Saturday, July 25, 2009

REPOST: For Fear of Little Men: First Draft of my autobiography book to be published in 2010+/-

As many of you already know, due to the increase of violence and death threats, I as part of NaNoWriMo08, decided to write my autobiography that way should anything come of the death threats, the world would know, who was behind it, and why. The book was written in November 2008, parts of which were published as I was writing it, across several of my 32 blogs, 200+ websites, 450+ Squidoo Lenses, and 500+ forum memberships.

With the help of my many thousands of online contacts this book is now in it's forth draft, has seen many changes, deletions, and additions, and is now nearing it's publication date. However, as the publication date draws near, a new threat has arrisen, and I now fear that the people behind the vandalism, may attempt to act upon their death threats in order to prevent this book from reaching my publisher. As such, I am now going to repost, the original first draft once again, just in case.

And I will quote Benjamin Franklin: Do not that which you do not want made known.
And I will quote the Bible: Be sure your sin will find you out.

This is the original 238,000 word first draft as it was writting during November, and reposted here from it's original December posting:


Note, this is a NaNoWriMo 2008 post -
Due to the resent rise (yet again) of the demon possession and witchcraft accusations and questions from non church members, asking me what the church members talking about, I have decided to write a book about Etiole, who he is, how I met him, why people started calling me a witch, and what these religion crazed nuts did to me as a result of their unfounded fears of Etiole. This blog will contain the first drafts of it. I'll be posting them over the next month or so. I'm just plain tired of being called a witch, I'm thinking of renaming this blog to make the accusations, just to spite them. Seeing a UFO and meeting an alien-faerie-angel being DOES NOT MAKE ME A WITCH!!!! Well, anyways, here's my latest addition into this year's NaNoWriMo contest, I know I'm supposed to be writing a fiction novel, not a non-fiction autobiography, but whatever, I just need these people to stop accusing me of demon possession and witchcraft and the only way I can see to do that is to tell the world why it is they are saying these things about me, so continueing from where I left on in my last NaNoWriMo post, here is todays NaNoWriMo addition:


In the summer of 1979 two small children, ages 3 and 4 were startled to see what they described to adults as a small white monkey, sitting in the tree. What was strange about this was that the sighting occurred in the far north of New England, in a pine forest in Maine. Odder still was the children’s insistence that the “monkey” could talk and had asked the children to follow him into the forest. Adults were quick to dismiss the sighting as nothing more than over active imaginations. Within weeks, after repeated scolding by his parents, the younger child had changed his story and said he had made the whole thing up. The older child however, stuck firm to her conviction that there was in fact a talking white monkey and she told the adults that no amount of scolding or punishments could force her to lie and say he did not talk to them, because she had been taught that lying was a sin.

In the spring of 1983, twenty feet away from that same spot, several locals heard a loud explosion, and looked up to see what was said to be a large football shaped ship. Among the witnesses to this event was one of the two children whom had earlier seen the so-called “white monkey”. In the weeks to pass, the sighting was quickly dismissed and forgotten, until by the end of that summer, only the one child, maintained that she had seen anything at all.
With no knowledge of aliens or UFOs, the now 9 year old girl set out to find out what exactly these two strange sightings had been. Her early interpretations was that the “white monkey” had been some sort of faerie. Her story would become even stranger, when one day she told adults that she had continually had conversations with the “white monkey” over the past several years, and had asked him what it was she had seen in the sky that day, to which he had responded to say it was something he called “The VISION-D8”, a type of star ship. Local adults, relatives, and teachers began to worry that the girl’s obsession with these two sightings was something more than an over active imagination.

At age 14 this same girl was the lone survivor of a mass murder, which had killed five of her friends. After months of court trials, she was left with no friends alive, thus no one to talk to about having been the witness to her best friends’ murder, and she closed down talking to no one, barely speaking a word at all, and spending increasingly more time in the forest visiting with “the white monkey”.

At the age of 16, an out of state uncle contacted her bishop and the two of them decided that the girl must be schizophrenic. They called on the help of the state mental institute. Doctors from the institute declared that there was nothing mentally wrong with the girl, saying that she was suffering from normal depression caused by being a witness to a murder, and that it would go away, once she was able to make some new friends to replace the five whom had been murdered. While the doctors would peruse the case no farther, the uncle and the bishop were convinced that the girl was insane and set out to warning members of her church to avoid contact with the girl. A few months later a series of deaths, fires, and unexplained illnesses happened to the bishop and those close to him, resulting in his accusation that the girl was a Witch and had put a curse on him. When no evidence of the girl’s involvement could be found, the bishop than turned to the only answer he could come up with: her “white monkey”, which she was now calling by the name of Etiole, must be a demon from Hell.

As the years progressed onward, the girl grew to a woman, and continued to maintain that Etiole was real. Twenty years after the original sighting, she claimed to now know that he was not a white monkey, but rather an alien from another solar system. Her continued refusal to deny his existence, combined with the bishop’s continued claims that the girl was in league with one of Satan’s demons, resulted in a local religious hysteria, as the church congregation took matters into their own hands and set about to multiple acts of violence and vandalism against the young women, resulting in the destruction of her home, and her and her pets being forced out onto the streets during one of Maine’s coldest winters. For eight months she and her pets lived sheltered from the snow by only a tarp, surviving on garbage can scraps, and yet through it all, she continued her visits into the forest, to talk with “the white monkey”.

Today, thirty-one years after the original sighting of the white monkey, the woman known to many simply as EelKat, has agreed to be interviewed to tell the story, of the ever illusive white monkey of Maine.

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men
~William Allingham
The Fairies 1850

The Interview With EelKat

The White Monkey

Q. In the 1970’s you had meet an alien, and than four years later saw an UFO. Why did you never file a report on either incident?

EelKat: I was 4 years old and than 8 years old. Who was I going to file a report to? I didn’t even know about police or FBI or military or any other such thing. I had never heard of any of them, let alone knew what aliens or UFOs were.

I told the adults in my life what I had seen; parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, parents of friends, Sunday School teachers, church leaders. I just kept telling every one I knew about it, so I guess in a way, you could say I did make an attempt to file reports of some sort. I don’t know if any of them filed any “official” reports or not, but I doubt it, because none of them believed I had seen anything at all. Problem was, no one believed me and I was so young that they all chalked it up to an over active imagination. By the time I was a teenager, I was still telling every one about it, but by this time the adult started saying I must have schizophrenia because I actually believed in aliens and UFOs and believed I had seen them. The adults in my church put me through hell as a result of this, and by the time I was 16, I had stopped talking about what had happened to me, out of fear of being hurt by the adults who didn’t believe me.

I had no idea that there were other people out there also claiming to have seen the things I had seen. At that point all I knew was that all the adults in my life thought I was insane and I felt like an outcast, and was too terrified to talk about aliens or UFOs anymore. I was in my late 20’s early 30’s before I actually realized that I was not the only person claiming to have seen aliens or UFOs. That’s when I decided, that maybe it was safe for me to talk about them again, maybe now, 30 years later, people will not be so quick to judge and ridicule me, and that’s when I came up with the idea for writing this book as a way to tell people about it.

Q. Now, he prefers to go by the name of Etiole. Is that correct?

EelKat: Yep.

Q. Can you give us an exact date, as to when it was that you first encountered Etiole??

EelKat: Exact date? No. I was 4 years old. I had barely started learning about times and dates yet. Basically the only date I knew back than, was that my birthday was August 13th, and that several of my relatives thought that was a bad thing, so kept trying to celebrate my birthday on August 12th. I didn’t like that even back than, so I took to writing my birth date on everything, just to remind them it was on a 13 not a 12. I was very frustrated with my relatives who kept telling my parents to change my birthday to 12 “while I was too young to know the difference”. But, anyways, it’s because of my constantly having to defend my birthday that I can pinpoint a time frame as to when this happened.

I had turned 4 years old on a 13th not on the 12th and I was very proud of that fact, so I told everyone that. When an adult asked my age, I didn’t say: “I’m 4.” no, I said: “I’m 4 and I turned 4 on the 13th of August not on the 12th.” Well, I remember very clearly that I was 4 years old, because I had spent so much on my time that summer defending my birth date against my superstitious adult relatives.

We can farther narrow the date on which I first encountered Etiole, by what it was I was doing. My and my cousin Mike were in the swamp with old 5 gallon driveway sealant pails, and we was filling the pails up with frogs. We were filling the pails with frogs from the swamp, and bringing them back to release the frogs in the brook near the garden.

We are right in line with the cold fronts that come in off the Gulf of Maine, so we have a very short growing season, shorter than most of the rest of the state of Maine, as a result of the constant cold blasts of wind that we get. We can garden from late May to early October, which means we are very limited in the types of plants we can grow as most need a April through November growing season. As a result of the area’s “cold trap” we also have a very short frogging season as well. Basically from July to September is the only time our weather is warm enough for the frogs to gather in the swamp. Well, what that means is, that me and Mike would have been out in the swamp at some point between July and September of 1979.

We can farther narrow this date, by the fact that I had only just recently turned 4 years old so I was still telling every one I had turned 4 on the 13th of August, not on the 12th. That gives us a time frame from August 13th through September 30th more or less. Most likely it was the last week of August or the first week of September in 1979.

Q. So, that first day, what happened? Who did you tell, and how did they respond?

EelKat: We were at the edge of the path, right before the swamp’s delta drains into the brook which than runs back through our farm. Mike’s mom (my mom’s sister) worked during the day, so my mom would baby-sit for her, and on the warm sunny days, me and Mike would head to the swamp to catch frogs. That is where we were headed that day, as usual.
We were only about maybe 5 or 10 feet away from the swamp when Mike pointed up into a tree, and said: “What’s that?” I looked up and there was this strange little white creature up in the tree looking down at us. I remember being fascinated by it’s eyes. It was all white except for it’s really big blue eyes.

We didn’t go any closer to the swamp, because we were both afraid of scaring it away if we got any closer. I suppose, logic would seem to dictate that we should have been scared and run away ourselves, but for some reason neither of us was scared at all, and we had both commented that the creature looked like it was terrified of us. We were worried it was going to run away. I looked like it wanted to run away but the tree it was in, was not near enough any other tree for it to jump to, and so it was just sitting there with these big terrified looking eyes starting at us like it was hoping we hadn’t seen it. But, it was like we both knew this.

When we first saw him, it was like he was inside our heads, reading our thoughts, and putting his thoughts in there with ours. Me and Mike’s conversation changed after we had come to the conclusion that this was a white monkey. We started talking about how he wanted us to follow him into the woods. He never said a word. He never stopped staring at us. He never moved a muscle. But some how it was like his voice just suddenly was there in our heads. I guess we were both to young to consider this odd, we should have considered it odd that he was talking to us without actually speaking. We contemplated on wither we should follow him or not, but remembered that we were not supposed to go anywhere with strangers without first asking our parents. We dropped our pails, and turned back towards my house in full run. The amount of time that passed from our first seeing the white monkey, until we started running, must have be only 5 or 6 minutes.

Q. You said you were not afraid. Why did you run?

EelKat: We were not running out of fear. Quite the contrary. We were all ready to go with him. We just needed to get my parents permission is all. That’s why we were running. We were in a hurry to tell my parents where we were going and than run right back to the swamp.
We dropped our frog pail and ran all the way back to my house, which was quite a ways really. We dashed past my grandmother (Helen Ricker, my dad’s mom) and went storming through the front door, screaming and yelling and all out of breath. Just our crazed mad dash trough the screen door was enough to get every one’s attention. We had barely crashed through the door before we had the adults right there wanting to know what in the world the matter was. My mom and my dad and my grandmother were the ones home. I guess we had scared the daylights out of them, what with the way we came bursting into the house screaming. Obviously something had happened, and they wanted to know what it was. I don’t know what they were thinking had happened, but I know what we told them was the last thing they expected to hear us say.

We grabbed their arms and were talking so fast that no one could understand what we were saying, and we started dragging them with us out the front door. Than, and now this is really weird, I saw a bunch of bananas sitting in the kitchen and ran back in the house and grabbed the bananas and than ran back outside, telling the adults that he wanted us to bring him the bananas. And I dashed off back to the woods, telling them to hurry up because they had to come meet him.

Me and Mike, we practically dragged the adults back to the woods and I guess to them, we were not making any sense at all, because we were babbling on about a white monkey and how we was supposed to go with him and how he wanted some bananas. I whole event of us dragging my parents back to the woods went by in less than 5 minutes, before we back at the edge of the swamp and pointing up to the tree.

However, we were to be meet with a surprise we had not anticipated: the white monkey was gone. Me and Mike suddenly ran off into the wood franticly calling out for the creature to come back and meet my parents and telling him that we had brought the bananas he had asked for.
The forest in which the swamp sits, is 26 acres, and I know every inch of those woods by heart. I grew up in these woods, daily hiking and exploring it. This forest, on the map is called The Ross Forest, the entire forest covers across 3 towns (Scarbourghoro, Old Orchard, and Saco) and goes on and on for mile after mile of hundreds of acres. At the heart of it lies the Ross Road Blueberry fields, which stretches on for about 300 acres. Within these dense old growth pine forests are found deer, turkey, moose, bear, bobcat, fishers, wolverines, coyote, ivory-billed woodpeckers, otters, fox, vultures, golden eagles, bald eagles, skunks, porcupines, and wolves, all hidden in the heart of the biggest, most up built, heavily populated section of Maine, known as The Greater Portland Region. The Ross forest is an oddity, of pine trees hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old, sitting in the middle of a small mini-metropolis. This particular 26 acre section of it however, is the buffer line between our farm on Portland Avenue and the Powder Horn Campground on the Cascade Road. For as long as I’ve told people about the white monkey, I’ve also told them of a giant woodpecker with a white beak and white stripes down it’s back. To this, adults laughed telling me that was I was describing was The Ivory Billed Woodpecker. So? I saw noting funny about that. Then adults told me that it had been extinct nearly 100 years now. Really? There are at least three of them, living in the forest just past the Googins cemetery, not far from the sandpit. After 20 years of adults not believing in my 3 giant birds, one day, a birdwatcher saw them, and verified that yes indeed, there really were Ivory Billed Woodpeckers living deep in the forest behind my house.

Of course, adults are quick to tell me that there are no wolverines in Maine either. Really? Tell that to the 75 hens he tore apart and left all over the woods in 2008. Or to the moose he took down, tore apart, and than dragged pieces of into our vegetable garden in 2006.
For 15 years, I’ve sat at the edge of the swamp watching the bear. No one believed me that bear lived in Old Orchard until in 2005, a woman got attacked by one just 5 houses down from our house. Police went around setting up bear traps after that . . . the same police officers who had previously told me there were no bear in Old Orchard Beach.

No one believed that there were moose in Old Orchard, until one day one walked down Main Street right past the town hall.

People had no trouble believing that I had seen a coati because I caught him and brought him home. No one ever did figure out how an animal native to the Amazon Rainforest ended up in the cold north woods of Maine, but, I had him for a pet for quite some time after that.
Likewise, no one questioned the existence of a huge snapping turtle, guessed to be several hundred years old, because one of the days I saw her in Etiole’s swamp, I was not alone, and nearly a dozen other people saw her as well.

Over the years, I’ve reported a lot of animals that were either “supposed to be extinct” or “are not native to Maine”. In each case, I was too young to know that the animal was not suppose to be here or that they were all supposed to be dead, and because I was so young, adults who wave a hand at me, roll their eyes, and walk off talking about how amazed they were that a child my age was able to make up such wonderful tales. “What an imagination, she has.“ They would tell one another. Initially no one believed any of those sightings. Over the years, however, almost all of them, have been since confirmed. The adults who laughed and accused me of having an over active imagination, were later stunned, when they saw the newspaper reporters’ photographs of the very same animals, which were supposedly just in my mind. And even though, they now know I was neither lying nor imagining things when it came to bears, coati, wolverines, giant white striped woodpeckers, moose, and monstrous sized turtles, they still, blamed it on my imagination, saying that it was merly a coins dance, that those animals turned out to be real and not something I made up, because as they said “only some of the things she saw in the woods were real”. Only some? All but one, they mean. Every single creature I have reported seeing in the Ross Forest, has since been seen by others, and proven to exist. In fact, only Etiole, remained completely elusive. Only the “white monkey” remains unconfirmed.

You see, I live in these woods, I know these woods. I know every animal that lives in these woods and I know not to bother them. I’m also never believed when I told the adult of each new animal I discovered living in these small 26 acres of 400 year old pines between Portland Avenue and Cascade Road. The reason no one ever believes my reports of any of these animals is quite simple: I made my first report of a strange animal living in these woods in 1979, when me and my cousin Mike, told every one about the white monkey. Because no one else ever saw the white monkey, no one ever believed anything I ever said ever again, for the rest of my 30 years of life.

On that day, me and Mike had dragged my parents into the woods. When we got there and the white monkey was gone, we headed straight into the forest to look for him. We went all the way around the swamp, out into the swamp, out to the small sand pit, all the way out to the big sand pit 26 acres away from the swamp, Me and Mike were determined to find the elusive white monkey. By this time my parents had figured out what was going on and they too, started looking for the white monkey. Initially they believed us. We were so shaken up and upset over this, that they knew without a doubt that we had most defiantly seen something, and they wanted to find out what it was we had seen. We searched the woods for hours, finally coming home when it started getting dark. We never did find the white monkey. That me and Mike had seen something, was not in question at this point. It wouldn’t be until a few days later that the adults would begin to question our story.

When Mike’s mom came to pick him up that night, we took her down to the swamp and told her about the white monkey, however by this time, we were quite calmed down, and her response was to think we were telling her about a game we had played earlier that day. Because she had not seen the panicked hysterics of earlier she saw no reason to believe our story as real.
My days after this, were spent mostly in the woods in search of the white monkey.

Q. Now, there is a reason the adults believed you and it has something to with where you live. Tell us about that?

EelKat: Old Orchard Beach is bordered on one side by Saco Bay and on the other side by The Scarboughro Marsh. The marsh runs along the edge of Pine Point. In Pine Point, in the Scarborough Marsh lived a women named Helen Pearly, and she owned what was known as “White Zoo”, and zoo filled with all sorts of odd creatures, esp white and albino creatures, for which the zoo got it’s name. I had never been to this zoo, as it was shut down, about 10 years before I was born, however, my dad’s mom was her best friend and so my dad knew that Helen Pearly still had many of her animals, now living in her house as pets. My parents initially believed me and Mike when we told them about the white monkey, because (as I found out later) they had figured Helen Pearly must have had a white or albino monkey in her collection, and concluded that it must have escaped. She lived only 5 miles away, and a escaped monkey could easily have cut across the woods and gone into the swamp behind our house. There was one small problem with this theory: Helen Pearly had not owned any such creature as a white monkey, a fact which my grandmother confirmed with Mrs. Pearly a few days after this incident.

By the time my grandmother confirmed with Helen Pearly, that she had no white monkey to escape, Mike had also, changed his story and was now saying he had never seen a white money at all, that it had all just been a trick we played on the adults. The adults believed his lie and from that day forth, they never again, believed a word I said, even though he was the one who had lied, not me.

Q. How did you come to the conclusion that this creature which you had seen sitting in the tree, was a white monkey?

EelKat: Me and Mike saw him sitting in the tree and had spent maybe 2 or 3 minutes discussing what it was and had come to the conclusion that h was a white monkey. I don’t think either of us actually knew what a monkey was. I had seen a real monkey at the age of 2, but I have no memory of this. I don’t know if at the time I had remembered the monkey I had seen before or not. There was nothing mysterious about the other monkey I had seen, because I saw it at a zoo.

My parents had taken me to York Animal Farm (today known as York Wild Kingdom & Amusement Park, due to it’s several hundred acres of expansion and the addition of rides, but back in 1977, it was a deer and goat petting farm on about 10 acres, thus the name York Animal Farm.) They had mostly your average local wildlife, farm animals, and a few “zoo-type” oddities. (Today they got everything under the sun including white tigers, lions, gorillas, etc, etc, etc,) Among the animals on the farm was a monkey, I think it may have been an orangutan, but I can’t remember it. We had spent most of the summer of 1977 driving around New England in the huge orange metallic 1964 Dodge 330, and stopping at all the various zoos, farms, theme parks, museums, ect. Storyland in Glen, New Hampshire, Santa’s Village in Vermont, Polar Caves in Vermont, the top of Mount Washington, The Old Man on the Mountain and the flumes of New Hampshire, and of course York Animal Farm in York, Maine.

So, I had seen a real monkey a few years earlier and somehow when I first saw Etiole, the first thing I thought of was “that’s a white monkey”. So, for several years afterwards I just kept referring to him as “The White Monkey”.

Q. Over the years you have written a series of short stories and chap books, known as The Twighlight Manor series. The main character throughout most of these mini-books is a strange little drag queen merman with gleaming silver skin, an electrical touch, and insatiable appetite for sex. His name is Etiole de Blue de Azure Swanzen, and you have said that he is based on the “white monkey”. Etiole, the character of the Twighlight Manor stories you write, is very different from the real Etiole isn't he? How much of what you write about him is fiction and how much is real?

EelKat: Etiole, the real Etiole, is an alien trapped here on Earth, more or less. More or less, meaning, that I don’t know exactly what he is, where he is from, how he came to be here, or why exactly it is that he can’t leave here. He is not native to here, thus making him an alien, though if he’s an extraterrestrial from outer space or an ultraterrestrial from a different dimension, or here from another time, or something else entirely, I don’t know.
In my books, he is half alien, half electric eel siren, born here on Earth, but whose father was an alien trapped here on Earth.

As for the real Etiole, I don't know what his race is, he won't talk about it, and he doesn't want me writing down the real names of his planet, or dimension, or time, or stars or any other stuff that could identify where he‘s from, because he doesn't want Humans to end up going there. He says they are doing enough on their own with all their satellites and such, and he's not going to help them get there any faster. He doesn’t like being questioned, and he’ll change the subject, pretend not to hear, or just leave/disappear.

Truth of the matter is, is that his answer (or lack there of) is more of an evasive excuse than anything else, because I don’t think he really even knows where he is from or how he got here. He gives no indication of any real knowledge of his life ever being any place other than here. He is very old and he’s been here a long time, and he can’t really remember too much about his people or where he comes from and what little he does remember seems to be a mixed up muddle indicating that he is in fact from Earth, but from a different time, when Earth looks different than the Earth we know today. I think, he comes up with the excuse that he doesn’t want me writing stuff down, because he doesn’t want to have to admit to himself that he can’t remember. I actually question if he even ever did know where he came from. He has absolutely no answers for this at all. That seems to bother him, the fact that he can’t remember things which he feels like he ought to remember. It frustrates him.

I do know that he comes from a water planet like Earth. Obviously a planet with an atmosphere like Earth’s. He is well adapted to our Earth, an indication that he is from Earth, not from another planet. He can't be away from the ocean very long. He's somewhat like a frog or a salamander, his skin is just like a salamander's skin. He lives on land, but he needs to keep going back to the water. He prefers very cold ocean water, that's why he's up here on the coast of Maine. He has to live right on the coast to be close to the water. I get the impression he would die if he moved so far inland that he couldn't run to the ocean whenever he needed to. He calls himself a Merracian (which I believe is his word for a Merrow), and other times refers to himself as being a Siren. So that's why when I wrote about him in the Twighlight Manor stories, I chose to call him a siren, because that was the closest thing I could find to being like him.

Both the real Etiole and the fictional Etiole have the ability to absorb electric currents and redirect them, but the fictional Etiole does it differently that the real one. The fictional Etiole does it by touch, but the real Etiole does it by this weird telepathy-like means. When he's angry, he pulls electric currents out of the air and than with his mind redirects it to any place he wants to; (this is mistaken as him “shooting” lightening) and where ever it ends up, everything bursts into flames.

I wrote the fictional Etiole to be sort of a happy-go-lucky goof, he's the hero in most of my stories, he'd never hurt any body. In the Twighlight Manor books I write him acting more “human” than is normal for him. His emotions are more or less at check and under control, and his actions are usually somewhat rational and logical.

The real Etiole? The real Etiole does not act, react, or behave “human”. His actions are irrational, impulsive, and illogical. He can go from happy to furious and back again in a split second. Though he is normally calm and docile, he is temperamental at times. I think if he had a way to do it, he'd just annihilate 90% of the Human race. He proudly takes the blame of most every unexplained fire, drowning, or odd unexplained death up and down the whole Maine coast area. I do find this to be a bit odd, given his outspoken attitude against violence.

His emotions are complex. His sense of reasoning and logic is almost incomprehensible.
He has en enormous love and affection for Humans and wants to help them and prevent them from destroying themselves and their planet. And than he switches moods.

He has an enormous hatred for the Human race in general, because at some point in his past he was captured and tortured. It's happened to him more than once. The first time it happened was about 300 years ago, he was stuck in some circus freak show thing, where he was billed as a mermaid, due to the fish-like nature of his skin, teeth, eyes, and hands. I guess he spent a lot of time being shuffled around side shows, where he was starved, beaten, tortured, caged, and abused something fierce. This would seem to have been an ongoing thing to happen to him during the late 1600’s and throughout the 1700’s.

(There is a problem with dating the things he says, as he seems to have no real concept of time as we know it. There is confusion with the dates on events, as he does not view time in the same way we do. He dates things in accordance to their relevance to other events, rather than by times and years, which makes dating the things which have happened to him difficult at best. I’m guessing that his people do not have a system of measuring time.)

He was captured by Humans and tortured once again in the 1930's. Again, the date itself is a guess on my part, as he has no concept of dates. He says it was Hitler's scientists who had him, around the time of the Great Wars. I assume he meant the Second World War, but his dates are off and indicate the First World War. Anyways, he seems to be referring to World War II, because he mentions Hitler, Germans, and Nazis, and how much he hates them, and how much he hates anyone who reminds him of them. He was supposed to somehow help them win the war. They were testing him, to find a way to win the wars. He already had a hatred for the race he calls the Diontite Scientists prior to his coming to Earth. That, combined with his dealings with the men he calls Hitler’s Scientists, instilled an unprecedented hated in him for all scientists in general and pretty much the whole Human race.

He said that Hitler’s Scientists called him a Venusian because they had concluded that he had came from planet Venus. He said that they were thinking that Venus was like Earth, and they had plans to explore Venus and was expecting they would find more like him. The tests they did were supposedly going to prepare them (the Humans) for what to expect on Venus. He said they treated him like he was some sort of an inferior being, as though he had neither emotions or physical feelings. That they never attempted to find out if he had a name and simply referred to him as “the Venusian”. He was never clear on what exactly they did to him, and avoids the topic completely. He has made it very clear, though, that he was there against his will, he was being held a prisoner, and that they were torturing him and passing off the torture as some sort of scientific investigation. It’s a sensitive issue which he would rather forget happened.

He did say they kept records, that the scientists were writing everything down, and that the information about him and what they did to him, could be found if one looked for government records about the discovery of a Venusian life form. He says that he was the so-called Venusian life form. Which government he was referring to, however, is in question, though I‘m guessing he meant Germany, since he mentioned Hitler.

I'm not sure what exactly they did to him, but he has some internal injury that has affected his ability to travel in space. He's injured pretty bad actually, which affects his ability to move around much at all. He was already injured when I first found him, and had been for many years. His ability to heal, and pretty much his entire immune system were somehow affected. He spends much of his days in pain, and simply wanting to be left alone to rest. As he gets older, he becomes progressively less active. My once playful companion of the 1970‘s, today has difficulty getting around. He's very old now.

How did he actually get here on Earth to begin with? The VISION-D8 initially crashed into the ocean off the coast of what is now Old Orchard some 300 or 400 years ago (which is how I came up with the dates I used in the Twighlight Manor stories). Etiole was very young than. Originally he lived in Maine, but at some point he moved to France, something to do with all the French explorers that came to Maine, he wasn't too clear on that point and became evasive of the subject, so I got the impression he didn't go to France willingly. Anyways he has spent most of his time here on Earth, in France (which is why I wrote the fictional Etiole as being a French Siren). He was still in France during the time of Hitler's invasion of France. That's when the scientists got a hold of him. From my understanding, he was pretty peaceful and non violent up until that point; he wasn't all hating Humans until after his ordeal with Hitler's scientists. Circus people had hurt him and kept him caged up, but it wasn’t until his ordeal with scientists and their test labs, that he became overly paranoid of Humans in general.

What happened from that point, until he ended up with me, is uncertain. He avoids the topic of the scientists, what they did, and how he eventually got away from them. What I do know is that he did get away from them and returned to the original sight of his crashed ship in some sort of an attempt to escape from this planet. And this is apparently what resulted in the VISION-D8 making it’s reappearance here on Earth in the early 1980’s.

How he came to be with me is fairly simple. He came to Maine again in the 1960's and went back to the original crash site of his ship, which was in the ocean, directly in front of our land, not too far away from where the Old Orchard Beach Pier sits today. Not finding any remains of his ship, he went inland to hide in the swamp of the local forest, and that's how he came to be living in the woods behind our house, in the 1970’s, when I was a kid.

Q. You describe Etiole in your Twighlight Manor books as being like an eel. As a child you mistook him for a white monkey. What does he look like?

EelKat: When I first saw him, my cousin Mike was with me and we both saw him. I was 4 years old and he was 3 years old. Mike was the one who saw him first. We were playing in the woods at the edge of the swamp when Mike looked up and said "What's that?" and I looked and there was the strangest looking thing I had ever seen, sitting there in the tree looking down at us. I told Mike very matter of factly, with a tone of authority: "That's a white monkey." and that's how the "White Monkey Story" got started, and why every one since reefers to Etiole as a white monkey. I was 4 years old, and I would have zero concepts of aliens until I was 8 years old, with the arrival of the VISION-D8, so for the first few years I called Etiole a white monkey, because I didn't know what he was, and fact of the matter was, I had no idea what a monkey was either.
Yes, my initial description of *white monkey* was somewhat inaccurate, and the eel-like description found in my Twighlight Manor books is more or less accurate. He has a very fish-like appearance about him, sort of like what you would get from crossing and eel with a salamander and a very small Human.

As for what he looks like. He is very, very beautiful. Etiole is very small, only 5'3" tall, with a thin delicate bone structure. Based on his small body frame, if I could see his skeleton, I would guess that his bones would be somewhat like that of a fish, sort of small, thin and flexible. He looks very delicate and very frail, like you would expect his bones to break if he fell down. His skin is stark white overall, not peach-pink like *white-skinned* Humans, but white just like white snow, and with a bluish tint in certain places. He has soft shoulder length white hair, that's all frizzed and kinky and hangs in big curls. Sort of looks like he’s been electrocuted.

He's got long thin fingers, which when wet you can see are connected with a thin webbing like layer of skin, sort of like Veiltail Goldfish tail fins. There are fins on his arms and legs as well, but you can only see those when he's in the water. He can stay under water as easily as living on land.

His eyes are huge and very round, almost fish like, from a distance it looks like he's got these two really huge black eyes, but when you see him up close; it's just an illusion, caused by the coloring of his skin. His eyes are a pale almost silver, shade of blue, and highly metallic and metal flaked in a frog-like sort of way, but the pupils are really big, so it looks like the irises are black. Because of the way his pupils are, he's wicked super sensitive to sunlight.

His eyelids are the cause of the illusion that he has huge black orbs for eyes. His eyelids are rimmed and have a deep purplish-blackish tint to them, sort of like someone who hasn't slept for several days, only it extents all the way up to the brow bone. It's the combination of these dark rings around his eyes, and the really dilated pupils that make it look like he's got huge black eyes, but actually, his eyes are not much bigger than mine, and are more like someone with Grave's Syndrome. One of his eyes is frozen "up" so it looks like that eye is always looking up towards the sky; it's an injury, and he's also almost blind in that eye. He has a long nose and high cheekbones. Don’t know what his lips look like, because he paints them bright red; he wears lipstick. His teeth are a fearsome thing, that would inflict one hell of a painful bite should he ever decide to bite someone. He’s got teeth like a shark or a piranha; multiple rows and rows of them, tiny, sharp, and pointed like razors. Defiantly meant for tearing through raw flesh.
The star on his forehead in the Twighlight Manor books, is just in the Twighlight Manor books. The real Etiole has no star on his forehead like that.

He classifies himself as a retired star ship captain, and sometime wears a uniform. When in uniform though, he answers to the name Captain Goldeneagle, rather than Etiole. The uniform consists of skin tight leggings and a lose fitted billowy hip length robe type of coat or jerkin, which is belted closed. Both made out of a blindingly neon orange. Thigh high silver boats are like all moving holographic metallic silver, a really weird color that I’ve never seen on any thing else. He’s got a really weird, really big, tall, twisted pointy somewhat floppy-conical shaped hat, also orange, and trimmed with silver feathery things. That is his peace time uniform, very ceremonial and colorful, and gaudy and meant more for show than anything else. I get the impression, that this is not what his people generally wear however, and that he is somewhat of an eccentric fop, who lived in France waaaaaay too long. There is a definite Olde World French influence to this outfit. This is what I usually draw him as wearing. This is also the outfit I sew when making dolls and sculptures of him.

His war time uniform, matches his ship however, and is made out of a silver, skin tight, sort of Lycra type fabric, that has a prismatic, reflective, mirror finish and reflects every thing around him, camouflaging him and making him nearly impossible to see.

He has a preference for orange and red and out of uniform he usually wears a long red robe-dress thing that buttons all the way down the front, or rather buttons all the way down the back, and he wears it backwards with the buttons in the front.

Out of uniform though, he kind of, doesn't really wear cloths all that often; he's just sort of, naked all the time`. His skin, like I said, is like a salamander, and it's kind of thick and tough, but at the same time super soft and coated with slime; it protects him from the weather, so he's not got much need for cloths. Cloths seem to be worn only as a sign of rank or authority, as wearing them for protection is not really necessary. There is an air of importance and high ranking authority to him and his over all attitude towards everything. His skin is coated with like a frog slime or something of that nature, which dries out if he stays out of the water too long, and why he has to live near water. The nature of his skin, and the fact that the VISION-D8 makes a habit of entering the Earth atmosphere over the ocean, indicates that he is from a water planet, possibility one with less land mass than Earth has. He is defiantly a water creature, and the ship was built for and is certainly better suited to water landings.

His speech is unusual. He does not talk very often, and is usually rather quiet. He can talk, and when he does, it's with a very thick, heavy Ye Olde Style French accent, which he picked up from living most of his time on Earth, in France. He sings, but his voice, when singing, is shrill and high pitched, though he says it’s not like that underwater. He rarely sings when on land, due to the difference in his singing voice above land from underwater.

More often however, Etiole just thinks and you know what he's saying. It's sort of a mind meld telepathy thing, only you don't just hear his words, but feel his emotions and pains as well. If he's sad you don't just think, oh he's sad; you actually feel the sadness overwhelming you. It’s hard to explain, because it’s like telepathy, but at the same time it’s not like telepathy. I don’t know that there is an actual word to describe it. It’s like you become one with him and you can think and feel and hear everything that he is thinking, feeling, and hearing at the exact same time he thinks, hears, and feels it. It’s like he becomes part of you and you become part of him. It’s not telepathy, but I don’t know what else to call it.

It works both ways; he feels what I feel too. It’s how he knows specifically who to target, when protecting me, because he knows which people have frightened me, and thus those are the ones he goes after.

It would seem, that his people are highly emotional, and are interconnected by emotions like this all the time. What effects one of them, effects them all. Because he is trapped here on Earth however, this connection with his people is broken. Etiole is a very sad and lonely creature. He longs for the companionship of others, but Humans are a fear filled race prone to hate, and he can’t connect with them the way he would connect with his own people as a result of this. Due to his injuries he can't leave Earth, and he's pretty much outcast from his people as a result. I get the impression they are not overall a sympathetic race, and are somewhat like the ancient Romans, where, if one falls by the ways side, you leave him and march onward. Etiole fell to the way side and now he's not only trapped here, but he's been abandoned by his own people as well. He's pretty much terrified of Humans. He's been alone and in hiding on a strange planet for some 300 or 400 odd years now. By his own admission, I'm the only friend he's had that entire time.

I do not know how long they live, but I do know that the creature I know, Etiole, is very old, and very frail, and is by Earth years well over 400 years old. I'm guessing that he has aged somewhat faster than others of his kind, due to his injuries, which thus shortened his lifespan. Based on what I know of Etiole and what I can guess of his injuries shortening his lifespan, I estimate that his people live somewhere between 600 to 700 of our Earth years.

Etiole is very old, and not very active. His health, today, is not good. He’s visibly aged just in the 30 years that I have know him. His health has gone down hill a lot, since I first knew him. He had a heart attack or something to that nature in the 1980's, and so now he rarely leaves our yard at all. He pretty much, just sits on the roof of my car, all day and all night. He sleeps in the car. He kind of adopted that car as his home. When people are around he heads up into the trees, or out into the swamp. He's very nervous and jumpy, and he'll stay hidden out in the woods for days, even after the Humans have left. On top of his fear on Humans in general, he has a terrible fear of scientists and doctors especially. Basically, he just wants to be left alone. He hurts. He's in pain. He's afraid of practically everything. He just wants a place where he can sit and rest and be left alone in peace and quite. He, for some reason picked my car to do that.
He had planned to leave our planet, in the early 1980’s the day I saw the VISION-D8, but it was around that time that his heart gave out, making travel impossible for him, resulting in him staying here. He has no plans to leave Earth now, and says he will die here.

Q. There has been some speculation in the past, that your Etiole, is in fact one of “The Greys”. However, while a few similarities are there, namely his pale skin, short height, and the large appearance of his eyes, your Etiole, would seem to be nothing like “The Greys“, the aliens which abductees describe. Etiole is, by your own words, more like a merman, than a *regular* alien. Can you explain this?

EelKat: Nope. Other than, they are multiple races from multiple planets. There is no other explanation. Etiole is more like a biped salamander or eel. He's a lot like an electric eel in some ways. I think it was Etiole, that got me hooked on liking eels. He is a fish-like creature, there is no question of that.

I don't really know too much about The Greys, so I can't really compare Etiole to them. I'm not in the habit of studying such things. Etiole is just here, he's part of my life. I didn't go out looking for him. Though I used to, I no longer try to prove his existence to any one any more. I know, when I mention Etiole, people who do know about such things, will ask me, if Etiole is a Grey. At first I was like, What the hell is a Grey? But it's been asked often enough now, so I know what they are talking about now. From what I understand the Greys are smaller than Etiole, hairless, have a completely different body structure, lack his rows of teeth, have a different type of eyes than he does, and seem to lack his need for water. It is also my understanding that the Greys are a race of scientists who study, test on, probe, and otherwise interfere with the lives of others, which to me sounds like what Etiole calls a Diontite Scientist. If that's the case, than the Greys are not the same as Etiole.

Q You have drawn hundreds of pictures of Etiole over the years, and he looks slightly different in all of them. Which is the most accurate picture? Which looks the most like him?

EelKat: The one I did in 1995 of him in his orange uniform is the most accurate, physical feature wise. . His eyes, face, nose, and hair are closest to accurate in this picture. Though his outfit is a bit off in that one. The hat should have a bigger brim on it, and the “horn points” on the front of the brim should be more circular, like a sort of spiral. I drew the silvery feather things on the hat all wrong too, the should look more like feathers and less like a fox tail. The belt in the picture is also all wrong. The big pouffy sleeves are right. He has a passion for big pouffy sleeves. The basic style and outline of his uniform is more or less accurate.

But ignoring the outfit and just looking at him, his features, his face, his hair, this picture is the one that shows best what he looks like. His left eyelid droops more than shown in the picture, and his left pupil is frozen in place in a sort of upward stare, looking somewhat like a glass eye, you can’t really see that in the picture I drew though. Oh well.

As you can see from the tares, creases, and wrinkles all over this picture, it is one of the ones I rescued from the woodstove, after my relatives crimpled it up and threw it in. The back side of this picture is a layer upon layer of tape, just to hold it together. This picture is one of the few old ones that did not get destroyed when my relatives took to burning my drawings and writings. Of course it’s not really that old, cause it was drawn in 1995, but still it one of the oldest ones which did not get burned. None of my original pictures from the 1970’s survived, and only 4 or 5 of the ones from the 1980’s exist today. We had a big cast iron woodstove and basically my art was being tossed in it as fast as I could draw them. I was about 23 years old when I finally bought a locking metal safe, and put every picture I drew in it as soon as I drew it. It was the only way I could keep my relatives from rifling through my things and taking my artwork. They were so dead set on wiping out all evidence that Etiole existed, it was unbelievable the things they did. I kept right on drawing though, redrawing everything as fast as they were destroying them. They were completely convinced that I was “doing the work of Satan” or so they said, that they felt it was their “god given duty” to destroy everything which I drew or wrote about Etiole.

These burnings often happened while I was not at home, usually done on Sundays while I was in church. It was a weekly occurrence for me to come home from church on Sunday to find the burned remains of my drawings and writings. It is what resulted in my buying a huge tote bag when I was 14 years old, and from that day forth, carrying my Twighlight Manor drawings and manuscripts with me, where ever I went. Eventually I took to keeping them in the one place I knew none of my god-fearing relatives dared to go near: my car. They were so terrified of the Goldeneagle and their belief that it was demon possessed, that I was able to store my drawings and writings in to, and they would not touch them. I made this discovery in 1993, which is how the 1993 edition of Friends Are Forever survived to today and how my drawings from 1993 onward still are in existence today.

There is the one good thing I can say about my becoming homeless: the cast iron stove was destroyed when the house was destroyed. My relatives no longer have a place to toss my art where they can throw a match in with it. Since my move out onto the streets, none of my drawings have been destroyed by my fanatical religion crazed relatives.
Unfortunately I have lost the ability to draw my highly detailed artwork which I used to draw so much of. Shown below is a more recent picture I drew of Etiole, drawn 10 years later in 2005.
You can see the difference. When I was 17 I had to have surgery on my right hand, and it stiffened the joints in my right index finger, resulting my losing the ability to properly grip a pen, and thus dramatically changing my drawing style. Of all the things they did to me, it was the burning of my drawings that hurt the most, because I am unable to redraw them now. I used to draw highly detailed and often very realistic portraits of people, and I can’t do that now.
My relatives wonder today, why I won’t speak to them, why I will not answer their letters, why I will not return their emails, and why when they come knocking at my door I bolt the lock and refuse to let them in.

They say: “But what did I do wrong?”
and I say: “Remember my pictures?”
and they say: “Yeah, so what?”
and I say: “So what! You burned them!”
and they say: “But it was for your own good. We had to destroy them. They were evil. They were the work of Satan.”
and I say: ”Yeah, will you can burn in hell right along with him than. They were my pictures. Mine! Not yours! You had no right to burn them! You are nothing but low life thieves, get out of my life!”

I hate them. They can not understand why I hate them. They see absolutely nothing wrong with what they did. They are not sorry in the least, for the things they did, because they justify their actions by saying they were doing *God’s will*. Will you know what? I don’t believe in their damn domineering destructive so-called god. I don’t know where they get their weird ideas about god or how they came to the conclusion that god said it was alright for them to sneak into my room and go through my things and burn all of my drawings which I worked so hard to make. What kind of a god tells people to do things like that? I don’t know what those freaks are calling God but it sure as hell is not what I call god.

Q. Your relatives and several local church members were pretty adamant in their attempt to get you to stop talking about Etiole. They did not believe you when you said he was real. Several locals thought you ere crazy, while the more religious ones thought you were possessed by a demon. The thing that had people questioning your story about Etiole, was that whenever you tried to show him to someone, he would be gone when they got there. It caused people to start saying you had schizophrenia, based on their assumption that you were talking to something that did not exist. One of your uncles and your bishop got together and tried to have you put in Pine Land Center (the state insane asylum) because you even as a teenager, and later as an adult, maintained your assertion that Etiole was real and not imaginary. Why does no one but you ever see Etiole?

EelKat: I used to question that fact myself. It's that coating on his skin. It glistens in the sunlight, like he's all covered in metallic glitter flakes or something, and that's why people don't see him. I don't understand it, exactly what it is he does, and how it works, but he can deflect the light around him, so that if he doesn't want to be seen, you won't see him. He's not actually invisible, it’s like a camouflage, so you just don't see him. He can walk around among Humans, invisible, unseen, when ever he wants too. It was by accident that me and Mike saw him that day, because he was injured and wasn't able to remain invisible. He says that when people report seeing aliens, that the alien was most likely injured, because when they are hurt they don't always stay hidden from view. According to Etiole, Humans only see them or their ships when something is wrong: the alien is injured or the ship is malfunctioning, otherwise Humans never see them at all or do see them but just don‘t know what they are seeing.

The fact that he’s skittish and hides at the drop of a pin, doesn’t help either. If he knows there are Humans in the area, he’s quick to scurry away. If there is water nearby that’s the place he’ll hide first, and because he’s sort of amphibious, he can stay under the water for days. Once you start making an effort to seek him out, he’ll head for the ocean and stay there.

The other thing to keep in mind about him too, is that I was not the only person to see him, nor was I the first person to see him. Mike saw him first. Mike is the one who pointed him out to me. Me and Mike maintained his existence for quite some time. Mike only changed his story after quote: being “paddled by my step dad so hard I could not sit on my bum all night.” Mike was my cousin. Mike had the same domineering religion crazed relative as I did. In other words, they did to him the same things they did to me and in Mike’s case physical violence did wonders to shut him up. Mike changed his story after being beaten and out of fear of farther violence. Had our extended family been not the religion crazed, near cultist, family which it is, Mike would never have changed his story, and our story of the “white monkey” might not have gone on so long being covered up by our relatives and the local residents. My pictures would never have been burned, I would not have had to deal with the threat of Pine Land Center, and I would not have lost my home at the hands of a hysterical mob.

Q. If asked, would you provide any hard evidence of Etiole’s existence?

EelKat: No. I have no reason to. Twenty years ago, maybe, yeah, but not today, not with his health the way it is. Etiole is real. I know Etiole is real. Wither or not any one believes me stopped being important the day my Bishop tried to have me straight jacketed and sent for men from Pine Land Center to have me locked up. That happened when I was still a kid. I learned than, how dangerous adults could be when faced with the claims that aliens were real. I learned that day that even the most trusted of adults were not worthy of my trust. I haven’t talked about my conversations with Etiole to another Human since that day. This interview is the first time I’ve spoken to anyone about Etiole since I was 16 years old.

Besides, what type of evidence would people want? A piece of his cloths? What good would that do? He’s been living on our planet for the last 300 years with zero contact with his own people, anything his cloths are made out of today, is more likely than not, to have originated on Earth. A piece of his hair? HA! The guy wears a wig, it’s made out of yak hair or something like that. It looks like his natural hair, but he has very little of that left. Skin grafts? Yeah right, like I’m going to stab the guy.

And than, what if I did give them something, which proved Etiole was real, than what? Scientists are going to want to take him and lock him up some place, where they will subject him to one test after another. He’s already been through that before, he doesn’t need to go through something like that again. By handing over evidence of his existence all I would be doing is endangering his life. Why would I do that? He is my friend, what possible reason would I have for betraying him and letting him fall into the hands of evil men who would harm him?
The fact is, people have tried and tested my patience for the last 30 years, and I’m sick and tired or it. Humans don’t want evidence of his existence so that they can welcome him as a part of our society. I learned that the hard way. It’s not Human nature to welcome strangers into their home, so why should I expect them to welcome a stranger into their planet? They only want evidence so they can run tests on him, experiment on him, and eventually kill him so they can dissect him. Why would I do that to someone I loved? Do you honestly think that I would help them?

Q. Not every one wants to study or do tests on aliens. There are people who would just want to meet him face to face. Surly, if he trusts you, he would come forward to contact someone else, if you asked him to, wouldn’t he?

EelKat: No, he wouldn’t. Nor would I ask him to do any such thing. What we are dealing with, is a very shy, elusive creature, who got that way after having been abused by Humans, because he was not a Human. Humans treated him like a lab rat in the past, and the Humans of today are no less cruel than they were years ago. Only difference between the Humans back than and the Humans now, is that today, they have better equipment with which to perform their tests. In other words, more advanced way to hurt him. Humans did much to shatter his trust and nothing to gain it.

You got to understand, that there are only a handful of Humans who would actually want to meet Etiole without having some ulterior motive behind it. They’ll want to take pictures to sell the tabloids, they’ll call reporters to come traipsing around my yard, they contact the government just to say: “Ha, ha, I can prove aliens are real”. They’ll drag their friends and family here to meet him too. Terror crazed people will come here intent on killing him (I know, because they have already done this in the past), eventually scientists will storm in here with government funding and court orders saying they have a right to take him to some facility for testing. You can laugh, and say: “Oh that would never happen”, but you know what? I’ve already had government officials storm into my yard and demand I turn my car over to them! I’ve had local church members paint ball my car. People broke into my house and tuned it upside down, destroyed everything I owned. My house was burned down, for crying out loud. That’s what people do when you start saying you got a real live alien in your possession. That’s what people did to me.

Now I ask you, how many people do you know, who would be REALLY be satisfied just to meet him?

Q. Would Etiole himself consent to being interviewed?

EelKat: No.

Q. Would you ask him?

EelKat: No.

Q. Can I ask why?

EelKat: Same answer as the one I just gave you. It would be a breech of our trust and respect for one another. He’s been on this planet a long time. He’s had several years of experience with Humans, more than 300 years to be exact. He’s been captured, tortured, beaten, abused, caged, put on display, poked, probed, probed, starved, sold from one side show traveling circus to another, and locked up in government owned military labs where he was subjected to one test after another. He has suffered physically and emotionally, and he hurting and in pain. Everything that has happened to hurt him, has been done to him at the hands of Humans. He’s been on Earth so long that he has barely any memory of living elsewhere. Much of his “free” time on Earth (time when he had his freedom and was not being held captive by Humans) has been spent in hiding from Humans, usually dressed as a woman, a drag queen, because being dressed as such hides the fact that he is not Human.

He needs time away from curious eyes and prying hands. He’s old. He’s tired. He’s tired of running. He’s tired of living on edge always looking over his shoulder. You must understand: Etiole is old. He is too old to keep being harassed. That’s why. He’s been subjected to enough in his life as it is, and it is my opinion that he has had enough, and I am not going to subject him to more. He deserves to be allowed to live in peace, free from worry about who’s going to hurt him next.

