The Worse Presidency: Obama's

The Worse Presidency: Obama’s

I can’t keep count of the articles I’ve been writing on this guy (Hussein Obama), the most incompetent, incumbent president the United States has ever had, and never should have been a candidate for presidency—if it wasn’t for the whim of the media, he’d never would have made it. He not only threatens bringing America to her knees (which he has almost already: it will not take much more of him to do the job complete), but the world at large. Since we can’t change presidents, we can change congress—and hence, change the rules, and take away that magic wane he thinks he has. He’s an Arab in sheep’s clothing, not a Christian by far as he proclaims, and the biggest fraud put on stage to entice the American I’ve seen in my sixty-three years on this earth.

Dennis L. Siluk

Across the Street (1960s short story)

Across the Street
(The Jacket and the Battle Axe, 1960)


When I leaned against the old space heater, at Roger’s house, his father, of German stock, with that old Germanic accent, I saw Lindsey, she was humming one of the popular tunes of the day, a song called “I’m Just a Lonely Boy” (by Paul Anka), Roger was wearing an old WWII jacket that had that imprinted on the back of it. She was swinging her wide brimmed hips; her face was flushed likened to her rosy cheeks, the color of newly blossomed red roses, with dark—near black hair. I lived across the street, in my grandpa’s house with my brother Mike and mother, and we had moved in, perhaps 30-months earlier, it was the fall of 1960, and it was a chilly and wet fall at that. Lindsey’s hair fell in waves, over her shoulders. She could have been a farmer’s daughter—she seemed coy like one might be, she like me, but I was kind of just getting into the dating scene, and was more on the black leather jacket, and hood side of life than the farmer side. I liked Roger’s jacket too, Roger was kind of the cool guy in the neighborhood, Larry the tough guy, Doug the brute, and me, the poet, guitar player, and—oh well, I really didn’t know who I was yet.
The moment I first saw Lindsey, she and I took a liking for one another, I was kind of afraid of her, and of my fly away feelings, and I kind of turned away from her playing the hard guy. Roger was walking back and forth with that jacket on in this four-plex house, of which his father rented out one apartments; Ronnie, his younger brother, my age was there, and his little sister, along with a few of the boys, and Roger’s father of course all talking and just hanging out.
I was walking slowly, looking at the fire in the space heater, Roger’s father had a can on it, and it was to keep the house from becoming too dry—he said.
Lindsey kept looking back at me, every few minutes, and every few steps she made, I was standing close to the fire. The air was thick, it had been raining, the fall change over into winter, it was early afternoon, not much color to the sky, more drab gray than anything.
“I’ll trade this jacket for that battle axe you got, you’ve been wanting it for a while, right?” said Roger to me, and I nodded my head ‘Yes!” affirmed.
“What in tar-nation do you with a battle ax for?” asked his father. Roger giggled, “Well, Chick, do you want to trade or not?” I had bought of all things, a year prior this battle axe, at a hockshop, I was going to buy a trumpet, and the battleaxe got to me; I remember the proprietor saying after he wrapped it up in several newspapers, “Don’t tell anyone you bought it here,” I was just thirteen years old in October, I think this was November.
I had saved up $22-dollars, and I bought the battleaxe, and my mother said nearly exactly what Roger’s father said, “What the heck you goin’ to do now, with that thing, whatever it is!” And I repeated “Battleaxe, it’s a battleaxe, ma.”
I didn’t know what Lindsey was going to do, I didn’t care for her to take off I wasn’t giving her much attention though, but I had to make this deal with Roger, so I avoided talking with her, actually I guess I pushed her away, unknowing and unthinking at the time I did it, I had wished I didn’t but I guess I did. She didn’t hate me for it, but no matter what, thereafter, she wasn’t happy.
Just as Roger reached the corner of the road on Cayuga Street, I reached for his arm, “Okay,” I said, “I’ll trade, let me wear it, and I’ll go get the battleaxe!”
I looked at Lindsey across the street, she was on her way walking home—up Cayuga Street, westbound, and she was still frightened to speak to me—so she looked, kind of tightly holding her purse in her hands, nearly trembling. I could see her breath; she looked like a newly hurt rabbit.
“Well, get going Chick if you want to keep that jacket, get my battleaxe,” said Roger.
She continued to walk away, looking back only once, I tried to think of something to tell her, but I wanted that jacket so bad.


No: 699 (10-29-2010)

One Time Offer ($50,000 Rare Signatures for $25,000) by Rosa Pentaloza

One Time Offer
On Original Rare Signatures

(All or nothing!)


$50,000-dollars valued, at $25,000
Good Investment

1) Letter signed by Napoleon, 1806, worth $13,500 or more…from a gallery out of Paris certified as original…

2) Letter signed by Victor Hugo—worth $3000-dollars; from a gallery out of Paris, certified.

3) Card Signed by William Faulkner, 1949, valued at over $1000-dollars or more, from a reputable gallery in the USA…

4) Page of a book singed by Ernest Hemingway, valued at over $2000-dollars, framed with a 1960, photograph from a rare poetry book…from a reputable bookstore, not certified out of the USA…

5) A 5 x 3 card signed by Mark Twain, valued at $1400-dollars or more … certified by a reputable signature company out of the USA, certified

6) John L. Sullivan, original picture, and a paper signed by him, certified by the Mayor of the city…valued at $3000 to $4000 dollars.

7) H.P. Lovecraft, Post Card, worth $22,000 dollars, on the Internet… assured to be original by the rarest and most reputable bookstore in America…purchased by the owner and collector…the name will be given upon purchase…

8) Nathanial Hawthorn, official document signed in red Ink, 1850, when he was working at the Custom House, and writing “The Scarlet Letter,” he was said to have signed everything in red ink… valued at about $4000-dollars…




This is a one time sale, being sold by the wife of the author Dlsiluk, Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, out of necessity… there will be no refuntds once purchased. For those interested, I would advise you to check other rare signatures out, and their cost on the internet… This is a $50,000-dollar deal for half: Cash on deliver. Rosa

The Late Spring (1985, A Short Story)

The Late Spring
((1985)(based on actual events))


He lay on a rug, under his car, it was wet from a long winter, and late spring, ice was still on parts of the ground, and a chill in the air, the car was in the driveway, and alongside of the house, a bit hard to see under the car, but you could see his large arms and the side of his body’s frame, his legs somewhat, and the back ends of his shoes—the soles, if you were standing back by the car’s bumper—that is; he had some tools on his lap, and the car was being held by two jacks, one on the bumper in back of the car, the other under the axle, and he had two bricks under the front of the tires, so the car would not shift forward.
“Betty,” he yelled, and she came out of the house, “hand me the wrench, the one on the side of the toolbox,” he asked.
“The biggest one Jerry?” she questioned.
“It’s the only one there,” he told her, she had been drinking a bit, and he had now stopped for two years of his drinking, now near fifty-years old, thus, she perhaps was not seeing clear—he pondered, or she simply wanted to be sure.
A week ago all the trees had started to form a little green on them. The streets slush had turned into water, and was appearing to drain downward, perhaps all the way to the Mississippi, a few miles west of their home. In a short while, the full blossom of spring would branch out, the winter breezes were pert near nil. There was even a few flowers that started to sprout, from over across the street in Oakland Cemetery.
“The sky looks like it might rain this afternoon,” she told Jerry, perhaps thinking he should quite for the day, he had been working on replacing that transmission all morning long, it was close to noon.

“Were is dad?” asked Cindy, the oldest daughter, now seventeen, in the house, had just come back from the library, didn’t even notice her father was under the car, it was the weekend.
“He’s working on the car again dear, putting that damn transmission in alone, I told him to wait for his brother, Jim, but you know how he is, now or never.”
The front door was opened. Cindy dropped her library books, and raced out to say good morning to her father, yet it was close to noon. When she got to him, she could hear him clamber a bit with the transmission, trying to push it in place.
“Now what!” Jerry said, unknowing his daughter was by the car.
“You talking to me dad?” she asked.
“No, of course not, I can’t even see you,” he then tried to look out and up, as she smiled looking down at him, “It’s just this damn transmission, can’t keep it in place to do anything with it, and the car shakes every time I try to push it upward.”
“Are you going to have lunch, mom made a stew, it’s just about ready?”
“Not until I get the end of this transmission placed in right.” Jerry said.
“I just thought I come and let you know.”
“Oh, I’ll be out in a little while dear, go ahead and eat without me.”
“All right, then,” said Cindy and she went to have lunch with her mother.
“Aha…!” Jerry sighed with heat and effort, pushing this and that in place, as the car shifting and started rocking and Jerry getting more frustrated.
“Damn you, I’m missing my lunch,” he said as if he was talking to the car, or the transmission—directly, personifying it as if it was a human, then there was a growling sound, a deep growling sound, and Cindy heard it, and came out thinking her father was angry; Betty behind her.
“Shhh!” Betty said to Cindy as they snuck up to the car, putting her hand into her daughter’s hand, “Don’t make a sound we’ll see how he’s doing first before we pester him to come and have lunch, you know how he can get.”
“The foods going to get cold, we should just tell him to come, and work on the car when Jim gets home,” said Cindy, seemingly wanting to spend a few minutes with her father.
Betty stood next to the car, saw Jerry’s hand laying to the side, “What’s the matter mom,” said Cindy, not hearing any sound.
“I think you dad’s sleeping,” she replied, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time he fell to sleep under a car.
“Boo!” said Cindy, as if to wake her father up, but there was no sound.
“Boo!!” Betty said, even louder.
They both squatted down, to knee level to look under the car, waiting for him to wake up, say something, then they noticed the car was a half foot lower, and the transmission had fallen out of place and onto his chest, ants were crawling on his face near his mouth, and he wasn’t moving—or breathing, his face was pale to white, and then almost simultaneously, they both started to scream, clutching one another, and out of the house, one of their other fourteen children came running, “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Betty picked herself up, “Go into the house, your father had an accident, go and sit down in the house, I’ll be there in a while,” she told her this without looking back at the car, she told Cindy “Go in the house and wait with her,” holding her hands to her breast, “stay indoors, until I came in to talk to you all,” trying to get her composure.
“Is he really dead, mom?” Cindy cried.
“Yes,” said her mother, “I’ll be in there in a minute, a long minute.”


No: 698/10-28-2010

Azurra--The Slknam etnia Demoness

Azuraa—
The Slknam etnia Demoness
((8000BC) (Patagonia’s Blue Magic))




Chapter One
Azuraa’s Demise


Deep in the mountains now called Tierra del Fuego, between 65 degrees.70 degrees 31 min. W by lat. 53, degrees-56 S. at the southern tip of South America lived a number of tribal peoples, the Ona, the Alacaluf and the Yagan. It was a time when the glacial age was at its end, and the Tierra del Fuego had been joined to the South American continent, and the Slknam etnia (or, Ona) had crossed over, being hunters of birds and guanacos. They were a tall handsome looking race, of over six feet tall—males in particular. Perhaps four to five thousand to these groups, the Ona was divided into two groups, the Haush and Selk’nam, both having their own distinct customs and traditions. Azuraa was of the Selk’nam culture.
These two groups were subdivided, having different languages, and again, cultural differences. Azuraa belonged to the Southern group which occupied the forest regions, whereas the northern group occupied the Rio de Fuego.

Within this subdivided group, of one-thousand, Azuraa was sent to the ice dungeons (caves) of Patagonia, above the blue ice of a great glacier, there Azuraa was kept prisoner. In what the native primitives called blue magic. Banished from the tribe, into slavery, for being a constant threat to the Queen’s throne, sentence to death in due time, for her advancements on the king.
Azuraa was short in statue, long black strait hair, cut straight from side to side, thick lips, a mahogany complexion, stern eyes, assimilated into the doomed inhabitants of the ice caves at the end of the world—a prison house for the doomed.
Although the king loved Azuraa, he would not divorce his wife, it was in that day, quite rare that a king would bring forth an annulment, like his kind, he believed in the human soul (kaspi), and its existence after death, that it would go to a supreme being, and thus, he did not want to offend Him, lest he be branded unworthy, nor did he want to sly his mistress, so he sent her off to the ice caves to die a sad, lonely and lengthily death—putting her life in the hand of fate or providence.


Chapter Two
Azuraa’s Cry



During her second year within these confining ice walls, Azuraa uttered a cry of surprise: the call came through a dream in which her spirit, connected with a deceased shaman, a cadaverous shaman, and he appeared to her in person within a frosty mist, invited her to summons the demons of the lower earth, to bestow upon her the special songs of power—the chanting of the blue magic, as they called it, to be equal to them (confined, above her four-hundred feet, of glacial blue ice). The training in the blue magic arts, as they were called took three more years to learn, each demon worked independently, and frequently in deadly rivalry to be with her, and have her pleasures, and she signed in blood, her soul over to them, when the time would come—upon her death bed.
The once mistress to the king, was now utterly—perhaps a classic—utterly under demonic controlled—in that she knew all the blue magic they knew (although perhaps not all the rules), and was now a full imitation-demoness in her own right, whom could if she wished, and she did wish—to bring forth mayhem, as much as she could, hereafter.

“O Flesh, disappear, take me out of this ice cove,” she whispered, and for a moment she had gained invisibility, and had found herself—within a moments time—outside of the cave. Oh, it was a horrible place, she uttered. “I’ll make you dogs of my kingdom,” she told her second-self, her mind’s eye, refereeing to the king and his queen. She wanted to see the piteous look on their faces—in particular the Queen’s face—when she turned her into a frog or something of that kind or just murdered her for the spite of it, or its pleasure: perhaps even making her into a helpless cripple under her table, and throwing her tidbits of food, as she would a dog. Making the queen accede to her pleasures, remembering her treachery, she resolved to be adamant.



Chapter Three
Azuraa Revenge



Azuraa, whispered something, and a few moments later she emerged from the ice cave entrance to the blackness of the halls of this small kingdom, it was night, and she walked as if she was an unearthly being, half demon and half human, like a beastly shadow down the thin corridor to the king’s chamber. Making brutal and stretched out faces as she walked by several guards, half asleep— chanting a blue magic song, that kept the king and queen asleep, and the guards there within, appearing as if she was no more than a gray shadow, then she made a slow dignified step beyond the door of the royal bedroom, this was her strategic opportunity to strike out, but a voice told her—an echo form the netherworld, “You cannot kill, being a demon, lest you fear for your own death, it is forbidden,” clustered about her were three devils, dark and eerie, large as subterranean trees a thousand years old—to either enforce the law of the abyss, or to allow her to kill the Queen, and then immediately take her soul (thus, she was acting with demonic powers, but in the flesh).
This, apparently, was not the time or place to end her revenge, in consequence, she halted her advancement, thought as long as she was there, to wake the queen up, and as she did, she could feel the queen shaking—quivering like a freezing penguin, she could not speak, she was so frightened of her shadowy shape, and gaze, her breath, all discernible, pert near gave the queen a heart attack—if she could only move over to the king and wake him up, lie there close to him, with her arms round him, she’d not care how much she shivered, but she was froze in place, as Azuraa turned about and walked out of the room, she said to the queen in a loud whisper, “Never again will you be that certain, should you fall to sleep and wake, who will be waiting for you, I’ll be back.”

No: 697 (10-25-2010)

Obama: Sinking America

Obama: Sinking America

(October, 2010) Over a year in the office, Obama, he has done nothing for Cuba, as it has been near 20-years the UN has asked the US to stop the silly restrictions they have on the country, since 1960—some fifty-years. He allows Iran to build a facility to make nuclear bombs, as well as North Korea. Our economy is not better but worse since he has taken over and given a trillion dollars away (to the rich, to the construction workers, to build parks, repair parks, repair whatever the mayor wants repaired): we now have 10% unemployment. We still have two wars going on, 122,000 troops in Afghanistan, and 50,000-in Iraq. He can call them what he wants, but we got 172,000-Americans with weapons over in those two countries. He’s also allowing Venezuela, to take control, to nationalize US firms, last year it was Cargil, this year it is the big gas company. He’s allowed North Korea to go to war against South Korea, torpedo a friend of ours killing 46-sailors, without even an apology; nothing done, but a few minor restrictions from the old first lady. If I was Japan, and South Korea, I’d find a few new good friends. I think they are all upside down in our political world in Washington D.C.
He stopped the freedom of speech by Terry Jones who was going to burn the Quran (which was perhaps not the brightest idea, but in America you don’t have to be bright to be right), by sending in the CIA, FBI, and his Arab league, while supporting building a Mosque on sacred ground, and telling the US Military, in Afghanistan, it was all right to burn Bibles, as to not offend the Arabs, hell with the Christian soldier carrying one. But it was all right for an Islamic soldier, fighting for so called American interests to carry a Quran around.
So what has Obama done for America? I can’t think of a thing—but he took a lot out of her. And the funniest thing of all is: nearly everybody is sitting back, and watching this and doing nothing—unbelievable, no protesting: thus, we deserve what we get, and he’s going to give it to us—and you know where.

The Ravisher (Patagonia, 6000 BC/a short story)

The Ravisher
(Of Patagonia: 6000 BC)




Chapter One
Devil of the Wind



A small sheltered ice cove in the land now called Patagonia, 6000 BC, in the mountains yet to be named Tierra del Fuego, where before, there lived a hundred generations of men—and now there lived but one, who was known as the Ravisher, the only one left of his kind. He was born and bred, in this climate, and said to have been a madman, who fought with the devils of the wind. In the heat of anger he was a mask of menace, he belongs to no clan, and he was an outcast for the most part—.
He wore a single garment, a beaver skin, scantily, and not covering his whole body. His feet were wrapped in a leather substance, a long heavy whale bone, which appeared at first glance to be a battle-ax, ceaselessly he would beat his opponents with, until they dropped to their knees, like falling snow.
He was all of six-foot, slim and broad shouldered; faded sea-green eyes, robust chest, strong as a killer whale. Light complexion, and on his head he wore a guanaco fur hat.

He carried this spike like whale-bone-ax in his right hand, slowly in swing. The fisherman nodded his head as he approached him, and his swinging bridge, that reached to the other side of the lake, a long strung out bridge:
“I wish to cross your bridge,” said the warrior-hunter, known as the Ravisher.
“Ye’ll only cross it if you pay me,” said the old man, “it is my livelihood.”
“Ye’ll face the devil if you do not stand aside,” said the Ravisher “you have made me an outcast, and we have our own ways.”

Then the wind picked up, to sixty-miles an hour and the bridge started to swing, high and low, sideways, and said the fisherman, “If you insist, go, but you are mad if you do,” and he ran to his small warm cozy hut, as the Ravisher moved slowly across the bridge, and the Fisherman cried out again, as if anger, “You’re mad!”
“Quiet,” yelled the Ravisher, “I’ll come back there and slay you all.”






Chapter Two
The Ravishing



The need was not desperate for the Ravisher to cross the bridge, strange illogic of such a man, he turned around saw the fisherman run to his shelter of his warm hut, leaving him as if no more than a rock out of place, or in his way.
The moment was sad and gloomy; the wild wind moaned and gave an everlasting thrust—as the Fisherman gazed out his window, cussing at the warrior for not paying him, on his now nearly ruined frail bridge.
The wind had caught the bridge, like a sail on a ship, leaped it into the air, staggering the Ravisher back onto shore, the bridge damaged beyond repair now. Then a flurry of snow hit the area, the Ravisher realizing something—of the madness of the Fisherman, cold as ice he was—more so than even he, not to open that warm door, for him—this spurred him to a greater tempo.
Here he stood alone, tossed into the snow by the torrent winds, and here in the warm hut was a race of humans, who dared to test his resolve, his vigilance, his right to survive, staring out the window at the wind was his: wife, husband, and three children. The snow did not cease, the weather did not clear, the wind held. With his battle-ax, he tirelessly smashed into the corners of the hut, weakening the rafters, a thousand times he struck the hut, he needed no sleep, he ate nothing, and by the time he sighted twilight (several hours had passed), the weather was calm, and he was full of sweat, yet there was still a heavy wind in the makings, more likened to a sharp breeze, a storm on the way: hence, he left the family, snatched from their nest standing in dismay, disbelief, the hut a pile of smashed timber, kindling. In haste to reach the lake, he roared with laughter stumbling forward, his body shook with keen enjoyment over the situation. That old demon inside of him had come out. And as he looked back one last time, he had not the slightest doubt of their demise. There they stood—standing and waiting for the forthcoming freezing snows and winds as if paralyzed, in shock, as the Ravisher dived into the lake head first, and swam fearlessly to cross it before the tempest arrived.


No: 696 (10-24-2010)

The Rock Cormorants (of Patagonia)

The Rock Cormorants (of Patagonia)


There are no insults, moans or protests
Among the Rock Cormorants of Patagonia—
Only we humans want heaven on earth,
There is no end to our complaining:
we want it all, now!
But the Rock Cormorants, stand nearly erect
On narrow high cliffs, eating and sleeping
and making their nests…
And remain content!


Note: White visiting the area between the Pluschow Glacier and the Piloto and Nena Glaciers, there are many cliffs (for the most part quite rocky, glacier-eroded landscapes), and one can see these Rock and Imperial Cormorants, birds perched on the edges of these narrow cliffs. Their eggs are flat (Patagonia, Chile) No: 2857 (10-24-2010). This poem was carved somewhat in the Ramage style created by Robert Bly, inflaming the sounds of: in , air (er), ar.

The Black Baced God

The Black Faced God
(Poetic Prose)


Poets have called him, “the Black Faced God”, yet daily we receive his pleasures, his blessings, in his creation called earth. Our forefathers have chosen goats, and rams, sea creatures, and astronomical descriptions, all kinds of images, to replace him. In remote and far-off places, some choose devils, some in America stroll about the woods with black robs and hoods, dance with demons with flutes, because God will not show his face—but I heard him in the winds of the Drake (where I went to seek his face—once again), in the echoes of the deep, his footprints I saw in the waves, that reached thirty-feet: in this way he comes mysteriously to meet you, in his own way, there are no limits you see—you must keep faith; how is it I know?

The love of God knows of sorrow—of seeking him; like gulls flying over a ship, across the enormous sea, only when they seek safety, and abandon it, only when they shed their old scandalous lives to live among the language of God, will they see his face.

The winds of Cape Horn hear and whisk the heartbeats the tempo of man’s mindful whispers, like winds turning into a hurricane—off they are taken, from this forsaken mountain, whispers longing to connect with God, sends those whispers to the Lord of Hosts, then to the palm of the Father’s hand, now the bones of God are eager and content, you need only look deep into the face of Jesus, and you will see The Black Face of God.


No: 2856 (10-24-2010)

Rampage of the Piloto and Nena Glaciers (Patagonia)

Rampage of the Piloto and Nena Glaciers

((Patagonia) (poetic prose))

Stones, Mountains—move, can be moved, and are moveable, with time, with earth’s readjustments. They walk slowly though, especially near the glaciers—not caring what it leaves behind; stones have roots, extending inside of other stones, and they rot.

I seen all this in Patagonia, where once was a mountain, then a glacier, now a valley of ice and water, all created by movements, time—matter of fact, things are still moving there, between the Piloto and Nena glaciers: as if they’re grieving. Old and new ice floating by my zodiac in clumps; blue ice, shinning from Piloto, black ice from Nena: like old men and young women, ice floats—slowly, I think at one time they could have grieved a hundred years, and not one piece of ice would have move one foot, or the glacier one inch (not so any more).

The old world here is disappearing, I see it in the glaciers receding, and this is at the end of the world. The birds in the cliffs appear unconcerned—maybe their just stubborn, and really know the dragons of heat are coming sooner than later, and really what can they can do (I’m in this Zodiac with thirteen others—if only they knew, the earth is being destroyed by our sisters, brothers—our kind).

I suppose in time, the light in the glaciers will be emptied out—a labor of playfulness by us humans, what we love we nourish, to bad, we can’t love the earth as it does us. God has no more ice in his storehouse I hear. Maybe those birds are saying: go on, be happy while you can—realizing time is of the essence for them.

Funny, these birds on the cliffs have fat bellies, too heavy to lift themselves it seems, from one place to another, yet they do with all the effort of those overworked wings. I see they are learning how to swim now—in case those wings don’t work tomorrow—I presume; I think Darwin, would have liked this spot—it appears to fit into his theory of Natural Selection (incidentally, their eggs on one side are flat, again I presume, because the cliffs are—and if they were not, they’d simply roll off).

Note: On the 18 of October 2010, I left the ship via, zodiac, and with thirteen others, went into the waterway where the two glaciers were, the Piloto and Nena. It was a cold, windy afternoon, but very constructive. No. 2857 (written: 10-23-2010)

Morning on the Aguirre (sea)

Morning on the Aguirre (sea)
(The Haikus style poem, with Ramage Style Inners)



Wilder, colder waves crashing
with mad, angry winds
on the Aguirre…!

Dangerous dark-headed skis
have passed
now the Aguirre is passive!

Now that there is calm—
everyone’s in the lounge
having coffee, pastry

White tipped mountains
raise above our ship
aboard the Via Australis…

The Captain came by greeted me
diverging to the bridge
a feel…

of the ocean—
to tighten the ankles of the ship
where few dare sail…



Note 1: This is kind of a new style poem (a Haiku, style form, with Rob Bly’s Ramage style inners, meaning using the: er, in air, ar, to provoke the poem to a higher edge):

Note 2: The Aguirre Sea (or Mad Sea) is a term used by sailors, for the most part, that is between Cape Horn, and the Murray Narrow, there is a stretch of sea (waterway) and early in the morning of the 18 of October, 2010 (7:00 a.m.), the ship was rocking pretty bad, the sea was angry, mad, and the following day, we had left Cape Horn, and the Drake Passage on our way to Wulaia, thus, in-between we were, on the Aguirre… (Considered part of the sea, or passage, in Patagonia) No: 2855 (written in part on the 18th of October, and 23 of October, 2010)

Anderson Cooper, CNN's Folly

Anderson Cooper, CNN’s Folly

It is my opinion, and perhaps those of others, Mr. Anderson Cooper, is the most arrogant, self-seeking newscaster, CNN has…he should do less talking and more listening during his interviews, and then we’d learn more from the interview, than his view, if that makes sense. Those he has taken opposite sides with, we get more of his opinion, less of a journalistic insight, pointless to tell him this, but too much self-righteousness, is just too much. Dlsiluk

Daddy's Mud (Poetic Prose)

Daddy’s Mud
((or, To Lose a Father) (Poetic Prose))


When you were a boy, you were good all the time. No wonder you grew up with such hate in you for me. Who could forgive a father who had faults—you tried, really tried to love me as an adult, but it was ((was it not)(live or die?)) when I died inside of you, you rose—as if no one was looking: maybe that bad boy was only hiding. Maybe now you could fly? You were all alone—running your way out of the rain. And I think you were afraid for a minute here and there—but so was I, I suppose, but being an adult, it doesn’t count. You were smart to pretend to go to sleep even though your mother got so depressed (locked yourself in the bathroom; ran out of the house), lest you hid inside a cave. I sat in a bar, as if I went drowning in a big river, as if I was never going to come up, and I believe that grew old for you. Neither you nor I could wash all that river mud off. Daddy’s mud …. I didn’t want for you to get a little mud on your cloths, I never figured you’d not blow out the match—and it burnt your heart for me.

You were special when you were both born—nineteen minutes apart—you both were like one (with separate hearts and souls: precious as pearls and gold). My head went upside down, or the ceiling did, when we lived, side by side. I suppose now—now when I look back, we were all upside down. I can see your little feet and faces, heads balled like eggs. That’s when I was young, and you were grownup, now you are like me, or like I was, and right now that’s how it is. Who do we think we are anyhow? We never say we just keep pounding nails into our hearts and souls, digging trenches, as if for a battle, —thinking it’s the easy way (take the pain and you don’t have to explain; but life is short, and the grave is not far away for all of us). We say: until then, until this, no, after that, and so on—you just don’t know—you want to love, but have too much hate to love—it’s not easy is it? The important thing for me is (and I imagine for you): stop looking at the ceiling, life isn’t there—; you were so long the children that sang when you were not quite sure—now you don’t anymore.

For Cody and Shawn
No: 5852 (10-22-2010)

Sting-poetry

Sting-Poetry

I have been working on my poetry in many directions. Much of my poetry cries out to me in nature, culture, and in living life as it is today, if not macabre in some. In the story form of: theme, plot and insight, and capitalizing with adjectives, and sometimes with what I call sting-particles, new and abrupt sounds to effect the reader, to draw his/or her attention. It is perhaps like a high pitched, or base instrument hitting the nerves, and can be an echo; for example—personifying the union of a consonant and vowel often times, as in the poem “A Crushed Follower.” We see in the Haiku form, here seventeen syllables to the first three lines, some pert near mute sounds, but a few with connecting sting-particles, that echo, and ring, and sting the nerves, effect the reader, sounds that will bring him or her back to the poem. I use many “e” s to get the echo effect, and connect them, i.e.: die, like, flower, crushed, head, toe, sweet, smell. And then the second two lines: like, perfume, broken and reeds. But we can use spicy and crushed and broken as sting-words, as well as die and sweet also. What words hit you the most? “…die like a crushed flower” (for me it is: die and crushed). Here in this new book I will try my best to push this concept along. And here below is the full poem “A Crushed Follower”


A Crushed Flower

I want to die like a flower—
crushed from head to toe…
How sweet I’ll smell,

like spicy perfume
amongst the broken reeds!

No: 2829 (1-11-2010)

A Crushed Flower (a poem)

A Crushed Flower

I want to die like a flower—
crushed from head to toe…
How sweet I’ll smell,

like spicy perfume
amongst the broken reeds!

No: 2829 (1-11-2010)

Analogous of the Sparrow

Analogous of the Sparrow


A sparrow transmits a set of sounds (tones)
with technique
A form of communication: to warn of impending danger,
A lighter tone—to denote help is needed,
or retreat
And still another, to signal happiness, in singing,
The frequency seems to be the key,
The effectuating part of the communicating
Cleaver they are, who is to say,
We are smarter than they?

In a like manner, this so called sparrow behaviour
Is Very human—called: cooperation, planning
Cruelty and avoidance learning
(Especially from the Giant race called Humans!)

I can point my finger at a certain race of sparrow,
A dominate race, whom fly around and eat and bath
in my garden
And will fly out, once the finger is raised, knowing
they have disobeyed the charter
While the other several smaller races of sparrows
remain
And go about their business as if nothing took place.
Thus, we need no ability for verbal language
Just an understanding between species:
It’s as simple as that.

Perhaps we are just sparrows to some visiting
aliens!
Who’s to say, but I bet, we’ll find out some day.


No: 2826 (10-10-2010)

The Essence of Earth (Poetic Prose)

The Essence of Earth
(Poetic Prose)



Inside of me, inside of each chromosome, I have the essence of Mother Earth All of her, from day one—four billion years ago, as Mother Earth has the essence of her solar system that surrounds her, which in essence involves our Galaxy and the Universe—and all those connecting Universes, all born somewhere in-between, the Big Bang and those passing fifteen billion years, and now. In each chromosome, in each cell I have 200,000-books of information, we all do. It connects in every direction to Mother Earth. My kind is called, by the name Homo sapiens, a species. Between my brain—cerebral hemispheres, two hundred million neural fibres are processing this poem—at this very minute, for you to read, and from what I’ve heard, scientists have created some neuroelectrical storm, that says all genetic material inside humans and his world, are molecules from a vulture who plucked us off some piece of corn only to wake up in the Garden of Eden; so goes our family histories.

