I imagine that many, if not most, will believe this story none at all. For that I cannot blame them... But these are the things that happened to me,
and trying to deny any of it happened has only served to make me feel even crazier than I already do. I feel that it is a story worth sharing, though,
for whatever it's worth.
I would like to preface this post with several things:
First, that names of persons and locations will be changed or omitted in such a way to make individuals and locales as unidentifiable as possible. I
understand that obfuscation of facts is almost anathema here, but the Temple I've been in hiding from for the past two years has many, many resources
to expend finding people who cross them.
Second, that I am Bipolar I, with the added bonus of delusions when I'm really manic. I feel that failing to mention that important fact would do a
disservice to the readership of ATS. It is the grain of salt.
And finally, that there is a very broad divide between white magic and black magic, the right-hand path and the left-hand path. True evil in the world
triumphs only if those who carry the light give up or die.
I was only fourteen when he came for me in dreams. It's been nine years, but I can still remember the first dream like it was a recent waking
experience. It wasn't long before my fifteenth birthday, and summer break was less than two months away. It was a weekend.
In the dream, I had gone on a jog and somehow wound up in the Inland Empire of California. Hopelessly lost, I found my way to a truck stop to ask for
directions to a town in Riverside County, where a friend of mine lived. A trucker stopped me as I was leaving. He was tall and broad shouldered,
bespectacled, with whispy silver-white hair; he was older, and dressed entirely in black. It began dimly throbbing in my mind as he approached that I
needed to wake up before he did something to me, but by the time I realized it, I was too late. It was like he put me under.
When I came to, still dreaming, I found myself in a small room with a bunch of other teens around my age and younger. Most of the other kids were
people I did not know, though two of them were girls I knew from school, Jessica and Ashley. They did not feel like dream characters as I was used to;
they felt like real people, real kids, the real Jessica and Ashley.
The room we were in was long and rectangular, with yellow-grey walls and no windows. There was a white table in middle of the room, leaving a few feet
on all sides around it, almost like a table in a meeting room, and with a white bench on either side. The floor was pavement. Though there were no
light fixtures, the room had an ambient light to it. There was no door, and the man would suddenly appear and disappear, seemingly at will.
We were being held captive, and that is all I could tell for sure about what was happening. I knew by that point I was dreaming, but I could not wake
up despite my best efforts. That part disturbed me nearly as much as the situation itself, since I've been able to wake up at will since I was four
years old, and I've been lucid since I was eight. My retrospective theory is that he used the same principles behind the creation of the internal
temple in ceremonial magic, to create a purpose-built prison, and trapped our dreaming minds therein.
Whenever he came into the room, he would line us up sitting at the table, and pace, watching us. He made us sit perfectly still, hands folded in our
laps, our eyes gazing downwards at the white table, or he would punish us. We were to be quiet, and not look at him, or he would punish us. He could
read our thoughts, and if one of us thought about escaping, he would punish us. He would just stare, and it would hurt.
Once he had finished his inspection of us, he would allow us to sit on the floor away from the table, but that was worse. It meant he was ready to
pick out a couple of kids and torture them, or use them to torture each other, while the rest of us could do nothing but watch, holding each other
helplessly and weeping. Even if it weren't a ToS violation to post the ways in which he tormented us, I still would not post it. It was beyond
horrifying, and some things do not deserve a voice. One by one, though, he started breaking us down that way, including Jessica, and all the remainder
of us could do was pray that we weren't next.
It felt like this went on for weeks and weeks. As time as it existed there went on, I got better at hiding my thoughts from him, and my intentions. I
marked my progress by how many stares I recieved, and once I got no more stares, I pretended that I was totally broken. I had a plan. I had found that
there were a few of my lucid dreaming abilities that were not removed from me in his construct: that I still had pyrokinesis.
And, finally, when he came for one of his inspections and rounds of torture, I was ready. As he stood across the table from me, giving his stare to
the blond boy in front of me, who writhed in terrible agony, I directed all of my focus into where the man's liver would have been were we in the
flesh, focusing my fire through his dream body into his real one.
He heaved and clutched his gut with both arms. He began looking at our solemn faces, frantically trying to figure out who amongst us was hurting him.
I kept at him. As he began to weaken, the room got dimmer, its features less distinct. The other kids started freaking out, jumping up from the table
and moving away from the two of us. They started flickering out, one by one, and those who were left scratched desperately at the walls. The
inexplicable light in the room began to pulse.
