EK's Star Log

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Alright, what is this guy talking about? I know I keep asking, but he was here again yesterday and as usually, he was doing his weird babbling calling me "Stephen King's Thinner Gypsy Witch", calling my car haunted, calling my car "The GoldenEagle", saying aliens live in my car, calling my homeless WW2 vet friend an alien, while also calling him "Etiole", and acting like he thinks I'm supposed to know what he is even talking about!

Who is Stephen King?

What is The Thinner movie?

Why is he saying my car is haunted?

Why is he saying my car is called "The GoldenEagle?"

Why is he saying my friend is an alien?

Why is he saying my friend is called "Etiole"?

And why are so many people doing it?

The problem is, if it was just ONE guy doing this I was think, okay, he's just crazy, the problem is, he is one of WELL OVER THIRTY THOUSAND PEOPLE who has shown up in my yard, since my son's murder in 2013, to say these things.

I think 30,000 people taking the time to hunt down my home address, drive across the country, land in my yard, to start gibbering weird stuff about some guy I don't know (Stephen King, who is Stephen King and why is he sending people to my yard?), claiming I'm in some movie I never heard of (what is The Thinner movie - I have never owned a tv and have gone to fewer than ten movies in my entire life, so I don't know what this movie even is), all calling my car haunted (no matter how much I say it is not haunted, it's doesn't matter, they refuse to believe me and persist in saying it is haunted), all calling my car "The GoldenEagle" and I don't know why, because I don't call it that. (the only GoldenEagle I know is a character from my novels),...why?

Every single one of these people who do this, have the exact same narrative, almost identical to each other, nearly word for word like they are reading some script… which makes me think they are reading or watching something somewhere and they are quoting it.

They keep talking about a movie, and they keep saying I'm in it. I keep telling them I've never been in a movie, and they keep saying, yes I have.

There WAS a time when a film crew showed up in my yard, back in the 1990s, at ONE A.M. in the morning, dragged us all out of bed, they DID keep calling us Gypsies and roamed around my farm at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, oooohing and ahhhing,, and talking about "oh so this is how Gypsies live", and they DID use the name "Stephen King" a lot, it was the first time I'd ever heard that name. They made my parents and my haunted and uncles, takes our cars to Shop and Save Parking Lot in Saco (now renamed Hannaford in Saco) across the street from Dairy Queen in Saco, and they made them drive our cars across the turnpike exit bridge at Exit 5, over and over and over and over and over again, for five hours of steady none stop driving back and forth on that bridge, while some guy yelled at us about the lack of fog and the need for bringing in fog machines, which they set up all around the edge of the bridge….and the entire time, my parents, my aunts, my uncles, all of the oldest cousins were crying and begging and pleading and asking to be allowed to go home, most of them thought we were being held hostage, most of them were convinced these white people were going to kill us before morning… they finally left at five A.M. leaving us scared out of our minds and confused as to what in the heck any of that was about.

And THAT… seems to be what people are referring to when they say "The Thinner Movie" or claim I'm "in a Stephen King movie" or call me "Stephen King's Thinner Gypsy Witch".

I don't know what year that was, I had not yet learned about numbers and calendars and dates, and years yet, but all three of my brothers had been already born, so I was at least in my twenties at the time.

I was still being kept locked in the woodshed thing at the back of the blue house at 144 Portland Ave, so I was not yet thirty one because I was thirty one when I escaped from that room-thing, that I had been kept locked in since I was eight. My parents took me out of school when I was eight, when my grandmother Helen Ricker Allen died, and they locked m me in that room thing and the ONLY time I was let out was when home teacher Time Smith and Steven Bryant came over or when visiting teacher Kathy Smith and Letta Bryant came over, for their once monthly visits, and when high priest Ben came over on Sundays to take me to church… and I stayed in that room thing for twenty seven years… so no, I never saw v, I never saw movies, I never saw toilets, I never saw showers, I never saw lights, I never saw electricity, I only knew toilets and electricity existed because because the Cape Elizabeth Ward Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints had them… the room was kept locked in had a dirt floor, and the walls and roof were made out of boards, that had two inch wide spaces between then, so I slept in rain and snow and ice with no protection from any of it…

You people who like to joke about "the feral child of Old Orchard Beach"... that was ME… I was that child. I'm now in fifties and I'm only JUST LEARNING HOW TO TALK, because I never had contact with ANY Humans, outside of my parents, the Atwater aunts and uncles, the Smiths, the Bryants, and Ben… NO ONE ELSE EVER! Not once in my entire life.

So if you want to ask questions about Stephen King and haunted cars and aliens… you ask THEM… because I don't know what you are talking about.

