his book, _Why People believe in Weird Things'_ , noted academic, author and publisher of _Sceptic Magazine_ , Michael Shermer says: 'We must always work to suppress our need to be absolutely certain and in total control and our tendency to seek the simple and effortless solution to our problem." For, indeed, we do seek the simple answer rather than the correct one. We do this because thinking, especially the critical thinking needed to accurately understand things, does not come automatically to humans. Alexander Mander, in his book _Logic for the Millions_ stated the problem succinctly: 'Thinking is skilled work. It is not true that we are naturally endowed with the ability to think clearly and logically- without learning how, or without practicing it.' And there is another factor. People are lazy when it comes to thinking. A simple answer, no matter how outrageous, is less work, easier on our high-speed, too busy daily lives, than thinking it through, researching it and seeking the truth. Another cornerstone of a good curse: the practioners count on our love of ignorant bliss and they are seldom disappointed.

Lastly we fall for curses and other supernatural beliefs because we want them to be real. We want the psychic to know the future, or speak to the dead, we want to be able to seek retribution through supernatural forces that are above the law of men, and we want there to be 'other-worldly entities' willing to intervene on our behalf, or that we can blame our own short comings and failures on. And this is the final cornerstone a good curse relies on: our own desires, dreams and fears.

Whilst curses didn't start out as ways to bilk the masses, it is a sure bet it didn't take long for that to happen. Curses in their oldest recoded function, were designed primarily as warnings, imposed by leadership and spiritualist to keep people from doing something wrong, such as plundering a tomb, violating a taboo or invading their territory. It soon followed that curses could be placed on people, places and objects as a punishment or for revenge. Even our religious deities have a wide assortment of curses at their disposal including generational curses where, for some odd reason, God curses someone's children and following generations for some misdeed of the progenitor. Personal curses, those of an everyday 'You pissed me off, so I want something horrible to happen to you' sort, came a bit later, and these are the most common sort we see in modern society.

How do we study a curse? It begins with interviewing the victim or victims, and those who have first person knowledge. We then classify the curse as a person, place or object, and refine this with subclasses such as Geographic Location, time factors, the persons age and gender, local beliefs, and curse specific subclasses such as Target Specific, Group Specific or Global (Does the curse effect one person, or many or everyone), is the curse transient or fixed (Come and go, or always there), mobile or stationary and lastly the method by which the curse was cast (Voodoo doll, spoken word, curse powder, etc). We cross reference this data with what we have already collected, looking for patterns, similarities, correlations with TV, movies and literature and hoaxes.

After weeding out the hoaxes and those people who merely seek attention, we test people with current medical, psychological and neuroscience technology including blood work, physical exams, psychiatric assessments, EEG, EKG, MRI, FMRI, PET and CT scans. In the case of a place, we go there, and use any technology we need to determine if there is an environmental cause (natural or manmade chemical or biological toxins, electromagnetic energy concentrations, etc), which as it turns out is the cause of the so called curse one in seventy-five times. We use thermal imaging, night vision, UV imaging, high-speed photography, time lapse photography, ground penetrating radar, laser surveying and modelling and many more simple and exotic technologies to see if we can find the cause. In the case of an object we try to bring it into the lab or at least collect samples from it, where we use test from chemistry to gas chromatography, mass spectroscopy, electron microscopy, carbon dating and electromagnetic and photon spectral analysis to name but a few, to determine if any sort of anomaly exist.

We attempt to be as thorough as possible in finding a cause, be it natural, or supernatural, because to do otherwise is less than good science. All this data is then catalogued into a format allowing everyone from Academics and Clinicians to Theologians and Ethno-sociologist to access and use the data. Why? Through this research we uncover more and more about the human brain, and how it works in relation to the environment, socio-cultural systems, economics, communication and a wide variety of factors. Other researchers use the data to assist in research in many different fields. In effect, curses allow us to study a small segment of the minds suggestibility from which we can then apply what we have learned to other mental phenomena. In simplest terms, the data shows us that curses come from the following causes:

51% Suggestive response

22% Hoaxes and attention seekers

18% Physical and Circumstantial (Clumsiness, thoughtless action, false pattern recognition, etc)

7% Natural or Manmade environmental causes (Gasses, spores, waste, etc)

1% Unexplainable (Due to various factors such as incomplete or inadequate testing)

1% Wishful thinking (We formed this group for those odd few who actually _want or hope_ to be cursed)

It is, of course, a bit more complicated and detailed than what is shown above, but you get the general idea. For more detailed explanations and analysis see my treatise entitled 'The Curse Effect in Modern Societies'.

