I Hate Redactions

I went into the courthouse this morning hoping to find some records or a deed to a piece of property I stumbled upon over the weekend. This place was interesting to say the least. Although the outside of the building seemed run-down and vacant, the security system on the outside was quite modern. On top of that the fencing had the latest features. Clearly it wasn't as abandoned as the exterior will present. This actually reminded me of my trip to Montauk and Camp Hero while I was stationed in Connecticut.

While I did not find anything about the location, I did come across an interesting piece of paperwork, which seems to show the transfer of some type of vehicle to Summit View. And unlike the building where my phone went haywire, I was able to snap a quick picture before anyone could see me. I know that the document is heavily redacted, but there is enough visible information to connect some dots.

What do you think?

More Scripture from Revelation of Moloch

I am passing on a quick update this morning. Last night while I was out with some friends, I stumbled on another piece of the Revelation of Moloch. Excited, I ran home and quickly translated it. Here is that translated passage.

And the mighty angel peered into the womb and spoke, for the church in Sile: For this is the wisdom of him who rose among the meek and challenged the torment, through his deeds the sea was opened and the sinners cried for Salvation.  (Revelation of Moloch 1.9)

I am so glad that computer programs exist for this. Although my understanding and comprehension of Latin are improving, there is no way I could break this down in record time. Here is the original Latin that I had to work from.  

Et forti fabrorum malleos percussitque in utero, et angelus locutus est, quia ecclesia apud Sile: Hic sapientia est ex eo, qui ausus est maledicere populum pauperem et resurrexit in tormentis, aperuit in mare et facta peccatorum per clamavit ad salvandum. (1.9).

From research, the ancient Canaanite city of Sile sits in what would be Northern Turkey today in what would have been the Levant region of the globe during ancient times. This is another interesting connection between Moloch and the Man of the Cloth. It seems as though the Knights Templar visited this land in search of the Scepter of the Golden Dawn in an attempt to save their order. This may be another connection to that text I discovered at the estate sale. 

Pick it up, you can read that for yourself. 

Grab Yours Today

Safe At Last - A Survival Account

Shut up! Please, please Lord; make these voices go away. I can’t take it; I have no children, yet this boy keeps screaming in my ear. I can feel him breathe on me as I sleep. His eyes, God, his eyes stare through me. And the shrieks, they are deafening. Please help someone, anyone, HELP!!!!!!!!!!

Since I can’t sleep anyway, I figured I would post something on here that I found while unpacking a box from the old apartment. This account is another fight for survival. I have no idea what happened to these people, or where I came across this account, but I can only hope that they made it.

I think we’re safe at last. I’m not sure for how long, but at least for the moment it seems like we have escaped these things. I wanted to say people, but they don’t seem human. I have no idea what we are up against out there or what to do. Hell, I can’t believe any of this is real. 

At least we have found this house. Something with the sanctity of this place soothes me, drowning the ghastly visions of what I encountered from my mind. Although this house is dark, I am not frightened by anything inside. What is outside is different though. I can’t believe what is happening, the way that woman was defiled by those beasts was like nothing I have ever seen. I remember the anguish in her eyes as she fell, her bloodied corpse invigorating their every move, that and her brains. Why did they go for the brains?

What are the vile demons that hunt us, what do they want? They really can’t be hunting us down for our flesh, can they? I don’t know anything anymore. Hell, I don’t even know if there are any more survivors out there. It can’t be, somewhere, someone else must be alive. We can’t be the only ones left. I can’t get it out of my mind, what could have caused the horrific events I am witnessing? Who would want to create these maggot infested fiends? Whoever it is, I hope they are happy with themselves. What am I saying? This is insanity. I must be dreaming. This has to be a nightmare.

I am growing tired as the hands on the clock grow weary. We can only last a little longer by ourselves; our ammunition disappears with every shot. I have to hurry and board the windows. I can hear them in the distance; their moans pierce the stillness of our surroundings. Shit, only eight bullets remain, I hope I can find another way to stop them. Hopefully, I can find it soon.

A Survivor? Could it Be?