That man you call "Etiole", he's the homeless man who was the ONLY PERSON in the entire of Old Orchard Beach, who had any decency, and actually TRIED to get me out of that room, thing. My uncle Bruce is the one who used to call him an alien, while Ben called him a demon. He called them child abusers and tried for years to help me.

And the fact that since 2013, when my son was murdered, since then THIRTY THOUSAND strangers from states all over the country, have shown up here asking questions about "Etiole" and either claiming they want to catch him because they think he's an alien or excosise him because they think he's a demon… the fact that SO MANY people are saying this, tells me these adults who kept me locked in that room for twenty seven years, have a done a HUGE slander campaign, on levels I can't even begin to fathom, if that many people are coming from that many places, ALL calling him "Etiole", all calling him "an alien", all calling him "a demon"... words only my uncle Bruce ever used.

But these people are also acting like I'm supposed to know who in the heck is Stephen King? They ask me how to find his house, they ask me what was it like working with him, they ask me what was it like being in his movie… and I don't even know who he is!

They say things like everyone knows him, well, I don't! They say things like everyone reads his books… honey, I was locked in that room thing from the time I was eight years old until I was thirty one years old, at what point do you think I was reading books? They say well everyone has seen his movies, honey, again, I'm barely a decade out of that room, I've seen less then one movie a year I don't have an income I can't afford to go to movies. Stop thinking in terms of YOUR lifestyle, and pay attention to the conditions I've only recently escaped from.

I mean everyone calls me "that crazy woman who used to be a feral child" for a REASON. The reason being I WAS a feral child and I am STILL CURRENTLY trying to learn how to assimilate into mainstream society.

I don't have all this inside slang lingo media knowledge that you do.

So NO!: I don't know who Stephen King is!

NO! I don't know why you call my 1964 Dodge 330 "The GoldenEagle"... I've always just called it "The Dodge". I do not call my car "The Goldeneagle" so I don't know why YOU are calling it that.

NO! I don't know why you call my friend "Etiole". He has a name, and that's not it, and no I'm not telling you his name, because you'll just use that as a reason to go find him and harass him more then you already do. Etiole is the name of a fictional merman character who was in a book that my kindergarten teacher Mrs Bureau, published for me after I won some local writing competition. I was five years old when my first book was published. It was a 16 page picture book about an electric eel merman named Etiole, his black cat friend named Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, and there satyr friend named Gremlin, who drove a 1974 AMC Gremlin to the Washinton DC Temple, there is a line in that book where they made the car "fly like a goldeneagle over the Brooklyen Bridge in New York"… we had just come back from a trip to said temple, and we owned that car. That's what the word Etiole comes from. And I think that's where the word "goldeneagle" is coming from too. The word EelKat comes from that same book too. It only sold like five hundred copies, mostly to local parents of the Jameson School of Old Orchard Beach…

…whoever is the source for calling my car "The Goldeneagle", calling my friend "Etiole", and calling me "EelKat", it's got to be someone with a copy of that book. But, again, I was three years old when we went to the DC temple, and I was three years old when I wrote that, and I was five years old when my kindergarten teacher Mrs Bureau published it through some contest Maine schools had done.

It was a sixteen page picture book written by a three year old toddler in the 1970s, fifty years ago in 1978.

Etiole is a fictional merman, Eelkat is a fictional talking black cat, the goldeneagle in reference to a car I owned was in reference to a 1974 AMC Gremlin not the 1964 Dodge 330 and was not the name of the car at all. But they all come from that one book.

I've published dozens of books since then which has "the silver skinned eel merman" in it, but, he's never given a name. That one book from 1978 is the ONLY time the word "Etiole" was used, so whoever it is who is the source of calling my WW2 vet friend by that same name, I would assume they have a copy of that book.

I was taken out of school when I was eight years old.

I was put in that room thing when I was eight years old.

I'me barely a decade out of that room, I'm still trying to learn how to do thing everyone else thinks are just normal… I still can' figure out how to eat with a fork, everyone around me acts like that's the easiest thing in the world I can't even figure out how to hold it!

After I escaped that room thing, I lived under a 6x8 tarp from May 2006 until February 2019.

While I had a house, I was not aware I could live in it. No one had ever taught me that people lived inside houses, so it never occurred to me to live inside the house.

Inside the house was my cloths, my ten thousand Disney comic books, my encyclopedias, my college books as I had started going to college to learn how to read and write… I have not yet learned math, my son's being murdered interrupted my getting an education.

So all these things that people are saying about Stephen King, haunted cars, Etiole, Goldeneagle, aliens, and demons… I'm wondering:

WHO started these rumours?

WHO is spreading these rumours?

HOW are they spreading these rumours?