"You," he wheezed.
I looked up into his eyes, and I opened my mind to him, to show myself and let him know that he would not get away with doing this to the other kids
and me. He got this crazed expression on his face, almost leering at me, and he chuckled. He stared, and the pain started. I dug my fingers into my
thighs and focused harder. He stumbled backwards towards the wall, still laughing and giving me that psychotic stare. He hit the wall and crumpled
onto the floor of the fading room. Everything went black.
I awoke slowly, with a blazing headache and sore eyes, drenched in sweat. My alarm was shrieking at me; I'd forgotten to turn it off for the weekend.
Based on the time, it had been going off for just over four hours. I knew that something profound had happened that night, that it wasn't "just a
There was something palpably wrong with Jessica and Ashley at school on Monday. They looked grim, and they would break eye contact with each other and
with me as soon as it was made. Jessica was a wreck. And I was too afraid to ask them if it had really happened; I wanted desperately for it to be
nothing. But everywhere I went, I couldn't help but watch for that man.
Jessica strangled herself to death with her shoelaces less than a year later, whilst under suicide watch, after she'd tried the same thing at home.
It happened with no warning. She was doing better, and then she just up and killed herself. Almost two years to the day after the dream, somebody
murdered Ashley. Their deaths haunt me to this day.
Before they died, we three had become close, though we never spoke of the dream; then we became two, and we didn't speak of it. Now I am alone, and I
have nobody left who was there with me. The pain of losing them both pierces my being; I am in tears writing about them, and I can't convey how much
I miss them still.
Over the next year, the man was a fixture in my dreams. Some of his appearances were my psychological impression of him; other times, he himself would
come through what was previously a prop character and attempt to kill me. Week after week, we fought each other in dreams. Then, abruptly, it
A few months went by, and my dreams were peaceful. I went back to having awesome lucid dreams about being a rock star in my favorite bands, about
visiting friends who lived far away, flying around, and going places I always wanted to go.
School let out for summer, and everything was chill. I still worried about the day he would come for me, but it seemed like a problem for the future,
and at sixteen, the future was forever away to me. I kept working on my esoteric stuff, though, primarily lucid dreaming and meditation. I had the
fortune of learning about chi from my summer theatre teacher, and my mom decided it was high time for me to learn how to practice magic. I
strengthened the tie between my body and spirit, ending whatever aims at full astral projection I'd had before, in case someone tried pulling me out
of my dreams into another construct. It was an acceptable trade-off to me. I felt okay.
Then, in mid-July, he came back with company. I was dreaming about rocking out with Marilyn Manson (I was very much a goth kid), when suddenly the
dream changed. I found myself lying on the hood of a big rig truck speeding down a highway, as if I'd fallen from the sky and landed on it. The
passing air whipped around my face and roared all around me. There was a woman standing on the hood of the truck next to me. She gave me a kick in the
"Get up!" she screeched over the wind and called me a word that rhymes with 'witch'. I pushed myself up and looked around. The woman was skinny,
lanky, and homelier than a bad sex change. She wore a green plaid blouse that matched her eyes, tight faded jeans, and doc martens. Her hair was
stop-light red. Driving the truck was that damned man.
"You can't hurt me here!" I yelled. I leapt up from the hood of the truck. She grabbed my ankle and threw me back down before I could fly away.
"Yes, little girl, We can," she growled back. She leaned down and picked me up by the throat, squeezing hard.
"You're in my dream, though, moron," I choked. I jerked myself awake, still with the feeling of her hand around my neck and my heart jackhammering
away in my chest.
There was more than just that man. They were a group, and the verbal italics provided by the redheaded woman stuck. I was scared once the
gravity sunk in. I went on high alert once more, and I waited for Them to come for me.
A few months went by. There was something uncomfortable in the silence from Them. It scared me more and more as the months dragged on, one after the
other and still in silence, like the calm before a storm. I would find myself looking over my shoulder whenever I walked home from school or went out
with friends. I was jumpy and on edge.
Thanksgiving rolled around, and, as always, my mother and I went to my dad's house. We had an extra guest that year, a hard luck case my dad had met
at a bar and taken pity on. He had been living in their guest room for three weeks, and my mom and I hadn't been introduced.
The family sat around the living room talking and catching up, the lodger not yet amongst us. As dinner got closer to done, I felt a rising unease in
"Paul, get your *** out here already, the turkey's gettin' dry!" Dad hollered mirthfully through the wall when it was time to eat. My heart
started racing, blood thundering in my ears. Every fiber of my attention was glued on that bedroom doorway.