No: 2824 (10-9-2010)

Aliens among Us! (a poem)

Aliens among Us!


There are Aliens among us,
Silent in the moon’s light,
Among the stars they reside
Camouflaged; some under the sea
(Perhaps even under the Drake),
Others inside mountains,
Underground; some even walking
Among us, who look similar?
They sleep under the same skies as we
Hovering over us like spies and bees.

How many years have they been here?
Perhaps from the beginning, to our end—
With some kind of robe thrown over them
Silent, even in the daylight, they swarm
Over our sands, throwing glances
Here and there, like tourists!

The Greys, are the bad ones and the
Peacekeepers the good; they even have
A Charter, like the United Nations,
But the Greys only adhere to it
When they are forced to…like demon!

As they grow in numbers
On earth, their grief finds roots,
They are a dying-out race that needs
Our grace and space, our women
To displace; whose to say, why the United
States helps them build their bases,
Here and there on earth, they need
To realize, you play with the Devil,
You get cursed…! We are their pry,
—sooner than later, there will be war.

No: 2825 (10-10-2010)

The Essence of Earth
(Poetic Prose)



Inside of me, inside of each chromosome, I have the essence of Mother Earth All of her, from day one—four billion years ago, as Mother Earth has the essence of her solar system that surrounds her, which in essence involves our Galaxy and the Universe—and all those connecting Universes, all born somewhere in-between, the Big Bang and those passing fifteen billion years, and now. In each chromosome, in each cell I have 200,000-books of information, we all do. It connects in every direction to Mother Earth. My kind is called, by the name Homo sapiens, a species. Between my brain—cerebral hemispheres, two hundred million neural fibres are processing this poem—at this very minute, for you to read, and from what I’ve heard, scientists have created some neuroelectrical storm, that says all genetic material inside humans and his world, are molecules from a vulture who plucked us off some piece of corn only to wake up in the Garden of Eden; so goes our family histories.

No: 2824 (10-9-2010)

Dedicated to the Peacekeepers

A Quote from Dlsiluk

“The modern-day lunatic, politician and scientist—have more an imagination than the greatest of our science fiction writers!” Dlsiluk

No: 2822/10-09-2010
Here is a quote from Dr. Siluk's forth coming book "The Sailor's Graveyard"
Rosa Penaloza

Festival of Death (Three angry children/a short story)

Festival of Death
(or, Three Angry Children)



“Old man!” said one of the three hard-hearted adult-children moving closer to the bed, turning off the light, “Whose voice is that?” murmured old man Lee Wright, trying to sit up, body contorted, as the dark figures tried to remain in the shadows.
“I’m looking now on the face I once loved and admired!” said one voice in the dark, “let the curse of hell be on you— stricken deep into your soul, because we will not call you father ever again, nor make peace with you before you die, as with my brother and sister!” Then there was a hesitation, a sigh, gasp for air, and the middle aged voice, one of the three adult-children added “You’ve wrapped yourself in smugness long enough—and now let the devils take you.”
And the father knew, each and every voice, each of his three children, sensing they had made their pack with the devil, unconsciously perhaps, with the scorn they had brought to him, to avenge a spoiled childhood—he had not seen them in a decade two. The malice of his kids, the bitterness lurking within their minds and hearts and souls, all made for a war, all wanting to be paid in flesh, to wipe out the a pound of old hurt that now turned to cruel scorn, all this awoke within the three breasts of the three angry children: as the old man lay there in that dark room, he just shook his fist at all of them “Wretched children,” he called them, in an outburst, as they laughed in some insane merriment (at his age, ill health, and helplessness).
The old man then whispered “Another triumph for Old Nick; you all are his victims.” (And he felt sad, that he had to say what he said, but who chases pretence on their death bed?) And the Devil’s voice came out, echoed into the room, as if it had come over a public address paging system, amplified, saying “You are so worthy to be the final victim, as they!”
By some strange illusion Old Nick had felt with his crazed intellect, he could snatch old Lee Wright at the last minute of his life, by rushing his children over to his bedside, and working on sympathy, and perhaps bartering for his soul and an ounce of life.

That night a procession passed by his window—by candlelight, along the street outside his hospital room. His three children in the midst of the reflecting light shinning through the window, which enveloped the old man in bed.
“What is that?” questioned the old man. He got up looked out the window—it was a mob of devils burning the effigy of him, and then as he whispered a prayer a stirring wind came, and swept the horde of devils away, as if into a vortex of ashes. And the children began to wriggle into the darkest corners of the room, with uncertainty, brooding over the unhappy fate of the festival of death.

October 8, 2010/No: 694 (nh)

Virulent Death in Buenos Aires (Horror story, based on fact)

Virulent Death in Buenos Aires




Death Alignment


(July, 2007) “All right,” he said his eyes slanted towards the floor, emotions zigzagging across his chest, bowed head, neck out of alignment, arms crossed, and so he took one less sight of her—“All right!” Then the frustrating dialogue stopped, the dusty chatter ended, her eyes crystal clear, her protest to him had been sterling, authentic, but meaningless, only words that shot through him like bullets, pellets from a muzzle an inch from his brain, knocking down doors inside his cerebellum, he wasn’t coherent, he wasn’t anything, not human, not sensible, stagnant thinking, and even as it was, instead of walking away, he came out with a burst—like a guerilla, it was as if somebody, or thing inside his brain had beaten it to pulp, pounded it to mush, his brain was under a meat cleaver, ready to be chopped up, and hung on a hook, like a dead hog ready to be cut up on an assemble line. He held his head, then a second burst came out of his mouth, he stood up, tried to balance himself, he felt like falling, the studio apartment was but one room, and a bathroom, that was it, but he didn’t fall, he rested his two hands on a wooden chair. Out the window he noticed the obelisk he saw it many times but today it had different shapes, the tall famous obelisk on the widest street in the world, in Buenos Aires, was like a rocket to him, then he turned to his girlfriend from North America, some New England state, he a resident of Argentina. They were having a week long drug fiesta, in his apartment.
He looked at her, loved her deep blue eyes, milky white skin, and she had been attracted to his bronze skin, and dark hair, some mysticism in it, one from the North the other from the South, but now his looks would have stopped a police dog in its tracks, had he been outside walking with her, his bitterness on his face reeked all the way to kingdom come, and with a sudden undefined malice to it—
‘Wallop! Clout…! Whack!... thump …thump, thwack-thwack!” … a fully eight-inch German grade carbon stainless steel carving knife, extremely sharp, perfectly balanced, wide blade, full tang —sunk into her chest—out came a virulent smell of burning death.
“Get it out,” she shouted, “you can’t kill me!”
He looked at her, pulled the knife out slowly, ripping the knife sideways so he could puncture all he might inside of her, trying to find the heart, in particular.
He had taken drugs, smoldering, stinking with them, she had her share also, but not to the point she didn’t know what was happening, or free from pain.
“No thanks I want you to die,” he said, and he wanted to watch himself do it, “it’s alright he told her,” as if to comfort her on his second plunge into her chest with the knife.
By one leg, he pulled her into the bathroom, grabbed her by her hair, stretched out her thin neck, across her shoulder he put the knife, rested it, and with a thrust and whack, beheaded her.
“Wait,” he told himself, “I better take her down to the incinerator,” looking now at the head, he placed it on the toilet seat, as he pulled the body over the bathtub, like a sack of potatoes, with two hands and two legs, and his German made knife, laying on the side of the bathtub.
“Alright,” he said, “the incinerator” knowing now he’d have to chop up the body, its limbs and all, find a suitcase and bring it down to the cellar, and toss it into the incinerator.
“Of course,” he said, he had to undress the rest of her body, and he did. Then after cutting it all up, suitcase nearby, he put the head back onto the torso, to see how it looked, fit, as he had placed it on the toilet seat for that purpose.
“Perfectly balanced,” he said, “hurry up,” he told himself, “I’m hungry, I want breakfast.”
He grabbed the heavy suitcase, rushed down to the basement with it, the door was locked, he looked through the peephole, there was a fire in the furnace, it was July, and it had snowed, it was cold.
Now he was on the sidewalk that paralleled the ‘9th of July Street,’ claimed to be the widest street in the world, he was pulling the suitcase now, his arms, the muscles were getting knotted up. He knew the police wouldn’t bother him, they never did, they were too busy taking bribes from those they handed out tickets to, or looking the other way if a crime was happening so they didn’t have to do all that paperwork, or getting paid off for looking the other way by teenage thieves. And so he dragged the suitcase down the street unhampered, past several buildings and several policemen, and a few restaurants, in which he wanted to, eat, but it was time for brunch, no longer breakfast. And so he stopped, left the suitcase outside, sat in the restaurant, had ham and eggs, coffee, and a young thief came up to the suitcase, paced a bit to see if anyone was looking, saw that it was clear, grabbed it, ran with it, but it was so heavy he fell, and it opened, and everything unraveled, everything inside rolled out, and the police did stop for once, and for once they chased him down the street, he, himself still in shock, this young thief, and lo and behold, he was caught the robber caught and accused of the crime; oh he swore up and down it was not his crime, but whose then, asked the police? And the real assailant finished his breakfast, went back to the Casa Rosada, where tourists often came, found himself a new gringo girl from England this time, and they started dating. He told himself it was the drugs that made him do that horrific crime, and therefore, he’d never use them again, but he lied, as all drug addicts and alcoholics do.


Written 8-5-2008/reeited 10-2010 (based on actual events)

The Granulate Hotel Episode (Horror: short story, based on actual events)

The Granulate Hotel Episode
(Abysmal Terror, in ‘99


He was a very cautious young man, just twenty-one, a self-absorbed sort of a lad, sitting awhile on the stonewall, above, looking down upon the Lima coast, a cool dampness, a breeze oozed through his hair, had its peril, and to a Midwestern boy, mostly hidden. A light fog was lifting from the morning heat, the breeze driving it up and out of the city, the wet from the ocean blew upon his face, and the top of his shoes soak in and around the top of his socks seeping down to his ankles.
Along the wall he paced slowly, quietly, smoking a Lucky Strike Cigarette, then half smoked, he flicked it onto the ground. Bright as the morning was, he was not ready to embark on looking for a job; it was only his second day in the city.
He found himself unconsciously, moving through the morning light to the seemed to lead to the downtown area in Miraflores in particular. The ground along the parkway was soft compared to the long walk on the cement. His feet—after a few hours of walking about, felt like pine-needles sticking through them. Kind of a new sensation, one he had not yet experience in his youth.
He walked aimlessly through the busy sidewalks, and across the full of activity inner city streets, that stretched out like the wings of a condor, over looking the restaurant, the Rosa Nautical, below.
He could feel his smallness in this international metropolis of some eight-million people, compared to a small Midwestern city he had come from, in the United States. Strange were his feelings, in the midst of the vast volume all around him, as if he was being shut in by mountains, and not so far in the distance, one could see on one side of the city the Andes, on the other side, the ocean: what a contrast he whispered aloud to himself.


He lifted up one foot, the next one, rubbed them, leaned against a telephone pole, there were no trees about, he had to go to the bathroom and there was no bushes to hide behind. Slowly and carefully, he moved, found a Movie Theater, asked kindly if he could use their bathroom, and they allowed him to. His sense of direction was not good, was never good, but like always it never seemed to bother him much, he found his way, and he knew he was headed towards his hotel room, he paid $17.00-dollars a night, and the bathroom was in the hallway. It was a dingy room, one bed, no television, a radio though, and a dresser drawer, with a mirror on it.

Now in his hotel room, sitting on the edge of his bed, he heard several footsteps outside his room, they seemed to be rushing back and forth, it made for instant curiosity, he moved to the door, listened, then Bill Warren suddenly looking out into the hallway through the knothole in the door, saw a girl he thought he knew, something at that very instant snapped inside his head. He staggered back to his bed, weakened, his glasses were in his hands, he had taken them off look into the peephole, they now fell out of his hands onto the floor, his hands had went numb, he couldn’t feel a thing with them—and his head was in a state of unbearable pain, progressive disorientation.
He was dizzy, saw shadows flying by, couldn’t focus, he looked everywhichway, at everything, and everything was going black, it freighted him. He articulated a moaning sigh; it was in his head and it was hurling more and more, into some kind of surreal state, he was being restrained he then confirmed, yes he told himself, that’s it, something or someone was restraining him, for his body was almost completely, paralyzed, as if he was knocked senseless and brought back to sensibility only to be drugged somehow, by someone, someway, into a restraining position on his bed.
He told himself, Bill Warren, is not all Bill Warren anymore, somehow he shares a part of his will and body with someone else, that someone has taken charge of him, and a voice said, the word, ‘anachronism,’ then asked himself ‘what exactly does that mean?’ He asked himself, perhaps it means ‘leftover,’ something is leftover, from his awaken world, which he was not fully in, only ten-percent in. And it was so very, very dark, and he tried to open his eyes, but he was being restrained, and they wouldn’t open, and the harder he tried to lift his eyelids with his facial muscles, the more he learned it was fruitless, effortless, it wasn’t working, and he couldn’t figure out why, no one was holding his face, although he couldn’t move his head.
He know cried, he knew the curse of helpless fear, He was so very afraid, in the deep dark; who put him here, there, whoever it was, was not done with him.
It was like night in a forest, an abysmal terror. His hotel room was in chaos, he had guests in it, he could now hear their breathing, and the sound of police sirens, he felt then, maybe they’re coming to help me, and like any hero, he started yelling, and he could hear footsteps coming towards his apartment door, and one person questioned the other and they slipped out of the back window of the room, those who were inside his room. And he thought for a moment: great, how nice to have heard them footsteps leave; next he thought, I wonder what they stole (he’d check it out as soon as the police came in and took whatever they put to cover his eyes.

A Moment Later

Said one police voice to the other, “Mr. Warren, is that your name?”
“Yes,” said Bill Warren, “That’s my name.”
“We’re going to take you to the hospital, okay sir?”
“What for, just untie me, and find my glasses please and get these dark—whatever it is out of my eyes, or off of them, so I can see.” His hands were tied behind him.
“Are you in any pain sir,” asked one of the police voices.
“Oh…” he stopped to think, “yes, oh yes, my head and eyes, and everything hurts, why?”
The police voice that was speaking was Sergeant Lopez, “Let me explain Mr. Warren what took place here. The girl across the hall, said she thought she knew you or had talked to you down by the ocean front, today or perhaps she said it was yesterday, and saw three guys go into your room, knowing you were her neighbor, then she called us. We didn’t respond very quickly, and then she called us again, actually she called us three times. The three bandits slipped you a powder somewhere, wherever you had went, perhaps at an outside café (and Bill Warren now remembered he had went to the café restroom for a moment, leaving his coffee exposed) and it numbed your body, and they stole your eyes, you have none sir and they were about to cut open your mid-section, and take some parts out of you to sell, it’s becoming a very prominent think here in Lima, and a very lucrative business nowadays, and had we not come when we did, need I say more.”
It was all stupefying, for Mr. Warren, now untied, he put his hands up to his eye sockets, numbness had created some pain—thus, pulling out the rags that were stuffed into them, sure enough, they were empty.
“Take him to the hospital;” said Sergeant Lopez, to his companion, “I’ll have a look around here to see if they are still about, or perhaps they left a clue, maybe the hotel manger has an idea. Also, tell Manuel to be more careful next time, and that the young woman in room 333, who has pretty blue eyes, perhaps we can talk when she has a free moment.”


Written in Lima, Peru, 1-10-2009/reedited 1-7-2010 (based on actual happenings in Lima)

The Repulsion of Merced (a short story, based on actual events: horror)

The Repulsion of Merced




(Forward) Only in ancient manuscripts can the word Cthulhu be found, meaning ‘horror of the horrors.’ A horror that numbs you, one that defies even God and His mercy; the decipherment of the word can entangle both the pawn and the prey, it reduces human existence to a weak and stale plight. Thus, in this following story, one that is based on fact (and considered by the author as historical fiction, since he has added his own descriptiveness to the account, and his own adjectives, that in which he feels belong to the story), that took place in November, of 2008; we will see a jealous mindless monster in motion, and the pawn will be devoured (names have been changed).


(Andahuaylas)

I will tell you of Naomi, She left Andahuaylas, Peru, in the Andes crossing into the Montero Valley and Huancayo, on the 3rd of November, 2008, on her way to La Merced (a place I had been through a few times onto Villa Rica and Danced with the local residents in parade). You have heard such stories of horror in bits and pieces, I am sure, as you are about to hear now, where demonic things crawl in the night to do hideous works for hell, but man and woman have their own hell, besides hell chasing them with demonic beings, but here is man’s own evil substance at work, no need for Satan to interfere of what truth is or isn’t, for it will not matter, especially when lost in rage—and in this story it gets lost in a passive internal rage, it passes by all reasoning and logical sense, dwells circling the walls of limbo, quietness forgotten, jealousy takes over, this was Naomi’s fate, and peril.
As she reached her destination (having taken a bus), to the city called La Merced, in the central jungle of Peru, near Satipo, she went to live with her half sister and brother-in-law.
She stood at the door knocked, as a man slowly opened the door, and with long paraded glimpses stared at her as if in trance, eyeing her from heel to the top of her head. She stood back, shadow-like against the sky.
“I’m Naomi,” she said, thinking maybe this is Laura’s husband, Cesar had forgotten what she looked like (they had not seen one another in a number of years, and she had come down to the rainforest area to work in the fields).
He then asked her in, as glittering visions and the pageantry of glory filled his inners, as if her smile had given him hope for future advancements on her. In his mind, it was not of the drab day to day life he’d have to expect from life this specific day forward, it would be a new adventure, he told himself, and a gleam set into his mind the wheels of motion to pursue this young lady, and this is exactly what he’d do in the next few weeks, he had new intentions.

After the greetings were said and done, and Naomi got her private room, Laura noticed at the dinner table the first night, the very first evening, her husband had faint like glimpses toward her sister (half-sister that is, both Laura, the elder and Naomi the younger, had the same mother, although different fathers); as I was about to say, these glimpses did not go unnoticed.
And so during the following week, Laura put on an invisible mask, to hide her jealousy, not that her sister was feeding into her husband’s scheme, but jealous manifestations of that illusion entangled her imagination to think so (but fundamentally it was not true).
It was during the second week, towards the end of it, that Laura could not bridge the gulf of evil she had created towards Naomi, awful blackness numbed her heart, her unstable mind, and her spirit, soul and ego, all spinning, shaking her every bone, behind the shape of her fleshly body, for once and for all to settle this account with the black-winged creature who came to subdue her husband—Naomi.
She, Laura, was lovingly foolish, insecure with fear of losing her husband, burning like lit firewood in a hearth throughout her being, pulling at her hair when alone in a private room, until the roots gave in, and dropped out. It would have seemed she was not a product of today’s ultimate civilization, of the primitive primates of the Stone Age, soon to have a dim and un-guessed future.
Oh, far, far and far off was her mind this night, when she woke up in the wee hours, took a slug hammer, red-eyed, with a slayers heart, drifting she crept into Naomi’s room, in causal reality, she bent over the bed, lurked with her distorted mind onto the face of her sister, and here is where the story unfolds: she produced in her cerebellum a pointless chaos, horrifically primordial and beast-haunted, recognized the mark she was going to strike, and like a great wind, she struck her younger sister in the head, forehead, temple, nose, she struck several times, bone breaking blows, cracking open her head like a shattered egg, and sent her into a dark form of existence.

The following day Naomi died, driven only by some restless whim to show her sister she would not die at once but would live a few hours more to condemn her, against all cosmic laws she opened her eyes; consequently, she left this world not like a crushed worm, but rather, spawning for a moment of renewed life, and principle.


Written 11-16-2008, after reading a report in the Correo Newspaper, Huancayo, Peru, the author was inspired to write in part, of its actual events… considered historical fiction—of the account, and murder of? Reedited, 10-2010

Ordained by the Devil (a two part short story)

Last Residing Place
((or, Ordained by the Devil) (Puerto Natales))

Part one of two


In the mountains vicinity of Torres del Paine (in Patagonia), adjacent to the Strait of Magellan, in the Town-ship of Puerto Natales, Chile, in 1914, is an old story told, a lore of sorts, of an old man by the name of Hank Loft Lyn, employed by the Port Victorian Industry as a foreman on the dock area, it was a time when the sheep industry was at its zenith; Hank had a daughter, and the story goes something like this:
“In winter of 1914, a young man was sentenced to an unusual decision that involved death, or a continuation with the romance he was already having, already having with Marcella Loft Lyn, daughter to Hank Loft Lyn. It had started out, as a secret relationship—although it no longer was. And one of ill repute, according to Hank; and he tried aimlessly to talk his daughter out of the relationship, but was driven to accept it, presumably it was no satisfying thought. And so he came to accept tentatively the ongoing relationship, acting as if he was unaware of its seriousness, so far as to examine its close involvement, and the more obstinate he became, the more conviction he acquired to ransack the relationship, but in vain could he make any kind of settlement between the two—during this ongoing period. Even in favor of paying Bram Sherwood Crow the lover’s way out of town, back to Santiago, where he was from. But it didn’t seem to appeal to him, and thus, he continued to do as he pleased, in this small Chilean town-ship, of Puerto Natales.
“Briefly, the evidence shifted to where he was in favor of accord between killing one, or both of them, facts of the case, were: if he could not have his daughter, to attend to his needs in his elder years, and have to be left alone—as his wife had long been dead—then why should Bram have her, or perhaps if he couldn’t kill either one he could kill himself. In any case, a psychodrama seemingly was in play—between him, and his second-self, his mind’s eye, and he went through a dramatization, role playing, as if he was his daughter and Bram and himself. As if his log cabin home was a theater; and as if he had an audience: even a psychodrama director. He had come to the conclusion, the only relief he would have is to hauntingly play this drama out

“Therefore, it came to pass, the evening for that drama to be played out, when Bram came to see Marcella—thus, there would be no nightly chats this evening, to his dismay, and Hank told Bram—in no vague words, to follow him to the basement—which kept his imagination at high pressure, wondering where his Marcella was, and what was to become of him; once taken down into the potato cellar—as they often called those small cubbyhole type basements in those far-off days, that kept vegetables and other sorts of goods chilled, with gun in hand, Hank told Bram, to face the two doors dug out of the earth—recently—with his very hands, supporting beams all around the two doors, husky looking rafters (a dreadful sad face came over Bram, for the appalling circumstance had taken upon him this very look, brought him to examine his self-values, afresh—within his thoughts. But he said not a word he knew why he was there, he had been told more than once to leave Marcella alone, consequently brooding was not to be effective) Hank now telling Bram: “Behind one of these doors is my daughter, who says she can’t live without you, and behind the other door is a bear, that will devour you. My beautiful daughter-in-waiting, whom you will have to marry, if you select the right door, if not the bear will eat you and she will die alone—where she is now bound and tied—if indeed the bear doesn’t get to her first, as she chose to do; in either case, I will leave the selection up to you. And then he left the cellar, and Bram, to wait anxiously for his decision, locking the trapdoor behind him, knowing he’d have to make a decision one way or the other, that is to say, to save her, or run after him to save his own life, or beg for it. But he did not beg, and he did not run.
“Then, after the trapdoor shut, a moment of silence prevailed, then he heard his lover—a muffled voice from behind one of the doors, but which one he just couldn’t make out for sure, and he now could hear the bear, and again he was uncertain which door the bear was behind, his roar was so loud he figured he could be on either side of the wall which divided the bear and his lover—the voice of the bear became terrifying for Bram, as he started to extend his hand to open one of the doors the one to the left but stopped short (both doors being only inches apart). He hears the trapdoor, the one Hank had gone up and through, he hears it open, the latched, —he looks over his shoulder he can even see a little light from it, now it was opened completely: as if he now had a third choice. Now he stands stone-still, rethinking, hesitant, he was now having doubts and imaginings together making a force so full that he was driven (there was no longer any traction for a gratifying thought)…”


Note: Written 10-7-2010 (No: 691) bs
((Part one of two) (Part two: “Fresh from the Tomb”, No: 692/October 7, 1:29 a.m.,))







Fresh from the Tomb
((Ordained by the Devil) (Part Two))


Introduction: When my wife read this story—that is the first part of “Ordained by the Devil”, she asked what the ending was like. and I told her, I at first didn’t want an ending, so the story was complete as is, but I knew the ending, and had penciled it out, as an outline on a piece of paper, and tucked it away inside a book, for safe keeping, incase I’d want to bring it out some day and reedit the story. The story was written to make a person think, and for the reader to write his own ending. But she talked me into producing my ending, the one I had written down and tucked away.


The Ending

What was Bram Sherwood Crow’s decision? It went—to my understanding—something like this:

He turned about—in that damp and chilled cellar, saw the door was now opened, the trapdoor that is, and he left, gone out through that trapdoor above him, something had aroused the self-interest side of him, moreover, there was a traitor somewhere in his mind, something of our needs, in this case his needs superseded everything else—our doings to survive, amidst us unknown sometimes, perhaps, until cornered, something that we think is tied, tight, is really somewhat untied and comes looser in the wash—to do one dishonor—this is what took place. When silences no longer lit, and the pulse of life and death rifles alone within our beating minds, from bells to cannons—this was his second moment, where nobility and her whose beauty had at one point, won his heart, was fraud in the long run, and anxiety broke loose and wild and won him to nearly fly to safety, as wailing sounds pushed him up that ladder through the trapdoor, past Hank Loft Lyn, with not even a second thought—and out of the house, with not even a touch of either door in the cellar, to feel the pulse of who was behind those two doors, he grabbed the third choice, eyes wide open (if indeed we must get into more detail, it will only get worse).


It was but a short while before the police arrived at the scene (the constable, side by side with Bram), the boyfriend now leading them, to the trapdoor, and as a result, seeing to two mangled bodies, and the bear had made his escape also to who knows where. What had taken place was that the old man, Hank had gone back down into the cellar, left the door behind him unlocked, opened up the door to where the bear was, the door to his left, the very one Bram was going to open, and had opened up the door to where his daughter was, said to her, “You see, when I gave him a third choice, he didn’t select you, so in the long run, he was not worthy of you Marcella,” then the old man turned about, to endure his death by the bear standing but a few feet away, waiting reluctantly, for his feast.
Said the constable looking at Bram Sherwood Crow, “What can be sweeter than to find out she was not worth your loss?” Having said that, he said no more, I suppose knowing it was too late for him—Bram Sherwood Crow—to fight it; he could only wait now—wait with patience—for some kind of relief, and to this end, he could do nothing either, and the last anyone ever heard of him, was he had gone back to Santiago.


No: 692 (October 7, 2010)

My Asia (Poetic Prose, by Dlsiluk)

My Asia

Asia is a land of Gods, legends and lore, of mystery, where pre-history and culture are brothers and sisters, found through, customs and traditions, as well as—a land with beautiful dark-eyed maiden’s, shy and bold, with pearled laughter, and rings of gold; a land where anthropologists, and archeologists—still hear new voices from below; where souls are gnawed by rust, and upon its birth, Apollo’s cry was yet to be heard. Where music of the heart was invented and bustling cities still stir the roots of mankind—and once visited, is never forgotten. Asia is the ancient with the new; and now the modernization of the crest and crowning of the world. Today, Asia has come to clear the way for tomorrow, with branches for a new path, a heroic time to build the world again. This is Asia, an event.

No: 2821 (October 6, 2010)

VardØger (or, The Journal of Percy Doore) A Short Story

VardØger
(or, The Journal of Percy Doore)


Journal Note
October 6, 2002


You can call me Percy Doore, or VardØge—I’m not sure who I am anymore, or at least at times so it appears; in Santiago, Chile, I was hospitalized a year ago or so (October, 2001), for a chronic neurological disorder, and here is what I wrote in my journal notes, and what took place, of which now I am about to reedit for posterity sake—and clearer notes, for those who wish to try to understand the mind, if not the second self:

“I had undergone electrical stimulating a few days ago to my left temporoparietal junction ((otherwise known as: where both the temporal and parietal lobs meet) (at the Sylvain Fissure))—producing an out of body experience, which manifested a double-walker (or otherwise crowned as, VardØger/doppelganger). To be frank and honest, or as truthful as I know how to be—it was as if my ghost, my double stepped out of me, out of my personal space, although this other person was a younger me by forty-years, and there I lay, motionless, as he stumbled about and stretched as if from a long sleep, just awakened. I should mention—at least in passing: it was as if I had an evil double that laid dormant in a grave, stimulated, I asked its name, “VardØge,” is all it said, arrogant and smug. Thus I had met my own—so called ghostly double.
“That night I had a nightmare, and the nightmare came about, in the morning. My double mused at me in my hospital room, as I recovered, walking about, strutting, and had placed the morning paper alongside my bed, opened to the second page, in the left hand corner read, “Mysterious person burns the Quran,” and a picture of me on the paper, but of me when I was twenty-three years old, and there I am on a rooftop of some building with several books of the Quran, with a match in hand, torching the books.” And my double said, “A little revenge for 9/11,” and laughed. Again I was amazed I had met myself, and started to think: what next?”
This now being our second meeting, he said to me, as if in passing, “Until Death reunites us (meaning my physical death) I will walk the earth, as you, without a middle name, for there are two worlds of life, it’s just a matter of awakening the other; actually, it can be done simply by looking in a mirror and summoning me (or one of us, up), but then, it is like me awakening into a dream, you see me but for a flash, then I fade back into my underneath grave, kind of, the one that you will inhabit with me later on, and in due time, shed me like snake-skin, or own me like the half-devil I am. Behold, I am part of you—but kept at a distance for good reasons. But when you do such things as a direct current into my nervous system, you pull me right out of my second world to join you in forces, willingly or unwillingly.”
It all made me question my being alive. Now as I look in the mirror I see two faces. When I rest, and drink a glass of water, I can see two faces his and mine. Call it an illusion of the mind, for that is where visions are made, but what we tend to forget as living beings, visions are real—into another world, one we own, and when we see it we don’t always recognize it, even though they vanish. It was at this time the ghost of me was becoming more real than me, so it seemed. What he was going to do next, I couldn’t phantom, but as time passed—I came to realize more and more, he really was my second, and as long as I seen that face—here and there, in reflections, I knew I was alive—although I’d never see him again—in the waking world that is, evidently, he did not want to be paired up with me, I suppose, lest he be reminded of the good side of life—which was against his nature, like a drunk doesn’t care to be drinking with a person trying to sober up, to no avail. (Reedited, October 6, 2010)”


Note: Written 10-6-2010 (No: 690)

Stock-still (Short Story of a Cruise ship in the Drake)

Stock-still
(Aboard a cruise ship in the Waters of the Drake)





It is not far from the truth had I changed instinct for reason in my youthful days that I’d be long dead now. Yes, indeed, instinct, the natural gift of animals living within nature. For often I have been benumbed and humbled by the functions of the mysterious, and at times hardly able to move, and have survived all ordeals, yet this one time—I dare say, I was baffled—and that being a mild description of my emotions, I was literary shocked—

I unbolted my cabin window to see what the disturbance was, “Rope. Get a rope!” a voice in the darkness said, as if someone was losing their strength. Satisfied I had heard correctly I moved forward by this time, and the moaning sounds I had heard along with the cry for help, had faded sufficiently, to a less clearer quality, tone or tenor. As I looked out the window, downward, I saw a shadow shaking and quivering—piteously.
In a pleading voice—the shadow, that had a shape of a person, that looked ghostly—a voice almost piercing in helplessness, which somehow didn’t go straight to my heart, and affected me weirdly, still perhaps half asleep, I said “A rope, okay, I’ll get a rope…” all the time assuming I was in a dream, if not a nightmare, thus finding myself—in spite of the dream, or nightmare—hurrying out of the cabin to the deck area, near in a run, behind me my wife calling, “Wait, stop a minute, you’re having nightmare!”
“Where’s some rope,” I said to her, in near panic, grabbing a lifejacket instead and rushing to the edge of the ship.
“No, no!” yelled my wife, and I stopped ‘stock-still!’ instinctively.
Now catching her breath, and composure she grabbed me, pulled me back, my right foot over the edge of the ship, the Drake below me and 6000-meters deep of water. She was in a frightful fit, shivering in the October atmosphere. How heavy the atmosphere was with wet dampness, I just came to notice, a light rain, lit by the night lamp, called the moon and lights of the ship—I felt as if isolated at the end, and edge of the world, all around me water, it surrounded me, as I exhaled the intoxicating numbness, silently coming out of a fog, looking overboard for my phantom.
“You were dreaming,” my wife told me, now fully awake, or seemingly so. Perhaps it was some kind of manifestation, I told my mind, but my mind wouldn’t accept it. I now took it to be, reason over instinct. Why not I said, it’s seldom I make such choices.