Sorry, sorry… I haven’t been able to be around for a few days. But, these dreams, no nightmares have been eating me alive. I don’t know where it’s coming from; I have no kids. Yet, this boy, if you can call him that with his rotten flesh and railroad-spiked teeth, comes to me screaming he’s hungry. Between his screams and cries, I struggle to sleep, let alone, do any research on the infestation or the Man of the Cloth.

On a positive (at least I think) note, I did receive an email from my friend Mark (you know the writer). He was telling me, well, just read it for yourself…

Malachi,

I hope your research in Summit View is coming along smoothly. I wanted to drop you a line because I saw something that you may enjoy. When I was down at Monsterfest 14 on Saturday, I found what could have been a survivor of the accounts you made public in After the Static. In fact, she was holding a copy of the book along with her baby.

What if the contamination spread? Could the United Nations have missed some of the infected? I don’t know, but it was just a touch odd and I figured that you would like to know.

Message me when you get a chance and let me know of any new findings. I am really interested in the results of your research.

-      -  Mark

Could it be, could one of the infected have escaped the city? Oh God, I don’t know, I was sure all of the survivors were tested for remnants of the virus. Shit, I may have to head back to the clinic to see if they have ever heard anything about the infection spreading. Of course, they often deny that event ever took place. I know the government has them silenced, funny how that seems to always happen after a tragedy. Just pay attention to the news cycles, the stories seem to always die down extremely fast after the initial outrage, that way people don't dig for the truth... 

Damn, I hate the clinic. I hear enough screaming in my sleep, I don’t need to hear them when I am awake.

Get yours today!

Recently Released - Salvation: A Templar's Quest for Redemption

With all of the excitement last week of finally seeing my first novel After the Static released, I missed talking about what is somewhat of a guilty pleasure for me. I love poetry, especially the epic verse contained in classics such as Inferno and Paradise Lost. That is when I stumbled upon this interesting tale and after translations, I made it my next release Salvation: A Templar’s Quest for Redemption.

While this in no way could ever measure up to those classics, it is an interesting journey back in time for one member of the Knights Templar in an attempt to save their order from persecution. Sure, this one is only 30 Canto’s long, but it is a fun journey into darkness and another addition into the world of The Ridge.

Here is a synopsis of the epic poem:

Are the end times near? That is a sentiment shared by many throughout the centuries. That is also a refrain that forced Pope Anacletus to send one of his devout Knights Templar on a quest to ancient Levant in search of Baal, Moloch, and the Scepter of Golden Light in an attempt to redeem his order in the eyes of a splintered and corrupt church. Does he succeed, did he find Salvation, or was he overwhelmed in the depths of Hell?

If interested in reading this or After the Static, they are both on Amazon. You can pick up a paperback of Salvation for $6.99 or download the eBook for only $.99.

Finally - After the Static has been Released!

Finally, finally, I can’t believe it. After years of work, the horrid atrocities brought forth upon our nation by those vile merciless traitors at the United Nations will finally be brought to light. I really can’t believe it. The document I had spent so much time dissecting, organizing and writing has finally been released.

Yes, yes, this book caused me much pain and loss as I had to endure the torturous screams and voices tormenting me every day. But, I swear, all of that will be worth it if I can enlighten one person about the carnage left in our great city. Please help spread the word about this nightmare by picking up a copy today in either paperback or digital download.

Here is the synopsis I came up with when working with the cover designer:

Years after a strange infestation swept through Southwestern Pennsylvania and released a wave of cannibalistic fiends across the land, a tormented survivor, Malachi Isaacs, remains haunted by the depravity he witnessed during the ordeal. Overwhelmed inside a never-ending living nightmare filled with visions of bloodstained streets and the constant sounds of the voices and screams of the fallen, he sets out on a quest for discovery aimed at unmasking those responsible for unleashing the vile plague on humanity. Armed with personal memories of love and loss as well as a myriad of first-hand accounts from different victims he found during his research, Malachi tells their stories, and in time, discovers that the truth behind the undead may be worse than he ever could have fathomed.

Grab yours today! 