Q. The online world, first became really aware of Etiole because you celebrate his birthday. This seems to be an odd sort of “holiday“ with you, and it caused many people to send you emails asking for an explanation as to just exactly what this “holiday“ was, because they had never heard of it before. Can you tell us about this?

EelKat: I get 20,000 email each week, a result of my massive social networking, and my being a member of well over 300 forums. You are referring to what I call “the MySpace incident“. I have been a rampant forum poster on the internet since 1997. During that time mentions of Etiole and the Twighlight Manor series, got thrown into quite a few conversations, but mostly in passing. During those many years, I developed quite a “fan following” and eventually, people started asking me, why I did not have a MySpace profile. Finally I decided, since my many fans all had MySpace accounts and were all requesting I get one, so on September 23, 2006 (while living in “the tent“), I joined MySpace, than posted a message on all of the forums telling my “fans“ I had done so. Within the first 3 or 4 hours after creating my account, I had well over 300 “friends“ added to my MySpace list (Today that number tops 3,000). After about 2 hours of reading messages my “fans“ had told me how to run everything on MySpace and low and behold I sent out my first bulletin: an announcement that today was Etiole‘s birthday and that that was why I had chosen that particular day to create my account. (yes, Etiole also has a MySpace profile as well, which can be seen here: ). I don’t actually know when his birthday is, that’s just the closest date I could come up with.

Q. How did you arrive at that particular date?

EelKat: It’s a long shot guess. He doesn’t know when he was born. Etiole’s ability to decipher time is limited at best. The whole concept of clocks, watches, calendars, dates, months, years, hours, minutes, etc, is completely lost on him. I don’t know why, but he is simply unable to understand the concept of time at all. Based on Earth events which he remembers taking place in his life time, I came to the conclusion that he arrived on Earth at approximately 1660 give or take a few years. He remembers it being autumn, because he remembers the apples growing along the beach, red apples, meaning that they were ripe apples, which gives us a date of roughly mid September, seeing how the apples along Old Orchard Beach ripen and turn red in mid to late September. (Note that I am old enough to remember an Old Orchard Beach with apple trees on it, but few residents of Old Orchard today, are even aware of how the town or the beach got it’s name, due to the condominium boom of the 1980’s which decimated all remains of the apple orchards in Old Orchard Beach.)

My car which he took possession of was made in 1964, and we acquired it on September 23, 1975. The year 1964 and the date September 23rd was so close to his 1660 and September arrival that I combined the whole thing all together and declared his birthday to be September 23, 1664, which means that “officially” he is considered to be 345 years old. However, his exact age and year of arrival is unknown, and the 345 age is just the lowest possible minimum. He is likely much older.

Q. Apples, that reminds me, what do aliens eat?

EelKat: Aliens in general? Couldn’t say; don’t know. Etiole in particular? Fish, mollusks, slugs, snails, frogs, frog eggs, fish eggs, slug eggs, snail eggs, caterpillars, worms, bugs, clams, crabs, and most every other similar soft bodied small creepy crawly type thing; raw, uncooked, usually eaten while still alive. We live in a forest where slugs are everywhere, he just walks around eating them. Raw.

He’ll eat most any Human food, with ice cream, cheese, wine, sea food, and a French recipe known as Star Gazing Pie, being his favorites. He’s lived here a long time, he learned to adapt. He lived in France a long time, he learned to love food.

He has somewhat of an uncontrolled predator like attitude towards his food, not like the way Humans eat at all, but more like the way a wild animal eats: sneaking up on the food, grabbing it in a lightening quick move, and than devouring the thing raw and whole in a split instant. The way his hands are, he can reach into water and pull out slippery fish with no trouble at all. Fish and other seafood pretty much make up the bulk of his diet. What he ate before coming here though? No idea. He’s certainly well suited to catching and eating fish, him being somewhat fish-like himself.

Q. What is Star Gazing Pie?

EelKat: I actually have the recipe, I found it in some old magazine after searching far and wide for it. Turns out it is a “local dish“ made by a few tiny cafĂ©‘s on the coast of France. It is essentially a savory pie, in which the upper crust is cut open and fish heads are inserted into the slits, so that their eyes are facing upwards “gazing at the stars” and thus the name of the pie.

Q. It is true people have offered to buy Etiole from you?

EelKat: Yes. More than once. It’s sick, really. I mean, people think money is the answer to everything. “But everything has a price.“ they tell me, than ask, “How much do you want?“ He’s not for sale, not at any price. You can’t put a price on life.

The worse thing was when local government officials (the town manager and his council, all members of my church, who were egged on by our hysterical bishop) came and tried to take him by force, but they couldn’t find him. He did one of his disappearing acts and they left empty handed.

Q. People find it odd that you can be friends with a man who is not a human. How do you feel about this? And how do you feel about the fact that Etiole is not a human?

EelKat: The thing that people never seem to understand is that, I never saw Etiole as anything any different from me. I was four years old when I met him. I grew up with him. He was always there, always around. At no point was he ever like a stranger to me, and at no point did I ever feel like he was anything less than my equal. So, I don’t find it weird that Etiole is not a Human. I do find it weird that other Humans find it weird.

Here’s the thing: I’ll mention Etiole, and suddenly people start asking all sorts of questions: How did he get here? Why is he here? What does he want? Are we at war? Yadda, yadda, yadda. And you want to know something what these people find really weird? The fact that I have ever asked Etiole any of these questions. They get all flustered and freaked out and flabbergasted and start bombarding me with other questions: Why didn’t you ask him? How can you be friends with a man and not know his background? Don’t you want to know where’s he’s from? Well, you know what? I don’t care.

These people simply are not thinking. They are not using their brains. Let’s throw these same questions back on them. If you met some new person, and you and he hit it off right from the start, how likely are you to ask him: “So, why did you move here? What is your ulterior motives? What do you want with us? Oh, and by the way, I hear you are from ----, so is it true that your country just declared war on our country?” Is that really how you have conversations with a new friend? No You ask about their favorite movies, what they would like to have for dinner, what kind of music they listen to, etc, etc, etc.

People seem to find it odd, that me and Etiole, just like to spend time together, watch TV together, work I the garden together, tend to the roosters together, talk about the latest snowstorm, debate various religious ideas, listen to birds singing, walk on the beach. People can not understand why I’m spending time being his friend, when I should be interrogating the hell out of him instead. People always want to know why I’m not getting all the details on his home planet, and stuff like that, but you know what, these same people would be astounded if one of their friends treated them the way they think I should treat Etiole. They want me to treat him like he’s a bug on a microscope. They need to get it through their thick skulls, that Etiole has always been a part of my life; he’s not some oddity that just showed up a few days ago. He’s always been there. So I don’t look at him and see some alien creature. I look at him, and I see a friend who has always been there for me.

Q. You, at one point in your life, did in fact try to find out what exactly Etiole was and where he came from, is that correct? It resulted in your doing a massive study into, not aliens, but rather Fairies? What can you tell us about this?

EelKat: Yes. Actually it was only in the last 2 or 3 years that I started referring to Etiole as an alien. For most of the past 30 years, the thought that he was an alien had not even occurred to me, and since relatives and church members kept saying he was a demon or a poltergeist, I just went along with it and called him either a demon or a poltergeist, simply because I was a kid and I assumed that the adults knew what they were talking about.

Of course, since becoming an adult myself and getting out in the world and having contact with adults not related to me and not from my church, I have come to realize that my relatives and the members of the church I grew up in, are a bunch of freaking nuts and that’s when I stopped thinking of Etiole as either a demon or a poltergeist and made the move to trying to figure out what it was he is.

I was about 27 years old the first time I heard about the Greys and the theory of alien abductions. I didn’t know what either thing was, cause I’d never heard of them before, and so I started asking people what the hell an alien abduction was and what are these things called Greys. That’s when I found out that there are thousands of people out there who have seen creature similar to Etiole. It was a sudden revelation to me, the fact that I was not alone and that I was not the only person out there claiming to have seen a creature like Etiole. I was stunned by learning this, because all my life I had been told that I was the only one and that it was proof that I was suffering from schizophrenia (even though three doctors have told me I did not have schizophrenia or any other mental disorder at all.) The really weird thing is, that I have since found out that the Greys and alien abduction stories are often suppressed by Air Force agents. Will, here’s the weird thing: my uncle, the one who told my bishop I was a threat to national security? He is an Air Force intelligence officer working out of Nevada. The fact that he lived in Nevada and me and my bishop both lived in Maine, always puzzled me as to why he was set on writing letters to my bishop and trying to have me put in a mental institute. But than, once I found out about the Air Force involvement in the Greys, suddenly, all those years of letters from my military officer uncle, suddenly made sense and everything he had said and done over the years, now fit together like a puzzle. Near as I can figure, my story of the white monkey/Etiole and the VISION-D8, had hit a nerve on something that my uncle was working on in Nevada, and he started doing everything in his power to shut me, because if word got out the things I was saying, he would end up getting in trouble, because his higher officers (he was a Major) would think he had told me something about his secret work in Nevada and than he’d get in trouble. And all these past 30 years I just thought it was my uncle being mean to me for no reason at all. Now it make sense the things he did and said (and continues to do and say even to this day, even though he’d been retired for the past 10 or 12 years). But like I said, that’s all resent, stuff I found out just in the past 5 years. Before I heard about the Greys and alien abductions, my theory was that Etiole was a Faerie of some sort.

Q. I’d like to interrupt real quick, and ask, how many of your uncles are in the military and what do they do.

EelKat: My grandparents had 12 children: 8 boys and 4 girls. Being super strict Orthodox LDS, most all of them have had multiple spouses, with the highest number currently being 8. This explains how I came to be one of 264 cousins in this huge multi generational family. Of those multitudes of aunts and uncles, nearly all of them joined the military during the 1960’s through 1970’s, but only three of them stayed on and worked in the military (now all retired). One with level 2 security, one with level 3 security, and one with level 5 security.

The one with level 3 security, was a mechanic in the air force, worked out of Utah and claims to have worked on experimental air crafts built using extraterrestrial technology.

The one with level 5 security was a Marine. He was stationed in Nevada, Utah, Virginia, and Washington D.C. and worked in what he called “boarder patrol” for the government, and “officially” his job was to keep Mexican immigrants out of the USA, however, after retiring he bragged that that was just a cover story for the fact that he was really working on a secret project communicating with UFOs and that quote: “Hailbop was NOT what the US government is telling people it was.“ Whatever that is suppose to mean, I don’t know. He claims to “know things” which he hopes that someday the world will be “ready to hear.”

I don’t know wither or not to believe the claims of either uncle. Both started making these claims in the last 5 years, after they had retired.

The third uncle, the one with level 2 security, was an intelligence officer in the Air Force, worked out of the Pentagon, and was a part of the “Ollie North trials”. Though he was never on one of the shuttle flights, he claims to be an astronaut and there are many photos of him in his full astronaut gear. Before making the move to Major, he was a pilot, but is only authorized for single passenger flights, and refuses to talk about the planes he flew saying that they were a secret. He was moved around a lot, but most of his time in the military (a space of about 40 years) he was stationed in Nevada, Nebraska, Illinois, Florida, and Germany. “Officially” he is listed as a US Spy on Russia. He is more of less famous in military realms and there have been at least 2 books written about him, that I know of, though I think there are actually 4 or 5 books out there about him. I have never read any of the books so I don’t know what they say about him; I find the whole military history pretty dull and boring. But seeing how there are books (biographies) written about my secretive religion crazed domineering Major uncle, I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard for you to look him up and read about him for yourself.

He was forced to retired after some sort of a controversy, something to do with an “iron curtain” he said once, but what the controversy was, I do not know. I never did figure out how you could make curtains out of iron or what that had to do with anything, so I figure it must have been the name of something and not actual curtains made out of iron. What I do know, is that shortly after retiring he returned from Russia with a Russian wife, and I suspect that had something to do with his forced retirement.

The two uncles who brag about working on extraterrestrial technology, both claim that their brother the Intelligence Officer Major was the one who did most of the work covering up such stories and seeing to it that the public never found out about aliens and UFOs. Both joke that he was one of the so-called “Men in Black”. Is that true? I don’t know. But I do know, that this same Major uncle of mine, was the one who wrote the letters to my bishop saying I was a threat to national security, and telling my bishop that I was a dangerous schizophrenic who must be institutionalized. And I do know that he wrote these letters because of my refusal to deny the existence of Etiole and the VISION-D8.

Q. Okay, I just wanted to make sure that our readers knew this fact about your uncles. Now, please continue with how you came to think Etiole was a Faerie.

EelKat: I was about 10 or 12 years old, not sure when exactly it was, but as part of a research project for school, I had gotten a book out at the library. I was supposed to write a report on ancient mythology, and was becoming increasingly bored with Greek and Roman mythology, so looked into Norse and Celtic mythology instead. I ended up checking out the book Faeries by Brian Froud. I read the entire book, cover to cover in about three days, and it was than that it occurred to me that Etiole was not Human. I don’t know why it had not occurred to me earlier, but the thought had never really crossed my mind. Etiole was just there, so I never thought about how he had come to be there before. Of course the was the ship and all that, but still, it had not occurred to me hat the ship itself was anything that unusual either. I knew my talking about Etiole and the VISION-D8 bothered adults, but I had yet to understand why adult were getting upset over it. At some point, while reading Faeries, it hit me: “That’s why adults get upset! Etiole is not Human, Etiole is one of these things!” After that I took to studying everything I could get my hands on about fairies in general and dryads in particular.

My original assumption was that Etiole was some sort of a white birch dryad, and that was what I started calling him for a short while. I had come to this conclusion, based on the fact that he had white skin, and prior to living in my car, he had lived in the trees surrounding the swamp. This dryad theory lasted for 6 or 7 months, with me focusing all of my energy on studying all that had ever been written on dryads, but that it occurred to me, that dryads were strictly tree dwelling spirits and something here just wasn’t adding up. First starters, Etiole was not a tree dweller per say, as he was simply hiding in the trees from Humans; he preferred to live in, around, or near water, making him a water dweller, not a tree dweller. Secondly, dryads were spirit beings without solid bodies, and though it’s small and thin, Etiole does have a pretty solid body, making him not a spirit creature. So, my dryad theory flopped and for a while I gave up on the whole Etiole as a faerie theory.

It didn’t end there though. In about 1993, some 6 or 7 years after the dryad theory, I took Brian Froud’s book out from the library again, this time doing research into Phookas, the evil shape shifting creatures that would become one of the staples in my Twighlight Manor books. I ended up reading the entire book all over again, and this time, being older and having known Etiole for many years by this time, the chapter on water faeries stood out to me.

Q. This would be when you was writing the revised and much expanded and somewhat controversial 1993 version of Friends Are Forever, correct?

EelKat: Yes.

Q. So this was also when you created the race known as the Salt Water Eel Sirens, which became the main race used in your books from that point on?

EelKat: Yes, that’s when I wrote up my theories on sirens and created the concept of eel mermaids or eel sirens, which is what I believe Etiole to be. The sirens in my Twighlight Manor books are based on my studies of the history of merfolk, combined with what I know about Etiole. Etiole is very much a merman. He matches the French folk stories about women who sat on the shore singing and luring men to drown themselves. Etiole matches the stories of angry mermaids who sent fierce hurricanes, wind storms, and lightening bolts to punish Humans who had harmed their loved ones. It became very clear to me than, that Etiole was in fact from the race of creatures that had haunted the shores of France in the 1500’s - 1800’s.

That’s when every thing fell into place and the big “AH-HUH!” moment happened. I had finally found what Etiole was, or close to it, at least. Etiole, had lived in France, I knew this. Etiole was a water creature, there was no doubt of this. He had lived in France during the time when sailors were telling mermaid stories left and right, not only that, he had lived in France when sailors were supposedly capturing mermaids and selling them to side shows. It was like I had had this big puzzle scattered all about and than suddenly all the pieces just fell into place on their own.
There were differences of course. For one thing, nearly all of the old sailors’ tales told of mermaids not mermen. The stories were saying that these merfolk were a race of Fae, which traditionally is an alternate plane of existence or an alternate dimension, which exists on top of and over lapping our existence with Humans and Faeries living side by side on a daily basis but each not seeing the other except for on rare occasions.

It was like I had unlocked some ancient long lost secret. I took all the things I knew about Etiole, and used them to fill in the blanks about merfolk. Than I took everything I now knew about the ancient merfolk and I used them to fill in the blanks about Etiole. The end result was my Eel Siren theory.

Q. For those readers who are not familiar with your Twighlight Manor series, could you please explain, just what it is, that the Eel Siren theory is?

EelKat: My conclusion is, keeping in mind here that this is just a guess, is that the ancient mermaids seen by sailors were in fact very real creatures. However, my theory is that, contrary to traditional beliefs, they are not from Earth, but rather was a group of intergalactic travelers who crash landed in the ocean. The ship was eventually repaired and took off again, however, several members of the crew, got left behind, presumed dead. Etiole being among those left behind. Being water creatures, they adapted and adjusted to their new home taking to the Earth’s oceans and living along coastal cliffs. Etiole is not, the traditional, half human half fish, you often see in paintings. He has legs, not a tail, but his body has a definite fish like nature to it. If I was to look at Etiole and than look at the creatures in our oceans and compare him to any one of them, it would be the eel. It is for this reason I took to calling Etiole an Eel Siren.

My theory continues onward and speculates even farther, that it may be possible that somewhere out there is a planet or maybe even an entire solar system, which is in fact named by it’s people: Fae, and that this is where the Eel Sirens came from. If this were true than all Faeries are in fact aliens, and this would explain the centuries long sightings of these various unexplained creatures.

The Faerie mythology tells of openings in the Earth, where one can walk through and step out instantly on another world, a world known as the Realm of Fae. Well, this fit too, because the VISION-D8 travels through wormholes and gets from here to there and there to here in an instant. So, it just plain made sense to me.

Q. The picture shown above is of what you call a Salt Water Eel Siren, and this one in particular is a female character from your Twighlight Manor series. It is one of the few rare nude pictures you have ever drawn. You never draw Etiole nude. Is this a representation of what Etiole looks like without cloths on?

EelKat: Pretty much. Yeah. Except he’s a male and the one in the picture is a female.

Q. The ship which you believe to have crashed, the VISION-D8, is the same ship you write about in your Twighlight Manor stories, correct? People who have read the Twighlight Manor series, are familiar with the intergalactic star ship known as the VISION-D8, and its tiny white skinned drag queen Captain/Pilot Etiole Swanzen a.k.a. The Goldeneagle. It bothers some of your readers, that for some one who never took physics or astronomy, you write some pretty vivid and scientifically accurate details about star ships and solar systems. Than they find out your were only 8 years old when you wrote those things and marvel even more. How do you explain this?

EelKat: I am able to write with vivid clarity the things which I write about, because I can see them with vivid clarity. I was once asked, why I never write any stories set beyond the current date, and my answer was quite simply this: "Because I don't know today what will happen to Etiole and his family tomorrow." Oh, yes, if you come to my house, I'll attempt to introduce you to Etiole. I'll even take you to where I saw the VISION-D8. To date, no one but me has seen them, except for twice, but I’ll show you where it happened, and I’ll even show you the famous Goldeneagle, the car whom so many locals fear and hate.

The first time I saw Etiole back in the 1970’s I was not alone, and those with me saw him too, though they later denied ever seeing him at all, after being pressured by their parents.
The first time I saw the VISION-D8, flying in the sky overhead, was in 1983, I was not alone, and we all saw it: not just me, but the entire town. They are aliens from another galaxy, and they are very real, however, to say you have not only seen, but also spoken to and made friends with aliens from another galaxy, well, that's the quickest way to get labeled as a crazy person, some thing I sadly learned the hard way, and so actual details of the real sightings were replaced by fictional versions (the Twighlight Manor series) in order to avoid being labeled *crazy*, because quite frankly those labels hurt. Labeling is a form of bullying, wither people want to believe it or not. I don't like it when people start labeling me like that.

In the early 1980's my Twighlight Manor stories were straight up retellings of my sightings of these aliens and their ship. By the late 1980's-early 1990’s my LDS Bishop had set out to contacting doctors, psychiatrists and psychologists. Because of this, I stopped writing my stories as non-fiction sightings, and instead rewrote all of the original stories into new fictional versions.
I drew the charts, maps and retold the details of the solar system they came here from, based on what Etiole has told me. Is any of it accurate scientifically? I have no idea. My math is drastically limited. I can do most addition and subtraction problems, and I can count by twos, fives and tens, but beyond that I have zero math skills. I never was able to figure out multiplication, division or fractions, and because I failed both, basic math and pre algebra, I was not allowed to take any high school science courses requiring a knowledge of mathematics. As a result, I have never studied physics, chemistry, technical sciences, or astronomy, so I can not verify that anything I wrote was accurate or not. My high school science was limited to Biology, Zoology, Botany, and Ornithology.
Though I tried, I can not get a GED because I could not do any of the math problems on the test. Because of my math problem, as a teen I was constantly told I was lazy and needed to study more. I don't think any one have ever tried to learn the times tables any more than I did. I studied math for hours, each and every day, for weeks on end, but no matter what I tried, numbers never stuck in my brain. I spent many sleepless nights of my high school years in tears, broken down by the shear frustration of trying to remember the numbers that I had seen on a page only minutes earlier. I know today, that this was caused by dyslexia. I no longer try to figure out how to do math, as I've come to accept that fact that numbers are simply something that my mind is not capable of translating.

But anyways, I know the details of the VISION-D8 inside out because it is a very real star ship. Again, this is a case of me writing what I know.

Q. On the front cover of this book, is a painting you did of Etiole’s star ship, the VISION-D8. You have seen the VISION-D8. What can you tell us about the VISION-D8? Other people saw it. You say the whole town saw it? What happened?

EelKat: What can I tell you about it? I'll pick up where I left off a few questions back:
I first saw Etiole when I was 4 years old, and at that point was referring to him as “The White Monkey”. It wasn't until I was 8 years old, however, when my story of the white monkey changed dramatically, that I started having the problems with adults.

What startled everyone into looking up in the first place, I don’t know. But, nearly everyone was thinking there had been some sort of big explosion, so every one was running around expecting to see a mushroom cloud somewhere. All anyone saw though was the same thing I saw. When I was 8, me and a friend from school (I was still in public school than) were playing in the woods, right under the very same tree where the white monkey had first been seen four years earlier, when a bright blinding white light flashed across the sky, and scared the daylights out of us. Her parents, out in their yard, had seen it too, (mine, in the house, had not). Most every one on our street, who was out doors at the time, saw it. It was seen across an area some two miles in diameter, and for the next 2 or 3 weeks, every one on our street, all the kids in school (I was still in public school at the time, but was pulled out of public school, just one month after this incident), and a few local reporters had one topic of conversation: UFOs and alien invasion. By the end of the month the US Navy had made an official announcement which said that what we had seen was the explosion of a weather balloon, they had been testing off the beach, over the ocean. Most people were satisfied with this answer. I was not, because what I had seen was not an explosion. Our conversation alone, that day, proved that.

What I saw, was a huge football-ish shaped silver orb, which hovered directly above our heads. The conversation between my friend and me went like this:

FRIEND: "Oh my god! Look at the size of that blimp!"

ME: "That's not a blimp. I've seen blimps. That's no blimp."

FRIEND: "Than what is it?"

ME: "I don't know, but that's not a blimp."

The thing stayed there motionless, and than faded into the clouds, or rather, became part of the sky, so to speak.

It was, as our conversation had stated, a somewhat blimp like shape, but the shape was wrong. Blimps were all hot dog shaped and this was much rounder, more circular. It was too shiny to be a blimp. This thing was polished metal. Blimps are fabric. Blimps are nothing more than glorified hot air balloons. This thing was nothing like a glorified hot air balloon.

A trip to a hot air balloon show about a year prior to this sighting, had taught me all about hot air balloons, shiny silver weather balloons, blimps, and zeppelins. At the time I could have told you anything you wanted to know about hot air balloons, weather balloons, blimps, and zeppelins, because after seeing them in person, I had gone on a rampant study of them. I grew up in Old Orchard Beach in the 1970’s, for crying out loud, there was a war going on (Vietnam), and we had the best beach there was to test things. People came from all over the world to test out weird flying objects, the government was always here with their big silver weather balloons and black batwing jets, the military even trained their paratroopers on our beach. I used to sit on the roof of our house, and keep track of all the weird flying things we had zipping around. I used to count how many paratroopers they dropped out of planes each day. I know I was only 8 years old and “normal” 8 year olds aren’t supposed to do these types of things, old scientists are supposed to act like that, but as an adult it’s now said I have Asperger’s Syndrome, which is marked by being a scientific bookworm nerd at a very early age. I certainly was that, and my keeping track of how many paratroops jumped from planes out onto the beach, pretty much proved that.

Due to our beachfront location, we (the local residents) always had things zipping around over our heads, so it was just natural for locals to be looking up to see what the latest thing being tested on our beach would be. I had written up charts, and kept track of the ones I had seen and this, this thing now hovering over the trees, this wasn’t any of those things. For starters, it was just too damn big. Whatever it was we were looking at, not only was it too big to be a blimp, it was dwarfing the biggest jumbo jets. I couldn’t explain what it was, and when the military suddenly announced it was an exploded weather balloon? Honey, I’ve seen weather balloons, they were testing weather balloons on our beach all the time. This was no weather balloon. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew with out a doubt that it was no weather balloon, and it certainly hadn’t exploded, either, cause it was perfectly hovering there in one solid piece.

Everyone saw it.
Everyone wanted to know what it was.
The military had a lame story of an exploding weather balloon.
Everyone believed the military story.
I said the military story made no logical sense.
It became my obsession.

I would spend the next six years drawing pictures of it and writing up long detailed scientific diagrams about it. People at church suddenly became terrified of me, because here I was the 8 year old child of “an uneducated farmer“, barely starting school, and who not only had no knowledge of advanced sciences, I had no knowledge of any kind of sciences at all, yet, I was drawing up technical schematics and diagrams of both the insides and outsides of a star ship that could travel trough space using tiny holes in the galaxy to shoot it across the universe like a bullet. Adults around me, started acting very strange, but at that point, I did not understand that it was because the things I was drawing and writing had absolutely terrified them.

When asked how I could draw and write these things, I could not answer. I had no explanations for how I was doing it. I didn’t know what it was I was drawing and writing. I didn’t know how I knew these things. And what scared people the most, was the fact that I said, the pictures were appearing in my head like a movie and I was writing them down as I saw them. A doctor at the Cape Elizabeth LDS church, recommended sending me to a Dr. Collins. My family stopped going to church. I wouldn’t find out who this Dr Collins was until I was 15 years old. He, worked with Pine Land Center, an insane asylum.

One year after that sighting, my friend who had seen it with me, was banned from speaking to me. The police showed up at our door with a paper I had to sign to say that I would never have contact with her for the rest of my life. Her parents were so terrified of me, that they took out a restraining order on me. I was just one week from turning 9 years old, and that, was just the beginning. I didn’t return to school that next year either. I was 12 years old before my family started going to church again.

While the White Monkey I had seen 4 years earlier, was viewed as an over active imagination, this thing, this star ship, it would be what would forever label me as crazy. It was why people said I had schizophrenia. I was being accused of having schizophrenia, an illness that afflicts young adults, people in their 20‘s and 30‘s, and I was only 8 years old.

What had we seen, and what was I drawing? According to Etiole: The VISION-D8, a star ship, his star ship. A star ship the size of a small planet and made out of a mirror finished nearly impenetrable silver metal which reflected all things around it, making it completely invisible to the Human eye. (Etiole calls the metal: Lubriderm, though I‘m not sure I‘m spelling that right.) The only time anyone ever saw it was either just before leaving or just after entering the Earth's atmosphere, when the debris from the impact was still swirling around it, and causing it to be unable to reflect the sky and clouds around it. Its entry and exit points are nearly always over oceans, for two reasons:

1.) The ocean is reflecting the clouds above it, thus, the bottom of the ship, will also reflect the clouds above, making the ship almost impossible to be seen by Humans.

2.) If it crashed over the ocean, it would not be severely damaged, and could easily take off again from the surface of the water.

It moved by harnessing the high gravitational forces in certain tiny pinhead sized areas, all across the universe. Once the ship came into contact with these pinholes in the atmosphere, the pinhole opened up swallowing the ship and spitting it out on the other end of the tunnel, which could be elsewhere on the planet, or someplace on the other side of the galaxy, or all the way on the other side of the universe. Every pinhole opened up to different areas, each pinhole always went to the same place each time. The star charts used on the VISION-D8 map where all of these pinholes are and where all of them go to. The pressure caused by going through these pinholes is so great that they can travel from one side of the galaxy to another, in almost a split instant, with no time passing at all from point A to point B. The one over our town doesn't connect to outer space, but rather is a short jump connecting to a spot in Northern Maine. At that spot there is a second pinhole which connects to another galaxy. It is from there that they get to and from this region of our planet. They than use the short jump pinholes to go back and forth to different places on the planet.

The pinholes are every where, but most of them are not useable, due to where they come out. Preference is given to ones that open over oceans. These are the ones used on a regular basis. If no ocean is available, other preference points are large old growth forests, deserts, and grasslands (prairies, etc.) These are the ones used often, but not as often as the ocean ones. Only very rarely are ones used, that are known to open over heavily populated areas. Two reasons:

1.) It's easier for the ships to be spotted by Humans, which they would rather avoid.

2.) There's the risk of the ship crashing and hurting people on the planet. Another thing they want to avoid, as they are peaceful by nature and not intent on hurting any one.

Basically they are simple travelers. I suppose you could say they were like wandering gypsies or nomads or the like, just traveling about seeing the sights.
This ship itself is an unusual shape, which is best described as football shaped, except that’s not completely accurate. It looked like a some what squashed football, but very smooth, very rounded, with no harsh edges.

It was a perfectly smooth, very white, sliver color, like platinum. The finish of it was like a mirror, and the top of it, was reflecting the sunlight, so it looked like the thing was glowing with lights, but there were no lights on it, it was just the sunlight reflecting off of it.

Horizontally, around it’s center rim, was a band of carvings, which looked some what like Egyptian hieroglyphics, but I can read Egyptian hieroglyphics and that’s not what these were. The markings were more like Celtic runes than hieroglyphs, I think. You know, more letter, less picture. It was defiantly writing of some sort. It was much too organized to have been a drawing or design.

Q. Why is it called VISION-D8 and how was it built?

EelKat: The title VISION-D8 it what Etiole says to be the “English translation” of what they call the ships. The word V.I.S.I.O.N. is short for the title of the type of ship it is (there are other types), each letter standing for a word in the title. The D8 hyphen identifies this particular VISION ship from other VISION ships. There are 13 of them, which Etiole identifies as D1 through D13. I’m not sure what exactly the letter D stands for or if it stand for anything at all, or if it‘s just Etiole translating weird. Etiole’s ability to translate words, letters, and numbers from his native tongue into English is under question here. Firstly, he translates from his language to French and than from French to English, English being his third language. Secondly, having been on Earth for well over 300 years, he seems to have forgotten large portions of his native tongue.
The VISION ships are the big ones, the huge ones that travel from solar system to solar system. They travel at light speeds from one end of the universe to another, and are only used for such long jumps. They can carry 10,000 people on board, but are usually used for transporting smaller ships. The smaller ships being the ones used to get from one place on the planet to another. It is the smaller ships which most people see, when reporting seeing a UFO, and the huge VISION ships are very rarely sighted.

The VISION ships are not native to Etiole’s home planet, or even to his solar system. Etiole has no idea how the VISION ships are built. His people didn’t build them, his people do not have the technology for space travel. He doesn’t know what they are made out of, but that they are built of a silver-white metal that can not be damaged or melted by anything we have on Earth. They are ancient ships, alien to Etiole‘s home planet. He says that they were built by the Diontite Scientists, and that all but two of them (the VISION-D6 and the VISION-D8) are still owned and used by the Diontite scientists. Etiole’s people took possession of the VISION-D8 and the VISION-D6 during a war.

Q. I’ll ask about the Diontites in a minute. Right now I’d like to continue focus on the ship itself and your experience of it. It is common for those who have seen a UFO to experience lost time. Do you remember anything like that?

EelKat: You got to keep in mind something here: I was 8 years old when I saw the VISION-D8. I barely had a concept of time at all, let alone a concept that time could become lost. If I did loose time, I don’t remember it.

Q. Have you ever lost time at any point since than?

EelKat: No idea, and no way of knowing. I didn’t start wearing a watch until I got my job at Macy’s in 2006. Before than I had absolutely no need for time at all. I never left my house except for to go to church or to go to the library, or to wait for one of my mom’s many doctors appointments, none of which required my needing to know the time. I simply went where ever my family went when ever they said it was time to leave.

Actually, I have great difficulty telling time. I did not discover this until I was 31 years old and bought my watch so I could get to work at Macy’s on time. It has, you know, those hand things that go around, but I can never remember which one is which, and than I have to stop and count each space before I can figure out which hand is pointing at which number. I usually mix up the 15 and the 45 too. People are always getting mad at me because they’ll ask me what time it is and than they have to wait 3 or 4 minutes while I count the numbers and than I’ll say five fifteen and they’ll think they are early, but than they look at the clock and it says five forty-five and they are late, and they start yelling at me and saying I told them the wrong time on purpose to get them in trouble. When I try to explain to them that I never learned math, and I don’t know how to read clocks they get angry and say I’m just making up excuses.

It’s awful when they make me run the cash register and I have to give the costumer change back, because I can’t count money any better than I can count the numbers on a watch. I try to avoid running the cash register when ever possible, because it involves the two things that I have never learned how to do: talking to Humans and doing math. It’s been so many years since I’ve spoken words to a Human, that it’s really hard for me to do now. And I never did learn math at all. I can count okay, and I can do most addition, and some subtraction, but beyond that, math is lost on me. And well, time falls into that category. So when you ask about lost time, I can’t answer that, because I have always used the sun and the moon and the stars to tell time by, I’ve never used watches and clocks before and I really don’t know how to. I grew up on a farm. I got up with the sun. I did the heavy yard work before the sun got too hot at mid-day, I did my writing and drawing when it was too hot to do the yard work, and when the sun moved over the swamp I feed the animals so that they would have time to eat before the sun set. When it got dark I went to bed. I’ve done this for 34 years now. It’s the only way I know how to tell time. For the whole lost time thing, I would have to know specific hours and minutes, and keep track of them. So in answer to your question, have I ever lost time? I don’t know. I have no way of knowing.

Q. I’d like to ask a question about the ship which I did not notice you mentioning anything about. Sound. Did it make any noise?

EelKat: I’m not a good one to be asking that. I don’t notice sounds. My train of focus on a particular object, shuts off all of my other senses and I simply focus on the one object. It’s a problem, and a big one.

Today, there is hardly a person who knows me personally, who does not maintain the theory that I am schizophrenic, originally because of the incident with the counselor from Pine Land Center, though today they now accuse me based on my cloths and my obsessive writing habits. The odd thing about it is, that a lot of the people that call me crazy today, only do so, because they hear other people call me crazy, and those people only did so because one LDS Bishop told them I was and they believed him with out question, because in their minds, if it's preached from the pulpit it must be true. I mean, these people don't even know me. They call me crazy based on rumors that they over heard some one saying, after they had overheard some one else say it, and none of them even know how the rumor got started, who started it, or when it was started; but they all go around saying it because it's just "the thing to say".

None of these people ever stop to say hi to me and ask how I'm doing because they are so terrified of the rumors they hear about me. No one ever tells them about my friend who was murdered, almost no one around here even remembers that the murder even happened. It was like the whole thing was so awful that every one just pretended it didn't happen, and now no one remembers it, and new people who move into the area have no idea it even happened. All they know is every one says I'm crazy, so therefore I must be, but they don't try to find out what happened to cause people to say I was crazy to begin with. I have no friends because no one even bothers to try to get to know me.

This whole rumor of me being schizophrenic was started by one man, who wanted to cover his own ass, so threw as much bad attention as he could at me, so that no one would notice what he was doing. That is the plain and simple fact of the matter. It started out as a rumor that got out of control and now 20 years later escalated in the rumor that covers the entire Greater Portland area of the State of Maine. It started out as a handful of religious leaders, and now it's spread out across half the state. I mean, this one man, basically ruined my life and no one cares about that at all. Because people believed his lies, I can't go out in public today without being told I'm crazy.

Today there is not a thought that passes through my head that does not end up written down, simply because while the average person talks, I am not in the habit of talking any more and thus write down what I have to say instead. Basically, it's like watching TV: you have one channel that is the real world, and one that is only in my head, and the real world channel got so bad, depressing, lonely, and painful to live in, that I just turned it off completely and went looking for friends elsewhere. All of this came about as a direct result of the incident with the bishop and Pine Land Center.

So do I have a mental illness? Nope, I've never been diagnosed with anything at all. That really alarms people, because three different doctors have said I’m perfectly sane, and people don’t like that, because if I’m not schizophrenic, that means that what I saw must have been really real. This really thought disturbs people a lot. The going theory held by most people whom have meet me face to face is that either I'm schizophrenic or I have Asperger’s, or maybe both. Who knows, who cares.

So what does ay of this have to do with wither or not the VISION-D8 makes any sounds or not? I’m getting to that. My writing style is the problem here. You got to remember here, that I was only 3 years old when I wrote my first book, and by the time of seeing the VISION-D8, at age 8, I had already written several books and was writing at a daily, even hourly rate. My writing style is one of the reasons people say I am crazy. When I am writing, and see and hear nothing. The biggest problem with my writing style, is the fact that I simply sit down and start writing. Literally. This is not a figure of speech. I actually shut down, turn off the world around me, and start writing. No matter where I am, or what I am doing, I simply sit down and start writing. This is such a huge problem, that even today, you almost never see me go out in public unaccompanied by another adult. This is also why I do not live alone, why I do not drive a car, and why I can not hold a *regular* day job. I sit down where ever I am, when ever the mood strikes and just start writing. If you ever see a comic book character sitting cross legged on the floor in the middle of the milk aisle at Wal-Mart, writing away, well, that's me.

I actually can not walk in places where I will have to cross the street or a parking lot, unless I have some one with me to guide me across the road, because I frequently, just stop to write right there in the cross walk, right in the middle of the road.

It's a problem I have, and a really bad one that has caused me to be nearly hit by a car on countless occasions, during my childhood and right on into my adulthood, because when I shut down like this, my mind no longer see things around me. I once sat down and started writing, and didn't stop for 48 hours . . . Did not eat, did not sleep, I completely lost track of time. I was totally taken by surprise when I realized the 2 whole calendar days had passed before I noticed it, because to me, it seemed like no more than 20 minutes had passed.

Stress, it seems, would be the triggering factor that shuts off my brain and causes me to not see or hear anything or any one around me and makes me simply start writing in an uncontrolled and literally, unstoppable manner. Some one starts yelling, either at me or at someone else, and their yelling will trigger my brain to “shut off” and I just start writing.

This *shutting off* and writing is the same reason why I rarely speak to people, because fact is, I rarely see them. I see the streets, I see the buildings, if there is a car made prior to 1975, I see that car and that car only but not the other cars speeding by. They simply become totally invisible to me. My brain blanks them out. I do talk to people if I notice they are there. The trick is to get me to notice that you are there. I have been so long being shunned at church, being bullied for not denying Etiole’s existence, that I guess my mind just started ignoring every one and now I don't see any one at all. It's like watching TV, and I have to switch from one channel to the other in order to notice you there. If I shut off the world in my head, (the book I am writing at that moment) I can see people around me and talk to them fine, the problem is, switching my mind out of the world I write about and into the real world where the Humans around me live. It's not easy. I know when I stopped talking. I can tell you the exact date: August 21, 1991, the day my best friend was murdered. By this point I had been refusing to deny Etiole’s existence for more than 10 years. The murder of my best friend, resulted in Etiole being the only friend I had to talk to, and he became my best friend from that point on. Than, after the things that happened at church with the bishop and Pine Land Center, I just got worse. That was when people started treating me like I was less than shit. The world simply became more than I was able to handle on my own and I had no friends or family to turn to, so I shut off instead.

This also explains my cloths. You see, I dress no different than the characters of my books dress, and they dress not to differently from Etiole, him being the one I tend to write about most often, and to me the way I dress is perfectly normal, as it is the way all of them dress. I don't notice that Humans are dressed different than me, because I don't very often see the Humans around me, and it is not until some one comes up to me and asks me why I'm dressed like I am, that I am brought back from one world to the next, and see that, yes, in their world, I am dressed quite a bit different from other people. Of course, my cloths, started when I was just 4 years old, and I was wearing my Wonder Woman underoos under my Cinderella dresses . . . I always did dress like a comic book hero gone princess.

When you are a kid dressed in outlandish cloths, adults say “How cute” and than say you are playing dress-up. I have never played dress up, not even as a kid. My cloth, contrary to popular belief, are not costumes; they are my normal cloths.

When you become a teenager and you are still wearing these sorts of things, adults keep their distance and whisper to each other: “She’s rebelling.“

When you are an adult, and you are still wearing these same outlandish outfits, other adults now take to trying to have you locked up in an insane asylum, saying: “She’s crazy!”

What I would like to know, is how is it that I am suddenly crazy, now that I’m an adult, when at age 4, those same adults thought these same outlandish outfits were “cute”. Ah. There’s the double standards adults like to live by.

No one paid any attention to my cloths, until after I was about 22 years old, and than people started questioning why I didn't wear *normal* cloths, but the fact is, for me they are normal, because I have never worn any thing else.

Well, back to the VISION-D8 . . .

Did it make any noise?

I don’t know.

I know this bothers a lot of people, but the fact is, I do not very often hear most of the things that go on around me, I’m usually too busy writing, and when I’m writing, I don’t see or hear anything around me, until some one shakes me out of my writing trance, which is what my friend had done, with her: "Oh my god! Look at the size of that blimp!" Fact of the matter is, I did not hear it, and had she not pointed it out to me, I would not have seen it either.

Did it make a noise? I’m assuming it did. The way people around me were acting, and the way the military later passed the whole thing off as an exploding weather balloon, I’m guessing there must have been some sort of a pretty loud sonic boom, because, people were all talking like there had been some sort of a big explosion. But, like I said, I didn’t hear it, nor would I have been likely too, either.

People were pretty scared, and something made them look up to see what had blown up, so yeah, there was a big noise of some sort.

That is the thing that always confused me though. It’s the one fact that drove me onward: the fact that people heard an explosion, looked up, saw this thing overhead which was clearly in one piece and had not blown up, and than a few days later the military says it was an exploded weather balloon, so every one decides that must have been what it was. Fact is, the thing could not have exploded, if after sounding like it had exploded, it was there in one big piece not exploded!

The logic people used to believe it was an exploded weather balloon, had to be less logical than had they said they had just turned into slugs. I can’t stand things that don’t add up, and this whole exploding weather balloon theory, just did not add up at all. That bugged me something terrible and it still bugs me all these years later.

Q. So, what was the explosion that people heard?

EelKat: I’m guessing that it was the sound of the ship entering the Earth’s atmosphere. I can’t see how it could have been anything else. And like Etiole said, they enter the Earth’s atmosphere over oceans and unpopulated areas like old growth forests and deserts, so that Humans don’t know the ship arrived. Think about it: over the ocean, who is going to notice a sonic boom? No one, and if any one did hear it, they would just assume it was thunder from some tropical storm over the horizon.

Here’s another thing to think on: sailors, lumber jacks, and caravans, for centuries, these people have reported loud storm less thunder being heard to echo for miles over the ocean, forest, or desert. It’s a phenomena that no one can explain. What are these sounds heard over oceans, forests, and deserts? No one knows. Every one just assumes it’s the echo of some distance thunder storm. But is it? Is it really echoes of distant thunder? Or is it the sound of a big star ship entering the Earth’s atmosphere, over an unpopulated area where no one would notice the sound the ship makes on impact?

The ancients, thousands of years ago, explained these mysterious sounds as being “the gods coming from the heavens to visit mortals”. Yeah. Let’s think about that translation of the echo thunder heard over oceans and deserts: gods coming from the heavens to visit the mortals? Is it not logical to conclude that aliens in a star ship would have seems very much like gods descending from heaven? Like Elijah in the Bible, who was taken to heaven in a fiery chariot. Sounds to me like the Old Testament prophets were actually talking to aliens when they said they were talking to God. And what about the ascension a Christ? Freaky, but it tells me that the VISION-D8 may well be thousands of years old and has been coming to visit our planet for millennia. Etiole describes the ship as being very ancient, from far before his time, and he’s well over 300 years old; that dates the VISION-D8 as being a few thousand years old, at least.

Q. Do you believe that the God of the Bible and the gods of the ancient Greeks were actually aliens?

EelKat: Yeah, I kind of do believe that actually. I mean, even the story of Jesus’ birth, life, and death suggests alien abduction. God came down and conceived a child with a Human girl, than the baby grows up to have these “magic powers”, and than when the Humans try to kill him, there’s this huge thunder storm followed by him flying away into the clouds, saying that some day he’ll return again. Sounds pretty classic alien abduction story to me.

You got to remember that in Bible times, people were basically pretty stupid, so everything was blamed on God. If a tree fell down during a hurricane, it was because God sneezed. Moses stood on a volcano and was amazed to see a bush burn, the ground shake, and the sky rumble, so of course it just had to be God. A thirteen year old girl suddenly gets pregnant, and tells people that a being of light came done from the sky and he was the father, so of course everyone said is was God’s baby. What more can you expect of people who call a volcano rumbling, God’s voice? So is it any wonder than that when the boy grew up and started doing all sorts of *strange* things, that people pointed the finger once again and said, “Yep, that’s God’s son all right”.

Than the Romans come along, and they are crucifying people left and right, leaving crosses up and down the country side. The Romans had crucified some 20,000 people before they even heard of Jesus. Basically the Romans were like an ancient version of the Ku Klux Klan and Hitler all rolled into one monstrous empire, which slaughtered every body who didn’t look like them, act like them, talk like them, or believe the same things they did. If you were different than you got crucified, that’s all there was to it.

So now the Romans march themselves to Jesus’ village and they start taking over, just like they did every other town before it, and they start cleaning up the village by crucifying all the freaks and weirdoes and everybody who did not think and look exactly like Caser. And low and behold, they run up against this young man who can turn water into wine and heal the sick with a touch of his hand, and walks around talking to a father that no one else can see, so the Romans get all freaked out and say he’s trying to take over the Roman Empire. The Zealots say, no he’s the Messiah. The Pharisees, wanting to get rid of the Zealots, start saying he’s the leader of their army and going to build an empire to destroy Rome. Than you got his mother, now married to a temple priest and has several children by him, and she’s still telling everyone, her first son’s father was God who came down from Heaven. Jesus referred to himself as a rabbi or teacher here to *lead the lost sheep*. Not knowing which story to believe the Romans do what they always did when they couldn’t think of anything else to do: they crucified him. That’s when the story gets weird, and for some reason a lot of people just ignore that part of the story.

So, Jesus is up on the cross still talking to his ever invisible father and no he’s yelling at his father, mad because his father didn’t save him from the Romans, when suddenly a loud crack of thunder rips across the sky and a huge wind storm kills several Romans, and topples the temple. The storm stirred up so much dust that the sky went black for three days and three nights, as though the sun had been turned out for good. Loud unexplained noise. Lots of wind. A crumbled building. Soldiers dropping dead for no reason. Sound to me like a pretty big ship had just entered the Earth’s atmosphere, landed on the temple, and electrocuted the soldiers.

Than we move on to the who resurrection story. Jesus is dead and buried, and the events of his crucifixion had so terrified the Romans, that they took a boulder which required several men to move and blocked up the opening of the cave where Jesus had been buried. Why? Because they wanted to keep him in. The things they had witnessed during the crucifixion had so terrified the Roman army that they were convince Jesus was God himself and was not really dead. They even posted guards around the cave. Three days after they did all this, the rock rolls itself away and Jesus walks out unharmed. A being of light stays behind in the cave to tell people that Jesus had risen from the dead. The three Marys run off to tell people that they had meet an angel and that Jess was not in the tomb.

From here on out the stories get all mixed up, with one person saying his body was stolen, and another saying he was still alive, and another saying he was a ghost, and another saying he was resurrected. One story says that he entered a locked windowless room without opening the door.

When he left the Earth that story says that he left them by flying into the clouds, while telling them that he had other another fold of sheep he had to go teach, but not to worry, because one day he would return to this flock again. Sounds to me like he flew off in a ship and was heading elsewhere.

Now, not in the general public’s knowledge, the resurrection story does not end there. If you are a Mormon than you know Jesus left the Jews and than went to visit the Native Americans. At a time frame approximately two years after the resurrection, the Book of Mormon story picks up where the Bible leaves off, saying that a bright light was seen in the sky, so bright that it appeared that the sun had stayed lit for three days and three nights without setting. After that a white man in white robes came down from the sky and started teaching the people how to live in peace with one another. He taught the same “live thy neighbor” message that Jesus had taught to the Jews. He lived with these people for some time, until he was sure that they had fully learned his message of peace and love for one another and than he left their village, just as he had come, by flying into the clouds, while telling them that he had other another fold of sheep he had to go teach, but not to worry, because one day he would return to this flock again. The exact same words he had used when he left the Jews. Again, as with the Bible’s account of the resurrection, his leaving Mesoamerica sounds to me like he flew off in a ship and was heading elsewhere.

Most civilizations during this approximant time period, have a story of a white man or a man dressed in white, who came from the sky or fell from the clouds. The man always has something to teach the people, usually his words have something to do with love and peace. The man always leaves, promising to someday return. My translation of this is that upon leaving the Jews, Jesus took a ship and went from one country to the next, until he had taught his message of love and peace to all nations on the Earth at that time and than left the planet to continue to spread his message to the nations of other people, elsewhere in the universe. What we perceive to be magic, healing powers, flying through the clouds, miracles, and other such things attributed to Jesus, are nothing more than a technology so far advanced that we are not yet able to understand it.