When I got back to my room, half naked, I became horribly cold, and my teeth chattered from the wet, I felt very awkward, I was thus, shutting the window, little by little my teeth stopped chattering, the warmth of the cabin—stole through me, and the influence of the quiet, humming of the ship, and my exhaustion put me to sleep as it all surrounded me, wrapped me in its shawl.

When we arrived in Punta Arenas the next day, at 11:40 a.m., the sister ship to ours was already docked. A group of people were standing about talking, and looking quite serious. I suppose I am a practical man, so at any rate, my wife and I, went and asked what all the commotion was about, and one of the staff members, said—reluctantly, with stumbling words, “We’re one passenger short.”


Written October, 5, 2010 (No: 689) bs

Curse of the Abyss Worm (Revised, 2010/Complete)

Curse of the Abyss Worm





Out of the Crust of the Earth
Comes this strange and intriguing story


By Dennis L. Siluk,








Note: Character Index in back of novel
(the novel consist of twenty-nine chapters, in four parts)

Part One

The Viper’s

The Abyss Worm Virus


1



The Research & Memos of Dick Earnest, Christian Psychologist
(Mr. Earnest, puts onto tape, for recording, in narrative reporting, his research, for Anna Viper, October 7, 2003 AD):


My name is Dick Earnest, and before I get into reading the journals, letters, diaries and notes I’ve collected over the last year, pertaining to this story, of stories, I will give to you my findings into what I call the ‘Abyss (pit) Worm, Report,’ and its virus, and –no, I don’t expect that you’ve ever heard of it, but you have seen it or possibly even come close to it; probably smelled it. This story is for Anna Viper who hired me to resolve some issues concerning her and a curse; in the process I had got so involved I’ve yet to untangle myself from it, and let me add to that statement, in the process I’ve discovered more than I cared to, yet I remain unmoved, and still compelled to go forward with this story. Today is October 7, 2003. As I try to unwind my findings, and I say this is not an easy task, it has taken me since October 2002, to find all this out, I hope you will be patient with me—Anna, I will let you know what I know.
Anna, please destroy this tape [and all the tapes to follow]; furthermore, there is no need for other people to know this information, not really; that is, these, annals that are our history, in particular, yours should remain so in queue of darkness.
One of the questions you are most likely asking yourself at this very moment I presume is:
“What on earth is the ‘Abyss Worm Virus?’?” Although Anna, you have lived its curse, and your family have lived it also, --you need not search any further, I will uncover its mystery for you, at its end, when all the information is in your hands, I dare say, be careful by all means, there are too many beady and shifty eyes about, and un-agreeable ears out there wanting and waiting for you! I do believe I will not be able to protect you beyond this information. I am only a psychologist, not a miracle worker. You need an open mind and if you do your research, you will find my findings are not off center by much, if at all. You will think my account is fiction at first glance, my point that is, but I tell you, there is more fact than fiction to this, what you can’t explain, take at face value for what it looks like, for that is what it really is. Nature has a way of allowing everything in it to have no favorites. Matter of fact, everything I have said, or am about to say, is written down some place for safe keeping, somewhere, for that is where I got my information from, from other sources that is, along with hidden sources I care not divulge for your safety, as well as for mine. Oh yes, yes, these you may call falsehoods or distortions, or even generalizations, or what you will, save for the fact they happened and can be explained, but they are not mine, they are yours, and have been written in stone long before you or I were born. Having said all this, allow me to begin with this part of my story—oops, I should say: ‘your story,’ and describe for you the virus.

The creature—the worm—, I should say, that I’m describing; —that is, that I am going to explain to you about: is orange and blended with reddish color throughout its surface: its natural body color I’m trying to explain: also, it has —purpled eyes (don’t laugh please—it has seen much with those eyes and knows much, and is quite different from you and I)—it is round, approximating, the size of a quarter, likened to a caterpillar—or you might say, similar to a large larva creature in a twisted body form. These living things, otherwise called organisms have something akin to one-hundred legs; big eyes, and a mouth with teeth, oh yes teeth, sharp as a razor: and they seem to light up similar to fire flies; one could hold a half dozen in the palm of his or her hand, should interest prevail to do so. Incidentally, they do not cast a shadow for some peculiar reason.
Furthermore, they are cursed liars by nature. They were first mentioned in stone tablets around 18,000 BC. And when Ura’el an Archangel, took the Angelic Renegades, [Ura’el so mentioned in the Old Testament Bible], and cast them to the pit [otherwise know as the Abyss], these worm like creatures were already in existence. When Ura’el opened the door to the pit (someplace is Asia Minor—presently Turkey—way back when), there were these caterpillar-organisms that hung onto the roots of the underworld: yes the endless pit, so often talked about in the bible. This pit, to my understanding, is a canyon like area, reminiscent of an underground, underneath vortex, with blankness, descending from the surface through the crust, and all the way down to the mantel, and on to or around the core of the inner earth; --some of these areas being frozen along its winding paths, others being hot cells and so forth, as this may be verified by doing some geological research, it is really of no significance if I am not 100% accurate in my description of this worm, for this is just specific background information you may or may not wish to know, it will bear no fruit one way or the other in the end of the story, yet it adds prosperously to the lucidity of this account, shall you wish to flutter among this knowledge again, or someone find and open this account. That said, a habitat is a habitat, no more no less, and it is my habit to clarify everything, a prideful thing at best. But in the Book of Revelation, of the New Testament Bible, it is also mentioned, maybe not as descriptive as I’ve been, but it is there, use a little imagination, you’ll find it. Or for that matter, study the ancient writings known as the Pseudepigrapha [Apocalyptic Literature Testaments]; it would do you well if you tend to doubt what I say, that is, to check this out; --and I encourage you to do so, --the Old Testament of the bible, in particular, Genesis Chapter #6, and possible even the writings of the Talmud, and let’s not forget Josephus’ work: he was a back stabber, was he not? No doubt their credentials are higher than mine, and will in someway or another bring you a step closer to the desirable quality of my understandings—or call it virtue if you will—as you get to know them. It is clear nonetheless; these creatures at one given time in history knew nothing about anything for the most part, until the Abyss Door, the infamous Abyss Door, was opened. Then it dawned on them—figuratively speaking— that there was another world, a surface world—or our world out there. Prior to this, it was simply an endless pit—a lair of redundant substances within the earth. They were living in a pit, twenty-five miles beneath the crust of the earth, an ancient, lost and hidden world of: muck, dirt, clay and grime: layers upon layers of it, and roots, rivers canyons, old bones, and so forth.

To Anna Incidentally, I should say, before we get into this, this too deeply, that is into this story too deeply, I am a Christian Psychologist, which of course you already know Anna, and therefore, I take my duty and loyalty to you seriously in all good manners, and matters concerning my job, whence, you can trust me, as my reputation speaks for itself, as you well know, when you hired me. Furthermore, I have prayed daily on this voyage I am taking with you, this voyage into the unknown, the unpredictable, to bring you knowledge and understanding, and wisdom to make whatever life choices one must thereafter, that is, after you have gained my knowledge I am about to share with you. I will do for you the best service possible, and shall: so please listen closely to all my tapes as I send them to you…hm…oh, I said that before, but I find myself often times repeating myself, for some odd reason, but I will update you on me a little more afterwards, not that you need to know anymore about me, only that I have done you a fare service, but Anna Viper, you will get to know me better and better, and later on—after my job is done, I will be at your service as always: that is if you need me. As I was about to say in the beginning, in my memo’s here, the pit was once opened long ago, being the very first time it was opened to my knowledge and according to my research by none other than Ura’el, an angelic being. And at this point is where I shall bring forth the nature of the beast.
Hitherto, not one single worm got out of the abyss, until Ura’el opened it. Not sure why, but none did get out, for I’m sure it would have been reported somewhere within all the ancient writings that have filled up the libraries of the world, in the past yes, yes, oh yes, not one iota of a bit of information, tangible information on this worm was easy to get. For example the great library at Alexandra, Egypt, or the library at Ephesus, none could bare witness to my discovery. That is unclothed to the extent I will, the creature’s identity and description, as I have for the most part already disclosed. And the fact of the matter is, nothing was or has been written or documented, so as to show authenticated proof of such a worm—word of mouth, legend bears witness more than anything. And so indeed—indeed you must see, here we are with a real unknown mystery—naked as it has been, I am here to put cloths back on it for you. Now these worm type creatures are creatures not even Satan can control, that is right, not even with all his angelic powers; quite a big statement for me to make, but a true one nonetheless. Nor can the demons that circle this world, and the demons within the crust of the earth—the bowels of the inner earth (its intestines), the underworld, or any other angelic being to my knowledge, none can control them, and certainly, not man, should he be foolish enough to think he can with all his technology; if so, he’d be quite disappointed. The location of the pit, or abyss as it is better known, today, and I will get to why I say ‘today,’ in a moment, is somewhere between old Sumer [Iraq] and Damascus, in the Syrian Desert.
As I try to explain this whole gamut of images, and some history to you, you will see later on how this came to affect the four families involved: the Trials, Viper’s, Lime’s and Noddoc’s. In doing so, you will also see the nature of the worm, as it is adaptive to one another, it’s kind. And how others like Vii, and the Tiamat, Charlie and Lady Belinda got involved. Yes, it is an entangling web to say the least. But if you endure with me, I will untangle it for you, and your curse, especially your curse—this unbroken circle can and will be broken; —even though it has been a curse of sorts for over one-hundred and fifty years—trust me, believe in me, I will do it

I am not sure why God made these creatures, or for that matter, even if He did; and if God were God, I am not sure what god I am talking about. But I thought about it, and thought deeply about it, maybe too deeply about it, possibly they are a counter balance to something, perhaps to life in general. Definitely God was annoyed with Lucifer, that he would dare stand up to him, and therefore, kicked him out of heaven, whence, He made these creatures to torment him (him being: Lucifer), yet they do not torment him—I know this for a fact. Could it be, seriously be, Lucifer made them to torment God—and then they got out of control? A good question indeed and I maybe getting a bit off the track here; as a result, perhaps God got annoyed again: don’t take me wrong, I’m on God’s side, but Satan is a trickster of a high order, yes, pretty cleaver and creative if you ask me and that is why we must be watchful. It seems to me, God doesn’t even know what he will do at times [?] with all respect intended, it is my psychology talking, Monkeys and Pineapples make more sense to me at times, yes, noiselessly He speaks to me, to my spirit, but without promise of much intelligence, I have to always figure things out for myself. He jabbered with animation and seriousness once in my sleep, only to find out he wanted me to pray to him, you know, at 3:00 a.m., in the morning. Oh well, he being God, I did so, and he told me it was good for my studying psychology—
Another thought on my menu of thoughts, is that when Ura’el, the holy Arch-Angel, put the Watchers, or Angelic Renegades into the pit, for cohabitating [see Genesis 6] with human females [see the book of Enoch in the Pseudepigrapha, Volume I] thousands of years ago, they were so vulgar, so rootless in values, so malice, so sinful (sinful according to God that is, for God, and God alone has His own standards), and you know vulgar breeds vulgar, and it becomes habit forming, so when these beings were cast into the pit, I think 199 of them, there was some kind of secretion of their bodies released, and then within time I presuppose, by way of touch (or some kind of contact), between these two different entities, it happened to infect, or become infectious –if not one to another, then both became infectious; that is to say, in particularly, the worms became contagious to everything and everybody; possibly disfiguring the angelic-race: the beings that were cast into the pit. Now this is not a fact, but neither is it conjecture, this is my theory based on people I have talked to, as one would put together a puzzle, and when there are no pieces left, but one, and it fits, hence, it must be the right one. That said, be that as it may, I have found that piece—and what the fact is, is that this Abyss Virus Worm (as I call it), exists, and is infectious. And so again, we see fact pushing fiction aside—if that makes sense. We must not treat history as if nothing happened way back then, for it did. Man would have you believe all that took place was gases formed and thus came life form, from the sea to land. But the truth of the matter is life was created long before earth was created. And as it is written in the Good Book, in the latter days the pit will be opened and the sorrows will begin. Let me translate this and explain where I am going with all of this.
During the ‘End of Days,’ when Christ is to return, Satan will open the Abyss, and out of it will come creatures with tails that sting; etc [see the Book of Revelation for clarity]. What the bible is saying is, something went into the pit several thousand years ago or longer—we can add to it ten-thousand more years, or one-hundred thousand years or even a million more years if you like—but the theory does not change the facts; the facts in the sacred books, and when it, or I should say, when they come back out, or when it is time for them to come out, they will not look the same as when they went in. They will have breed together, the worms and the angelic beings cast into the pit, I’m afraid. It is likened to the humans on earth; accordingly, whatever demonic forces reside here—and we can add alien forces if you like—they will all have to breed with what is available, that being one another when the time comes, like it or not. A more than natural process if one looks at it from a psychological angle, or rather psychophysical, or genetic alteration school of thought, or manner; likewise, if you were put on an island, and all that was on there were cannibals, I doubt they would eat you, if you were the only woman ((bad analogy, but it is all I could think of, at the moment) (but they may breed with you and eat the babies—who can tell)). That is why I call them also by the name: “Liar Pit Worms,” they lie to breed, a survival thing possibly. They will do this in and outside of the pit. For example and I know this is a poor example again—somewhat reiterating—but so bear with me: if you were in the cavity, the pit, the hole in the ground: all being the same of course, since 18,000 BC or so, you would be a hypocrite, should you say you would not mingle with whomever were the inhabitants there-within, I would imagine; yes, I would do the same; any human would under such conditions. Now let me go from a different angle.

—Be that as it may, legend has it that: whatever touches these worms, will become infected. They carry within their body’s toxic, fatal poisons. If I were to seek an example, it might be something likened to venom—a serpent bite, or hemlock; again, Josephus Flavus, the Jewish-Roman thinker and historian of his day [AD 100] mentioned: that from the plant “Baara,” the very name of the root itself comes poison. As all poisons are from plants, or venomous creatures. This one which grows in the Middle East, in particular in Israel, will kill a dog quickly just by the dog trying to pull the roots out of the poisonous plant. Yes in deed, these worms are very lethal; its poisons are now spread around the world, and I shall get into this more in a moment—yet I want to leave no shadows behind.
This scorpion type worm can bite you, or eat your insides, there is no escape once he has touched you in such a way, or entered you without you having some kind of immune system in place. It is similar to curare—a poisoned arrow, akin to spotted hemlock, analogous to the cup of poison that killed Socrates. The worm’s venom will first burn your throat: and mouth, abdominal pain, nausea, a sense of intoxication, weakness and convulsions. You die, you just simply die. Do not be dismayed, for I must explain, and describe all I know, for you paid me well for this information—be it gruesome or not. And as a result, this information is simply logical; it is like grabbing (and I hate to use this comparison, but I shall: a hand full of body secretion from the bladder; if you do not wipe your hands off quickly you will get not only the smell, but …god knows what else, in essence, infection; in a resembling manner to the growth of a tumor; it could also seep through your pores and if you have cuts, or other openings in your body, they/it would help the infection or virus migrate throughout your body like cancer. And whatever is in the substance [waste], you will acquire that bacteria-virus, should there be one. Again I say, this worm has infected places throughout the world [just one I am talking about at present, one worm that is], and now it is in our backyard, or in particular, yours—figuratively speaking.
Now, having said all this, let me explain that these creatures when they get among humans, and I am not talking about twenty or thirty thousand of them getting loose, but one, as I just mentioned, just one worm running loose, —we can, for the sake of argument, call him, or it the ‘Crazy Worm, which is causing international havoc.’


2


The Crazy Worm


Now stay with me for a while longer Anna, and I think you will get the full picture of this entity, or at least, some of it before we get into the letters, journals and diaries that lay ahead: the information I have found for you throughout the world, i.e.: England, New Orleans, Minnesota, and a few other places. And thank you for paying me in advance the $25,000.dollars; of course it’s all gone now, the trips and hotels were expensive, but nonetheless, I became quite imprinted with the objective to unfold this mystery for you, while on this journey.

When the pit was first created, strangely enough it was never opened by the Angelic Renegades [for some reason they knew better, for they surely knew of it]. These angelic-beings were originally, --the angels whom came down from the clouds, who were assigned initially to watch over mankind above the earth, within the clouds, but decided for lustful reasons to cohabitate with women on the surface of earth, and so step by step, by and by, they made their way to the surface: they were beings without ethics; and no doubt, on the point of impartiality—could care less for humans: which should be of no value to us one way or the other, for they are long gone (yet I bring them forth as a new acquaintance). Some people have said, and it was not me who said it, God plants his holy angels in spots they will be tempted and then punishes them when they fault. Well, that is exactly what they did—fault. Making a pack amongst themselves, all two-hundred of them decided to come down to earth and that should the Almighty get angry and decide to punish them, they ‘all were one, and one for all’ in such a case. In other words: Azaz’el, and Amazes [the leaders], made it known, they were not going to be the only ducks in the pond—when and if there was a time to pay the penalty; or should I say, the only ones in the courtroom should the Almighty get upset and come hunting for them, hunting for them like a wolf hungry for revenge and put them on trial; so those two wanted the rest to go down with them to the surface of the earth to rule it. And again I say for remembrance sake, they made a pack, a bondage with one another, and literately came down to earth, and took the women from whomever they pleased, be it: wives, daughters, children (boy or girls: some even had animals, and one must remember, these angelic beings were up on those clouds for some ten-thousand years looking down, parted from heaven), for pleasure, and ruled the world as they seen fit, and told mankind heavenly secretes. They ended up having huge sons, which became gods among men—once called the Titans, and whom had war with one another, killing off their own race of giants eventually—some 409,000 of them But I am getting a little too far off the main menu, let me get re-focused.



ĂĢ


(Tape still playing.) Let me explain a little about these angelic beings befo re going on with the Abyss Virus Worm [s], okay, Anna, okay then. Anyhow, from the clouds they descended onto the summit of Mount Hermon; --Semyaz being the number one leader of the two hundred—stood tall in the brief twilight for all to see him. And as I understand—as he stood there, he reminded the two-hundred they had swore an oath and were bound to each other accordingly: that everyone, --that is, everyone among them, swore to the curse, not to abandon what they had planned, which was not only to cohabitate with the females, but to rule the earth as gods together: Titans one might visualize them as—as I previously mentioned; hence, becoming legends for Atlantis and Lemuria, and for the Greeks to tell tales about: --for example, Gilgamesh’s heritage ((in old Sumer )(he was two-thirds supernatural and one third human)), and his priestess Shamhat, the one he sent to subdue Enkidu, the wild man from the Cedar Forest; in which she did; and to be quite frank, he was could be considered semi demonic in composition. And Vii, a beast similar to the demon, whom is three-fourths demonic and I should add at this juncture, demons or demonic beings, are not like angelic beings; they are from the Pre-Satanic era, when Satan, then called Lucifer, ruled the Earth with God’s blessing; and then—when Lucifer built his Army, he was kicked out of heaven for revolting, thus, the inhabitants of the earth which were angelic beings at the time, and those so called beings of another kind (perhaps alien beings of some sorts, so I shall call them that for a brief moment— in lack of anything better, , became devil-men, or men of the devil they were: and were branded (or given) that name ever since.
Now as I was about to say, and I should say for the women’s liberation movement, had there not been a Shamhat, who had become the Temple Priestesses [back in the days of Gilgamesh], there would not have been an Epic of Gilgamesh to read in our libraries today; but again I find my fancies of ancient history getting in my way of the real assignment of which of course is the curse and the worm. As I was about to lead into: Semyas had with him seventeen-followers, and there were the rest of course, but not all directly under his command, save for one fact, indirectly he was the Commander and Chief. And in continuing this area of thought, things were run a little different back then, than now. Nonetheless these unethical angelic beings such as: Amasras taught incantations, Asder’el taught the course of the moon, and deception, --Azaz’el one of the most troublesome of the lot, revealed eternal secrets of heaven to the earthlings. And Michael and Gabriel, whom have become known as the: ‘Good’ vs. ‘Bad,’ angels observed carefully from the sky, and saw much blood being shed upon the earth; as they oppressed all other beings without much effort. I might add: similar to your Superman, and Hawkman, comics of today—but these were real, I mean very real super-beings.
And to make a long story shorter, Raphael, bound Azaz’el and throw him into darkness, making a hole in the desert and putting sharp rocks over him, subsequently he could not see the light of day and was bound to his cramped quarters—bound like a paralyzing snake bite. And accordingly, some of these angelic-renegades were cast into the sands of the desert, and the majorities were cast into the great cavity of the earth, the hole in the ground, the pit. And the children of these beings somewhat died out, leaving their gene pool behind-slightly: those were the very giants I was talking about a moment ago.
The sin was three fold; it was eternal angelic beings that defiled themselves with those women, blood and flesh, and their lust-produced children. This mixture went against the creation of heaven like gravity to man. For spiritual beings, heaven is heaven for them, and for the flesh, heaven can be sex on earth, until we get to heaven, which then we will be spiritual beings—if that makes sense? Now let’s take this to the angelic level, the visible world, which is of course, sexual intercourse with a woman, for men on earth, in consequence, the beings wanted both, heaven on earth and heaven in heaven—it sounds a little like mankind does it not—plus they told heavenly secrets to mankind. Be that as it may, but in the course of their activities they lost heaven. As the old saying goes, ‘…you can’t have your cake and eat it to.’ But I would guess they got tired of the same old heaven in heaven, and God’s temptation just became too appetizing, like the apple Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. Kind of like when I was a boy, I wanted to fly like an angel; you know what I mean, like superman, that sort of person: like these beings were. So you see, we just can’t have it both ways; --one or the other, yet as a human we can dream and there we can fly, I suppose: maybe God did that on purpose to dangle a fancy dream that was untouchable to annoy us. But in speculation we both had similar dreams, meaning, the angelic beings, dreamed about having sex, and I dreamed about flying like them, as I have already mentioned. Or better put, I’d prefer the superhuman qualities, to simply having a diet of sex. A matter of preference I suppose.


3


Abyss Worms


These creatures with purple eyes: which have a reddish and orange tone to their skin, I call: the “Abyss Virus Worms,” in lack of a better term; or again I repeat myself, “Crazy Worm [s],” whence—for the most part—they were inaccessible to mankind or even beasts on the surface of the earth until after the abyss was created, and thereafter opened—it, or they were the decaying part of the coat of the Angelic Renegades, when they took off—shed their angelic coats, hides for flesh and bone, some of it was decay (debris) that formed on them, and dropped off of them—creating in essence most of the substance of the worm; as well as other creatures in the crust of the earth knew nothing about them, which I doubt there were any others at such depths anyhow. And if there were, I’m sure it was not to their fondness, and quickly were infected and died. Furthermore, to get to these creature type worms, one would have to be quite squirmy like worms, similar to a small reptile without legs for there was a time when snakes did have legs you know, and were able to penetrate tons of pressure from the earth upon them. Taking this all into account, such an adventure, one would have to have a roadmap to and through the pit (along with a road, so as not to get lost on the way—if that makes sense), this all sounds silly I suppose, but silly or not, it is only impractical when you can come up with a truer version, in any form, and so, in any case, I will continue on with this line of thinking, that is, within the pit, and of course, none of what I say, exists, —to my knowledge that is, although I think the pit might be compared with/or to the Grand Canyon.


In conclusion Anna, to this area of deliberation and study I have researched out to inform you about, let me say, or let’s say if ‘I’, for instance wanted to go find this long lost pit, or abyss—if you will, I would have to get into inside of a thin reptile-snake resembling a creature as I have earlier mentioned, of which I’d not feel too comfortable, or for that matter, feel too safe. And then we’d have to squirm our way to the pit, hoping we could go a few hundred miles an hour as it would take a year or two; and if we did find the pit, what would we do there besides? A rhetorical question at best; and how would we get back to the surface of the earth? So this is what has flown in and out of my brain like, birds crashing into a window, yes, it was out of the question for me to go find the pit, but not out of my mind, which was to learn about it, so I examined this line of thinking. You see, all this fine information I have provided you with! I shall give you more than most people will ever know on this subject.


(Anna at this point is unsettled, wiping her eyes, had just listened to the first tape sent to her by the investigator; she leans back to rest on her bed—listening to the last few lines over again, hoping to extract something out of it that can be used against the curse that has been put upon her, and her family for generations.
She has pale blue-eyes (at this moment), tired eyes for the most part—caravansary—she moves about on her bed, as if friction was nauseating her, that of the tape a serious animated face—a crucifix over her bed, she smiles—afraid to ask herself a question, in fear she’d need too simply ask more questions thereafter. She leaves that area of thought alone— She leans back against the bed now, a pillow supporting her back, and pushes a button—to adjust the bed.)



4


The Flood Rats


(The other side of the tape now is being played.) At the time of the great flood, of which some scholars have dated to 3750 BC—yet others question that date and would rather settle on 7,600 BC—as a good date, but for the sake of argument, let’s settle on 4000 BC for the flood date: --okay, Anna [says the psychologist]. So in the time of the flood, something peculiar happened, I mean, something very remarkable yet peculiar took place; I know you are probably saying: many things happened and took place, but something unexpected, not documented in the bible per se, or for that matter any place that I know of was it documented: something extraordinary, astounding, something horrific, ghastly. Now listen closely Anna, I mean really closely, I need your attention: prior to the flood, people were living long lives, and sin was plentiful I know, I’m not telling you anything new, not yet and nothing you haven’t learned from television or catechism classes). Everyone pretended not to know what sin was back then, so everyone did what they wanted to do--an easy way out, right? Or easy way I should say to justify ones aggressive actions, and perhaps even a license to the utmost.
In a manner of speaking, people did, for the most part, what they could do, that is to say, taking a neighbors wife for instance, why not, who would stop you, or better put, ‘who could stop you?’ possibly not your neighbor, and if your husband couldn’t, then again, who? Most people who could would go to such lengths to accommodate their lustful, desires. If you could get away with it that is. Or better placed, the people before the flood and of course this is one of the factors that brought on the flood had a hay-day with doing whatever pleased them. You see, there was no one to stop them, and there wasn’t for the most part, rules that said: be kind to your neighbor: no, no that was not the philosophy of the day—the Ten Commandments didn’t exist, or the Old and New Testament Bibles. That my friend is documented; but what is not documented is what you are going to hear in a moment.
Prior to the flood the landmass was all connected for the most part [the continents were connected to one another]; after the flood, they drifted for a while, and settled where they are today [or so this is one theory, or concept] with a few adjustments here and there [an over implication, but for this analogy, it is good enough]. Such as, the Nile was closer to the pyramids back then, than it is today. And during this time we are talking about, there were gardens and green plant life; there was much thick vegetation that existed by the Sphinx—; where today it is desert—and only remnants from the desert. The Back Sea was created from this mighty shift of the earth’s crust, and breaking up of its subterranean rivers helped in the shifting of the ocean floor, and mountains. As was the case of the Andes of South America which were created during this time period, where at one period it was not in existence; and the Amazon was now created; as was the Gibraltar Strait, where once there was two mountains connected together and of course there was no passage into the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic side at that time, they were pushed aside allowing the flow of the ocean and the sea to shift to and fro, between the Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean during this event. The subcontinent of India was now transformed into its new likeness, of which was kind of dangling on a rope before. Moreover, many things took place, as you may very well know. And so is this theory.
Now:
You’re probably saying to yourself, listening to this tape, ‘I have told you nothing new,’ but hang in there, perhaps this is new: when all this shifting was going on, the pit [the deep hole] I am trying to underline, the premise for this chronicle—its essence—the great cavity, otherwise known as the Abyss had also shifted from Asia Minor, to the Syrian Desert. Yes, oh yes, it was not always where you think it was, just like the North Polo that also was moved, it is not where it was 12,000-years ago, at that time it was closer to the Northwest Passage: yes, that great Passage everyone was looking for a few hundred years ago to find away across—and I repeat they looked for the passage for a hundred plus years. Oh yes, now we are getting someplace, so do not turn this tape off, no, no, not yet, please do not go to sleep if you are in your bed. Just like the tree of life, or the tree in the Garden of Eden, which was put off limits for many years after Adam and Eve committed their long enduring and suffering sin, which lay heavy upon mankind—yes the innocent was infected like the worm infects mankind now. At any rate, it went from Sumer, to Braham [an island off the Arabian side of the continent]. If you are asking, ‘…why is this guy telling me all this,’ it is because I have to, that is, for me to get into my discovery for you. It will in time, all relate Anna, just wait.
Broadly speaking, we now got a new location for the abyss: this is not the end of the chaos it is the beginning. We need to go back to the Abyss Worms (yes, right where we started from); you know what I’m talking about [?] Those, ugly-orange-organisms, hanging onto those roots we talked about a while ago. Well, let me give you the bad news: one, just one, got out of the pit when the underworld broke open (as indicated in the bible, in the great flood). During this great upheaval of the earth, —yes, when the rivers, the mountains, and the sky all broke open and changed the world’s course, so did the Abyss change its location on earth, and give rise to freeing of the Abyss Worm: the Crazy Worm. Does that not make sense?
This creature was never brought back to its habitat, nor captured. Somewhere, somehow it was frozen, or misplaced I expect in the geologic hazards’ of time, pre history time that is, while the earth was settling from its massive floods, its tons and layers of mudflows, ash falls, forest fires, lava flows, and snow melt downs, such factors squeeze between the layers of stratified rocks enclosing elements into a prison like coffin, buried under lava centuries, if not millenniums; such things circled the world. It took, I believe, yes, yes, yes, I do believe so, it, took some 400-years for the landmass of the earth to absorb all this water in the last flood, settle all this mud, to get back to normal (could we really expect it to be normal in a week, or month or even a year? —not really). It was mud on mud, on mud on mud, layers upon layers, if you do not believe me, simply go to Babylon and see how far they had to dig out its ruins, forty-plus feet, or so, I’ve seen this with my own eyes, yes O yes, with my very own eyes. If one were to go to old Sumer now, and dig around Ur, or Uruk, and Kish, you would find these cities among many others still under this mud, so it is not fiction you see. And during this resealing of the earth’s surface, and crust, the ‘Crazy Virus Worm,’ did surface, I believe someplace in Europe. Or at least this is where my investigation has led me.