Good News - Back from Kecksburg

I'm sorry that I haven't made it back on here after my trip to Kecksburg. That was incredible. While I wasn't able to find anything extremely interesting or groundbreaking on my trip, I did find it incredibly hard to discuss the subject with some of the locals. You would think that a place that has an acorn mock-up of the craft would be more receptive to inquiries into the subject, especially when those questions come from a person looking to help expose the truth. 

I know something happened there, it had to. There is no way that so many witnesses imagined the same things. It is impossible for that to be the case (unless it was a giant example of the Mandela Effect). Maybe we should all file FOIA requests. Of course, my good friend Mark did, and he was denied any information. Those are actually interesting documents, as the request was opened and closed because the office had no idea where the information was being held. Crazy, given a specific date, time, and location, and the Department of Defense is clueless. I guess that shouldn't be surprising.

In many ways, this trip reminded me of those days after the outbreak when everyone was in denial about what transpired. I was stared at constantly as I tried to discuss the invasion and the role those bastards from the United Nations played in destroying many innocents. Those fucking Elites and their genocidal agenda. Fuck you! Not all of us are willing to bow down before the white and blue and be controlled by the false prophet that controls the one world government.

Speaking of the outbreak, I finally received the final proof of After the Static and I have been promised that it will be out in a few days. I can't wait, those stories need to be told and everyone needs to know the truth. Everyone must realize that the Elites and their minions in control of the United Nations are not your friends. They don't want to help you, or even look out for you. All they are concerned with is world domination and making you one of their slaves.

The Strange Event at Kecksburg

When I woke this morning, I was amazed by how I felt. For the first time in forever, it seems as though the screams and voices that have been tormenting me have gone away. At least for one-night sanity returned and maybe now, I can function normally. I hope so; I cannot take much more of this torture.

Maybe I will step outside of Summit View today and take a small trip. It would be nice to get some air and explore some more of this strange land that exists all around me. Yeah, I think I will head over to Kecksburg, a location that endured something much like I detailed in After the Static when those bastards from the United Nations overtook us and washed it away. Of course, Kecksburg was saved from any type of outbreak, so they are lucky in those regards. But still, the swarm of government vermin did reportedly overrun this quaint community along the Ridge.

If you haven’t heard about it, where have you been? Okay, that may be a little harsh, but I am sorry, this is one of the most important happenings in United States history. Yes, it is not a zombie outbreak, but the potential crash of a UFO should rank up there with Roswell.  I have done some research on the subject and would love to know what happened.

While I believe that something crashed in these woods, I don’t think that what crashed was not of alien origin. I believe it was Die Glocke, or the Nazi Bell; a time machine that Hitler was working on during World War II. Sure, I know that this is likely a stretch, but isn’t anything possible?Unfortunately, the elite-controlled puppets we call government denies all knowledge of what happened and much like my research on the United Nations and the zombie outbreak, answers are shrouded in silence.

If you haven’t heard about Kecksburg, here is a brief synopsis. On December 9, 1965, witnesses reported seeing a bright fireball falling into a ravine near Meteor Road in the small community of Kecksburg, Pennsylvania. Incredibly, the object was not just seen there, as thousands of witnesses in at least six states and Ontario, Canada reported seeing something similar streak across the night sky. However, it is what happened next that has caused all the controversy and spawned generations of conspiracy theorists.

In Kecksburg, multiple reports of the crash were reported by both children and adults, all with similar descriptions of a bluish light and smoke rising from the hollow. These reports described an acorn-shaped structure about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle with strange, hieroglyphic-like symbols adorning the lower part of the structure. These same witnesses also describe the rapid military response to the incident with whole platoons of Army personnel arriving shortly after the crash to quarantine the area. Of course, the government has denied any knowledge of this activity and claim nothing happened on that night. Even Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests about the incident have come up empty with no record existing about what exactly transpired that night.  

We know that is a lie, even the local newspaper, the Tribune-Review, ran a headline the next morning that read, "Unidentified Flying Object Falls near Kecksburg — Army Ropes off Area". The onsite reporter was a witness to the events along with the local fire department and members of the State Police, yet the Army still denies knowledge.  While we may never know exactly what happened in this rural area, one thing is certain; the government is hiding something from the population. 