Q. People who hear your story of Etiole and the VISION-D8, tend to respond with fear or anger, however, once in a while someone will come along, a UFO chaser, who suddenly wants to bombard you with a million and one questions about aliens, alien culture, alien abductions, Area 51, UFO sightings, Men in Black, and other sort of “Fox Mulder” questions. These people regard you as being the best source for these answers, seeing how you are not an abductee yourself, but rather some one who helped, made friends, and had conversations with an injured alien. Sooner or later some of those people are bound to read this and they are going to want to know why I did not ask you these questions while I was interviewing you. Can I ask them?

EelKat: You can ask. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer. I can tell you one thing right now though: There are multiple alien races, so a lot of peoples questions do not apply to me, as I’ve only had dealings with one single alien, and keep in mind an injured alien, who abandoned by his people, is bitter with them and has had very little to say about them. I am not a UFO chaser, nor am I out there looking for answers, so if you ask about specific sightings, you’ll get a simple “I don’t know.” My knowledge of sightings and, abductions, and crashes, is limited to having heard about them via people asking me what I thought about them. Keep in mind too, that I lack a TV and do not read the paper, so not only do I not know about the sightings and stuff, I don’t even know about the basic news in general. An example of that would be the 9-11 attacks. I found out about them after the fact, while sitting in a dentist waiting room and a women asked me if I had any friends or relatives at the Trade Center. I responded by asking her what the Trade Center was because I had never heard of it before. I am extremely cut off from the rest of the world. I watch no TV, I read no news, I very rarely leave my yard, and my contact with Humans is limited to my one friend who stops by for 15 or 20 minutes to check in on me, on his way home from Church every Sunday afternoon. I only go out to the store to buy food once every couple of months. This is what people mean, when they say I live a hermit life style. This is the way I have to live, because there is so much hatred and fear of aliens, that I can not step into public alone, with being attacked and bullied by my own people.

So, yes, you can ask, but before you ask I will save you some time and tell you:

Area 51: I don’t know. No idea. It’s just a number to me, and you know how I am with numbers. Numbers are like a foreign language. I know it is a military place or something like that, out West somewhere, where no one is allowed to visit it. I don’t know, I’ve never left Maine, so I can’t help you out on this.

Men in Black: I don’t know. No idea. The first time any one mentioned this to me, I sat there laughing for a good 20 minutes. It sounded too far fetched for me to believe it. However, I‘m willing to say it‘s possible. I did see the movie with Will Smith in it, but I got the impression that was making light of the real Men in Black theory. Men in Black. Who are they? Are they aliens? Are they government agents? No idea. Sorry, I can’t help you out with that one.

In other words: I am NOT an encyclopedia of UFO/alien knowledge! People need to get that through their heads. I have never studied any of those things. I have never had any personal dealings with those things. I am just the woman who takes in feral cats, and injured animals. I can not see an animal hit by a car, and just keep going. I bring it home and either nurse it back to health or bury it with the others. I help all creatures who come to me seeking food, shelter or healing.

My alien, he is just another of my stray animals. I did not go looking for him, he came to me. People need to get that fact into their heads, before they start bombarding me with questions about every aspect of aliens sightings and stuff, because that is not who I am. He has a telepathic nature where he can see into your mind. He knew he could trust me, he knew I would not hurt him, he know I would not be afraid of him, he knew I was not a curiosity seeker. He came to me for help, I helped him, end of story. I didn’t go looking for more like him, I didn’t bombard him with questions, I’m not out there seeking the answers, so when you start throwing out all these questions at me and I keep saying “I don’t know” over and over again, believe me, in the fact that I do not know the answers, I do not have the answers. I simply have a maternal nature that does not allow me to turn out any helpless creature, no matter what it is.

Q. So if I was to ask your opinion of the Roswell Crash, what would you say?

EelKat: I would say that I don’t know what it is. I’ve heard of it, of course, and I know that people say it was a space ship that crashed and that there was an alien creature found, and that people say the ship and the body were both stolen by the government and that there was some sort of big cover up, and that people today are demanding justice, by saying the public has a right to know what happened to the ship and the body. I only know that though, because I started watching X-files in my 20’s and saw an X-files episode which said that, otherwise I would never have heard of the whole Roswell thing at all, because I don’t watch the news or read the papers, as I find both to be incredibly boring. If you started asking me dates and places and stuff, though, I’d be lost, cause I don’t know when that stuff happened; it was a long time before I was born, and it was out West somewhere, that’s all I know.

As for an opinion, well, I believe that something must have happened out there, but I couldn’t say wither I believed it was a UFO crash or not, cause I have no idea any info about it. It’s not something I was ever interested in, so I never bothered to look it up and find out any more about it. I guess you could say my opinion is sort of: “Yeah, so a ship crashed, so what? It’s no big deal.” I mean, I just don’t see the point of getting all worked up over it.

Q. I’m getting the impression that you view UFO crashes as ordinary events and not newsworthy, like this sort of thing happens every day?

EelKat: I guess you could say that. Maybe it’s because I was only 4 years old the first time I saw something, and than 8 years old, when the adults around me all got worked up over a UFO sighting. You know, I was so young, and it was happening multiple times, so now as an adult I look at the whole alien/UFO incident, and go: “ho-hum, been there, done that, so what else is new?” I guess you could say, I’ve been around so much of it at such an early age, that today, I’m just bored with it.

I mean, think about it this way: What if you were the only person in your area who had ever seen an automobile? Say, you lived in the 1890’s when autos were still quite rare, but you had been to town and you had seen one. So, now for the next twenty years you have to deal with every person you meet running up to you and asking: “You saw a REAL motor car? What was it like? Did you ride in it? Are they as loud as they say? Was it painted yellow? Did it go fast? . . .” The questions just keep coming and coming, and the first few days, you like the questions and you answer them, but than as the days, weeks, months, and years go by, you get to the point where, you just want to throw a rock at the next person who says the word “motorcar” to you.

It’s like that, with me and aliens/UFO’s. I saw that ship 30 years ago, for crying out loud! Do you have any idea how many questions people have asked me about it in the past 30 years?
Than you have the flip side of that scenario. For every person who asks questions, there will be 3 or 4 who start bullying and accusing, calling you a liar, saying you made it up to get attention, saying you have schizophrenia and should be locked in an institute, pushing you around, harassing your family, paint balling your car, putting pictures of guns on your front door, vandalizing and destroying your belongings. You say you’ve seen aliens or UFO’s and people (adults) around you, get all freaked out, and they’ll do every thing they can think of to shut you up. If you stop talking about what you saw or deny you saw it, than they’ll leave you alone, but if you are like me and you persist in talking about it and refuse to deny what you saw. than they can down right mean and start resorting to violence and brutality. I lost everything at the hands of “good Christian Mormons” who thought it was their duty to save my soul from “Outer Darkness”, even if that meant burning my house to the ground, killing my pets, and forcing me to live under a tarp out on the streets.

I was four years old when I first saw Etiole. I was sixteen when I stopped talking about him, because my Bishop tried to have me sent to an institution for the insane. I was 33 when I started talking about him again, after having had everything taken from me, by these vile so-called “good” Christians.

Okay? It’s been 30 years. I’ve had to live through 30 years of questions and accusations. It just wears you down. It wore me down. I’m tired, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to have to deal with these people interrogating up one side and down the other any more. I want a space to breath and relax and just live a normal life with out people treating me like I was some sort of freak.
So, yeah, in my life, aliens and UFOs are an ordinary every day thing. There was a time, twenty years ago, when I would have gone: “You saw a UFO? That’s great! Me too!” and than we would have compared notes over it, but today, you’d more likely get: “You saw a UFO? So what? Who hasn’t?”

I kind of have a short attention span. I can get really focused on a certain thing, and I’ll study every aspect of it, but after a while, my interest will peak and I’ll get bored with it, due to over stimulation. I guess you could say that’s what happened with the aliens and UFO’s, that and the fact that I spent my childhood and teen years, being bullied and teased because I refused to deny what I had seen.

Q. You've had some dealings with aliens, but you've never mentioned anything about abductions. People have asked you why every one who sees aliens claims to be abducted, but you don't. How do you answer this? And what are your thoughts about alien abductions: Real or No?

EelKat: I'm actually not very familiar with the concept of alien abductions. Though I’ve told people about Etiole for 31 years now, I have never referred to him as an alien, in fact when people suggested to me that he was an alien (a Grey) I laughed at them. And that was just in the past 5 years. I have always referred to him as a type of Faerie not as an alien. This whole looking at Etiole and seeing him as an alien is all new to me, as is the whole idea of alien abductions. I guess a lot of the general public already knows about alien abductions or something, but than again, you have to remember that I did not have contact with the general public until I was 27 years old. I grew up in sort of cult family, I guess you could call them, and we were not allowed to have contact with non-church members. Period. Now that I’ve left their religion and basically disowned my relatives, I have started going out in public and trying to get used to being around people, which I’m finding hard to do actually, and well, I’m finding out that people outside the church are a lot different than the type of people I grew up around. One thing I’ve noticed is what you call “the general public”, those type of people, they are all jumpy and paranoid they way my relatives and the church members were, plus the general public type people are not so quick to ridicule me and judge me or tell me that I’m going to Hell because I refuse to deny Etiole’s existence. Relatives and church members never used the words aliens or UFOs or alien abduction, they call ways said demon and poltergeist and evil spirit of Satan. I was 27 when I got away from them, and I’m 33 now so it’s only been five years now, that I’ve had a chance to hear about things like aliens and abductions.

So, yeah, I've heard about alien abductions, though, all I know about abductions is stuff that’s been on X-Files and not stuff I’ve read about real abductions, so, can’t say I’m sure what real abductions would say about themselves. I’m still trying to get used to the whole, watching TV thing and all that too.

The world outside of the church is just so weird and hard for me to get used to. Some of it I like, some of it freaks me out. People constantly asking me questions, especially about why I dress the way I do, freaks me out a lot, cause for one thing, I’m not used to Humans talking to me, and for another, I’m REALLY not used to the way people in the so-called general public dress. I mean, they are all freaked out about my cloths, but hell, I’m all freaked out about their cloths. I can’t imagine walking up to them and demanding to know why they are wearing they cloths they are wearing, but every time I go out in public, that’s what I have to deal with, every day, 4 or 5 people will stop me and ask: “Hey, cool out fit. Are you on the way to a costume party?“ or “Damn, I love historical reenactment, is there are renaissance fair going on nearby?“ or “What the hell are you dressed like? Don’t you know those cloths went out of style 400 years ago?“ I look at them and they freaked out things they are all wearing and I really don’t know how to answer them, because I have always dressed in the cloths I wear. I’ve dressed like this since I was kid. I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t know the general public didn’t dress like this, but, I can’t understand why they get so freaked out over my cloths.

But anyways, once I explain to these strangers, that this is just the way I dress every day and the way I’ve always dressed, my whole life, than they start asking me other questions, wanting to know where I grew up and if I was part of some weird break off of the Amish, that went all Medieval or something. Well, one question leads to another, and I’m feeling like I’m being interrogated, but I guess it’s just how the “general public” shows they are friendly, by bombarding a complete stranger with questions and I guess they call that having a conversation. Whatever. I don’t understand the general public type people yet. But eventually, the questions, if they go on long enough, end up with the person asking about aliens and UFOs. I guess, I must do or look or say things that cause people to start asking about aliens and UFOs, because the questions always go there, but I’m not sure what it is they are seeing in me that is causing them to jump to that line of questioning. Apparently though the general public knows all about aliens and UFOs, at least, that’s what I’m finding out. They know absolutely nothing about Faeries, which I find alarmingly odd, however. Anyways, it is all these people always asking me these sorts of questions, that got me started thinking that maybe Faeries and aliens are the same thing, and how I came to start thinking Etiole was am alien.

What I find really odd, is that some people will suddenly start talking about alien abduction and like how they are terrified of aliens and hope they are never abducted or how they think aliens are great and they can’t wait to be abducted.

This whole idea of aliens abducting people was completely lost on me. I can’t imagine Etiole or his people abducting anyone. They are not like that, or at least Etiole is not like that, but than again, Etiole has the terrible fear of a race he refers to as the Diontite Scientists, and the way I figure it, the aliens that people say abduct Humans, must be the same things as the Diontite Scientists which Etiole hates so much. Anyways, in the past 5 years, a few people have asked me wither or not I believed the people who told these abduction stories, and they would tell me how people were saying these Grey people were kidnapping Human people and doing medical tests on them. Of course since than, I’ve started watching X-Files, and I saw that and realized: “Hey, that’s what people are talking about!“ Okay, so once I saw X-Files the whole alien abduction thing made a little more sense to me. But other than that, I don't know too much about them.
So, on to actually answering your question here. If you try asking me for any actual details about abduction cases, I’m afraid I couldn’t help you, cause I just don‘t know them. The whole concept of alien abduction is still pretty new to me and I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it. Sorry, I just don’t know enough about it to answer your question.

And, yeah, you are right, now that I’m out and about around the general public, it has been suggested by some that I may have been abducted myself, but I don’t know, I don't think so. I think I would know it if I had been, you know what I mean?

As for what do I think about them? Are they real? Do aliens kidnap people and do tests on them? I have no reason to think that they are not real. I mean, yeah, sure, some of them may not be real, but over all, based on what I have seen myself, I would say I'd have to believe that most of the alien abduction stories are probably real.

Let’s look at the options here:

They are out right lying, and lying is a sin, so I just have a hard time believing that there are people out there who would risk going to hell by telling a lie.

The whole thing was a hoax; either a hoax made by the abductee or a hoax played on the abductee. Again, this would be telling a lie, and I mean, come on, that is just such a huge sin. I simply can not imagine that there are actually people out there who would stoup to being so evil that they would tell a lie.

Someone (not aliens) did abduct them, as part of an undercover medical research operation, either privately operated or government run, either way with enough money to pull off an elaborate abduction.

Aliens abducted them.

Those are your only options. Either the person is lying to you, was victim of a hoax, was victim of some secret organization, or they really were abducted by aliens.

What of those options do I believe? Well, I have a really hard time believe either option 1 or 2 because both involve commit a sin by telling a lie and telling a lie is a worse sin than drink beer or smoking or sex or murder, I mean, lying is one of the really big sins that could condemn you tell hell, and you have all these people saying they were abducted by aliens. Do I really think they would risk an eternity in hell, to tell a lie like that? No, I don’t. So, yeah, I believe they are telling the truth when they say they were abducted. The question is not wither or not they were abducted, but who it was that abducted them. For that, I have no answer. For starters, if someone is evil enough to commit the sin of kidnapping someone, than obviously they are not above the sin of telling a lie as well. With that in mind, it is entirely possible that it was not aliens doing the abducting, but rather some evil Humans pretending to be aliens. Than again, it could be aliens. My thought on the matter is that it is probably a mix of both. Aliens abducting Humans and Humans pretending to be aliens abducting Humans because they think they can get away with it because the aliens did.

Q. According to most UFOlogists, it is considered to be quite rare for an abductee to remember the abduction, without under going hypnotherapy. Though not memories of an actual abduction, you have very clear memories. Have you ever had any such treatments or hypnosis?

EelKat: LOL! No. Of course not. To go to a hypnotherapist would go against everything I believe in. Hypnotism is some one going in and altering your mind. It’s dangerous and I don’t believe in it. So, no, haven’t been to one, wouldn’t go to one. You got to remember too, that I haven’t been to a doctor since my pediatrician, nearly 25 years ago. Getting me into a doctor’s office, is not exactly easy.
Of course, I don’t claim to have been abducted, either, so really, I have no reason to seek out one of those abductee hypnotherapists, either now, do I?

Q. You are, in essence, what is known as a contactee, is that correct?

EelKat: That’s a new one. Don’t know. Is there such a thing? I mean, is that even a word? Let’s see; contactee. So, if an abductee is someone who was abducted by aliens, than a contactee must be someone who has been in contact with aliens or was contacted by aliens, but was not necessarily abducted. Right? Me, I was not abducted so I’m not an abductee, but I’ve been in contact with an alien, making me a contactee. Okay, yeah, I guess you could call me that.

Q. So when people ask about this stuff, do you prefer to be called an abductee or a contactee?

EelKat: Neither. I have a deep dislike for labels. I grew up with Humans constantly labeling me, ever since I was 4 years old, I’ve had to put up with labels being thrown at me by adults. Schizophrenia was the common label of choice, but their were others: witch, crazy, nuts. Three different doctors have told me I didn’t have schizophrenia, but that hasn’t stopped people from calling me schizoid. These people that put labels on me (all of them church members, by the way), they act like they don’t think I have any feelings or emotions. They don’t seem to think that there is anything wrong with the things they say to me. They some how feel justified in saying these things to me. Well you know what? Words hurt. Because of the things they say about me, other people, won’t talk to me know. People new to the area, will move in and the first day or two will say “hi” to me on their way by, but with in the first week or two, somebody from my church will “have a talk o them” and than after that they stay away from me. The things they do are mean and it hurts and it has resulted in my not having any friends.

Sooner or later one of them will come up to me, all smug and proud of themselves and they’ll inform me that “I had a talk to the new family, they know about you”. What the hell is that supposed to mean? What is it that they “know about me”? That’s what I’d like to know? What is it that they say to people, to make people refuse to talk with me after they’ve “had a talk with them”.

Well, that is why I don’t like labels like abductee and contactee, because, when people hear those words, they start treating you like you were the plague or something. It hurts you know? It hurts when people treat me like that. It hurts knowing that people thing you are a crazy freak. It hurts when no one wants to spend any time with you. It hurts when people point and call you some mean bully inspired name-calling label. It hurts going through life not being able to make friends because, I always have these “good church people” there to announce, whatever it is they announce to new people in the area, so that I never get a chance to make any new friends.

Even if being labeled, didn’t hurt so much, I still wouldn’t use the label abductee, because, like I said, and like I keep saying, I wasn’t abducted. The contactee word is new to me, I haven’t heard that one used before, but still, it has the same ring abductee has, so I wouldn’t use that one either.

Q. Some people use the word *experience* instead, does that work for you?

EelKat: Experience? Like, “I just had an alien experience”? Uhm, you know what, that just plain sounds weird.

Q. So, what should people call you?

EelKat: I don’t see why people need to call me anything. Like I said, I have a deep dislike for labels. I do not understand the need to stick a label on everything and every one. I’m just a regular, normal person, trying to survive life, just like every one else. Why do I need to be labeled? What label should I put on you?

What should people call me? Did any one ever stop to think, that maybe they could actually call me by my name? I do have a name you know.

Q. You claim to not have been abducted. Okay. That’s understandable. However, you have had health problems, classified as “classic symptoms” of alien abductions: your need for glasses has a story behind it; your teeth are classic abductee nightmares; the reason you started wearing long sleeves and ankle length gowns, was a medical reason that defies explanation and again points to an abduction. Can you explain this? And what about strange scars, do you have any? You have multiple symptoms of an alien abduction experience. Can you explain any of this?

EelKat: To answer or not to answer. That is the question, is it not? Yeah. You know what? That’s a multi part question, needing multi part answer here. It needs to be cut down and reasked in smaller chunks.

Q. Okay, let’s start with your eyes. Your eyes are pretty bad off. Several eye doctors have been at a loss as to how to explain what happened to your eyes. At least two different eye doctors suggested that you were exposed to a very bright light which damaged your eyes. You were only 9 years old when you were told this. What happened to your eyes?

EelKat: Okay, my eyes: Until the summer of my 9th birthday, I had near perfect vision. I turned 9 the same summer I had seen the VISION-D8. My eye sight got really, really, really bad right after the day I saw the VISION-D8. Really bad. I'm almost blind. I started wearing bi-focal glasses the following year at age 9. Prior to than I had near perfect vision.

Dr Moore (my pediatrician) was at a loss as to how to explain my sudden loss of eye sight. Also, he was deeply alarmed by the fact that I was now seeing hazy rainbows around all lights. White street lights, now had rainbow colored halos around them, as did car head lights, the sun, the moon, oh yeah, and I could now see at night, like an owl or a cat. It kind of freaked him out, and this was a guy who didn’t get fazed by anything.

It was like my eyes had reversed their function. Normally you can see during the day, but are blinded by the darkness of night. Me? My eyes are blinded by lights, but in darkness I move around with ease, much like a cat or an owl. Dr. Moore couldn’t explain what had happened to my eyes or how it had happened so suddenly. I was sent to an eye specialist where a new discovery was made: I had developed an inexplicable fear of doctors on the most horrendous level. You could not only not get me into the doctor's office, you could not get me out of the car. Dr Moore, I trusted, Dr Moore I knew, Dr Moore I had no problem with. New doctors, doctors I had not yet been to before: I froze. Completely rigid, terrified, couldn't move, couldn't talk, had to be dragged out of the car (The Goldeneagle/Dodge 330) which I would not let go of. This was new. This had not happened before. It took three years of visiting every eye doctor in Maine, before we found one that did not have this effect on me.

My fear of doctors was not nearly as bad as the other fear that had also inexplicable swept over me: I could not set foot in a white room, or be in the presence of any one wearing white. The color white, would become the worst of all my phobias, so bad that I could not cross doorways into a room of someone's house if it meant entering an all white room. I could not set foot in white churches, white waiting rooms (Dr Moore's waiting rooms were blue by the way.)
So, what did happen to my eyes? Well, near as I can figure, it had to have been my seeing the VISION-D8 that had done it. It was the only time I had been exposed to any bright light at all, and I did get my glasses only a few months after the sighting of the ship. Today, as than, adults refuse to believe that I ever saw a thing that day, saying that I was merely a child with a very vivid imagination, but the fact remains, I didn’t imagine the bright light which nearly blinded me. They can deny the ship all they want, they can’t deny the fact that there was a tremendous amount of high intensity light, enough to cause permanent damage to my eyes.

Q. And your teeth? You have *classic symptoms* of teeth disorders caused by alien abductions. What can you tell us about this?

EelKat: Well, I guess I’ll sort of pick up where I left off with that last one.

My teeth: One fear, came up that though it's not a common fear, it may very well out rank white and doctors combined: surgery. I've never had it. I needed it. When I was 11, I was told by my dentist, my wisdom teeth were growing in sideways, and would cause serious problems down the road: they must come out. I was okay with this. I was all, go ahead, pull them out, until I was told, you got to have surgery, you have to be put to sleep. I did a major big time freak out, which no one could explain what had set it off.

At age 17, my wisdom teeth did just what the doctor said they would do, and I suffered from horrible effects of cracked teeth, split gums, and a very painful jaw. Again, the answer was pull the teeth. A replay of the events seven years earlier unfolded. I ended up with $2,000 in root canals, crowns, and repairs gums, but no wisdom teeth pulled, because, getting me into surgery was like tying to lasso the sun, it just could not be done. The dentist did marvel at something, and asked me how I did it: with a serious infection, a tooth with 4 roots on it, a split open gum, and a refusal for medication, I sat through a 2 hour root canal without uttering a sound, or so much as a flinch. He marveled over this phenomena so much that he told all the other doctors and nurses on staff to come in had watch what was happening. He told my parents how amazed he was at my enormous threshold for pain. He told my one friend, the UFO chaser who financed my medical ordeal, that he had never seen anything like it. I was in the doctors own words: an anomaly.

By this time I had already gone through the Pine Land Center ordeal, and was no longer talking about Etiole to anyone, so my answer, was simply: I can send my pain outside of my body. The more accurate answer would have been this: Etiole stays with me, where ever I go. We are bonded more than you could imagine. He can take the pain and make it leave me, into him. And thus there was no pain.

My teeth are prone to massive problems, and if I wanted to avoid surgery to fix those problem, my teeth required daily constant special care. I became fastidious at caring for my teethe with one goal in mind: avoiding surgery.

Than came the year of the tent, my being homeless, and my losing access to any way to take care of my teeth. With no electricity, no money, no food, and no water, my health got shot to hell. I was no longer eating my strict rigorous meticulous diet of veggies and fruits and rice and cheese. My diet was now, what ever the Salvation Army was handing out that week, if they had any food to hand out at all, combined with whatever I could find in the trash. My water came from a brook, that was less than sanitary. There was no tooth pastes, no floss, and my toothbrush long ago needed replacing. This situation remained unchanged for two long years and in the summer of 2007, my teeth and my gums saw the long term side effects, as an abscessed tooth, and peritonitis set in. The tooth cracked from the force of the swelled gums and infection in October of 2007. In February of 2008, it broke in half leaving a shattered piece of tooth behind. My gums however, had become so badly infected that, I was now very limited as to what I could eat, and brushing my teeth at all, was now out of the question, as it resulted in making my teeth even looser than they already were. I could no longer eat hot food, cold food, or anything with sugar in it, including fresh fruit. The inflammation of my gums was too great.
By summer of 2008, it had effected my ability to speak. My outward signs of pain however lead people around me to not think anything of it when I said: "My tooth hurts". They figured, oh it's just a toothache it'll go away. As my complaints became daily, my UFO chasing friend for some reason remembered the conversation he had had with my dentist 15 years ago, and it occurred to him, that if my tooth was bad enough for me to complain that I hurt, than something must really be wrong, and he took me back to my dentist, who took one look at me teeth and sent me to a specialist. They were too far gone beyond anything he could do to help. If they were to be saved at all, I was going to need a massive amount of work done. Today, many thousands upon thousands of dollars later, when people tell me I have a million dollar smile, I can tell them that they are almost right, because hey, my teeth cost more than your car did, and as of right now, I still got five months of treatments to go, before my teeth will be fixed and the infection in my gums will be totally gone.

Every week, now I get to hear it, though: I go into the office and the doctors and nurses, marvel at the fact that my teeth, got so far gone, and how me, the protestor of medication, could have brushed off the pain as nothing more than a minor toothache. My answer is still the same. I can send my pain outside of my body. The more accurate answer would have been this: Etiole stays with me, where ever I go. We are bonded more than you could imagine. He can take the pain and make it leave me, into him. And thus there is no pain.

It's been three months now, and I have three different dentists and several hygienists, insisting, begging, pleading, trying everything they can think of to get me into the surgeon to have my wisdom teeth pulled. My fear of surgery and being put to sleep remains firmly unchanged.

Q. And the change in the way you dress, it was to cover up massive and unexplained bruises, was it not?

EelKat: My change in the way I dress: I was about 14, when the presence of bruises, huge ones, showed up on my arms and legs. We are not talking little bumps and dings, but massive areas turned a deep purple and becoming extremely painful to touch. The weird thing about them, was not their size, but the fact that they just showed up, for no reason at all. They would not be there at night, but they'd be there in the morning. Some were as much as 8 inches in diameter. Like I said, huge.

Q. Where were they?

EelKat: Below my shoulders, above my wrists, across my thighs, above my ankles. Once in while across my stomach. They came and went regular, right up until I was about 30 years old, and than they just went away. But yes, that is what caused the change in my cloths, why I stopped wearing the tank tops and mini skirts and switched to the long Medieval gowns instead.

Q. Were you ever able to determine the cause of these bruises?

EelKat: No. Never. They did result in my taking lots of vitamins, mostly C, in an attempt to heal the bruises though.

Q. And scars? You’ve never mentioned any before. Do you have any small unexplained scars?

EelKat: Yep. They are there. Showed up when I was a teenager, though, I don't know exactly when. I must have been about 12 or 13 the first time I noticed them. No idea how they got there. No, I don't talk about them. Though I do find their presence highly puzzling, me with my avoidance of doctors and all, as they look surgical.

Q. Have X-rays ever found strange objects in your body?

EelKat: Only X-rays I’ve ever had were of my teeth. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. When I was 8 years old, about 4 months prior to seeing the VISION-D8, I fell sick with an unidentified fever. I was hospitalized and had one test after another run on me. During my hospitalization, I had x-rays of my chest. That is the only time I have ever had an X-ray for anything other than my teeth. I was released, when I woke up one morning and my fever was gone, along with all of my symptoms.

Q. You have gone to a doctor only a few times in your entire life. You haven’t had a check up since you were a small child. Why didn’t your parents ever take you to the doctor and when they did, what was wrong with you?

EelKat: Until I was 11 years old I always went in for my yearly check-up. No idea why I stopped going. I mean, at 11 years old I didn’t have a choice in wither I wanted to go or not. And if I did want to go, it wasn’t like my parents were going to take me, because half the time they were too busy with my mom’s doctor visits to even notice that I was alive in the first place. I guess it had something to do with the fact that my mom was always in the doctor’s office, that was the reason they never took me to my doctor. By always I mean, always, 5 days a week always. She had 32 doctors, not including specialists. It was not uncommon for us to travel for miles, in search of new doctors to go to. A few times we went all the way to New Hampshire, just looking for doctors offices that she had not yet been to.

When I tell people I grew up in the Goldeneagle, they laugh and say it must be an exaggeration, but the fact is, I grew up in the Goldeneagle. That is how I became so very close to Etiole. He claimed the car as his. We had that car running almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, just running from one doctor’s office to the next, to the next, all day long, every day. There were nights when we didn’t get home so we spent the night on the side of the road asleep in the car. The odometer says it has 60k miles on it, but that’s because it’s gone around twice, it actually has 260k miles on it, and we put those miles on that car in the space of 9 years. My parents had bought the car a few weeks after I was born. The transmission died in the Goldeneagle, when I was 9 years old, so the car got towed into my rose garden and has been an ornament in my garden ever since, after that, if we were home, I spent my days just sitting in the back seat. I spent my entire childhood and most of my teen years, sitting in that car. I grew up an only child. My three brothers were not born until after I was already an adult.

If we were not in church we were in doctor’s offices. Those were the only two times I was ever allowed to leave our land: to go to church or to go to my mom’s doctor’s visits. I think my parents were paranoid to the extreme, because I was never allowed to talk to any one outside of church, never allowed to invite kids from church to the house, and never allowed to set foot off of our land. My childhood was spent in three places: the backseat of a car, the back pew of a church, and the corner seat farthest from the door at the doctor’s office. Thinking back now, I do find it odd that, as much as we were in the doctor’s office, it’s odd that my parents never saw fit to make any appointments for me, unless they thought I was just about dead. I can count how many times I have been to the doctor on one hand, and the total is 5 times in just under 40 years.

I was home schooled, so I did all of my school work in the waiting rooms, sometimes the nurses or receptionists would come out to help me with my school work, and there were always elderly women in the waiting rooms, who helped me with my school work too. I guess, my parents were spending so much time taking my mom to her daily doctor appointments, that they just sort of forgot that I was supposed to go for a check up each year. In fact the only time they ever did take me to the doctor was, when I was so beyond sick, that I required massive medication and weeks of bed rest to get well again. Colds, fevers, flue, stuff like that, it was just, “Take a Tylenol, and don’t bug me, I‘m dieing, didn‘t you know that?” My mom’s been telling me she was *dieing* for 40 years now. All I can say, if she’s dieing, she sure as hell is taking a long time to do it.

I guess, from what I hear general public type people say, I guess it’s normal for parents to take their children to the doctor for stuff like colds and flues and fevers. I never went for those types of things though, and when I had a cold or fever or flue, I still had to go out every morning, noon, and night to tend to the garden and the farm and the animals. It didn’t matter how sick I was or how much I wanted to stay in bed, the animals were my chore, and my parents were not going to feed the roosters if I didn’t “Get off your lazy damn ass and feed your damn frigging roosters yourself.”

If my flue was so bad that I fell asleep from the fever, I‘d wake up in the middle of the night and find out that my dad had feed all the animals except for the roosters, which he didn‘t put in either. (It was an egg farm, rooster were normally killed, but I had started a rooster rescue mission at age 6, and so I had a woodshed full of my rescued roosters.) One time when I was sick with a high fever this happened, and the next morning I work up from my fever to find that a fox had eaten several of my roosters. I was about 9 or 10 years old when that happened. After that, I never again, allowed myself to fall asleep from a high fever. If I was sick I made sure I fed the roosters double in the morning and than locked them up tight, so that I would not have to worry about them getting left out at night or going unfed, while I was sick in bed.

I remember a few years ago, I meet this woman at the library and she had a kid that was couching and she was telling the librarian how she was afraid the kid was getting a cold so she was going to take them to the doctor. I asked her why she would do that, and she was all shocked that I would ask, and started telling my that every year children die from colds and flues and fevers, and that getting a cold is a very serious thing for children. I never knew that. I guess, cause my parents never bothered taking me to the doctor when I had a fever, that it never occurred to me to think that I could have been really very sick at all. I would get a cold two or three times a year, and every winter I always had the flue. It was just an every day sort of thing, having a running nose and a sore throat, it never occurred to me before that I should have been at the doctor because of it. The more I find out about general public type people act, the more I realize just how really odd my religion crazed relatives really were. The thing, is, as a kid you don’t notice that your family is odd. My parents, my aunts, my uncles, my grandparents, my cousins, I mean, they all acted like that. None of them took their kids to the doctor, so it wasn’t until I was in my late 20’s and early 30’s that I was even aware that any of us kids should have been going to the doctor when we was sick with colds or flues.

Anyways, after I was 11 years old, I have only been to the doctor a total of 5 times, and each time, it was because my health had been ignored by my parents to the extent that I was well beyond the help of Tylenol. What were those 5 times? Well, I’ll tell you:

1. When I was 13, I had contracted chicken pox (for the second time; I had already had it at age 6). I had what the doctor called an internal form of chicken pox, meaning that it had spread to the inside of my mouth and gone down into my lungs, which I was not aware chicken pox could even do, before it happened to me. I could not eat, nor breath. I was told by my doctor all sorts of details about chicken pox that I had no idea existed. Like most people I just thought it was some normal thing that all kids get, and it wasn’t something to worry about. According to my doctor chicken pox, in young children is usually harmless, however, chicken pox in teens and young adults was often fatal, and people who got chicken pox multiple times, were at a high risk, because if you get it twice, that means there is something wrong with your immune system, which caused you to not become immune to it the first time. My doctor said it is so rare for a person to get it a second time, that most doctors, will misdiagnose it until it is too late, because they don’t even think to look for chicken pox if your record says you’ve already had it.
I had never heard of an internal form of chicken pox before, nor had I ever heard of anyone getting it a second time, nor did I know before than, that chicken pox was a commonly fatal disease. While my doctor was telling me all of this, though, I didn’t really care, because all I knew was that my insides were hurting like hell, and that the skin on my tongue and inside my mouth was covered with huge bleeding boils and blisters. He said that these huge sores on my face and inside my mouth, were also inside my lungs, which was why I was having such great difficulty breathing.

The first time I had chicken pox, I was all covered with tiny red spots, like painful pimples, but this second time, wasn’t like that at all. This second time there were no little red spots, only huge boils, some of which were over an inch in diameter. They covered every single inch of my body, even on the top of my head and on the soles of my feet. My skin was a mustard yellow and caked with dried puss. The boils burst open at the slightest touch, even just my cloths rubbing against my skin would cause them to break open and start bleeding all over the place. It was the most painful experience of my entire life. Even 20 years later I still wake up screaming in pain just from the nightmare of it.

The doctor told me that this was typical of a second time outbreak of chicken pox
I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t eat. I could barely breath. Every inch of my body was covered with boils and blisters, even the soles of my feet so I could not walk. I was shedding my skin like a snake, and the lining of my mouth was shedding too. I felt like I had died and my body had started rotting. I spent 3 weeks on a totally liquid diet, drinking everything through a straw because I could not open my mouth, and required medication to allow the swelling to go down in my lungs enough so I could breath. It was the only time in my entire life, when I was completely immobilized and became unable to get to the barn to feed my roosters. Oddly, the roosters, who were left out lose and unfed during my bed rest, found me, some came in the house and took roost on my headboard, while others, spent the night in the window box outside of my room. This was odd, because the barn in which these roosters lived, was an acre away from the house. The fact that they found me and came to the house and stayed by my room during that time, has amazed me to this day. No one ever did find out how the roosters found the house, how they found my room, or how they got into the house to stay in my room while I was bedridden. I have never been able to explain it, nor could my equally puzzled parents. The only explanation I was ever able to come up with, was that Etiole had to have gathered up the roosters and brought them to the house.

My bout with chicken pox, odd as this may sound, was one of the last times in my life when I was truly happy. If you know the timing of the murder trials soon to enter into my life, you’ll understand. My best friend stayed by my side the whole time. It was this event with chicken pox, that bonded me and my best friend so very close together. I had only met him about a year prior in the spring of 1989. When I had chicken pox in 1990, he never once left my side. We became inseparable from that day forth. Our friendship had lasted just three short years. On August 21, 1991, he was the same friend, along with four others, who would be murdered in a blood bath that left their bodied chopped up and thrown around, by a crazed murderer, who had slaughtered them, for the plain and simple pleasure of wanting to watch some one die. I was with him when he died. His murder and the subsequent murder trial, forever changed my life.
Back to the chicken pox. When it was finally gone, I thought it was over. Than my doctor told me something else: I was told that because this was my second time having chicken pox, that I should quarantine myself from all contact with any one suspected of having chicken pox for the rest of my life, because I was one of the rare individuals who did not develop an immunity to chicken pox the first time I had gotten it. He pointed out the difference between my mild first bout of chicken pox and my severe second bout with it, and than warned, that each time I got it, it would be worse than the time before it, that this was the nature of chicken pox and why it was considered to be such a dangerous disease in individuals, like myself, who were not immune to it. The doctor said that the older I got the more deadly chicken pox would be for me, and that each time I contracted it, it would be worse than the last time I had it. He said that my lack of an immunity to chicken pox was a very serious condition, one that I must not under any circumstance take lightly. He said it could not be overstated how much I needed to understand how serious a matter this was. He warned me repeatedly, that I should avoid not only people who had chicken pox, but also anyone who had had recent contact with someone with chicken pox, because even if they did not catch it themselves, they could still carry it to me. He warned that my contact with young children who could catch chicken pox or who had not yet had chicken pox, should be limited and that I was to avoid contact with all small children as much as I could for the rest of my life. If anything was going to kill me, he was sure it would be chicken pox.

Basically he did a very good job of scaring the hell out of me. Of course, my 3 weeks of agony and suffering, did a good job at scaring me too, because the last thing I wanted was to go through that again, let alone a worse version of that. Since my second round of chicken pox, my contact with Humans has been very limited at best, and my avoidance of small children of the “chicken pox age” can be described as bordering on extreme paranoia. It was around this time that I also took to avoiding contact with anyone appearing to even have a slight cold for fear that they may have chicken pox. And thus ended my first of the five doctor visits I have had.

2. Because of the severity of my second round of chicken pox, the doctor had wanted me to come in for a check up every six months. He wanted to monitor me to be certain I did not get it a third time. Apparently though, my parents did not see this as important, because it was three years before I went back to the doctor, again with my throat swollen to the point that I couldn’t breath, and it was feared that I may be coming down with a third round of chicken pox. I was 16. I had Mononucleosis.

Like my run with chicken, I ended up on a liquid diet due to my throat and lungs swelling up, so severely. The doctor told me that Mono should not have affected me so badly, and that normally it didn’t respond in the manner with which it was responding to me. The doctor told me, that he suspected the lining on my throat and lungs to be highly sensitive (a result of my second round of chicken pox). He said that he suspected this, because of the fact that normally Mononucleosis simply acts like a flue, but in my case it was acted much worse than it should have been.

He now suspected that I had something wrong with my immune system, because Mononucleosis should not be considered a life threatening disease, but in my case, he said it would have become life threatening, had I not been medicated to keep the swelling of my throat down.

It was his belief that my second round of chicken pox may have damaged the inner linings of my mouth, throat, and lungs more severely than he had at first assumed. He now suspected that I was at a high risk of developing asthma or other lung disorders. He asked if I had any allergies, well, before chicken pox, no, but after chicken pox, yes. I told him that I had sneezing and coughing fits every time I am near birds or plants, and I am unable to enter any room in which a person has been smoking, even if it has been weeks since a person smoked in that room. He concluded that I was allergic to pollen, feather dander, and smoke, a result of my lungs having been damaged during my second bout with chicken pox. He warned me to avoid flowers, birds, mold, dry dusty rooms, and people who smoked, saying that the small particles created by pollen, dander, mold, dust, and smoke was causing an irritation in my lungs, and if I was subjected to too much of it, I could die as a result of my lungs simply being over burdened, swelling up, and suffocating me. Of these things he rated cigarette smoke and common house molds to be the worst, and said I should avoid both at all costs because either one could be fatal for me. All this because I had not developed an immunity to chicken pox.

Wow! My fear of getting chicken pox a third time went right through the roof after that. However, this did not stop me from growing my roses or rescuing roosters, both of which being activities I continue doing to this day.

Fortunately, my bout with Mono was pretty much uneventful and became a “normal” bout of Mono, once I started taking the anti-swelling medications he gave me to take down the swelling in my lungs. And thus ended my second of the five visits t the doctor.

3. Later that same year, I was back, but this time, not to my doctor. This time I was rushed in a mad dash to the emergency room of the Webber Hospital with gushing rivers of blood pouring from my mouth. You know, I hate having to go to the doctor, but it would be nice, just once to have to have to go to the doctor for something “normal”. We got to the ER and I was bleeding all over the waiting room, and the receptionist took one look at my face and took my right in without waiting to register me or making me wait in line behind all of the other people in the waiting room. I never got to look in the mirror and see what my face looked like, but it must have been pretty bad, because once the doctor came in and looked at me, he rushed out and sent for some non-ER doctor to come in and look at me, and he in turn sent of someone who could do plastic surgery to come to the ER and perform and emergency plastic surgery procedure on my face. I guess I must have been pretty messed up, cause the doctors were all acting like they were in a panic until the plastic surgeon doctor got there.

While we waited for the surgeon to get there, they had me drinking down cup after cup of orange juice, because they said my blood pressure had dropped so low that they were afraid I was going to pass out. To keep my mind active and alert they tried to get me talking and asked dozens of questions to try to find out what had happened to my face. My answer, shocked them all, and resulted in the ER doctor sending for all of the other doctors and nurses in the ER so they could all hear my story. What happened, was pretty much the same thing that happened every day, only today, I actually got hurt bad enough to go to the hospital, but apparently, this was not a normal event for the general public, so now I had 20 or 30 doctors all crowded into my tiny room, listening while the ER doctor asked me to tell them, the same thing I had just told him.

What happened? I rescue roosters, that’s what happened. Since I was 6 years old, my life’s work has been to rescue each and every rooster who would have been slaughtered simply because of the fact that they were born male and could not lay eggs. Roosters, for those who are not familiar with roosters, are a very mean, highly temperamental, and extremely dangerous animal, which is why people are so quick to kill them soon after they are born. It’s a case of kill or be killed. Me? I don’t agree with the centuries old farm practice of kill the rooster before it kills you. Me? I’m willing to give the rooster a benefit of a doubt and let them live. As a result, my hands, feet, arms, and legs, are daily wrapped in bandages as a result of being stabbed on a daily basis by 8 inch long razor sharp spurs. This is one of the unfortunate side effects of rescuing roosters destined to the slaughter house. There is a reason roosters are also known as pit fighters, and there is a reason why the pit bull breed of dog was named after the pit fighter (rooster). Pit bull dogs get their name from the fact that they are as viscous as pit fighters. On this particular occasion, one of my rescues, turned on me his rescuer and aimed his 8 inch long razor sharp spurs at my face. The doctors and nurses that were gathered around me were stunned and amazed because what looked like a dog attack, was actually a rooster attack. I had been mauled by a bird barely twelve inches tall.

When I was 16, a rooster attacked me, resulting in my needing plastic surgery on my face. I’m an animal rights activist poultry farmer, who has been rescuing roosters since I was 6 years old, including hot tempered and very dangerous pit fighters with razor sharp spurs. I had well over 200 roosters at the time, and rooster attacks are not uncommon for me. This was the only time however that a rooster attack was serious, as this rooster’s spur had torn my upper lip off and sliced open my gums. I had to have stitches in my lip on both the inside and outside, and had thirteen stitches in my gums, and had to have plastic surgery, as part of the surgery to reattach my lip to my face. The little flap of skin that connects your lip to your gums, just under your nose, is gone completely, so now I can pull my lip back over my nose, which is a pretty freaky thing to be able to do.

Once again, I spent several weeks on a liquid diet, this time due to my face being in stitches and bandages. It was the third time in three years that my doctor had put me on a liquid diet. You can’t even begin to imagine how much I hate diets of any type now as a result. Give me food, lots of it, I want no reminders of how hungry I was during each of those liquid diet quarantines I had been put on. And thus ended my third of five visits to the doctor.

4. My visits to the doctor have yet to be normal. So far I had had an unidentified illness, a freaked out rare version of chicken pox, a badly reacted version of Mono, and a freak accident from having a pit fighter rooster make a flying leap at my face. Lie I said, it would be nice to have a normal reason for going to the doctor. As weird as these things were, none of them compared to the weirdness that happened about nine moths after my rooster attack.

I am a writer and an artist and a needle worker. I had been doing all three of these things since I was little more than a toddler. Writing and drawing are what put food on the table and pay the bills. If I can’t write or I can’t draw, than I an out of a job. In my childhood years, my art was the cause of a minor local controversy, seeing how the main focus of my art was to draw as many pictures of Etiole and the VISION-D8, as I possibly could. Today there is a marked difference from the art I draw now and the art I drew than. Looking at my art prior to 1997, and looking at my art after 1997, you can see the difference. People often ask me: “You used to draw such realistic highly details portraits of people and animals, now your art looks like cartoons. Why did you change your style?” My answer: I didn’t change my style, I lost the ability to use my hand.

I am right handed. I write, I draw, and I embroider with my right hand. I require my right hand to get these things done. When I was 17, I loss the use of my right hand in a manner that my doctor has yet to explain. A painful and constantly bleeding unidentified growth was removed from my right index finger, one that the doctor has since studied and analyzed and has no answer or explanation for.

When it first showed up on my hand, it was diagnosed as a wart, and a topical ice-gel treatment was started to “freeze” it off my hand. However, it soon proved not to be a wart, as it began to double in size every day. The doctor was at a loss to explain what the growth was and I was sent to a specialist. On outer appearance it looked as though a small pinky finger was growing out of my index finger. It started out as a small bump, but by the end of the week had burst through the skin, growing nearly and inch in length, and had resulted in my inability to use my hand.
An x-ray was done on it (my second and last x-ray). The growth it was discovered went down under the flesh to the bone. The specialist removed the growth, and said that it had tested positive for Syphilis but that I myself had not. Neither doctor could explain this. Both puzzled over the fact that it appeared to be something that had been some how been attached to my finger, and than like a plant, took root there. They speculated that it must have been some sort of fungus or mushroom for a while, but than crossed off that possibility after testing showed that it was actual flesh. This went on for about five months. They eventually determined that if they ever figured out what it was they would let me know. I have never heard back about it from either of them, so I guess they never figured out what it was. In any case, I now have difficulty using my very stiff right index finger, which is badly scarred as a result of the removal of the odd growth, and has had a terrible affect on my handwriting. Prior to this I had Perfect Palmer handwriting, after this, I have difficultly grasping a pen and can no longer write in cursive at all. As a result, my handwriting today is nearly illegible. This resulted in my taking up typing instead of writing as it is now quite painful for me to write by hand. The most disappointing thing of all however, was my inability to continue drawing the highly detailed realistic drawing I had been formally known for. And worse, was the day my relatives took it upon themselves as their “god given right” to gather up my old drawings and set fire to them. Finding my artwork destroyed like that, and me no longer able to recreate them, broke my heart.

And thus went my fourth of five visits to the doctor.

Throughout my entire life, I only ever went to one doctor: my pediatrician. Once I reached 18 I was too old to go back to him, and since 18, due to my lack of medical insurance, I have not had a doctor at all.

5. The final time I would go to a doctor, came about when I was 27 years old, ten years after my fourth doctor’s visit and like those before it, it was for a reason, out of the normal realms of a normal doctor’s visit. It was this doctor’s visit, which would bring Etiole once again into the public eye and cause wave of terror in the local residents, which was soon followed by the destruction of my home and everything I owned at the hands of several religion crazed locals.
It was the first and only time I went to a doctor other than the pediatrician I had gone to as a child, and here is what happened, from the doctor to Etiole to the terror crazed locals:

I was 27, and for about three years, my health was getting terrible. Though my fear of a third bout with chicken pox was still ever in my head, I knew this to be not related to my lack of chicken pox immunity. I went to the doctor to find out why I was having my menstrual period for 9 days in a row, every other week. This was going on for about 3 years. I was having my period every other week instead of once a month. The times of not having my period were growing shorter, until by the time I was 27, there were only 3 day breaks in between my periods. This was also when the unexplained bruises on my arms, stomach and legs had reached their worst. When the bruises started they had been small. As the years went by they grew larger, until they reached the point when they were sometimes as much as 8 or 9 inches in diameter. In addition to the unexplained bruises, and the now near steady bleeding, I had developed crippling stomach pains, which were effecting my ability to stand or walk.

At first, the doctor said I looked as though someone had beaten me. He also thought I had the signs of having been raped. He became deeply puzzled however when I explained to him, that these symptoms had been on going now for a period of three years. He wondered why I had not sought help prior to this point, but I explained that I had no medical insurance. I had just applied for state coverage and they had given me some sort of temporary card, that was only good for a one time visit to get a regular check up, which was how I was able to come in. The state however, would not approve me for a regular card, because my income was too low to be eligible, and I was not a minority race or an immigrant, and I was not a single mother (these being the only options for someone my age in my income bracket).

After hearing how long I had had these symptoms, the doctor told me he suspected that I had a rare menstrual disorder, PMDD I think he called it, something like that. He said there was no known cure for it, that it was the likely cause of my heavy and near endless periods, my crippling cramps, and that my blood loss from it was likely the cause of the unexplained bruises. He than said women who had it could not have children.

He said it was very likely caused by a tumor or cyst in my ovaries, but the only way to know for sure was to have a series of tests done, which the state refused to pay for saying that such tests were not covered as part of a physical exam. He said that without running ant tests, his best guess was, giving my family’s history with cancer, that I most likely had ovarian cancer, which could result in causing this menstrual disorder which he suspected me of having and was a likely cause for all of my symptoms. Because I have no medial insurance, an income of less than $200 per month, and am not eligible for government help, I could not have the tests done to determine wither or not his guess was correct.