And so, what you really see at this point is nothing less than a Crazy Worm, crawling out of the mud, limestone or wherever it was stuck under for an un-numbered amount of years (hiding, resting, or in a coma, who knows what it was doing underneath the surface, deeper than the crust of the earth, if that makes any sense, yes, it survived, existed, and now was, and still is, hungry for life) coming now, out of its tomb, emerging into day light, unearthed to find daylight; how spectacular it must had been for it to capture in a moments time, a world of light; so many centuries ago.
It cannot die you know, something it had never seen before was the creation or death. I suppose it somewhat felt at home in the mud, but found itself moving inch by inch, moment by moment, year by year, this way, that way, until—again I repeat—until daylight came—and then twilight ascended; in consequence, another new discovery. It had no equal, nor god. It was made from the depths of the pit by infection-upon-infection, possibly with friction by its sides and then mixed with sin-upon-sin and the crust of the old renegades’ skin or coat of heaven no shed, it took in its first breath of life—yes, slim upon slim gave it breath and longevity. And what it had to offer mankind it really didn’t know in the beginning; although it does now; you see where we are going, leading into. Yes, the mystery of the worm, if not the curse for without it what would life be—no mystery at all.
It infected the rats that were akin to squirrels before the flood. It infected the snakes that never had poison before, and the mosquito that loved blood now carried malaria (the first vampires of the world). At this point, God said: “Man shall live only 120-years,” and He meant it. Before this time there were no infectious creatures, plants, poisons known. And I would think He knew the worm was free—and did little about it, and as time went on, plague after plague came, and wiped out the world’s population with: syphilis and smallpox; two of the world’s many epidemics; and sins, oh yes, let us not forget sin, did not God stand by and watch, saying most likely, ‘…they asked for it, and they got it’ (and we possibly did). You see, even in the blood of Noah’s daughters, there became impurities, and Org a giant and king of those far off days, snuck into Noah’s big boat, this giant demon king hid, and when the ark landed, he snuck out again: so very easy, wasn’t it, of course it was, too uncomplicated for mankind to digest or even mark down in the margins of time—and one of his daughters became pregnant because of this long voyage. And there yet again we start with a world still not completely cleansed. I’d guess the way God wanted it for some reason. And now that I think of it, I think, He [He being: God] was thinking: give man a life span of 1000-years and he’ll destroy the universe in no time at all, give him 100-years of life and he’ll only destroy the earth—part by part, taking a few thousand years. Makes sense to me. Where did it come from? The worm that is, for the worm was now under the sun, one might even say, a victim of its own makings, and now it had victims, for it infected, gave out viruses. It was the curse of the Abyss—you know, now the curse of the earth. Maybe the curse of the two-hundred Angelic Renegades, God chosen, whom He gave to mankind as so to protect; some questions may never get answered in my lifetime, or in this world’s lifetime. This very well could be one of them. I may leave you with more questions than answers—but by and large, you will have discovered the worm’s intent for you.
But I must go on with this, for this is what I was hired for by you, my sweet young lady, and I put heart and soul into this task, this mystery, the finding of the facts for you about the Curse of the Viper’s. Now the tape is ending and I advise you to rest a bit before you go on to the next one, for it is a lot to absorb!


5


At the Garden of Eden, Snakes had Legs



I did mention before—in the first tape—snakes did have legs at onetime, did I not? And so what we see is when God gets mad, he gets real mad, and in one case, took His anger out on the snakes as well as women whom now have to endure childbirth where at one time, this was not so, before Eve ate the apple or pear, or cucumber, or whatever she ate—that is: thus, no one really knows, -- whatever it was, I think the child baring before the apple incident, was much like sleeping in the grass and, oh well, waking up the next day and a child was laying next to you, of which of course was not painful; yes, not painful until after the apple-eating event took place, and labor was thrust upon man: that is, man has to work for a living now—whereas, before this event, he was much like the animals on the Galapagos Islands: that being, free from all duress—and was for the most part lazy; man did nothing to deserve this of course, other than standby and let Eve do as she pleased, and to keep peace, well, ate a little of it. In a similar manner, it was like the two-hundred angelic beings wanting assurance that if they were to dominate the earth, it would be one for all and all for one, yet, it was not the unpardonable sin for Adam and Eve, as it was for the angelic beings; and Adam, he was simply naming the animals for the most part—at which time, everything was given to him—just walk the garden and pick the fruit. Well, what he learned that day was, ‘don’t mess with the Big Man.’
You see Anna: we no longer get the fruit free because of another person’s sin; a little like the curse on you. In light of these facts, we see the Crazy Worm, as I have explained to you—in words and depiction, infecting humankind, at will all most. As if it and Satan had a pack, an agreement of sorts. What would be the most benedictional thing I could do, or for that matter any man could do for mankind—I do believe is—is to find that damn worm, and quarantine him, or it? But that most likely will not happen. I had to say it, but if we can’t even find a few terrorist out there, how are we going to find a worm that has been marching around for a very long time; unless that is, Satan and his demons capture it, put it under a lid, and use it on humankind: in place of Ginny Pigs, which I would bet, if he didn’t do this already, he’s thinking of it at this moment. But it is long-lived, this worm of sorts, and for the most part is a virus in itself, and possibly can even infect demons, as well as Satan himself—who really knows [?] So that might not even be a good step, that is, to try and capture him, or possibly even a good scenario for one to deliberate on; yet even though it is an unmeant statement by me--: save for the fact, I have to conceptualize it, it should be brought to your attention so you can see the seriousness of this miniature crawling and living tiny crab like creature.
Again we come to the steps of the God Room, and ask:
“Why did God allow this to happen,” I sound now a little like Mark Twain, and Job who both questioned God as if they were smarter than He, trying to figure out why He [He being: God] does what he does. And of course, we are all ready to blame him for our own foolishness, our own scornful needs and deeds, as we do to Satan also. Grasshoppers, that is what we are—you know, just grasshoppers trying to make the Master Planner accountable to us, and Satan; of course Mark Twain tried to do that with Shakespeare as well, that is make him accountable to him as he wrote a book on him, and Methuselah also he wrote about, and I could go on, but he did write a few good books; one story about a frog that couldn’t jump, and about a boy named Finn and Sawyer, that painted a fence and helped a Blackman out somewhere along the line; I think he was feeling sorry for himself for possibly being a coward in the Civil War, who knows; you know trying to make up for running away from the conflict. And I do not want to plant seeds of distress in you as Bram Stoker would in reading his book called: Dracula, or even The Lady of the Shroud, but let’s let that lay where it falls, Job was not much better in the questioning area either, but was in the love area, for he did love God, and if Mark Twain did, it was a secret. And so maybe God left the worm wiggle his way out of the Abyss to cut our lives short; or possibly to see how we handle life per se with the worm, as he turns his back; or to see if we appreciated the gift of life he gave to us, save for the fact, we have to work for every damn thing. Whatever, it is not much better than asking eccentric questions about people who are eccentrics. To be quite honest with you, I could give a rats-ass, one way or another, He did, if He did, whatever He did, and I say go ahead do whatever He wants to do because he will anyhow; He has his reasons and He is God, now who can question Him, no one. Kind of reminiscent to the USA in a way, who at this point in time, for who can question her –again a rhetorical question, for the answer is NO ONE— similar to, to Roma at one time, who could have question Rome, no one, and that is good enough for me? In the vein of Satan, he has his reasons also, and although I can figure out possibly more on the level of why he wants revenge—, more so than why God does what he does: meaning, some things are a little plainer to see or figure out than others. And again I say, but pointing to a different figure, I could care less about Satan; but in this scenario, it is the worm I care about, and as I have related it, not sure why he was created in the first place. It is like trying to figure out why Karl Marx’s created Communism, breeding the thought to mankind that money was their down fall, and marched onto Paris to live the good life. Matter of fact, he was more of a capitalist than a capitalist; yes often times we say one thing and do another—depending on who is watching. But if I was to try and look underneath the surface of motives, it might be that it was simply something to keep him busy instead of being drunk all the time (I of course am talking about Marx), he did appreciate his drinking, like Mark Twain, and Earnest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, let’s include William Faulkner also (all drunks with the booze), you know the rest of the old cluster. But again I find myself criticizing for the sake of finding my way through this maze, and my heart is not into that—not really. So accept my apology if I have hurt your feelings on any one hero I might have mentioned, should any of those I’ve mentioned be your hero, for me I’d prefer O. Henry, he knew human nature, and now that I think of it, so does the ‘Worm’ for he had a long time to learn it.
I think Satan [also known as the Adversary, or Lucifer] likes people to write and talk about him, an ego thing, I think (even bad advertisement can be beneficial). The more they do the more his ego goes up. But I am involved with the Crazy Worm, am I not? But Satan, like God and the Worm, and the four families involved with this curse, and the flood, they all come under the heading of Anna Viper’s mystery—oh yes, oh yes they do. And of course you Anna Viper hired me to assist in this very project, to find out and possibly give you advise on how to escape this poisonous curse: or possibly turning this curse around, or even saving your life, should it come to that: as you well know, and will find out soon, in the letters and history I’m about to present—you may find some options to these questions, but first things first. Viruses come in different forms and that is where I am heading now to—be patient Anna, for this is quite involved. In this case that is what will follow, you will witness the cursed-virus come to surface. You may say: no such thing is possible, but don’t be too sure of yourself. You will end up believing— [pause in the tape] you really will.



6



The Worms Infections


Like a wound up centipede


I have come to the conclusion that the Abyss Worm with its virus, has infected many other things: things I have ‘not’ mentioned, or even know of—and, and I reiterate—and emphasize this: ‘not’ word: for from it, creeps out a virus as we know it to be, that can transcend into our thinking process. Oh sure: why not, we can go beyond this, —that is why I employ the name “Virus Curse’. It can be given in certain instances by way of a curse, depending on the circumstances, and power of the person; or it can be given through the eyes of the infected; or it can simply touch something and infect it for the rest of its life, such as plants: with its paralyzing acid, such as in that almond tree, or the black madness of henbane, and still the poison in hemlock; how about the lily of the valley used as poison and medicament, I do believe the Abyss Worm had something to do with all these plants—that is why I am mentioning them. I think what is also true, is that God, Himself has set out a dirty trick on mankind, that being: to kill him as he ventures throughout the world. And I’m on God’s side so I must point to God for not stopping the worm.

Now onto a little different area for a moment, the curse of the liar; again I must explain this to my understanding, and to yours: yes, I will try to explain and be specific if I can at the same time—for whom will carry your destiny but yourself; should you let someone else, it will most likely be for their benefit my fair lady Anna; now I must make clear, this curse is not a virus, but acts like one. Not like the worm virus in any case. But when given properly, I would expect the person receiving it, is open to it—if that makes sense. Kind of like watching a movie at night, and when you go to bed, you get a nightmare. Well, how did you get it? Believe it or not, the nightmare demon found an opening and plugged into it, call them triggers if you will—or call them whatever you please—but you got them, and you try to explain it any other way, I think you will come up short; or for that matter anything you wish you can contribute it to: but, nonetheless, we invite the invisible forth dimensional world, this chaotic world into our beings somehow; --to circle our souls (for we have two, yes two, one for reason and one for malice) and block out its light, to plant dark circles, dragging shadows, around our foreheads: -- the dark circles meaning we have lied to God, this is Gods curse. And now he may or may not leave you open for the devil’s merriment.

Now you see, Anna, the genetic properties of the Crazy Worm, can infect generation after generation once it inhabits [makes its home in] its victim; however, he receives his entrance: be it human, animal, plant or whatever—so be it with one application and the circumstances; -- again I say, providing the right state of affairs are set forth ((and that leads us into having a curse put upon a family or person )(it allows other elements to invade a person as well; such as, or likened to the worm)). But before I get into the third element of this hypothesis—which I do believe is more truth than fiction, we have two in the making—curses that is. The Liar Black Circle Curse [invoked evil], as I had mentioned previously and of course the Crazy Worm nuisance: --you possibly might be asking at this point: how is this all related to me? Hold on to that note, I mean: idea, I’ll explain it soon.
Now Anna, we are starting to get somewhere. The mind has to be open to things—as I have dreadfully tried to amplify to you: and the soul closed to things, if that makes sense. Like hypnotism, you can’t be forced to be hypnotized, so they say: you got to be open for it. This is what I’m trying to explain to you Anna. Even though you did not commit a sin, the sin in particular that led to the making of the curse (the one your family has handed down from generation to generation, and now to you), you as the offspring of one who had the curse, inherited a defection in your genetic makeup—sort of speaking; be it genetic or spirit-filled makeup, the form of the curse was there—is there, it only needed an opening, a trigger (which opens other possibilities); comparable to a horror movie that creates nightmares you might say.
It really sounds more incomplete, unfinished than what it is. As you will see as I unwind this mystery of sorts; Charlie’s letter will bring some light to the whole matter also, and let us add to this, the: “77-Day Cult’, whom will possibly open some doors to this air of mystery. But what the curse means to you should be, or put another way, for you not to be subject to this curse or its full dynamical makeup is to: don’t have children, and the curse will fade into nothingness, possible. Or second, have a first child, which will be demonic in form—and raise it without killing it; for in the past all have been killed by their mothers—and thus the curse will have gone forward ahead of you, missing you completely. But again should you take the second way out, and have the child, once this has happened, the door is open for the Abyss Worm [with its virus] to enter that person. Third, we bring to the surface now, now God’s curse, the liar if you so end up being one, with the inherited previous curse: a black circle will appear when the first lie is announced from the person’s lips, a black circle around the forehead, it will be seen when you look in the mirror. I know this is quite a vicious circle for one to outlive, unwind or even fathom. But nonetheless, these are some of the options I have come up with for you for the moment.

(Note to Anna, this is the end to the first part of the second tape; turn the tape around to side two, for I am recording this on both sides again. (Anna now is starting to fall to sleep, as she rubs her eyes, covers her legs with a warm blanket, takes in a deep breath, drinks some warm milk; it was hot but now it has cooled. She figures she’ll rest a moment then go on and listen to the other side of the tape.))



Part Two

The Diaries, Letters, Journals and Notes



7


[Dick Earnest—recording on the tape for Anna] By the united aid of these accounts I am about to read to you (letters, diaries, journals, notes and so on) it is made possible to say, optimistically say, the dates of there origins; however, I can only speak of them in a reporting narrative to you. Notwithstanding, the obscurity of the annals or collected data, I can no doubt also say: they have always existed as I have found them. Therefore Anna, I do—speak plainly; I do feel it is an absolute, pre-eminent necessity that you should look well at this data: the worm, and beyond it, as it is related to the overall picture of your situation: the curse. You may sense some remoteness to its clarity, and connections: that is, as it links back to you: yet all entwined it makes for a clearer understanding of the lost-past, --alas.



The Lime Family
And Martha


To whom it may Concern:

The following story, data-information has been taken from the diaries, journals, letters and notes of the people by the Christian Psychologist, known as Dick Earnest, national TV talk host, Radio Talk Show host, and National and International Lecturer; these documents are being read onto a recorder, and will be sent to Anna Viper for her evaluation.

(–Signed)
Martha




Diary Enter: Martha Lime
17 May 1865 [first entry]



As odd as it may sound thirty-five years from now, being only twelve-years old now, and this being my first entry in my first and only diary, I seem to have entered into a marriage that looks more like a death relationship somehow. Twice over that is. First of all, I work for a house of ill repute, or so they call it, a damn whorehouse here in Nashville. I work for Martha Reeder, on Front Street. Yew, oh yes, I’m a damn prostitute. Business has been slow here so I will be working for another such place in the near future I think. I need the money. I expect to leave this place in pretty good condition so Martha will speak well of me to my new boss. I don’t have much on top, my breasts that is, and they’ve been aching as one of my friends, older friends had told me they would ach as I developed more, and they are getting very hard, so very hard reminiscent of green apples, but the men like that. And I am tight between my legs and the older men like that also. I suppose that will not last long. I got a two-room ‘crib’ downtown a ways from my work place.
I am poor as poor can be, except I have a place to sleep, so I guess I’m not all that poor am I. I mean, a lot of people are sleeping under the bridges now-a-days; beggars seem to be all over; when the soldiers came back, and they still are coming back from the war, I make a lot of money, and hide the tips, so I am not as poor as they think I am.
Martha Reeder owns the entire city it seems, I’m kidding, she owns about 10-properties around the city, I bet she’s worth $10,000 or $15,000 dollars, at least. I got $126, and twenty-five hidden. I hope JJ doesn’t read this. JJ is my boyfriend he is an older person, I want to say man, older man, in any case, older than I, but he acts like a kid, he is all of 31-years old. I know that is kind of old for me. He comes from a haunting family background as well.
JJ’s mother’s [Elsie] is a seer of some-sort, reads the palms of people’s hands, –I guess she’s a 4th cousin to a person called Lady Belinda who lives someplace in England, who is quite rich, she’s a seer also. JJ says she’s almost 1000-years old, I think he’s full of you know what sh-t, I’ve seen her picture, she looks about thirty-five at best, no more, possibly younger, well kept, pretty and refined. I’m a Methodist, but JJ will not go to church with me—not sure what he believes in, I mean in the God area.
I am not married to JJ yet, but perhaps, possibly someday I will when I get a little older. Although with my bright blue eyes—pale now, or so they seem to me, which I’ve been told has a gaze to it, and my arched eyebrows, which I’ve fixed that way, I look sixteen or seventeen to most people, even the constable doesn’t know my real age.
JJ was on the USS Shamrock and his friends, Smith and Anderson got in trouble [Civil War ship] I guess they got caught (this was before I met him of course, when he was in the Navy) anyways as I was about to say, I guess they got caught having intercourse with one another. JJ was somehow implemented into the circle. I wonder when he first started liking that kind of stuff. You know, boys. I’m writing to myself, and I say ‘you know,’ funny. Anyhow, the two boys got in trouble, and were reported to higher ups, the review board did whatever they do to men that are fond of men. I like men, but I don’t like other women but not the way JJ likes boys. At least, I mean not the intercourse way. Maybe on ships that is what happens though. JJ always seems to get out of trouble somehow. He’s going to be my death I swear, mark my words; -- yes, he gets out of trouble, just by the skin of neck, I mean chin. But I trust he will always protect me. He should be coming soon; not sure if that is good or bad, I’m fond of him a lot, but he troubles me so.




May 25, 1865
Martha’s Diary


It is 7:30 p.m., I left work early, had thirty-soldiers today. I got a lot of money, $3.00 per soldier, one right after the other. They lined up outside my apartment door. They went from room to room, and most of them stopped at mine. But what really bothers me right now is even though I only get one-third of the money, JJ takes fifty percent of that, and that leaves me with fifty percent, no I mean, it leaves me with fifty of the thirty-three percent which averages out somehow to be fifteen percent, JJ takes the extra two percent says it’s better that way, instead of fighting over it. Most days I only make $10, and have to split that three ways. Another thing that bothers me is JJ himself. He has been bringing home, home-less people, mostly kids around my age, boys, and sleeping with them.
Last night after the stranger, or I should say, boy left, I called JJ a fagget —I think this got to him, but he is one. I think this is going to be a trend not sure why I am not good enough anymore: why he has to have both girls and boys. But then he does it to me also, fagget or not. I’ve only known him about six-months, and he is already doing this on a regular bases. I’m not too afraid of him finding this out, he can’t read worth a darn, not like me at least; I even know some big words, I practice reading at night and do spelling in the morning, by myself, I’ll need to know these things when I grow up. I should get better at numbers though.

He told me it was alright for him to have boy lovers that this poet guy called Walt Whitman did it to boys, ‘…so why can’t I?’ So he said. I didn’t say anything, he kind of got me there; I guess I got a lot of guy lovers. Matter of fact, he said he had seen Mr. Whitman once with a boy who worked for a blacksmith back in ’62, on Middaugh Street; I’ll write later, so bye for now, JJ should be coming home soon.




June 12, 1865
Martha’s Diary


I am pregnant—! I kind of knew I might be… kind of shit, shit, I knew, --now what? If JJ doesn’t marry me I’ll kill him. No I will not, it’s my fault also. I’ll name him JJ Jr. Noddoc. I hope it is a girl, I’ll name her Sally, and I like that name for some reason; I liked it for a long time. I think I have a cousin named Sally somewhere, maybe it is in St. Louis, I heard my mother mention her name a few times years back. Yaw, perhaps that is why I like the name; you remember such things you know. Things mom said stick in my head.




August 21, 1865
Martha’s Diary


Sally was born this morning; a midwife came over to our place. JJ got her. She is really small, but so very cute. I think JJ will leave me sooner or later. The damn boys, he likes messing around with them all the time, plus when I was showing, you know, the baby, he didn’t want to sleep with me. I had seen him play with his boy friends; he kisses their ear, and stomach, and gets them hard as a rock. I told him it was a sin in the Bible to do such things with your own sex that he’d end up in hell but he laughed at me. Well, maybe that’s good—good that he laughed it off otherwise he’d get mad at me and never see me again. Oh, I better put this down before I forget; I was thirteen years old last month, July 14 that is. JJ never even bought me a gift. It made me sad, but I guess that’s just the way boys are. At work they get their sex, and play with me like a dirty doll—afterwards, and when it’s all over you’d think they’d never even seen me, about nine minutes from start to end, that’s what it takes for them to get hot and get it out of them; then they squeeze my ass and tell me whatever is in their hearts, or is it their dicks. Bye for now, Martha

PS. It’s been six hours since my last entry, I just got a letter from one of those boys, JJ has left me, he is going to St. Paul, Minnesota, or Erie, Pennsylvania. He will not tell me which one, thinking I will follow him, but I will not, I’ve saved up $165 for such an occasion, you know, to pay the rent and so forth. It will not last long, but it will last a little while. I will write his mother for advice, she lives in Erie, and her name is Elsie.




Feb 25, 1866, Erie Pa
[Letter]


Dear Martha,

I am left all alone in this big house with only a maid—you are both, that is you and your child are both welcome to come live with me. But let me be quite frank young lady, should you decide to accept my offer of free rent and food, I request but a few services of helping me around my big house, from you—and should you decide—and leave, vacate my house that is, —I, I will keep my granddaughter, not let her go with you. I am sick and tired of people running off and never coming back, like my son; I am getting on with age, and have no intentions to put heart and soul into helping raise your child, only to be displeased with you running off to who knows where land. So if you plan to come, you must agree in writing to leave your daughter with me should you choose to go elsewhere? As you consider this, I will have that made into a legal document.

Sincerely,
Grandma Noddoc (-Signed)





May 25, --1866
My Journal—Martha, Erie Pa


We, Sally and I have been living at JJ’s mother’s house going on three months now. She fired the maid a month ago, and has me doing all the work in and around the house now. I have no money whatsoever; I sense she wants to keep me dependent on her so I won’t leave. JJ has not written her, not even once yet—she seems to get moody on that thought.

(Later on—I’m back now)

Sally is sleeping a lot, and Grandma seems to get upset over nothing all the time, but what can I do. She is, is, I think she’s sixty-nine years old now, I think she’s sixty-nine, take or give a year here or there; --I often hear Elsie talk about JJ (grandma that is). She says he is filled with a devils spirit— she also walks in her sleep, talking to her dead husband hysterically. Sometimes she lights candles in her room calling on the dead to talk to her, and I get a rotten odor coming from her room (demons I think), way out into the hallway, and it seeps right under my door; I simply open up my window and whatever it is—leaves as quickly as it came in, thank goodness.





July 2, 1866
Letter from JJ to Elsie


[Letter left on the dinning room table and read by Martha]


Dear Mother, the god Cherrobog [of darkness] has entered my life; I was looking at the lightening last night, a fresh force that puts day or night on fire, I love storms and lightening. I am now in a group that worships a “Black god,” a group of Baltic Slavs—a cult of sorts—in New Orleans; —a Belo-bog god of long ago. I have learned light and sky is in contrast with the god of darkness of his earth. Some people insist this is all fantasy—but I seem to gain power out of it. I want you to have Sally come here to visit me, you watch the child, okay?



September 9th, 1866
Letter from JJ to Elsie [his mother]


Dear Mother, Martha came down and she joined the group with me—I gave her to the group, for their sexual pleasures, somehow I felt compelled to; I didn’t believe it was proper, but I did it. I’ve never seen anything like this group; a few nights ago, a giant of a figure came out from behind some curtains, as Martha was told to take off her rope, she did, his eyes were closed and this thing had very thick eyebrows. He lay on Martha and almost, almost ended up killing her with his huge weight. Then like lightening his eyes become lit, he opened them. His ox-like eyes, the light pierced Martha, and she seemed to become infected with red dots all over her body; she died soon after, in any event, —now this evening he wants me, should he open his eyes and stare at me, I will surely be subject to his poison emission, heat—within his eyes I know I will die, I’m sure of it, and I have no way to escape (I am throwing this letter out the window hoping someone will pick it up and be kind enough to send it to you; also someone helped me write it but I can’t say who). I’m scared, real scared, if you get this letter, it may very well be my last. I should never have left home mom. Love J.J.


Notes: Tape Player in on, --by Dick Earnest [to my employer, Ann Viper]; I have read these few letters to bring you up to date on the matter at hand. To conclude, May I say—JJ was never heard of again? I will forward the documents to you after I have finished putting them on tape.



8

The Noddoc Family
New Orleans & Sally


New Orleans
October 21, 1866 (Letter)

From: The Master Leader of the “77-Days Cult [Sect]”


I write to you Ms Elsie Noddoc on behalf of Vii the Demon, whose fierce gaze burned both your son and his wife to death, although his gaze burned with the poisons of the Virus Worm, he at times can control it, his virus-stare, but sometimes it gets away from him and he can’t—the worm has some kind of emanating rays, unknown to mankind. His eyebrows are very heavy you see, and when he is active with people he tries to keep them over his eyes as much as he can, so as not to harm people (I hate to say, sometimes his third eye gets in the way, and opens up uncontrollably and discharges the deadly chemicals); and I add, if he does open his eyes too wide, and his eye-brows do not protect against his gaze somewhat, death is imminent: unfortunately, your two loved ones were victims, of this very tragedy, but not intentionally. But we also know of your rich history that leads to the legendary Avalon, etc.

Your son was buried with his wife, it was a nice funeral, and we paid all the expenses. Vii is 480 pounds, 13-feet tall. He is a very destructive demon of sorts; we call him ‘The Unmerciful Vii,’ because of his strength. His friend is called “The Woodbridge Demon.” Woodbridge will be visiting you now and then to see how Sally is coming along. Please be a good hoist. And for your efforts, enclosed is a check for $5000-dollars, which will help you with services needed for life’s short journey, for you are at the golden age of death you know, yes it will be just around the corner, we both know that, right?


Sincerely,
The Cult Master,
And the Woodbridge Demon [WBD/unsigned]





Memorandum left at the door of JJ’s mother’s house [Sally’s grandmother]

1 October 1867. Night—

From New Orleans,
By Vii and the Master Cult Leander/Priest of the “77-Day Sect” [otherwise known as the Executioner]:


I am writing this memo to let you know we are watching you and Sally—in particular, Sally, as she is growing and Vii has a personal interest in her. Please burn this memo after you read it, no sense in allowing others to see what we write; correct? Yes, oh yes, let’s keep this to ourselves. I see you are growing old and feeble, your legs are starting to acquire arthritis, and you walk quite slowly now. Gee, this is too bad; but then we all grow old do we not. I like writing letters at night, it is when I do my best work, that is why I am leaving this letter at your door steps now, it is four minutes past midnight. I have made a list I wish you to follow in teaching our child Sally, consider it the: ‘Ten Commandments,’ of Vii—



Vii the Demonic Being



1) God is unfair, we have laws that he violates, such as, he can kill, but we can’t; god is allowed to get mad, but we have to be ruled by control, this is really 1 & 2, put together I suppose, so let’s call it 1a and 1b for clarity sake.
2) God made you without your consent so he could have a kingdom, and enjoys watching you struggle trying to get to it.
3) Why is the bear and the lion and the deer and the rat allowed to be out of control, kill at will, but it is a sin for man?
4) Is man or woman responsible for adultery, how can you deaden an emotion—that seems natural, perhaps it is a test we can never pass? So Go stacks the cards before the game starts. And God himself gives that emotion to you. So we get lustful, even the priests and nuns get lustful; matter of fact, civilization was at first free to be lustful to populate the world with people, and then it became a sin. Brother and sister together, and relatives with relatives, why is it a sin today, but not yesterday. Do not look for the answer, just read this now and then to her, and tell it to her (this is her gospel, kind of).
5) Teach Sally, God is never punished, but punishes; thus, a dictator.
6) Teach her like the Muslims say: God hates a sinner, do not try to explain this, for we are all sinners are we not; but they the Muslims have a good concept—consequently they teach God is not a god of love, but of anger, this is exactly what I want (Vii says so); teach her to hate Muslims, because when they kill and die in the name of Allah, they think they go to God’s whorehouse, but let her knew this crap is true, and she will be one of the whores God may select for the Muslims to screw each night, for to them a female is no more than a dog, matter of fact, a dog is better off being a dog than a human female.
7) Teach her that any man in the world when he looks at the beauty of sex, and a woman, he will throw the bible in the trash can to have her, so her body has power, purpose. (Tell her it is okay for her to use her body to make ends, meet.)
8) The laws of God are not made for man to keep; they are too hard, only God can keep them, so why does he throw them at us? Tell her the answer is so that he can punish us, and watch us try effortlessly to gain his approval.
9) Teach her we are really part of the beast family, from the monkey, not from the Garden of Eden, that is just a fairytale. Evolution is the best way to pour salt on creation (and granny, don’t you forget that).
10) Teach her that her ancestry goes back to the Great Era of the Tiamat, the Mother of Demon, the first demonic beast that roamed the world, she should worship the demonic beasts of her past; and that going to church waste precious time when you can be making money, money and more money…


Best Regards, Vii and the Executioner (Signed)



Jan 1868--
From Vii and the Executioner (Master of the ’77-Day Cult)
Letter


To Grandma Noddoc:

This year’s lesson for Sally is straightforward—and incidentally, Woodbridge who hides in your pictures, lamps and peers through your windows at night, the demon with the long face, huge space-less eyes (I’m sending you a drawing of him), and large mouth, long skull and has a derby hat on, usually—that damn hat. He has informed us your coaching of Sally is going quite well, and so, for lesson #2. But first let me give you a little advice, or if not advice, let’s call it a prelude to her training, tell her: God is unfair (I know I keep harping on this, but it is true you know). And, and the group of the, 77-Day Cult, which happens to be paying you for her education, and food, etc, loves her, as so does the Tiamat, and Vii, and Woodbridge, and the Master Priest: --and so on. Now having said that, here are the new points—by the way, if the word ‘Cult,’ seems to bother her change it to ‘Sect’ or even ‘Secular Group’ it sounds less offensive for some odd reason; anyhow, teach her (here is the picture also of Woodbridge):


1) That Adam and Eve ate a pear, not an apple (people do tell lies you know, even in the modern bible), plus, why did God make man, the answer is: to suffer for one woman’s mistake? Make it a rhetorical question if you want; I do not what her to ponder on it. If you need to answer it, say: because He is a mad God.