I personally don’t think I will find anything today when I head out there, but who knows. maybe I will run into the guys filming the movie about the subject and will be able to talk to them. All I know is that right now, anything is better than staying here locked inside this nightmare. Hell, just the idea of spending some time in the woods makes me feel better already. Plus, I need a break from Moloch and the Man of the Cloth. The further I get on those subjects, the louder the voices get.

I will let you know if I find anything.

Goodbye and Goodnight

Shut up! Please stop, I can’t take it anymore. I am so afraid to leave this room, let alone my apartment right now. I can’t believe how bad these screams have become. I am a walking migraine. Everywhere I look the screams echo inside the silence in my mind. Hell they even drown out my own voice when I try to talk to myself. It’s fucking miserable. And my research, my research is going nowhere. I can’t think let alone focus one something as complex as demonic infestation, the United Nations, and a government cover-up.

What am I saying, who would believe me anyway. Nobody probably reads this anyway. Why would you, you probably believe that I am insane, crazy, or both. You may even think I am a psychopath. I swear I’m not. I can tell you that I love people, I love interacting with people and I can’t handle what these screams and voices or doing to me. I hate it, I absolutely fucking hate it.

After interacting with Mark the other day and receiving his permission to post a piece he found (or wrote) on this blog. I thought I would return the favor and send him something I found the other night as I was sorting through some boxes from the attic. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. But revisiting it again has left me somewhat perplexed. Did one of my relatives actually have a page from the Daemonum Codex Illustrationis? Could she really raise a demon from the depths of the abyss? If true, that is incredible.

Shut up! Please, leave me alone. I can’t take it anymore. Please, someone, help me survive this torture.

Goodbye and Goodnight

An essay by Dr. Valencia Issacs as provided by Malachi Isaacs 

October 7,

What is happening to me? Where am I? The last thing I remember was standing over your wretched corpse, staring into the oblivion held deep within those desolate black eyes. I was lost in a swirling sea of emotions, contemplating the impossibilities that surrounded me. How could this be? How could I be standing here? Yesterday, you did not exist, yet today you breathe and feel. How can this be?

What was this place? The vile smell of death surrounded me, and the dampness stirred echoes of what once was. I was there before, in fact, I found you there in the depths. Your spiraling horns rose from the skull announcing your presence beneath the altar, your arms mirrored your 10 legs, your rotten grey flesh charred from years of exile. But, why was I there again? Will someone, or something, rise from the depths of the abyss to save you now that I have broken the covenant of light? Oh God, Lord, what have I done?

I had to get back; there is no way that you can exist on this plane. I must be dreaming because this nightmare cannot be real. You cannot be here. I knew what the book said, I knew about the dangers contained inside with the spells and the potions. I was so wrong; I should have never opened the Daemonum Codex Illustrationis. Those tainted pages are not meant for mortals.

Maybe I am dreaming; there is no way that I could have resurrected anything, yet alone, something so powerful. I hoped that was the case, for if I did accomplish this feat, the world could never know of your existence. Like the Nephilim before you, your history cannot be told. No one would understand the greatness that flows through your veins. The knowledge, the power, the wisdom, or the power of the scripture trapped inside this shard from the Daemonum Codex Illustrationis, no one could ever know,

I see it so clear. As I moved toward your carcass, I could feel the dankness rouse every sense; it enlightened every nerve within my sinful body. Yet, something was much different this time. The air had changed, the atmosphere, everything. Oh God, what have I done? Shaking, I could not look behind the door; I feared what I would find. I wanted to move, but I was paralyzed. Yet, I could feel every sensation, every bit of tension that filled the dreary depths of the laboratory. Why was I there? What did I do?

I could hear the chamber door squeal as I turned the knob; the sound drowned the thump of my faint heartbeats. My pulse quickened as I drew close to you. I could see your body, the grey tint of your flesh and all of your appendages frozen beneath the shroud. The foulness of your breath infested every step I took. You are real; you are alive.