He said my only option (the only option the state would cover) was to have a hysterectomy, and that either way, a hysterectomy was basically the only treatment there was for either the menstrual disorder, tumors, cysts, or cancer. He said the only cure for each of these things was simple to remove the organs entirely. I refused to do this, left.

What happened a month later, shocked the whole town, and reinforced the rumor that I was either a very powerful Witch or was being protected by a very powerful poltergeist. No one ever did determine what exactly happened, or how the fire got started, but one month after my visit to this doctor, the building in which his office was in burned to the ground, from a fire so hot that it melted the tires off the cars in the parking lot. This incident stood out, making this the 30th odd something fire to have happened to someone, shortly after they had said or done anything to harm me, and it would result in people who knew me, to gather the forces of the town manager and the town council in an attempt to destroy my car, which was believed to be possessed by a poltergeist, which was said to have been the creature that started the fire. For the first time since my childhood, Etiole was once again, the topic of discussion, and once again, people took to hysterical accusations and fear filled religious superstitions.

What happened? What happened was this: Two days before the fire, my boyfriend of 15 years, broke up with me, exactly one week after my telling him I would never have children. He being the good Mormon that he was, I was no longer marriageable material because I was no longer a good breeder. Now, my boyfriend, though not has hysterical as some of the other church members, is one of the hysterical fear filled members who has made several attempts to get me to sell my car. In the 15 years we were together, he always made a conscious avoidance of the part of the yard where the Goldeneagle sits, peacefully nestled behind my roses. Well, in the fall of the prior year, I had done some rearranging of my garden, and a swing seat which formally sat next to my rooster shed, now sat (and still sits) in front of my car, seeing how my car has now reached the point where I no longer sit on it for fear of damaging it. This same seat is where my boyfriend usually finds to plop himself down when he comes to my house. Well, now that it was sitting in front of my “demon possessed” car, he either had to find a new place to sit or face his fears and sit very near to where Etiole was. He a little too boldly announced to me that he did not fear the car (which I took as proof that he did, otherwise why would he have made such an issue out of saying so, so very loudly in the presence of the car?) and than set about to sitting in the swing seat in it’s new position. His daily visits, became every other day visits, and than weekly visits, and finally, he took to visiting me once every other week, and soon he stopped visiting all together, unless it was night time and I would be indoors rather than out sitting by my car. And he said he wasn’t afraid to sit next to the Goldeneagle? HA!

So that was the fall, and now this was the spring of the following year. It was the first time I had seen him since the doctor visit. We were sitting in the garden swing chair in my garden situated just four feet away from the Goldeneagle, the dead car which sits in my rose garden, the car in which Etiole lives, and where Etiole was at the time I told my boyfriend what the doctor had said. My boyfriend’s reaction was to say he never wanted to see me again. Etiole was furious. Etiole was beyond furious. Etiole was already mad at the doctor. Etiole had been working up his fury all week long. My boyfriend’s actions, was the tip of the ice burg that set Etiole off and started his rampage, which is still on going today. I have never seen Etiole get so angry before. I have never seen anyone get so angry before. It became very clear to me that day, that Etiole could, if provoked, become alarmingly dangerous, even deadly. Etiole was ready to kill. If my boyfriend had set out to do so, I think it would have been very likely that he would have seen Etiole that day, because Etiole was certainly angry enough to not be worrying about wither or not any one saw him.

Etiole is a strange telepathic sort of creature. He can get inside your head and see everything you are thinking and feel everything you are feeling, and he can put his thoughts and emotions inside of your head. He can do something else too, he can take the thoughts and emotions of one person and because he now knows them, he can transfer those same thoughts and emotions into someone else.

Etiole did something that day, which he had never done before: he locked his emotional telepathic mind meld onto my boyfriend. Etiole and I have an odd connection. What he feels I feel, what I feel, he feels. What I see he sees, what he sees I see. What he did was to use that connection to connect my mind to my boyfriend’s, and I saw everything he had been doing for the past several months. What I saw scared the hell out of me, not what I saw, but that fact that I saw it, the fact that I could see it. I saw him out on a date with woman from work. I saw him always with a women and her two sons (a different woman, from the first, this one from church). And I saw that several “trips to the Boston Temple” in the past month, had actually been to visit a woman. A week later, I asked my boyfriend about these events, but did not tell him how I had found out about them. He became furious and accused me of spying on him, than admitted to each of these events, and than started boasting of his proud beliefs in polygamy.

Etiole wanted to kill him. Etiole’s fury that day was unlike anything I have ever seen before. I had to plead and beg with Etiole, to swear never to harm my now ex-boyfriend. That was the day I wrote a list and gave it to Etiole. The list was a list of names, people whom Etiole was never to harm under any circumstances. There are only four names on that list; hurting any one of them would hurt me. Seeing Etiole’s great anger that day, it became very important that Etiole understand that if he did not want to hurt me, than he could never hurt these four people. He agreed to that and than focused his anger elsewhere. I have never seen Etiole so wanting to kill someone as he was that day, but with my boyfriend forbidden territory he turned his anger towards the doctor instead. The next day the building in which the doctor’s office was, burnt to the ground. The news said that somehow some chemicals in glass bottles had fallen off the shelf onto some other glass bottles of chemicals and blew up, resulting in a huge massive and super hot fire that wiped out the whole building in a matter of minutes.

Q. Etiole has been blamed for causing quite a bit of disaster (starting fires, sending tornados to hit houses, changing weather, sending lightening to hit houses, causing heart attacks and strokes, etc). Can I ask, how is it that Etiole does the things he is accused of doing ?

EelKat: It’s like people accuse him of, he’s like a poltergeist. He can make objects move with him mind. He doesn’t have to be some where for it to happen either. All he needs is to be able to see the object, place, or person in question. All he has to do is find someone who has been there or who has seen that place or person. Because he can see inside your mind, he can see the things you see. That’s how he targets them. He can look inside my mind and he can see who it was who said or did something to hurt me or make me sad or afraid. Once he has the image of them in is head, he just focuses on them. He’ll focus on them for days sometimes, doing nothing but imaging that person or place in his mind and thinking about what he wants to happen, and it just happens.

I’ve never been good at describing scientific type things, and I don’t know the proper words, that stuff is called, but I’ll try to describe how he does it. It has something to do with electricity, but it’s not electricity like in a house where you plug things in, it electricity that floats in the air all around us. Everything has it’s own electrical current. It’s the thing that causes everything to happen. You are able to live and breath and move because you have this electrical current running through you and coming out all around you. I think it is what some people call your aura. Something like that. Anyways, everything has it. The Earth has one. Each rock has one. Each tree has one. Each bird has one. Each person has one. And so on. Everything that exists, exists because it has the electrical current thing running through them. The way to destroy something is to disrupt it’s electrical current. This is how dynamite can blow up a mountain. The dynamite destroys the electrical current emanating from the mountain, and thus there is an explosion and the mountain blows up. The sound of the explosion, is the sound of the electrical current being shattered. The same thing applies to living things, like Humans. When the electric current running through their body is disrupted, that is what we call sickness and disease, and the way to cure it, is to find the element which will correct the electrical current back into it’s proper wavelength. That’s how things like medicine and surgery work.

Well, everything on Earth is turned so that their electrical currents correspond with the Earth’s currents, and we as people are attracted to other things which have an electrical current which works in harmony with our own. This is why one person will choose to marry a particular person or why some people are attracted to dogs as pets while other people are attracted to cats as pets. We seek out currents that run in a smooth flow with our own. Etiole, because he is not from Earth, his body responds on a different current from everything else on Earth. The currents react to him, by sort of bending and moving around him, instead of flowing through him, like they would you or me. This is partially why, most people never seen him, though I don’t actually understand how that works.

This electrical current thing, is the same thing that causes, such things as ghosts or disembodied spirits. When you die, you die because you electrical current, stops flowing through your body and separates from you body. Once it leaves the body it moves on, to where I’m not sure, but it goes on to somewhere. For some people however, the current does not seem to know or understand that the body is dead, and so it continues on as usual, doing the things it would normally do, and thus you have a ghost or disembodied spirit.

Anyways all of this is hoe Etiole does the things he does. His electrical current is on a completely different wavelength than ours and he is able to harness and manipulate that, this he is able to move objects without touching them, cause fires to start miles from where he is, cause tornados to swell in regions where tornados are unheard of, “grab” lightening bolt out of the sky and direct them into houses, cause cars to drive out of control, cause skiers to lose control of their equipment and hurtle into a tree, or mentally reach into someone’s body and squeeze there heart into stopping, when they are several states away. He is able to move objects, control weather, start fires, create accidents, and cause illnesses by his ability to manipulate the electrical currents that are controlling the object he wishes to control.

That’s why I always tell people, don’t do anything to hurt me. Don’t do anything to hurt my pets. Don’t do anything to hurt the four names on that list which I gave Etiole. Don’t make us sad, don’t make us cry, don’t make us angry, don’t scare us, don’t try to cause us any physical or emotional pain or stress. Nothing. DO NOTHING. Do not harm us in any way form or manner, because if you do, you’ll have Etiole to answer to, and I can not control him. If he decides that it is in my best interests, for him to protect me from you, than he will and he will not hold any restraints. He calls himself my protector, my avenging angel, and he takes that self proclaimed title very, very seriously.

In the past 30 years, the things he does have grown far more and more dangerous. In the past 5 years, people have died. It can not be overstated, how extremely dangerous he can become. Nor can it be overstated that he does not think the same way we do. He is not Human and can not be expected to think or act the same way we do. Think of him as a small child having a tantrum, and than cross that small child with a rabid dog. That’s what Etiole is like when he is angry. That’s what he become like when he thinks my life has been threatened.

The thing is, anything can set Etiole off. Little things, like bumping into me and not saying you are sorry. You going to church while having a cold, and me catching that cold from you. You don’t have to be aiming any anger or hate at me. Just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and coughing on me, could do it. Protecting me from harm, and seeing to it that my health is also left unharmed, is something that Etiole takes very seriously. Etiole has made it his business to make sure that no one hurts me on any level. I’m not sure, but I think it has a lot to do with my time being sick with chicken pox. I could have died. I think, Etiole was afraid I was going to die. I think that’s how the roosters all ended up in my bedroom. I think Etiole thought I was dieing and he brought the roosters in to be with me, in some sort of hopes that my being with them would make me well again. Like I said, he feels what I feel, he can take my pain into himself, he’s done it several times. He feels my emotions. He sees my memories. He knows my fears. He knows how very badly that second round of chicken pox affected my fear of catching even a slight cold, he knows how very sensitive my lungs became as a result of my illness. I am the only friend he has had in 300 years, and he has a very real fear of losing me and being alone again, and well do anything to prevent that from happening. My health, became very important to him. That’s why, when I was 27 and was having all of those problems and than the doctor tells me I may have all of these other problems, and than I wasn’t able to do anything about it because I can’t get medical coverage, that’s why he just flipped out and went on his rampage, attacking everything and everyone who had ever hurt me in the slightest at any point in my entire life.

Q. So, medically, health wise, you have all the symptoms of someone who has been abducted, even though you do not believe you were abducted. You have contact with an alien on a daily basis, an alien whom has proven himself to be violent when provoked. Logic would dictate that the alien and your medical history would somehow be related one to the other, that your medical conditions could very well have been caused by him. And yet, you have never blamed Etiole for any of this. You remain ever stead fast as his friend. How can you explain this?

EelKat: No reason why I should blame him. I trust him completely. He would never hurt me. He has never done anything to harm me. In fact, quite the contrary, he does everything in his power to protect me. He started out as a friend thirty years ago, but he's much more than that now. He's my companion. I will say nothing against him. Ever. I will never betray him, never leave him, never forsake him. Maybe I could just say: love is blind.

Or maybe after my year in the tent, I’ve just finally come to the conclusion that he is right and Humans really are no good evil bastards. You got to remember, my life has been hell at Human hands. Why should I put my faith and trust in the race that has hurt me the most of all?
But anyways, this is another of those things that I do not understand about people. It’s like the whole need to put a label on me thing. It’s like that. For everything that has happened to my physical health, my eyes, my teeth, my cloths, the scars, I can come up with logical, rational answers, none of which have anything to do with Etiole at all. Why do people feel the need to blame Etiole, I do no know or understand.

Q. Etiole seems very possessive of you. You mentioned a boyfriend. You refer to Etiole as your companion. How does Etiole react to your having a boyfriend?

EelKat: He would rather I didn’t. That’s not a secret. He has been hinting that he wanted to hurt my boyfriend right since the beginning. He doesn’t like him, he never did. In fact, I told my boyfriend this, the first time he ever came to visit me, the first time he ever saw my car, the Goldeneagle. I told him straight away, that Etiole was a Faerie creature living in my car and that he had made it very clear that he hated my not-yet boyfriend.

And right since the beginning Etiole has been right there to point out every fault and flaw he could find about my boyfriend. Like I said, Etiole can see right into your heart, soul, and mind, he knows your thoughts, he knows secrets you try to hide from others. You can not hide anything from him. I was with my boyfriend for 15 years, and he was always keeping secrets from me, and Etiole was always telling me every secret my boyfriend was trying to hide from me. It was a reoccurring thing for my boyfriend to come over one day, and I’d ask him about some event, and he’d be all *amazed* or *horrified* or angry and respond by saying:

BF: “How did you know about that? I never told you that. What are you doing keeping tabs on me?”

ME: “Someone told me about it, okay?”

BF: “Who? Who told you? You don’t have any friends, everyone thinks you’re crazy. No one even wants to be around you, let alone talk to you. How do you find out these things?”

ME: “It doesn’t matter how I found out, fact is, I found out. You can not keep secrets from me, so stop trying to, alright?”

That’s one of the things a lot of people dislike about me, the fact that they can never hide things from me. I always find out the truth, and they can never figure out how. It’s Etiole, he tells me what he reads in their minds. He tells me when some one is lying to me. But, he does this most, with my boyfriend, because Etiole, just plain does not like him and never did like him, and is trying to prove that I should not be with this man, (or any other man, I think) by telling me every secret he tries to hide from me.

There have been several times when someone will say something to me, while in the presence of my boyfriend. After they left, I’ll tell him, “They only said that to look good, they were thinking ---- instead.” Than my boyfriend gets angry and starts yelling at me and says: “You can’t read people’s minds, you don’t know what they were thinking.” No, I can’t, but Etiole can, and he tells me what he sees. I used to try to explain this to my boyfriend but he would respond by saying: “They’re right, you are crazy.” So I gave up in trying to talk to my boyfriend about Etiole.

Q. You said “or any other man”. Is Etiole *threatened* by the fact of your having a boyfriend? Does he see any potential significant other in your life as a threat to his own being?

EelKat: Oh, yes, he most defiantly does. There is no question of that. I can defiantly see Etiole as being a huge problem if I ever decided to get married, which I sort of gave up on that notion a while back, anyways, so it doesn‘t really matter too much now, anyways. But, yeah, I really don’t think he’d allow that.

For starters, I’d have to find a man Etiole would approve of, and I just don’t see that happening. Secondly, I’d have to find a man, Etiole could trust, and he’s just been hurt too much to trust men at all. Etiole doesn’t want men near me, because he doesn’t want men near him. It’s as simple as that. With the exception of this one boyfriend, men who get near me, have a bad habit of having freak accidents happen to them. A lot of people call me a *jinx*. (Yet another label of the many labels I have had placed on me over the years). They say it’s bad luck to have anything to do with me.

Q. So is it safe to say that Etiole acts like a jealous lover?

EelKat: Yeah, I‘d say that‘s about right.

Q. Some people have said, that the connection between you and Etiole sounds as though he thinks of you as his mate. How do you respond to that?

EelKat: I don’t.

Q. Meaning?

EelKat: Meaning, I love him, and he loves me, and there is no question of that, and any Human who tried to come between us or separate us would have to answer to Etiole’s fearsome wrath.

Q. If Etiole is as dangerous as you say he is why stay friends with him? What's to say he wouldn't turn on you? Aren't you afraid of him?

EelKat: Why should I be afraid of him? I became friends with him when I was 4 years old. He's never hurt me. He has always protected me. He took care of me. He was more of a parent to me than my real parents were. I was an only child (my three brothers were born after I was already an adult). I lived in an area devoid of families with children. I did not go to school. There were no other children in my life at all, so I had only adults to turn to for companionship. My parents were too busy running from one doctor to the next to even know I existed. My uncles were Bible thumping religion crazed cultists. My aunts and cousin were good dutiful little Mormons who were seen but not heard and answered to their tyrant husbands and fathers every beck and call. There was no one for me to talk to. No one for me to play with. I was pretty much alone from the time I could walk. All I ever asked for was for some one to want to spend some time with me. I was a very lonely child.

Etiole was alone in a world not his own, abused and hunted, treated like a freak and nearly killed. He is always alone. He has no one at all. He was a very lonely creature. Him being the way he is, he could see into me and see that he and I felt very much the same. We were both lonely and alone and in need of a friend. He identified with me and I with him.

When I was a kid Etiole was the only adult who ever spent any time with me. And due to his lack of height, he never seemed to me to be an adult. His mannerisms are often simple and childlike. His sense of logic is rampant and scatterbrained at best. He had a love of simple games, and we spent hours in the garden and in the forest playing tag and hide-n-seek. I was with him every day, all day long, for 30 years. You don't understand the bond between us. In 30 years, we've never been apart. Ever. When I go places he tends to follow me. He is literally always there for me. Always. That's how he knows what people say to me, I don't have to tell him, because he's right there, he heard it for himself. He loves me, and love him, and that's never going to change. That's also the real reason why I'm not married. I'd rather marry him. I’ve never hidden that fact, everyone who knows me knows it.

And he's not dangerous. That's the point. That's what I keep telling every one. He's a peaceful creature by nature. He keeps to himself. He's very timid and shy. He just wants to be left alone. But he's also hurt, he has an internal injury that never healed properly, he's in pain because of it. Humans did that too him, and now he's scared of them. He's like a wild animal, when it's hurt and afraid, it attacks to protect itself from farther harm. He's only dangerous when he thinks he's going to be hurt yet again. That's why I keep telling people, leave him alone and he won't hurt you. He reacts like a child. Love him and he’ll return that love. Hate him and he’ll return that hate. Fear him and he’ll give you reason to fear. He reacts out of fear. When he sees Humans acting threatening and hostile, he responds to that by protecting himself the only way he knows how. I’m not afraid of him. He knows that. He reacts to that.

He has a strong sense of family and loyalty. He takes on the role of a family leader. He was once a military leader. He captained a star ship. He has a very strong sense of duty. Protecting family is more important to him than anything else in the universe. He had a family. He had a son. His family is gone. His people abandoned him. He's been alone for years. All that time with nothing to fight for, no one to protect. He has taken it upon himself to become my personal guardian angel, so to speak. He thinks of me as a surrogate family. I am for lack of a better explanation, a replacement for the son he lost. In his mind, I am his family. I'm all he has now. He would be devastated without me. And thus, he protects me, in his own way of doing things.
I do not understand why people are so afraid or bothered or angered or otherwise made upset about Etiole. He has never been anything but kind and loving to me. I have never been given a reason to fear him. The love and caring and compassion emanating from him, is so strong and overwhelming that I do not understand why others do not feel it as well. Their emotions, their fear and hatred, are so strong that they can not feel the love that he has for everything. He people feel emotions are strongly, that they don’t only feel them, but they deflect them outward and into others and they also absorb them, feeling everything you are feeling as well. When near him, you feel everything he feels, while he feels everything you feel. His intentions have been nothing but good and peaceful. By being close to him you can not help but feel love and happiness. And yet, people fear him so much that they can do nothing but send shock waves of fear and hate towards him.

He becomes harmful and dangerous to others, only when he reacts to their actions against him. Their actions against him do not have to be physical though. He feels your emotions. He feels your hate. He feels your fear. He knows what scares you. He knows who or what you hate. He sees fear and hatred towards himself or his loved ones as an outward attack, because for him, it is an outward attack. The harm he causes is done in self defense to protect himself and those he cares about from the harm caused by your fear and hatred; not once has he ever initiated an attack on anyone. His attacks are nothing more than counter attacks. If people stopped fearing and hating, he would stop attacking.

Q. Can Etiole heal, as well as cause, pain?

EelKat: No, he doesn‘t seem to have that ability, or rather, he doesn‘t know how to harness that ability. He can, however, “take“. you pain, at least for a limited amount of time. He has done this more than once with me, so I know he can do it. He does have healing powers, he just does not seem to know how to use them. I think that if he could learn to love and stop fearing so much, he would be able to heal most anything.

I believe Etiole to possess the same abilities which Jesus possessed, because he seems to be able to do the same types of things. This is one o the reasons I cane to thing of Jesus in terms of an alien hybrid, because it is Etiole’s “interrupted” electrical wavelength that causes him to be able to control things around him. But that you would ask: “If Jesus could heal people than why doesn’t Etiole?” To which I would answer: Jesus loved everything and every one. Jesus preached a complete and total message of love. He feared nothing, love everything. Jesus was also very young, little more than a kid, when he was murdered. He had not lived long enough to learn to hate. Etiole on the other hand is very old, and has had many years of torture, pain, and suffering. When young, he too loved everything and everyone in an innocent unspoiled manner. But than he got older, was beaten, tortured, abused, and held captive for well over 100 years. Etiole was taught to fear and he learned to hate. He has had so little love in his life that he is unable to so love to anyone now. That’s the difference. (Keep in mind that even Jesus, after three days of torture, turned hateful words on God.) To heal some one requires a tremendous about of physical energy. It drains you physically and emotionally. To do it repeatable over and over again would eventually kill you if you did stop to rest from healing people every now and again. It takes more energy to love that it does to hate. Either way, it wears you down and exhausts you, wither you are causing pain or taking it away.

Q. One of the more interesting features of your Twighlight Manor series is that these books not mass produced and you have said you have no plans to ever mass produce them. In the past 30 years, you have written some 30 volumes for this series, and yet, outside of the Mormon church, almost no one has heard of the books because you do nothing to promote them. Among local members your book have cause minor outrages. You once in the mid 1990‘s make an attempt to get the series mass produces in a series of reprints but was told by editors, that quote: “No publisher would dare touch anything like this“. There are many problems with the series, from the graphic violence and torture scenes to religious controversy, racism, and political incorrectness. Billed as a sci-fi horror, the series if defiantly rated M, and not for the faint of heart. One thing that stands out as a reason the books can never be massed produced, is the main character Etiole: a sex addict drag queen who has a bizarre habit of collecting up young teenaged and pre-teen girls. The Etiole of the Twighlight Manor series was based on the real Etiole, your once upon a time “white monkey“. In the books, you portray him as a sadistic man with an insatiable sex appetite, to the point that some people have taken to calling him a sexual vampire. How does this compare with the real Etiole? Is he the sex maniac you portray him as in the Twighlight Manor series?

EelKat: In a word: yes. Sex is an obsession with him. He thinks about it, talks about it, and I am told that prior to his capture by scientists, it’s pretty much the only thing he ever spent his time doing. To say he is obsessed with sex, doesn’t even come near to touching on the half of it. Sex is an act of multiple emotions and what we have here is a somewhat telepathic creature that thrives on emotions. Thinking of him as a vampire would be a very accurate assumption in that respect, because he “feeds” off of the emotions of others. His addiction to sex, stems from his addiction to feeding off other people emotions. They are essentially one in the same. This however, implies that he looks on sex as a purely pleasure inductive activity, and that is not a correct assessment of the situation here.

His obsession with sex, is more than just an obsession with the act of sex, but the whole idea of reproduction and the act of creating life. Being able to create children is a very important concept, and borders on what could be best described as a political issue with him, almost like a religion. The whole act of creating new life is valued above anything else, and is an ability that he puts an astounding amount of importance on.

You have got to understand, that this is not just an addiction to sex, it’s an addiction to life. He is completely devastated over such things as the death of infants and the out right murder of them. He views the act of abortion and genocide as the gravest sin anyone could ever commit. He commonly rails on it, saying that the evil women who murder their unborn infants should be punished by the same fate they saw fit to punish their child with. He views sex as the most sacred and glorious ability there is, because it is not an act of pleasure but an act of creating new life.

He can no longer father children. He could at one point and he had a son. But he can’t now. This bothers him. It bothers a lot. He talks about it constantly. He obsesses over this one fact, daily. It’s like his only goal in life is to find a way to be able to create new life again. It is in that light, by which he became madly obsessed with sex.

It is, the reason, why in the past 5 years, he had become so very violent towards people around me. It’s why, he became so furious when the doctor told my I could not have children, it’s what provoked him farther when the doctor suggested I have a hysterectomy, and what finally threw his fury over the edge after the conversation with my former boyfriend. The doctor had mentioned that this PMDD thing, can be caused by suffered from many years of prolonged stress, and it was this, that ultimately instigated Etiole’s rampage, and why he turned on my relatives and several church members. He just started targeting every body who had ever hurt me and had in some way caused me any form of stress in any manner what so ever. He blames them for causing me stress which affected my health and thus effected my ability to have children. In effect he is accusing them of stealing from me the one thing which is more important than anything else.

Q. You mentioned something a while back and I didn‘t think to ask than, but you said the doctor mentioned cancer, but you were never tested to rule that out. Why is that?

EelKat: I had no medical insurance. The hospital refused to set up an appointment to run the tests, because I had no medical insurance, and with an income of less than $200 a month, it would take me at least 12 years to save up the money just for the tests, providing I did not eat for those twelve years.

Q. What are you going to do about this?

EelKat: There’s nothing I can do. I’m not eligible for medical coverage, I’m not eligible for state help, and unless I have a dramatic change in income, I an not afford to pay cash.

Q. So, there is a chance that you are dieing. This announcement coincided with the series of bizarre deaths, illnesses, hospitalizations, odd weather patterns, and fires that have suddenly plagued your relatives, local residents, and church members, including the sudden death of your grandfather, the man who started most of the trouble to begin with, and your Major uncle the man who egged people on, being hospitalized with brain cancer. People blamed your “demon possessed“ car for these events, and than set out to destroy your car and finally did destroy your house, which resulted in your becoming homeless. Do you believe that what people are saying is true? Did Etiole cause these things to happen?

EelKat: More or less, yes, I do. He’s certainly capable of doing them, and he’s certain been provoked enough.

Q. He‘s doing this because he thinks he‘s protecting you. If you died, what would happen to him?

EelKat: I think he would on a rampage far worse than anything he‘s done so far. I think he‘d hunt down my uncle and the three bishops and the men who had arrived from Pine Land Center, every one who was involved that summer so many years ago. I think he‘d kill them. I think he’d end up hurting a lot of people. I think he would become as wild and as dangerous as a rabid animal.

Q. Can I ask them?

EelKat: You can ask

Q. What do aliens want? Why are they here? What are their plans for the future? Are we under attack? Are we being invaded? Has Etiole ever mentioned anything about all this?

EelKat: Etiole is a military man. A soldier. A commanding officer. The way he calls himself a captain and the way we as Humans think of a captain is not entirely the same thing, however. For the Human mind a captain would be a commander who gives orders to those under him and takes orders from a chain of command over him. A US captain would have several higher ranked officers over him. The way Etiole is referring to himself as a captain, is more correctly translated into what we would consider to be an admiral or fleet commander; one who’s ranking is very near the top of the line, in the chain of command. He considers himself to be “retired”.
Why is he here? There is a bit of a discrepancy about that. He has never said why he is here or how he came to be here. There is, however no indication that his intention for being here are anything other than peaceful. It would seem that he is more of an observer, than and intruder. Is he any different from others of his race? Couldn’t say. Don’t know. Doubt if I’d ever know. There is every indication, however, that he was left behind and given up for dead or written off as a casualty and that no one is coming back for him.

Q. So, why did they come here to begin with? Should we be afraid? Has Etiole ever mentioned any plans of war or invasion?

EelKat: Let me ask you this: if a commanding US officer, was left behind in Iraq as a casualty of war, believed dead, but really, was injured and taken into the home of a local woman who took care of him, do you really think, he would just start spouting off the United States Government’s military secrets to her? Even though she took him in and sheltered him and nursed him back to health, she is still a member of his enemies’ nation. Even if he should stay in Iraq and marry this woman, he would still be sworn to secrecy about his government’s military operations. Even if he eventually, brought her back to the USA with him, he would still be sworn to secrecy. What good would a commanding officer be to his government, if he just told every one he met the inner workings of his government?

Okay, now that you’ve had that to think about, ask yourself this: why would an officer from another planet be any different? In other words, no, he hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked, nor would I. That would be a breach of our trust and friendship.

However, Etiole uses a lot of *was*, *had*, and *used to*, talk in reference to his own people. Very past tense, like the way one would speak if talking about Dinosaurs, Great Auks, and Dodos. I think his people are a dieing race. There are times when he kind of refers to himself like he believes that he is the last one left; like he hopes that some one else survived, but he doesn‘t put much faith into it. I know there is something wrong with him, to the extent that he can not father children, he has said so multiple times; this bothers him. It bothers him a lot, because he mentions it a lot. He does have a son though, so, not being able to father children was not always an issue, but it is now, and I sort of get the impression that it may have been a rather wide spread issue, one that some how effected most of his people, and seems to be the reason for his referring to his people in the pass tense.

My guess is that there was a war. Putting pieces together I came to the conclusion that his planet’s sun went into super nova or became a white dwarf or something to that effect, and killed off just about every one. Those left behind, blamed the so-called Diontite Scientists for the whole thing, and declared war on them, took over a few of their ships, and set out looking for Diona to destroy it. But this would have happened, buy Earth time at least 300 to 400 years ago. Somehow Etiole ended up trapped on Earth around the 1660’s, has been here ever since, and really has no idea what ever became of his people, or wither or not they ever found Diona. And though the VISION-D8 has been seen here on Earth, it’s not known wither or not it is his people or the Diontites who have possession of it today.

Q. Why here? Why Earth?

EelKat: Don’t know.

Q. Where do they come from?

EelKat: No idea. I get the impression that there are multiple races coming from multiple planets from multiple galaxies. Like I said, Etiole is evasive, he’s never been forward with information. I wonder if he even knows, himself. But it is his indication that there are multiple inhabited solar systems. Though he says that, I think he‘s as clueless as we are on this. I have only heard him talk of three separate races: ours, his, and the Diontites.

But where does he come from, Etiole specifically? My guess is that he comes from a planet near a white dwarf, because he says their sun died and turned white. From that I came to the conclusion, that his home planet is crippled, and in orbit around a white dwarf. Where specifically that is, though, I have no idea, and I don’t really think he knows either. He was the captain on a star ship, sure, but he was the equivalent of an actor or dancer, like a stage performer, prior to being made a captain, and from my understanding of the situation, his people had no real knowledge of space travel. They were just a bunch of people who took over an alien star ship and tried to use it, not really knowing what the hell they were doing. Because of this, he doesn’t really know how to read the star charts and stuff on the VISION-D8, he just happened to be the one who figured out how to use the controls and fly the thing. So asking him to point out what part of the shy he came from is hopeless, because he doesn’t really know for sure where it is he came from or how to get back there, and I almost wonder if they did not somehow mistake Earth as “home” and that’s how he ended up here to begin with. Actually, I think it is possible that the ship was simply programmed to come here and so that’s where it came, because Etiole indicates that the Diontites are frequent visitors of Earth.

Etiole doesn’t talk much about his home planet, in fact he never mentions it at all, and I got the impression that he was quite young when he left it, possibly a teenager, little more than a young boy. He’s been here more than 300 years, and he was there maybe less than 20 years. Obviously it’s a water planet, much like Earth, otherwise he wouldn’t be the fish-like merman-thing that he is. He needs water to survive. A lot of it. Thus he stays near the ocean, so there had to be oceans on his home planet, but other than that, I’ve no idea.

The only name he’s ever mentioned was Zetasha, (again, no idea if I’m spelling that right or not.) I think that Zetasha is his planet’s equivalent of our North Star.

(This is where I came up with the name of the character named Zetasha, in the Twighlight Manor series, by the way.)

He has also mentioned the Diontites, or more specifically, the Diontite Scientists or the scientists of Diona. They are an alien race . . . A race he refers to as an alien race, meaning they are from outer space, some place different than him. He hates them.

Q. I got to interrupt you for a minute. You just said that Etiole was a stage actor before coming here to Earth. In your Twighlight Manor series, you have Etiole portrayed as a drag queen, ballet dancer, stage performer. How close is the occupation of the fictional Etiole to that of the real Etiole?

EelKat: Pretty much the same. He is a singer and a dancer, and he tends to dress in a highly feminine fashion. He has a great love for the performing arts of Earth, especially ballet. I think they make him feel more “at home”.

Q. These words, Zetasha and Diona, you guess at the spellings, why does he not tell you how to spell them? And while we are on the topic, the name Etiole; why do you call him that?

EelKat: The problem with spelling his words, is that he’s been here about 300 to 400 years, most of that time in France, and now his speech is all mixed up. He speaks English, but it’s a messed up English. And it’s not just regular English he’s messing up, it’s Ye Ole Style, like the King James Bible, with thee and thou and ye and nay and the like. He was still quite young when he got trapped here. So you’ve got him, trying to remember a language which he only spoke for 20 or so years of his life, which he hasn’t spoken in 300 - 400 years, and than he’s taking those words and running them through a French translation and than running that through an English translation, and than he’s trying to say it in modern English, so you’ve got essentially a language which he can barely remember being translated three times before it comes to me, and really no way of knowing if he’s translating correctly or not.

The words he says in reference to his own home, are a jumble of his trying to make non-Human words, sound English. Non-Human words which he hasn’t spoken in 400 years. Keeping in mind here that he’s now very, very old, and can’t remember too much of anything at all anymore. He seems a bit scatter brained, he can’t remember the “old words” and even his memories of prior Earth time are unclear and foggy now. It’s not like he just left home last week and landed on Earth yesterday. He’s been stranded on our planet some 400 years. So, him saying things correctly, combined with me spelling out correctly, is a big jump guess at best, of me phonetically trying to spell what he says, with him not sure if he‘s even saying it right anymore. He is very old, and it‘s a safe guess that he‘s a bit on the senile side.

Zeaa Ta` Sha would probably be more correct, but Zetasha looks better on paper and rolls off the tongue easier than chopping it up into three short heavily French accented words. Does that make any sense or did I just confuse every one?

As for his own name Etiole, that is obviously not his real name, because it is an obvious misspelling of the French word for star. So I assume that while in France, some people must have referred to him as coming from the stars, thus used the word etoile` when speaking to, of, or about him, and he just adopted that as his “new” name, possibly assuming that Etiole was a name that Humans had given to him..

Q. Diona and Zetasha. Names you assume to be a planet and a star. Any idea where they are?

EelKat: No idea.
Zetasha, I think is equivalent of our North Star. It seems to be a bright star, which can be seen from their planet, that they used to measure maps, other stars and planets with. It is not in our galaxy. I’m not sure that it can be seen from Earth. I think Zetasha is a star, but I’m not positive of that. I don’t know if it is something that can be seen from Earth or not, and if it can be seen from Earth, I don’t know what it is that we would call it. All I know is that it is the brightest thing seen in the sky from his home, and that it is used to measure distances and find your way at night, the same way we use the North Star.

Diona. That’s a different matter entirely. Diona in a planet, but it’s not from his solar system, and he doesn’t know where it is. He ended up trapped on Earth while looking for Planet Diona. The Diontites are described by Etiole as “an evil race of scientists”. He says his solar system is “far away“, but compared to Diona, we (his people and Earthlings) are neighbors. He describes Diona as “on the other side of the universe, as far away from here as you can get“. He says they are evil.

Q. Who are the Diontites? Why does Etiole fear them?

EelKat: Why? Because they are more or less evil; meaning that they have little regard for the life of others. They hurt those around them in the name of science. Why? Because they are bored. They have progressed beyond progression, for progressions sake. They are an ancient race, older than millennias. They have learned everything there is to know. Because they are bored they wander around the universe, masquerading as gods and playing with creatures on planets like they were dolls. They say that they were once us, and we shall become them, though they say that to every race they meet. Etiole says they are evil, not because they are necessarily evil, but because they have been every where and done every thing and now there is nothing left for them to do, so they make up things to do the pass the time, and the games they play often hurt the pawns (people) they us to play them.

It is Etiole's belief that they are The Greys, so many Humans claim to have been abducted by in recent years.

The Diontites are scientists, curious by nature, they study every thing. They wear suit tight full body suits, covering hands, feet and heads, no one knows what they look like underneath. This is similar to how Humans describe the Greys, thus Etiole thinks the Greys and the Diontites are one in the same.

The Diontites are “magic” beings, not magic per say, but advanced so far beyond what we know, that they can call themselves gods and primitive planets believe them, because what they perceive as mere parlor tricks, we perceive as miracles or supernatural powers. Because of this, Etiole also believes that they were the gods of the ancients: the Egyptians, Abraham, Moses, the Aztec, etc. He says they travel the universe in search of primitive life forms, such as Humans, and than set them selves up as gods. He says they are dangerous, deceitful, and Humans who preach their "religions" are not to be trusted. He says they were once primitive beings (like Humans now are), a race of scientists, who studied everything, but that they learned too much and progressed too far and now they see themselves as all powerful gods.

Etiole warns that they have a history of playing with primitive races, and causing them to split apart to war against themselves (like the battles seen when one family follows two religions, which spread to a national level, until it becomes such as seen between Jews and Muslims today). Etiole warns that if we let them control our thoughts, we (Humans) will destroy our planet. Etiole says that on the surface they appear to be not interfering, but that in actuality, the Earth has been under attack by their invasion for many centuries, and we (Humans) are too stupid to stop fighting and see that it is the Diontites’ game we are playing. He says if we do not try to restore the order and stop the fighting, that we will destroy our own planet the same way they have caused other planets to be destroyed by it’s own inhabitants. I get the impression, that Etiole speaks of this, meaning that that is what happened to his planet.

Q. If what Etiole says is true, this is an outright invasion. How do we stop it?

EelKat: By answering the question: What would Jesus do. People ask me how I can have such a strong faith in Jesus, and consider him the Savior of the Human race, if I do not in fact believe him to be the son of god. Or, how I believe in Jesus, when I question the existence of the God of Abraham. Easy. Jesus was real. Jesus did not speak in riddles and parables. Jesus spoke what he meant and meant exactly what he said, and we, stupid Humans that we are, spent centuries translating meanings into words that had no hidden meaning at all.

According to Etiole, Jesus is just about the only person on our planet that ever figured it out. Earth was under attack way back than. All those demons and evil spirit Jesus was casting out, where attacking the Humans, and Jesus made it his goal in life to drive them out. He knew the answer. He could see what was happening. Jesus say religion A fighting against religion B, both of whom were under attack by religion C, and all of whom were being attacked by the Church of Rome. Jesus knew that each faith was following their god, that each god was claiming each other god a fake, and that all along none of the gods were real or fake because none of them was a god to begin with.

Jesus knew the answer to keep the Human race from destroying itself and it was simple: Love Thy Neighbor. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In other words: stop your stupid ass fighting and treat each other with respect! Ignore the damn gods that are invading the Earth, and take care of each other. You are all children of Adam and Eve (Humans) and thus should be protecting each other from the alien invaders, not fighting each other to please the alien invaders.

When his followers called him the son of God, what did Jesus say? He corrected them and called himself the son of man. And the disciples, stupid idiots that they were, said oh, he means he was god made man. No. That’s not what Jesus said! He said that he was the son of a human, not the son of an alien invader claiming to be god over us. That’s what Jesus was saying.

That’s why when you ask Etiole how do we stop the invaders from destroying us, Etiole says: Jesus had the answer. Do what he said to do. Do what he did. It’s the only thing that can save the Humans, is if they start looking out for each other and start ignoring the so-called gods. Because if enough Humans ignore them, they will get bored with the planet and leave us alone.

And that’s why you will always hear me asking every one every where I go: What would Jesus do? Because, if you are not doing what Jesus would do, you are helping to bring about the destruction of us all.

Q. Many abductees and contactees, claim to be psychic. What about you? Do you claim to be psychic?

EelKat: No. I don’t. There are people (church members) who claim that I an psychic. And of course there are several people who call me a Witch and say that I have these occult powers and stuff. But that is other people making those claims, not me saying them. I have repeatedly asked these people to stop calling me a Witch and have told them, time and again, that calling me a Witch is not going to make me one.

I can’t see the future, I cant tell you your fortunes, I don’t cast spells and/or curses, and can’t do ay of those other things that people are so commonly accusing me of.

Q. So you yourself have never made any claims of being psychic. Why do people say that you are?

EelKat: Religious hysteria. It’s the only logical explanation. If you will notice, the people that are saying these things about me, are all church goers, however they are not your “average” church goings. They are the zealots and super fanatics. They are the same people who still believe that diseases like epilepsy are caused by demon possession. And before you say that no one today is stupid enough to still believe epilepsy is caused by demon possession, let me point out that I can name more than three dozen local people whom I know personally, who not only believe this, but go so far as to accuse doctors of being Satan’s advocate, claiming that medicine only hides the problem and that the only real cure is exorcism. These are the very same people who say I am a Witch and that I put curses on them. It is my opinion that these people have had their heads buried so deep in scripture for so long that they don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.

Q. People (adults) have been telling you that you had schizophrenia for a very long time. The way they tell it, you lost your mind when you were just 4 years old and it had something to do with a white monkey. What can you tell us about the white monkey and what it was?

EelKat: I was being told I had schizophrenia by members of my church, scared adults. It should be noted that no doctor has ever told me this, in fact three different doctors checked and said that I did not show any signs of schizophrenia at all. One was my pediatrician, one was brought in from the state mental institute (by the same church members who had been accusing me), and the other was a church member who said he thought the congregation was acting irrational. And yes, this started when I was four years old ad saw “the white monkey”.

What was it? The white monkey. Friends Are Forever, the title for that story, came from a very sad creature, abandoned by his people and left trapped on a strange planet with strange creature who only wanted to cut him up and run tests on him. Friendless and alone for nearly 400 years, I was the first and only friend he ever had. The title Friends Are Forever came from my promise to always be his friend. I was 4 years old when I made that promise. I had no idea the hell my own people, the Human race would put me though, as a result of that promise.

When I make a promise though I never break it. A broken promise is a lie. A lie is a sin. To sin is to go to hell. That's one thing people can count on me for. People, who know me, know that once I make a promise. There is nothing any one can do, to tear me from it. I am a very strong believer in keeping my word.

In thirty years, my stead fast friendship to "the white monkey", has cost me everything: it is because of him that people say I am schizophrenic, it is because of him, that my church shuns me, it is because of him that men in the white coats arrived from Pine Land Center ready to take me away in a straight jacket, it is because of him that people in town have stopped at nothing to drive me from my land and I eventually ended up homeless on the streets. He is my friend and I am his, I gave him my word I would never abandon him or allow him to ever again be hurt by Humans, and there is nothing any one can do, to make me turn back on my word.
But what or rather who is the white monkey and what happened? Yeah, you’re right; I don’t talk about it any more. I learned not to.

When I first saw him, my cousin Mike was with me and we both saw him. I was 4 years old and he was 3 years old. We were playing in the woods and Mike looked up and said "What's that?" and I looked and there was the strangest looking thing I had ever seen, sitting there in the tree looking down at us. I told Mike: "That's a white monkey." and that's how the "White Monkey Story" got started, and why every one reefers to Etiole as a white monkey. I was 4 years old, I would have zero concepts of aliens until I was 8 years old, so for the first few years I called Etiole a white monkey, because I didn't know what he was, and I had no idea what a monkey really was either.

Our initial response was to run back to my house and drag my parents to the woods to come see the white monkey, but by the time we returned he was gone. We searched all over the woods, but could not find him, and finally we were dragged by home by my parents who scolded us for telling a lie. That night when Mike's mom arrived to pick him up and take him home, we tried to convince her what we had seen. She did not believe us either. I spent the rest of the week in the woods with a bunch of bananas, calling out for the monkey to come back.

By the time I next saw Mike a week later, I was ready to take him back to the swamp to see the monkey again. But Mike came right out and told my parents that he had never seen the monkey, that I had made up the story of the monkey and he went along with it. Mike did not talk that much or know as many words as he was saying, and it was obvious that he had quoted what he said from memory after having been told to say so.

My grandmother (Helen Ricker-Allen) was the only one who believed me. She said that there was a zoo in Pine Point (just 2 miles from our house) known as White Zoo, and that they had a collection of albino animals, including a white monkey. My grandmother maintained that the money had escaped from the zoo and that's what I had seen. The problem was the monkey had not escaped from the zoo, because the zoo had shut down some ten years earlier and was not even there any more, so no one believed her version of the story, any more than they did mine. Me being 4, my story was passed off as an over active imagination. My grandmother, being in her 80's, her story was passed off as her being senile.

It wasn't until I was 8 years old, however, when my story of the white monkey changed dramatically, that I started having the problems. When I was 8, me and a friend from school (I was still in public school than) were playing in the woods, right under the very same tree where the white monkey had first been seen four years earlier, when a bright light flashed across the sky, and scared the daylights out of us. Her parents, out in their yard, had seen it too; in fact, most every one on our street, who was out doors at the time, saw it. It was seen across an area some two miles in diameter, and for the next 2 or 3 weeks, every one on our street, all the kids in school, and a few local reporters had one topic of conversation: UFOs and alien invasion. By the end of the month the Army had made an official announcement that what we had seen was the explosion of a weather balloon, they had been testing off the beach, over the ocean, and most people were satisfied with this answer. I was not, because what I had seen was not an explosion.
I spent the next 6 years drawing pictures and writing up long detail scientific diagrams. People at church suddenly became terrified of me, because here I was an 8 year old child with barely starting school, who had no knowledge of any kind of advanced science at all, and yet, I was drawing up technical schematics and diagrams of both the insides and outsides of a star ship that could travel trough space using tiny holes in the galaxy to shot it across the universe like a bullet.

Q. From the time you was four years old until you was eight, you talked about nothing but this white monkey, and you drew several hundred pictures of it. The first editions of Friends are Forever and the Twighlight Manor stories were said to be a non-fiction stories you wrote about this white monkey. Than, suddenly your Twighlight Manor stories changed. You haven't told any one the story of the white monkey, since. What happened? Why did you stop telling adults about him? What made you go back and rewrite all your stories into fictional versions?

EelKat: Church members and deeply concerned relatives gathered up my drawing ands writings, my manuscripts and all copies of my original stories and set fire to them. I was pulled out of school, and I quickly became labeled schizophrenic, and was the hushed up dark secret no one wanted to talk about. I had written things that no 8 year old child should know; it scared the hell out of every one around me. Over the next 6 years I rewrote and redrew every thing over and over again, and the more my drawing and writings were destroyed the more persistent I became, taping them to the walls and ceilings of every single room in our house. And than it all stopped. Our bishop called Pine Land Center and asked the doctors to come to church and take me away. This was done without my parents’ knowledge or permission, because it was thought that they would never allow me to be taken to Pine Land, but once I got there it would be next to impossible for them to get me out.

The doctor came right into Sunday school class and took me out. He explained why he was there and than asked me about the aliens, the UFOs and the white monkey. In my interview, I told him I was writing a book, which I planned to have published. By the time he left, he was satisfied that the people at church were over reacting highly superstitious folks who had confused me writing a book, for me believe in aliens. After he left I told the bishop one thing: "You shouldn't have done that, you have no idea what Etiole's temper is like. You don't know what he can do." Two years later Pine Land Center suddenly closed its doors; some blamed Etiole, but most took to calling me a witch and said I put a curse on the place.

The bishop himself suffered one ill fate after another, including several severe injuries and broken bones, caused by his new found and unexplained clumsiness ("Someone pushed me, but when I looked there was no one there. I must have tripped but there was nothing to trip on either.")

Rumors that Etiole was not an alien, but a poltergeist started up, as every single person involved in the Pine Land Center incident suffered from an alarming string of events from car engines blowing up to houses bursting into flames, to people being pushed down stairs by ghosts to a tornado hitting the church and lifting off the roof, and lightening hitting the second church and burning it down. (I was going to 3 different churches back than.) The tornado is what really scared people the most, in Maine where we don't have tornadoes. People died in car accidents, where the cars, witnesses said, lifted off the ground and were hurtled into trees. One car drove out of control and went under a tractor trailer truck, cutting off the top of the car, and the woman's head. Another car flipped, up in the air and into the Saco River, the people inside drowned.

Me, I didn't have a TV at the time and I’ve never read the papers, so no contact with the news, and since the only time I ever left the house was to go to church on Sunday, I found out about the accidents, fires, explosions, and freak weather patterns, a week or two after they had happened. I found out about them, because people, adults, would come storming up to me in the front hall of the church, and out right accuse me of having put a curse on the victims. Every one pointed their finger at me, and several suggested that they call in an exorcist, to cast the demon out of my car. They now believed me on some level that Etiole was real, but most said he was a demon sent from Hell and that I was the child of Satan.

Etiole became known after that as the demon (or poltergeist) whom lived in my car, and who protected me fiercely and with a deadly force that could move objects, control the weather, and start fires. These religious crazed fanatics had become hysterical. Their accusations had gone completely out of control. If someone said they did not like me, and than later broke a fingernail, they said it was Etiole protecting me or me being a Witch and putting a curse on them. Every little mishaps that happened to everyone, not only the members themselves, but to people they knew as well, suddenly became my fault. The car *died* when I was 9 years old and has sat as a decoration in my rose garden ever since. It has no transmission, and the axels are not attached to it. It can’t even be seen from the road, for crying out loud. And these people were the ones accusing me of having an over active imagination? WOW!

They’d get mad, because after they came to me and told me to stop putting curses on them, I’d laugh in their face and tell them they were crazy. I don’t believe in curses, I never have, and I found it hilarious that these grown adults were believing in them.

The whole thing was warped. I mean, think about it. I was a little kid. They were adults in their 30’s and 40’s and 60’s. They were grown men and women, yet, they were acting so, I don’t know . . . Insane? Every one became terrified to be near me, for fear that if they said something to offend me, that I would sic my "pet poltergeist" on them. And they had the audacity to say I was the one who was crazy? OMG! I started telling them, they should take their noses out of the Bible once in a while and get a life, because obviously they were the ones with the mental problems, and had lost touch with reality, not me. I mean, come on, I was a kid for crying out loud!