2) Teach her that we demonic-gods are more loving than He is, and allow sexual freedom, drug usage to relax from long and stressful days, and that alcohol is really a product that even Noah used, not only for medical reasons but for party time; did not Jesus turn water into wine? Let her know this, maybe Jesus liked wine himself, who knows—maybe he got drunk a few times. Therefore teach her to drink to extremes at all occasions; why suffer tell her. If you don’t, Woodbridge will teach you what suffering is all about.

3) Plus add this: how can there be one God in three for the bible teaches that there is only one God. She will not figure this out, the Muslims have been trying for centuries, and even put it into the Qur’an; the trinity is too difficult for most people to accept. We do not want her running to the Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddha, or the Hindu’s for advice. Teach her Buddha was no more than a fat prophet, who was a Hindu, and Hindu teaches there are more gods than there are trees on earth. Confusion is the way to settle things, and when she gets lonely and hungry for spirituality, for each human is made with that need, you fill the black hole up with Vii and the Tiamat—and the devil himself, Lucifer.


4) Teach her God kills for every reason, and is unreasonable when he kills, but when we kill (the demons and mankind alike), it is a sin, we should put God in the courtroom, and if we did, would he be jailed, yes, yes, yes, for excessive abuse of power. That’s why he doesn’t show his face publicly.

5) Ask her: is God responsible for helping you Sally? When she says yes, say: but who is paying the bills, it is the ’77-Day Sect,’ and I, the great demonic Vii. Tell her I have sent you $5000 in the beginning of our relationship, and will continue to support her life style. Have her learn the arts and humanities with the money; have her listen to mystic and enchanting music; show her paintings that have red’s and orange colors in them, along with purple colors, the devil’s colors in essence; make it a sober, but gruesome art agenda for her future. Bring her to sorcerers and wizards; get her involved in Black Magic if you can.


6) And last, teach her that God saved Noah because people got smart to his abuse of judgment and power, and he wanted to have people, new people that is, that were dumber than before the flood, that didn’t know better, so he started all over bossing people around through Noah.



Best Regards,
Vii and the Executioner



9


Belinda of Summerset
And notes by Mr. Earnest


Notes [the tape is on]: Dear Anna Viper, this is Dick Earnest again, interrupting the tape to update you with some other facts before I go onto reading more of the memos, letters, and diaries. Elsie Noddoc had a relative, she called her, her ‘sister’ for some reason, her name is: ‘Lady Belinda of Summerset [England],’ and again, these are just notes I made for myself, and I’ll try to explain them to you, this may help put a few things together. As you may already be able to tell, she, Lady Belinda, has an English heritage that dates back to 1009 AD. Or so it seems: I say seems because for some odd reason all the dates reflects this. She is a beautiful woman in her early 30’s, or again, so she looks. And I know you are saying, “…He said, ’is’ when refereeing to Lady Belinda,” please be patient and I will explain all.
I sum up her manner thus, as beautiful as she is, she has an iron look tied onto her face most of the time, and, most people live in character—in that, they have a beginning, middle, and end—with Lady Belinda you could not say, likewise, you have to ask yourself, what kind of person is she, the only thing one can say, is, she was, no more, no less, whatever.


Notes—by Dick Earnest [on audio tape]: Ms Anna Viper, what I found out about Vii is that he was/is a demonic being of some sort, originally assigned to the Bohemians and Slovaks who found his way to New Orleans some 200-years ago. His ancient ancestors go back to the days of the Watchers, the Angelic Renegades of 13,500 BC. He is a direct descendent of the Tiamat, Mother of Demon, and her daughter Gwyllion, who ruled the kingdom of York in about 6500 BC. This information was taken from some tablets found in old Sumer, Tales of the Tiamat, by an archeologist, and writer I think with the initials and last name of… (Wiped out on the tape); this discovery and investigation led me back to St. Paul, Minnesota (also I had to go to New Orleans, and Nashville, and a few other places). I had talked to a woman from Peru, can’t remember her married name, besides she told me about her husband’s research on the Tiamat, and a man named Sinned (in which he wrote a few books concerning this demonic creature of sorts).

As I was about to say, Belinda seems to have been, or is of a higher class of society rather than lower class; being one of the elite of Summerset, England. She is a woman of wit and charm. She was well written into the aristocratic menu of eligible women to be married.
Lady Belinda—had a way of knowing a person’s choice of words; almost like having second sight, when matched with body language and tone of voice, before the person said a thing, she would normally know the question or answer ahead of time, alas, be careful should you ever meet her, or have to talk to/with her (she is a wizard of sorts).
The strangest of all things is that she is alive and well on earth, and presently in England. This may sound funny, but nonetheless, it seems to fit into my quadrangle of investigations. That is to say, after you have looked at all sides, everything, and only one thing is left and you keep coming back to it, you might just as well believe the unbelievable, and consider that the end product.
Lady Belinda has been considered one of the elite for advice also, kind of a seer you might say, a modern day seer that is, for the rich and famous humans and demonic figures alike, comparable to Nostradamus, a soothsayer with insight, and at times too much hindsight you might say, and she has been well paid for her services in the past. Legend says, or should I say, hearsay says: she was given 1000-years of life for the sale of her two-souls—the puerperal and the central—that, that happened at the age of 29-in the year of 1009 AD, and in the year to come of 2009, she will have lived her time. I found out, she used to live on the Tor in the Abbey of Avalon, the one in Glastonbury, England during those far-off years. But too many priests and tourists visit the site nowadays, and so she’s left. She had even met a woman called, “Angelina of Glastonbury,” who was to have married the Green Knight, a knight who rode with King Richard [The Lion Heart]; of course this is all recorded in a book by the same named author I mentioned before.
So again we see much history in this windy path to enlightenment, and to free you of your curse. But fear not, I am trying my best to untie everything. In any case, I plainly see, Lady Belinda knows the secret of the “77-Day Sect”, and the secret in the letter of ‘Charlie,’ from Arthur, not sure 100% what the secret may be, possible who the Executioner is. I will explain about Charlie to you soon, and what I know about the Executioner. But here is what I found out about Lady Belinda (I found a note that confirms this, I memorized it):

“The only way you will be released from your obligation is to hand over your soul [s], when the time comes or find someone to take your place. Exchanging souls is strictly by request and acceptance of the person whom you made the agreement with; thereupon you will be given back your normal life span.”


Lady Belinda is the Great, great, great, great granddaughter of the seer known as “The Sea Ocean,” which dates back to 6700 BC, when the Tiamat ruled the Mediterranean Area; she [the: She Ocean] also made a pack with the devil for an extended life period, of 500-years: --like Lady Belinda. Both of these women are related to Elsie, and Sally; --for you are the direct or indirect descendent of these people. But be not alarmed, I have much more information for you, and possible a way out, I hope.



And now a few notes on the Executioner. If you have not heard of him, then this is pure enriching data for you; and I guess I feel you may have heard of his name somewhere along the long line of your growing years as a Viper, since now you know he is the head of the Cult: the Master and Elite member of course. In any case, here is some background (and I can only give you non-specifics, since that is all I know, and a little conjuncture): the name originated from the cult practice or better put, religious endeavors of the Moche people of Northern Peru, whom were conquered by the Incas. I think the Moche people date back some 1700-years, and that area back about 4000-years for tribal existence. This area is where he was known as ‘The Executioner’: the temple sites of Chan Chan, a nine-temple complex. I myself have been there, and it is most interesting. There is what is known as the Temple of the Sun, and the Temple of the Moon, and the Rainbow Temple—which is in essence, the great snake temple, since it has a carving of a great snake on it. Well, to get down to business, this Executioner would cut the heads off of those whom were sacrificed for different reasons. You can see his mask of sorts, in a few locations of the Temple of the Moon, I will try to draw a picture of it and send it along with this tape. Anyhow, the Master Priest of the 77-Day Cult is the reincarnation of this person whom may be found in the Agapaec area of the temple at Chan Chan. The fresco, and paintings were done around 1400-AD I think, about 150-plus years before the Inca’s came to take over. For what it is worth, this is all I really know.


10


Thoughts of Dick Earnest


(Earnest is fatigued, as he stumbles trying to catch his breath, and turns off the tape player for a moment to think in his office. He laughs and takes a drink of whisky.)


[Earnest thinking out loud] …Hmm mm… Anna is older now… I sense Lady Belinda wants Anna’s soul, why not, it makes sense, and makes life quite interesting, and as interesting as it is, there has to be something to it. All these families involved for so many years, too many years—: the curse, the curse, and the ugly curse, the unwanted curse the curse that was never imagined to be. ……………………. Hm mmm …but it would not be to anyone’s benefit should she turn her soul over to Lady Belinda for that information, I must persuade her not to…
…Let’s see…so if Belinda gets her soul, her pure character, her eternal being, or, or gets her, her to agree to giving it, which might be a better gift than hers, Anna, oh little Anna, being born in 1981, cannot expect to live past 2101 AD, and so they end up with it, what a pity, what a crime, what a disappointment and Belinda has to get it by 2009 AD, something like that—the bitch. Belinda will give Anna secrets, secrets to the “77-Day Cult”; about whatever she wants to know… then the transfer of souls would take place
So many thoughts, Elsie Noddoc was born in 1796, and died in 1887, and Sally was born 1900 and died 1983; and Lady Belinda was born in AD 1009, to die in 2009 (should she not get a new soul to replace hers—by oath, or agreement—). Martha was born… [Pause—thinking] I think in 1853, and died 1866/87. Man O man, what a complex situation. I got to find a solution for her soul. Stop this Lady Belinda; Vii will never allow her to trade it, he couldn’t nor could the Cult and still expect to remain in good standing within it. Everyone fights everyone else in the dark world no one faithful to anyone.

11

The Viper Family
Sally Viper [Lime]


Notes by Dick Earnest [tape player is ‘recording’ now taking place]. I was just thinking Anna, what might be on the mind of Belinda… but I got thinking also of the information I acquired about Sally Viper [alias: Sally Lime]. This may surprise you, and so I will go slowly in amplification of my information, or findings.

Sally was your grandmother, and from my probing into her life, I have found out she had mystical elements about her, a powerful presence, not only rats and dogs stepped back when she walked the streets, or sidewalks they became paralyzed, weak; --snakes and crows were at her beck and call. There was always (folks say) a demon in her shadow, always following her around. (As I make these tapes these ongoing days, I will send them out to you Anna, and we will meet right after, right after the last tape is taped for you and you have listened to them, but I must make two copies, and I must isolate myself in my office to finish this so don’t be alarmed, no, oh no, do not be startled if I do not answer the door or phone for you, I have 1400-documents I am paging through, and not all of them are in English, some are scraps of paper, others as you know, are personal letters, and a few diaries, memos, etc. Some are in English, others are in French, some even in Greek, and still others in a kind of Sumerian dialect, --with dotes and dashes, and symbolism.
As I was saying Anna Viper, Sally caused quite a lot of stares to take place as she walked the streets: people would take a long look at her as she walked by them, wondering what kind of power she had, almost provoking her to demonstrate it, yet fearful they might be in the middle of something, or become bewitched, and so they would quickly put on a smile for her as she passed (often times stopping and watching her every movement, hoping to see some magical results, if any would develop, that is). She was quite the celebrity in that way. She was dressed modestly although, and was fine to place your eyes upon, big rounded eyes; her dress was of the style of the day, and showed her shape, so the, the notes say she had a great shape, nothing too attractive to cause overt attention but nice, so again I say she dressed modestly to fit the day, the mode of the era, and into society, which makes sense, why be a magnet.
I had noticed in one of her pictures, of which I have a few dozen of, -- (that is, a few dozen pictures of the many members of the four families), she in particular, liked thin cloths, soft cotton, white blouses that clung to the body, ----clinging to the curves of her body that is, at times showing her upper body figure upon her movements. She was not tall or short it seemed, I gather about 5’4”, and slim. Her eyes, and I know, I keep coming back to those eyes, were expressively deep in the pictures, they almost put me into a trance simply looking at them. She didn’t wear spectacles, or glasses. Somehow it seems she may have needed them, not that she was cross-eyed, or had a lazy eye, but something funny about the way her eyes were, as if one could see to the right, as the other looked straight ahead; puzzling at best—and at worse. She had quite the puerperal vision while having forward vision as well.
She gave birth to a son; I could see a weakness in her countenance as she held her child in one of her pictures, comparing the before and after images of her that is. By such pictures, one can see many things that words will not or better put, cannot, describe. Her long thin white neck seemed too thin to hold her large head up for long periods of time, very sweet looking though, similar to milk-cream—but pale and weakening.
I read some articles about her in the library, that I took with me home, which I have here right now, and it says: her voice was distinguished in that it was endearing, low and she talked very slow with many pauses—as she was known to give some very good lectures at women’s events throughout the city, and she could be quite the humorist if she wanted to get her point across—perhaps charisma, or charismatic is the word I’m looking for; a female Mark Twain one might say. And many of her lectures were on the qualities and values of evolution. She also took a fancy on talking about demonic beings that once ruled the earth, and on women’s rights. She was not for capitol punishment per se, yet felt if murder was the crime—and it was done to a woman by a man, it was a simple matter of ‘an eye for an eye,’ therefore: kill the ‘bastard’, if that is what you wanted to do, and I quote her. The paper clippings I read concerning her also said she edited each word she spoke, or wrote; again one might say, similar to Mark Twain. Her dialogues were very precise and specific—with little explaining: also with calmness very few people have, if not at peace with one’s self, or possessed, a poet’s prize.
She seemed removed, a remnant somewhat of or from the human race—plainly speaking, she strikes me as a person not knowing whom to trust, and not knowing human nature; that was her downfall I expect, and yet she was quite involved with people. A happy sort of person, in a sad sort of way, if that makes any sense [a smile appears on Dick’s face] sometimes we put on a show, for whatever reasons, and when the lights are off, that is when we sort things out. The paper also said: “She possesses a rage unequaled to the fine women of this decade…” …whatever that means.


Sally once wrote a poem let me repeat it on this tape:


Sally’s Grief
[A Dead World’s Chant]

The dead world seems to be
Awaken for me, wherever I go—
With all its demons and imps
Walking the streets, as if—
I didn’t know…

And none of them, none I say
None, really, really knowing me—
Yet—they seem to act
As if they do; as if they peeked
Through some peephole
Long ago…

It’s the living they envy I sense
The living—I say, the living!
Oh yes, yes; alas! The living;
So…Hooray for the dead…
With my pity I give.

If—only I had wings—they, oh
They would never find me….


# 451 (2003)



Another note left by Sally (Sally was doing some deep thinking along her road of life. It was her soul she was after, and her soul that she lost, or so it would seem):

“Most people are made up of actions and reactions, or so I have noticed, and come to believe: very few have used the character of the soul, the very thing that distinguishes them from their name, to a real person. As life goes by, I will not remember people’s names, only their character, for that is who they were: who they are to me. You see, there are really too many Sally’s out there, but only one me, but you got to check out the character of my soul to be able to separate.”

Sally



[Anna, NOW LISTEN CLOSELY]

Prior to her rape [her: being Sally], she had no suspicion in her life at all, now she seemed naturally on guard (I will get to that later). On guard I say again, regretfully. She, at that point had repugnance toward mankind in general; and was very much at one time, a natural, lively, blue-eyed, milky cream skinned girl with lips as rosy as a sunset—long golden hair, funny how we change.



12


[Notes: tape still running, as Dick Earnest, the Christian Psychologist, presents his investigation as a monologue to Anna Viper]


I should take a break somewhere along the line here, I’ve been talking for hours, and the tapes are adding up. I put two tapes in the mail today, and one yesterday. I expect to put them all together in a week I hope, or thereabouts.
Thomas Viper, as he is or was known, was born 1878 and died in 1931. Another mystery might be resolved here, and at the same time I might possible be able to show you a motive somewhere along the long line of mounting lies, and deception all these families cultivated; but Anna, first things first.
After the rape (again, I must tell you to wait on this matter of the rape, until I can put these notes together for you, they are quite alarming on one hand, and the more I search and research, quite disarming on the other—in that, they have a charm to them) his manner of dress became quite grotesque, a mixture of drab and pale colors—for the most part; rather unlike him, as if he was cracking up, during this period of time. In some of Sally’s notes and journalizing, she says—: wait a minute and I will quote them:
Well, in the midst of all this here is what I found:


“Thomas is walking in circles daily, talking to himself, saying ‘I will never be the man I was…’ and ‘you must dominate life…’ and he continued on and on this way. He scares me so. He said just today: ‘My body has cracked,’ now what is ‘cracked, mean?’ You crack a glass or some kind of object, not a person, anyhow, the meaning I’d guess is that his mind no longer can support his body; no reality to look at anymore. He has been drinking a lot also. Drinking, drinking, drinking as if he never drank before, drinking—more than a lot, now that I think of it; I mean really drinking as if he wanted to drink himself to death, to never wake up, up to be a pickled human drunk… He talks about the loving faces he sees on the porches around the city as he walks to and from places. The faces he encounters in alleys, backyards, are ones he makes up out of his head and then tells me about; he is not, my dear journal, my loving journal—part of the ocean of people, he is not part of anything, anymore, but he is part of the other society, but he gives me no definition of it, ugly as it maybe, it is his elite status; he once walked with his shoulders back, his head was, was held like a prince, as if what was in it was priceless, but not now, now it is as if it rotted away. Which he is doing daily, rotting away, but I am not used to it—not yet anyhow!”




Again Anna, he was well known in the community, and had many connections, with a horrific deadly desire to control. But let me go on with his odd form of dress. His ties never matched his clothing it seemed, compared to the pictures and newspapers I’ve examined; he was quite uniform in dress prior to his crack-up, or being ‘cracked’. His shoes were scuffed, unlike the earlier pictures I’ve noticed of him, but I think again it was after the rape these things took place for he was not known for such a vagabond look, tramp look, prior to this—not at all.


The Crackup of Thomas



During the evenings Thomas wore ill cut shirts, with cuffs rippled with dirt, and his collar was always dirty it seemed, as if he was trying to wipe his sins clean by punishing himself [another smile emerges on Dicks face]. It would seem he felt some kind of devotion for her—yet not enough, not sufficient, oh no, not adequate, for suicide prevailed. His pride was no longer heightened by his lovely cousin’s presence after the rape—his composure became hideously ugly. Would not—could not, show anything but discontent for his cousin’s condition, the very, very one he created, twisted, formed. Yes, yes, this man was cleaver he was something else. They had both come to the point I believe, when looking or talking or eating with each other [Thomas and Sally] at the hotel where they lived together, they acted less than human with each other. As I was about to say, they came to the point of containment between each other for a long time, out of respect for each other, especially him for her, but this too was lost. He described himself in a memo as:


[Memo] “I am the mongoose (the one that eats the snakes), Sally is the King Cobra, I dare say, ‘how so?’ you say, and I mumble I have given her a child to whom the ancient ‘Abyss Worm,’ and Vii… wish to utilize for some reason, in consequence, I have infected another generation. Beware of the Master of the Cult; he has a double edge sword” Thomas



13


The Father


[Dick Earnest’s concluding thoughts as he calls Anna Viper up on the phone to simply go through them].


[The phone rings] “Anna speaking… [Pause]…hello?”

“Anna, this is Dick Earnest, and I’ve been putting together another tape for you, I’ll send it off tomorrow, but I wanted to just talk a bit, and possibly get together with you so I can give you an overview in person of all this information, and likely some options concerning the: “Abyss Virus Worm,” as it is known. Matter-of-fact you and I, along with a few others, are the only ones on this planet earth that know this secret; or so I think, about the Worm that is, the secret of the worm, the Abyss Virus Worm. Oh yes, we are unique now Anna, we both know so much, many secrets you might say, of the essence of the worm and the cult that follows it.


Anna [curiously]. “I’ve been hoping to actually talk to you instead of all this back and forth tape stuff. And yes, the information you have found out is somewhat interesting, and it sounds like you’ve got a lot more?”

[Dick with a deep sigh—thinking, ‘what does: somewhat, mean?’].

Dick: “Yes, my long drudgery into this mysterious and unseen world is unwinding for you, which I understand you come from, your ancestors come from, and is bringing forth many ancient conclusions, and many questions to my mind, as I am sure it has for you: my soul being stirred and tired at the same time. But all-in-all, it has been more than interesting for me—.”

Says Anna [with anxiousness]: “And so Mr. Earnest, what is it you want to bring to my attention at this moment?”

Earnest [carefully]: “Just kind of an overview for you, to see if I can [or we can] put some of the parts of this puzzle together—for you, and give you a few my unbiased opinion [s] or better yet, personal thoughts mixed with experience. I’m not at this point sure on how to cure you if that, in truth, is what really needs to be done in addition getting rid of the curse somehow (by magic or by deed or prayer); but I will try and find out how, I will find out somehow, someway.

(Anna is silent; taking in all the information about everything Earnest has been giving. Thinking: what might be the best medicine to kill the curse, --yes, to kill it, like you would a virus?)

This room of mine is starting to drive me crazy Anna, I’ve been in it steadily for over a week now, and in two of my rooms I have paper all over the place, stacks here and there, everywhere, as high as me, that is when I’m sitting down (a little laugh comes over the phone from Anna, Dick wanted to be humorous for some reason). I have pictures taped onto the walls, and maps showing the locations of the families, where they lived, worked, died; such as Erie, Pennsylvania; St. Paul, Minnesota, New Orleans, Nashville, and the English countryside (in England). But let me just give you a briefing so I can go back to work, and yes, oh yes, let’s get together with some coffee and go through the rest of the information I have gathered, in sequence, to see if I missed something; but not for another several days please. What I want to bring to your attention at this time is:
Thomas Viper –was unmoved, I mean really unyielding in admitting he was the father of the child; the rapist of Sally, that is. Sally’s interest in Thomas was electric for a very long time, as came about her simple recognition and obedience to him, then followed the rape, not knowing for sure who the rapist was I imagine, yet always having that awful thought of being betrayed by the one person she so truly trusted. But electric I think, when I say that I mean, possibly too fond of him at times, and blind to his intentions. Yet she grew on him also, that is where the ‘crack up’ came from I suppose (a weakness he did not expect from himself). You can only hide from reality for a while you know: you can paint over it, make a worm look like a bird, yet it is still a worm; you can write all you want about ideas, and cover-up the thinking process, but again, repeating yourself in circles will not get your mind to avoid what it is trying to avoid forever, it will emerge—the dread will emerge, if we remain human. People avoid talking about death as if it will go away, like hell, but it doesn’t
She allowed Thomas to take charge of her life for the most part, and that is exactly what he did; and of course, the priority in this relationship was Thomas looking after Thomas, as Thomas was always for Thomas; but in his own way he loved her I suppose, as I have tried to explain, in his sick, under par way, as unkindly as he turned out to be, he prized her. But isn’t that the way so much of life is, the unknown; what is behind the mind of that other person that is the unidentified; so often we think we know? Is it not healthier to trust, so the counselor would say? And when we do, it backfires on us—often, too often. And if we live a life being on guard, is it not insanity? A rhetorical question, but food for thought, my dear Anna but I add this to my ongoing thoughts only because I want to understand the mind of the culprit. When you know his mind you can deal with his soul better. I do hope you agree with this.
As you almost certainly heard, and now know better, these tapes and my research draw a better picture on how Sally was raised by Elsie for years, ---for myself, as a ‘helper in the psychological’ sphere, I was fascinated by a few missing facts, or as of today, missing facts they are not, not anymore. One being, ‘…how did she get the virus?’ my conclusion to this is an over implication at best, but let me try, nonetheless: I do believe she was being weaned by a formula given to her during her suckling-stage as an infant and thereafter; the compounds [or make-up] being of leftover particles of blood taken from Vii—who was infected by the Abyss Worm, one might say kind of a homegrown infection because it was deadly in the first place, and, and wanted more power, more deadly, more toxic power of which was given to it through the, the poisonous biochemical structure of the worm that infected his body, and for him, it came out through his eyes, not an iota—but much more, plus not one person knew, I mean really knew why it came out that way, it just did, —yes bodies react differently to chemicals, it came out in the look—the forced stress of his eyes, therefore if he wanted a death, a monster’s kill, he had it right in his eyes; not like the worm who kills its victims slowly and has to implant itself within them or become vulnerable by showing itself; thus, kill or imprison itself for safety, or be killed, if you can kill it. As unappetizing as it sounds, I cannot come up with anything better.

Now on another note, although this is just an opinion and in searching this case out, it is hard not to have them, I find it a little baffling again, Sally that is, didn’t put two and two, together, meaning: why did she not ask God, why he was punishing her? You know what I mean, was He punishing her for the kicks of it? She never wrote about that. I’ll never understand this…And, and, why didn’t she look closer, as the years went by at ridding herself of this curse, like you, why did she not come to seek out help? As you have, again, I’ll never know. But, and this is a big but…but would it not stand to reason if, if you or I were Sally, we’d ask the question: ‘…why in the first place does God even put up with me, and the people that gave me this curse?’ In a like manner, why would God give free will for malice, to Vii and his group, and to the Trials? Many questions came to my mind as I searched this mystery, and continue to search, of the Virus Worm, and your curse: many, many, many questions came to mind, and still are coming up. And as a Christian Psychologist, I need to know God as He is, not as people would like him to be, even I sound hard on Him at times, but in looking at hard facts, we got to have good reasoning, and in making decisions, I have to see who will get hurt, for it is my duty to insure I do the best for my client. Even search God’s motives out if need be.
Why go through all the trouble, and watch your child suffer; that is, by allowing it to be a deformed creature, and have to live with it or be cursed, does that show love? If I were Sally, I think I’d be angry with Him [Him being: God], but I didn’t find this in all the papers I’ve searched. I mean, He is in all respects a person—God that is—who, who can have peace or war at the click of a finger; He can win the war, no contest. It looks to me as if she was more brained washed psychologically by all involved, even God Almighty, than genetically, and if predisposed to this curse, and the blood, then this may have triggered an invitation for the Abyss Worm to enter her and give her its virus, which seems to have captured her mind, and used her body as a incubator for breeding—regrettably; and blocked her soul, its light, and possibly oxidize her will. I know I fascinate you with all this knowledge, but I am a genius of sorts, oh yes, it is hard for me to do laborious jobs when my mind is clicking, clicking away…but you are getting the benefit of it, of my mind that is.
And so in her case I am sure of the DNA structure of her past was set in motion for the day it was to be triggered. The curse you have Anna, --Anna Viper, the one you want to get away from, is what she could not get away from. And she was blind in how to reverse it, and as we have seen with my data, did little seeking for assistance like you. Now before you ask how do we do this, previous to it being too late for you, let me simply go on with my research, and we shall talk later, okay?”


Anna [clingingly]. “Mr. Earnest, what can I say, I have to let you go if you say so, but I do hope I do not have to pay you anymore money for the following work you are doing, I’m next to broke. I know the research has taken over a year, and now these documents and so forth, but my $25,000-inheratance is all but gone, I have $800 left (as she is expressing and explaining her case, she is also wondering why he knows so much, seemingly it sounds like conjecture, but he sounds so darn right and knowledgeable, possibly too familiar with this case, but she does not let on to this. Thus, the distortion she feels she has found out is kept secret thinking there must be some kind of explanation that will come out somewhere along the time line here).”
“My dear child (says Earnest, with a slight indifference to his tone of voice, different than before), it has been a long, long year, and just the knowing of this case has gotten to me; yes, it has worn me out like a race horse after the Kentucky Derby has been run, and no, no, you will not be charged from here on; I am your fish, you caught me, and I like being caught, that is to say, I need to put closure to this case, with or without funds, and I do understand you are in need of your funds, I could never knowingly take your last dollar.”



Part Three

Their Stories
The Unendurable Sin and Curse of the Viper’s


14



[Eyes of the Soul]

“The eyes of the soul must look into
The heart of the man before he is
Washed clean as linen”

Arthur Trials



The One Eyed Viper of, ‘Pigs Eye’



“I’ve asked nothing from anybody—I mean, nobody, that’s how it was; I work hard, paid my taxes—I was worth my salt.”
1880, Arthur Trials



The Trials Family


With Mr. Thomas Viper’s arrival back at the St. Paul Hotel ((his second home, and business location)(in the year being 1932)) he found waiting for him a note typed concerning his cousin Sally Noddoc—which he knew quite well from the letters they had been writing back and forth for some time now. Actually, they had been writing for some two years. She had been writing him from Erie, Pennsylvania. In his writings, he explained to her, he was sorry that he was unable to communicate with her sooner than two years ago, yet the reason being [he explained] he never knew she had existed up to two years ago (or so he told her); whereupon, a ‘Last Will’ was read in which she was given property on Dayton Street, in St. Paul, Minnesota, a nine-plex by her Great Uncle, Dennis Trials. Consequently, he was claiming kinship with her and volunteered to run the building in her absence, and until she could arrive and take responsibility of the land-lordship.
The last letters he received from her was a month old, which indicated Sally, would arrive in the city on Friday it was now Wednesday. He had written her saying:
“I hope you will choose to remain and live in St. Paul, it is a beautiful and conservative city—as well as a cultural one, with all the amenities of a larger city, yet remaining is its country style mannerisms.
He explained to her the city used to be called—back about one-hundred years ago, ‘Pigs Eye’, because of a one eyed-bartender and owner of a bar who did a lot of trading with the soldiers at Fort Snelling—fur trading for the most part: up the Mississippi a-ways, a few miles from St. Paul (on a hill over looking the city). Daily you’d see boats leaving the banks and piers of the city heading down to St. Louis and New Orleans; it was a generous and wonderful city, with its ideal Mississippi location, in review, Thomas was quite proud of his city.
He also explained he was aging, and he had just had his 70th birthday: she was but twenty-nine years of age. But he assured her, his family stock lived well into their 90’s, and so he might have another twenty-years left, yet again, his health was not the best—contradictory it may have sounded, but she thought nothing of it. Thus, he was prepared to assist her in all manners should she decide to come this year to St. Paul.

“For God only knows,” he wrote her,” how long I will last”. (Again a distortion she overlooked.)

Thomas lived on Albemarle Street and was heavily invested in properties throughout the city; some money invested in hotels and some in bulk gold and other metals. For the most part, his money was spread out in several directions.
The note he picked up at the hotel was from Sally—for convenience he kept an office, which was connected to a two bedroom living quarters, at the main hotel in the center of the city. He was on the 7th floor. The note explained that he should meet her at the train station at 4th and Jackson streets; and that, should they miss each other she’d meet him in the lobby at the hotel. Thomas had sent her $600 for expenses; to help her make her way, her trip easier one might say. And so Sally Noddoc was on her way.