I knew who was behind door number one. I heard him get up from the bed, heard his heavy tread along the creaking floor. As he opened the door, a black
clad arm emerged, then broad shoulders and an all-too-familiar, bespectacled face. Paul... so that was his name.
He looked at me with something like disbelief, and that psychotic expression flashed briefly across his countenance. I flinched slightly at the
memory, which seemed to please him greatly.
He turned his attention elsewhere and introduced himself to my mother. I stood watching him, eyes wide as the moon. He looked like he was on death's
doorstep. His hair had gone all the way white, and he had lost a lot of it. Had he not been so ill, I think he probably would have killed us all and
stolen away into the night with no evidence a crime had even been committed. But I was healthy and skilled enough to get him if he tried anything
spooky, Dad was a tough mofo for anything physical. Paul knew both of those things.
Over dinner, he ignored me entirely. He seemed exceedingly interested in talking with my mother. He told her he was a trucker by trade, but a recent
health issue had prevented him from working enough to support himself. When my poor, sweet mother asked him what ailed him, he shot a glance at me.
"Bum liver," he said. It was as if he wanted to make sure I knew beyond a doubt.
I lied and said I had a menstrual emergency after dinner, so that my mother and I could leave as quickly as possible. As soon as we were in the car, I
told her everything, about the dreams, about frying his liver with my mind in order to escape from him, about the red haired woman. She asked if that
was why I hadn't said a word all night. I wanted to warn the rest of my family, but she said I shouldn't, that my dad and stepmother don't buy into
that kind of thing and it could provoke Paul.
Fortunately, before Paul could regain any strength and harm my family, my stepmother found out that he was a convicted rapist. (The fact that he was
convicted of it was the only news to me...I had already seen firsthand that he was a rapist.) She threw him out and alerted the police that there was
a registered sex offender about. That happened a few days after Thanksgiving, and I am so glad that she got rid of him. I have never told my dad and
stepmom about the bullet they dodged.
My dad still felt sorry for him, so he put him up with a buddy. A few weeks later, Paul took a tylenol for a headache, went into acute liver failure,
and died. The tylenol was apparently too much for his damaged liver to process. I still had nightmares about him on and off, that he kidnapped
Ashley's niece or killed one of my brothers. But Paul was dead, and I had helped him there. I had taken the life of one of Theirs, and I hoped They
knew it. Jessica had been avenged. Paul was gone. It was over...or so I thought.
Ashley died that spring. Her murderer has been caught, and by all accounts he is Catholic and not remotely associated with any Temple, whether right-
or left-hand. But I cannot help but wonder if she had been marked for death that fateful night in '02. I wonder what happened to those other kids, if
they're still alive, if it haunts them as it does me. I feel sorrow when I think of them, and I hope that they have had it easier. I hope it was only
me that Paul and Co. went after, since I was the one who got him, and that They left the rest well enough alone.
I got out of high school in December of 2004. Over the next four years, I would move several times, even living a few miles from one of their Temples
in California. No one bothered with me. Not even spirits bothered with me. Los Angeles made me invisible, and I liked that.
Though I was depressed beyond words for years after Ashley's murder (even my manias were downers), I kept up with my occult training. I considered
joining the OTO for the instruction, but their hierarchy turned me off, and I continued studying alone. I began wanting something more along the lines
of enlightenment from my practices. My focus changed from physical practicum to inner work. I refound my god.
In early 2009, I took on an apprentice. I had met him in 2005 on a music forum. We had an instant liking of each other, even over the internet, but I
got myself banned before we could get too close. I felt the need to find him again in '08, after three years of not even thinking about him; at the
same time, he was looking for a master to guide him in the occult. Even when I found him again, it would still be a few months before I would accept
him as an apprentice and learn how deep our connection really went.
One day, after he had begun his apprenticeship, he asked me if I had ever heard of a specific occult group with a name that should not be mentioned by
any of their targets. My stomach jerked. I told him I might, and I asked why. He told his story to me, which is his and could identify him to Them,
even with omitted names, so I will not repeat it in detail. (Risking my own life is one thing; risking the life of another is entirely different.) In
brief, they tormented his wife, him, and his family for years before his wife, Their target, gave up and cut a deal with Them. It was at that point
when he became very interested in the occult; the boy wanted revenge. He and I wept together, half relieved to have found each other, half scared out
of our wits that it went as far as it did.