Well, that is how I came to be the "lone hermit" I am today. Being alone all the time is not some thing that I like, but it is the way things are, because people are simply afraid of me.

In any case, as a child I talked constantly of the white monkey-alien-Etiole-Captain Goldeneagle, because as a child I was oblivious to how much my talk was bothering the adults around me. The less they believed me the more I talked. The more they insisted it was a figment of my imagination, the more determined I became to prove them wrong.

As a teenager, my talk of the white monkey-alien-Etiole-Captain Goldeneagle, not only came to an end, but I just stopped talking all together. I had come to the realization, that the things I said bothered people; really, REALLY, bothered people; not only did what I said bother people, but it outright terrified them. As a child they could pass on my talk as imaginary friends and an over active imagination, but when those things didn't go away and here I was on my way to adulthood still insisting Etiole was real, people started getting scared, because that was when it hit them, that this was much more than imaginary friends; that's when they realized that one of two things were happening:

1.) Either I was telling the truth, aliens were real, UFOs came to Earth, and not only was I in the habit of talking with aliens, but I had an injured one living in the woods behind my house.

2.) Or, I was absolutely insane, and raving on a bunch of madness.

They chose the follow the theory that I was insane, and acted in accordance to that line of thinking. It was a wake up call to me, which told me quite quickly one thing: People do not want to face the reality of things they do not understand or are afraid of and it is easier for them to ignore the things they fear, by removing the person saying it from society, rather than face their fear. They hope that by forcing the person out of sight and out of mind, that that alone is enough to wipe out and irradiate the thing which they are afraid of.

And what where they afraid of? If what I was saying to them was true, than they would have to face the fact that not only are we not alone in this universe, we as Humans are not alone on this planet, and we already have walking among us a race of beings so far advanced that they could take out this planet in the blink of an eye, and we as Humans do not have the technology to stop them. That, frightened them, because it means that there is something out there more powerful than them, and that all the time they thought they were the lords of the Earth, they were wrong. That's a hard fact for most adults to face. Of course, here I was 4 years old, and had no idea I was scaring the daylights out of people. It took me 10 years to figure out why people didn't believe me. Thus, I learned that it is pointless to talk to people about anything they are afraid of, because no matter what it is, they will react violently against you, thus I stopped talking about the white monkey/Etiole and eventually I just stopped talking to Humans all together.

People being terrified of me, my car, and Etiole, did not end there though. I eventually stopped going to church, and I guess, from what I now hear, the ill fates suffered by church members got worse, than when I was going to church, and they still were blaming me for it, even though I was not even going to church anymore. Apparently the new going theory is that they are being punished for driving me out of church, and so started a full force campaign to get me back to church, by sending missionaries, home teachers, and visiting teachers to my door every week. Odd, because in the 20 years while I was going to church, I had never once received a visit from any of them, even though I had been requesting the visits on a monthly basis.

Every visit they bring me another copy of the Book of Mormon and ask, “Have you read this yet?” Do you have any idea how my copies of the Book of Mormon I now have in my closet? I read the whole thing cover to cover when I was 11. I have read it several times since than. They know this, because I told them so, each time they asked. But the next week and the next visit later they ask me again. Didn’t they hear me the last dozen times? I don’t get it. These people are nuts.

In 2003, (some 15 years later!) there became a movement to destroy my car, after one member of out church became town manager, and than fired every one in the town hall and replaced them all with these high strung overly superstitious members of the church. This movement got the backing of the Old Orchard Beach Town Council to back them and was what resulted in me becoming homeless (see the chapter On Being Homeless for that story.) These people had become so crazed with fear that they had convinced themselves that destroying my car would destroy Etiole.

Well, I have two cars, not just the dead old Dodge, but a nice and still running little Volvo too. So you destroy one he'd just take up residence in the other, or go back to living in the trees as he did before the car was there. He’s been here for 400 freaking years, that car is only 40 odd years old. I tried to explain this, but have you ever tried to talk some sense into a fear crazed mob? They don't listen. (I have several dozen copies of the Book of Mormon which prove just how much they don’t listen too.)

When the town council stepped in and started saying they would take my car, I told them, same as I had told the bishop all those years ago: "This has to stop. You people need to just leave me alone. You can't get Etiole angry. He will protect me at all costs, it's what he does. If you come against me with the whole town, the whole town will regret it, because he will take on the entire town, and he can. He’s just one little creature, but he can, and he will pick off every body that he feels has caused me grief. You will lose your tourists. He will make them too scared to come back. You'll lose your residents, he'll drive them out. Years ago, he used to just scare people, but things have gone too far now. You people and your relentlessness, this has been going on for too many years now, you have taken things too far. Etiole was mad before, but now he's angry. He's really angry. People are dieing now, and I can't stop him. Leave me alone, and he'll stop. The more you bother me, the worse he becomes. Destroying my car is not going to stop him. It’ll only make him worse. He's not the car, he only lives in it. You take his home away from him, how do you think he's going to react to that? He wants you dead, just for what you've done to me as it is, now you want to antagonize him? He'll kill you. He's not a Human, he doesn't think or act the way we do. Can't you people see what you are doing? You are digging your own graves."
While there in my yard, something happened to confirm their fears. While telling me the car was going to be sold for junk, wither I consented or not, the top of my 300 year old pine tree, came crashing to the ground, right onto their car. Panic seized them and they fled. This did not become an isolated incident, as from that day forth, every time some one says they are going to junk my car, moments later, they suffer some terrible accident, end up in the hospital, or simply drop dead from a heart attack or stroke.

There have been so many deaths, fires, freak accidents, and murders in Old Orchard Beach since 2003, that it made headlines in the news. A study in 2007, said that there was an alarmingly high rate of heart attacks and strokes in Old Orchard Beach in the past 5 years, and that it had become the #1 cause of death in our town. There was another report this year, which said that the murder rate has more than tripled, and that the town's 40 year murder free run ended abruptly with a string of murders in 2005. In 2008 alone, there have been 5 murders, five drownings, and one fire that killed the entire family. That's quite high for a town 7 miles long by 2 miles wide.

Than, something even stranger happened. In February of 2008, the day after the mass murder that killed an entire family, I was ordered into the Town Hall, and demanded to get rid of my car or else. I told them, that if they wanted to see an end to the town's bad luck, all they had to do, was leave me alone. "Stop harassing me. Stop harassing my car. Stop trying to force me to leave me land. Just stop. Have zero contact with me. Get rid of every one in the town hall who has been harassing my family. See what happens."

That was the last time I heard from the town hall. The following month, the town manager (one of the terror crazed members of my church) was fired, and in the days, weeks, and months to follow, one by one, every one that he had hired during his time as town manager (each of them also terror crazed members of my church), were also fired.

By August of 2008, every one who had harassed me, my family, and my car, had been kicked out or given notice, and the Town of Old Orchard saw an abrupt end to its 5 year run of skyrocketed death rates, freak accidents, fires, murders, bizarre and unnatural weather patterns, drownings, amusement park malfunctions, and its other assorted bad luck events.
And Etiole? He's stopped attacking the town. Still attacking the church members, but, no longer attacking the entire town. Will he ever leave them alone? The question is: will they ever leave me alone? He will stop, when they do, simple as that.

Q. You’ve mentioned Panspermia in some of your blog posts. What is Panspermia, and why do you hold to this theory and not others?

EelKat: In the spring of 2007, I came across a word which I had never heard before: Panspermia. I looked at that word and thought: "What the hell?" It wasn't used in a sentence so I had no way to figure out it's meaning. It was part of a True or False quiz, which asked what the meaning of Panspermia was. Of course never hearing the word before, I had no idea what the answer was, so I guessed "False". Turns out I guessed correctly, but now I still didn't know the true meaning of the word, so it was off to the dictionary for me. Here is what I found:

Panspermia: noun

The theory that life on earth originated from organisms coming from outer space. According to this theory, the seeds of life were scattered to Earth but could have been distributed to other parts of the universe as well.

Well, now THAT I have heard of before. (Avid fan of David Duchovny here.) But that dictionary definition is just a little scratch on the surface of a very big, very odd, very rare, and very cult-style theory on the Creation story. Thing is, this theory is not too far off from what I believe, what I have believed for decades and it is my belief in these things which has lead to people call my schizophrenic for the last 30 years. It's so off the wall and out-there that when I tell any one about this, they just think I'm nuts. Well you know what? When they tell me about their religious beliefs, I think they are nuts too, so that makes us about even, wouldn‘t ya say?.

Like every thing else in life, the Panspermia theory has several different branches and interpretations, some of which include God or a Creator Being, and some of which that do not. Some branch out and say that every thing "just happened" because a bunch of atoms blew up (the Big Bang Theory) and some of which say that the Big Bang was brought about by a God/Creator who intended for the explosion to result in the creation of all life. Some say that God is the universe, and that each Solar System is actually a blood cell inside of his body. Some say that the whole thing was planned out, while others say that it was all random chaos. There are many, many variations to the Panspermia theory, some of which are too weird even for me!
The one thing that all versions of the Panspermia theory have in common, though, is that all life originated in outer space and that none of us are actually native to the planet Earth, but rather all life on Earth started out as life some place else in the universe, and eventually it came to settle and thrive here on this planet. In other words, Panspermia, teaches that Humans are aliens trapped on Earth and Earth is not our "true" home or place of origin, because we originated elsewhere.

Q. You said you wrote your own version of Panspermia. Than it's true what people say, that you really did create your own religion? Does it have a name and what exactly is it?

EelKat: I suppose you could say that in a way I did create my own religion. That wasn’t what I set out to do when I started studying religions. I was just looking for one to join. However, I was already believing the things I believed before I set out looking for a religion. I was simply looking for a religion that matched my way of thinking, and of course I never found one. Now, here's where things all go haywire and where people start getting all upset with me. You see, before I heard about Panspermia, I already had some theories of my own. I have no idea what this theory is called. I suppose you could call it, *The Creation of the World According to EelKat*, because, I have never found anyone else who held to my personal views on how the world came to be. The closet I have ever heard of was Panspermia, but even that does not touch down on my full way of thinking about it.

My personal version of Panspermia takes the Big Bang theory and throws it into the Seven Day Creation story, to come out with the theory, that God, is not, never was, and never well be a human or anything like a human, nor is he some mystical spirit being. According to Panspermia, God was an alien being of higher intelligence from a galaxy far away, in an alternate dimension. According to Panspermia, God took the seeds of life and threw them out across the firmament and BANG the universe was born (the Big Bang theory). Than, for the next seven days God set out to creating stuff, not just on Earth, but all over the universe.

Because God's time is orbiting at a different rate than our Earth is orbiting around the sun, God's days are thus very different in length than our days. It took him seven of his days to create everything, but because Earth orbits at a different rate than where God lives, the resulting seven days actually took a few million years to pass here on Earth, giving the illusion that things evolved, when in fact they were actually created. (This explains also, the evolution theory and why no one has been able to locate the "missing link").

My Panspermia, doesn't just end there though. God being the big almighty, all seeing creature that he is, means that the universe is really quite small and he can see from one end of it to the other, so that while we tiny little creatures look out and say that there can't be life any where else because we can't see to the other side of the universe, God is looking at all his little planets and saying: maybe I put too many life forms too close together. In the Panspermia theory, it is often, thought that God, took life forms and just set them about like toys, here and there on various planets through out the galaxy. What this means is that, one day humans may travel across the universe and find another planet, where there are such things as Humans and horses and pine trees, exactly like the ones on Earth, because they all came from the same seed, which originated from the alternate dimension where God lives.

My train of thought in the Panspermia theory than takes this whole thing one step farther though. While we started out as alien seed from another universe, and we live our lives here on Earth, according to Panspermia, life and death is not anything like what we think it is, but rather, we are born, when God scoops us up off of one planet/dimension and moves us to the next planet/dimension. We therefore lived on another planet or dimension prior to living on Earth, and when we died on that planet, we were instantly conceived somewhere else in the universe, thus we are born onto a new planet. We left a previous planet, to be born here on Earth and live a whole new life on a new world. Than, when we die here on this Earth, we are instantly conceived to be reborn on some other planet/dimension elsewhere in the universe. We continue on like this moving for eternity from one planet/dimension to the next. Going to the different planets and dimensions to live different lives is like going to school. Each year you move on to a new grade level, only here, each life you move on to a new planet. Eventually you end up going to all of them, and eventually you get to go back to the alternate universe where God lives, which is where we originated from to begin with.

And there you have it: My version Panspermia and all it's weirdness, as I believe it to be. Why do I believe the *EelKat* Panspermia Theory as the most logical version of the Creation story? Because, it explains a lot of things. It explains how the Big Bang theory can be true at the same time as the Seven Day Creation theory. It explains how the Dinosaurs could have died out millions of years before Man set foot on the Earth, at the same time as the Earth still being created in only 7 days. It explains the alien abduction and UFO stories. It explains when some people have memories of alternate lives and past lives. It explains who so many people can die, see the after life, and than come back describing going to a different place than any one else went to. It explains how God can see and know everything all at the same time. It just plain explains everything all at once.

Q. So do you believe Panspermia to be the *one true* answer to life on Earth?

EelKat: No, not necessarily. You see, as I said it is a theory, meaning that it’s not a proven fact and thus could be wrong. I am open to considering or at least studying all various theories on life. Me and my curious nature I am never fully satisfied with any one answer, and am always looking for a better answer to everything. The ultimate question in life is: Why are we here? How did where get here? And where do we go when we leave this place? I well ever be satisfied with any theory, because I don’t want to believe, I want to know for sure and for certain
Panspermia, is the rarest of all the Creation stories, believed by only a tiny fraction of people. Most versions of the theory, do not include a God. Some say that there are only a few hundred people world wide who believe in the Panspermia Theory. Even though it’s an unpopular theory, it is for the time being the one I feel is the most logical and makes the most sense to me.

Q. You not only believe it to be the most logical theory, but, you created your own theory entirely, one believed only by you and you alone. You have believed this theory for many years now, yet you only heard about the name Panspermia less than a year ago. How did you come to believe such a rare theory, if you had never heard it before?

EelKat: Etiole. He believes it. I pretty much believe everything he says. He doesn't have names for most things he says, so I can go on for year believing in things that I have no idea what the proper names of them are. Like a White Dwarf for example. I had never heard the word White Dwarf before September of 2006. Etiole is not well learned in Earth words, Earth language, Earth habits, etc. So he describes things, but than he doesn't have names for them. He comes from a planet that has a small blue sun which super nova-ed centuries before he was born. That is always what I called it, for the last 30 years, I just said a blue sun. Well, than in 2006 some one mentioned a White Dwarf, and I asked them what it was, and they told me, that it was a sun that got too hot and collapsed on itself, and than turned white. After that I realized that what Etiole had been describing was actually a White Dwarf, but since he never studied Earth science any more than I did, he didn't know what to call it.

Anyways, Etiole doesn't believe in religion at all. He says it all a bunch of control freak men getting off on their power over others, and has never had anything to do with God at all.
Etiole's theory of Panspermia is a bit different though. He mentions Diontites, more specifically, the Diontite Scientists or the scientists of Diona. They are an alien race . . . A race he refers to as an alien race, meaning they are from outer space, some place different than him. He hates them. Says they are bored. They have progressed beyond progression, for progressions sake. They are older than millennias. They have learned everything there is to know. Because they are bored they wander around the universe, masquerading as gods and playing with creatures on planets like they were dolls. They say that they were once us, and we shall become them, though they say that to every race they meet. Etiole says they are evil, not because they are necessarily evil, but because they have been every where and done every thing and now their is nothing left for them to do, so they make up things to do the pass the time, and the games they play often hurt the pawns (people) they us to play them. It is Etiole's belief that they are The Greys, so many Humans claim to have been abducted by in recent years. He also believes that they were the gods of the ancients: the Egyptians, Abraham, Moses, the Aztec, etc. He says they travel the universe in search of primitive life forms, such as Humans, and than set them selves up as gods. He says they are dangerous, deceitful, and Humans who preach their "religions" are not to be trusted. He says they were once primitive beings (like Humans now are), a race of scientists, who studied everything, but that they learned too much and progressed too far and now they see themselves as all powerful gods. He says his solar system is "far away", but compared to Diona, we are neighbors. He describes Diona as "on the other side of the universe, as far away from here as you can get".

Q. If what Etiole says is true and this is an outright invasion, how do we stop it?

EelKat: By answering the question: “What would Jesus do?” People ask me how I can have such a strong faith in Jesus, and consider him the Savior of the Human race, if I do not in fact believe him to be the son of god. Or ask, how I can believe in Jesus, when I question the existence of the Biblical version of God, the God of Abraham. Easy. Jesus was real. Jesus did not speak in riddles and parables. Jesus spoke what he meant and meant exactly what he said, and we, stupid Humans that we are, spent centuries translating meanings into words that never had any hidden meanings at all.

According to Etiole, Jesus is just about the only person on our planet that ever figured it out. Earth was under attack way back than. All those demons and evil spirits Jesus was casting out, were attacking the Humans, and Jesus made it his goal in life to drive them out. He knew the answer. He could see what was happening. Jesus saw *Religion A* fighting against *Religion B*, both of whom were under attack by *Religion C*, and all of whom were being attacked by the Church of Rome. Jesus knew that each congregation was following their own god and each god was claiming that each other god was a fake, and that all along none of the gods were real or fake because none of them was actually a god to begin with.

Jesus knew the answer to keep the Human race from destroying itself and it was simple: Love Thy Neighbor. That was the whole foundation for everything Jesus did or said: Love Thy Neighbor. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In other words: stop your stupid ass fighting and treat each other with respect! Ignore the damn gods that are invading the Earth, and take care of each other. You are all children of Adam and Eve (Humans) and thus should be protecting each other from the alien invaders, not fighting each other to please the alien invaders.

When his followers called him the son of God, what did Jesus say? He corrected them and called himself the son of man. And the disciples, stupid idiots that they were, said oh, he means he was god made man. No. That's not what Jesus said! He said that he was the son of a human, not the son of an alien invader claiming to be god over us. That's what Jesus was saying.

That's why when you ask Etiole how do we stop the invaders from destroying us, Etiole says: Jesus had the answer. Do what he said to do. Do what he did. It's the only thing that can save the Humans, is if they start looking out for each other and start ignoring the so-called gods. Because if enough Humans ignore them, they will get bored with the planet and leave us alone.
And that's why you will always hear me asking every one every where I go: What would Jesus do? Because, if you are not doing what Jesus would do, you are helping to bring about the destruction of us all.

Q. And this too, this "enlightened" version of Jesus, comes from the Panspermia way of thinking?

EelKat: Yep. I guess you could call it that. I suppose there would be a word for it out there some where, but I’ve no idea what it would be. It implies that Jesus, actually came here by means of the UFO persuasion, and thus explains how he was able to enter a room with a locked door and how he ascended into the clouds. It also explains the virgin birth, by saying that Mary was an alien abductee. It explains his unusually high intelligence at the young age of 12 years old. It explains how he was able to heal by touch, and how he was able to talk with demons and spirits.
Basically, it implies that Jesus was an alien hybrid, that his father was an alien, that Mary was taken aboard a UFO, thus explaining the bright beam of light that she saw just before the immaculate conception. A young girl of that time period, taken aboard a star ship, and made pregnant by artificial insemination, would tell people the only thing she could think of to tell them: God did it. Certainly, an alien and a star ship, and pregnancy with out sex, would all seem to be something only a God could do to her, so that would have been her answer to anyone who questioned her.

Q. I've heard that you have a some what radical view on angels and what they are, and this too, seems to go along the lines of the Panspermia theory, is that correct? Can you tell us about this?

EelKat: The celestial beings from the heavens (a.k.a. angels). Yes, I think most people, even if they agree with me in other areas of my theologies, they find my view of angels, probably the most off the wall of all my theories on religion. (after the alien hybrid Jesus, of course). You see, people for centuries have called angels the heavenly messengers or celestial beings. Why? Because they travel between heaven and earth.

Okay, EelKat version of Panspermia coming through again:

Think about it: what did the ancients see? They say a glowing white being coming down from the sky to Earth, descending from the clouds.

Ask yourself, why is it that hundreds of years ago, people were being visited by glowing white angels, but never aliens? Many angels are said to appear before humans, naked and genderless. Smaller angels are said to be hairless, and ugly, and are called demons. Taller angels are said to have fair skin, long golden curly hair, and pale blue eyes. There were reports of evil angels too: angels that tortured and raped their victims. Women often claimed to have given birth to babies fathered by an angel. Men often report being offered spiritual guidance by angels. Angels were said to travel in glowing chariots and spinning wheels. Some had swords that shoot fire.
Okay, jump ahead to today: Ask yourself, why is it that, people are being visited by glowing white aliens, but never angels? Many aliens are said to appear before humans, naked and genderless. Smaller aliens are said to be hairless, and ugly, and are called The Greys. Taller aliens are said to have fair skin, long silver curly hair, and pale blue eyes. There are reports of aliens torturing via science experiments and raping their victims. Women often claim to have given birth to babies fathered by an alien. Men often report being offered spiritual guidance by aliens. Aliens are said to travel in glowing discs and flying saucers. Some have guns that shoot lasers beams.

Tell me you can't see the connection between angels and aliens? They are obviously the same things. People didn't stop seeing angels, they just started calling them something different. People didn't just start being abducted by aliens in the last hundred years, this has been going on for thousands of years.

Q. I got to ask, I know a lot of people joke about this online, because you talk about religion so much, so often, and because you come up with so many radical ideas, but would you ever start your own religion?

EelKat: It is possible, but highly unlikely, since I just don't have the personality needed to get up in front of a church congregation and start preaching. I'm more of a deep thinking philosopher scribe who quietly writes than a loud mouthed in your face Bible thumping preacher stirring up the masses.

I actually have considered starting my own religion, because after years of searching I have yet to find one that believes as I believe. I know there are more than 15,000 religions out there already, and I have not been able to research all of them, but still, I've researched a hundred or so and nothing "clicked" with me. I wouldn't start it, say for the general public, but rather, just a personal private religion, just for myself. About 2 years ago, I started writing a book on my religious beliefs and why they did or did not fit with various religions. I wrote over 900 pages over the course of the next 6 months! When I got done I realized that I should start my own religion using this as a guidebook, because that's what it had become, my personal guidebook as to what I did and did not believe in. The answers I'm giving in this interview here, are coming for the most part from that.

I use this as the guide for my own life, rather than follow an organized religion. But, would I go so far as to start a religion based on it? Don't know, I could see myself doing that, but I don't think I'm that motivated. I guess in a way, you could say that I already have stated my own religion though, couldn't you? I'm just the only one following it.
I will however eventually get all my thoughts and beliefs on religion organized and have them published as a book someday. I’ve been working on that for about 5 or 6 years now.

Q. Do you ever attend UFO conferences?

EelKat: UFO conferences? Never heard of them. What is that, like, a place where scientists and abductees get together to talk about aliens? That would be pretty weird, being around people, Humans, who believed in aliens and UFOs. I can’t say I have ever met any one who believed me before.

I’ve never attended a conference of any kind at all. I’m not too big on being in confining spaces, especially, if it’s a room with a lot of people. I don’t do too well around people. I do even less well around people when I’m in a building.

Q. So you have never gotten together with any other abductee or contactee type people than?

EelKat: No. Why should I? I’ve never even met another person with any type of alien or UFO experience. Actually, I didn’t even start referring to Etiole as an alien until just a couple of years ago. I’ve always called him “the white monkey” or “my merman from space”. I don’t know, I guess I just never really thought of him as an alien.

Q. Don‘t you think that it would be better if you got together with other people who have had alien contact? You know, to share details, compare stories, or just to have a fellow believer with which to talk to?

EelKat: I suppose, yeah, in a way, it would be nice to have some one to talk to about this, someone who isn‘t going to start waving a Bible in my face and start calling me Satanic, I mean. That’s the normal response I get: religious hysteria. I guess, you can tell I grew up in a pretty religious community, not that I would call it much of a community, not in the true sense of the word at least.

But, yeah, it would be nice to have some one I could just sit down with and talk to about this stuff. I don’t know if I could just sit down and talk to anyone anymore though. It’s been thirty years now, where, every time I say anything, I get laughed at, ridiculed, told I’m crazy, told I’m evil, or have people react with out right fear or violence. I’ve pretty much stopped talking. Not, stopped talking about aliens or UFO’s, but actually stopped talking. I can go for days, weeks, or months without ever saying a word now. It just got to the point where it was useless for me to say anything thing about any subject, because no one would listen to me anyways, so I just stopped using my mouth for anything other than eating. Yeah, it’d be nice to have some one to talk with, about anything, just a Human willing to have a conversation with me at all, would be nice.

Q. So would you consider going to a UFO conference?

EelKat: No.

Q. Can I ask why?

EelKat: Thirty years of cruelty at the hands of Humans. Why would I want to seek out contact with them now? I sought contact with adults throughout my entire childhood and teen years. I continued seeking Human contact throughout my young adult years. Now in middle age, I’ve given up hope of ever finding another Human willing to treat me like I was an equal. I am an outcast. I’ve finally had to accept that. I don’t seek out contact with other Humans anymore. It’s too painful to keep getting rejected, over and over again. I’m tired of the name calling. I’m tired of the ridicule. I’m tired of their laughter. I’m tired of the lectures. I’m tired of the preaching. I’m tired of the fear. I’m tired of the hate. The one thing I wanted was the one thing I never got: kindness, love, and understanding. There was always cruelty but never compassion. Every one is always too busy laughing at me to try laughing with me. The year of the tent, changed me. What hope I had of finding friendship, left me the year of the tent. What faith I had in the Human race, left me than. They took everything from me. The paint balls, the guns, the fire, what they did to my books and records; it just opened my eyes once and for as to just how much these people really hated me. Than, after everything they did, living under a tarp for a year, seeing what life was like for the homeless people, seeing how Humans treated people on the streets. It showed me just how little people cared about anyone out there. That’s why.

Q. The year of the tent. A lot of people ask you about that. It was the peak of what hysteria drove people to do to you. As a result of your refusal to deny Etiole’s existence, you were subjected to years of bullying, harassment, violence, and vandalisms, which lasted for several years, ultimately resulting your becoming homeless. I think the top question on every one’s mind is what is it like to be homeless and live your life under a tarp. But before we get into that, you were not always homeless, and there is quite a story behind how you became homeless, and it includes an angry mob, some pretty wild and hysterical accusations of Witchcraft, and people storming into your home and literally smashing everything you owned. Your homelessness was the result of an event that one would expect to have happened during the 1600’s Salam Witch Trials, and yet it happened here and now in the 21st century and it happened because the things you say you saw terrified a lot of locals. There are a lot of rumors going around about just what it was that actually occurred. As a result of what these people did, you were homeless for quite some time, in your own words, can you tell us, what happened?

EelKat: That is a long, long, long story. To tell the entire thing in full detail, would take 100,000 words at least. So I'll summarize it down to the shortened version of what happened, but even that's going to take quite a bit of space to tell. Anyways, here it goes, the story of how I became homeless and what life is like in the tent:

On Being Homeless in Old Orchard Beach, Maine: What happens when religious hysteria and government corruption go to the extreme: or Why church and government should stay separate from one another.

Do not do that which you would not have known.

~~ Benjamin Franklin

The Dangers of Writing the Truth

I write what I know. I've known some pretty awful men and every one of them hid behind the cover of religion. I became homeless, because as a child, I was too observant, and I had what adults considered to be an annoying habit of always telling the truth.

Just like every one else in the world, I too was raised to see the world through a window of fake happiness and rosebuds. I saw the good and ignored the bad. When people shook my hand, said hello, and asked how I was doing this fine sunny day, I smiled and said I was feeling great even when I had a pounding headache and a burning fever. It was the Mormon way. It is how Mormons are raised. Smile and pretend the world is wonderful. Ignore the pain. Think happy thoughts. Live on an imaginary cloud, pretend every thing is fine and dandy. Act like life is a bowl of peaches and cream.

Early Days of Disbelief

At the age of four I saw a creature (the white monkey-Etiole, mentioned earlier) that everyone told me was nothing but an over active imagination. Adults said it was "cute" at first, but after a few weeks, became disturbed at my insistence it was real. I had disrupted their peaches and cream view of the world, but I was unaware of this at the time. This early sighting would affect how others would see me a few years down the road.

At age 8, I was one of the witnesses at a UFO sighting. By the end of the month, I was one of only a handful, who did not later deny what had been seen. The adults denied seeing, what they had earlier claimed to see, because admitting they had seen something, disrupted their peaches and cream view of the world.

I was still too young and innocent to understand the value of saving face against the way the public sees you, so I did not deny what I had seen and was baffled as to why adults now denied what they had said only days earlier.

I started writing. I wrote about a star ship. At 8 years old I was writing things that only scientists, who had spent 20 or 30 years in college, knew. I drew up technical drawings and told people how star ships traveled. I didn't know it than, but the things I wrote and said had the adults around me terrified.

The Death of a Friend

At age 14, I walked in on a murderer who had just killed four of my friends and was in the process of dissecting my best friend while he was still alive. Though she ran, the police arrived only minutes later and she was caught and taken into custody. I lost five of my friends that day. Five friends who when I found them, were laying in small pieces, their arms and legs ripped from their bodies. I was wearing a pink sweater and blue jeans, but I was so close to the scene of the crime, that I was gleaming red, covered in blood from head to toe. I didn't change out of my blood soaked cloths for two weeks, when I finally did change out of them, it was into a long dress, and I would never wear pants again. My life became a living nightmare of police interviews and court dates. Every one wanted me to talk: police, lawyers, judges; I was the only witness who had lived.

The Man Who Spoke For God

Also at age 14, something else happened though. In 1991 my grandfather spent the summer with us, normally he lived out in Utah, and so I didn’t know what he was like before that year. I spent the entire summer that year listening to him talk about his trips to Hell, where he meet these green footless demons who tortured people. He said that he could go in and out of Heaven or Hell whenever he wanted to, because God had given him the *keys to the kingdom*. He said that Heaven was too dull and boring and that nothing "good" ever happened there, so he would visit Hell all the time instead. He said that he found the tar pit where his mother, two sisters, and wives were, and he said he liked to go there and watch the demons torturing them. (Note that one of the said wives was still very much alive at the time he was saying he was visiting her in Hell.) He said because he had the keys to the kingdom, he could move the demons around to different places, and he said that his mother, sisters, and wives were not being tortured enough so he had stationed more demons in their tar pit.

I remember my aunts and uncles (his children) sitting around him, listening to this story, and they were all “oooooh!” and “aaaahhh!” the whole time. And when he got done telling his stories of his trips to Hell, they would all marvel and start saying how he was a prophet of God and how wonderful it was that he was their father.

I was flabbergasted.

They believed every word of his story, in spite of the glaring fact that one of the dead people in Hell, was still very much alive, and in spite of the fact that he had been blind since the age of 12, and could not see a thing. I was 14 years old, and I was sitting there watching these adults and wondering how the Hell they could believe this man’s raving madness, when 10 years prior these same people had not believed that I had seen a white monkey sitting in a tree in our back yard. I couldn’t understand why they could not see that this man was a raving lunatic. Well, that’s when my trouble’s started, because I came right out and told him he was crazy and needed help. He leapt up, waving his cane around and started threatening the lives of *all who opposed* his *authority*, and I told my aunts and uncles that they were all brainwashed and stupid for not seeing how dangerous he was.

This was the same summer my best friend was murdered by the way, only the murder had not yet happened. This incident with my grandfather was in early summer, and the murder happened late summer, during Hurricane Bob.

Anyways, I told them all, that grandpa was out of his mind and they were not far behind him if they believed this load of crap he was dishing out. The whole pack of them went into gasping hysterics (apparently no one had ever dared *question his authority* before), while my grandfather turned into a shrieking screaming madman, waving his cane around and smashing stuff with it.

The next thing to happen was my grandfather stood up and "had a revelation from God". In his revelation he said that God told him I was an even greater evil than his wife had been (she being said by him, to be far more evil that Satan himself, which was why she was in the tar pit. A note here: later that same day, he went to her house to tell her that he had imprisoned her spirit in Hell) and my pit in Hell would be the biggest darkest one of all. He went on raving and ranting about how I needed repentance. All the while his children, my aunts and uncle, fell to their knees astounded by the fact that they had been "blessed" to be allowed to see one of his "holy revelations". I was standing their looking at these people and thinking, they were a bunch of freaking nuts.

A week later they all headed back to Utah as beach season was almost over, and they had only come to visit us because we lived on a beach. Hurricane Bob was crashing its way up the coast and they wanted to high tail it out of Maine before the Hurricane reached Saco Bay. Also, grandpa had had some sort of revelation about the LDS Prophet, and had to get back to Salt Lake so he could go tell the Prophet what he had done wrong. He lived in Utah, just so he could be on hand to "correct" the Mormon Prophet every few weeks, and that didn’t tip people off that he was crazy?

The Letters Begin

I was glad they had left, because I was getting so sick of their nightly ritual of: sit around grandpa and listen to him retell all his stories of his trips to Hell. I guess they had grown up doing that, and had done it for the last 60 of so years, and were still doing that every night out there in Utah, and did not know how to do anything other than follow him around and marvel at his stories. It was sick, the control he had over them, just plain sick. You could not even begin to imagine how glad I was that they had finally packed up and went back to Utah.

Well, with them gone back to Utah I thought I could breathe a sigh of relief and not have to hear from them again. I was wrong. A week later I received a letter, six sheets long and written on both sides, for a total of twelve pages. The letter was from my grandfather. He had had yet another revelation about me and my evilness. The letter raved and ranted and told me how I was evil and going to Hell. I threw it in the stove and passed it off as my grandfather was nuts.
A week later, I got another one, nearly identical to the first. Next week I got another one. I kept getting these letters, and I kept ignoring them, thinking it was just harmless ravings of a lunatic. I had no idea, how dangerous my grandfather really was, but I was about to find out.

The week after that I went to church and was pulled out of Young Women’s class by my bishop, who questioned me up one side and down the other, and than said that he had gotten a letter from a military officer, a Major in the Air Force. The letter was about me and how I was a danger to national security. What the hell? I couldn’t understand why my bishop would get such a letter, but he did show me it, and, at least I know who sent THAT letter, not my grandfather, but rather, one of his sons, one of my uncles, who is in fact a military officer, just as he was claiming in his letter. He was at that time a high security spy, who was often sent to Russia, and eventually left the Air Force to marry a Russian girl. National Security was in fact his line of work, but why he was writing to my bishop telling him that I, a 14 year old kid, was a threat to National Security, was completely beyond me. To this day, I can not understand why he said that about me. Whatever his reason, though, the things he said about me, would forever change the way the bishop viewed me, and would result in a mass hysteria among church members, a few years down the road.

Week after week, the letters from my grandfather kept coming, and now they were getting longer and crueler and meaner. Some of them used more than 20 sheets of paper double sided to equal 40 pages of his raving madness and utter lunacy! Apparently the letters were going to my bishop as well, because I was pulled out of class about every other week now, and one day I was pulled out, not by the bishop, but by the Stake President himself. As time went by, my bishop would tell me that he was now getting regular phone calls from my military uncle. Based on the written and spoken testimonies of my uncle and my grandfather, the bishop declared that it was his conclusion that I was *a highly dangerous schizophrenic, and something must be down.*

This went on for a space of nearly four years, spanning a time frame of four bishops. Over the next few months I would be pulled out of class more than a dozen times by the bishop and 3 times by the State President, and finally, by the doctors from Pine Land Center (the state mental institute). Finally, I said, enough was enough. Pine Land Center officials, storming in and dragging me out of my Sunday School Class was the last straw. I gathered up, the letters I was getting from my grandfather, and took them with me to church and showed the Stake President. He said, after seeing the letters, he realized that it was my grandfather that was the dangerous schizophrenic and not me. He apologized for what the bishop had been doing, saying that the bishop had been not only getting letters from my grandfather, but had also been getting phone calls to his house from both my grandfather and one of my uncles, and that said uncle had even come to Maine to have an in person meeting with the bishop about me! Oh my god! I didn't know about any of that, until the Stake President told me. He recommended that I have no farther contact with my grandfather and my religion crazed uncles, saying that if they wrote any more of these vile letters to me, I was to burn them unopened, and if they called me I was to hang up on them, or if they visited my I was not to answer the door. He said that after reading the letters my grandfather was writing that he felt very worried about my safety and felt that my grandfather and my uncle were extremely dangerous men.

The Stake President, however, was alone in his views. The bishop maintained that I was the problem, and he set out to finding others to help him find a way to *put an end to my madness*.

Hurricane Bob

While all of this was going on with my grandfather and my uncle and their letters and phone calls, I on the other hand still had my own life to deal with and Hurricane Bob was now bearing down on our town, being the biggest and worst hurricane to ever hit Old Orchard Beach. It was the only hurricane to result in our town being evacuated. We (my family), being farmers, did not leave when the other people did, and stayed with the animals. Hurricane Bob landed in Saco Bay and than trapped in the Gulf of Maine, hit us again and again, for more than a week. When it was over our town was in ruins. Houses were collapsed. Entire buildings had floated out to sea. Huge pine trees had been uprooted and hurtled through houses. People who had evacuated had left their pets behind, and now half starved dogs and armies of stray cats took to the streets. As for us, the flood waters had lifted the barn off its foundation and moved it 3 feet away, while a pine tree now sat on my bed. Our garden was water logged and vegetables ruined. All three bridges over our brook were gone, washed away. Our week was spent doing a lot of repairs. Repairs that in the end did not get done, because two days after Hurricane Bob left, I went out to the yard to find five of my friends ripped apart and torn to shreds. It was August 21, 1991, the day of the murder.

The Death of a Friend Goes Ignored

The only friends I had outside of church were dead. At church, when I tried to tell any one about what had happened, I was quickly made to shut up, because "Good Mormons don't talk about such things." From the bishop to the high priests to the priests and the elders right on down through the members, I was told over and over again the same thing: "These things happen, people die, we'll see them in the next life, get over it."

My best friend had just been murdered, his chest had been torn open, and his still beating heart ripped out. His legs had been cut off. His rib bones removed and tossed aside. His intestines thrown on the ground with that morning's food half digested and dripping out of it. And he was laying there still alive, pleading for his life. I had seen that happen to him. And I was being told, "These things happen. People die. Get over it."???

These things don't happen. No one should have to die like that. The adults in my life, the leaders in my church, they acted like my friend didn't matter, because he was not a Mormon. They acted like his death was normal. Like that was the way every one died. They could not face what had happened to my friends. They did not want to hear, what had happened to them. By telling them what I had seen, I was taking away their peaches and cream world view. They wanted the peaches and cream. They wanted to think of death as nice and happy. It was easier for them to ignore his death and act like it had never happened.

They were not there. They had not seen what had happened to him. There was so little left of his body that he couldn't have a funeral. They didn’t want to know how he died, but what about me? I couldn’t get that image of him out of my head. My friends' death wasn't nice, it wasn't pretty, it's wasn't some peaches and cream event that you could pass off with a pair of sunshine and rose colored glasses.

All that summer I tried to find someone, anyone to talk to, any one who would listen. I needed to talk to some one. The friend I normally would have turned to was dead, and so were the other four friends. I had no one. Not one single person. Every one wanted to pretend the murder had never happened. Every one wanted to get on with their lives. No one wanted to talk with me, because I only served as a reminder to them, that life wasn't always peaches and cream. (Of course I did not yet know about the letters and phone calls these people had been receiving from my grandfather and uncle either.)

That's when it finally hit me, why adults act the way they do. They are not really happy; they are just pretending they are. That's when I realized why they always denied the truth. That's when I realized that to be an adult, meant to never see the real world around you, to be an adult, meant to ignore the sick and the poor and to be an adult, meant to glorify the glamour and sunshine, while kicking the ugly things in life behind the couch where no one well see.

The police wanted me to talk. The judge wanted me to talk. But all they wanted was the details of the murder. All they wanted was the cold hard facts. All they wanted was a conviction. No one really cared how I felt. No one wanted me to talk about how empty my life had just become. In an instant, five friends had been ripped out of my life, leaving a gaping hole. After the last court date, I barely spoke another word for the rest of my life. I became forever known as the girl who never speaks. I gave up on talking because I realized that it did not matter what I said, because no one listened, and no one cared.

The Realization That No One Cared

People still shook my hand in church and asked how I was, but when I told them, "My best friend was murdered last week", they answered with: "Oh that's nice, I had a great week too" and walked away. I was puzzled by this. How could murder be a great week? How is it they had asked how my week was, but so expected it to be good, that they did not even listen to my answer? This bothered me, and it bothered me a lot.

After three or four Sunday's went by, I realized that these people were shaking my hand and asking how I was, out of force of habit, not out of concern. I also realized with a harsh shock, that no one listened to anything any one said when they shook hands. Those first few weeks after my friend's murder, I had told nearly 200 hand shakers the same thing: "My best friend was murdered last week" and not a single one of them heard me. Not one. They all heard what they wanted to hear, and they always walked away saying: "Oh that's nice, I had a great week too".
After that, I sat in the hall each week, and started watching and listening and I realized that this was a ritual with them. They all walked into the church and shook hands with every one else. They all asked how the other was doing. They all answered to say: "I had a great week." They all responded to say: "Oh that's nice, I had a great week too". Every single Sunday, they did the same thing. They were like clones. Robots programmed to shake hands and say the exact same thing every week. Not a one of them meant it. Not a one of them cared about the person they had asked the question too. No one meant a single word they were saying to each other. Not a one of them paid any attention to the answer the person gave them. They could not have cared less about each other.

By the end of the month, I stopped shaking hands with every one. I had decided that from now on, I would only shake hands with a person who actually stopped to listen to the answer I gave when they asked me how my week was. Because I began to refuse to shake hands with them, they labeled me as a rebel. In a few months there was no one left who bothered to ask me how my week had been. I had once again disrupted their peaches and cream view of the world, and it was easier for them to ignore me, than to bother to find out why I now refused to shake hands with any one.

The Rise of EelKat, Etiole, The Bloody Twighlight Manor

I had been writing the EelKat and Etiole stories since 1978, but the old stories were sweet, cute, and nice. The old stories were more or less science fiction, that was more non-fiction than fiction. By 1993, my writing had changed. I had stopped talking about the white monkey. I no longer tried to get people to believe in either Etiole or the VISION-D8. I spent more and more time sitting on the hood of my car, talking with Etiole and writing my Twighlight Manor stories. My five best friends had been murdered, my crazed grandfather and equally crazed uncle had caused nearly every member of my church to shun me, my bishop had tried to straight jacket me and send me to an insane asylum. In three short years, I became completely cut off from every Human I had formally spoken with.

I had changed, so drastically, that the people who had known me before barely recognized me as the person they had known. I had become "the silent one", "that strange girl who always wears costumes", "the creepy girl who writes about serial killers and bloody murders", "the freak who never talks". That was the year I took my original 1978 story "Friends Are Forever" and I rewrote it out of its peaches and cream happiness and turned it into its massive bloody glory.
Whispers of schizophrenia and Pine Land Center, now hushed through the church building, and people took to staying very far away from me. I was the only person who could walk straight through the crowed halls without a problem, because when I walked by, every one backed to the walls and ducked into classrooms. No one would speak to me. No one would look at me. No one dared get close to me. I was different. I did not conform to the Happy Mormon image they had created for all Mormons to pretend to be.

I did not put on a fake mask of sunshine before going to church. I came as I was. I was me, real, unmasked, and completely devoid of peaches and cream. They did not know how to deal with raw truth. They only knew how to wear a sunny mask and hide behind it. Because I did not hide as they did, behind a false mask, I was now labeled as crazy, and mothers were quick to whisk their children away as I walked past. I was 16 years old, one of only 8 teenagers in the Cape Elizabeth/Portland Ward. These people were adults. Men and women, 40, 50, and 60 years old, 375 of them. It was the beginning of my being shunned, and over the next few years, it would get a lot worse.

I now had a new reign on life. My rose colored glasses had been smashed. I no longer saw the world through the Mormon world view of a peaches and cream bubble of sunshine. The letters from my grandfather, the constant harassment from the bishop, the damage from the hurricane, and the murders all from one short summer in 1991, had changed me so much that by 1993, several of the "new converts" assumed that I was born that way, silent and emotionless, staring at the wall, seeing nothing, hearing no one, never speaking a word at all. They assumed I was retarded, and treated me like I was deaf, blind, and dumb. And so began my new discovery into the realms of the human mind: because of the way people viewed me, I could go in and out of any classroom in the Church building at any time and no one cared. I could sit in the corner at the Bishop's office, while he skipped class and talked with a few of the high priests, who likewise had skipped class. I quickly learned, that if you sit silent, staring blankly into space, people would do or say anything in my presence because they believed me incapable of telling anyone about anything they had done. My rose colored glasses had not only been smashed, they were about to be turned very, very black, as I would see for the first time, the true nature of these good god fearing men who lead our congregation.

The change was not just in me however, my stories changed too. I stopped writing the non-fiction science fiction stories. I now turned my focus to the history of the Twighlight Manor, a place only ever mentioned in passing prior to 1993. Inspired by the memory of my best friend’s murder, I started writing gruesome, bloody horror about serial killers and a house that ate people. I stopped calling Etiole the white monkey, referring to him as “my Captain” instead, and in the Twighlight Manor stories, Etiole took on a darker personality as I took to looking into his past and retelling stories of his days imprisoned in a circus freak show and his days as a test subject of the Nazis. That year I changed the name of my publishing house from “Books By EelKat” to “The Twighlight Manor Press” and I rewrote my 16 page 1978 version of Friends Are Forever, into it’s novel length 1993 edition.

One Bishop’s Vendetta

In 1993 the bishop did what was the worst thing he could have done: he commanded every one in the ward shun me, telling them that I was an apostate and that he was recommending me to Salt Lake for excommunication. Shunning is extraordinarily rare in the Mormon Church, and excommunication, even rarer. I was 16 years old and I now had both on my head.
By summer 1993, the bishop had doctors from Pine Land Center at the church and giving me tests and evaluations. (Mormon doctors, I noticed.) The bishop, telling them I should be straight jacketed and locked up because I was "a highly dangerous schizophrenic". Three hours later, the doctors left, saying that I was depressed over the past murder of my friend, and nothing more. They said I was not mentally ill, but that I was just lonely and needed some one to talk to. I could have told the bishop that myself. But, even with the doctor's of Pine Land saying I was not crazy, people still labeled me as crazy, and the bishop continued to reinforce that theory in members.

I stopped writing in church, and replaced it with embroidering tapestries. Once home though, my writing continued ever on ward. And though I sat in silence, I kept my eyes and ears ever open, and the members at church, continued to inspire ever more gruesome and ever bloodier stories for my Twighlight Manor.

The Rise of EelKat

In 1997, I had had it with not having any one to talk to, and so, I went to the library looking for something to do, and found they had just bought four computers and I could sign up to use the internet. I had never seen a computer before, and had no idea what the internet was. I signed up.

At the librarian’s recommendation I got two accounts that day: Yahoo and Amazon. Now I could buy books, sell books, chat on Yahoo's chat room, and send e-mails. Also on the librarian’s recommendation I did not use my real name for any of this, and instead logged in as EelKat from my books. I soon discovered that there was a whole world of people out there and that they were not all like the religion crazed freaks I had known in my own life. It was not long before I would learn that my religion crazed relatives also had e-mails and that was about to open my eyes to the world of online stalkers, flame wars, and trolls.

It all started when I received an e-mail from the same uncle who had been calling the bishop only 5 years earlier. The email was too long to read at the library and I couldn't afford the 15c a page to print it up, because it was so long. I forwarded the email to one of my aunts and asked if she could print it up on her computer and I would pick it up Sunday at church. That Sunday she arrived at church with a huge stack of paper. The email had taken 64 sheets of paper to print up. Had it been hand written instead of typed it would have taking up more than 100 sheets of paper. It was the longest letter I had ever received, and it was a doozy. My aunt told me she had read it, and that it was the perfect example of why she hasn't spoken to her brothers in years. What it said shocked and sickened her, and she said she had taken the liberty of sending him a reply as to just how she felt about what he was saying to and about me.

I sat down in church and read the mountainous letter. It went on and on and on about how I was the evilest most wicked being to ever walk the face of the earth. It went on about the history of Joseph Smith and how I should be grateful for him and his Church. It went on about things grandpa had "revealed to him", it went on about how I was now 17 years old, and I was the wickedest female in the family because I had the gall to reach the age of 16 unmarried. It went on about how I should repent and spend weeks going to the temple for reflection.

I replied to that letter, by finding every e-mail address of every one of the more than 200+ relatives and forwarding it to all of them, with my reply at the end, which was a simple one sentence: "You have a brain, use it, or lose it!"

In the days that followed I received a sum total of 2,000 emails, as a result of my saying that one sentence. The long nasty email he had sent had been intended only for me, and no one else in the family knew about his letters or my grandfather’s letters, prior to that point. (My grandfather was still weekly sending me letters at the time I had received this email in 1997, by the way.)

As a result of my one sentence reply, my uncle was now sending me emails every hour on the hour, day in and day out. I read maybe one out of every 30 or 40 of them. My grandfather's letters in the mail suddenly stopped. The last one I received was in October of 1997, a short, simple one page letter, saying that he had not been aware of the things my uncle was saying about me, because of the things he himself had said all those years ago. He said he read that 64 page email and realized it had all been his fault and he had been wrong to say the things he had said. I never received another letter from my grandfather, however, I was now receiving emails on a daily basis from not one, but three of my uncles, all of whom took to rehashing the things my grandfather had said in his letters. The ones I answered, I continued to answer saying the same thing: "You have a brain, use it, or lose it!" It would in the years to come, result in my being called a witch, when a few years later that same uncle was diagnosed with brain cancer, and several members of the family took to emailing me and demanding I "take the curse off him".