15


The Arrival of Sally


The following Friday, Sally arrived as expected, by way of the train—it would seem that they both had done quite a good job in coordinating their meeting at the train station, for no sooner had Thomas arrived at the station the train was pulling in. As he rushed into and through the towering building with its grand pillars meeting him as he walked up the stairs, sliding on the marble floor in the center of the station a bit, trying to hurry and hoping, he’d not fail to notice Sally upon her arrival, and on to and out to the pier area, he stopped in front of pier #4, expecting her to appear, and she did just like that.
As she stepped down the few stairs from the train to the platform, Thomas was there with his hands wide open, greeting her, as if to give her a bear hug, but instead simply ending up hugging and kissing her as if she was the elegant Queen of England. She smiled and was taken back a bit, but enjoyed the scene, and the moment, with its warm sensations.
“Oh Sally, I’ve anticipated your arrival…just right, I have a taxi waiting for us, and a hotel room for you at the best hotel in the city. And later on I can introduce you to young men if you so wish.”
Sally was smiling from ear to ear, saying with a sigh of relief, the trip was over, she made it to St. Paul, Minnesota; “I finally get to meet you cousin Thomas,” she commented, then adding, “I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m sure you have, or it sounds like you have, everything taken care of, so I’ll follow you, if that pleases you…”
Said Thomas, with a grin, and ardent posture, “I was rehearsing what I’d say when I met you, but it looks like we both do not need to edit ourselves, it is coming out as natural as if we were old friends from the Civil War.”
Having said that, he grabbed her hand and whizzed her away through the grand lobby of the train station, and its shinning floors.
“You are quite young, and a very healthy looking woman, very beautiful,” commented Thomas, during their walk.
Self-doubting, as she was, Sally said: “Healthy, not sure what that means, but I eat well.”
Thomas looked at her, looking directly at and around her shape, eyeing her shape, her curves, which seemed to be most pleasing to him—as they got into the taxi, he noticed they were full, her breasts, and hips were full, and she had a nice shape to her pear-like bottom. “Hm…mm” he said, as she slyly looked from the corner of her eyes trying to figure out what the “Hm…mm” was for.
There was coolness in the June air, briskness to the sunny early afternoon as they made their way to the hotel.


It was not long after that first meeting when both Mr. Thomas and Sally ended up living in the two bedroom hotel apartment together; but most confidently, and upon shared agreement with both; in addition, they formed a joint venture, in their own way, --her with the nine-plex building she inherited, and Thomas with his currently several duplex’s he owned throughout the city, both consolidating them into a partnership. The duel-ownership was called, “The Sally-Viper Inc”; and so the relationship showed the makings for a rich, and trustful beginning, with overwhelming respect. But all good things do not always last: least we believe the unbelievable (for it would seem in Thomas’ world, even if he wanted to be a friend, it was most trying, and hard for him to be one).
Sally lived in the bedroom across from Thomas’, each having their own bathrooms; they shared the living room and kitchen together. One month on, Sally’s new life in the city of St. Paul transparent, she was adapting quite well to the upper middle class status, which Thomas introduced her to and she liked it: furthermore, Thomas signed his will over to her, giving her all his properties should he die. Sally seemingly, quite impressed with such a move, became emphatically more trusting of him (which was exactly what he wanted).
During their first long hot summer (July and August of that first year), Thomas admitted to Sally, tenderly, she reminded him of his daughter, that is, the one he never had (he lied).
“If I was to die today,” he told Sally looking emotionally to the floor, cigar in hand, making smoking circles circulate around his sofa-chair toward his feet, as he sat in the living-room, feeling as if he was a prized bull … Sally going over some numbers, the window open, a black-tarnished small fan on, “I can (he went on to say to Sally) rest in peace knowing you and only you will be well kept, and have a great enterprise to finance your future.”
Sally (being proudly honest) “Indeed, Cousin Thomas, I really enjoy the respectability my new life has brought to me, and the new found power and influence in the community it emits.” (For the most part Sally was not shy about her blessings.)
“Thank you Sally for your kind remarks,” the old man said with the hoarse voice, talking and trying at the same time to push out smoke from his stomach, that he accidentally swallowed…his eyes and lips trembling. Then added, “I am glad you are my cousin. A common trait in us, I see, is business, and your good looks, for you are quite smart and sharp, now what else might we find as time goes on, as far as parallel traits, or virtues?” (He had a cunning smile on his face, but Sally paid little attention, her mind was on numbers, plus she felt him harmless if not playful.)



16


The Predatory Kind
The Trials Family




[Dick Earnest]: a note by Dennis Trials:


“You cannot measure his vileness [Arthur Trials], his wickedness by today’s standards; —the reason being, he belongs to an ancient and more simple time, one of barbarism—when deeds of crudity were not punishable by death, but received praise; --nor would one be held accountable for the punishers death; he was born to destroy, some people are you know—born to kill, to hurt, to punish— likened to an executioner.”


Dennis Trials, 1867
[2nd son to Arthur Trials]





The Soup Bowl


It was the 13th week of Sally’s stay in St. Paul, when Sally sat down for dinner with Thomas, the maid had fixed some soup for both of them, and Thomas brought it out for Sally on a silver tray, putting it in front of her in the dinning-room, on a long mahogany wooden table. Thomas took a smart walk around the house, simply feeling uncomfortable for some unknown reason—almost a sense of urgency, as if something was about to happen. They had both checked out their tenants and properties this day, to insure their employees were performing preventive maintenance; all was well. So Thomas was not sure why he felt, the way he felt—he just did, such was his resolved in his thinking.

For the most part, they, the tenants looked loathsome to Thomas today after he walked though the halls of one of his buildings, a glance here and there at the tenants: not quite knowing why they looked so repugnant to him, he thought to leave well enough alone though, yet remained somewhat in a contemplation state; then went back home to the hotel, where Sally was having a bowl of soup, sitting in the dinning-room; yet continuing to feel that same way. And I add again: Thomas not knowing why he felt the way he felt.

As Sally started to cough, it turned into a sharp and unpleasant matter —choking and coughing as if she had lost control of her body functions; Thomas after realizing it was becoming a state of emergency, ran over to her and as he was about to assist in trying to take out whatever was lodged in her throat, she vomited right into her soup, out came a multi-legged creature with eyes, colorful, and horrid looking (the Abyss Worm); Sally frozen with shock and straight-eyed freight, looking at the creature now floating in her soup pushed back her chair, eyes as wide as the headlights of a car:
“What in God’s name is it…!” she screeched out as high as to break the crystal glass.
Before Sally could say another word Thomas grabbed the bowl of soup, bringing it into the kitchen, leaving Sally to herself for a moment, sitting it down on the counter, he then paused, took in a deep breath, put his hands firmly on the counter, another deep breath, then let the air out slowly, ‘…now what,’ he whispered to himself [?] Then he walked over to the door, which lead into the dinning room, looked at Sally…

[Disdainful] Sally lost her coolness and hauteur,
Saying,
“What on god’s earth was that…?” (Her head shaking mortified.)

Very slowly her body became red hot, blood boiling. Her face contorted, “An animal, a large insect of some kind!” she sighed; “A rotten intestinal creature…” her appearance was being transformed into ugliness, wrinkles around wrinkles all over her face, almost resembling the round Abyss Worm itself: it looked as if it was coiled, stuck in a curled form, as if someone had taken a straight worm, and wound it in a circle, with little antenna legs.
Thomas not quite knowing what to say, now standing by her side as she sat in the dinning-room chair simply, apologized for her agony, but she thanked him for his hast, --yet, knowingly, Thomas wondered what the creature had done to her insides, her body insides, her living organisms inside her body; --for the worm had saber teeth, little worm type saber teeth—but nonetheless deadly little teeth. It had surely infected her whole body he thought. He was hoping if the Abyss Worm had children, they would be safe within her now.

Thomas backed into the kitchen, took a spoon and churned it through the bowl of soup; as a result, three rounded worms surfaced, about the size of dimes, or about one third the size of a quarter; --he took a sigh of relief, and mumbled, ‘…they have survived…the children of the Abyss Worm, they have survived, thank goodness!’
Said Sally as she entered the kitchen—was about to look into the soup bowl for the worm but hesitated as Thomas distracted her (at the same time Thomas swallowed the small baby worms quickly—to safeguard them).
“Where is that, that ugly looking creature I vomited up?” she asked (they were all gone).
“I flushed them down the drain,” commented Thomas, when in actuality he didn’t see where the big worm went.
“This is very serious, I have not had time to evaluate this yet,” she responded with a disappointed look.
[Thomas acting annoyed somewhat] “Why Sally,” said Thomas, “why is flushing them down the kitchen sink drain so unsettling? I was simply trying to protect you! They most likely were destroyed in the process.”
“I suppose so…” she spoke with a sullen voice— still shook up.
But Thomas knew very well with all his years of old wisdom backing him up, silence did not mean all was well that looked well, matter of fact, to the contrary, silence often meant the opposite, something was being left out, not said, unexposed, possibly a plan. Often times the thinking waves going through such silence can be mischief stored-up for someone, ill-will. But then Thomas was often paranoid, and she knew that as well, as was a trait of Sally’s also. In any case, he believed at this point, he needed to escalate his plan of desolation…

[Now in the living room] Thomas pulled out a cigar, drew a long draw from it, let the smoke out easily and sat back into a soft sofa chair, as the smoke circled the room quietly, as if it was a haze falling and covering up a holy shrine, covering up the anxiety that had filled the house a moment before
Thomas knew the Abyss Worm, did not, in particularly attack or submerge itself into strangers; first it was not a wise thing to do, with all the variables one would have to look at, with its potential dangers; especially for breeding. Second, the body the worm was in could not reject it: that is, if the worm wanted a home to live in, but rather had to build immunity to its powerful virus up for the incubator body it chose. Sally was the perfect incubator, for she was even weaned on its infectious liquids from Vii. He concluded, the worm was at a weak point, when her body rejected the worm, or possibly, the four-worms combined was too powerful for her body at the moment to endure, that is, the new children of the worm had produced (an endurable state, and broke up the inertia, and as a result, the body to protect itself, vomited)—thus the worm was dual-sexed, in this sense, not needing a mate; that is to say, it could self-produce its offspring.
Now Thomas had three-siblings that belonged to the host worm in his system. He told himself he did what he did to protect the livelihood of the offspring (hastily—yes), but he knew he did it too fast, yet he convinced himself he had to swallow the children of the hoist worm in fear Sally would see them—without thinking of the consequences, and out of emotions; —for as he thought about his deed, he also thought about how he could survive the contagious creatures virus with his body poisoned now. The worms deadly environment was now venomous to his insides, he unintelligible chattered adding, with worms that know nothing, and cared less about his life, this was now the new thought developing in his mind, life and death: he had questions upon questions, and no answers, and no one to go to, to get answers—matter of fact, there was no answers to be gotten, only, preparation for a slow death, although he was of old age already, this would limit his life even more so on earth: he thought he was ready, yet he wasn’t, or so he told himself, not ready to die, not really die, maybe talk about it, but that is not like really dying; something he protested, yet something he had no control over, not now: ‘…damn,’ the word seeped out and around the corner of his mouth.

(Thomas going over his thoughts again) Death was not something he was quite ready for; oh yes, something he mentioned to Sally, but he had a reason for doing it; a motive if you will; yes indeed, indeed, an ulterior motive. Although death was in front of his words it was never rationalized, not firmly, not deeply in his mind. Alas, it was now. It would have been vomited up just nonetheless, he told himself. But to realize death’s hand in front of you, inevitable, within its reach of him now—around the corner to speak of, that he could taste it, almost feel it, now he could feel it for real, but not then, not before, it was just a word; his system knew for a fact in some moment in the near future—time would end, halt, the unknown would become known; it was now, a matter of fact, that his body was going through, producing some unbearable anguish; the near future—had become predictable. Some pain to endure before death was to creep into his body completely; it would not be a quiet and graceful death, not at all.
Hitherto, he did what his father wanted him to do, Arthur Trials, but now he was questioning his automatic responses. It is one thing to hate and get revenge, and another to die for it, or die by an ancient worm for it, that handed out a deadly virus: god forbid we die for a demon, and then go to hell for him to, only to be punished on earth and in hell; he mocked himself, he mocked the Worm, his ancestors, all whom shaped his life, he mocked them all, all of them, everyone, one by one (he was angry and sad at the same time). ‘What more can a man give…’ he asked himself [?] But the matter was settled, closed for discussion, he had already done the deed, the creatures were inside of him, should they survive, they would deaden his system intentionally or unintentionally, make it putrid— analogous to a dead corpse, and he’d die an agonizing death, no questions asked—that’s how it was, is, would be; he had no immune system to fight such deadly poisonous creatures. No one did but the Viper family.
Be it negligence, laxity, or whatever, he now was daydreaming, visualizing his coffin, whispering to himself: ‘blood does not circulate into dead tissue…a slow unbearable death awaits me…’ a tear came from his eye as he thought on the matter some more, on the death theme, and whom would come for him, knock at his dark-door. He seemed to be numb, paralyzed for the moment, while he thought about his arranged death.

‘The worm must have not been securely holding onto the roots of her insides,’ Thomas concluded in his daydreaming mode [his mind], as a dying man does before he lets go of his anger just prior to his death, like when the breath of, the last breath of a person stops, --like a, a clock stops ticking, then silence in the body transcends the room it fills, a cold silence (he continues to mumble to himself).’ Then thinks more on the matter at hand: ‘…when she coughed it up,’ thought Thomas. He added, ‘it recognized her, I am sure of that, but not necessarily me.’ In all thoughts and logic, danger signs appeared in his brain. To save the breeding, to save the breeding, to save, to save, breeding, the breeding, I must save the breeding—but what now would be his reward, death, death, and death? And so he left the logic for the logical, and went to bed, whipping the tears from his eyes.



17


J.J. Hill
And the Cradle that Rocks


“I can’t imagine, just think of owning half of St. Paul, like that rich train industrialist, that lives on Summit Street, JJ Hill, by the Cathedral,” said Thomas, one evening in September, as the St. Paul, Minnesota State Fair was about to take place.

“Whenever you decide Sally, we can buy a few more properties?”
“You are so confident and gracious,” she remarked, “…but I was actually thinking about the State Fair?”
“It is not often one finds a long lost cousin; and also, Sally, yes we had better get some sleep, tomorrow we look for properties, tomorrow will be a busy day; and that State Fair issue, it sounds like fun, it has been long, I mean, a very long time since I’ve been to one: did you know we have the second largest one in the United States right here in our own backyards? Matter of fact, I was just a kid the last time I went. Oh I remember jumping over the fence in back of the fair grounds, big old horses were there from the University Hospital, part of the fair grounds I think, there I’d grab a rope, put it around the horses head, and go for a ride with my friends. And the Merry-Go-Round, boy it was fun. And the games, and foot long hot dogs, and…gee, you made me think of so much fun; simple things, that is 90% of a persons life you know, simple things that is, the rest, well, the rest happens in-between all them simple things, and we keep waiting for them, the big ones and miss the 90% of the little ones, in the process, what a squander.” (Looking a bit cheerless and not talking anymore, he smiled at Sally, and then they both went into their bedrooms.)


Day of the State Fair


Sally had always been a late riser, and late going to bed, but she woke up early this particular morning, the morning the State Fair started. Although they had both done business together, they had not bought any new properties together; it was exciting and adventurous to think this might happen, thought Sally. And so at 5:00 AM she was sitting down at the long dinning-room table drinking coffee, she was sipping it, nursing it slowly, mouth to air, mouth to air, then she’d put it down, lift it up, and go again. It was as nerve-racking as Thomas’ smoking his tedious and irritating cigars. She loved the table with its thick wooden under structure, and glowing-glass coating of wood on its surface. The window was slightly opened, and a tepid breeze from the morning crept in just enough to fill her lungs up with fresh vital air, in consequence, letting the stale air sneak out.
Besides a daily vicious schedule most of his life—with a high vitality for life and work itself, old man Thomas seemed a bit tired this morning as he dragged himself slowly out of his room towards the dinning room. His biological and neurological systems seemed to be shutting down, not because of old age per se, he guessed at that right away, for it was sudden—not progressive, thus those damn Virus Worms, he told himself. He had slept twelve-hours, where six or seven was normal for him. (Yes, he convinced himself, regeneration for the worms was draining him, he was their battery, and so he told himself.) As he sat at the table getting acclimated to the morning traditions, he gave Sally a big hug, and smile. He knew something she didn’t know, something most people didn’t know; something, just a big something and one could see it hidden if he looked hard enough inside those deep fissures on his forehead.
After the light breakfast, and brushing of the teeth, and the normal morning things a person does, they were both ready to go on with the property search.
“Tell me Thomas—we could become over thin with not keeping enough money to run all these places [a pause] if we buy now, although I want to buy one or two pieces of real-estate: --It seems to me we may not have enough money to do so; —is this a rational possibility?”
The old man spoke with a cross-examined voice, for much was on his mind: at this juncture of his life, he knew he was a powerless sorceress, mirrored by fear and nightmares of dying, grotesque images about him, demon plowing tunnels to his basement from down the block, coming to get him (what was true and what was false, his mind never knew for certain).
Said Thomas: “There are lots of Indian bluffs around here, and lots of properties nearby them, it is 1929, times are not so good, money is scarce, they will take little, or next to nothing to eat for their properties; sellers—people that is, this is the time to buy. Our sister city Minneapolis has more beggars than us, more missions to feed people; everyone is in need of money. These people do not want to end up with them. ”
Convinced, she accepted his reasoning at face value; he said little more on the subject thereafter, his mind was drifting in and out like a fog fading inside a crystal
he added, “We shall take all our cash, buy as much property as we can, re-finance it at its real value, in which we will be able to get 85% of its value, and we are buying it at 30% its value at present; thus, we can make between 30% and 85%, or =55%. Take this money and put it back into the bank and we got our trouble-shooting money back. Plus, we got more renters that will pay for the mortgage [s], and we will get a cash flow with that 15% remaining, of the 85%, something like that. Does that make sense? (Sally simply nodded her head as if to say ‘I guess so’.)
“Incidentally (Thomas added), some properties on the levee [along the bank of the river] will go even cheaper; this time is really what one calls in economics, a great gap, a once in a life time, buy and sell; in five years the houses will double in value. And what we buy for $1400 today will be $14,000 soon and turn into $40,000 to $80,000 before we die (yet he knew when he said that two things: one he’d be dead and two: she’d wish she was)
“That is why I admire you cousin, you teach me so much, matter of fact, too much too soon sometimes,” said Sally so proudly.

[Thomas with a bit of arrogance; a drained and pale looking visage—pale eyes] “My company, now half yours, has been administrated well by Charlie Adams. He takes care of the renting of the units as you already know, and keeps the places up, as you also know; plus grass cutting in the summer, etc. He shovels the snow, and fixes the electric problems. He does the evictions, and all that crap. I know I have mentioned him to you so many times, and you have seen him giving orders to the other workers, that we employ, but you need to get to know him on personal bases. I want you to meet him; he is an Indian, fifty-five years old; a Chippewa, and a hard worker.”



And so Sally met Charlie Adams [property manager]: --a tall, dark red-skinned flimsy looking Indian, from Blue Earth Reservation. And learned all she could of the business from his angle; they became fond of one another quickly: or so it appeared. And now the Sally-Thomas Viper, Inc. signs were up on all properties, making them more appealing to the bystanders, and to those looking to rent, or buy.


18

Genealogy

[Dick Earnest is now sitting in his office going through the genealogy of the families involved with Anna Viper and recording it for Anna.]


”Dear Anna, on this 18th tape I am writing you, that is I mean, telling you, for I have already read and written what I need to for this report, I have put together a sort of genealogy for you, it may or may not leave open questions, but it also my answer, or close some old questions for you. Having said that let me explain:

There was a deep feud [quarrel] between the Trials Family, and the Viper Family, I have found out. This goes back quite a ways. Sally really being a Viper was, as we now know, adapted. And Thomas, now listen closely Anna, this is new information—Thomas was born a Trials (Anna listening to the tape is in disbelief, re-winding it to play back, to replay it over again), but changed his name to Viper at his uncle’s request, which was within his ‘Last Will’. For doing this he received $600,000. ‘Why, you may be asking?’ Yes, I know, you, you are asking this question for sure, I will let you know later. Anyhow, her father, Tyrone Viper, killed the brother of Dennis Trials in 1911 [Azaz]; during a gang fight between the Irish [the Trials] and the Polish [the Viper’s] feud and Dennis swore he’d get to all his family one way or another. But Dennis’ father was really more the troublemaker, so it turned out to be. He was the uncle that paid the $600,000 to Thomas to change his name so he could get revenge after Arthur himself died. (Anna now shaking her head listening to this tape, totally frustrated, yet coming to a more settled belief; she now finds a chair to sit down and listens, instead of pacing the floor.) Which was to infect the Viper family in the future, one being Sally, and you, Anna, to follow in such footsteps; --much too much information to digest, but nonetheless, I must shake out the blanket for you, these are old, very old scares. But trust me, I will provide you with all I know, I will be upfront, so you, and you alone can deal with your future.
Now, having said all that let me add, the… [a pause] I can’t think, I was about to say, the Trials family members were a cold bunch: selfish, reckless, cleaver, and without conscious, and very, very revengeful; --and so now Thomas Viper (whom really is a –Trials)—was looking for what he got paid for, to implement revenge, and Sally was the next in line for it. He knew many of Sally’s moves because of a cult member called the Unbegotten [or Ghost]—it, I say, it was not by chance, or hand picking at random, it was all premeditated; and quite cleverly implemented if you ask me. Nothing was taken for granted, or given to chance—the Unbegotten had a powerful crystal and could see most every move she made, and could hear her at times planning her day, and would transmit this back to Thomas, via the Master of the Cult, or Vii. It was all planned out, step-by-step, or so I believe; one may call it, if you will, simply a stepping-stone to the next victim. And down the line it would be you I expect, they predicted—you. Everything seemed to be planned out long before Sally was born, or you were born, or others in the Viper family were born. And all of you were an incubator for the Virus Worm or to be until the end of days.
Let me now take you Anna to another level of this diabolic scheme by the Trials Family. You see Thomas gave to Sally, what would inspire her to come to Minnesota, a building. And of course, being a cousin makes it all family. Now they were living together, yet, she did not know he was a revengeful Trials family member, or if she was infected to the point of being immune to the germ of the worm, but was a carrier of the curse—the curse of course being equal to the disease of the virus worm inside her. I do hope this has become clearer for you Anna. I am leaving out some things for your benefit, and will explain them in the near future, should there be need for them.



Mr. Earnest has explained some information about the so-called Ghost, of the 77-Day Cult, yet leaves out specific things. As he told her, he’d talk more on The Unbegotten (the Ghost) of the Cult, if need be, at a later date. Yet the specific information left out was: the Executioner, whose job was to watch Sally, in particular, and to have reported on her dependency to the cult (in years past), and to watch Thomas, and report when his uselessness was declared, and finalized; and to let him die; and for Anna (for he: the Ghost is to insure that the cult is updated on such things as: when she is in need of feeling safe, and in need of trust…)



The Killing Level
[The black circle]



(Mr. Earnest, now all rested up after taking a long nap, goes back into his study room, sits on the floor, looking at his papers, makes a phone call to New Orleans, saying: “Everything is going well, I got all the documents on the floor, and I rather find this all, if not amusing and interesting, quite profound, I didn’t expect to have to put so much time and effort into this project, but for the sake of science I shall,” with a quiet laughter, he moves his eyebrows up and down a bit, clears his throat, then turns on the tape to record more data, and information for Anna.)


Dear Anna, here we go with another tape:

“Just called New Orleans, family and friends to let them know I’m still on this project, they are wondering why it is taking so long, I think they want me for some other developments; at any rate. No! We are not over with this yet, I mean with Sally or Thomas. In essence, Sally was born of Viper blood, and should have to tolerate the burden of it. It is the dimensional law of the curse.
No one ever knew what was in the back of the Trials’ minds (any of them)—and most folks never would, to include me; but what I did find out was mysterious enough as it was—that is, his rise and his father’s rise to unprecedented wealth. Not even hard times bothered the Trials, for the most part. But one hard fact was this: no Trials ever looked in the mirror when someone else was around. There of course was a reason for this. A black ring around their forehead would show up. Yes, it would appear as a ring that circled the forehead about one to one and a half inches wide; it was of a mysterious quality to say the least, a powerful impregnate-charcoal deep color, almost hypnotic if you stared at it long enough, or too long. The Trials had this curse, and now it went to the Viper’s, as well as the Trials; --let me add to this, once the eyes of a person with this spell, or curse, once it gripped yours there was little flexibility left in the other person, that is will or effort, would not break the hypnotic-magnetic type trance it could put you into, --marking a moment of danger to anyone who was conscious to it.
His father (Dennis Trials) had it, as well as his father’s-father (Arthur Trials). But the curse was now on the Viper family for many generations to follow, and for Sally, and consequently, they would give the true cynical curse to all. It happened to be the “77-Day Cult,” was not involved with this black magic curse, as some have thought, that was given at the time to the Viper family, but was well aware of Arthur Trials and his deeds and revengeful-ideas, and they had even taught him some black magic, but the Trials were intrinsically empowered with some demonic forces long before they knew the group, for the group never had such binding powers within themselves—though I’m sure they wished they would have. If anything, the group helped him use, abuse, and monitor his powers, along with reaping his powers to a more fulfillment status; I know this for a fact.
And so in one respect, there seemed to be a connecting—if not inextricable relationship with the four families, and the cult from New Orleans— all links if I may say, that spread from England, to Erie, to Nashville, to New Orleans, and up to Minnesota. And from my understanding (continued Mr. Dick Earnest on the tape with a bothersome tone of voice at this juncture), the Viper’s and the Trial’s curse can end, but only with the end of the original bloodline; the other option I was looking at is an infusion, if not transfusion of blood.


The Corpse–Eaters

The Corpse



[Dick explains about the initiation into the Cult]

To eat the remains of their victims, this is what they did Anna. I hate to tell you, but it is all part of the cult’s initiation. Yes, you are left with others in the basement of the mansion, and not given food for 77-days, and you are given corpses to eat; if you can make it out after 77-days, it is considered a deliverance, and they leave your arms and skulls, and feet to eat, and one another if need be, that is, if one finds out your heart is in the wrong place. Let me explain:

This is not the normal world [in the cult], and one should not expect things to happen as one thinks or feels it should, while visiting this world, as expected in their—un-bizarre world. I have studied this Cult even before you hired me Anna. In any case, let me go on.
In this world, their world, it may start out familiar, but one will discover soon after, it is quite different. In their world, in its deep, deep chambers in the basement are bells ringing, colors of orange, purples and reds, pianos playing by themselves; black magic being reviewed. Everything marches slower in this basement of chambers, of this mansion, somehow time is lost. This is where the Corpse-eaters exist, and hunger and allegiance is measured by eating the corpses (Arthur was one of these corpses, as was many other members when they get old and die).
Sometimes the living are put there, when they are too weak to fight, thus, here they wait to die, and the others are waiting for the warm bodies to turn cold; death and the dying. This is not an old dilemma for mankind, it has been practiced in Russia not so long ago, let’s say, how about 1922; and even thereafter. So the group alone did not formulate it, only borrowed.
In this world, like it or not, everyone secretly suspects each other of being (within their heart) a member of the upper real world, the common folk, which is of course forbidden. This is why they are in the tunnels of this great basement. And so locked up, down in this cool uncanny environment; each new member must prove to the elite members their loyalty to the group, thus becoming a citizen of this/his order, embodied in this league of elite beings, otherwise known as the “77-Day Cult.”

The cult was formed in the 18th Century, and the mansion was built by a man, a man of mystery I am told, from Minnesota in the 19th Century, it could even be a Trials, or even a Viper, I’d give a $1000-dollars to find out so I could tell you. Anyhow, the order was less prominent prior to the building of the mansion they now live in, in New Orleans. Matter of fact, it was built in 1877, in 77-days. This is where the number seven comes in I think. Plus, the number for the group was selected because of other reasons, one being, God made the earth in 6-days, and rested on the 7th and so if it is good enough for Him, it is good enough for them—so I am told. Plus, in the Bible, in Mt. 7:7, it says: “Ask and you shall receive.” Likewise in the Cult, they liked that verse so much they adapted it to their cannon, --hence, once you are a member, all you need to do is, “Ask and you shall receive.” And so Anna, I thought this little history would be of interest to you.





[He now turned off the tape: ‘Should I have told her so much?’ Mr. Earnest now questions himself? –Then turns the tape back on.]


The Cult Master


I had to cough, so I turned off the tape, Anna, but let’s go on with it. As I was about to say, and I am getting ahead of myself, yes, yes, leaping ahead I guess I am, let me back track a bit. The curse was handed down through the Trials family or the ability to give it, from his father Dennis, and from Dennis’ father Arthur. It all dates back to what was called the “The Great Lie.” One that was a promise to God, and not kept: —the lie left the liar with a black circle around its owners forehead (in the form of a curse), when looking in a mirror the owner of the lie would see this; meaning, which you already know, is the stamp of disapproval. And so Dennis Trials, resembling his father, and Thomas both kept the Great Lie unresolved, alive, and lost the grace of God’s security along the way, or long ago, however you want to put it, and through the boy’s death (the brother’s death that is), transferred it to the Viper’s, yet, the Trials never lost it, that is, they never got rid of it, it only somewhat migrated, that is a portion of the ‘liars’ curse and the new curse to the Viper family: these black circles did not appear on the Viper’s women right away, but as time went on and only after the first lie; thereafter, by way of committing the deadly sin, of killing the first born, came the second curse, one might say, their curse, as it was transformed within the bodies of the Viper’s, through killing the first born son of the Trials years ago. And so the test for the Viper’s was handed out, to kill the first born of their sons as to keep the curse alive, or both curses alive one might add, in which, if reversed, meaning, if they would not kill their first born (this qualifying as a good deed), this would bring back their sanctification, not only by God to God, —but it would worsen the curse back onto the Trials—which would possibly rid the Viper family of the curse forever, but remember again, the first born was always as ugly as a rat, if not demonic in nature itself, and even possibly infected by the Worm. Until then, they, and I mean by saying ‘they,’ up to this point anyway, the Viper’s remained held by the curse, and sometimes, Viper adolescents, acquired the dark band around the forehead, again, upon their first lie, appearing in the mirror…as I expect yours might have started, or possibly you have not told a lie, and I know for a fact you have not conceived a child yet--; depending on these facts Anna, I hate to say, your sinful past, or infected past—or un-sinful past, be that as it may, all determines your outcome, or can; that is to say, your future looks back at your past; and if the Virus Worm is living in you now, it to will determine to a certain degree your outcome; another variable to add to all this data.
In addition to all this, holding the oncoming demons of this world at bay, such as Vii, who took over the ’77-Day Cult’, and his friend the Tiamat, and Lady Belinda, and the Executioner (or otherwise known as the Cult Master), all a race unto themselves, is or would be very difficult to a Viper should s/he try; and one must remember, I mean you Anna, these people I talk about would surely gain from your [Anna’s] historical past. In a like manner, curses like the one you are exposed to, can have power, control, even influence over a person’s death; some people like having this power.
The Viper family is not only open to the Trials, but to the new Viper’s who now inherit the curse. But when the last Trials died, so did their curse for the Trials, as will be for the Viper’s I expect, which is you Anna, unless you have a child, but if you do not have a child, and you do not have the black ring, you will be haunted and hunted for the rest of your life—for the label of the curse in essence is that you are one of the chosen from “The Eldritch Tombs,” the dark tombs and vaults of hell, where the henchman Agaliarept lives, and where the demons make account to (Lucifer’s dungeons if you will). The child might be the key, and also your death, and …oh well many other things. And so again, they (the Viper family) were at the mercy of the demons: the Trials, the Cult and in the future, possibly the Viper’s after the Viper’s.