I tried to move my head to follow every twitch, as I fumbled through my journal at the desk, but I could not concentrate. I was trapped there within this tomb and I could never leave. What have I done to deserve this? How can this be? I have run this experiment before with no success. Cats, dogs, even humans, and not even a quiver. Why you, why now?

As I looked through my journal, I was hypnotized by the words as I tried to decipher what I had done.

August 20,

The specimen is upon the table, his body unlike anything I have encountered in my years of study. Seven horns, 10 tentacle legs, 10 arms, is this some sort of demon from the depths of Hell?

I have the mixture ready. Three parts lilac, four parts Sodium phosphate monobasic dehydrate, one-quart placenta, and five parts basilisk blood boiled with the fat of a virgin goat. All I have to do is inject into the Pituitary Gland. If I am right, that will sit behind the fifth horn and beneath the left eye. According to the Daemonum Codex Illustrationis, this should open the eye of Horus. Now the verse, and watch rebirth will begin.

Sub luce in manibus

Timor non-sunt Daemonum, ET nos de somno surgere;

Nam per haec elementa tuus animam lucere faciet

et homo in medio tui et ambules

October 7,

What have I done, all I wanted was to defeat God, for the torment has trapped me inside this prison. I wanted you, anything, to live and learn. Now, what am I to do, this secret can never get out? No one could ever understand this or accept you, whoever, I mean, whatever you are. A vat of emotions continues to swirl inside my mind. Questions abound. Why didn’t it work before? Why now, why you?

What did those words say? I have already checked the potion, nothing different than before. Could I have made a mistake in my reading of the verse? Where is my translation of the text, it should give me some insight.

Beneath these hands and within the light

Fear not demon, and rise from your slumber,

For through these elements, your soul shall shine

And you shall walk among man.

Wait, no, it can’t be; I couldn’t have done that. No, no, it can’t be; I resurrected a demon. I knew you weren’t human, the scales and the placid flesh gave that away. But, a demon, how could that be? You were merely a legend. It has to be true though; there is no other way to explain when I have done. That has to be why it worked this time?

Oh God, what have I done? Why did you possess me with this passion for knowledge? Why did I want to create life from the slops of the forgotten? I thought that rescuing their soulless hosts from the depths of despair and breathing life into their forsaken hearts would set them free. Now, I am trapped within my personal inferno with one of the Legion.

I know what I have to do, I have to go back and see you; I have to look at what I have done. But, I know as I pull back that shroud, I will see a sparkle in the depths of your sunken black eyes. You can tell when I am there; you can feel me near. What am I going to do? There is no way that I can allow you to survive. Still, I crave something more and these voices are telling me to stop.

After all, of my work and all of the experiments, the fact that I have to rid the world of your presence sickens me. Even if you are a demon, this is what I have longed for. You are the answer to my prayers and the answers that I have sought out for so long. I can’t do it, no, for the wisdom you may harbor could change history. Yes, yes, I realize now as I sit here that your depraved exterior will never be accepted in our society that is entombed within haze of intolerance. They could never understand that what lies beneath ones skin outweighs the disgust of ones mutilated appearance.

What am I to do? I know how ghastly you look; I know you could never stand a chance outside in this cruel world. The thick scars from your decayed flesh mar your pale face. The anemic dead hands protruding from every tentacle, absolutely everything about you is horrifying. Well, not everything. Your eyes, your eyes are majestic, as dark as the blackest hole in the universe. They are truly your best feature, and I know that they are the only true doorways into your soul.

I want you to talk to me, to tell me what you are thinking. How can I snuff out your final breath when you deserve so much more than this? I will have to plan for it, for I know that I could never undertake such actions alone; especially if I have to again gaze upon your genius paralyzed upon my altar. If I look at you, I know that your brilliant eyes will betray your emotions, and in turn, my loins will call for you.

When I gave you life from the remains in the garden, I not only resuscitated a mystery, I shaped a companion. No, I cannot do it. No matter how horrible you look on the outside or whatever your history holds or depraved your evil, I cannot destroy you. I will not, I can’t do it!