As a result of each of those e-mails I ended up writing my 900 page notebook on my thoughts on religion. I had had it with religion and religious men, telling me what I could and could not do and how I should or should not live. I was now well into my twenties, and I was sick of having my life controlled by these men who had no life, and thus had nothing better to do, than stick their noses into my life. I set out to study all the world’s religions in order to find out what each believed so that I could figure out what if anything, I believed in. I suddenly became a walking Biblical encyclopedia, and people around me started saying I must be planning to start my own religion.

EelKat The Witch

It would be another 8 years, before another event would come about, one that would result in people pointing the finger of witchcraft at me, and would forever label me as an evil witch who puts curses on people, and ultimately it would be this event which would end in my being homeless.

Apparently my relatives were still contacting my local bishop (by this time the 1993 bishop had been replaced, and both his replacement and the replacement’s replacement had since been replaced), because shortly after they took to calling me a witch, so too did members of my local church. As a result, I started going to a different ward, lead by yet a different bishop, in a different town, a whole two hours drive away; but one year later, that bishop and his congregation started quoting the words schizophrenia and witch, and I knew that my ever loving uncle had started contacting my new bishop as well. I went to a third ward, with yet another bishop and a different congregation, but the rumors started up there after just a few weeks.

Realizing that my relentless relatives were going to be contacting my bishops no matter which LDS congregation I switched to attend, I went instead to a different denomination all together, leaving the Mormon Church for the Pentecostal one instead. A few months in, the Pentecostal pastor took me aside after services and asked if I knew such and such a person. I said, "Yeah, he's my uncle. Why?" The pastor said "Well he contacted me the other day . . ." I than realized that it didn't matter where I went Mormon Church or non-Mormon Church, there was no way to get away from my religion crazed relatives who live on the other side of the country from me. It was at that point that I realized my relatives are relentless. I’ve changed churches five times, and they always found me. I've changed my email address 32 times and the emails still keep coming.

The biggest problem was that no matter where I went, no one bothered to get to know me, and with my uncle being a government official waving his credentials around, they were willing to believe him and his rank, thus no one dared to try to get to know me either.

How did I become homeless? All of these things, all of these events, set the pattern in people’s minds. They now had this mental image of who they thought I was, before they even got a chance to know me, and so, with that mental image of me already in mind, the events of 2001, resulted in a mass hysteria, an angry mob, and an onslaught of vandalism that went extreme.
For years, people “knew” I was crazy, so stayed away from me. For years, they were content to let me walk among them so long as I seemed harmless. Things got bad, when a lot of people died in a plane crash on the other side of the world, and I was blamed for it. Fearing that I was the cause of so many deaths, local church members stood up and took action.

For the 8 years this silence and ignoring me went on. The emails kept coming. But the church members were more or less peaceful. They shunned me like good dutiful Mormons, but they other than ignoring me and once in a while telling me I was crazy, were up to that point mostly harmless and stayed in the side lines. They had not actually seen me do anything crazy. They had only rumors to go on, and rumors that were coming to them from men who lived several states away from Maine. But than, something happened, which told them, that my relatives were right. I WAS a witch and a damn dangerous one at that . . . or so they believed.

The Night of The Burning Planes

August 2001, I had fallen asleep on my mother's bed, which had a sky light directly over it. I woke up screaming, my mother and my brothers could not calm me down. A Mormon priest from church was called to come over and talk to me and calm me down. When he was finally able to calm my hysterics into logical talking, I told him, that I had woken up, because I had heard a terrible sound, the loud roaring of a jet plane, like I was standing right beside it. I opened my eyes and through the sky light I saw two jet planes, blazon with fire, crashing into a big city with streets filled with yellow cars. Thousands of people were reduced to skeletons in seconds. I told him that no one would survive; some one had to stop those planes. I was shaken up by this for days. The priest, told me to get out, relax, spend some time with people, go to the Mall, take your mind off this. It was only a bad dream, nothing more, or so people were telling me.

But I was not asleep; it had not been a dream. I had been wide awake. The sound of the engines had woken me up. When I looked out the window I saw those planes as plain as day. I told every body I meet about that vision. People thinking me crazy, laughed and said it was proof that I was schizophrenic, just like every one said I was. Normally I stayed silent and did not talk, but I was talking now, and no one was listening . . . At least, not yet, they weren’t, but they were about to.

Two weeks later was September 11, 2001. Two planes took off, from the Portland Jetport, less than 15 miles from my home, and were used as bombs to crash into a sky scraper in New York. To make it all the more ironic, on the priest's advice, I went to the Maine Mall the night of September 10th. Me and my dad had to wait to go in, as a dozen or so men in turbans, were out front of the Mall arguing and we couldn't get past them to get to the doors to get into the Mall. Those men were the men flying the planes, which killed all of those people. The Maine Mall security identified them a few days after the plane crash.

Though I had spent those 2 weeks telling every one I meet about the plan crash I had seen, when the crash actually did happen, I did not find out immediately about it. So when people went all crazy on me and started saying I was the witch who had cursed the planes, and than the vandalism started up, I didn’t know why people had gone hysterical or why they had aimed their actions at me.

After the 9 - 11 attacks, people at church, became terrified to be near me at all. They had shunned me before, because the bishop had told them I was a crazy apostate, now they were accusing me of witchcraft. Several members accused me of putting curses on the planes, saying that I had made the crashes happen, by the simple power of my mind.

Every thing that people had already been saying about me went from bad to worse, after the 9 - 11 attacks, and by spring of 2002, the acts of vandalism started up, and would grow progressively worse over each passing year, until it would eventually lead to me being homeless by 2006, and my terrible year in the tent.

I guess you could say, the 9 - 11 attack was the last straw for these poor deluded, superstitious, religion crazed people. They needed some one to blame, and I had told them about the plane crash before it had happened, and since they were already blaming me for everything else wrong in their lives, they just went right on blaming me for everything. Fear, I have learned makes people do strange things, and these people were now beyond terrified.

My Avenging Angel

Before 1991, my time spent with Etiole was sporadic at best. He was always there, hanging around, but I wasn’t really spending more than a few hours a week with him. By 1993, I was spending nearly 24 hours a day at his side. The alien whom no one believed existed, was now the only friend I had. Etiole, being the highly emotional creature that he is, and the way he connects with others through their emotions, was now in a sort of high alert mood. In the dozen or so years that I had known him, he remained in the distant, not interfering, and just letting life unfold.

Before 1991, I had never really known deep and utter despair, emptiness of the soul, or extreme sadness. Now I had these emotions, along with fear and confusion as to why my grandfather and my uncle had turned on me or why they had took to saying the things they were saying about me, to members of my church. Etiole, felt everything I felt, and it had an effect on both of us. Etiole declared himself my *avenging angel* swearing to see justice done to all who caused me pain. That’s when everything changed. Things started happening which defied explanation and would send church members into utter hysteria. Etiole, was about to become my fierce and extremely violent protector, and for the first time in my life, people around me started to believe that maybe, just maybe, I had been telling the truth all those years about an alien living in my car, and the rumors that I was being protected by a fiercely vengeful poltergeist were about to start up.

In 1993, three separate fires, burned to the ground one home and two apartment buildings. Five families from my church were displaced as a result. In 1995, the bishop’s house burned to the ground and a few weeks later he broke his arms in a skiing accident. In 1997, a car accident sent one woman through the windshield. She was killed instantly when her own car drove over her. A freak tornado, swept through and tore the roof off a building. People who had called me schizophrenic, now found themselves hospitalized with brain cancer, leukemia, colon cancer, and other forms of cancer. The early days of mass hysteria, were about to begin, as people took to blaming me for every little thing that went wrong in their lives. If lost money in the stock market, it was some how my fault. If their kid got chicken pox at school, that was my fault too. Everything, it didn’t matter what it was, or how silly and absolutely insane it sounded, it was always me who “had done it to them.”

Death, disease, disaster, freak storms that came out of no where to *target* single houses, houses hit by lightening, and garish freak accidents began happening with a new one happening every week, and they all had one thing in common: every victim had been some one who had said I was crazy, schizophrenic, dangerous, or a freak. Of, course, I didn’t know this at the time. All I knew at the time, was that an awful lot of people who didn’t like me, were suddenly making a weird habit of no longer attending church. I found out about the supposed connection, when the bishop accused me of being a Witch and said I was putting curses on people. Church members were going hysterical, and blamed each new death, illness, fire, freak weather pattern, or car accident, on either myself or my demon possessed car. In spite of their claims, I can not control the weather, I can not point at someone and give them cancer, I can not send lightening to hit their houses, and I can not cause fires to start just by thinking about it. As for the car accidents, I looked up the reports to see what had actually happened, and in every case, the accident had been caused by the driver speeding and driving erratically; in other words, it had been their own fault, and not the result of me telling a demon to take control of their car, as they had claimed.

I stopped attending services when the accusations started getting too out of hand. As far as I was concerned these people were going nuts. After having this happen at three different Mormon Wards (church buildings) I started going to a local Pentecostal church instead (Arundel Christian Tabernacle). I thought the Mormons were nuts. Remember my ever loving uncle, the military man who phoned church leaders and flashed his National Security Intelligence Officer credentials at every one? Yeah, him again. I don’t know how he kept track of me and which church I was attending and when, because I was avoiding contact with him. By this time he had left the Air Force to marry a Russian girl and was now living in Florida. I was still living in Maine, never moved once. Well, it was around this time that the Pentecostal Pastor had asked me if I had known who the Atwater man was who had phoned him, and the man turned out to be my military uncle. It was just after that phone call, that the Witch hysteria started up in this church as well, and resulted in a guest Pastor being brought in from Monmouth, to help the Pastor perform and exorcism, one that was attempted without my permission or prior knowledge.

In 2001, a guest Pastor brought in from another Pentecostal church. As I was leaving the church after services on night, the guest Pastor grabbed my arm in the hallway at church, poured “consecrated oil” on my head, than clasped his hands on my head and started screaming as loud as he could, calling out to God, and asking for the “removal of Satan’s evil spirit.“ In an instant about a dozen or so of the church members had gathered around me and they too started chanting and calling out to God. Well, me, being the way I am, no one has ever touched me, not even so much as a hug, since I was 8 years old. Thirty years of absolutely zero Human physical contact, meant that when suddenly more than a dozen people were putting their hands all over me, I completely freaked out. Having never been touched at all before, I found this sudden contact to be a horrible experience, one that made me realize, I really, really, do not like the physical feeling of having anything touch my skin at all. I reacted my screaming out: “Stop touching me!“ and than I put my palms on the guest Pastor’s shoulders and pushed him away, sending him (a man about 6’4”, a good foot taller than me) tumbling to the wall. The Pastor of the Arundel Christian Tabernacle had been standing beside him, and had also been chanting to his own exorcism prayer. They both said (or rather yelled at the top of their lungs so the whole congregation could hear them) that they had angered my demon and it had attacked the guest Pastor. They started shouting about how my “demon strength” proved it, because there was, they claimed, no way a tiny woman my size could have “thrown” a man as big as the guest Pastor. Several people left the church that night, convinced that they had seen positive proof that I was possessed with an evil spirit.

The next Sunday it was announced during services, that during the week the guest Pastor’s wife had died of a heart attack and he was in the hospital of a stroke. A lot of people had seen him trying to *cast out my demon* and used his illness as proof that I was possessed. A year later, the Pastor who had stood beside him chanting an exorcism prayer, also suffered a stroke and is since wheelchair bound. The week of his stroke, three members of the church wrote me letters accusing me and my demon of having put a curse on these two men and their wives.
An added note here, for those questioning how a woman my size had the strength to throw a man his size: I am a farmer, In addition to all the other forms of heavy labor required to run a working farm that operates in a very “Amish” fashion, I daily lift 50 pound bags of grain, and carry them from our driveway to the barn, which stands a whole acre away from the driveway. I have been doing this since I was ten years old. I hand till my garden, nearly a quarter of an acre, with a shovel. When I had a horse, I cut my own hay with a scythe. I walk an average of two miles a day. In spite of my owning a car, I do not own a driver’s license and thus I walk every where, some days walking as much as 13 miles a day. The beach is 7 miles long, I walk it weekly. I live in the forest on the edge of the beach, and I hike it, almost daily. I don’t just dress, like I walked out of the 1600’s, I live like it too. I get more hard exercise in one week than the average gym member gets in one year. In spite of my small appearance, I am very, very strong, much stronger than men bigger than me. That I could push a man his size across the room, should have been no surprise to anyone.

Well, after this elaborate exorcism stunt they tried to pull off, I decided it didn’t matter which denomination I went to, my domineering uncle was always going to find me and he was always going to be calling my church leaders and inciting rumors of me being a demon possessed witch, so it didn’t matter where I went to church any more. Thus, I started attending the Mormon church again, seeing how they believed things pretty much the same as I did, seeing how I was raised Mormon.

Old Orchard Beach’s New Town Manager

The problem with going back to the Mormon church again, was that they still were of the belief that I was a witch doing the work of Satan, and that my car was possessed with either a demon or a poltergeist, which was acting as my *avenging angel*.

They thought they could finally get rid of me and my “evil car“, when one of the LDS high priests was made Old Orchard Beach's town manager. His first act was to fire every body in the town hall and replace them with members of our church. The next act of business was to change as many ordinances as possible, in an attempt to throw me off my land. Since my family has been on this land since 1657, and the town itself wasn’t founded until 1881, the "grandfather law" over ruled his new town ordinances. That did not stop the members from their constant acts of violence that followed.

I lost my house, I lost most everything I own, and I was forced to live on the streets under a tarp, because these people live in a religion crazed fantasy world of superstition. I felt like these people were from the 16th century, not the 21st century. I remain baffled over how these people let rumors, dogmas, religion, and silly superstition take such a firm hold of their minds.
And yet, now, maybe they ended up making it worse for themselves, because before I was writing fiction, based on what I knew, and now, after the years of harassment and the year of the tent, I've had enough. Thirty years of this treatment is more than any one should have to take. When they took my home away they went too far. The year of the tent, was the year I put my foot down and said, “Enough was enough, you people have taken this thing, way too far. I’m not the one who is crazy: you are!” This is America where cruel and unusual punishment is illegal, and they had no right to treat me the way they did.

The Second Round of Harassment Begins

Now, maybe you thought that the name calling and accusations classified as harassment, and in a way, I guess you are right, however, when I say that the harassment begins, I mean the physical violence and vandalism as opposed to the name calling and rumors.

There was minor, smaller bits of harassment going on, earlier, starting in July of 2002, but the more notable harassment started in 2003, with bigger little things: paint balls shot at our home and car, pictures of guns (torn out of police supply catalogs) left on our front door, water in the car's gas tank, slashed tires, rocks thrown at house windows, and other such things. They were small and (mostly) harmless and done by unknown people for unknown reasons. More than once though, the indication was that it was police officer behind it, which we found to be rather odd. We filed reports at the police station, but nothing was ever done and no one ever looked into it, which was another thing we found odd. So, where were the police, you ask? We called them, they arrived: "Did you get the license plate number?" No, it was dark. "Did you see who left the gun picture?" No it was there this morning when we got up. "Oh well, there's not much I can do than. I'll take that picture of the gun back to the station, but unless you can give us more evidence I'm afraid we can't help you." And then he drove away. Each time a different officer came to the house and each time we were told the same thing.

Strange things began happening at our church as well: people, who had been our friends for more than 20 years, suddenly took to shunning us. Home teachers stopped coming by. Visiting teachers stopped coming by. The missionaries, no longer visited us. Something was wrong. Something had happened. Something had changed. Something had changed on a massive level. Something was very wrong, but at that point, we had no idea what the church members had planned for us, we had no way of knowing, what they were about to do. We could never have imagined how far they were willing to go, to see me gone once and for all.

We would find out a few years later that the cause of these strange happenings was one man, the than new town manager of Old Orchard Beach, who was also at that time, a new member of our church (LDS Church, Saco Ward). A very wealthy out-of-state man who looked at our little town and saw us as a bunch of hicks in need of reforming, and used the fears of a few local members, to put into motion his own plans of greed. He was about to make waves that would rock our little coastal town worst than any hurricane ever had, not only with our family, but with nearly every single *poor* family on the West side of town.

On Being *Poor* In Old Orchard Beach, Maine

The harassment of our family really got going full swing, in the fall of 2005 after (*name removed*) (at the time a member of the town council), wrote an editorial to the local newspapers, saying, "Four homes on Portland Avenue were distracting from the value of other properties in the town". The council woman continued saying that something should be done about it, that these four homes "should be torn down", and the families should be forced to move out of town to make way for the new generation. Two of those four homes mentioned, as it turns out, were 144 Portland Ave and 146 Portland Ave.

At 144 Portland Avenue there lives my elderly dad Kenneth Ricker Allen, myself, and my three brothers. This of course is Old Orchard Beach's rather famous, haunted house/murder house (I'll tell you how it came to be called that, a little later on).

In 1983, my dad's mother (Helen Ricker-Allen) died and he inherited her house at 146 Portland Ave. The tiny 16 foot by 9-foot house, this never had plumbing, etc. Was turned into a shed, but even so, the town has continued to tax it as a house. Since October of 2001 (six years ago) we have been applying for a permit to repair this building, and turn it into a greenhouse so we can extend our growing season, but the town STILL has that on a waiting list.

We continued to live in the old 700 square foot 4 room house, more of a cabin than a house by the town's standards anyways. Now, people who live outside of Old Orchard always find these tiny houses a HUGE major shocker, so I guess they are not to common elsewhere. These tiny buildings are actually quite common here in Old Orchard where you have 2 choices: either you live in a $2 million mansion or you live in a cabin. Either way you have to fight off the ocean and it's constant onslaught of storms, so you really have to love the ocean to live in Old Orchard Beach, because it'll come knocking at your front door and than waltz right on in, taking the door with it.

My dad was a newspaper carrier for 21 years, our family income was under $20,000 a year, so we were never able to afford much, but than again we never noticed, because we were happy and had no need to want much anyways. Our family was living together, we had our pets with us, and we lived on our farm. That we lacked a "normal income" or a "normal lifestyle" (as the town officials now put it) had never occurred to us. No one in my family, is really considered *normal*, though, I'm the one people focus all the mental illness labels at, mostly due to my cloths.

Our family founded this town in 1657. Our land has never been out of our family. Our family for generations has always lived in these tiny houses and never sought out what we considered to be *unnecessary income*. And odd as this may sound to outsiders, this is rather a common mindset here with Old Orchard Beach natives, as the average income of the town's 12,000 year round residents is $34,000 per year. All the millionaires you see around town are not year round residents and are only here 3 months of the year, the rest of the year their mansions sit empty.

This being the overall frame of mind of many town folk, it was quite a shock to us when suddenly we were being told we were *poor* and that our family, our home, and our lack of a *normal* income was an embarrassment to the town.

Soon after we were told this, all of the 40+ two room cabins on Walnut Street were torn down. What happened to the residents is unknown, all we know is that overnight nearly 50 families, living a 1/8 of a mile from our home, and left town. Apparently they were told the same thing. Today a condominium stands where their houses once stood. I wonder if the people living in that condo know they are the cause of several families going homeless. I wonder if, if they did know about it, if they would even care.

Than in spring of 2006, there came the letters from the town. One after another after another after another. Demands to "remove the junk and debris" or else.

As it turns out, what they were calling junk and debris was as follows:

Our car, which though they consider it "junk" still runs in spite of what it looks like, and we use it daily.
Our fire wood (we have a wood stove for heat, because we can't afford anything else.)
My dad's tools (he was a car mechanic in the 1970's, and still works on his own car and cars of relatives)
Our brooder (used for raising baby chickens each spring)
My dad's antique cast iron wood stove collection
Our garden (bean poles, pea fences, etc. they say we can't have a garden any more either)
Our washing machine (a 1947 wringer, which we use weekly)
Our farming equipment (tiller, ATV, etc. all used on a regular basis)

In other words, what they are calling "trash", "junk", and "debris" are actually things we use every day, things we need in order to survive: without them we can not garden, if we can not garden we can not eat, because we can not afford to buy enough food to eat more than one meal a day per person, without the garden we well starve to death, without the farm equipment we can not garden, they are trying to kill us; this is not a figure of speech, as you shall soon understand.

My dad explained to the town that this stuff is not junk but our livelihood. The town responded by attaching a lean/fine on our property, for "refusal to comply with orders". I'm not sure how much the amount is unto today, but it was much more than we could afford than, and more so now.

My dad made an attempt to move the items so that they could not be seen from the road, in an attempt to comply with the town's orders, hoping that if the items could not be seen from the road, that it would stop the harassment by the town, this was the biggest mistake he could have made, because as a result, a few days later on May 9, 2006, he went into a coma.

The Day of The Flood

May 9, 2006 started like any other day. I woke up and went out to feed the chickens, work in the garden, and than help my dad move items out of view of the street. My dad had not yet gotten up. I had been in the yard barely 20 minutes when my brother came running across the yard in a panic; something was wrong, I could see it on his face, and I ran to meet him; he told me that something was wrong with daddy; daddy had woken up and torn the wood stove out of the wall tearing with it all of the water pipes; and now the house was under water, while daddy was throwing everything from the toilet to the tables to shelves to files all over the house. By the time I arrived in the house there was 8 inches of water on the floor, and nothing left of anything; everything in the house was totally destroyed, there was not only nothing left on shelves, there were no longer any shelves. It looked like a tornado had gone through the house.

The house was barely recognizable.

My smaller brothers had run into the bedroom to hide, terrified at the event that was unfolding, while daddy was now in an attempt at tearing out the windows. When I asked him what he was doing, he did not recognize me, he could not hear me, he could not see me, it was like he had turned into a blind man and was tearing at the walls in an attempt to see, and I rushed to the neighbor who called an ambulance.

The Police Raid

The ambulance arrived, and talk of nervous breakdown and meningitis, were scatted around the conversations, the emergency team was in attempt of asking me what happened, when I was pulled away by a police officer named (*name removed*), who proceeded to interrogate me about the condition of our house.

The wood stove was laying in pieces in the center of the dinning room, and this was his main focus.

He repeated the same question again and again: "How long has this been laying here?" he demanded. I told him, it had just happened; he accused me of lying, and repeated the question. Over and over again, and I kept explaining to him, that daddy had just done this, which was why we had called 911.

Than he turned his questions to the piles of paper and mail that scattered the house, "What's all this clutter?" he yelled.

Again I explained that this had just happened, that it was stuff that had been on the shelves and table, but as before, he accused me of lying and repeated the question again and again, his voice growing more heated and temperamental each time.

Than in a menacing voice he turned on my three brothers "Why aren't these children in school?" I explained that we home schooled, and we had approval from the town's superintendent. Next he railed me out about how children can't live in "clutter and filth" like this; again I explained that this "clutter and filth" as he called it, had just happened moments ago, and it was because this had happened that we had called for his help. He responded by calling the Department of Human Services to take my brothers away, and than calling the town code enforcement officer to condemn the house on grounds of "clutter and filth".

While all this was happening the ambulance had taken my dad away, to where they had taken him I did not know, because (*name removed*) had not given me a chance to even know what had happened to my dad. More police, this time with cameras, stormed into the house, none of them would tell me what they were doing, why they were there, or what had happened to my dad.

In the mean time my mom and her husband arrived, and my brothers and me packed what few things we could find that had survived the flood, to move in with her while we figured out what to do next.

We tried to pack what little we could find that hadn't been destroyed by the flood, and do it around police officers who were in the process of destroying everything that was not flood damaged, and seemed to be going through everything in the house for no reason at all, and who refused to talk to me or even acknowledge that I was there. To see these police officers tearing the house apart like this shocked me more than anything else that had happened that day.
Luckily the hospital called us during this time and told us where my dad was, but they would not discuss his condition over the phone. We tried to leave to head to the hospital only to find that we were not allowed to leave the house, as apparently we were under *house arrest* until after the police finished their so called search.

It was four hours before the police would let us leave to find out what happened to my dad. A friend, who had witnessed the last few minutes of the police searching the house with their cameras, said that he thought it looked like a drug raid, and he suggested that we get copies of the police report to find out why they were going through the house like that. Months later, I told my dad this after he came out of the hospital and he went to the police station to get copies of the report, but they refused to give them to him without a court order, so we have been unable to obtain any info as to why the police were going through everything like that.

Growing up watching Sesame Street I was taught that the police were your friends. Boy was I wrong. This was my first dealing with police, and it well be my last. It was a lesson well learned. We called the police for help and they turned on us like rabid wolves. I well never call 911 again.

The Stress Induced Coma

Once at the hospital I was told that what we had just witnessed was a diabetic seizure, brought on by extreme amounts of stress. The doctor asked if my dad had any recent stress; yes, he had, with the town harassing him the past couple of weeks, and than the police harassing him even during a medical emergency, nearly hindering the emergency teams ability to get him to the hospital, I'd say he was under quite a bit of stress.

Dr. Greene than explained that it was luckily he had gotten to the hospital when he did "another 20 minutes and he'd have been dead" is what he said. I shudder to think that the town police and their obsession with throwing us off our land nearly resulted in my dad's death.
Dr. Greene went on to explain that my dad was now in a diabetic coma on full life support. Wither or not he would live was not yet known.

As days, turned to weeks, my dad remained in a coma, his system getting weaker by the minute, at one point his kidneys failed him and he had to be rushed in for dialysis.
My dad remained in Southern Maine Medical Center in a diabetic coma on full life support for 21 days. In mid-June they moved him, wheelchair bound, from SMMC to New England Rehab Center in Portland.

A House Condemned

While my dad was in the coma still, a police officer arrived to say that the house had been condemned and I had to move out. (Though I did note that he was unable to provide any papers to prove this claim.)

On June 29, 2006, my dad came home, unable to walk on his own, and saw for the first time what had become of our house. Just three days after my dad went into the hospital our electricity was shut off. The town *claims* they had nothing to do with it when I asked them.
Without electricity, there was no light, and thus no way to see to clean the mess from the flood, and so, it remained just as it had been left on that day in May.

My dad was now severely disabled, only able to walk a few feet at a time and unable to lift anything. The stress caused by the town's harassment had left him with a weak heart and failing kidneys, but the harassment had only just begun, for almost as soon as he was out of the hospital, the town once again began its relentless pursuit to remove us from our land.
Land that for us means our heritage, our history, our legacy, and has been in our family since 1657, but land that for the town, means nothing but dollar signs and profit margins. And developers suddenly were wandering about our yard with town counsel men and talking about such things as uprooting trees and leveling the rockery.

Due to the months of the house sitting filled with water, we could not go back in to live in it. Our little haunted house, had finally, seen fit to destroy itself. Having no family or relatives willing to help us, we were forced to camp out in the yard. We signed up for various shelter foundations and were put on their waiting lists. At HUD we were informed that we were #600 on the list.
Problems had gotten worse than I had known, for my dad was now disabled and could not go to work, thus I started my long and fruitless search for a job. During his hospitalization, no bills had been paid; there has been no money since May of 2006.

To build it, I took 12 wooden shipping pallets to make the side wall. Laid an 8x8 tarp over that, and held down the ends with cinder block. It was more of a lean to than a tent, but it sounded better to call it a tent, so that's what I called it, even though it wasn't actually a tent. It was built with the idea that I would stay there for one or two nights. It would end up being my home the entire summer, the following fall, and than straight on through the worst cold front to hit Maine since 1927. By February, my tent looked like an igloo, buried under four feet of snow, with more snow shoveled and packed around it, to hold the heat in.

The Men with Clipboards

An odd thing started happening, while I was living in the tent. A police officer showed up one day, with some men. He explained to us, that the men were hired by the town to remove every thing in our yard. (Though I did note that, once again, they were unable to provide any papers to prove this claim.) I was cooking supper for me and my dog and my cats at the time they arrived. Supper that day, as it had been since moving into the tent, was boiled Bisquick cooked over a fire pit dug next to the tent. It was just after 2 o’clock, because (it gets dark by 3:30 in the fall) it was getting dark, and I had to be in bed before dark, because I had no flashlight either and getting in and out of the tent after dark was not easy. Since nightfall was upon us, I couldn’t waste time with them, and went back to cooking. The police officer (who had been checking in on us almost daily, and whom seemed to be the only person in the world trying to help us, during this whole ordeal), lead the men around the yard, as they asked where every thing was.

I walked and listened and was stunned by their line of conversation. First they looked at the house and made notes about taking it down. Than they went to the shed, and did the same thing. This puzzled me greatly, as I could understand if they had condemned the house they’d tear it down, but what was wrong with the shed? They studied the wood pile for a while, and determined it at to go as well. Next they came over to the tent, called in an eye-sore and said that would be the first thing they would take out of here. Really? I happened to be living in that eye-sore, I told them as they kept on going. Than they moved on to the trees. What, the trees? Now I stopped eating and paid closer attention to what they were saying. They determined that all of the 150 - 300 year old ancient great white pines in our yard had to go, as would all the oaks and maples too, because they were just all in the way. Than they got down on the ground and started pocking the dirt around. When they stood up, they comments on how there was too much ledge and they were going to have to just level everything in order to flatten the ground out. Than they thanked the officer for showing them around and left.

We would later find out that the harassment of our family was not an isolated incident, as over the next few months we would learn than more than a dozen other families on our block were undergoing similar treatment from the town counsel, as plans were heading underway to level the entire area to make way for a building complex. Our 300 year old farm was standing in the middle of some very big plans, and one man: (*name removed*) (the town manager) was going to stop at nothing to get us off our land. In the end he lost very badly, as an investigation was started and it was learned that this was not the first town he had done this too, and in fact his doing such things was the reason he was literally run out of his last two town manger jobs out West. In the spring of 2008, Old Orchard Beach fired him, and in 6 months since than he has lost a fourth and than a fifth town manager job else where’s. I got to wonder, with this man's record how he keeps getting town manager jobs! Most of the men and women involved have since been fired (oddly every one of them turned out to be a member of our church!) Other members of the council were still under investigation last I knew.

The Fire

In the midst of everything else that was going on, we still had 2 dogs and 9 cats now just as homeless as we were. For the time being, they continued to live in my room in the house, as it was the only room to not get flooded. During the weeks that followed the flood, my massive wall of comic books was moved to a friend’s house, and normal operations of The Pidgie Fund were put on a complete halt as we no longer had a way to take in feral cats.

The *tent* was in the yard some 50 feet from the house, and it was on October 21, 2006 that I woke up around midnight to hear the shrill scream of a smoke alarm. I stepped out of the tent to see the whole back half of our crippled house engulfed in flames. Only one section of the house was on fire: my room. My cats and my dogs were now trapped in a towering blaze with no way out, as the fire had cut off the only door into that room.

My dad was asleep in the car, I woke him up, I have no idea what I said to him, and than I ran straight into the fire, setting my own cloths and my super long hair ablaze with everything else.
With one dog carried out, I grabbed the garden hose and ran back in. Chasing out terrified cats who were now running deep into the forest behind our land. Two cats remained unfound and one dog remained trapped on the porch where he had run too to escape the flames, by the time the long line of fire trucks drove up our lawn.

The chief dragged a very hysterical me, back out of the building, while other fireman set out to chopping the wall off the back of the house so they could get inside to find my little Cocker Spaniel, Buddy. A few minutes later a very happy fireman came out carrying my Buddy who was attempting to chew off the fireman's arm. For the next several days that fireman (a young volunteer maybe 19 or 20 years old) could be seen around town telling everyone he met: "I saved the dog!"

What saved the two cats (Herbie and Mittens) was that they had gone into the other room, and hidden under the water logged bed in there (still water logged from the flood months earlier). The fire had not spread to the rest of the house because the rest of the house was still dripping water from the flood.

The next day was spent in search of missing cats. I started out with 9 cats the day of the fire, I came home with 12. And now we all lived in the tent: me, my dogs, and my cats in a space 6 feet deep by 5 feet wide and 4 feet tall.

We were later told by firemen that the fire had started, because someone had taken our deep fryer out from under the sink, put in on the stove, filled it with oil and fly tapes, and than turned on to high, and left it. The fly tapes reacted to the over heated oil and exploded, thus taking out the back of our house and starting the fire.

On Being Homeless in Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

My family was homeless from May 2006 - February 2007, after first a flood and than a fire destroyed our home. The flood left my dad in a coma, resulting in over a million dollars in medical bills. My dad was the only person in the family with a job (our religion does not allow women to work), so we suddenly had no income. We lost our house, our cloths, everything. All we had left was what we were wearing when it happened and I was in the building when is burned, both my cloths and my hair were pretty much cinders.

We turned to family for help, who due to religious convictions (they too were LDS/Mormons, like us) said that "god was punishing us" and they than refused to help us because they "would not get in the way of god's plan"; they continued by saying that "god intended man to be self-sufficient", meaning that we had to help ourselves. Our friends (from the same religion, btw) said the same. We went to the bishop for help, and were given this same answer yet again.
In the end, we stuck out Maine's 2006 record breaking sub-zero winter, (coldest winter on record since 1927 we were told) by living for 8 months in a "tent" we built out of a tarp and some cinder blocks. We kept warm during the day by staying in the Maine Mall from 9 AM to 10PM. We ate about 4 meals per week at the Salvation Army (they don't serve food every day). The rest of the days were spent in search of wood, leaves, and paper that we could burn at night to keep warm.

Thankfully, 2 months in, I was able to get a job at the Maine Mall, and was able to afford to buy enough food so we could eat every day again. Not having food to eat every day is terrible and you notice just how much you eat, real quickly when you have no food at all.

Our time was spent mostly trying to find scraps of food to eat and anything we could burn to keep warm. I always hear people complaining that homeless people are just out looking for money, but you know what? Money is the LAST thing on your mind when you are homeless. Never once did we "panhandle" or "beg for money". Believe me, when you are starving and cold, money is the farthest thing from your mind. I know. All of your time is spent worrying how many days (not hours, but days) it'll be before your next meal, or worrying that the snow will collapse your tent while you are asleep and you'll die before sunrise.
Being homeless is very, very scary, you worry about not living to see tomorrow more than anything else.

You learn to pick trash cans for food, and to pick up bottles and cans to turn in for money to buy food.

Also, you have to deal with a lot of stuck up snobby people throwing things at you (rocks and tin cans mostly), tearing your tent apart while you are away so that you have to keep rebuilding it, and wild animals attacking you at night. (Fishers, martens, bobcat, and bear, in our case . . . my cat, Utopia, who lived in the tent with us was badly scarred by a marten. He's lucky to be alive at all.)

Also, you lose lots of weight (I lost 30 lbs, which was a good thing in a way) and you get used to walking miles and miles a day.

You learn that asking to take a shower at a friends house is taboo, and so must go month after month without washing... best you can do is to wash your face in the restroom of a store, but don't keep going to the same store or they'll call the police on you. Thankfully we have a brook on our land, and that helped with keeping my hands, face, and feet clean, at least. Though using brook water to brush me teeth caused huge dental problems, including losing teeth, resulting in 2 root cannels, and 5 months of deep cleaning dental treatments, so I don’t recommend using or drinking brook water in the future, of course when you don’t have a choice, you just don’t have a choice.

You also learn that not taking a shower well cause people to tease you, throw things at you, and go around saying very bad things about you to every one, so that every one who sees you now hates you before they've met you.

You well feel unloved, unwanted, hated, and become deeply depressed. There well be nights when you lay awake staring at the blackness of the tarp above you and wishing tonight's snowstorm will collapse it on you and smother you in your sleep so that you won't have to wake up and suffer another day in this world where humans you once called family and friend are now your worst enemies and hate you, simply because you no longer have a house to live in.
Being homeless was shear hell, I hated it. That was the worst year of my life, but thing that was worse was not the being homeless itself, as much as seeing your friends and family for the first time as who they really are. Believe me, you REALLY find out who your true friends are when you become homeless. We found out that with our friends and relatives, religion and keeping up appearances was more important than your friends. They pretended not to know us. Having no one to talk to during this ordeal was the hardest thing of all.

The Human Services Steps In

The town counsel stuck their foots deep down their throats when they called the Department of Human Services, because this lens that you are reading right now is a copy of the letter I gave the human service officer who showed up asking why I was living in a tent. After finding out what happened, she went into a rage and stormed down to the town hall.

I don't know what went on between her and them, but she came back the next day with many less than nice things to say about the way she was treated by the town manager. She declared that the town manager and his counsel should be brought under investigation, and a few months later they were.

She also contact HUD and asked why we had been put so low on the waiting list, when she had seen people who already had a place to live being helped. HUD responded that they had not believed our story, because they get *freeloaders* with wild stories coming in all the time, and our story topped them all, so they didn't believe a word of it, and since they never sent anyone to our land to see the remains of the house or the tent in which we now lived (under 4 feet of snow, it looked more like an igloo). HUD was stunned and shocked when they found out that our story was true and the very next day we were in an apartment.

As it turns out, the town manager was the one man behind all of it, and his goal was to get *the poor families* out of town to make way for *the new generation of families*.

Odd, while he and the folks who helped him have now been run out of town from, the families he sought to run out of town are still here.

And people wonder why Mainers don't like non Mainer's moving into the state? Well, we like the way we live. We don't care about money. We are perfectly happy to live in cabins on the coast, and we don't like being told how to live our lives by some rich out of state do gooder who looks at our land and sees nothing but dollar signs!

This Is Old Orchard!

We tried repeatedly to confront the Town Manager in person and find out why he was hell bent on getting us off our land, but we could never get past his to counselors (*name removed*) and (*name removed*) .

We asked (*name removed*) why he was doing this to us, he said: "This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."

To this day that is the only answer we have ever been given as to why these things were done to us.

"This is Old Orchard; you have to change your lifestyle."

We know this is Old Orchard! Unlike outsiders like him, our family has been here on this land since 1657. My dad's family built this town. Thomas Rodgers was the founder of the town for crying out loud! Our family (Rodgers, Googins, Ricker’s, and Allen’s) have been the backbone of every thing in this town since before Maine even joined the union, back when our town was still part of Canada!

Of course we know its Old Orchard, we founded this damn town! Who does he think we are anyways? Maybe he better start finding out who people are around town, before he moves in and starts bullying people around! What kind of a reason is that to force a family off their land?

"This is Old Orchard; you have to change your lifestyle."

Change my lifestyle? Like hell! That is out right flagrant discrimination. You don't like the way people in our town live than why did you move into our town in the first place?

In the case of my father it' discrimination against disabled seniors. In my case, if you want to believe the bishop and his gang of thugs about me being crazy, it goes against the disabled citizen anti-discrimination of mental health patient laws. My brothers were all under 16 at the time this happened, which means discriminating against minors, and endangering the health of all of us, by forcing us to survive in a tarp-lean-to-thing, during Maine's coldest winter on record. There ought to be some kind of compensation for that.

We tried contacting Pine Tree Legal (Maine's Free Lawyers) but they did not believe us, so wouldn't help us. Actually, I think they were like every one else: Old Orchard Beach brings in half the taxes for the entire state, so no one dares fight our town, because every one is afraid bad publicity will prevent the tourists from coming to the beach, and with out the Beach's tourists, the entire state could suffer massive economic crisis. If I had the money to do, it, I'd hire the best lawyers in the country and sue the Town of Old Orchard Beach, right off the damn map. (*name removed*), (*name removed*), and (*name removed*) belong in prison for what they did to us. No amount of money could pay for the pain and suffering they caused us. May God cast them in hell and make them live for all eternity as they made us live.
Well, look at that, I said it in just 15,000 words, that's short for me.

Q. I would like to interrupt you here, and ask you to add a bit of a footnote to explain a few things to our readers. In the interview, you are using the actual names of the persons involved, but when this goes to publication names will be removed. This will, I believe cause a bit of confusion in some parts, especially concerning the LDS Bishops. There was more than one Bishop involved here. Several LDS members, have called you schizophrenic, using the claim that you must “say such things about all of your Bishops”. So I would like to ask, for the sake of our readers, that you explain a bit about the Mormon Church and how it’s Bishops are rotated. And also, how many Bishops were there over the course of this time period, and of them, how many were in fact actually involved in the events which lead to your becoming homeless? Also could you provide our readers with a bit more details about these particular Bishops, so that they understand that you were not the only person these Bishops had singled out and “attacked”?

EelKat: How many Bishops were there? Let’s see, 14, maybe 15, something like that. I’ll have to count. How many were involved in the events mentioned here? Three. I know, you are right, every member of the LDS Church who hears this story, comes to the conclusion, that since there were more than one Bishop involved, therefore I must say things like that about all of my Bishops, but fact is, there were only three Bishops involved in this: Bishop R., Bishop M., and Bishop B. Most of my Bishops I have gotten along with quite well. But how many Bishops were there in all? Let’s count them together and find out:

Bishop G.
Bishop G.
Bishop M.
Bishop S.
Bishop R.
Bishop B.
Bishop R.
Bishop M.
Bishop H.
Bishop A.
Bishop B.
Bishop A.
Bishop L.
Bishop H.

So how many was that? Fourteen different men, for a total of fourteen different Bishops. ONLY THREE of the FORTEEN bishops was involved with the harassment, keeping in mind here, that the harassment enforced by these three men, went on before, during, and after their time as Bishop, but once a Bishop always a Bishop. Thus I use their title of Bishop for to describe events both before they were made Bishop and after they were released as Bishop. So, it is important that people realize that what I was dealing with was three very bad men, who ended up becoming Bishop, and than used their rank to get their way, lost their rank as Bishop as a result of their own actions, yet, in keeping with the traditions of the Church, members continue to refer to them as Bishops even many years after they are no longer actually a Bishop. As you can see, I have had no problems, troubles or disagreements, at all, with most of my Bishops. Just the three, two of whom I was already having problems with several years prior to them being called as Bishop.

So, who did what, and when? And what happened to set these three men off? It all started with one very sick little boy, the son of one of those three Bishops. Bishop Re. is the Bishop who originally said I was schizophrenic. At 12 years old, I was still “normal”. I was still talking. I had not yet started getting the weird letters from my grandfather or uncle. Though they may have, I don’t think, my grandfather and uncle had yet started phoning the Bishops. My best friend was still alive and well. I dressed no different from any other 12 year old girl of that time. I had not yet switched from writing sci-fi to writing horror. I was still referring to Etiole as “the white monkey”. And the 1993 edition of Friends are Forever, was still more than 5 years away.

What instigated Bishop Re. to single me out, out of all the other children in the Ward, I do not know. To this day, I have yet to find a reason for his sudden attack on me. I do not know why I was singled out. Though I knew he was our Bishop, I have never personally met the man before. The only thing I knew of him, was that, his son (a year younger than me) was in my Sunday School class, and his wife was my Sunday School teacher. Thinking back about it now, I can only assume that the boy must have mentioned my name at some point, shortly before his death, and some how Bishop Re, singled me out because of this.

The boy was strange. I had never seen any one look like this boy before. He was white as snow, very frail, could hardly walk, had great difficulty speaking, was extremely underweight, and had not a hair on him: no hair on his head, no eyelashes, no eye brows. He was accused of being a freak, by most of the Primary students. Not many children would go near the strange looking boy. I was one of the few who did. I was 12 years old, so I had no idea why the Re. boy looked as he did; all I knew was that he looked worse each week, and after a while he started coming to church less and less frequently.

Bishop Re. around this time, started acting very weird. He had frequent outbursts during Sacrament Meeting, he began running up to people in the halls and yelling at them, for no reason what so ever. Thinking back, all these years later, I believe the man may have had a nervous breakdown. This bizarre man, was the one who got the wheels turning, which would eventually result in my becoming homeless, though. Bishop Re. is the one who said people should shun me. He was the one who talked about Pine Land Center and schizophrenia.
Bishop Re. had gone completely off the wall. His frequent public temper tantrums and outbursts of screaming and yelling at people in Church, made a lot of people pretty scared of him. Soon after he started doing these weird things, Mo., a new convert to the church was assigned as his First Counselor. First Counselor Mo. became Bishop Re’s constant shadow. Where one went, they both went. For this very short period of time, they were never seen apart. Never before and never since, did I ever see a Bishop shadowed by his counselor like this. As Bishop Re’s actions became more manic and hysterical, First Counselor Mo. took to speaking for the Bishop. This whole thing went on for about three months, and than, things got really crazy.

Shortly after Bishop Re. started doing these things, his strange pale, 11 year old son died, and Bishop Re. stormed into my Young Women’s class the next Sunday to accuse me of being: “possessed by a demon” and having “put a curse on my son” and said I was “using Witchcraft”. I was 12 years old, his son had been a friend of mine, from my Sunday School class. I was one of only three out of more than 50 children, who had ever spent any time with his son. I had no idea yet, that the boy had died. (I found out a few weeks after this, that the boy had died of Leukemia, during a bone marrow transplant, and that his cancer treatments had been the cause of his strange appearance).

This outburst in my Young Women’s Beehive Class, was just the beginning though, and it would become the first of many times, I would be taken out of Young Women’s class to be lectured either in the hall way or in the Bishop’s office. A few weeks later, Bishop Re. pulled me out of Sunday School class yet again. This time to have a private meeting between himself and his First Counselor Mo. The meeting lasted well over an hour, and consisted of me sitting there listening while these two men lectured me on the evils of “giving in to the forces of evil“. That day was the first time I was told I was “the child of Satan”. They said they felt I had a demon, which needed casting out. I told them they were both raving lunatics. They went into a rage. This was also the first time I ever heard of Pine Land Center and schizophrenia. I had no idea what Pine Land Center was, and the word schizophrenia was nothing but a bunch of gibberish to me. I went home that day, and set out to find out what both things were.

About a week after that weird private meeting, Bishop Re. was gone. Apparently, I was not the only one whom he had accused of being demon possessed and practicing Witchcraft, nor was I the only person whom he had accused of being responsible for his son’s death. I don’t know who else he did this too, or how many people he had been attacking like this, but I did know that a lot of people, adults, had gone to the Stake President, complaining about the things Bishop Re, was doing and saying to and about them. The Stake President had received so many similar complaints from so many people, that he put in a request to Salt Lake Headquarters, to release Bishop Re., due to questionable activities, and mental stress. It was the Stake President’s opinion that Bishop Re. had suffered from a mental breakdown and was now a danger to the congregation. After being released from the bishopric, he denounced the Church, denounced God, and was never seen or heard from around here again. I have no idea what ever became of this mad raving Bishop. However, his accusations against me, had been not from him alone. First Counselor Mo, had agreed with Bishop Re’s every word, and interpreted Bishop Re’s hysterical ravings as being authentic revelations from God Himself. Mo, was almost as crazy as Re was, and it would be Mo who would enforce Re’s hysterical ravings in the years to come.

The next few years, went by without incident. Two more Bishops came and went, one being a man who was a good friend of our family’s. Than came the day, when things at church suddenly got turned up side down. We went to church one Sunday to find, that for the moment we had no Bishop. The Bishop Ri, had suddenly, and without warning, packed up his family and moved. Many rumors were flying around as to what exactly had happened, but after things settled down we would find out that his company had gone bankrupt, and he had lost everything: his business, his house, his land, his cars. Overnight he had gone from one of the wealthiest men in the area to one of the poorest, and he had no choice but to move his family to live in a smaller less expensive home. In the mega wealthy Cape Elizabeth Ward, that meant he must have committed some vile crime, and God was punishing him (this was always the answer given for every member in the Cape Elizabeth Ward who had a yearly income of anything less than $60,000 per year.) Among the members, there was what I found to be an alarming lack of sympathy for this man and his family. In the Cape Elizabeth Ward, most men were doctors, psychiatrists, lawyers, business owners, bankers, and accountants; less than 2% of the members had an income under $200k per year. Most of these men attributed their wealth to “being blessed by God”, and whenever one of them lost that wealth, it was believed it was due to “God’s judgment.“ Bishop Ri, had been a well like and highly respected Bishop, but he also had an income that topped the millions, and sadly, I would come to realize that people had only thought well of him, while he had the statue of the wealthiest man in the Ward. Without his millions, members suddenly treated him very, very differently. This fact, astounded me. Most of the adult members now stood around in the halls, between classes, gossiping about how he had “gotten what he deserved”. I was 15 years old, and I was completely disgusted with these adults and the way they were now turning their backs on a man who only days before they supposedly had loved and admired.

This whole thing however, left our congregation without a leader, and it would take many weeks for Salt Lake Headquarters to get around to finding a replacement, so while we waited to hear back from Salt Lake about who the next Bishop would be (which would end up taking 4 years for them to respond), First Counselor Mo. (who was still First Counselor at this point) took over as our temporary Bishop, and he picked up, where Bishop Re had left off, bringing with him a reign of terror that far outweighed that ruled by Bishop Re.

Bishop Mo. took his role as our temporary Bishop very, very, VERY seriously. Within the first 4 months of his time as Bishop, several families became inactive, bluntly refusing to attend a Ward “lead by a tyrant”, as many members now called this man. Several members said that he had “taken over for Bishop Re.” and was “just as crazy as Re. had been”. In the few short years he was Bishop, Mo gained a reputation of being a “closed minded, hard fisted bully”.

To make things a little bit weirder, we next found ourselves without a Stake President, thus there was no higher authority over the Bishop, and no one for the Bishop to answer to; so for a short while, Bishop Mo. had the free reign to get away with anything he pleased, and there was no one members could turn to for help. The Stake President had suffered a serve illness and was hospitalized for quite some time. It was a few months before Salt Lake Headquarters found a replacement for him, and during those few months without a Stake President, Bishop Mo. raised hell in the Ward.

By the time we did have a new Stake President, more than 40 families had left the church, none of whom would ever return. Why did they leave? Because of how he was treating them. And how exactly was he treating them? This things this man did were frightening and in some cases illegal. You wat to know just how bad things got? I’ll tell you, what happened to me, was nothing compared to the things he had done to others: one woman in particular stands out though, because what he did to her, resulted in nearly a dozen families leaving the Church, based on their skin color. This man, Bishop Mo, was a white supremacist, and a bad one at that. He was only one step away from being a Klan member, and some members suspected that maybe he was in fact part of the K.K.K. What caused people to think this about him? It all started with one woman:

One woman, was seen, coming out of Bishop Mo.’s office in tears. I knew this woman personally, she was a friends of mine, her teenaged daughter and preteen son where in a few of my classes at Church. I often strayed after the church to talk with her and help her with her very sick baby. Why she had been in Bishop Mo’s office I do not know. But I did know that her 3 year old baby had just died after suffering a illness it had had since birth. I knew her husband had divorced her a few weeks prior to the baby’s death, and was about to marry another woman. I knew that due to the baby’s hospitalization, she now owed several million dollars in medical bills. I also knew that her car had been repossessed that week and her home had been foreclosed a month or so earlier. I knew because she had just told me so, that morning, that she and her two kids had spent the last two weeks living in a homeless shelter.