I will send along a drawing of him I found in all this paperwork, of Agaliarept that is, if you wish to do some research on him, go ahead, help yourself:

Arthur was given gifts of money from the demonic forces to keep him in the committed realm of the Cult. That is why he never was at a loss for money; he sold his soul, as did Belinda for long life and beauty, a thousand years of long life, and the Trials such as Arthur for ongoing support. Plus, he liked being revengeful, as we all know by now.”






19


Family Tree
Arthur Trials


[Narrator]
Again, Dick Earnest found himself sorting out papers as he had been doing for two weeks, trying to put together the family tree, to explain it to Anna Viper, and find a way to explain to her a way on how to get rid of the curse yet he reluctantly did not want to go that far, or too far, winning her trust was capital for him; he felt it safer just to give her enough information, yet not too much.







Tape number #19


This morning Anna, I was looking into your Great Grand Father’s background, which involved Arthur Trials. He was a bold figure—to say the least, his eyes were big; hair was the color of a devilish blackness, thin in spots his hair was, and had an extended back to his head, almost excitingly demonic. In his older age he seemed to have been in great shape, not slightly hunchbacked like Thomas during his last days on earth. He did have massive shoulders up to his later years, and untypical strength, that of three men. I sense he had demonic blood in him. He actually looked quite youthful for an old man. Again the back of his skull was extended upwards, as if it was of an ancient source, I did match it up to a skull in England’s ancient Homo sapiens specimens, possible dating back to 132,000 to 160,000 BC. You just do not find skulls like that anymore. The skull actually—the one I looked at—came from Ethiopia (the back being narrow and long, it would seem his neck would have quite the job holding it up, seemingly unendurable).
In any event, this man willingly allowed his wife to have sexual relations with a demon called Woodbridge, a ‘Peeping Tom’ of sorts. Woodbridge paid a price of $400,000 for the event, and had arranged it through the “77-Day Cult,” in New Orleans, where Arthur often went saying he had clients and services to attend to there; and where he got his enrichments was of course there, and where he gave 10% of his earnings per month was there, to them cultic figures; where he not only dabbled in homosexual behavior, but every kind of orgy/debauchery he could think of, he was even said to have taken young boys right out of their mother’s arms, paying them whatever seemed reasonable at the time, and that was the gift he brought to the cult. Reminiscent of the old Mafia, the Cult took care of the killings or whatever needed to be done for him creating his empire of real estate, which was one thing, and fearful friends and family another. We all have a price don’t we [?]…His death was horrendous, horrifying, yet he allowed it to be done the way the Abyss Worm wanted (translated by Vii and the Tiamat to Mr. A. Trials at the time); he had it done to others during his power years in the Midwest, and now himself: here is a drawing (I’ll send it to you), drawn during his dying moments:

What I call the second unendurable sin was when they had a demonic predisposed child, Arian. Only the most horrific imagination could describe it, but I had a picture of him, when it got developed, the developer must have thought it was Halloween. Arthur Trials killed the demonic-child, but then his wife had a second child, a girl, at which point Arthur was 60-years old. When the child was nine-years old, she, Arthur’s wife cut her husband’s throat which angered the demons for they had used Arthur, and was a source usable to them in times of need (yet by spells, orbs, crystals) and black magic, he was saved, but only for a short time—for he was very weak, and dying: now intended he was to be used for sacrifice, since he was likened to die anyhow, but not until after making a deal with Thomas. At this time there was a curse placed by the demons on the Trials family’s future generations because of her deadly deed, in addition to the one placed on by God; --which was eventually transmitted to the Viper’s also, through Sally. And so with the demons, and God Himself, the curse of the black ring was upon the Trials as was the curse of the demons on Arthur’s family ((empowered somewhat by Satan himself, whom of course has rulership over demons, when and if he wishes to claim it)(the black circle from the great lie, and the un-sanctification of the demons by the killing of one of their prophets, Arthur Trials—or weakening him to the point of eventual death, for the spells and the magic could not keep him alive: yet at one time the demons loved Arthur—although they still did business with the Trials, they would never lift the second curse, and out of revenge it was transmitted to the Viper’s)).



It should be easy now Anna to see the transferred curses in perspective, even though it lays dormant in you, it is part of you Anna. Now let me take this one more step, and I’m sure I’m repeating myself, but you need to understand, you see, for then comes along the Abyss Worm, which the 77-Day Cult used to control and infect whom they pleased—and was their prize you might say. And Sally turned out to be the carrier. So we got three things working here.
And so the genetic tree of the Trials started way back when, and ended up with God’s anger, the Demonic transgression, and the transmitting of everything to another family—, and then the mixture of all that with the Virus Worm, --it is funny, we open ourselves up for such sins, and create more along the highway of life; with all of this given to the Viper’s, because of a fight long ago: Vii the Demon in New Orleans was involved indirectly at first, and more so as time went on, and it would seem throughout the situation at present.
But awkwardly, Lady Belinda is now getting involved; I’m sure she would like to tell you the secret of the curse Anna, if she really knows, to rid yourself of it, or pretend she really knows which I do not think she knows; --should you provide her with your soul she would make something up, feeling she can offer you peace while alive here on earth, again in return for eternal domination. Is it not funny, how the dead world hates the living world, but envies it to the point that they want to live in it again.
She feels, or knows you are burdened with nightmares, and pains unexplainable; also, unendurable haunting of the draw of the curse. It is almost as if your body has the same powers or abilities she has to instantly spot a weakness of another, this kind of access normally belongs to demons, or dictators of the world, who were, or are possessed, consequently, this could be a side effect of the curse on your part should you have this power: and I sense you do or should have. Do not trust in it, it could also give you faulty information on others, since it is new. Remember, Lady Belinda is no friend to anyone, I assure you of that. She will most likely pledge, you would live 120-years should you sell your soul to her so she can sell it for longer life, she has very little time left you know to live; it would at least allow her another 120-years of life, and the demonic world would be willing to give her up for you I’m sure; they like you, as they did Sally. You’re, for some reason, a celebrity in the demonic circles of the 77-Day Cult, also they have spent a lifetime watching you, your lifetime that is.



20

Dennis Trials
[1858-1927]




[Mr. Earnest specks to Anna on tape #20. As she is pacing her apartment—the tape is running, her head hurting and her lungs trying to get air into them, as she pushes the air down to her stomach—masking the anxiety, she looks out her window, the sun is out, the weather is warm now, and she feels Earnest is trying to find the remedy through all this mess, or at least she feels he is, —so she tells herself—and she is much more aware of her family history now. She thinks, on an emotional level, Mr. Earnest cares but does he care enough to carry this project beyond these tapes if need be? ‘A possible meeting will help,’ she comments out loud to herself. He would most likely say goodbye after the meeting, she convinces herself; with intuitive reservations.]





Tape #20

“Dennis Trials’ father was Arthur Trials, my dear Anna, he died at the age of 91 years old in 1927. He had even more compelling powers than his father, and his sister, but he tasted the unendurable sin, the black mark around his forehead (as did his father) and the haunting and taunting visits of the demon, such as Vii, and Woodbridge, and I should include what is known as the Lotus Demon of Mercury, they are known to inhabit a number of planets so I am told (I will show you a picture of them, they also venture to and from the Cult’s premises in New Orleans) allowed him little time for rest, that is, during his life time, they were not as kind to him as they were to his father. At times he got spinal cord problems and other weaknesses unknown to man (possible trying to adjust to the ‘Abyss Virus Worm’s’ poisonous system, which the Cult group allowed to happen), and was well for months on end, as much as he was sick towards the later part of his life. The demons played with him like a yo-yo—yet, his father had doubled his investments in his property though; furthermore, I should point out, his father made two-million bucks; from $750,000; the Cult and its demon, allowed this, helped him along. The 1920s on one hand was very kind to him, as you can see.”



Side two of tape #20


Thomas Trials
[Alias: Viper/1878 to 1929]



[Earnest now turns to Mr. Thomas Trials again, via. Monologue on tape.]


Broadly speaking, I’ve been upset by the account of this area in various ways, that is to say, I’ve even lost sleep over it, but let me explain as artfully as I can: for many years strange demonic particles remained in the Trials blood pool, if not biologically, then psychologically, as well as the visitations of the demonic world to his home, and the Trials visits to New Orleans. He was kept under the spell of this demonic curse of the devil (as was Sally and the chain of Viper’s in-between), the mark of the lie ‘to God’ the dark mark, circle that went around their forehead. And now, coupled with the Abyss Worm’s infections—: both, compatriots it would seem; but as he had promised his father’s-father, he would transfer his seed to the Viper family, someway, somehow, ‘twas his ambition to keep his word. His father fell to the devil’s box, and found no way out, sold himself one might say, and now the children had to carry on his business, and the burden, and by and by they did. The “77-Day Cult,” had made the Trials rich as I have implied before, the wealthiest in Minnesota by far—as they went down and up the Mississippi from St. Paul to New Orleans, and then back again doing their business—their shady commerce. And there was no way turning back for them, they had taken, and taken much, and taken from the demons, taken from everybody, everywhere, in everyway: --they didn’t need to sell their souls anymore, the demons had their souls; all packaged and ready for the devil himself. All, yes, all were tied in knots, they, the demons were inside their body covering it up, covering up the light of their souls; as one of the demons mentioned: “It was harder to hide from the cult than to smuggle an ant out of a house.”
And so with the veil of disunity like a canopy over his head, Thomas, resembling his family before him, looked futuristically for a thin and incomplete, if not deadly end to his life. If anything, one thing was won, the curse would be out of the blood of the Trials after Thomas died, but it was on him to the end his days. He knew his soul was no longer visible to the eyes of God—regrettable, for now it was blocked by a black canopy of the long dark inhabiting shadow of a dead legend of demons, the one Vii commanded, the ones that hated the living—the Lotus Demon, the Tiamat, and more: simply for being able to live, no other reason was necessary; ‘tis again envy breeding more envy; his dark ring around his forehead would disappear, the one he looked at each day, hoping for some odd reason it would disappear upon his deathbed, but no, it wouldn’t, not until he was did, would it disappear. As it is written in so many words: we take nothing with us, but I add possibly: our character (which is one of our two souls.)

[Anna is listening attentively to the specifics; the details of the tapes ongoing history, her full clear eyes, white-encircled, grayish-yellow irises, like sunflowers, resting softly as she shuts her lids to concentrate on Thomas’: demise]


As time would tell, Thomas would acquire an illness from the baby-abyss worms, like a silk worm eating through a leaf—the new Abyss Worms would eat his insides until the blood of his internal organs would stop flowing, consequently, internal bleeding would kill him. His body would not be able to defend against them. In essence, he was a dead man walking, a corpse in the living.

“The 77-Day Cult”



Earnest (Christian Psychologist)




[Tape still running]


[Meditatively, Anna is alerted to her name.] Anna! –Don’t fall to sleep now, listen to the rest of the tape first. I have not talked on the “77-Day Cult,” yet, because I do not know much about them (Earnest now is clearing his throat, as if he was hiding something, or at least that is how Anna is perceiving it when she hears the uneasy pause of his voice, then listens even more assiduously to the tape), although it is a link to the Tiamat’s rulership of a time period before the Great Flood, and deals with the worship of her. She was (and I will say, if I have time, talk more about this later), she was, as I was about to say, a demigod in Asia Minor, and in the Mediterranean. Vii, the demon, was called upon to watch over this cult in New Orleans at her request, and one thing led to another—frightful as it may sound, we have a few demon in this scenario now—and, and so he made his earthly home there. The “Abyss Virus Worm,” if I may call it that, as it is now known, is simply an accident left over from the Great Flood, which opened up the Pit, of which is also known as the Abyss, and it freed itself, as you are somewhat aware; and also it has links with Vii and the Cult, which all are now inseparable, or so it appears.
Frankly and as friendly as I can put it, I want to thank you now Anna for listening so solemnly, (Earnest becomes silent for a moment as the tape is running out); this is my opinion anyhow. Henceforth, I will have more for you tomorrow, I am getting quite weak, I have some soup to finish, it is surely getting cold and I do not want it to get much colder; please sit back now and rest, as I must, and tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and try to finish this, and have you come over for the end briefing, and to see what we can do. Bye.




21


The Mirror and the Ring


1930—Fall


Curiosity, Sally woke up as she rolled out of bed, walking to the main room in the hotel suite—. The old gentleman [Thomas] was having coffee by himself sitting at the dinning room table. She looked out the window at Rice Park; it was a small park to say the least—yet it had its history, in the center of downtown St. Paul. The river, the Mississippi was but a block away to the south, with its rustic banks, and port of call. The levee was full of houses, shacks, huts, etc, and to the side of it was huge sandstone cliffs, and caves. The day seemed smooth with no leaves blowing on the trees ‘…a windless day…’ he murmured, like a shy kitten, pacing from room to room. He had a divine maroon rob on with big pockets, slippers on his feet, --hideous to look at—but warm and comfortable.
As he stared out the window Sally put her lipstick on, the mirror on the bathroom door was opened a little, and the mirror was to her back in the backroom, as she could see reflections in the window from it. She had to take a double take on something, something peculiar around Thomas’ forehead—something she had never noticed before. She looked closer into the shadow of his window—via reflections. Yes, it was clear, a dark ring peculiar she thought. She looked deeper into the left side of the window, a pink horizon, it was lovely—then paused a moment.
She now took a third look, surely she thought: it must be a mistake, but no it wasn’t, matter of fact, it only reassured her she was not seeing things. As the sun was coming up shinning in the window, which caught his attention first, that is before he noticed Sally looking through the window at him, oddly looking at him, but nonetheless, with much effort, or so he felt she was—but was she really? He couldn’t say for sure. The sun was actually blinding him now, blurring as he tried to focus on her eyes in the window. Sally then walked away, sat down at the table, picked up the Saint Paul newspaper, and started to read it: as she looked straight ahead at the window again, to see if she was seeing things. There were no unusual reflections coming from it now. Silently, Thomas watched Sally investigating the window, the room, and him, as he stood by the door, not allowing his facial, or profile reflections to be captured by the window again.
Said he, “Is something wrong Sally?” the comment was with an ardent bafflement.
“Oh-o-o…” was somehow pushed out of her mouth—with a artful-music tone to it, “I thought I noticed something,” now staring at Thomas; she knew the Trials had the double curse, that is—the ‘Liars Curse’, given by God, which had the black ring around their foreheads, and the ‘Demons Curse,’ which entailed the deaths, and consequently branded the devil’s mark within the character and mind of the possessor; the victim was haunted by this dark world, along with the Abyss Worm’s poisonous-virus, which had started with Arthur, and was put onto her family, the Viper’s. But to her understanding, the Viper’s didn’t get the black ring, or at least not until they had lied, and even so, it wasn’t that entirely dark, not like the Trials had. The degrees of blackness were a big difference, for the Viper family it was a shadow at best, for the Trials it was deep, dark and almost glossy.
“And so, did you—that is, did you notice something?” Thomas slyly questioned.
“It would seem not so,” she commented, then with stupefaction, added,
“…But I swear I thought I did…” (She cunningly replied, which she was actually unsure of). Thomas avoided the window now all together, thinking she might try to see the reflection through it again, and said no more on the subject. As far as Sally goes, she did not have a ring around her forehead, not yet anyway.


The Survey


That morning, Thomas and Sally went out checking the area for houses for sale. They had ownership of 105-unites within the two cities of St. Paul, and Minneapolis, at this point of their relationship. Thomas had let her know there were many more possibilities in the near future.
“Sally, let’s go down by the levee, by the caves, the cliffs, along the stretch of the river, there are some old homes, several can be purchased for little or nothing. Possibly even a pasta café or two, many Italians in that area; as is, you may have noticed, the city is somewhat sectioned off, that is to say: the Mexicans live on the West Side of town, the Italians down along the levee; the blacks up by the capital or in an area called Rondo, and the whites everyplace for the most part, but those areas I’ve mentioned,” having explained that they both went out the door for a day’s searching.

Summit Avenue: --which stretched from the Cathedral to Snelling Avenue was known more for its elite, where F. Scott Fitzgerald lived, and JJ Hill, and the Governor. Not far from there was Sally’s nine-plex, and Thomas’ second home.
As the driver drove up and down the side streets, Thomas smugly commented, “We shall own whole blocks someday of this city.”
“Thomas,” she commented, “…mmm, we already do,” and she laughed a little.
“I want you to keep in mind Sally, when I die, it will all be yours and I mean everything.” (Yet die was not the word he wanted to say, but had to somehow, it carefully seeped out of him, unwillingly, but for show and tell, it came: it seemed to be forced; again protecting the cult). He had said that more than once to her, and she smiled again as always, not knowing how to respond, since it was an ongoing statement, and getting a tinge harder to digest—without thinking there might be an alternative motive.
Although Sally was happy for the most part with her new role in life, she knew something was wrong, very wrong, but just could not put her finger on it (intuitively wrong)—, that dark, glossy black circle around his forehead never left her mind either, she would write that in her notes and in a partial journal. At this juncture of her relationship with Thomas, she was seriously thinking of moving out of the hotel suite to another location; she was starting to wonder about his motives; getting fearful of Thomas’ display of dark-talk; --there was something unknown, unsettling appearing. Again she would write this in her journal, and I quote from it Anna:


[Journal Entry]

Said she:

“Maybe I should get out of the hotel, I told Thomas that, saying it would be more practical for me to move into one of my own apartment rooms at the nine-plex, but, he implied, it was not really more practical, yet, I am getting more fearful at this juncture of our relationship. I mentioned, ‘…for instance,’ I said to him, maybe I’ll live in the small house (a single family unit) on Larpenteur Avenue, by Como Park, not all that far from the nine-plex. Oh, gosh, he looked at me as if I was a traitor, I just left it alone, and figured I’d come back to it another time.”



22


Elucidation


As Thomas and Sally walked the banks of the Mississippi, viewing the levee, and its houses from a distance, he knew that tramps and derelicts, winos if you will, all lived in the caves nearby, all along, up and down the Mississippi River banks. Without question, he knew this area quite well. He had slept among them at times, years ago as he had long, very long alcoholic binges, and well, let’s say, unhappier and more trying days back then.
Said Thomas looking about as they walked the banks of the Mississippi, the caves nearby, looking to and fro, everywhichway, “You must be careful not to tread into those caves, it can be harmful I’ve heard bad things can happen, unseen and unproved, and harmful most assuredly.” Sally looked at Thomas amused.
“Can you explain a little more of what you are trying to say…?” she asked. [A long pause]
“It was all Indian country, prairies, sacred grounds, at one time around here. My heritage goes back to 1823 in this area, and to the southwest. We go back a long ways—then: then came people, and more and more, people followed—from all over the country, the: Irish, the Polish, the Spanish, the Blacks, and the Germans. But us Trials remained…” Thomas stopped hesitantly, and thought of what he said; a silent-shock went throughout the countenance of Sally’s face.
“What was that cousin—? You said something about [pause], about the Trials?” Asked Sally:
“So I did, sorry, I meant Viper’s—a slip of the tongue, that’s all, just a little slip of the tongue.”
Responded Sally [confused]:
“Yes, I used to be one I guess, until I was adopted [taken in]. Like you I’m a Viper.”
Before she could say another word, Thomas remarked he’d be back in a moment, needed to relieve himself, and was going to a café nearby, “…just down the road, down the road I’ll be back soon,” he said hastily; —but he didn’t offer to take her along, just quickly scuttled, adding to his monologue:
“I’ll be back in a moment, I won’t be long,” he had dashed off so quickly Sally had no time to say a word.

[Sally yelling to Thomas, standing allusive]: “Hurry up…please!”



As Thomas was now out of sight, Sally (instinctively) knew something was wrong with that slip of the tongue, the ‘Trials vs. the Viper’s’, and adding that to the already wavering black circle she thought she saw around his forehead, made her more elusive on or of what the future held for her with Thomas, and was there a hidden motive in all this—strange at best she concluded. Regardless, she could not quite put it together—there was a missing piece to a puzzle; she sensed it, and it was an issue

As she was deep in thought, kind of walking in a daze back and forth, getting a little closer all the time to the caves, yet not next to them, rather close by them, as if a magnetic force was drawing her inch by inch, as if there was a gravitational pull (still deep in thought on this trying issue of Thomas’ behavior). As this was all happening, three derelicts grabbed her—one stuffing a sock in her mouth so she could not scream, the other two carrying her into a nearby cave by her armpits, as if she was a drunk herself, trying not to disturb any bystanders, of which there were none close by anyways.


The Cave


Inside the cave it was cool—dark, her dress and blouse torn off as well as her panties now; she lay on the cold damp ground naked, she was in the process of being raped—in the process, but not raped, not yet. Suddenly she was picked up and thrown down to the ground again, as if to knock the wind out of her, for any possible future resistance; —the damp soil pressing against her body even tighter now. On each one of her legs two tightly soiled hands held her solidly still, —in back of her head another two hands were holding her firmly. A voice was telling her to stop being resistant, as soon as they are done she’d be able to go, yet threatening her at the same time; but Sally, couldn’t move anyhow, or say anything with the sock in her mouth, and if she was resistant it was because she was more uncomfortable than anything, she was, at the moment, secured tightly against the ground; she felt more helpless than a dying dog. Then appeared a forth person, a mysterious person, her eyes were now covered by a blindfold—which was nothing more than a dirty rag, although it was dark, her eyes were adjusting to it and so the rag, the rag they used to blind her with, enveloped around her head threefold, as not to let any light in, or eyesight out, it was as tight as one could make it without damaging her; that is, it was not too awfully fixed, it was hurting her though, yet she endured it. Savagely she was slapped between her legs, her arms, face, every place, as the mysterious man’s body laid upon her, pinning her tight against to the soiled floor. Finally the man entered her…and henceforth, a wave of pain started; all seemed a nightmare, a world out of control—and almost to quick to remember any exact details (or so it would seem later on when the police would question her). The mysterious stranger at that point, broke the impregnable curse on his family [the Trials], and took a sigh of relief—plus the revenge had been successful; the Trials to the Viper’s had been completed, what Arthur Trials had always prayed for.
The stranger now got up, never said a word, he walked away. Sally would write in her diary, ‘I heard the man mumbling, with a fifth person, for three of them were still holding me, it was as if there was a payoff.’ But who would ever know.


[From outside of the cave a voice is heard.]


“Sally, Sally—where are you! —?” Cried a voice wondering outside the cave entrance
at that moment, as if it was split timing, the three men who were holding Sally ran off through the caves, and were not seen or heard of again. Later on the police would say they [the rapist] found a way through the sewer system, and climbed up to and through a manhole onto the city streets above. But that is all the police report would indicate.

Thomas entering the cave, Sally now standing up crying, naked in front of him, he put his jacket round her, as the cold gray dawn shadowed them, then they made their way to his car, and onto the police station.


Not much was said during that walk through the levee to get into a chauffeured driven car and on to the police station. And from that moment on, from that mysterious gray-day, a disquiet-ness would follow them, along with dread being dragged along, which would linger in Sally’s head forever: forever wondering if it was him, always in suspicion that it was him, reliving the ordeal over and over. It was as if she knew, as if she instinctively knew it was Thomas himself, but could never prove it. And even if she could what could she do about it; as time would pass, she would not consider leaving the hotel anymore, and willingly had sex with Thomas at his will, it almost seemed natural for her to allow him to do as he pleased with her—she was, you know, almost in a hypnotic spell, I suppose one might say—subdued. It was as if she was broken, an unspoken defeat for her, she just gave in, the shock, the money, the many miles away from home, no one would know which one or if at all these elements played a part in her crackup, or better put, participated in her new passive role she took in life, took and used on a day by day bases after the rape, but no one now needs to know, it was then, and what can one do with the past but learn from it.



23

Curse of the Viper’s
[Dick Earnest Reviews with Anna in Person]


Anna, slender, petite with her long black hair, sat attentively in Dick Earnest’s office, --today, among all days, was her day; she’d get the rest of the story. She had received twenty-one tapes thus far, now for the conclusion, but yet as she sat there on a wooden chair that looked like it was taken from the kitchen of this apartment Earnest rented out, for –just for, creating the tapes and this session with Anna, she wondered, even if she knew the whole story, that still was not good enough, no, she wanted to live, and to live she needed to know the secrets underneath the story, how to put an end to her curse so the demonic beings would leave her alone and her offspring, should she ever have any. She told herself, the curse, the demon had, had no right to her mind, her soul, her life, not yet; and to stop Belinda from her charge onward to persuade her to buy her soul, for information that might lift the curse, was also a cleaver act on her part she told herself. They all wanted something. The Worm wanted her body to have children; Belinda her soul, so she could live; the Cult, she wasn’t sure yet, what they wanted, I suppose to appease the worm and demonic beings there within, but with the Trials, and Vii, together they all wanted her for something—she presupposed to become an incubator for the worm’s children in the long run.
She was young, and had already acquired the dark nightmares, the taunting of Woodbridge the Demon, spying through her windows. And her system was, or so it seemed poisonous. She felt something was always inside of her, and possibly it was that Abyss Worm, which went along with the program, or so it seemed. Maybe that was why no animals dared cross her path, or dogs barked at her—but she doubted it, she was for the most part, not safe enough for the worm to trust her not to damage it, she’d possibly find a way to destroy the creature, if she could, and therefore, she’d be too dangerous at this stage of the game. Another thought was: why the birds never sang around her, was she a sign of potential demonic power to those creatures? So she deliberated. But she knew it was most likely caused by their presence, presupposing they actually guarded her. Her body was at war with whoever got close to her, it tuned into them like radar, not her mind though, except for the nightmares, but it was, or could be, that worm inside her body? She thought about Sally vomiting them up and out into her soup, what a hell of a surprise she told herself. That was the ominous question now going through her mind, thoughts on top of thoughts, that worm, that ugly, revolting, hideous worm.
She inherited the curse of the Trials, both curses, but up to this point, or this day, she had not gotten the black circle (and to her knowledge never lied). Yes, the curse from God was not activated, but the “Death Curse,” from the demons possibly was, and wasn’t at the same time, how could it be until she had a child, and she would have to kill the child to fully acquire it—or possibly, if intent counted, then so be it, but neither one was in place yet.

Mr. Earnest, now sat down in a sofa-chair, an old rugged looking one; one that he may have got simply for this occasion (for some odd reason, he did not invite Anna to his house, rather the apartment, she was a little surprised on that note, yet overlooked it as if to deny her impulse to ask more questions), looking at his sprawled out papers on the floor, looking at pretty Anna, Earnest said with a serious but anticipated voice:
“Glad you came, we get to meet one another after all this time, it is always better, face to face (Anna simply staring into his eyes, saying simply ‘yes,’); but let me explain”, he went on, “…(while handing her a cup of coffee) I will bring you somehow up to date (Earnest wanted to show Anna, how hard he was working on her case, by inviting her to the apartment, where she could now see the papers all about).


[Dick Earnest wasted no time getting into the story]

--: Sally got pregnant in 1930 by Thomas and had his child, the child was quite ugly, and like Arthur, couldn’t stand looking at it I suppose, in any event (Anna still staring into his eyes), one day while walking by the caves along the banks of the Mississippi River, she threw, and not figurative, but really threw—the child at the limestone walls, killing it. When she got home she discovered the ring around her forehead very pronounced, she had now joined the elite for the cursed family, not only did she kill, making her the equal to Thomas, and the curse had already had produced a demonic child, but by killing it she gave the curse to the future of the Viper’s; the black ring ‘the liars ring,’ was simply an addition to the demonic team, she had sinned like the others against God, kind of a double sin, one that someone else created for her, and still she ate the apple like Eve one might say; you know she could have resisted the impulse to kill the child.
At that time, she was going out with Thomas, not married to him, not even after the rape just his—set aside woman, you might say. It was not common back then. Thomas had died six months after Sally had the child. She did have another thereafter, and inherited all the money. The second child was a girl (the first being a boy by the name of Aryan). When the hospital asked who the father was, she told them the truth, Thomas Trials (or otherwise called: Thomas Viper). He had done his dirty work, but the second child was normal, --again I say the second child. Sally died in 1983 at the age of 80. You were of course not yet born, but Minerva Viper, whom was born in 1931 or 1932, not quite sure of the exact date, but the father was Thomas, She nonetheless, carried the recessive gene as someone put it, and had the circle around her forehead (remember her brother had died in 1930-31; she would never know this in her life time though); and we all know, especially you, Minerva died in 2002, her being your grandmother—directly.
You being the grandchild of Minerva, born in 1981 to Lisa, are the last of the living Viper’s, and of course Lady Belinda knows this, and the prize she wants to offer is the secret of the “77-Day Cult,” again you already know this from the tapes, an extension in life, that is what she wants you for; as if a 1000-years is not good enough. I don’t know who your father was, and I doubt Lisa knew, but I can assume she didn’t care, or want anyone to know, things were that way years ago, you know, women kept secrets if there was a question concerning their children, the reason being, they were looked down upon if illegitimate. But, inasmuch as I do know all the children I have brought to your attention have been out of wedlock. No, not one married, not even one.
The ring appeared on Lisa’s forehead sometime during her pregnancy, or so her diary said, she now would have been 72 years old had she not died last year (‘…who is Lisa?’ asked Anna, staring.); as I was about to say, she had a son whom is 52-years old, and he died in 1999, some kind of bug disease, or perhaps the Abyss Worm ate through him. She also had another child who died at the age of 32, the same disease, no one found the little creatures, only his insides eaten away, and he died in 1997. And you yes you, who are still alive. She was your mother; yes Lisa was your dear mother. But Lisa had changed her name, and that is why your grandmother, Minerva raised you. Not even Minerva knew where she was. Some have said after you were born, and the death of the two sons was too much for her, and so she became a prostitute, wino some say, a street lady of sorts; but I found her obituary in an old Nashville paper—and so she lived her last days in that city to my understanding.”
Said Anna (with a dizzy look in her eyes, and the shaking of her head as if to clear it), “And now what do we do about Lady Belinda, who wants to make a deal with me? And what do we do with the blood in my veins? Is that creature in me…God help me if he is (Earnest looked strongly at Anna when she said that).”

“First things first young lady,” said Mr. Dick Earnest, as he squinted and rubbed his eyes and forehead, as if to signal he was thinking.