Despite this good work, the mental health field in specific and medical field in general are hesitant in the extreme to recognise the term 'curse'. The psychological, emotional and even physiological effect the mind has on the body has been documented from decades of research. The problem is no self respecting researcher, doctor or clinician would dare associate these effects with a curse. To do so would lead to loss of credibility, respectability and being labelled 'fringe'. Thus, even in the hallowed halls of science, no one wants to talk about curses, and this makes research slower. Therefore we diagnose these episodes as episodes of mental illnesses, which they are to a degree. It is the mechanism by which the mind develops the symptoms that are referred to with couched terms, if at all. It is generally acceptable to term this mechanism as simply 'suggestibility', and rightly so.

I have been, somewhat erroneously, labelled as a 'debunker'. I say erroneously because I never set out to 'debunk' anything. I only want to know why the brain does what it does. I do not believe in the supernatural. I would, however, like to think I am open-minded enough that should someone present scientific proof of a supernatural event, capable of withstanding the rigors of peer scrutiny and replication by others in the scientific community, I could allow for such a thing. I won't hold my breath.

It is hoaxes that annoy me. They muddy the waters and waste time. They are perpetrated by those who have limited ambition and flexible moral compasses. Whilst I do not look to expose these hoaxes, I do catalogue them for future reference with the intent of speeding the winnowing process. There are as many hoaxes, as there are people who yet think they can fool science. They never fool science. Sometimes, however, it's just too tempting to bring these hucksters out into the open... in the court of public opinion. This has cost me my welcome in more than a few places, and with more than a few people.

By the same token, I did not present the cases in this book to provide amusement or a feeling of superiority to those who believe themselves immune to suggestion. No one is. There is remarkably little difference between the effects felt by being 'outed' as cursed and the effects felt by anyone who has been duped by a car salesman, realtor, banker, lawyer, politician, landlord, policeman, TV evangelist, journalist, advertiser, conman, relative, friend, or _anyone one else_ who saw them coming and thought: "Ah! Here comes a sucker." That includes pretty much everyone. We have all been both the victims and perpetrators of deceit in some fashion or another.

### Chapter 12

### Resources for people who believe they suffer from curses.

I am often asked how does someone who believes they are cursed get the curse removed. I have never claimed to know how to remove a curse, but we have learned a thing or two about finding the best, most genuine and effective person to remove a curse, and as a man of science, I must acknowledge that if something works to restore health, _whether I believe in it or not_ , it must be considered. Here are some things experience has taught us about curse removal.

1) 'The cure needs to address the disease'. To wit: Your choice of practioner to remove the curse must be someone who has actual knowledge of _that type of curse_. Curses are caused by different things, using different principles. The person removing the curse must understand these factors. There is no 'one size fits all' curse removal. If you don't believe the removal is as viable as the curse, you're wasting your time.

2) The best, most genuine and effective practioners do not charge or ask for money in any way. This doesn't mean you cannot offer something as tribute, but these practioners do this because they believe in right and wrong, not profit margin. They will honestly tell you if they are the best for this job, and they will not claim they have a solution to any curse.

3) Real practitioners do not have ads in the tabloids, nor do they have pay-for-service websites, 900 numbers or post services on social networking sites. They work by word of mouth. There are those that can be found on the internet, but be prepared to wade through thousands of scams to find one real person who can help.

4) Real, knowledgeable practitioners see you face to face; they do not remove curses by phone, Skype, snail-mail or email.

Most, if not all people suffer psychological, emotional and sometimes physical trauma as a result of their curse experience. This is a serious and lasting issue despite the curse having been lifted, and one that is outside the scope of the curse lifter. Stress, PTSD, Sleep disorders, eating disorders, all which can lead to physical illness, as well as a sense of alienation and isolation and withdrawal from friends, family and society are just a few of the effects associated with curses. People often say 'I feel tremendous stress due to my curse experience, but I don't know whom to ask for help or how'. Here are few things when choosing a medical and mental health professional:

1) If they do not possess a valid degree and license, they are not who you want.

2) Talk with them in general terms; learn how open they are to the idea of mental suggestion before you chose. Relate only the symptoms, and leave the curse out of it until you are comfortable with the therapist.

3) Few people can afford the cost of therapy, so it is a good idea to make your financial situation clear before diving into your post-curse trauma.

I have long been an advocate of support groups. Curse Victim and Survivor Groups are virtually unheard of, yet in the course of studying curses we found that such groups are particularly useful in helping people to cope, share information and find closure. It would be a wonderful thing for those who have learned coping mechanisms and have knowledge of resources concerning curses to form such groups. Sometimes the best therapy is through sharing with those who have similar experiences. Until such resources develop, I will offer what support I can. Contact me at david.marsh@gmx.us. There are support groups that help with other paranormal experiences, and you may inquire of them if you may join if you cannot find one close to curses survivors. Groups, both live and internet based, come and go and as of this writing I have found none that would be relevant to a supernatural event. However, there are groups for many forms of psychological trauma where you may find some support, which is better than none.