What happened inside Bishop Mo’s office, I do not know, but what happened in the hall, shocked every one who saw this horrifying event. The woman burst out of the Bishop’s office in tears. She was hysterical. Bishop Mo. came storming out behind her, yelling at her, saying: “God is punishing you. Who am I to ease His punishments? Your suffering is well deserved, you filthy black niger!“ He railed on about how no non-whites would ever be allowed in the Celestial Kingdom (heaven), (quoting Brigham Young, who had been a pro-white activist). He called her a daughter of Cain. Bishop Mo. continued by saying that the things that had happened to her, had happened because God did not want “evil nigers” in his Church. Yes, as you can guess, this woman was an African American. This was 1993, only a few weeks prior to the release of my 1993 edition of Friends Are Forever, the book that would really set a fire under Bishop Mo and turn his attacks towards me. Bishop Mo’s words stunned and shocked everyone who heard him say these things to this poor woman. This tragic event was witnessed by more than a dozen members, myself included. Several of the black families in our Ward left the Church as a result of Bishop Mo’s outburst.

About two months later, that black woman would be me, only in my case, Bishop Mo., would be railing on about how it was my Indian blood (I’m part Kickapoo and part Cherokee, which explains my dark eyes and long black hair.) I can only imagine that what he had said to the black woman, behind the closed door of his office was very similar to what he had said to me, which was this: Indians are evil, because Indians are the children of the Lamanites. (The story of Laman in the Book of Mormon mirrors the story of Cain in the Bible; it‘s a superstitious “how story“ that tells why people of different skin colors exist and how God changed the color of their skin to mark them as evil.) By Bishop Mo’s logic, I was an Indian, therefore I was evil. He than did something odd: he repeated everything that Bishop Re had said to me four years earlier: he told me I was a “child of Satan”, I had schizophrenia, and than informed me that I should be locked up in Pine Land Center. I left Bishop Mo’s office without saying a word. To this day, I have barely spoken a word since.

Bishop Mo. was hell bent on cleaning up the Church, and in his mind that meant driving all non-whites out of the church. Bishop Mo, was the Bishop who later that same year would call Pine Land Center and try to have me taken away in a straight jacket. Bishop Mo, was also the Bishop whom had a meeting with one of my uncles, and was the second Bishop to receive phone calls and letters from both my grandfather and my uncle. (Bishop Ri was the first; Bishop Ri had advised I not answer these letters and refuse to have contact with both my grandfather and my uncle).

Bishop Mo. remained our heavy handed Bishop for the next four years. In those next four years, we would learn that this man, was not only a bigot, but he was a wife beater as well. Bishop Mo, left the Bishopric, when he moved out of state, due to his house having been hit by lightening and being burned to the ground. He came to church after the fire to accuse me and my demon possessed car of having used Witchcraft to put a curse on him. He said that I had told Etiole to send the lightening to hit his house. Bishop Mo, was the man responsible for starting the terror craze against my car, as well as the one who started the original accusations that I was a Witch. A week after this outburst in church he broke both arms in a skiing accident, and it would be this event that would cause most every member of the Ward to chime in with Bishop Mo and also accuse me of being a Witch with a demon possessed car. The next week, claiming he had to get as far away from me and my curses as possible, Bishop Mo resigned as Bishop, packed up his family and moved out West. His dread fear of me, caused others to also fear me.

As crazy and superstition controlled as Bishop Mo was, it was Bishop Mo’s First Counselor By, who was probably the worst man I have ever encountered. By’s wife was the most battered, black eyed, broken limbed woman I have ever known. The excuses were monumental: every month she had a different bone broken, every time it was accredited to her clumsiness. Bishop Mo, overlooked this poor woman’s fate, because he treated his own wife not all to very differently. First Counselor By’s son, btw did in fact leave the Church the join the K.K.K., which indicated that By was as much of a white supremacist as Mo was.

First Counselor By, often bragged that he was an atheist. He regaled in telling people that there was no after life, no heaven, no hell, no Celestial Kingdom, when you die, that it is it, the end, or so he often said. I knew this man better than most, men in our Ward, him being our next door neighbor and all, meant that I saw him almost daily. A few Bishops after the reign of Bishop Mo, First Counselor By, became Bishop By. While Bishop, he boldly announced to his congregation that he knew God had not chosen him to be Bishop, because there was no God. This Bishop, than went on a vendetta which he claimed would improve the Church, saying that was “the duty of all members in good standing“ to help him in his endeavor to see to it that “all members of the Atwater family must be driven out of the Church”. (I being one of the off shoot members of the Atwater family, was the reason, I was on his list of people to “drive out of the church” as he so often put it. It was this Bishop who would call on the help of a new convert, who would later become Old Orchard Beach’s new Town Manager, and the men who in the end was the one to cause me to become homeless.

So how do people justify themselves in saying that I am an accuser of all Bishops, I do not know. But yes, you are right, people do say that about me. There were 14 Bishops, and of those three of them were involved in this: one a raving lunatic, one a bigoted control freak, and one an atheist wife beater. Three men, friends of each other, who had a lot of things to hide, and did some very bad things to an awful lot of people (not just to me) as a result of their desire to cover their own tracks.

Is that me, accusing all Bishops? No! And I was not their only accuser, keep that in mind too. There were a lot of people complaining about these three men, a few of whom, claimed to have gone so far as to write letters of complaint to the Prophet himself. Most of these accusers have since left the Church, a few were excommunicated; like me, none were believed or listened too; unlike me, they eventually gave up. Anyone who knows about the Proctor and Gamble boycott, knows I don’t care how big or important or all powerful some one is, they are not going to convince me to give up or give in. These three men thought that trying to discredit me, say I was schizophrenic, and force me out on the streets would make me stop telling people what they did, but you know what? It only gave me more to say, and an even greater desire to tell the world what they did.

Why so many Bishops? Why were there so many Bishops in the space of 30 odd years?
Ah, well, that’s easy to explain. the Mormon Church is not like other churches, Mormon Bishops are not Bishops for life. The Church rotates Bishops, so that about half of the male members of each Ward, eventually get a turn as Bishop. Just regular members, not any special leaders or any one trained for the job.

It confuses non-Mormons who are used to thinking of a Bishop as this old guy in robes who has devoted his life to the church. In actuality, they just grab any male member at random and say: “Guess what, you’re the next Bishop, God just told me to pick you this time around!“ It’s actually not an uncommon thing for new converts baptized less than a year prior, to be called as Bishop. That happens a lot.

Most Bishops are Bishop for only 2 to 3 years, a few (those well liked by members, and whom have proved themselves to be strong leaders) may remain Bishop for 10 or 12 years or more, but this is rare. The most common reason for Bishops to be released from the Bishopric is stress and mental breakdown, while moving out of state is the second most common reason.

Of the many Bishops I have had (and not including the three involved in my becoming homeless) one was released on suspicion of martial infidelity, another was released after the State President received so many requests from tearful members saying that he was “too strict”, three admitted to having never read the Book of Mormon, one was made Bishop just 6 months after being baptized, and one had been Bishop three years before he found out that Joseph Smith had practiced polygamy. I question the validity of the claim, that God called any of these men to be Bishop.

In short, there were three men responsible for this series of events, three men, who due to the odd way the LDS Church, eventually ends up calling every male member to become Bishop, ended up, no surprise, eventually becoming Bishop themselves, and used their time as Bishop to do some pretty bad things.

Q. You grew up Mormon, but left the Church after being Shunned and forced out of your home by Mormons who took the shunning a bit too far. You left the Church, due to violence and vandalism against you, your family and your home at the hands of church members, not due to not believing the Churches’ teachings. Is that correct?

EelKat: I was accused of being a witch. It's the 21st century and I was accused of being a witch. They accused be of being insane, of having schizophrenia, and yet, THEY were the ones that flipped out and went on a witch hunting craze. I don't know, looks to me, like they were the ones who were crazy. I mean, it's the 21st century, not the Dark Ages. They are supposed to be intelligent beings who know better than to believe in silly superstitions. They were supposed to be Mormon Saints for crying out loud! They sure as hell didn’t act very saintly.

Before any of this happened, I knew nothing about Witches and Wicca. Neither one interested me at all. But than these people flipped out and went all hysterical over my being a Witch, or so they said, so after that I decided, I had better find out what Witches are, because I don’t like being accused of something, when I don't know what it is. So, I spent about three years, doing nothing but studying the history of Witches, Witchcraft, Wicca, Wiccans, etc. In the end, I came to the conclusion, that yeah, they were probably right; I can be classified as a Witch on some levels.

It was like the bishop who kept calling me an apostate back in 1993. I did not look the word up, so I had no idea what it was he was calling me. Well, I just looked it up right now, and you know what it says here in the dictionary? It says this:

Apostate, noun

One who denounces faith in Christ, but whom had previously been a Christian.

OMG! Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off! Woo-Hoo! OMG! Is that what an apostate means? Well whoop de do. Damn. That bishop was nuttier than I thought he was. I’ve got fan girls and fan boys across the net, several hundred of them, who follow me around chanting: “What would EelKat do?” Do you know why they do that? I’ll tell you why they do that. They do that because I am famous for my religion rants, written to the tune of 5,000 to 25,000 words a piece, my religion rants which denounce religion based on the theory that religion has fallen away from the true teachings of Jesus. I start and end every one of them with the question: What would Jesus do? And than I move on to analyzing what Jesus DID do, and how that compares to what we should do as a result. I’m known as the most outspoken supporter of Jesus anywhere on the net. I became so famous for these pro-Jesus rants, that there are people out there selling bumper stickers and T-shirts that say: What would EelKat do? on them! That’s how famous I got for my outspoken support of Jesus. And this bishop has the gall to call ME an apostate? OMG! What the hell does he think an apostate is anyways?

Well, they called me schizophrenic and doctors say I wasn’t. They called me a Witch, and I’m not. They called me an apostate and I sure as hell ain’t that either. Is there anything these people did say about me that was true at all? I’m starting to think these people just spout off the first nasty name calling label they can think of, without any real knowledge of what the word means. I hate it when people misuse words. Stupid ameba brained idiots. What the hell do they have brains for if they are not going to use them. They lied to me and they lied about me. I can not understand the logic of people who lie. Don’t they know lying is a sin? And they call themselves Christians. Phhfft.

But, yeah, it got to the point, where, I no longer felt safe going to church. For one thing, paint balls hurt, you know? After the destruction of my records and books and stuff, though, I was just, enough was enough. I mean, I'm out on the streets, homeless, because these people are freaking lunatics. How far would they end up going if, I continued going to church? It was to the point that I felt like these people were crazy enough to kill me. I did not feel safe in church anymore. It's not worth it. These people were crazy and I didn’t have anyone who would be willing to defend or protect me against them, should they make an attack on me. I’m stronger than the average woman, I’m stronger than men my size, but I’m not strong enough to fight off a crazed mob. I’ve been hit before, and no one stood up for me than, not even my boyfriend, who being a Mormon himself, instead of defending me, he came up with the usual Mormon answer of: “will priests have higher authority than females.” Uh-hum, and that is not what Jesus taught, so I sure as hell ain‘t going to believe that high polluting male authority crap. No one has ever stood up for me, that is how I ended up getting so strong. I had too, because I had to defend myself all the time. But you know what? This has been going on for 30 years now. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I just want these nut jobs to leave me alone.

Jesus said to fellowship with believers. Fellowshipping with believers, who do not want you in their church, is not worth the trouble. Besides, the way they were acting goes against everything they supposedly believe in! So, yeah, I left the Church because of the way I was treated, not because I stopped believing the things the church taught.

Ultimately, in spite of everything else, I left the LDS church because of my choice to remain single . . . I'm a female. And in the LDS church, or at least in our ward, single + female = evil witch.

It was promoted come hell or high water that I MUST be married before I reached 16, just like all the other females in my family . . . for generations. Of 64 cousins, I alone hit the age of 17 unmarried. Today I am 33, and still unmarried, and believe me, being single in the LDS church is a far greater sin than being gay in the LDS church (and being gay in the LDS church is just about the worst sin ever, according to them). I've seen gays accepted with little problem, because *well at least they got married*, then the commenter would point over to me and adds *unlike her*.

It got to the point where everyone stopped using my name, and instead I was known as *the old maid* (I was 18 when they started calling me that and it was one of my own uncles who was the first to use this degrading title for, and they still call me that all these years later). It was hell. I mean there is only just so much bullying and name calling one person can take and I took it not only from Church members, but from holier than thou relatives, who because of their history with the Church, thought they had the God given right to treat me like shit.

The thing that made me leave the church was when they started telling me that God would condemn me into outer darkness because I had never born children. I was lectured almost daily on how a woman's only purpose in life was to get married and bear at least one child a year. I have cousins younger than me, who already have 12 kids, and everyone would point to one of them and say *why can't you be a good Mormon wife like she's doing?*. Before long a few members started referring to me as *the child of Satan* because I was nearing 30 and still had not found a man I was willing to marry.

I became depressed and was near suicide over this, because I felt that there was no one I could confide in, all of my friends and family were LDS and they were the ones doing the most vicious of the bullying. I finally said enough was enough, I'm not going to let you people abuse me like this anymore. I told them if they really were God's "chosen ones" than they would not be treating people the way they were treating me, because that is NOT what Jesus taught. After that, I just never went back to church.

Now I don't know if other wards (LDS church buildings are divided into region known as wards) treat people the way my wards (I was attending three different wards: Cape Elizabeth/Portland, Saco, and Sanford wards) were treating me or not, but after what they put me through, I've never dared go to any church ever again . . . not just LDs ones, but all of them: all religions. And it's not just churches either; I really have a hard time being even a few feet close to people today. I have, like, this 2 foot invisible barrier all around me, and if any one steps into it I just start freaking out. Too much fear of farther abuse I guess. It has gone way beyond the fear of Human touch now, just being close to a Human at all now, is very difficult.

I just felt so, I don't know, but it felt awful. Several people, both members and relatives, appointed themselves as my personal match makers, and I was having single guys thrown at me left and right. I flatly refused to date any of the guys, so than my self appointed matchmakers would get all hysterical and start going on about how they were sick of working and slaving looking for men for me, if was just going to reject them all. And I was like, fine, I never asked you to torture me like this to begin with. Than they'd lecture me about dieing alone and being cast into outer darkness for being single when I died. These people were as bad as, if not worse than the ones who were shunning me. This whole get married to save your god forsaken soul bit was worse hell than the silence of the shunners. I mean, I would like to get married, but I can't see getting married to the first guy who comes along. That didn't make any sense to me. I wanted someone I could love and share ideas with, some one I could connect with, some one who had an IQ that at least tried to reach the level my brain frequency travels on, etc. It's hard for me to lower my logic and intellect to be down with that of a normal intelligence, I'm sorry, but it's true, the average person just can't keep up a conversation with me. I really need a guy I can talk to, not some guy to marry just for the sake of marrying him. I've tried explaining this too them, but they are too simple minded to understand, and just say it's better to be married to any guy than wait for some guy who may not even exist.

Now however, after this whole deal with the fire and the vandalism and the tent, it's just so hard for me to even speak around other people that getting married is no longer something I hope for. I just can't get close to other people after what I went through, my ability to trust any one has been totally shattered, so I don't know how I'll ever be able to meet anyone to marry now.

Q. I thought the government had programs, Welfare, Food Stamps, WIC, SSI, SSD, Medicare, Medicaid, Section 8 Housing, and the like, for people in your situation. Why are you not receiving any government help?

EelKat: My income is too low for section 8 housing. I'm not eligible for either the Welfare Program or the Food Stamp Program. I'm not eligible for either the Medicare or the Medicaid. I'm not eligible for either the WIC (Women-Infants-Children Act) or TANIF (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families). I'm not eligible for either SSI or SSD. I applied for all of those things.

The Human Services woman who came to the tent, told me where to go and what to apply for, because I didn‘t know those thing existed until she told me. I never was one to ask for help or to think of going out looking for help, because it goes against everything I believe about self sufficiency, but the Human Services woman wasn’t going to leave until I agreed to apply for these things, so I did. Fat lot of good it did me to spend all that time filling out applications though. Turned out to be nothing but a big waste of my time. I have applied for every single one of those things, but I was denied every single one of them. All for the same reason: my income is too low.

The government programs have a scale which determines who is eligible for help, and who is not.

Me, being a single, white, childless, drug-free, non-alcoholic, female, US citizen in my 30's, with an income of under $2,000 per year, means I don't qualify for any of the government programs.

I would qualify, if I was under 18, over 65, of a minority race, an immigrant with out US citizenship, a single mother of a child under 3 years old, have a paper from a doctor saying I'm disabled, could find a doctor who would say I was mentally ill, or if I had an income with a minimum of $700 per month. I had to qualify on at least one of those counts, and I didn't qualify on any of them, so I was sent away with a "We would like to help, but sorry, you don't fall into any of our guidelines."

One woman asked if I drank alcohol or ever used drugs, because she said the only programs available for people in my income bracket were only available through drinking or drug use rehab programs. But, seeing how I was raised Mormon and taught that my body is a temple never to be polluted by using such vile things, I therefore was not eligible for the only programs the government did have for people in my income bracket.

Another question I was asked was, if I was pregnant or thought I might be pregnant, I could get help. My answer stunned her. I said: "I'm not married." She asked: "What's that have to do with it?" I told her, "Sex outside of marriage was as great a sin as murder." She looked like she was about to fall out of her seat. Yep. I was raised Mormon, alright. Non-Mormons have a hard time wrapping their minds around being a virgin at my age.

Until I went looking for help, I had no idea, you could be so far below the poverty line that you could not be eligible for help, but that is what happened. I'm too poor to receive government help. I’m too young, too old, too white, too childless, too drug free, too American, too sane, too healthy, too virgin, and too sober to be eligible for any of the programs. Pitiful when you stop and think about it, because it seems to me, that the government programs, the way they are set up, are only there to promote drinking, drugs, and unwed mothers. When you don't need help, you just assume that there is help out there for people that need it. But than you become one of those people that need help, and it's a real eye opener, about just how little help there really is out there for them.

I don’t even make enough to receive the IRS rebate thing that President Bush sent out last year. You had to make a minimum of $3,000 in 2007 to be eligible for it, and I had made only $1,200 that year.

Q. I’m confused now. You are not eligible for ANYTHING? But doesn’t every one say you are schizophrenic? If you have schizophrenia, you are automatically eligible for almost all of those programs. How is it possible that you are not eligible for government help, if you have a mental illness?

EelKat: Do I have a mental illness? That does seem to be the real question here, doesn’t it? Just because every one says it, does not make it true. In order for me to be eligible for any government help, based on a mental illness, requires there to be a doctor who will diagnose me with having a mental illness. There in lies the problem: no doctor has ever said I had a mental illness. Fact is, the only people who have ever said I had schizophrenia and also actually knew me in person, were the superstitious religion crazed members of one of those five church congregations. No one outside the Mormon Church ever called me that, unless they first were told that by one of those Mormons, and the Mormons who said it were only quoting our Bishop, who was the man who started the rumor to begin with.

Back when I was 14, and all of those accusations were going around me full swing, I asked my doctor about it, maybe you’ve heard of him, he’s rather famous, writes all these medical journals and stuff, doctors from all over are always going to him for advice: Dr. Connor Moore? I asked him, and he said that, I did not seem schizophrenic at all. A few years later, I got a second opinion from Dr. Earnshaw, and he didn’t think I had schizophrenia either, and went on to say that he suspected my accusers of having it. (Dr. Earnshaw was a member of my LDS Ward, so he had seen and heard these people, and was well aware of the things they were saying to and about me). And of course, than there was the counselor the Bishop had brought in from Pine Land Center (an insane asylum, which specialized in schizophrenic patients), and he didn’t think I had schizophrenia either and said that the Bishop had been wasting his time.

Fact of the matter is, the whole rumor behind my having a mental illness was started by that Bishop, and than was later kept going by members of that church congregation, who had believed that Bishop’s words. With about 375 members believing the Bishop’s words, it didn’t take long before every non-member those people knew outside of church, were also saying I had a mental illness. Three doctors, men qualified to make the diagnosis, said I did not have schizophrenia, but people with their superstitions, believed the “man of God” instead. This very same so called “man of God“, was himself accused of having schizophrenia by one of the three doctors who had said I did not have schizophrenia. Church people listen to raving Bishops not to the logical words of qualified Doctors and so, now most people in the local area see me and than go: “Isn’t that that crazy women?”

You are right: if I had a mental illness, I would be eligible for about a dozen different government programs. Do I have a mental illness? The government doesn’t think so. As you can see, there is so little evidence that I have a mental illness, that I’m not even eligible for government assistance. The only evidence there is that I have a mental illness, are a handful of random rumors started by one man, and while the general population may be prone to believing those rumors, the government certainly isn’t.

Q. The flood happened 3 years ago. You haven't had enough money to buy food since the flood. Where do you get food to eat?

EelKat: The Salvation Army. Funny, because it's probably the only church in the state that I didn't attend at one time or another. Pretty much basically, if there's a church in Southern Maine, I've attended services at least once. Except for the Salvation Army. I don't know why, I just never got around to going to one of their services yet. All the church we had attended though, we went to them for help. None of them would help us. Not one. There was like 20 different denominations most of them had programs for helping the homeless, but we were turned away from every single one of them.

After the fire, one of the fire men asked us if we knew about the Salvation Army. (The young guy who had rescued Buddy.) He said they will help any one, no questions asked. He said, just go in, tell them we needed help, and they'd help. So we went in, and it was really weird, because at all the other churches, they asked for stuff like proof of income, proof of residence, phone bills, light bills, basically everything you could think of. At the Salvation Army, the woman asked our names, address, asked why we were there, and asked how we needed help. Turns out if we had asked them for it, they do everything from paying light bills to rent to buying you cloths to getting toys for children to buying you food. She starts listing off the things they do, and than wanted to know what we wanted them to do. We told her, all we wanted was food. We were hungry; we were going 3 or 4 days a week without eating. We were starving to death.
So for the last 3 years, The Salvation Army has paid for our food. If it hadn't been for them, I don't think I would be alive right now, because my income is only $1,200 a year, and the average person spends that much each month on food. Thing is what they can do is limited to how many donations they get in their little red buckets in front of stores, so some months you get enough food to last the month, and some months you only get 2 or 3 days worth of food.
It was the Salvation Army who also told us about the Food Pantry. What they do, is each week they go around to all the local super markets and they take all the old food: expired milk, week old deli stuff, wilted vegetables, badly dented cans, opened and half empty boxes, cakes that fell on the floor, and other such stuff that no one will pay money for, and would cost the store money to return, so it's cheaper for them to donate it to shelters, even though technically the stuff it rotted and not fit for human consumption.

The Food Pantry takes all of it, and they hand it out to homeless people on a first come first served basis. They ask no questions at all. You just get in line out front of the building (you have to take a number, to avoid rioting and fighting over who got there first.) and they hand out as much food as they can to each person in line, until there is nothing left to give out. You get there early you get more food, you get there late, you may get nothing.

So we go the Food Pantry each week and we get food there too. You have to learn to eat around the mold and watch the really bad stuff for maggots, but most times the food is good enough to eat. They don't bother asking who you are or why you are there, because they go on the theory that, this food is so bad that only the really most desperate of people will bother to stand in line for 3 or 5 hours to get a handful of food which has a good chance of being molded and rotten. I hate having to go there, but, it keeps you alive.

That is the worst part of being homeless: being hungry. Never knowing when your next meal will be. Never know what your next meal will be. Never knowing if you'll even find a next meal. Always hurting. I hate it. Being homeless, changes what you eat because you no longer get to decide what you want to eat, you have to eat whatever cast off other people don't want to eat. Being homeless changes the way you eat too, because you no longer eat meals at set times of day, instead you eat whenever there is food in front of you. You no longer eat full meals either, instead you may eat a single roll and call that your meal for the day. If you are homeless long enough, you no longer think in terms of skipped meals, such as, I skipped breakfast, but rather, skipped days such as: I ate a roll yesterday, this is my last roll, I'll skip eating today so that I'll have it to eat tomorrow and hope I'll have found food for the next day by than. That is the way I've eaten my meals for the past three years now.

Q. Why didn't you go to a shelter?

EelKat: There were a few reasons. One being that the closest shelter was a drug rehab shelter, and they only provided beds for people who took a drug screening and failed it, and were than willing to join their drug rehab program. They provided you with a cot to sleep on while you were taking their rehab program. Well, me, never having used drugs before, I was not eligible for that shelter, which although it was the closest one, was 5 towns away.

The next closest shelter was a two hour drive by car, but me not having a car that ran, meant no way to get there, But as it turned out, they would not have been able to help me either, seeing as I later found out they only took single mothers with small children. Me with my high moral standards, means that no marriage = no sex = no children = no shelter where I was eligible to stay in.

Of course than there was the problem of the animals. At the beginning of all of this, there were 2 dogs, 9 cats, 3 birds, and 75+ (pet) roosters, and well, I wasn't going to any shelter that wouldn't take them in too. But, even without the animals, the only way I was eligible to stay in a shelter would be if I was a drug addict or a single mother.

It was a case of when you don't need help; you just assume that there is help out there for people that need it. But than you become one of those people that need help, and it's a real eye opener, about just how little help there really is out there for them. It really amazed me, just how little help their really is for homeless people.

Q. You mentioned HUD. So, are you indoors again now or are you still living in the tent?

EelKat: Like I said, I went through all the government programs, signed up for everything and wasn't eligible for a single one of them. In every case I was either too young, too old, too poor, too white, too American, too childless, too drug-free, or too sober. If I'd been under 18, over 65, had a higher income, was a minority race, was not a US citizen, had children, did drugs, or was a drunk, I could have been approve by such things as housing programs, Food Stamps, WIC, Welfare, TANIF, and all the rest. No, I wasn't eligible for anything 3 years ago, and I'm still not eligible today. My mom, had three minors (my brothers; I was already an adult before they were born, so I grew up an only child), so she's eligible for all sorts of stuff, housing being one of them. She's got an apartment in Biddeford. My dad, because of the coma, is now disabled, so he's eligible for the disabled citizen programs, plus because he's a senior, he's eligible for all the senior programs too. HUD got him into an apartment in Biddeford. HUD helped him, not me. Me? No, the tent is still my home. It's still where I get my mail too. However, once it gets down to 40 - 30 degrees F out, I do stay with either my mom or my dad for a few months.

Q. You are not eligible for government help because your income is too low. Why don't you get a regular day job, like everyone else?

EelKat: I've tried. I've sent in more than 400 applications just in the past 2 or 3 months, and I've been filling out applications at that rate for the past 3 years. Only job I've been able to get was a temp job at Macy's, which is only 2 or 3 days a month, for less than 2 months total days worth, worked there per year.

Three years of being turned down by one interviewer after another, is just one more thing telling me that I am not an accepted part of society. Just more Humans doing their part to show me that no one out there gives a damn about me. Life is just becoming more pointless as each day goes on.

Q. Why can't you get a job?

EelKat: Number one reason they tell me I wasn't hired, was I didn't go to school. I was pulled out of school when I was 8 years old. Home schooled after that. The interviewers ask about high school, and than want the phone numbers of my teachers and principles, and I tell them I didn't go to school, that usually ends the interview right there. I never understand all the school questions though, I mean, if I had gone to school, I would have graduated from high school 20 years ago! Some of the questions they ask, they say: "Are you old enough to work here? It isn't going to interfere with your school work is it?"

The other thing is, a lot of the interviewers look at my birthrate and than look at me, and than ask me why I lied on my application about my age. I have to pull ID cards to prove I really am as old as I said. The women interviewers get all shocked and say stuff like: "Why, you're 15 years older than me! But you look so young!" Me looking so very young, apparently is a major problem preventing me from getting most jobs.

A lot of applications require a math test be taken, but my math is limited to simple addition and some subtraction, and even than I have a really hard time with that. I've failed every math test on every application.

A few applications required an IQ test, but I kept coming back with scores that were "too high". They've made me retest, because the numbers were so high, saying that no one ever gets scores like mine. Usually they want to know if I'm a member of the MENSA society. To which I tell them, nope, they did ask me to join a few years back, but I saw no point in being a member so I turned them down. When they get done they tell me that they have a bracket of IQ range they can hire, and they only hire normal and average IQ scores, mine was just too high, so, "Sorry, but we can't hire you." The really weird thing, is I can't do math at all, so I fail every math question on the IQ tests; they look at that and than they comment: "I'd hate to see what kind of score you'd have gotten if you could do math!"

Some applications ask for proof of driver's license (even though the job has nothing to do with driving!), but I couldn’t see well enough to pass the driver's test way back when I was 15, so I've never had a driver's license.

Of course than there's my cloths. I can't afford to buy "normal" cloths, and even if I could afford to buy them I wouldn’t wear them. All the cloths I own are fit for a stage duet with Liberace` and I’ve never worn anything even remotely “normal” in 30 years. They ask if I have such and such to wear, and I say, you're looking at what I have to wear.

My not talking poses a lot of problems as well. It cuts out every job which would require my using a telephone.

Due to my being an Orthodox Mormon (one who uses the olf LDS handguides, books, and translations of the BoM, printed prior to the massive rewites that took place in the late 1970's - most of my LDS books came from the Cape Elizabeth Ward Library after they throw out their entire collection and replaced everything with the new "revised" editions. Many of my LDS books are written prior to 1960's and a few are from the 1800's. It's interesting to see from the horse's mouth just how drastically the church has changed over the years. I'm old enough to have grown up in the old church before the change, and I didn't addapt to the changes well. As far as I can see the new ways are corrupted and no longer promote living the life of a pure saint), I can’t work any jobs that would require my coming into contact with meat, any job that would require me to cut my hair, or any job that would not allow me to wear long dresses (all grave sins, according to LDS teachings). These things drastically reduce my options.

The other problem is, I have no references. I don’t know how anyone ever gets a “first job”, because every interviewer wants to know: “Who did you used to work for and why did you leave?” My answer is I never worked for anyone before, this is my first time looking for a job. The interview gets cut short with a quick: “No prior job references? We can‘t hire anyone without first calling their last employer, sorry.” How the hell do you get a first job so you can have job references for your next job, if no one hires anyone without prior job references? Sheesh! What kind of twisted logic thought up that rule? Asked one interviewer about that, and she told me that people are expected to get jobs right out of high school. You leave high school, you get a job. She said schools give references first time workers, and unless I had school references I wouldn’t be able to get a first job at most places. But I never went to school.

Q. So, you are having a hard time finding a job, because you never had a job before, and at your age, people (employers) expect you to have already had a few jobs. Why did you never seek a job before the year of the tent?

EelKat: I wasn’t allowed to. It goes against God’s will. The LDS church teaches that women who work outside of the home will be condemned, along with women who commit the sin of cutting their hair, or send their children to public school.

I should note here that members are unofficially divided into 3 groups:

Orthodox LDS: long standing families, usually 4th and 5th generation members whose families followed either J Smith or B Young since the 1800's). These are the uber strict strictest of the strict LDS. Often referred to by gentiles (non LDS) as zealots and fanatics. Orthodox LDs abstain from coffee, soda, hot chocolate, tea, cigarettes, meat, sex, make up, jewelry, TV, rock music, movies rated PG13+, short sleeve shirts, pants on women, short hair on women, bathing suits, shorts, anything that shows the knee, the list of things orthodox LDS avoid as sinful goes on and on. I know this list because I grew up in an orthodox LDS family. Orthodox LDS also believe in total self sufficiency or else: in other words, you farm the land, grow you own food, home school you kids, and stock pile a 3 year supply of everything (food, cloths, water, etc) just in case of the third world war which will follow Jesus' second coming. (100 years of war followed by 1000 years of peace, than Judgment Day after that.)

"I Grew Up In The Church" Mormons: These are members who are usually 2nd and 3rd generation members. Rarely have their families been in the church longer than the 1960's; These members tend to be strict, but not nearly as strict as the Orthodox LDs members. For example, they may allow female members of the family to get jobs, wear makeup, or cut their hair. These are generally accepted by Orthodox members, though they are likely to be thought of as *weak in the teachings*.

The Converts: Members who joined the church or whose parents joined the church within the last 20 or 30 years These are the most common, as well as the least strict. They often allow such activities as swimming, and are not offend by drinking soda or hot chocolate. They are very likely to own a tv, go to movies, and allow their children to go to public schools. Rarely are these members looked on with a good eye, by the Orthodox members, who are likely to call the new converts *gentiles*. (Calling an LDS member a gentile is as bad as calling a black man a nigar... it's about the worst thing you could call an LDS member).

People outside the Mormon Church, really have no idea the strict, rigid standards God expects the Saints to live up to. We are supposed to live our lives, here today, on earth, exactly as we would live them in the next life after we die, in the celestial Kingdom. If we do not live the laws of the Celestial Kingdom in this lifetime, than we will not be worthy to live them in the next lifetime. Things like telling lies, doing drugs, drinking, sex, women wearing pants, women cutting their hair, women getting jobs, these thing will all bar you from entering the kingdom of heaven. You cannot do those things in the next life, so must rise above them in this life, or pay the price by not being allowed into God’s kingdom in the next life. If you cannot live without those things now, how do you think God would expect you to live without them in Heaven?

Now, for those of you used to the “New Convert” style Mormons, there is a big difference between new members and Orthodox members. New members, gentiles who converted to Saints, rarely ever leave behind the old ways of the word. I don’t know why they think they can be baptized. You must repent of your sins and give up the ways of your past life, before being baptized. Yet they go right on ahead and lie to their bishop and say they’ve repented and stopped living of the world, so the bishop let’s them get baptized and than they go right back to living the way they always did, without any attempt to give up their old ways at all!

Most new convert females do not quit their jobs, as the church teaches, nor do they grow out their hair as the church teaches, nor do they remove their children from public schools, as the church teaches. Though they were baptized, they continue to live as one who is of the world, and they continue to commit the sin of working a job, having short hair, and allowing their children to associate with the gentiles at public school. Personally, I wish the church leaders would excommunicate all the short hair working bitches, because they have no right being baptized members of the church if they are not going to live the teaches of the church. They blatantly refuse to live God’s laws; they see nothing wrong with disobeying his teachings. If they cannot be bothered to obey his teachings in this life, they will not enter the kingdom. If they are not even going to make an attempt to try to live the Gospel, than they should not be allowed to be baptized at all. I really hate the Church’s new movement of getting as many members as possible, so now they will just baptize anyone. It’s sickening really.

Now granted shorthaired working women outside of the LDS church do not know any better, and they have not been baptized, so it is not entirely their fault, but once they have joined the Church, there is no excuse for them continuing to live in sin like that. If they could not give up their jobs, and they could not grow out their hair, than they should never have gotten baptized, because now they know better, now they have promised to live God’s laws, and now because they are not obeying the laws of God after being baptized, now it will be that much worse for them in Hell.

This is one of the things several people at Church did not like about me as well. You see, I rarely speak, but when I do, watch out, because I will tell you exactly what I think about you. I do not believe in lies on any level, so I am not going to say something nice just to sound friendly or to avoid hurting your feelings. The truth hurts, get used to it. I see a woman in Church who has a job, and has no reason to have a job, because she has a father or husband with a job, I will give her hell, and than I will give them hell. If there is a woman in Church with short hair, she is going to get an earful.

Moreover, for those who like to say that the Mormon Church stopped teaching those in the 1970’s, I suggest you get yourself a copy of the Relief Society Manual. It is a two Volume set, the latest edition was updated in 2005. In it, you will find an entire chapter on the evils of women who work outside of the home. It details a list of jobs women are allowed to do, providing they do them at home, and it does not take away from time spent with their children.

The church does say, that if the male head of the house hold is unable or unwilling to provide for his family, than the women of the family are allowed to work, within the limits (the church has of list of jobs women can and can not work) in order to buy food, providing that the job does not require her to cut her hair or send her children to public school.

As I said, I was raised in an Orthodox LDS family, where you obey the teaches of the church to the letter, with out question. And regardless of wither or not I attend church any more, I do still live by it’s teaches and will condemn any one vile enough to call themselves a member while not living it’s teaches. Sinners has no place among the Saints.

Being homeless, it gets so cold some days, though, you just wish you had a job so that you could have a place to keep warm for a few hours each day. I had to get a job during the winter months, more so I could stay warm, than for any other reason.

Q. I think most people have a hard time understanding what it is like to have religious convictions so strong that you are not allowed to cut your hair or get a job. In the end you went to work just to have a place to stay warm. While living in the tent, how did you deal with the weather? Snow, rain, cold and the like.

EelKat: Not well, but, when you have no options, you can’t choose to do better can you? I used cloths pins (a whole big bag of about 200 of them) to hold the edges of the tarp shut to keep out the wind and rain. Inside of the “tent” I had taken several blankets and layered them, to build up walls of insulation. On the ground I had built up a foundation out of several bucket loads of sand, and than used my futon (a Japanese mattress, not the USA sofa) to sleep on. I had three sleeping bags, one inside of the other, and slept at night with all of my cloths on and three coats, and slept inside the tripled sleeping bags. What cloths I wasn’t wearing, were stuffed into every crack and corner to keep out the cold.

In the summer and fall, we had to deal with the thick seaweed scented fogs that rolled in off the ocean every night. You don’t really notice fog, until you have to live outdoors in it night after night. It’s like having this big wet sponge wrapped all around you for hours. It soaks everything just like it had been a rain cloud. Fog is really weird. Over the months, however, I grew to love the smell of fog and it’s rich seaweed and crab scent. I think that is the one thing I miss about being in the tent. I really love the smell of the ocean air. Of course being outside all night, all year, I found out that love the sounds of hearing the ocean waves all day and all night. Indoors you don’t really notice the sound of the waves or the sound of the gulls, but out in the tent, you hear them steady all the time. I miss that.

At the beginning of this, I had me, my dog, and 9 cats. A few months in, the pet food poisoning happened and I lost 5 of my cats in the space of 2 weeks. After that it was me, my dog, and 14 cats. Weird, how 9 minus 5 equaled 14, but it did, and I am at a loss as to how to explain it, but one morning shortly after the deaths of my other cats, I woke up to find several stray cats tucked into the sleeping bag with me. They moved into the tent and I have had them ever since.
There was one wild night of a lightening storm. That night, required me to take the cinder blocks and tie them down all along the edges of the tarp in order to keep it from flying away.

It was hard once the snows came, though, and I had to use shipping pallets to support the center of the “tent” in order to keep the heavy snowfalls from collapsing the tent on us during the night. During the storms I had to keep a shovel inside the tent, and shovel my way out, and take the snow off the roof of the tent about every 15 minutes or so, to keep in from getting too heavy on the roof.

Once the snows came I found I had new problems, when I awoke one night to find a baby skunk tucked into the blankets along with me and the cats. He had apparently been separated from his family in the storm, came in the tent for shelter, and got snowed in. He couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 months old. Once the storm was over a few hours later, he left.

One night, my blind albino Siamese cat, Utopia, was asleep on my feet when something big reached through the tent, grabbed him, and ran off with him. My dog Buddy fought it off, and it dropped Tope and ran into the woods. It was suspected to be a Marten or Fisher, but later events would tell us that a wolverine was in the area, killing everything in it’s path, including more than 70 of our chickens, a few deer, and a moose, and it is now believed that it was the very same animal which attacked Tope that night. Today, as a result of the attack, Tope has no fur growing on his side, his ear is a mangled up scarred mess which in no way resembles an ear, he is missing all of his teeth on one side, and there is a huge scar running under his eye and down his face. Tope, never again, slept on my feet, and to this day, Tope refuses to sleep anywhere except wrapped around my face like a fur scarf.

It got very cold that year. Our first snow fall came in October of 2006. By December, the temperature plummeted to 0F. February of 2007, saw -15F temperatures, before wind chill factor. Living on the beach meant that wind chill factors brought the temperature down to a blistering -40F at night. Once the temperature dropped, my hands started to crack and turn to blisters. It became very hard to use them for anything. Today, three years later, my hands are still scarred from this, and now resemble the wrinkled hands of an 80 year old woman. I have tried every thing under the sun, but nothing has yet to heal the damage done to my hands from the extreme cold of the winter that year. Today my hands are extremely sensitive to touch and I go through a family sized bottle of GoldBond hand cream each week, just to stop the skin on my hands from cracking. Fact of the matter is my hands (and my feet) suffered from frost bite and I don’t know if that will ever heal.

Q. While you were homeless and living in the tent, you lost 5 cats to poisoned cat food. What happened?

EelKat: I lost 3 cats to food poisoning, Skezics, Little Moose, and Bear; the other 2, Girl and Blackie, got hit by a car.

The first thought is for people to ask me: "Did the Mormons take their vengeance so far that they poisoned your cats?" The answer is no, the Mormon members who went crazy and drove us out, actually were not the ones behind the poisoned cat food: some guy in China was.

In November of 2006, my Skezics died a horrible death from massive seizures. He was fine one morning. The next day he was dead. The vet did a blood test, and told us the tests couldn't be right, so redid them all a second time, and than just to be certain redid them a third time. She said afterwards that he had more poison in his system than it would take to kill a Great Dane and he was only a 7 month old kitten. It was so alarming that she asked for a list of everything I had been feeding him.

In the next few months, more cats followed Skezics in the same manner. Baby, Snowball, Moose, Fragile, Little Moose, Bear, and Trouble, eight cats in all, dead for no reason. (The extra five cats belonged to relatives.) There was only one answer: the cat food had been poisoned.

My vet, however, was not the only vet seeing these sorts of alarming deaths, and my cats and my relatives' were not the only ones she saw. Hundreds of vets, all across the Nation were sending in thousands of reports to the FDA, and all the reports were saying the same thing: death by food poisoning. In that 4 month period it was estimated that some 6,000 cats and 2,000 dogs died across the United States due to poisoned food.

The FDA started an investigation, and by March of 2007 it was announced that the biggest recall in history was underway, as nearly every brand of cat food and dog food got pulled off the shelves, not just in the United States, but in Canada, Europe, and Asia as well. The recall would eventually include not just cat and dog food, but also bird food, horse feed, pig feed, powdered milk, baby formula and some chocolate candy as well. The whole thing was traced back to one man in China, who had poisoned the wheat gluten that was being used to make these products. By April of 2007, only Meow Mix, 9 Lives, and Fancy Feast cat foods remained on the shelves, and those selling for skyrocket prices as there were not enough of them to meet the demands.

Q. Being homeless affected your library habits didn't it? Can you explain this?

EelKat: I got my first library card when I was 3 years old. Since that day a week hasn't gone by that hasn't seen me in a library. Books are the center of every thing I do, and always have been. As I got older, I branched out going to more and more libraries. In the past 30 years I've been to nearly every library in Maine south of Augusta, plus a few New Hampshire libraries as well. How has becoming homeless changed that? Well, I used to visit libraries weekly, but only took books out from my local library in Old Orchard. Becoming homeless changed that. For one thing, when I left the library, I used to have a place to go home to, so my visits were short, an hour, two at the most, but not ay more.

Since being homeless there have been a few changes: one, not having a place to go home to meant, I needed to stay some where out of the cold as long as possible, meaning I was now at the library every single day, and staying there 4 or 5 hours or more. Since homeless people are not welcomed inside of most public buildings, I ended up getting library cards for every local library in the area, and went to a different one each day.

Fact of being homeless is that if you go to the same place every day all day long and you don't work there; people get all paranoid on you and ask you not to come back. Well, I couldn't have that happening with the libraries, because going to the library is the one thing in my life that I still have, that I had before I was homeless. You can't even begin to imagine how important it is for me to be able to go to the library. I can't risk losing that. I would be devastated if I couldn't be around books all day. And that's why I don't go to the same library each day. Other homeless people, they haven't figured that out.

Of course, I have this aversion to being dirty too, so I'm not always dirty like most other homeless people are and that helps too, because almost no one is even aware that I am homeless. I don’t look homeless. I don’t dress homeless. I don’t act homeless. And I don’t tell people I’m homeless, so no one, not even other homeless people are aware that I’m homeless.
During the summer, there is not much need for me to stay indoors, so during the summer months me and Buddy walk to the beach and spend the day at the beach. After October though, it gets below zero on the beach, so I head to the libraries more and more frequently. Once snow comes I'm there a lot more often.

Q. Being homeless means not only not having a roof over your head and having no electricity, it also means no running water. For a very long time you had no indoor plumbing, no running water, no sinks, no tubs, no showers, and no toilets. What did you do? How did you cope with this?

EelKat: I grew up in a beach cabin; our bath room was about 4 feet by 4 feet. There was no tub. There was a 2 inch space between the rim of the toilet and the edge of the shower, the shower itself being less than 2 feet square, and was just wide enough to squeeze into. The sink was right beside the toilet on the other side. You had a space big enough for your feet to stand on the floor between the three, and if you did it slowly, you could turn around without falling into the toilet. I hated that bathroom. Being homeless was like being released from prison, when you compare it to that bathroom. Thing was, I really hated that bathroom a lot. I didn't use it unless I had too. There is a reason I write about the Twighlight Manor as being in the middle of a dense forest. I write what I know. I lived in the woods, so I grew up using trees and bushes instead of toilets. It wasn't a big change for me, really. The only change was that I did use the tiny bathroom at night and when it was cold outside, and being homeless, meant facing a huge fear: being outside after dark, every single night. It was one of my worst phobias, and after being homeless, it's gone. The other thing was, without the tiny bathroom during the winter, meant two words: cold bum.

You become very well versed in the lay out of every store and restaurant when you are homeless, because you have to know where every restroom is. You also learn to carry a toothbrush in your pocket every where you go, so that you can brush your teeth should you end up in a public restroom, because that is the only time you get to use a sink at all.

As for sinks, showers, tubs and other places to wash, a brook runs through our farm, it is feed by the swamp behind our land and drains into the ocean in front of our land. Like I said, I hated that tiny bath room, so growing up; I was always in the water, just not in the water in the shower. I really did hate that bath room an awful lot. I think I may be claustrophobic or something because I do have big problems with small spaces.

People often ask me the secret to my looks. You see, the thing of it is, I am daily asked for proof of age, by people, adults who demand to know why I am not in school on a school day. Damn! High school was 20 years ago, and these people think I'm too young for that even!

Bathing in the ocean is the answer. It's all that mineral water and a complete lack of any type of soap or shampoo. I've been doing that since I was about 6 years old. I still do it. Jump right in the water with all my cloths on, drag my dog in with me, and me and him get clean and I still look like a kid and he still looks like a puppy and both of us is ancient. Being homeless didn't change that. We are always at the beach. Buddy loves it. It's how we are both able to be homeless and yet stay so clean. Beach sand is amazing for scrubbing your skin with and it does wonders for my hair and Buddy's fur; makes it so soft and touchable. But that is what makes the biggest difference between me and other homeless people you meet. I brush my hair (granted with Buddy's dog brush, but hey, if it's good enough for Buddy it's good enough for me.) and I keep myself washed and clean. The first thing you always hear people saying when they see some one homeless is: "Stay away from them, they are dirty!" I hate it when people say things like that, and I don't want them saying it about me, plus being dirty is the number one reason why businesses throw homeless people out.

I adapted to being homeless quite well actually, because I was already partially living off the land as it was. I was raised Mormon after all and not only that, I was raised Mormon in the 1970s when self sufficiency reigned supreme, and any non-farming Mormon was considered a disgrace to the Church. These new converts who tried to drive me off my land, haven’t been Mormons long enough to know how to live off the land like any long standing Orthodox LDS does. If they had been stronger in the faith and knew more about the Church, they would have known that forcing me out on to the streets was not going to do them a bit of good, because I was raised to be prepared for such things. They as Mormons should have known that.

Q. I have to ask: Being homeless you must have to use a lot of public restrooms, which have very small stalls. The way you dress, with huge skirts, long trains, and giant capes, your daily wear cloths are wider than the average bridal gown. How do you get in and out of those little bathroom stalls dressed the way you dress?

EelKat: I can't use the smaller stalls actually; most of my skirts don't even fit through the doors. I have to use the handicap stalls, the baby changing stalls, or the family room stalls. Once in the stalls, getting the skirts up, takes a good 5 minutes. It's not unusual for me to be in the restroom for well over 15 minutes, just on the account of the difficulty I have in maneuvering my huge skirts in such small places. If you are with me, and I get up and head for the bathroom, plan on waiting a while.

Q. You are homeless, and this shocks people because you don't look homeless. You are always clean, well dressed, and well, dressed like you were ready to go on stage with Liberace`. People are constantly asking you for hand outs assuming that you are a millionaire, while people every where you go stop you and ask for your autograph, assuming that you are some famous actress or rock star. How do you deal with this?

EelKat: Let's see: I have a black fur coat, a full length one of a kind Miaka coat, an antique 3/4 length mink, a red frockcoat, a Mongolian Sherpa, a blue velvet cape, and a purple velvet cape. I have 4 trained batiste regency empire gowns, a black fully beaded flapper gown, a velvet gown with huge trained hoop skirt, several Japanese kimono and Hawaiian Muumuus, and other assorted long dresses. Underneath my dresses are worn multiple layers of skirts and petticoats, most of which are made of velvet. I have 3 black business suits which I wear to work. Top hats, feather hats, 13 foot scarves, velvet runas, and long strings of pearls are worn on top. That is my wardrobe. All of which I had BEFORE I became homeless. Some of which I have had for more than 20 years now.

People look at me and the way I dress and their first thought is always: "OMG! Look at her! I'll bet she's an actress." I think those are the two questions I get asked the most often: "Why are you wearing that?" or "Who are you? Are you filming a movie around here?"