24

The Curses’ Victims
[Earnest continues to review with Anna]





Dick Earnest Explains:

“Let me kind of go over what I was trying to say Anna, a review if you will:

Sally died in 1983, at a ripe old age, as I have explained before and as you well know: consequently her mother was a ‘Lime,’ but her father a ‘Viper’—the blood you know, makes all the difference. She was adopted (for the most part) by the Noddoc Family. Her father was the brother to the person that killed the Trials kid --and so the curse given by Arthur, which extends to the ongoing future families unless broken by caring for the demonic first born. Thomas informed her as did Elsie, somewhere along the line she was a Viper—Sally’s daughter, Lisa (your mother), had the black ring around her forehead, like those before her—not, not because they were directly cursed by God, but because they told a lie somewhere along the way, and bore children without being married (for the original curse was born to each Trial after God had given it), and each child was part of the ‘Liar’s Trials Curse’ if that makes sense, which was part of the curse.
She was born I think in 1931, and Lisa died at 72 years of age, last year, 2002, as I have already mentioned. Sally’s boy died originally called Arian, and the second child survived, the Abyss Worm got to the boy’s intestinal system (like it had with so many other victims in this scenario) and made it rotten, until they screamed with pain, and died an agonizing death. Lisa, her second child died, your mother had two boys, one died in 1975, at the age of 52, his name was Shawn, he died the very same way, ‘…intestinal decaying problems; to include missing parts to the bile ducks, stomach, and gall bladder making the liver overwork, and as a result—death’. The second boy, both being, of course, your brothers, named Mike died at the age of 32, in 1995. And you Anna—the last of the Viper’s, you are the end of the curse. You were born in 1981.






Part Four
[The collapse]



25
Lady Belinda
And Anna’s Resolve

[The meeting ends]




Lady Belinda





Spring, 2003


For the most part, Mr. Earnest had finished his project with the Viper family, or in particular, Anna Viper. Surely he had earned his money, or at least that is how it looked to Anna. They had their meeting, and that was over, and if anything she had put some things together. Not everything was clear, but then it seldom is. Still, by and by her thoughts seemed to float through her mind as if they were floating down the Mississippi River: some things were clearing up, while some other things were still not clear; also, more questions were developing, and fewer answers were surfacing. She thought, ‘…would I ever get all the answers?’ probably not, but a few more had to be answered if she wanted to go on living a half normal life.
What she did know was she could not afford to have any sexual relationships that might carry a new birth of a Viper child, save for the fact, she’d have to fight the curse; nor did she want to produce a lie that might migrate to her character, or soul, thus, producing a black circle around her forehead—and have disfavor, and dishonor with God Himself; she knew her blood was not cleansed yet, her blood that is, her only blood, the Viper blood—but it neither could be fully cursed, it was waiting for a trigger. She also needed to know ‘Charlie’s Secret,’ or was his secret like the cults secret. The, 77-Day Cult’s, hidden information, was it worth her time, this was bouncing back and forth in her mind also; --henceforth she thought, can these secrets possibly lead to resolving her problem with the curse: --if that is what it really was, the secret information needed to restore her back to normality, not rob her of it, and give to the takers what they have been taking for years, other people’s lives. Maybe it was just logic she needed she pondered on. Often times we look so deep down the hole and try to pull out the demons, when they are right on top, next to the surface. Maybe, just maybe the answer was in front of her nose. Possibly Charlie’s secret was who the cult leader was?
How could she get rid of the curse: her mind was so preoccupied: with the thoughts dancing inside her brain, the damn curse, the black ridge, circle that had not yet come to invade her forehead; also how could she become free from the Abyss Worm which was part of the curse; that was probably harvesting her new litter of killer worms right in her system right now, at this very moment; maybe in her gallbladder, which hurt now and then. Yes, maybe, just maybe she continued to tell herself, they are right here, looking at my insides as a nice little niche; how revolting that thought was for her; but she was a logical person, an accountant, and she knew wishful thinking would not erase reality, erase all that had come about, nor sleeping it away would only put her into a state of depression, or hiding her head in the ground like an ostrich, would do no good. Oh no, she told herself, action, logic, thoughts, and prayers; that’s the answer—keep working on the issue, develop a plan and work the plan.
But as she pondered on this area of concentration longer, she had thanked herself for listening hard to the many things Dick Earnest had said; good insight was tossed about (weather he had meant to give good or bad information, it was all taken in, and she was sorting it out). She had inherited a small house (blue in color) around the 1700 block of Larpenteur Avenue, between St. Paul, and Roseville, in the County of Ramsey. She had gotten it from Sally (who had willed it to her), whom left it to her in her will. And so it was all she really had of any consequential value, except for the money she paid Mr. Earnest, and now that was gone, also. But she had a good job at the St. Paul Post Office on Kellogg Street in downtown St. Paul; she worked for a good man named Brian. And her friend Sandy [the secretary] was always calling her back to work—if and when she got laid off. And so it seemed pretty secure for the most part, not acquiring a full twelve-month work, but an average of nine-months annually, and that was good enough; she liked the long vacations in-between.

It was the first Friday in June 2003, when Lady Belinda stopped by Anna’s house.


The Chat
[Anna’s Story]


Lady Belinda showed up on Anna’s door steps, for a chat, as she called it, --she stood there face to face with Anna looking through the screen door at her as if she was expected—Anna somewhat dumfounded, even though she got word she was coming, pondered on the nerve she had to show up like this—: strangely, they both remained for the longest time, stone-still looking through the screen-in door, at each other.
“’Tis, just for a chat my dear…” she remarked—with a look of supremacy. Then with hesitation, Anna said, she’d talk to her outside, that ‘…please wait a minute…’ and she’d join her. If anything, maybe she could extract more information out of her, or at best allow her to express what she wanted to talk about ‘their’ futures, in particular. It could do no harm to listen, she concluded.
As a result, they sat outside on a picnic table, a chill was in the air, as the wind crept under the table, and around their legs; the humming of the cars going back and forth off Larpenteur Avenue seemed to calm Anna a little. And for some reason Anna felt safe out there—safer that is, than allowing her (Her being: Lady Belinda) enter into her home—out of being inquisitive she sat attentively with no questions or answers, just ready to listen.
As Lady Belinda started to talk, she carried on a long monologue; she often referred to what might be called ‘her secret,’ which was information from Charlie the Indian, from years past, and from the Cult. She wanted to trade, as Anna expected. But as the two women looked into each others eyes, it dawned on Anna, Mr. Earnest had really told her enough information to where if she added it up, it could not be anymore than what Belinda knew; suddenly a few options occurred to her, that being, lifting the curse would mean having the child and not killing it: --which everyone seemed to have done before her, and then allowing the second normal looking child to survive. Consequently, completing the curse’s failure, and allowing it to drift to its unpardonable edge, or put another way, insuring the curse would remain—unendurable [linger on]. Therefore, what she needed to do was have the child if need be and not kill it. The second part of this part of the equation could be: simply do not get pregnant.
The second thing or option that floated past her mind was the Cult. One had to deny it, not own it, and pray, and not to the demonic Vii or Tiamat, or Satan, but to the real true God, the Christian God, the God that brought the Jews across the Red Sea, opened up the Red Sea, the one that cast Lucifer out of heaven. Who from the Cult, could stand to watch her pray night and day to this God without vomiting [?]: --a rhetorical question at best—she silently murmured. She would do this she told herself as the lips of Belinda kept chatting like a purring wild kitten ready to grab her throat. Nonetheless, Anna just kept on thinking, almost day dreaming—somewhat disassociating her mind from Belinda, almost in a catatonic state of existence, almost as if she was disinterested in the chattering of Lady Belinda, and had found the Golden Grail.
A third element came to mind (as she was still transposed onto Lady Belinda’s eyes, as if they were rearranged that way for this very moment of insight by the True God) she could have a blood transfusion. Not sure if it was practical; hitherto the curse was more physical than biological in restraining of a person; and/or more psychological than spiritual.
It came to mind as well, Charlie’s secret was no more than a warning, a warning for the future of this cruelty, and the reality of reversing the curse the same way it was transgressed—and possibly whom the Cult Master was. How could it be anything other than that? What was really happening was that: people, creatures, and demonic beings were taking advantage of a situation, after they had cultivated it for years (no more, no less)?
Said she to her mind’s eye: Lady Belinda was willing to release all this information, ‘but I knew it all, already’; thanks to Dick Earnest for the most part, for it was almost as if Dick knew Belinda was going to come and tell her, and had no more information to give than what she gave, and he wanted her to have a weapon (for some odd reason)—so she thought, what else could it be (on conjecture)? If she gave her soul, not sure what would happen to the curse, possibly it would be amended to be nothing, but was the price too high? A forth thing came to mind, all other Viper’s, or people involved with the curse took money, a seal of sorts, kind of like going to a bank and once you leave the counter, the transaction is finalized. And so once the money was taken, everything was finalized. She would give back the house now, give it away, it didn’t matter, things were just things, for when one died they had to give them up anyhow, or to someone, or someplace: all the gold in the world could do no one a bit of good once dead…and it was not worth a life of blackmailing by the curse; no, life was not a commodity as some would have her think, as Lady Belinda was trying to buy. It was all one had, after all is said and done.
Said Anna with a new found relief:
“You will die Lady Belinda in a few years, and I shall put weeds on your grave, or if not that, I will look from heaven’s door and watch you fall, fall, and fall deeper into the dark bottomless pit, no candles lit, just black on black, following, ebbing, shooting down to its inner tombs, and vaults in hell—demons dragging you down, like a black-veil; nothing I mean nothing, living down there—worth living for, --now be gone, and die alone.”
Lady Belinda started shaking, stuttering, and not quite knowing what to make of it. Death had already given her a sting, this insult was traumatic, and it was her only way out. Yet she could not waste time, she knew she had to seek another way to long life, or be done with it in a few years. And so she left without comment.



26


The Abyss Worm
[Anna’s Story]





As Anna walked back into her house, she congratulated herself on the fine work she had done—having a spirit of conquest for some reason: thus, a quick analysis she had completed, one might say, one of her goals, and therein, she found that analysis was her escape, and she thanked herself, her new found faith, —her God for her moving onward with this curse instead of hiding her head in the sand and hoping it would take care of itself.
One thing she had noticed about Sally and others with the curse, something Earnest did not say, but rather implied, is that they all were busy with the past and the future; none seemed to live in, and work within the immediate present. Indirectly, she had set up a plan for herself now, and she liked it—her analysis-complete being that plan; matter of fact she marveled at it. Liking poetry, she wrote a poem commencing her new bold plan [she called it]:



By Anna Viper

The Cavewoman
And the Rat

(In Heaven)
The Cavewoman asked the Rat—: “What kind of women-creature should I be on earth?” Said the Rat to the Cavewomen “God has given you a choice pick as you please, so come aboard my craft, and we’ll see!” [A long pause took place.] “We are almost ready to go down to earth,” said the Rat, preparing the flying craft, “Oh please, please!” asked the Cavewomen, [indecorously], “…give me the answer; I need it before I arrive so I know what to do?” And so the Rat said in his lyrical way: “Take charge of your own life or someone else will, and in the process, make you the fool.”



‘Tis, that Anna Viper, finished her poem, and thought about her plan. She concluded, if the Abyss Worm was in her, if truly it was (god forbid), it would leave her, or kill her, but surely would not remain in her. And yet she was the only system that could breed her siblings, discreetly. It would seem at this point, the Abyss Worm, had a few liters, and was trying for a small army with the help of the Cult.
‡ Moreover, she started her program (her plan) immediately; not wasting any time; and as a result, the first place she went to was St. Paul, Minnesota’s Cathedral; where daily she prayed—; praying and more praying, deliberating. At work, Brian, allowed her sometime off [Post Office], to get her life in order, as she tried to explain to him, she was slightly ill and needed flexibility for the following next few months, and he gladly gave it—as Sandy the secretary in the main office [Human Resources], willingly kept her job available; thus, the battle had started.
She gave her house away to a nice old couple that moved from Lima, Peru, to the Twin Cities [of St. Paul and Minneapolis], whom could not afford a house. She had met them in Church. It seemed quite unbelievable to the couple (the house being all paid for, as it was), to give a house away, but she assured them, it was better for her mental health, and that it was they doing her the favor by taking the house. And that was that.
Anna then moved into a room at a three-plex on Albemarle Street [1094]. Things were happening fast, but still not fast enough for Anna.
It was now June 23, 2003, summer had begun, and Minnesota was as green as the Amazon. It was on this day, this very day [warm and fresh] she was taking a shower when she got sick, very, very, very sick to her stomach, and started vomiting right in the shower room. As she was puking everything up, which was really not much (for she had not eaten in the past few weeks, but a sandwich here and there and usually on the run), thus, the Abyss Virus Worm came out, the size being a little larger than a quarter, it was hanging onto the drain by its feet, several more came out of her mouth, they went down the drain also, and the Mother Worm, with its big eyes just stared at Anna, as she turned the hot water on, jumping back, she watched it lose its strength as the water pushed it down the drain—down into the sewer system with the rats.
She felt around her stomach area, she was still whole, alive, no more stomach pain, or cramps. She simply told herself—today, was not the day for her to die. She now thought about a husband. God had been gracious, kind, and she had to stick with her plan: feeling a plan un-worked is no plan at all.









27



Husband or Nun?
[The Anna Viper Story]





Anna Viper




She thought and thought whom she could trust; there were not many people in her life that could fit that need, if any. She had mentally made a plan, and was working the steps. This was now step #4, find a husband…or do something to prevent herself from having children. She had convinced herself she’d raise the ugly child if it was born or if she couldn’t she’d pay a nanny to do so; but then the thought come to mind, that possibly the others said the same thing and couldn’t on account of some demonic magnetic force, or forces. Yet the creature had left her and so the possibility of this force would not stand too long in the way, it was only logical she told herself. But was she doing things too quickly, overlooking something, anything—a statement-question she told herself? But nonetheless, she ventured to assure herself she had not overlooked anything, that is, nothing that was told to her.
She talked to a priest about this matter and as astonishing as it was, he went along with it, not fully believing, but too fearful not to give her the right advice if it wasn’t, or for that matter, if it was true—and giving her the benefit of a doubt was safe. He had suggested she become a nun, something that had not yet occurred to her, as unsound as it sounded, it was applicable, and commonsensical you could say.
“A nun, a nun, a nun…” she pondered over and over as she listened to the priest. But as much as she wanted to say yes, her whole being seemed to be fighting it, and said, “No, I can’t be a nun.” It was a godly thing, she told the priest but it was not her, or so she convinced herself. Yet the priest tried to convince her it was a good choice, and based on her story, she was what God might be looking for, a person, “Usable,” and “Available,” two necessary ingredients for future missions, whatever they may be. But still, “…no,” came out of Anna’s mouth, not to be spoiled, or rude, just because it didn’t fit her reasoning, or seem to, she repeated to herself for a third time, and for this reason, the priest left the subject alone.
It was—for the mean time—settled, the issue of becoming a nun and would have to be discussed another day. Now she was shifting her thoughts to other areas, she told herself: it might be wise to get a second opinion, why not ask Dick Earnest, she was fond of him, and he of her, I mean, he was seemingly on her side, a person she didn’t think of at first, but if he couldn’t be trusted, who could. He lived at 1221 Rice Street, in St. Paul, and so she took the bus, which dropped her off almost in front of his house, down a ways from the Capitol.
As Anna approached the porch of Dick Earnest’s house, he was sitting out on the patio, having lemonade; they both waved at each other as she approached, he waved her on to join him, exactly what her intentions were, he pretended not to know, but he knew why she was there—coming, matter of fact, Anna seemed a bit hazy about his overdone welcome, as if she was expected (intuition). But she put that thought aside; assuming Psychologists knew such things, possibly just good judgment, and instincts.
It was a nice size house, four bedrooms, a double lot; he enjoyed the busy traffic for some odd reason that went all day and night in front of his house; across the street was a bar, gambling. Within a few minutes she found herself sitting down with Earnest and drinking lemonade on the opposite side of the table of him.
“You seem disturbed,” uttered Dick curiously looking at Anna.
“I suppose I do, I’ve been thinking a lot since you gave me all that information about everything, and Lady Belinda came to visit me. But I told her to leave.” Dick listened attentively like a good counselor would, and gave a big smile when he heard she dismissed Belinda’s soul bartering.
Commented Dick, “I think I like the fact you are reinventing yourself, a new Anna, and a much wiser one.”
“Thanks to you Dick I have come to some conclusions but I need your advice, however, please don’t charge me too much.”
“This one,” answered Dick, “I mean, this session if that is what you want to call it, is on me, from a friend to a friend.” (He concluded with a hefty smile and squinting eyes, as if behind his forehead his brain was working overtime.)
Said Anna with a look of dismay, “I need really good advice, and I trust you, and there are no males, or any people I do trust. I went to see a priest and he tried to talk me into being a nun.” Earnest looked closer as if to study this issue face to face, having a stern look—he was stunned. “But,” she continued, “…I told him no, that was not me.” She didn’t notice Earnest’s eyes; they were pale with a lost look, but returning to life when she had said, she told him ‘no’.
“Yes, replied Dick, catching his breath, “A nun, oops, that is quite a step…” then seeing she was against it firmly, he said, “But of course if that is the path that will reinvent you, then it is a good one. Again feel free to ask whatever you want; this is a free session, just two friends having a drink on a cool day.”
Said Dick with a slight narrowing of his eyes, looking upward, “I can’t tell you what to do; only what you have already made up in your mind to do, if that makes sense? And then show you ways how to do it safely.”
“Yes, yes—that is exactly what I wanted to hear, now that you said it…you know me so very well, Dick, so very, very well. I do very much want to marry some day; I think.”
“I see,” said Earnest, “…and is this mission to get married based on ridding your life of your curse?”
[A pause] “Yes…is that a wrong reason to marry?”
“Well,” commented Dick, “I’m not quite sure what is safe, or for that matter, right or wrong in your case—at this very moment, or what will or will not work. But I guess what I do know is, and it is by experience and observation I speak from, is that I do know what doesn’t work, and that is: doing what others want you to do. You see Anna, when you let others take charge of your life, that is exactly what they do, for instance, such as the priest was about to do, but you stopped him, or at least that is what it sounds like.” (That was a question-statement, and Earnest was waiting for an answer, but got none.)

(Earnest now puzzled, said slowly and cautiously.) “I mean Anna, usually the person you get the advice from, has his best or their own interest in sight, even though it may be or seem to be, nothing at the time. For example, there is a shortage of nuns in the State of Minnesota, matter of fact there is a shortage in the USA, if not worldwide. You see what I mean?”
[Anna at a complete loss] “I guess I do, but I don’t think, or didn’t think, the priest was or had ulterior motives…”
“Oh, ohooo, I do not mean to insinuate the priest had such goals in mind, consciously that is, but you know how the unconscious works, when opportunity knocks, you open the door.”
[Still baffled] Said Anna, trying to smile: “Yes, --that makes a little sense and him a little shrewd [Ending with a soft note.].

[A little twined] Earnest quickly added, “You are very attractive, a smart girl—I’m thirty-seven years old, and I know you’re twenty-two or so, but think, please think, I’d love to marry you, and I guess I’m a little coiled up because I will not get the opportunity to ask if you were to become a nun; so I find myself asking now—now at this awkward moment.”
Anna’s eyes opened as wide as headlights, “What!” she burped out…” did you say?” She was in disbelief, in disharmony—as if a poison snake had bitten her and froze her from head to toe.
Said Dick as calm as could be, “I didn’t think it was so…so, wild or unpredictable a question, or statement; we know each other as if we were best of friends, and the only difference between best friends and a husband and wife, is sex. And I’d keep the child had we had one together.”

Time Elapse

As soon as Anna got her composure and senses back—that day, she shortly, thereafter started dating him, and quicker than she had expected, had set the wedding date at Dick’s request; but Dick insisted he have his priest from Nashville do the ceremony in his home, a quiet type of arrangement he cordially implied; yet he insisted on this; and so the date was set, and took place on July 5th, 2003. And now Anna had the 4th part of her plan in motion

She then becomes pregnant shortly after the wedding, setting the date for the child’s conception to around March 7, 2004; it all seemed up to this point quite natural, and hasty, unbelievable and spellbinding ((almost a fairytale )(as she had stated, ‘Too good to be true’)). If anything, she finally found some kind at peace; daily she would check her forehead for its pigmentation, to see if it had changed in the mirror to a light gray, or dark circle, it had not. She had also talked to the priest again, against Earnest’s wishes, but she insisted. He simply told her, she was not listening to anybody but herself, and even though she was logical and what she wanted was valid, she had some blind spots. Plus, whoever heard of marring your counselor in such a hurry, it sounded like desperation, and he [the priest] was not sure if it was she or he in desperation, or both.

Commented Anna,
“It was food for thought,” and it was on her mind, but she had already made the move.
She was not what one would call, crazy about Dick, but he was a provider (not that she needed one), and he was caring, and seemed to love her, although at times a bit melodramatic, that is to say, overemotional, especially with the pregnancy.

It was on March 1st she went with her husband on vacation to New Orleans. He told her he had family there, and wished to be there for a few days, kind of to show her off. That is, before the child was born, and should it be born there, he knew the layout of the city quite well, it seemed a bit one-sided, but they both went; Anna to appease Dick and Dick to appease his family, or so he had told Anna.
They were due to return to Minnesota on the 4th but again, Dick was unrelenting; he now wanted to stay until the birth of the child was over. And so they remained in New Orleans a few more days. He introduced her to several family members, while Anna told herself: none of them resembled Dick in appearance; yet, she again took it at face value that they were in fact family; but it was not so incidental, that Dick argued the fact he wished to stay, or better put, chose to remain in the city, this was troubling for Anna; ‘…why, why, why, does he want to stay here when we should be at home getting ready for the baby?’
The city was hot and crazed with people, cumbersome for Anna to get around, yet by and by, Dick insisted his new bride keep up with him as they marched down Bourbon Street, night clubbing, eating, meeting people and so on (his personality was changing), and he seemed to know more people here in New Orleans than back in St. Paul, so Anna told herself. And then on March 7, 10:00 p.m., her water broke, --within a matter of minutes, there was a limousine awaiting them outside a nightclub. The limo quickly took the couple to an old mansion, not all that far from where they were. As the limo stopped, the lights from cars going by showed an odd color around Dick’s brow. Anna felt he must be pale, ill from all the drinking he had been doing, and now this; but she looked again as another car went by, shinning its lights forward, and directly on her husband.
“No time for a hospital,” said Dick to Anna as the car drove to the back of this mansion they were at; a guard came walking up to the car door, she now looked again at Dick’s temple, as she was carried out of the car by this huge being who had quickly stepped out of the back of the mansion’s door waiting to meet them. As they rushed her from the car to the entrance of the door a tear now came from her eyes, Dick looked, they both looked at one another, just a glance, he had the black ring, the “Liars Ring”:
“Who are you,” she murmured, gravely and painfully.
He at once replied, “Tyrone Viper.” He finished up with, “Are you surprised? [Playfully].”
“To-day is our day,” said Anna’s husband as he closed the door behind him, and told her quickly his background, updating her, even commenting on the deal he had made for long life after the curse was placed upon him and his family, so many years ago.
What was going on in Anna’s head was that no one really knew what had happened to Tyrone Viper, whom was born in 1855, now she knew. Like Lady Belinda, he had sold his soul also (after being caught in the clutches of the curse himself). Was there no end to this, she thought?
‘He’ll not get want he wants from me,’ she told her second self—her minds-eye, innately.

They now were in the corridor leading to the room where Anna would conceive the child; they went through another door, where two nurses appeared, and a doctor. Anna was placed down on a rolling bed, and brought quickly into the center of the white room. Everything was happening so swiftly, she knew not what to say or do. She was given a form of hemlock, mixed, that paralyzed her body. She did a dismaying thing, and tried to spit it up and out at the nurses: doctor and her husband, “Damn—oh—damn,” she cried. At that moment, Dick explained (as many onlookers stood around, greeting Dick as ‘Master and Executioner’):
“Yes, I am Tyrone, 148-years old, and I get another 352-years to live, add that on, and it makes five-hundred, as I have said, and also I am the Master of the ‘77-Day Cult,’ which he emphatically snubbed out of his slow and horrid breath at his wife, as she look up at him. Now she could see the giant, it was the one she heard about, it was Vii.
“God forbid,” she tried to utter.


28

A Short Long War


As she lay there with contractions she told herself: it wasn’t over, they have not won, not yet. It was a long hall, she had tried to do everything right; she should have listened to the priest, how often we say these things afterwards, but she didn’t—rather, she followed her heart which was part desire, a wish, mixed with a fear, thinking it was pure logical to do so, instead of her senses, not realizing it was more an emotional reaction—response that she followed, more of a reaction than acting. But again, it was not over. The child contractions now were becoming more, timelier; they shifted from nine to seven seconds apart, and then she started to get harder cramps. This was, she mumbled, ‘…deception at it’s finest,’ but what she didn’t mumble was that a short war was about to begin—even though they had won the first battle.
She made her pack, her plan for better or worse; she knew how it must be, how it had to be, she had to let it run its course. She knew the therapy if anything, and she had saved herself by reversing the course of the curse and she was not about to give up her freedom. At 11:59 p.m., on the 7th of March the child was born, it was as unsightly, revolting, deformed as any monster Hollywood could create; but it had committed no sin, like her, they were both a gift, a free gift to life; and in one-way or the another, that is how the story would end, must end she told herself.
She was not coming back to her normal state, Dick was standing there, put a knife and gun in her hands, as he laid the child against her shoulder, “Kill it,” he demanded.
She looked at Dick, then at the boy baby, the one with no name and said with a commanding voice, “The child has a name, it is Dick Earnest Jr.” Dick Earnest looked horrified at that remark (as did his follower), then again demanded she kill it. But she laid no hand on the child; for to kill the child would assure the Abyss Worm would have a secure home again. And the curse would go on to the next generation, and the black ring would circle her forehead, it would appear similar to magic, like his was doing that very moment. Dick would then impregnate her again and somehow she knew it would be a girl. And this long cycle would reach out to the future. This was no way to live she told herself, convinced herself.
“Death rides a slow horse sometimes,” she whispered to Dick, “would you live my life?” He didn’t answer, but she read his mind, he would not, Master of the Cult or not, he would not.
“You can go home, once you get better,” Dick told her. And she answered, “I’d like to, if I could…” somehow she knew she was not going home though.




29


Restoration


As Anna lay helpless in bed, the child tucked against her right shoulder, a beastly looking thing, the gun and knife leaning against her right arm, she simply laid still, dying—no one wanted to help the child, or her. In a way no one wanted to be too involved, they wanted Anna to do it on her own. The curse was strong, as was the Abyss Worm, as was Vii, the demonic force standing by, as was God’s grace, and power. Everyone hoping someone else would do something and no one doing anything. It was as if there was a cockfight ready to start but no one starting it or making the first move.
They all pulled up chairs, sat and waited, several hours had gone by, still everyone waiting as two souls lay dying; watching their hearts go in and out, pumping breath into their chests, which moved up and down, up and down. They put water by the table next to Anna to drink but she drank nothing, she told them they’d have to force her, and if they did, they would be responsible for whatever happened, whatever took place, whatever would be triggered, either by the Abyss Worm, Vii, or his secret friend the Tiamat, or God Himself. She would be guilt free if, and when she died, and if any lay a hand on either of them, they would then also take on the current dilemma, the deadly forces that lay ahead.
Then all of a sudden Dick got thinking: the child had no food for several hours and should the child die in the mansion, in the Cult Club House, whom would be responsible, none other than he, for who was killing the child, it would be the Master of the Cult. He knew also if she left the child in the house, they would be responsible for it, and she’d walk away free…his deception was somehow backfiring on him.
“Kill the goddamn child Anna…!” he screamed, but Anna said nothing, she held her temper, her mouth, she was guilt free, and wanted to remain that way. And so still yet they remained, all sitting another two more hours. The child and Anna were becoming dehydrated. It had become a no win situation for the cult group, and as they looked at one another, these thoughts were becoming stronger and stronger by the minute, as the group kept looking at the child, themselves, then Anna; constantly the group was going in that circle of faces—and always stopping to pause at Dick’s face.


End of the War


Somehow, Anna was forcing herself into a coma—the child sucking on her breast, no one stopping it. And the Abyss Virus Worm, with all its poisonous, venomous atoms, chose to leave and find a new home, would not return, even though it was present for the delivery, it was gone before Anna could recognize it; hiding in a corner of the window in back of Vii. And then fear gripped the two-dozen people standing in, out, and around the room where Anna laid. It was now, forty-eight hours since the child was born.




(Three additional days passed, it was now the 5th day she remained in the bed; there was always someone, something at the end of the bed silently watching, or guarding her, an angel she thought, it comforted her to know someone was there, not sure what or who in a white robe like a doctor).

Said she aloud, to nobody: “I am all alone I see (hesitantly looking at the end of the bed, the angel had gone now); I am the only one left, laying here in the darkness all about me; in fact, I am the only person living who admits, I think, not to understand all of this. But that will do, just a little is enough for me I suppose. There will be no one to take my place, what a shame. [With her last breath]…I leave behind, a house full of dark shadows.”
30


[Epitaph]: It was March 9th when everyone in the mansion left, never to return, not taking anything, not one thing out of the mansion was taken. Anna was found three months later in bed (with two notes lying by her side)—dead, and the child was dead. As the police had noticed for that period of time, no activity in and around the house, they become suspicious, as did the neighbors, and together provoked an investigation, hence, finding as we now know, the two bodies; thus, emancipation took place that day, and from it the cult was dismantled, and never heard of again.
Anna



End of Story







Index of Characters
Outline and Genealogy Index




Trials Family

Arthur Trials: born 1823-died: 1883
Azaz Trials: born 1883-died 1883 (son to Arthur, murdered)
Dennis Trials: born 1857-died 1927 (2nd son to Arthur)
Thomas Trials: (nephew to Arthur): born 1878-died 193-


Noddoc Family:

Lady Belinda Noddoc born AD 1009/ died AD? Seer (related to Elsie)
Elsie Noddoc 1797 born; died in obscurity [?] (Family seers)
JJ Noddoc 1834 born; died 1866/Oct (See ’77-Day Cult’)


Lime Family:

Martha Lime (Married to JJ. mother to Sally Viper) born -1853 died-1866/Oct
(See ’77-Day Cult’)
Martha Reeder (Owner of a prostitute house [May 1868] unrelated to Lime family)


Viper Family

Tyrone Viper (born 1855…?)
Sally Viper (Lime) born 1900-died 1983
Minerva Viper (daughter to Sally) born 1931-died 2002
Lisa (daughter to Minerva) had sons Shawn and Mike and one daughter Anna
Azaz Viper (killed two weeks after conception), mother was Sally, and father was Thomas Viper-Trials; died 1930
Anna Viper (grand-daughter to Minerva); born 1981—?

Other Characters:

Charlie St. Clair (Chippewa Indian) -- born 1881-died 1931/from Minnesota (Blue Earth)
Dick Earnest--Christian Psychologist (2003-age?)

Vii—; came into existence between: 13,500-10,500 BC (demonic being-distant cousin to the Tiamat)
Tiamat-- 13,550 BC; demonic being; father Azaz’el an Angelic Renegade]/Asia, Minor
Master Cult Leader-- “77-Day Cult,” (also was known as the Executioner)


Miscellaneous:

Brian (supervisor at the St. Paul Post Office)
Sandy (secretary, at the St. Paul, Post Office)


Copyright © Curse of the Abyss Worm
The Original Manuscript draft, was written out in May of 2003 and sporadically
Worked on for several years /Reedited for publication in September and October of 2010
By Dennis L. Siluk, Ed. D.