Unfortunately, I know I must. I could not live with myself if you escaped my lair, or harmed an innocent, as hard as this will be; this is something I have to do. My scalpel is near; I know I must take my final steps toward my destiny. I have waited too long already. Yes, at last, the unknown is known, and the truths held within this tome can become reality. But, is the emptiness created from these deeds worth the sadness that will rise from the immoral?

I know that in a few minutes, my heart will again cry for affection. I know now that I am indeed the monster and can never share the companionship that I desire. At least for a moment, I had you in my life and I felt complete. Remember me, not as the murderer I am about to become, but as the soul that you enlightened with your presence.

I am so sorry, for I know that I cannot hide in my journal and I must face you once again. As I gave you life, I will seal your fate with my blade, not because you are a hideous monster, but because you were never meant to walk among us. Goodbye and good night.

Help Me Magdalene, Help Me

Last night, I couldn't sleep. The visions of the undead have returned and are torturing me every time I close my eyes. Between those and the fucking voices, I am losing my mind. Since I couldn't sleep, I decided to explore the internet in hopes of finding some type of material that could spark my research. All I need is a little hint, and I know everything I have been accumulating will fall into place.

That is when I stumbled upon the Patreon account for that writer, the one from the play and the upcoming class and he had an interesting piece that caught my attention. It was a letter, written from some guy named Martin to a Magdalene in 1963 and in it, it mentions the Man of Cloth and an incident close to the one that he was discussing in the promotional materials for his class.This motivated me so much that I broke down and emailed him to see if the letter was real and if it was, I could use it on here as part of my project. 

Just minutes ago, he responded with a simple, "Absolutely on both." 

What a break, maybe taking this class will give me some more insight on the strange happenings here and around Summit View. More importantly, it may help me discover the origins of the Man of the Cloth that has taken center stage in my investigation. 

                                                                                                                                      - Malachi

Help Me Magdalene, Help Me

From Martin as relayed by Mark A. Mihalko

October 13, 1963

Magdalene,

You will never believe what happened to me last night. Even now, my comprehension wavers. At first, my evening began as expected. I was cautiously transiting the hollow near the abandoned priory. The dreariness was oppressing, and yes before you ask, the mysterious history of the area populated my mind. I did not imagine this! I am not crazy! Believe me, when I tell you, I saw the dark shrouded figure along the side of the road, clambering on recess of the berm.

The sheets of rain and hail pierced my Falcon; I could only imagine how the howling winds were battering him. I had to stop; lend assistance. As I crept toward the solemnly cloaked figure, the repressing atmosphere grew heavy; the temperature plummeted. There was no face! There was only lifeless shell of a man. I looked into the abyss and saw Hell. I looked into the abyss and saw myself. In a flash, he was gone! Stunned. Alone. Confused, I had to go, something was wrong.

That is when the swiftness of his blade crept toward my head. What the hell? This man of cloth tried to kill me, but his vane was painless when it broke through my neck. Was he there? Or, am I crazy? No, I know what I saw; I am not crazy! Magdalene, you know me, I am not insane. Unique, maybe, but not insane. Shaken, overdrive kicked in and I made haste. I did not stop until I was secured inside my apartment. Petrified, frozen in this dank alcove, my will to live has vanished. I need you, I love you; please help me!


- Martin

Please Stop! Please Don't!

God, the voices, they haven't stopped! No matter what I do, they are there, torturing my every thought, my every breath. What can I do? I have to find someway out of this Hell. I am tired of being trapped here. My mind, my thoughts, who am I? Why am I here. 

Stop! Please stop, I beg of you. Write, I will have to write. That is when the voices seem to subside a bit. But, about what? I haven't been able to do any research lately; these damn voices won't let me. Although, there was that story by that guy. You know the one from the play. It caught me off guard because it seemed to reference the Man of the Cloth. I know he knows something more than he is letting on. He has too! I'm sure he won't mind if I find it and type it out on here. Maybe then you can tell me what you think. 

