Playing With The Devil

By Martha Jette

Prologue

     What you are about to read will likely horrify and stun you beyond words. While it is presented here as fiction, this story is actually based on true events that occurred within a family of 12 children in Grand Bank, Newfoundland in the 1960s.

     You will find that this is written in a rather graphic nature, but there is no other way to relate the truth about what happened to these children in any other way. If you are sensitive or have a weak stomach, I would suggest that you put this book down right now. It is not for the faint of heart and was most difficult for me to write.

     However, this story needs to be told. Canadians must know how politics and business played a huge role in the abuse of so many young souls, who today are very confused adults. Needless to say, this book is rated “R.”

     Please note that the names of the victims have been changed to protect their privacy. Unfortunately, the names of the guilty had to be withheld as well. May they some day pay for their horrendous and unforgivable deeds and for those who have left this world, may Gob exact His judgment.  

Office of the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police

Statement of Timmy Myers
March 25, 1998

     Tim shifted in his chair as the officer waltzed into the room. His hand shaking, he offered it to the balding man.

     “Tim…. Tim Myers,” he mumbled.

     “I’m Allan Corning, Timmy. I’ll be taking your statement today.”

     The R.C.M.P. officer sat down heavily in a big wooden armchair.

     “I understand you have a gun in your car Tim.”

     “Yes sir and if you don’t take it, I know I’m gonna hurt somebody.”

     “Okay Tim. We’ll have one of our men fetch it out of the car. Got your keys?”

     “Yes sir,” Tim replied.

     Hands shaking, he gave them to the officer.

     “We’re going to take it and hold onto it for awhile Tim, until you get things straightened around. Obviously, you’re stressed out right now and I’m sure things are probably in your mind – just racing around about 500 miles an hour.”

     “Yes sir,” said Tim sipping his coffee and running his fingers through his light brown hair.

     “Now, let’s get down to business here, Tim,” said Officer Corning.

     Again Tim shifted, most uncomfortable that the time had come for him to relate his tale of horror once again. As tears welled up, he began his terrible story – a story of abuse in every form since he was four years old – a story that he remembered in detail, but would prefer to forget. It had been some 40 years since that first incident, but the memory tore at his gut like a sharp knife.

     “I just wish they’d take me seriously this time,” Tim thought. “I’m so tired of fighting for justice.”

     “Go on Tim. When and where did it all begin?”

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