Because again, I've got people showing up from California, Alaska, Florida, these people are travelling HUGE distances to come here and they are arriving EXPECTING me to know who Sephen King is, expecting me to regal them with tales of aliens and demons and haunted cars, and they are being very VISIBLY disappointed to meet me and find out "you are not what I was told you were".

WHAT are they being told I am?

WHO is telling them that I am whatever it is they expect I'm going to be?

And WHY?

WHY has someone takening it upon themselves to connect me to this Stephen King guy?

WHY has someone decided my 1964 Dodge 330 is haunted, WHY do these call it "The World's Most Haunted Car", WHY do they call it "The Goldeneagle"?

WHY has someone takening it upon themselves to call a world war two pilot who is nearly a hundred years old, call him "Etiole" the name taken from a book I wrote when i was a three year old toddler?

WHY has someone decided to call this world war two veteran an alien and a demon? Why are they saying he's the demon haunting my Dodge?

None of this makes any sense to me.

WHO is doing this?

And WHY?

Again, ALL of this started after I escaped from that room, after I started going to college to ry to learn how to live with mainstream people…

I started YCCC college September 2009,

I got my GED and I transferred SMCC college January 2010,

my 1964 Dodge was cut in half May 2010.

I got my driver license October 2010,

I had passed all the remedial classes in 2012.

I bought my motorhome February 2012, with the plan to transfer to Harvard in Mass because Harvard had sent me an acceptance package (I did not request it, apparently SMCC administration had sent in the forms) 2012 to 2013 was to be spent taking the prerequisites, I was going to transfer January 2014 planning to live in the motorhome at a campground not far from Harvard.

There was a bomb in my classroom March 2013, SMCC was closed for the week, that building and all classes in it remained closed the rest of the year. I got pregnant that same week, a side effect of Ben having a panic attack over my almost dying in the bombing of not just my college, but my classroom specifically.

Due to my being pregnant, travel plans were changed, we got a permit with the town hall to add a baby room to the back of the house, it was finished in July, thus the photos taken of the house at that time.

A week later someone used a sledge hammer to smash out all the back and side windows of the house, go inside, knock over all the bookshelves, and tear pages out of all of my college textbooks, while taking a knife and scissors to all of my clothes.

That same week a construction dump truck started arriving daily, dumping wooden shipping pallets and big black bags of garbage in my yard… in total the pile of garbage was one hundred and seventy five feet long, thirty feet wide, and twelve feet tall… Ben and my father hired a "friend" of theirs to haul the illegally dumped garbage out of my yard, he was due to arrive August 8, 2013.

August 8, 2013 the man who was to bring in a dumpster and haul out the garbage,, never arrived. I went to work on the pizza waffle food truck at George's, when I came home, there was a backhoe sitting on top of a huge empty place, where my house to be. Not only was the house gone, but so too were gone dozens of rose bushes, azalea bushes, apple trees, and grave vines, AND the top soil was gone… my yard was physically six feet shorter with all the grass and soil removed, scraped down to the bare ledge.

September 2013, a man shows up at my class, claims to be a new student, then side rails the professor with endless talk about Stephen King, Thinner Gypsies, haunted cars, and finally gets dragged out by campus security.

Throughout September, and October, I start parking increasingly close to the campus building, as daily I am having trouble getting from my class to my car, because of a woman carrying a golf club who starts showing up and hanging around my car no matter where I park it.

Southern Maine Community College, The Buglight Art Studio, at the BugLight Lighthouse on Prebble Beach, at the parking lot, my car is parked about ten feet from the door across from the studio bathroom. Prof Hillary's art class at 10 PM, we were the last 2 out of the building, most of the parking lot is empty. Hillary has just locked up the studio and drives away. I am putting my easel and paint set in the back seat of my Volvo on November 14, 2013 when a blond woman wielding a metal golf club, accompanied by a red hair woman and a bald man, and a 4 door white pickup truck, uses said golf club to break my spine and kill my baby.

After this point, here has been a wild influx of people showing up in my yard, claiming to be Stephen King fans, claiming I am "The Stephen King Thinner Gypsy Witch", claiming my Dodge is named either Goldeneagle or Christine (Christine is my middle name: Wendy Chriistine Allen, so I assume that to be why they sometimes call my Dodge "Christine"), claiming my ww2 vet friend is an alien or demon, claiming I am what they call "an alien abductee",... all of these things spiralling into ever wilder rumours, all of them starting around Thanksgiving day 2013 the week following my son's murder.

I remain as ever, confused as to who exactly Stephen King is, why people connect me to him, why people call my car haunted, why people keep saying my friend is either an alien or a demon, but the FBI agents in charge of my son's murder investigation, say they believe those rumors were started either by my son's murderer or one of her friends or relatives.