There is always a rumor going around that I am some one famous, hiding from the paparazzi. For a while there was a rumor going around that I was really Cher in disguise. I guess cause of my long black hair. After that another rumor got started that I was Madonna. OMG! You couldn't believe how many times people have stopped me and asked for my autograph. I had to keep saying: "I'm not Madonna" every day and they wouldn‘t believe me. There was this one guy, kept coming up to me; he'd hug me and than ask: "Are you sure you aren't Madonna". It was driving me crazy for a while. Thankfully that only lasted a couple of months.

When people ask me where I live I usually just say: "Old Orchard", some times I say "Biddeford", because I live in Biddeford as much as I do Old Orchard, but Old Orchard is were the tent is, so Old Orchard is what I usually say. I don't tell people I'm homeless, so no one knows about it. The only time any one ever finds out I'm homeless is when they ask if they can stop by my house some time and I have to say: "No, I don't live in a house. I'm homeless, I live in a tent, well, it's not a tent, I just call it a tent because tent sounds better than saying I threw a rope over a tree branch and hung a tarp from it and held the corners down with cinder blocks. I mean, what is that exactly anyways? It's not a shack. It's not a lean to. It's close to being a tent, so I call it a tent, but anyways it's only 8 feet long and 4 feet tall and 3 feet wide, and there's only enough room for me and Buddy and the cats, so you'd just be standing outside in the cold anyways, it's better if we just get together at the library."

After I've said that, though, the average reaction is to stare at me like I had just hit them in the face with a brick. I never hear from them again once they find out I'm homeless. Weird. When they thought I was a famous millionaire they couldn't wait to be my friend, once they found I was homeless they couldn't get far enough away from me fast enough. That's the advantage of being a homeless person: you find out who your REAL friends are.

Of course, dressing the way I do, attracts a lot of attention, esp. from people seeking hand outs, and odd as this may sound, it's not the homeless people who are always asking me for money, either. Rich people, wealthy people, people with 2 or 3 cars and a vacation home; in other words: greedy middle class people who are looking for a millionaire to fan their vanity and pamper their fat ass life style of fast cars and big houses. Too many people look at me and see only my cloths. They don’t see me. They just see the velvet and sparkle. They really have a hard time looking past what I am wearing. They assume that only some one with a lot of money can afford to dress like I do, but when they find out how little money I actually have, they are flabbergasted as to how I can afford my wardrobe. Once they find out I'm homeless than they want to know, how come I'm not dirty and dressed in rags.

Fact is, I can’t afford to buy “normal cloths” It would take me 2 or 3 months to save up enough money to buy plain T-shirt, and I’d have to go with out stuff like deodorant, tooth paste, and feminine pads in order to do that.

My wearing dresses full time like this started way back before I was homeless, when I was about 12 years old, and I didn’t have a dress to wear to church, mine had gotten worn out, and the bishop was ragging on my family about girls wearing pants to church. It came down to the point where my parents could either buy me a new pair of jeans to wear around the farm or a dress to wear to church. They were going to get the jeans, I said, no, get the dress, I’ll learn to do the farm chores without getting it dirty. I wore the dress every day around the farm, and ever Sunday to church. I learned how to do farm work and keep my cloths clean at the same time. This came in handy after being homeless, because I can live on the streets and stay clean at the same time. It’s an odd skill to have, but one that turned out to be very good to have.
Back when I was a kid though, people from church (home teachers, visiting teachers, and missionaries mostly) would come to the house and see me in the barn with the animals wearing my Sunday dress and they’d get mad at me, for wearing a dress on any day other than Sunday. That was one of those eye opener moments for me. After that, I realized something. Women only wore dresses to church, to show off, because they did not wear dresses the rest of the week. They had put so much emphasis on wearing dresses in church, but than ridiculed you for wearing dresses the rest of the week. This so totally confused me, because it was not good logic to own something which you could only wear on certain days, for the lone purpose of showing off to other people. It was not only illogical, but it was wasteful. Why have two sets of cloths when it was more resourceful to own one? This bothered me.

I determined after that, that I was going to wear what ever the hell I wanted, and I was going to wearing it every single day of my life, I didn’t care if only the hens ever saw it or not. That’s when I started I made a floor length dress out of gold sequined fabric I’d bought for a $1 at Goodwill. I looked like a black haired Marylyn Monroe out there shoveling horse stalls, and I shocked the hell out of every one the first time I wore that glittering gown to church. After that, I just wore whatever I pleased, when ever I pleased, where ever I pleased. That included wearing Halloween costumes year round, because I decided why, wear them only one day a year?

Over the years, it is my cloths that are always the first thing people notice about me. My cloths have been the cause of people saying I was crazy or that I was a witch. My cloths have been a far cry from what the average person wears, for most all of my life. And becoming homeless didn’t change that.

Never judge a book by its cover. Just because I am homeless, doesn't mean I have to be dirty and wear rags. I've only been homeless since 2006, I have been dressing like this since 1978 and I never did have money. I made my cloths out of $1 per yard fabrics from Wal-Mart and Rich's. The prom dresses I wear, I bought for $2 each at the Salvation Army Store more than 20 years ago. All three of my fur coats were given to me, though before the flood I also had a black mink, a lynx, and a raccoon too (lost those and most of my formally very large previously much more elaborate wardrobe in the flood; but again, I never paid a penny for any of those either). My entire wardrobe was built on less than $200, and most of it was made in the late 1980's. I take good care of my cloths and I go ten or twenty years between adding new items to my wardrobe.
I actually have more money now than I did before I was homeless (my current income is $60 - $200 per month, before being homeless it was $20 - $50 per month). I've never in my entire life ever made more than $1,800 in a single year, but I never let that stop me from dressing the way I do. You don't have to have a lot of money to dress like you belong on stage with Liberace`, you just need to be creative and know how to buy expensive looking things for bargain prices.

Q. You mention Liberace` in your conversations often. He was, you have said, more or less your hero while growing up, and ultimately was the inspiration for much of the outfits you wear. You at one point had a huge collection of Liberace` records, which had taken you years to amass. You don’t have them anymore, and you mentioned something about it on one of your blogs, that it had something to do with your being homeless. It’s a pretty alarming story; one which shows just how far the vandalism got against your family. Could you tell our readers, what it was that happened to your record collection and why you don’t have it anymore?

EelKat: My record collection. Many of my comic books. My stamp collection, stamp books from the 1850s - 1920s, that had belonged to my grandmother. My first edition Henry Wordsworth Longfellow. My autographed first edition Alfred Lord Tennyson. My other grandmother’s antique glass and gold clock from Germany. They are all gone. Taken away by acts of pure hatred.

It happened a few months after the fire. It was April of 2007. I had taken Buddy on his daily walk to the beach. This took about 3 hours, and every one around here locally knows when I leave down town with Buddy, I’ll be gone for several hours, and that I left about the same time every day, due to the dog beach laws that say you can only have dogs on the beach during certain hours.

Though we lived in the tent, my belongings were still stored in the dilapidated remains of the house. That night, when me and Buddy returned home to the tent, we found windows smashed out of the house, which had not been previously smashed. My dad’s garden tiller was out of the tool shed and laying on its side not far from the house. Plants in the garden were smashed and broken. The tent itself was torn apart and had to be rebuilt.

Obviously some one had been here so me and Buddy went into the house to see what had happened inside. What we saw, was the worst thing they had done of all. The first thing I saw upon walking into the house, were the covers of my records, torn to shreds, nothing left of them. We are not talking one or two records here. I had about 700 records. The discs themselves where shattered. Some one had taken a sledge hammer to them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to break a record? They don’t break very easily. You really got to throw everything you got into it, just to break one, and here, were some 700 of them, smashed. Not broken, but smashed. Shattered into lots of tiny pieces. After the records had been broken each of the pieces had been broken. It take such an alarming degree of hatred to do something like this.
My books, my antique books, books from the 1700’s - 1800’s, many first editions, a few autographed, about 200 books in the collection, they had been shredded. Leather and cloth covers torn off, the pages ripped up into teeny tiny, microscopic sized pieces. Some one had taken the time and effort to rip out the pages and than sit there ripping them up as small as they could. It takes an awful lot of hate, for some one to go through that sort of trouble to destroy a book so thourally. That was the day, my eyes were opened to the fact that the people doing these things to me, really, truly, hated me with every fiber of their souls. This wasn’t normal angry hatred. This was pure vile hatred with a vengeance hatred. It scared me to my very soul. I realized that day, just how truly psychotic these people were.

My stamp collection was gone. They stole that. It had been my dad’s moms. She had made it in the early 1930’s. It was a huge collection, thousands of stamps, nearly every stamp ever made, dating as far back as the 1830’s. It was priceless. It was worth a fortune, but I never sold it because it had been in our family for nearly a hundred years, and now it was gone, and I have no idea how to get it back. I contacted several stamp societies and they said that if it wasn’t a registered collection, that most likely who ever stole it was going to cut it down and sell the stamps individually over the course of 20 or 30 years, and it’d be impossible to trace once they had done that. They told me the only hope of finding it would be if they tried to sell it to a dealer as an entire collection. It has been listed on all of the national and international alerts, by several different stamp societies though, so if anything like it shows up for sale, they’ll let me know.
My comic books. I love my comic books. Every one who knows me, knows how much I love my comic books. They took, my comic books, and they dumped them out. The floors of the house were still soaked from the flood a year earlier, we live in swampland, so the air never dries out, and thus the house never dried out either. They took my comic books, dumped them into the water on the floors and than stomped them into the mud until there was nothing left but a mashed up soggy pulp. You couldn’t even tell that they had once been comic books; it looked like wet paper mache` smeared all over the house.

My grandmother had grown up with and been best friends with the women who became the wife of America’s first ambassador to Japan, back before the World Wars. It wasn’t just her stamp collection they took. The emperor of Japan had given the ambassador and his wife a whole bunch of ceramics, about half of which she sent back to America to my grandmother. Imari dishes, China rabbits, vases, nick-knacks. I inherited them when she died. They now looked like some one had used them as baseballs. They were shattered into dust and powder, scattered from one end of the house to the other. There were no pieces big enough to try to put anything back together.

My bed, my bureau, the furniture, had been chopped up like fire wood. Some one took and axe to them.

These are the type of people, whom I was going to church with. This is what superstition and religious dogma does to people. This is what fearing god makes people do. I can’t believe these people actually thought they were justified in doing this. I stopped going to church after that. That was what it took, to finally show me, that I was not the type of person who goes to church, because I would never feel justified in destroying some one else’s property, no many how many men of god told me it was okay to do it.

When I told people what had happened, the response I got was: “Well it’s just things. You can replace things. Buy new ones.”

These are not replaceable. Sure, I can go out and buy another one like the ones destroyed, but I had not bought them to begin with. I didn’t have these things because they were something I went out to buy just to have, these things had been in my family for years. They help a psychic connection to the people who had owned them. I kept them because my grandmother had owned them, touched them, held them. They were my connection to her. She died when I was 8 years old, I barely remember her. I had her things to remember her by. You can’t replace that. Buying things that looked like the ones she had is pointless, because they would not be the ones she had owned.

Another answer I got was this: “Well that’s what you get for leaving things where people can destroy them.”

What the hell? They were inside my house! How is that leaving them where people can destroy them? What right does any one have to come on private property, go into my house, trespassing on my land, and than destroy my property?

I will add here, that both of those statements were said by a Mormon, who also told me that: “Well maybe you deserved the way they treated you.” You know what, no one deserves that. I don’t care who they are. Violence is ALWAYS uncalled for.

You asked earlier, if being homeless changed my writing, and it did, but it changed a lot of other things in me too. I am one person in a family with more than 600 members in it, a member of a church with over a 1,000 members, a resident in a town with 12,000 people, when those people needed help, I never turned them away. Not one. When those people were in trouble and needed some one to take their animals, they always turned to me, in the last 30 years I have taken care of more than 5,000 animals and barely a handful of them were actually my own.
These people, who I devoted my life to helping, they are the ones who took every thing from me. They are the ones who threw rocks at me and shot paint ball guns at me. Some one set fire to my home. Some one after the fire broke into the house and took a sledge hammer to my records, tore pages out of my books, smashed my grandmothers’ antiques, and took an ax to my furniture. Somebody throw a rock at my horse and took her eye out. Somebody dumped oil in our brook and killed my ducks. Than, after I had no place to go, and no money to buy a real tent to built one out of a tarp, every week someone came and tore it down. I had to keep rebuilding it. These people, they were people who I had once called friend. These wonderful loving Mormons showed me their real colors that year. When these things happened, I asked for help, I begged for help, when I got no where locally, I wrote 300 letters all identical and I sent them out the every governor, senator, and state representative all over the USA, begging some one, any one to help me. I even sent letters to Bush and Hillary Clinton. No one helped me. No one. Not family. Not friend. Not church. Not town. Not state. Not country. No one. I gave up on the Human race. I know now, what it means to be Human, and I want no part of it.

Q. There is an interesting story about the house you grew up in and the land on which it sits. It goes along with your “white monkey” experience somewhat, in that locals consider your house to be a paranormal “hot spot”. For well over a hundred years now, people have said that land was haunted. This belief was partially to blame for the way church members treated you, correct? It also explains the weird things that have happened in the 3 years since you became homeless.

In May of 2007, your home was taken from your family and sold at auction. The starting price had been over $200,000. Due to rumors of the house being haunted, when it finally sold, it sold for under $20,000. Since it's sale, there have been so many problems and incidents that the new owners abandoned it place and now the place sits as it has since the flood/fire forced you out of your home.

Rumors are circulating that the house is haunted. These rumors originally started in the 1940's when the house was built, due to the rumor that it was built to hide the body of a local murder victim whose body has yet to be found. There are people who will not set foot on the land, let alone enter the house. Yet your family has lived there for many years. What was it like, growing up in a haunted house?

EelKat: The land was settled by Thomas Rodgers in 1657. It remained in our family ever since than. Originally, there were some 500 or so acres, but slowly as more relatives were born, the land was divided. By the 1800's most of the original land had been divided up and sold to non-family members. All that remained was three stripes of land side by side, which together totaled a half an acre. As each owner of these lands died, my father inherited them. The land our house was on, one on of the pieces that got sold in the 1920's. There was no house on the land at that time. In the 1940's stories of a woman being murdered, were circulating around town, but no one could find her body. The house I grew up in, was a tiny 700 square foot, one bedroom cabin, it had 4 rooms total, not including the bathroom which was basically a toilet in a closet. The house was built quickly, on the ground, with no foundation underneath, and no insulation in the walls. It only took a few days to build and was put up only days after the murder rumor started. As a result of this, the rumor escalated into claiming that the woman had been buried under the house and the house built in it's mad dash haste, to hide the body. The family who than bought the house suffered a series of illnesses, and freak accidents, until they died under strange circumstances in the late 1960's. The house went up for sale, but no one would buy it, because every one said it was haunted. In 1973, my father bought it for $13,000, and land that had once belonged to our family, was part of our farm once again. We moved out of the barn that same summer and moved into the tiny haunted house.

Death, Grief, and Mourning: Life In And Around Old Orchard Beach's Haunted House

Fear not Death; for the sooner we die, the longer shall we be immortal.

~Benjamin Franklin

People often wonder how I became so very grim and morbid at such a young age. In my lifetime I have personally seen more than 500 deaths. I was just 4 years old, when not one, but 3 deaths happened in a single summer. In the years since than, not a year has passed, when someone close to me did not die. The deaths, however have never been normal. They have been murders and freak accidents. There have been so many of them, all in the tiny area around our house, that locals, came to avoid the house, the land on which it sat, the car in the driveway, and the family who lived there. At the young age of four, I already knew that our family was different, but back than I was too young to understand why the locals treated us so differently from every one else. At four years old, I was too young to understand their words, but knew that people were scared of our house and it's ghosts and people were scared of our car and it's demon. I was too young to know what ghosts and demons were, or what it was that the adults were talking about.
More often than not, death comes quickly and unexpectedly, as many would say "like a thief in the night". Even when we know that death is soon at hand, rarely are we ever truly prepared for it. Death is the time when most people turn to their local religious/spiritual advisor, and for many cultures, even today, that means turning to a Witch for help. For me, growing up in a haunted house, requires you to be around death and dieing a lot more than the average person. I have become quite proficient in my knowledge of the funeral and burial traditions. Preparing the dead, digging the graves, performing the funerals, and mourning ceremonies, are some thing that I have been a part of on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis since I was 4 years old.

Death During My Childhood Years

I did not grow up in a funeral home, and yet, I have seen over 500 deaths of friends and relatives in the past 33 years. I grew up in a haunted house. What I wanted to do with my life, it would seem, was unimportant, as necessity and nature, and a house with at least three different ghosts, had its own ideas for my life. The Great Spirit has set me on this path in life, and set me there very early on. There was a time when I feared death, Death came so often, hardly a month in my life has gone by, and that Death has touched. Over the years, I have come to expect and accept Death. I can not call Death a friend, as I have heard others do, for I still view him as a thief, but never the less, Death comes as he chooses, and no force on earth can stop him once he is here. Death has been my life long companion, but I do not think that he will ever be my friend.

I first saw death when I was four years old when a friend died during surgery: a freak accident the doctor had said. He had had an allergic reaction to the anesthetic, and died before the surgery even started.

Death came again that same year, to yet another friend, through a sudden and tragic freak accident that came without warning, just 3 feet from our back door. A "hanging" by becoming tangled in a rope that prevented him calling for help. A horrible accident. I remember seeing him hanging from a rope tangled on the fence, a scene that I can never forget.

Than for the third time that year Death came once again, this time a ten-year-old girl on a bike was hit by a car and killed instantly, right in front of our house. Her family had just moved into the house next door to ours, earlier that week. I became friends with her sister as a result. Her sister, also aged 4, like myself. The two of us were best friends until we turned 9 years old. In the five years that we were friends, there had been so many freak accidents and deaths, either in our yard, or in the street in front of our house, that her parents became terrified to allow her near our land. This was triggered by the fact that three months earlier their own home, suddenly and without a known reason burst into flames. It blew up like a bomb. A huge mushroom that towered over the town. A few local people said that it was the demon living in our car that had done it. This was the first time my car would be accused of being demon possessed, an allegation that would rise up again and again over the next 20 odd years.

Rumors of A Haunted House Grow

Our house is said to be haunted, our land is said to carry a curse on it, and my car is said to be demon possessed. These things are oddly said by the same people who call me crazy. Odd. It sounds to me like they are the ones who are crazy.

My grandmother used to tell the story of how the house was haunted, as did several local families who lived on our street. Since the flood/fire of 2006, several of the "old folks" in the area, have started to talk about it being haunted again. In August of 2007, some one went to the remains of the building and nailed a cross to the front door in hopes of exorcising the spirits in the house.

Since than, the ground around the house has washed out, leaving small sink holes all around it. No one goes near the house at all now, for fear of the ground collapsing. One rumor going around, says that it's the murdered woman trying to dig her way out from under the house. As for myself, I'm rather inclined to think that the adults in the area are a bit overly superstitious. However, their talk has made me curious, and I wonder: "Was some woman murdered and buried under our house all those years ago?" I guess the only way to find out would be to tear the house down and dig up the ground beneath it. I guess, that's what the auction winners were planning to do, because they had it all ready to go down, after they bought it, but than they found out that the town had some law in place that would not allow it to be torn down.
The law states that the tiny sliver of land on which the house sits (about 40 feet wide) is too small to put a house on. The house that is there, sits one foot off the boarder on one side and 8 feet off the boarder on the other side. The law says that if the house is torn down, any new house put in it's place, must have a 25 foot buffer between it and the bordering land on all four sides of the house, which required the plot of land to be at least 75 feet square. The law continues and says that the only option available is to rebuild the house, however, another clause continues to say that the house is condemned and therefore can not be rebuilt, but can only be torn down and a new house built. This law, btw, was put into place by the very same town manager who was a member of our church and was acting "on God's instructions", he had had that law passed as part of his plan to force us off our land.

Well, we knew about this law years ago, and that law is why we were never able to do any repairs on the house either, because in order to et permits to do repairs, the town council had to come in and approve the lot size. We started applying for just such a permit in 2001. We reapplied every 3 months (four times a year), the town council never approved it. After the flood, and though they had no papers to prove it, the town council told us the house was condemned in May of 2006, and we had to vacate it. That is when I built the tent. On May 9th of 2006 I was officially homeless.

The Goldeneagle: The Car People Fear Most

The car, my beloved Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330, 4 door sedan 25th anniversary limited edition former police car, has more people scared of it than the house or the land does. While three ghosts are said to haunt the house, it is said that a poltergeist possesses the car, due to the fact that the car spent so many years parked next to the house. In the past 30 years, the demon living in my car has been blamed for nearly every fire, and freak death to happen in the Saco Bay area, not just Old Orchard. It's no wonder so many people want to see this car destroyed. The car itself was once a police car. It “died” when I was 9 years old, and was parked behind our house, where it became my "writing room/office", where I write most of my stories. The rumors about the car being cursed started after, every time some one said anything bad about me, while standing next to the car, either their house burned down days later, or they ended in the hospital with some weird, rare illness, they died a few days later. In 30 years, there have been about 5 deaths per year, blamed on my car and it's so called demon. In any case, people now keep their distance from my Goldeneagle, and I've had cover the headlights, because people were saying that if it's "eyes" feel upon them, they would become it's next victim. And here I sit on the hood on my car writing away, and wondering, why it is that people believe the silly things they do.

But what started this irrational fear on my car? In the summer of my 4th year, I meet Etiole, whose existence was questioned by every one, and whom adults passed off as an imaginary friend. I could see and hear Etiole as plan as day. I talked to him, he talked to me. He helped me in the garden, he helped me around the barn. At night he slept in the car. He was very real. Etiole was not my imagination. Again however, I was too young to understand, that no one else was seeing Etiole. No one else was hearing Etiole. They were however seeing objects move through the air without cause, and a new word was said by adults, a new word which I did not understand: poltergeist. As time went by, and my insistence that Etiole was real, grew ever stronger, people began to say one of two things: some started saying that my car was demon possessed and had a poltergeist living in it, while others started saying I had schizophrenia. While many things caused people to dislike me during my life time, it would forever be my friendship with Etiole, that would peg me as crazy, for in the 30 years since that summer, I have never denied his existence, and he still, all these years later, lives in my car.

The Ancient Indian Curse

There are people who are terrified to set foot on our land, let alone in our house, for they say that not only is the house haunted, but also the land is cursed. Every year since than, Death has come to our family, our friends, or just people passing by our house, at least once each year, and Death never just comes and goes away quietly, Death is never peaceful when he comes knocking at our door. Death brings with him gruesomeness, fires, drownings, plagues, long painful illnesses, bizarre freak accidents, and several bloody and horrific murders.

The large number of deaths, unexplained illnesses, freak accidents, and other outlandish events that happen in, near, and around our house has lead to the rumor that it is haunted or cursed. Not haunted because of the rumor of the house being built on top of some dead woman. There is another rumor, that goes all the way back to the 1600's when the land was first settled by my family. Our house was built on land that white men stole from the Penobscot and Saco tribes. In fact our house was built on the Penobscot's old apple orchard itself, the very same apple orchard from which the town gets it's name: Old Orchard Beach, and some of the ancient trees are still standing, just behind our house in the Ross Forest. These two tribes were famous for their Witch Doctor curses on the white invaders of Southern Maine, most notable the Penobscot's curse on Googins Beach in Old Orchard and the Saco's curse on the York Hill section of the Saco River in Biddeford.

The Penobscot curse says that no white man will ever live peaceably on their apple orchard.
The Saco curse says that every year at least one white man will drown in the Saco river (in the 300 years since there has been at least one, but usually 3 drownings, 5 have drowned this year alone.) And here is where me and my car got added to these two curses: Etiole, my friend whom no one else can see, he claims to be the one enforcing these two curses on the white men. He has lived in the forest behind our house, some 300 years, he moved into my car in the early 1970's, though I did not first see him until 1979. He found the car more comfortable than the trees.
There is a very strong belief, by the general population of the local area, in both the Penobscot curse and the Saco River Curse, so when I started telling people that I had made friends with the demon responsible for these things, and he lived in my car, well, let's just say, people reacted.

Death During My Teen Years

Death and freak accidents, did not stop in my childhood years, however. As a teenager, Death continued to come repeatedly. At the age of 12, disease struck, and death surrounded us for weeks. Some 30+ deaths rocked our lives that year, including 2 friends who fell through the ice and drowned that winter. I was there when the bodies were pulled out of the water. Not a pretty sight.

At age 14 , was the first time I realized once and for all, what death really was, and just how crazy the superstition crazed adults around me were. That was when five of my friends were brutally murdered, a scene that I walked into and witnessed (and became the key witness in court later that year). That was the year I stopped talking. That was the year I stopped talking about Etiole to adults. That was the year, when I suddenly realized, that adults were scary. Adults, had strange ideas about things. At 14 ,I did a lot of growing up. I remember standing there covered in blood holding my still alive, but soon to be dead best friend, ( my other four friends were already dead) while being interviewed by the police. The court had ordered their bodies not to be buried, and to not even be moved at all, during a 113 degree August heat wave. Two weeks later I was there when their badly decomposed, green fleshed, maggot ridden bodies were prepared for burial. The stench was indescribable, seeing death is one thing, the smell of death is another. Once you have smelt the rotted flesh of death, you well never forget it as long as you live. Today nearly twenty years later, I still have nightmares of this horrible event, for me sleep is not peaceful, sleep is not my friend any more than Death is. My childhood ended that summer; I became an adult and never experienced what it was like to be a teenager.

In 1994 cancer took my grandmother. (My other grandmother had died when I was 8.) That same year- old age took my horse, and cancer took my dog.

In 1995, my out of state cousin was murdered by a police officer in an air port in Las Vegas. The officer had mistaken him for someone else, and shot him on sight. Because it was a case of mistaken identity, the charges were dropped, and his murderer went unpunished.

Death During My Adult Years

In 2003, I lost twelve friends in the space of four months through sickness, heart attack, old age, and for the first time was faced with a death were there was no body to bury: the tragic result of a fire and the loss of two very dear friends who never got to be buried as there were no remains left to be found.

Why People Fear Me

Death has whirled around me, my entire life. Understanding hearts are not easily found, when everyone around you dies, and you are left behind. Worse, understanding hearts are not easily found, when in the space of 20 years, nearly every death in town, happened a few feet from your front door and the entire town, now blames you, your haunted house, your cursed land, and your demon possessed car. People are strange in their superstitious beliefs, but now you know where I got the idea for the Twighlight Manor, and haunted mansion that kills people, and The Goldeneagle, a car who people are terrified of. The Twighlight Manor, was based on my own childhood home, and The Goldeneagle, well, the Goldeneagle in the book is the Goldeneagle in my yard. When people read my Twighlight Manor books and all their death and blood and the haunted house and the haunted car, and than they hear me say the events in the stories are based on real events in my life, they usually laugh, thinking that I was joking. I do not tell jokes. I see no purpose in them. Jokes serve no logical goal. I write what I know, and I know haunted houses, haunted cars, and freaked out death very very well.

I have found that, because of my own losses, I am able to understand and mourn with others, when death comes to their own family. And yet, these people tell me, I could not even imagine their pain. If they only knew how many deaths I have suffered through on my own with no one willing to morn with me. It is they who could not even begin to imagine.

A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth. It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool: this also is vanity.

~Ec 7: 1-6

We must all learn to come face to face with Death, but very few people are mentally or emotionally able to do so. Teenagers have an even harder time with it than adults do. People often ask my why my stories are so full of death and sorrow. Fact of the matter is, it is all I really know. In my 33 years, there has been hardly a month gone by that I have not had to see someone one I know, dead. I have barely a week or two to morn them before the next death comes along. I can't write about anything else, because I do not know anything else. People tell me that the average person only sees one death before they reach the age of 30. I have seen more than 500. People tell me that if I move away from this land, this house, I will not have to see everyone around me die any more. People tell me that it is the house to blame, because it is haunted and no one can live in it without being cursed. Are they right? I don't know, but I have not lived in that house for 3 years now, and actually, Death no longer is shadowing my every move.

Oddly, people tell me that the new owners have had nothing but sickness, death, and misfortune since they bought the house, and they live in Nevada. They have yet to come to Maine to see the house in person, apparently, every time they try, a member of their family ends up in the hospital. New rumor says they are planning to sell the house, but have been unable to do so.

Q. Has being homeless changed your outlook on life?

EelKat: I haven't had contact with humans outside of my church. I never go out in public; in fact the only time I go outside at all is to do something in my own yard with the animals. The way I was treated growing up, by the Humans in my church, I just have this deep mistrust of all Humans now. I have a hard time seeing them as anything other than vile beings whom I don't want to associate with. Being homeless did that to me. I don't like Humans. I know now that they've never liked me. I used to over look things they did and said, I had hope, and that's why I continued to attend church in spite of the fact that they've never had a kind word for me, never shown me love, and the only thing I've ever gotten from the Humans is criticism, condemnation, threats, and hate.

Being homeless opened my eyes to the truth. I mean, come on, why would I want to be around a race of creatures that acted like that? I don't, only I didn't know that before being homeless. Before being homeless, I thought I did want to be around Humans. Being homeless opened my eyes to the fact that these people, really, really, really hated me. And it's because of that very reason that I not only no longer go to church, but now I no longer leave the house at all. I'm tired of the hate. I don't want it any more. I've had 30 years of nothing but hate and being told I was an evil apostate who was going to spend eternity in the darkest pits of hell. I don't want to hear that any more. If Humans can't say anything nice to me, than I don't want them to say anything at all to me anymore.

I just want some peace and quiet for once in my life. I mean, yeah it would be nice if there was someone out there who loved me, but there isn't, I know that now, and I gave up hope of ever finding that. There were 750 people in the Cape Elizabeth/Portland Ward hating me, 350 more in the Sanford Ward hating me, 250 more in the Saco Ward hating me. That's over a 1,000 people. A 1,000 Mormons. That's a lot of people. There are 52 Sundays in a year, that's 52,000 times a year I was being told I was evil, the child of Satan, I was going to Hell because of what I wrote. That went on for 30 years, that's 1,560,000 times I've been told I was worthless, 1,560,000 times I was told I was hated. And that's only counting Sundays. I don't know why I put up with it all those years, why I kept going to church.

Looking back now, it all seemed so pointless for me to keep going to church all those years. I went to every single meeting, 3 hours on Sunday at each Ward, Tuesday Night meetings, Friday night meetings, volunteer work to do landscaping and decorating the church for the dances and holidays. I never missed a single one of them. That's another 4 days each week times 52 times 30 plus 1,560,000, which comes up to a grand total of I have been told by Humans that I was a hated witch and a worthless child of Satan 7,800,000 times.

In my life I have been told 7,800,000 times that no one loved me because I was evil and going to hell. I just can't take that kind of abuse any more. That's why I don't promote my books. It was my books that caused the hate to begin with. If I promote my books more than I did already, that would bring them before millions more people. I'm having a hard time holding up against the hatred I'm receiving just from a 1,000 people as it is. If millions of people were to start hating me, I couldn't take that. I just wish some one would find something good to say about me for a change. Maybe, it would get my hopes up, but, I don't know, it's just been so long since the last time I heard a kind word spoken to me, I don't know if it would even have any effect.

Has being homeless changed my outlook on life? It did, and it changed a lot of other things in me too. I am one person in a family with more than 600 members in it, a member of a church with over a 1,000 members, a resident in a town with 12,000 people, when those people needed help, I never turned them away. Not one. When those people were in trouble and needed some one to take their animals, they always turned to me, in the last 30 years I have taken care of more than 5,000 animals and barely a handful of them were actually my own. These people, who I devoted my life to helping, they are the ones who took every thing from me. They are the ones who threw rocks at me and shot paint ball guns at me. Some one set fire to my home. Some one after the fire, broke into the house and took a sledge hammer to my records, tore pages out of my books, smashed my grandmothers’ antiques, stole my 1800's stamp collection, and took an ax to my furniture. Somebody throw a rock at my horse and took her eye out. Somebody dumped oil in our brook and killed my ducks. Than, after I had no place to go, and no money to buy a real tent so built one out of a tarp, every week someone came and tore it down. I had to keep rebuilding it.

These people, they were people who I had once called friend. These wonderful loving Mormons showed me their real colors that year. When these things happened, I asked for help, I begged for help, when I got no where locally, I wrote 300 letters all identical and I sent them out the every governor, senator, and state representative all over the USA, begging some one, any one to help me. I even sent letters to Bush and Hillary Clinton. No one helped me. No one. Not family. Not friend. Not church. Not town. Not state. Not country. No one. Not one single person. I gave up on the Human race. Has being homeless changed my outlook on life? I know now, what it means to be Human, and I want no part of it.

Q. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?

EelKat: I think this is kind of a weird question, and I never understood why people always ask it, but anyways . . .

Yes. Though I don't believe our life is "pre-destined" or that things happen because of "fate". Which kind of goes against my saying *yes* in answer to your question, doesn't it?

I believe everything happens for a reason, because I believe we are here to learn and progress. I do not believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell, because it suggests that once this life ends, life is over, and we had no farther reason to move on, thus it would be pointless for us to continue to live. I believe instead that we live a series of any lives, and that it is the events of the current life and how we react to those events that determine wither we move on to the next level of existence or come back here to this one to relive it over again until we have learned what we need to learn to progress.

In other words, things happen, good things, bad things, normal things, boring things, and it is not the event itself which is important, but rather the person’s response to the event in question, which is important.

There you go, me being all theological. I'll stop now, because once I get going, on this subject, I really get going . . . last time I ended up writing 900 sheets of paper on this topic, took me nine 100 packs of college ruled lined paper before I got everything I had to say said, all written in longhand, and took me about 3 months to write. Religion and theology are pet peeves of mine.

Q. Would you say you learned anything from your time being homeless?

EelKat: Oh yes. I learned more, than a million dollars worth of college would ever have taught me. I learned how truly cruel and cold hearted the Human race truly is. I learned to put my trust in no man, especially men claiming to be men of God. I learned that while every one tells you that the government has programs to help the poor and homeless, but in reality, there are no such programs. I learned that charities that say they give back to the community by helping the poor, actually never have any funding left over after they get done paying their CEOs income via the donations. I learned that people only give to the poor things that are rotted, molded, or broken, things that they themselves would never dream of eating or using. I learned that when you have no roof over you head, and you just assume that there will be shelters you can turn to, but than you find that most homeless don't qualify to stay in shelters because only those that live immoral lives are eligible for help. I learned that when people think you are wealthy they can't wait to be your best friend, but than after you take them to see where you live, and they see that you live under a tarp, than you never hear from them again and they pretend they never knew you. Yes, I learned a lot these past three years.

Most importantly, I learned that people see the world through big bowls of glistening fruit and are blind to the mold at the bottom, and if any of that mold gets on you, than you had better watch out, because they well stomp you down and hide you under the fresh fruit and than bury you is heavy cream, so that they won’t have to see you or your pain. They want the world to be a big bowl of peaches and cream all fine and dandy and if you do any thing to disrupt that view of their world, they will stop at nothing, to restore their precious candy coated mask on the world, even if it means destroying you to do so.

Q. I have noticed something about your words, your train of thought even. You see it once in a while in your words online too, but it's just scattered in random bits and pieces there. Here in this interview, and through out most all of your answers, I see you referring to people, not as people, but as humans, and not just humans, but Humans, with a capital "H". I've never seen any one do this before, and I've never heard any one who speaks of people as Humans the way you do. It's as though you are speaking of them like they were a different species than yourself. Like one would speak of a cat or a dog. Why do you talk like this?

EelKat: If you've listened to anything else I've said in this interview, than you will already know the answer to this: I was 27 years old, before I had contact with a single Human outside of my church. Church members did not think I was fit for society, so I was strictly forbidden to go out in public. I was never allow to go out in public, with out being accompanied by a male religious person. I was not allowed to speak to strangers. I was not allowed to look up and acknowledge that strangers had been seen by me. The only time I was allowed to speak was to church members, and they were so dead set on shutting up my ravings that I was rarely asked by any of them to speak. I became the prolific writer I am today, because if I wanted to communicate, my only option was to write down my thoughts and than pray that they would not be burned. I was never welcomed by these people as though I was one of them, rather I was treated as though I was an evil creature, not part of their race. I was never made to feel Human, in fact, I was treated as though I were not a Human at all. Thus I do not feel a connection with the rest of the Human kind.

I know I refer to people as Humans. I've done it most of my life. The way Humans treated me, made me question, wither or not I actually was a Human. Maybe it comes from talking to Etiole most of my life. (Etiole, the alien/creature/being/thin that I saw when I was 4 years old, whom no one would believe existed. For most of my life he has been the only person to whom I speak.) He refers to them as Humans, and yet, he never refers to me as Human. It is because I talked to Etiole, that Humans originally started treating me the way they did. While other children also claimed to have seen him, no adults ever saw Etiole, so no adults ever believed he was real. They were punishing me, for refusing to agree with them and say that Etiole was not real.
I guess, some where along the line, I stopped feeling like I was one of these things, these monstrous creatures that called themselves Humans, because there were no Humans willing to accept me as an equal. The less equal they treated me, the less equal I felt, thus the less I felt Human.

I never learned to trust adults. I never learned to trust Humans. The only Human I ever did trust was a boyfriend, 27 years my senior, I had for 15 years, who, just weeks before our wedding, I went to a doctor and was told I could not have children, so he called off the wedding two days later and broke up with me, him being a “good Mormon” and all, because I wouldn’t not be a good wife, since I was useless as a breeder. That happened in 2003, just after the vandalism and harassment was getting started. I was losing my faith in the Human Race back than, but he was the one person that I could turn too. The only one I had to talk too, and suddenly, he was gone. He was the only Human I had ever opened my trust too. Suddenly I couldn’t even trust him any more. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time staying in a relationship with men, and why I am at my age, still a virgin. After I found out I couldn’t have babies, I got a lot more animals. They took the place of the babies I could never have. My animals, became my children.

The summer of 2003, saw an evil form of harassment come in the form of some vile anonymous person signed me up for a year subscription to American Baby, Parenting, Baby, and several other such magazines for new mothers. Not many people knew what the doctor had told me, I told, I think 4 people, all Mormons, as I don’t know any non-Mormons. Rather limit’s the options, there was one odd thing about it however: they got my mailing address wrong. It stood out, because for the past 20 years, I had gotten quite a few letters in the mail, addressed to this very same misspelling of my address: letters from my grandfather and my uncles. This unique misspelling of the mailing address on these magazines, that were now coming, was a glaring indication, that either my grandfather or my uncle had paid for the subscriptions, because no one else ever misspelled my mailing address in that manner. I wonder, though, how they could have gotten the information, seeing how I never told any relatives, what the doctor had said. It means that one of the people I did tell, had to have contacted one of my relatives and told them. Either that, or somehow my uncle found out who my doctor was, the same way he’d found every church I was going to, and thus contacted the doctor. In either case it was a breech of my privacy. I called the magazines to tell them to cancel the subscriptions, but being gift subscriptions, meant I couldn’t cancel them, and I ended up getting each of them for the next two years. I chalk it up to being just one more act of cruelty at the hands of religious men, and one more reason why I dislike Humans.

I have never been treated like I was a Human. It’s been so many years now, that, I don't feel a connection to Humans any more, I do think of them as very different from myself, and can't breed with some thing not of my own kind. I don't know when exactly the connection broke, it's been wearing thin for many years now. The year of the tent was hard. I needed some one to talk to, and I had no one. Just Etiole.

The year of the tent, 2006, left me alone, with a lot of violence being done to me, and no one willing to talk to me about it. I think that is when my connection to the Human Race, finally broke. I was alone, for a year. Shunned by relations, shunned by friends, told that what they had done to me, was really the work of God. There was no one there for me. No one cared.
I needed Human contact. I was desperate for Human contact. That’s why I looked for government help, not the get help, so much as just to find some one out there who cared about me, even if it was just strangers. I tried signing up for welfare programs, food stamps, some thing, anything to keep me in some sort of contact with at least one Human, some where, any where, any one would have done at that point. I was desperate. I was turned away from all of them. Friends, family, strangers, government, even my own parents.

The year of the tent, 2006 - 2007, that was also, the year of the world wide pet food poisoning. The poisoned wheat gluten from China. The recall would not come about until months after thousands of pets across America had already died, mine included. All I had left was my animals, and more than half of my animals died that year. My animals were my children, and without them, I was devastated. The day the house burned, I had more than 300 animals in my care. By the end of that year, there were only 40 left. I begged every one I knew, if they wouldn't help me, please, at least help the animals.

I had to deal with all the things that had happened that year, alone: the flood, the multi-million dollar medical bills, the fire, the town council’s constant harassments, living in the tent, the pet food poisoning, the destruction of everything I owned at the hands of vandals, and than on top of that 260 deaths. All of this happened in the space of 8 short months, and there was not one single person whom I could turn to for help. I just shut down completely after that. Whatever thread there was keeping me connected to the Human Race, broke. So much violence. So much death. So much hatred. My eyes opened that year, and I saw the Human race for the vile beasts they truly were. After that there was no doubt in my mind, whatever these evil creatures were, these despicable monsters who called themselves Humans, I was not one of them.

With everything that happened that year, ultimately it was the deaths of so many of my babies that year, that showed me, just exactly what it means to be Human. Humans are cruel. Humans are cold. Humans are heartless. Humans are evil. Humans are monsters. And religious church going Humans were the worst beasts of them all. What they did to me, I could tolerate. I’ve had to put up with it for 30 years. What they did to my animals was unforgivable. I can replace books. I can rewrite words burned. But a life once taken, can not be restored.

I didn't just lose my home, my possessions, my so-called Human friends: I lost the one thing that mattered most in my life: I lost my animals, and you can't bring them back. I want no part of the Human Race now. I saw very clearly than, that they were right, all those years ago when they said I was different. They were right, I was not like them. I am nothing like them. I have feelings, I have compassion, I have love for those around me; they had none of that. You have no idea, what the Old Orchard Beach town manager and his Mormon town council put me through that year.

There were 4 people during that year, 4 Humans, who maintained contact with me: my 3 teenage brothers, who checked in on me a couple of times a week. They wanted to help. They tried to help. And my one friend, the strange UFO chasing Sunday School teacher-boyfriend from so many years ago. For some unknown reason, he showed up in my life once again, the year of the tent. He is the reason, I still have my books and my comic books and my huge antique church organ. He loaded them up and took them to his house. My stuff was in the process of being packed in boxes, to move to his house, the day the vandals came and destroyed everything. Everything they destroyed was packed in boxes, ready to go up to his house. The vandals, before smashing everything, had unpacked the boxes. It tells you just what kind of effort these guys put into destroying my property.

I don’t know what to think about my ex. He was there for 15 years, than in a blink he was gone, off with some other woman, and then three years later he’s back in my life acting like nothing had ever happened. I have a hard time dealing with that, because I’ve been told by someone from Church that he’s still with one of the other woman, (don’t know who to believe on this since both my ex and the other member have lied to me in the past, and I don’t really have a reason to trust either of them anymore) and yet he’s here at my place every Sunday on his way home from church. I don’t get it. However, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't still have my massive book collection, because when the town came in after the fire, they took everything that wasn't named down and auctioned it all off, well, everything that the vandals hadn’t destroyed before the town got there, that is.

In the end, after 30 years of being called an apostate and being told I was going to hell, and being harassed, they finally broke me, and yet, I still write. Weird. The one thing they wanted to stop me from doing, the reason behind everything they did: they couldn't stop me from writing. They can't make me say Etiole wasn't real, and they can't stop me from writing that he was real. They wanted to silence me about the crimes of the bishop, and ended up committing more crimes to protect him, and now, here I am writing that down too. It almost seems funny in a way, when you think about it. After everything they did in an attempt to stop me from writing, all they did was give me more things to write about. They took every thing from me, but they forgot that I still had my free will. They can't take that away.

Q. I have noticed something about your words, your train of thought even. You see it once in a while in your words online too, but it's just scattered in random bits and pieces there. Here in this interview, and through out most all of your answers, I see you referring to people, not as people, but as humans, and not just humans, but Humans, with a capital "H". I've never seen any one do this before, and I've never heard any one who speaks of people as Humans the way you do. It's as though you are speaking of them like they were a different species than yourself. Like one would speak of a cat or a dog. Why do you talk like this?

EelKat: If you've listened to anything else I've said in this interview, than you will already know the answer to this: I was 27 years old, before I had contact with a single Human outside of my church. Church members did not think I was fit for society, so I was strictly forbidden to go out in public. I was never allow to go out in public, with out being accompanied by a male religious person. I was not allowed to speak to strangers. I was not allowed to look up and acknowledge that strangers had been seen by me. The only time I was allowed to speak was to church members, and they were so dead set on shutting up my ravings that I was rarely asked by any of them to speak. I became the prolific writer I am today, because if I wanted to communicate, my only option was to write down my thoughts and than pray that they would not be burned. I was never welcomed by these people as though I was one of them, rather I was treated as though I was an evil creature, not part of their race. I was never made to feel Human, in fact, I was treated as though I were not a Human at all. Thus I do not feel a connection with the rest of the Human kind.

I know I refer to people as Humans. I've done it most of my life. The way Humans treated me, made me question, wither or not I actually was a Human. Maybe it comes from talking to Etiole most of my life. He refers to them as Humans, and yet, he never refers to me as Human. It is because I talked to Etiole, that Humans treated me the way they did. They were punishing me, for refusing to agree with them and say that Etiole was not real. I guess, some where along the line, I stopped feeling like I was one of these things, because there were no Humans willing to accept me as an equal. The less equal they treated me, the less I felt Human. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time staying in a relationship with men, and why I am at my age, still a virgin. I don't feel a connection to Humans any more, I do think of them as very different from myself, and can't breed with some thing not of my own kind. I don't know when exactly the connection broke, it's been wearing thin for many years now. The year of the tent was hard. I needed some one to talk to, and I had no one. Just Etiole. I think that's when my connection to the Human Race, finally broke. I was alone, for a year. Shunned by relations, shunned by friends, told that what they had done to me, was really the work of God. There was no one there for me. No one cared. I tried signing up for welfare programs, food stamps, some thing, anything to keep me in some sort of contact with at least one Human, some where, any one would have done at that point. I was turned away from all of them. Friends, family, strangers, even my own parents.

More than half of my animals died that year. We had no food. The day the house burned, I had more than 300 animals in my care. By the end of that year, there were only 40 left. I begged every one I knew, if they wouldn't help me, please, at least help the animals. It was the deaths of so many of my babies that year, that showed me, just exactly what it means to be Human. Humans are cruel. Humans are cold. Humans are monsters. What they did to me, I could tolerate. I put up with it for years. What they did to my animals was unforgivable. You can replace books. I can rewrite words burned. A life once taken, can not be restored. I didn't just lose my home, my possessions, my Human friends: I lost he one thing that mattered most in my life: I lost my animals, and you can't bring them back. I want no part of the Human Race now. I saw very clearly than, that they were right. I was not like them. I was nothing like them. I had feelings, compassion, love for those around me; they had nothing. You have no idea, what the Old Orchard Beach town manager and his out of state Mormon town council put me through that year.

There were 4 people during that year, 4 Humans, who maintained contact with me: my 3 teenage brothers, who checked in on me a couple of times a week. They wanted to help. They tried to help. And my one friend, the strange UFO chasing Sunday School teacher from so many years ago. He is the reason, I still have my books and my comic books and my huge antique church organ. He loaded them up and took them to his house. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't still have my massive book collection, because when the town came in after the fire, they took everything that wasn't named down and auctioned it all off. Everything that didn't sell, they took a sledge hammer to. In a way, they won. They finally broke me, and yet, I still write. The one thing they wanted to stop me from doing, the reason behind everything they did: they couldn't stop me from writing. They can't make me say Etiole wasn't real, and they can't stop me from writing that he was real. They took every thing from me, but they forgot that I still had me free will. They can't take that away.

It's no wonder Etiole became so very dangerous these past five years. You want to know what happened last week? The MERC blew up. It went up like an atom bomb. A huge mushroom hovering over Biddeford. Shook the whole town. Blew out windows of houses near enough to it. Businesses closed. Fire departments from all over the state were called in. Every one was afraid that if the fire didn't get put out that a second explosion would take half of Maine off the map. MERC is where they took my things to be burned. It's an incinerator plant. That's how mad Etiole is, and that's the type of things he can do. That's why people are so scared of him. That's why people are so scared of me. And, yet, stupid idiots that they are, Etiole's only dangerous when he's protecting me. If they had not done these things to me, they would have no reason to be afraid. Etiole listens to me, I can calm him down and stop him from doing these things, and I used too, because I used to care about what happened to people, but you know what? I just don't care any more. I have no reason to care any more. I have a list of people whom Etiole is not to harm, under any circumstances. Any one not on that list, is free range for him, to do with as he sees fit. I pity every brainless fool who has ever at any point in my life so much as had a bad thought towards me, because Etiole gets in your head, he can read your thoughts, your memories, he knows what people care about the most, he knows what will hurt them the most should they lose it. They thought he was a weather controlling poltergeist before? They haven’t seen anything. He was only mad before, now he’s really, really angry.

Q. Isn’t it true that if you had never meet Etiole and never seen the VISION-D8, that the adults in your life might never have accused you of being schizophrenic, might never have called you a Witch, and certainly would never have turned into the hysterical angry mob which forced you out of your home? How do you feel about that? Do you ever wish that you had not meet Etiole or seen the ship?

EelKat: No. Never. What people did to me was not Etiole’s fault. Yeah, sure, they did it because of him, but he isn’t to blame, they are. What they did was uncalled for and unjustified. They were driven on by their own irrational fears and prejudiced hatred. Could I say for sure that they would not have done those things if not for Etiole? No. Why? Because they acted out of their own free will, free will, which they would have had, wither I had seen Etiole or not. Fact is, the chances are pretty good that without Etiole they would have found some other reason to hate me and I would still have ended up with the same end result. Humans are going to do what Humans are going to do, regardless of anything else, it’s just Human nature. Fear, hatred, prejudice, destruction, that’s just the way these people are made of. If it hadn’t been me, they would have done it to someone else.

What's your take on this? I'd love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

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