I remember leaving your house at dusk that fall night with the eerie mist and the brisk winds howling through Appalachia etched into my mind. Our sins were weighing on my soul. These forbidden desires we harbor in this illicit union. I could still taste you on my lips, your soft pale flesh, so sweet, so luscious. My mind entranced by the thoughts of your beauty, but my heart torn on the reality of the situation. Our end was near.

I started up the summit with the memory of your heartbeat creating the perfect soundtrack for my life, filling my mind with both remorse and regret. Our unholy bond in the forefront, the thoughts of truth silenced. Our last ritual together changed everything. As soon as the blood flowed into the chalice, I knew we could rule the world. From the first slit of the wrist, to the depths of your inner thighs, we could indeed be one. Apart we are but pawns, but now, after what seems like all perpetuity, we exist together. I must break my silence and face my destiny. I must forever lay inside the taboo realm that I have created.

At that point, I knew something would have to change if I were to survive another extended period without you, without the dark sour veins lining your heart. Although your presence is a challenge to me, I am only alive in your arms. A secret I hold deep within the bounds of my heart, one so painful that it could destroy me if I ever realized the depths that your unholy presence would go to control me.

At the peak, I could see the majestic inn shining through the darkness. The mist that followed me had finally turned to rain, falling down my windshield like the tears of pain running down your beautiful face when I left. I can still see the scarlet stream glistening through the moonlight, mirroring Virginia’s suffering with Edgar so long ago. The rain also made it impossible to see clearly. In my mind, I wanted to turn back. The pleasure of being in your arms again was tugging at my every thought; your flavor is more satisfying than my future at this moment. That is when I saw the man in the light. He was wandering down the mountain, cloaked and alone. His flowing robe drenched by the now torrential downpour that was on top of us.

What was so important for this man of the cloth, where was he going? There was no type church or seminary anywhere close in this direction. I could understand it. Why is he here? Why is he headed back to town?  For the first time in a long while, everything was clear, for he had to be a messenger from above. He was there to save my soul from eternal damnation. I would, no, I must, stop. I had to repent my deeds.

As I pulled over, something was very wrong, this man. His face appeared empty inside the dark cloak; I could make out no details at all, as I rolled my passenger window down. His face, where was his face? All at once, the horror of my reality cried out as he disappeared before my eyes. What have I done, why am I seeing things like this? Shaken by the happenings of the last five minutes, I tried to focus and start my trip again. Where was his face? Damn it, I cannot erase the emptiness in his face, in his hands. His hands were so pale. That is when reality hit me with one swift crash. "No stop please, don't!" I cried out as the pale almost skeletal hand reached through my window grasping at my hair.

In a flash, my life changed forever. All I remember hearing when my torso hit the steering wheel was the words, "Your sins are forgiven my son!" 

The Children

I had to do something today to help keep the voices from my head, so I did some writing. With the news breaking that one of Manson's followers would be granted parole, I figured that it would be a perfect subject to possibly help me clear my head. Maybe the Man of the Cloth is connected to some type of cult activity,could the be possible? It would make sense, wouldn't it? SHUT UP! Leave me alone!

I am miserable, why did they come back? These voices won't stop! The more I write, the more I research, they are there! Yet. this research I am doing, I know that it's important. There is a reason that I found these connections to Moloch. There is a reason I survived the outbreak, and more importantly had the resolve to finish documenting the accounts from that tragedy. but, these screams, the voices, they won't stop.

Plus, everyday, society takes another strange turn. The eclipse, the red moon, the disasters. Water falling from the sky, famine, plagues, murders; the end times may be near and I know that Moloch plays a part in the devastation. Is the Antichrist alive? Does he/she walk among us? I don't fucking know. I don't know anything anymore.

Help me, please help me.

The Children 

The hands on the clock seemed to be frozen, as Katy continued to internally debate this decision. It had been two months since her ordeal began. 61 days trapped inside this bland hotel room waiting for the judge to call, waiting to face her demon. The thought of Charlie staring at her, no, looking through her was enough to send her into a panic. But, she knew that Charlie, and most of all, his family, must be stopped. It had been nearly three-years since she turned her back on the family and escaped the mental and physical torture on the ranch.