We exchanged a lot of information about the Temple. He had been researching Them and their founder during the years after his wife's ordeal. We
couldn't find much about their hierarchy or their master plan, but They had been well-known (amongst those who peddle secrets at any rate) for their
traumatic brain-washing techniques. At some point in the late 1980s or early '90s, the Temple shifted Their mind-breaking programs into dreams
instead of physically kidnapping gifted "natural psychic" children and teens, though legend has it they maintained their MK ULTRA-style techniques
on some "willing" but unready adult targets. And, worst of all, they have a tendency to doggedly pursue any right-hand occultist who has opposed
them, til the threat is neutralized by whatever means, including death. At the dawn of the internet age, they were some of the first on the scene to
begin data mining for targets. It was not long after I first got the internet at my house that they came for me. I had posted about lucid dreaming a
lot, since I was heavily into it in my early teens, and I suspect that may have been how they found me in the first place. A few weeks later, my
apprentice found online a goofy flowchart explaining who looks down on who in the occult and pagan "community", and the Temple was on the chart. He
told me which column and what groups surrounded it on the chart. I finally had a name for Them, though it was not a name I could say.
Later that year, I made a big mistake, though. Concerned about my student's wife, I checked up on her several times by partially projecting into the
bandwidth between planes. I had never before witnessed highly damaged energy bodies, but hers were in tatters and her energy field was like a
hurricane, slowly eroding what was left intact of her being. They had managed to give her something like multiple personality disorder, which showed
in the fragmented nature of her bodies. The final time I checked on her, I accidentally tripped whatever alarm They had put on her when she agreed not
to practice anymore, and whatever not-so-passive security; it felt like something smacked me hard across the eyes with a hot iron. I was temporarily
incapacitated, and I started descending blind. I crashed back into my physical body fully, with my head feeling like it was on fire. I told my
apprentice what happened, but that They did not know we were connected, that I would do all I could to keep Them from finding out, and that I would
protect him and his family, whatever the cost. He was shocked and was running scared for a few weeks, especially after his wife seemed worse off. But
They did not come for him.
They were back in my life before the week was out, though. Most of Them weren't noteworthy, just creepy strangers to the area who would stare at me
and keep staring even after I had looked them in the eyes. While my boyfriend and I were out one night, this little psychic vampire began feasting on
him. My darling nearly puked on the table as soon as it started, though he was nowhere near drunk. I turned my inner attention to the vamp and started
feeding him the worst, nastiest energy I'd accumulated from the day. He paled and left the bar quickly. My boyfriend felt better almost immediately,
though we both wanted nothing more than to go home after that. He scoffed when I told him the guy was a psychic vampire and I had run him off, though
he held me tighter that night than he ever had before.
The vamp turned up at my workplace the next day and watched me while I worked. He followed me outside on my break, and that's when I turned on him. I
raised my vibrations far above my typical, off-the-job operating level and projected my best extraplanar manifestation at him. He turned and ran
through the parking lot away from me, almost getting smacked by a car. I didn't see him again after that, but They had found me again, and They
wanted me to know it.
My life spiraled out of control shortly thereafter when I went into a manic episode and torpedoed my relationship with my boyfriend. I had to move
back with my mother. A friend in a different city harbored me for a few days on my way home. They couldn't find me deep within the city, and it was
with his help that I temporarly put Them off my scent. Once I left, though, They caught my trail again, and They followed me back here, arriving two
weeks later than I did.
I can feel them here in town even now, always just far enough away that they can't quite figure out where I am. I've had to oprate in cold standby
except when the background energies of this place are high; only then can I raise my vibrations, perform ceremony, or even meditate usefully, without
feeling Them alert to me and draw nearer. I've been in hiding for nearly two years now.
I can only hope that at the moment, my story is not well known to Them and I can't be tracked down based on this story, that I'm just another
right-hand occultist who They pulled this crap on. If the ones here in town ambushed me, it's fifty fifty that I could escape right now. But I'm
done hiding. In a couple of weeks, I should be back up to normal operating capacity. It does make me a little paranoid, but I have quasi-anonymous
intentions worth declaring to their data miners: Their days are numbered. I will find Their leaders, and I will destroy Their organization from the
top down if I can. They crossed the wrong little goth girl, and they will feel the wrath of the woman she became.