The FBI agent say that it seems to be she needed to "cover her tracks" by trying to make me look like a crazy ufo nut, so no one who pay attention to either the backhoe driving over my house or my son being murdered.But they also say, it looks like someone REALLY did not want me to leave Maine and have a possibility of anyone outside of Maine finding out about that room I was kept locked in for twenty-seven years. The FBI pointed out the bomb that happened a week after I bought the motorhome, and then they added "How well do you trust Ben?" and pointed out that a man who has romantic connections with 8 year old children instead of grown adult women "is not dealing with a full deck" and likely felt highly threatened by my buying the motorhome as the motorhome would have acted as a symbol of his losing control over me.

The FBI pointed out a lot of the violence seems to have been triggered by my going to college, and pointed out the alarming amount of times my professors had to have security take Ben out of my classrooms. Yes. There was that. He was coming in the classrooms and directing my professors on how to teach, and then staying in the hall outside the classroom door when they would not let him in… and when the art class went to Boston museum he tried to drive behind the bus. The FBI reminded me of this while again saying "How well do you trust Ben?"

The FBI says there are multiple records of multiple people paying the backhoe driver to drive over my house, and one of them was Ben, another was one of my uncles.

The FBI also pointed out that even though Ben was the high priest at the church, NO ONE from my church knew I was paralized, no one knew my son had been murdered, and in fact Ben had told hem that I had left the church and was no longer a member… when missionaries, visiting teachers, and home teachers tried to check in on me, Ben told them, NOT to, citing that I had joined some group called "exMormons" a group I'd never even heard of.

For thirteen years not one member of my church has stopped by to visit or check in on me, and for thirteen years i wondered WHY?

I attend that church for five decades. Never missed a Sunday. Sundays were my only time allowed out of that room! Going to Cape Elizabeth Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day sais was the only time I ever got to see people or take a bath or wear cloths.I lIVED for Sundays. I didn't have anything else to look forward to.

So when I became paralized and suddenly every single one of the members of my church suddenly vanished from my life… that was a huge blow.

And I didn't know, until the FBI told me years later, that none of them ever even knew I was paralized. None of them even knew I had a son, let alone that he was murdered. BECAUSE Ben himself, as well as my mother, and my father, and at least three of my aunts, and at least four of my uncles, and at least twenty of mu cousins, had ALL TOLD THEM, that I had left the church, specifically told them I had joined some anti-church group!

Why?

Why did Ben do that?

Why did my mother do that?

Why did my father do that?

Why did my aunts, uncles, and cousins do that?

I'm trying to deal with a backhoe driving over my house, my son being murdered, my being in a wheelchair, and wondering why my church abandoned me during thins… and then, on top of all that, now I have to deal with this influx of endless strangers showing up to gibber nonsense about Stephen King, haunted cars, aliens, and demons!

Why? Do you think I don't have enough to deal with being crippled, my son dead, and my house chopped up in some landfill, that you have to come up here and make sick jokes about aliens and demons?

Why is this what people do?

I don't even believe in aliens and demons and ghosts and hauntings, and I don't even know who Stephen King or this Thinner movie is! I'm kind of busy being crippled and dealing with my son's murder investigation, and being homeless because a backhoe drove over my house, too busy dealing with real life issue to want to also have to deal with creeps and their ridiculous conspiracies about aliens, demons, and haunted cars!

Why are these ufo nuts doing this? Why won't they leave me alone? Who is sending them here!

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is…

FBI gave me this phone number to direct anyone who has information to give it directly to them via 207–774–9322 or you can go into their office on Middle St in Portland.

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|Three Wizards and a Lighthouse|

In the year 2525, a comet struck the Moon. Now, in 40th century Maine, Earth is frozen, the Moon is fractured, and UnDead Lobsters are a serious problem. And then there's Quaraun: The Pink Necromancer. Most feared super villain on Earth. Possibly the galaxy. Maybe ever. But all he wants is tea, silk embroidery, and a calm evening in his lighthouse.

BoomFuzzy, the Unicorn Lich King of the UnSeelie Court, is Quaraun's dead husband. Technically dead. Officially terrifying. Unofficially the best baker left in the apocalypse.

GhoulSpawn, their brilliant, baffled companion, fell through time from 1978 and never found the way home. Now he juggles tech repairs, running from zombies, and being madly in love with the two most dangerous men of the apocalypse.

This is a collection of short stories. Quiet ones. Weird ones. Possibly haunted ones. Mostly, it's about what happens when the end of the world knocks… and someone still has to do the laundry.

Follow Quaraun at home in his shape-shifting eldritch Black Tower Lighthouse, as he tries (and fails) to enjoy peace, quiet, and pearls while fending off monsters, memories, and the occasional MerMan.

|Three Wizards and a Lighthouse by Wendy Christine Allen - 101 illustrated short stories available on Kindle, paperback, or hardcover.|

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