"How much longer do I have to wait?" Katy asked John, her court assigned protector.

"I couldn’t tell you Katy, they are still laying out the timeline of the murders," John said, "So, this could take a while."

"Damn, I need this to end. I don’t know what's worse, the thought facing Charlie again, or spending another month secluded away in this room," she said taking a sip of her lemonade.

For Katy, this nightmare was killing her. When she ran away in 1968, she thought she would be free; she never wanted to look Charlie in the eyes again, to have him stare into her soul. He was a master manipulator preying on the weak minded to satisfy his lust and desires. The women in his cult were nothing more than whores, used as pawns in nightly drug induced orgies.

At first she thought, these forays into sin were fun parts of the hippie culture back in 67. Free love, sex, LSD, and marijuana lined the tables and she could not get enough. But, Katy was naive and soon realized something more sinister was at work. A runaway, she met Charlie at a party in the desert. Almost immediately, she felt a spark.

18, broke and alone, she jumped at a chance to join the family and soon moved into the ranch. Soon she discovered that she was just another pretty face in this crowd, and not the special blossom Charlie convinced her she was that night when they met.

"You OK, Katy? You seem disconnected today." John said peering across the table.

"No, John, I will never be OK," she said, "Soon the world will know I was one of Manson’s whores!"

"Stop that. You left over a year before the horrific incident," he said.

"Maybe, but I knew something bad was going to happen; I knew someone was going to die. " she said.

Katy remembered the day she knew something was wrong. Charlie started preaching his own gospel, manipulating the word of God. More terrifying to the young daughter of a preacher was the fact that most of his followers believed his prophesy that a racial apocalypse was at hand. She watched as the craving for bloodshed was growing inside the ranch. She knew she had to escape.

On a cool 58-degree night, she slid out the window of her cabin, making sure not to disturb any other family members; she quietly made her way to the edge of the property. From there, she stumbled through to rough terrain. She remembered the rocks piercing her sandals and battering her feet; the cacti grabbing at her legs and slashing her flesh. She had to push through. She had to escape.

Even today, some three-years later, those scars from her ordeal are still visible lining her legs and feet. They marked her body on the outside the same way Charlie's touch stained her insides. Unfortunately, a harsh truth was setting in. The longer the prosecution made her wait in this bland hotel room, the more she felt like she was making a mistake. She knew that she could not face Charlie; she recognized that she still loved him. Indeed, she was still part of the family.

What could she do? She volunteered to testify, to talk about the early stages of Helter Skelter. Would she have to, or could the state win their case without her? Yes. Yes, they could, she thought. There is no way that the testimony of a Manson disciple, one that fled the ranch years before the massacre, could make a difference.

"John, I have a question. Be honest," she said.

"Yes, Katy, what's that?" He replied leaning toward her.

"Does the state need me to testify, or could they win without me," she said, "the longer I sit in this room the more I realize that I made a mistake coming forward. I want to go back into my own seclusion."

"Well, I can understand that, this has to be hard on you, digging up these terrifying memories, but there is nothing I can do. You have to testify," he said.

"John, you are basically my only contact with the outside world. Hell, my telephone does not even work. Do you understand that? Please, can you talk to the DA for me?" Katy asked.

"Katy, I'll think about it. Maybe when I turn over with the night shift tonight, I can make a call. “Relax,” he said, “nothing will happen to you here!”

Katy smiled as she continued to sip on her lemonade. Little did John realize his answer was not good enough for her; that her internal strife was building. She knew that she could not face Charlie again. But, what was she to do?

What’s that, she thought as the chant of, "Kill him, slaughter the pig, kill," filled her mind. At last, the long dormant voice in her head erupted from the nether. Unfortunately, she knew there was only one way to silence them, one way she could be free. She would have to murder John, and escape this godforsaken tomb.

"John, come closer, I want to tell you a secret," she said.

John moved toward Katy as she closed in. The silence shattered when the glass of lemonade cracked his skull.

"Forgive me John, for we will always be Charlie's children."