This is every demon's dream; it's the perfect possession. Accept or reject as you see fit; take it as truth or fiction.
This is every demon’s dream; it’s the perfect possession. What happens to a 23 year old guy who builds a conjuring mirror from an ancient Grimoire called the Goetia or Lesser Key of Solomon? Blood Ritual Monarch spent close to 20 years being ravaged by the demonic forces he sought to meet and control. After almost a decade of horrifying blackouts that can only be described as possession, he began finding notes written to himself. These notes led Blood Ritual Monarch on a journey that would take him into the shadowy world of high-tech black magic; to a haunted old radar tower at the tip of Long Island, NY.
Along the way, BRM’s demonic blackouts would intensify and magnetize women who cajoled him into blood-sex magic which fed voracious entities on the astral plane. These rituals opened gateways fueling poltergeist intrusions which put his sanity and life in grave danger. A very brief period of stability allowed him to plan his long-overdue trip to the place where he may have been experimented on as a child. What allegedly happened there over three decades earlier may have turned him into a ‘walking demon’ and psychic assassin through the process of layering entities into his auric field.
This trip created a psychic maelstrom which led to more chaos and self-destructive behavior. Through a chance introduction online, Blood Ritual Monarch met a woman on the other side of the planet. Five months later he boarded a plane to the Southern Hemisphere; still accosted by malevolent spirits right up until the morning of his departure. Did the demons follow him?
Excerpt
I couldn’t continue these traumatic blackouts every weekend without something catastrophic eventually happening. This really played on my mind; the worry that I’d wind up dead or in a mental hospital before long. I would just sit on the train on the way to work and meditate on my childhood. Surely there was something in there that would start the dominoes falling. The key had to be in my amnesic past. Then one day after work I had a dream-flash while dozing on the train. As I nodded off I saw a man in a tuxedo floating over me. He was no ordinary man though. He had a monocle with a string attached to it and immediately reminded me of the Nazi character in the original Raiders of the Lost Ark. But this man was very small and had a waxen pallor to him. Then the man slapped me and I woke up with a yelp; nearby passengers were staring at me. It felt so real; my cheek seemed to be throbbing from the slap. Variations on this image haunted me for a week until I had the most disturbingly realistic dream one Sunday morning following a blackout. I was violently smashing my childhood ventriloquist puppet against the walls.
I swung him by the legs and broke anything within reach; windows, vases, knickknacks, etc. Then I took a hammer and smashed his skull. Why was I so angry? But wait; it was my puppet the whole time all week. A toy from my past was trying to tell me something.
On Christmas around 1980 or 81 (can’t remember for sure) I received a few presents that would only make sense from a mind control programming perspective some 30 years later. One of the gifts was a magic set complete with top hat, wand, and stuffed white rabbit. There was also a game with an Egyptian motif where ankhs were placed in round holes on the game board while reaching through two cobra snakes shaped kind of like a heart. If you put the ankh in the wrong hole you tripped the ‘death’ mechanism and the cobras snapped shut on your wrist. The last gift was a Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist puppet dressed in a tuxedo. I’ll talk about the Egyptian Black Magic connection later but the puppet had an immediate, somewhat bizarre effect on me. I refused to control the puppet or pretend to make it speak. I saw it as a separate person; someone to speak to and confide in. It creeped everyone out except me. I kept Said’ (why I gave him an Arabic name I have no idea) propped up on his chair in my room and spoke to him daily. I guess nothing particularly strange for an 8 or 9 year old, right? But soon enough I was cutting myself and wiping the blood on the puppet’s forehead. After a few inquiries from grandma I started wiping the blood inside of his tuxedo jacket so nobody would ask questions. The cutting is a story unto itself and will be elaborated on in future chapters.
The Butcher's Boy
- 2011 Readers Favorite Award Silver Medal Winner in Horror - Fiction
A Paranormal/Chiller by Michael Robb
Thirty-one years ago, Buxly the Butcher went to trial for killing h
