The Background
Kelly whose experiences are outlined in these pages wanted to write her own book. Part of her aim was to make money so she could get out of the awful trap of living that she was in. Much of what Kelly did including engaging with people on the Internet, was her only means of hoping her life could change for the better, moving somewhere away from it all and having a new start.
‘The Book’ you are now reading is the subject of a deal Kelly and I made in our early days of contact. I insisted it was her book and I was helping her put it together, basically acting as a sounding-board. ‘Write it for me. Promise me,’ she begged. This was an undercurrent running through our discussions. ‘OK, it’s a deal,’ I said.
‘The Book’ compiled from our Internet conversations and emails, will not be a money-spinner. It is published here freely though under Copyright, for you to read or forward the link to others. The object is to help survivors of cult ritual abuse, particularly young or vulnerable people, and to draw attention to some truly 'Astonishing Therapy'.
This story is unfortunately not a fairy tale and not a fabrication. If people tell you that it does not happen, or it cannot happen, maybe they can explain to me how anyone can possibly know that, however learned they are. If anyone wants me to retract it, why would you? - There will be detractors. But things can improve. The chances of cults and perpetrators continuing to get away with things because they can, or because no-one listens or believes, will be greatly reduced. Principles which can be used to control others can also be used to undo control..
Many of us believe in some way that how we are in ourselves, before death or at the point of death, does have significance for us or those around us. It is something that only we can sort out for ourselves. Anyone can take my word for what appears in these pages or not. After all, it's a free country. . . This is my call to people involved in these practices to tell us honestly what is done and why, and what can be done about it.
If these things were happening to someone you know, what would your reaction be? Would you be in with a chance of stepping in, so that they can step out?
There are an unfortunate group of people who have become embroiled in accusing their families of abuse and later realise it was a mistake. The more informed discussion there is, the better for them and their families too. Since engaging with Kelly I have read books on memories of abuse, and studied some Jung, thinking I might find an explanation as to why sometimes people feel they have been ritually abused when maybe not all of it happened in that way.
A search on Amazon or Google will help you to find what you are looking for. Also see Lucela's List for background reading. Use your judgement.
Introduction
These pages are the result of an acquaintance with someone I call Kelly who told me about her life and I listened. She wanted me to write ‘the Book’ if she was unable to. It is a joint effort in the hope that anyone who listens can do something however small, to ensure that no-one else goes through these things, adults or children, male or female. And no-one makes things worse for them!
There are ways to break into these cycles, or wheels. If I do not try after hearing about Kelly’s life, what would that make me? ‘The Book' mattered to her most of all when things looked so bleak that she thought she had no future on this earth, either she could stand things no longer, or someone else might end it for her. How can you make a proper Deal with people who don’t deal a straight pack of cards? How do stage magicians succeed with their tricks?
In Kelly’s past there was a degree of cultic ritual abuse involving some ‘satanic’ philosophy, but that is not the key issue. We need to move beyond that concept to reach the far shore. Someone apparently keeping Kelly involved was a woman whose path crossed hers to the point where Kelly insisted on a Deal: Kelly would not reveal personal and cult matters relevant to this woman I call Marta Smith. In return Marta must leave Kelly alone - Did she though?
‘The Book’ is a compilation of various aspects and themes in Kelly’s life. Some events described happened in a different order from the way they are laid out. It is based on what Kelly told me, and interactions I had with her and others involved. Some information on techniques and events for controlling people have been omitted to diminish possible harm. We are each responsible for ourselves and our actions, and I bear responsibility for ‘the Book’, no more and no less.
Names and personal details have been altered. Certain things have been omitted out of deference to Kelly, her alters who told me their secrets, her family and friends and other people involved. For readability, other parts have been curtailed. 'The Book' is written -
For people who get into trouble
And to help them see the light
Prelude
‘Break into it anywhere’ is a phrase used in family therapy or general group work. It can be difficult to know how to engage in a family or group’s dynamics to improve things, where there are so many issues and needs, and so much confusion. Something works, things change, waters become unmuddied. But one does tend to get one’s hands muddy in the process of reaching the gold underneath. ‘Break into it anywhere’ is also sometimes used to encourage survivors of any kind of abuse to begin talking to someone, starting with something they feel most safe with, and talking about the things they feel they can talk about, moving on from there.
Kelly (not her real name) and I had made contact on an email group, where someone asked about books to help in their plight as a survivor of cult ritual abuse. I replied, and then Kelly wrote to me with a book title. When I pressed Send to respond to Kelly’s email, I realised it had just gone to Kelly rather than to the whole group. I asked her if she wanted it to go to others on the group, and she replied she would prefer not. That is how it began . . .
Web of Deceit
‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive'. We can weave a web of deceit around ourselves if we wish. But why do people weave it around others?
Principles which can be used to control others can also be used to undo control
Break Into It Anywhere
On several occasions I stumbled across the woman I call Marta (not her real name) during times when I was online expecting to talk to Kelly, an online contact I’d met on an email group. Somehow Kelly and I got along quite well, sharing the same sense of humour even during hard times for her, or when I could not understand what was happening or what she was trying to say.
‘Kelly is not here. She has gone away for a few days,’ appeared on my MSN screen when I signed in one afternoon earlier than usual. ‘I am a friend looking after her place and the cats.’ I enquired after the three cats, because the youngest had been seriously ill and Kelly had taken it to the vet. ‘How is the kitten?’ I asked.
‘Well there are two cats here and they are fine,’ came a reply which set my hackles rising. ‘Like I said, Kelly is not here, and when she gets back she won’t want to talk to you, so you might as well delete her name on your computer.’ I believed this was Marta, someone who did not wish Kelly well. She did not sound very friendly! ‘If Kelly wants to delete me when she’s back, that is up to her,’ I replied, and the person on the other end signed out abruptly.
Another notable computer conversation with Marta happened late one Saturday evening, and I experienced it as rude, abrupt and uncalled for. I was still up with the computer on and signed into Chat while I sat having something to eat. I heard someone sign in and thought it was another person I was waiting for, but the ID was Kelly’s.
‘Hi, I am still up’ I wrote.
‘I don’t know who you think you are talking to,’ came the reply, ‘but Kelly is not here.’ Something warned me that this was the woman from the cat-sitting episode and I did not like the feel. I switched to Invisible setting but a message appeared ‘Stop hiding. It’s too late for that now.’
I ignored it and left the computer. My mobile phone alerted me there was an email message from Kelly’s ID, ‘Come on MSN now and stop hiding.’ Curiosity usually did get the better of me.
‘I gather you have been writing to Kelly recently,’ wrote Marta. ‘I don’t know how long this has been going on. I only just learned about it. But it is confusing for her to be in touch with you as well as myself. Why are you poking your nose into this? It is none of your business.’
I tried to lighten the situation with ‘It’s probably something in my genes’.
‘Well maybe you should get yourself a new pair of jeans before you really do some damage’ came the prompt and enigmatic response. ‘Very funny,’ I wrote.
‘There is nothing at all funny about this, I assure you,’ wrote Marta. ‘You are interfering in something you know nothing about. You will do more harm than good. You cannot understand.’
I was not about to give her the edge any more than she seemed to have it already. If I could do something, anything, to break her hold on Kelly, I would give it my best shot. I saw it as a likely advantage that until now Marta was largely unaware of frequent communication between Kelly and myself, dealing with the subject of Marta in particular. We had also discussed Kelly’s unwilling cult involvement. Marta and the cult seemed closely connected.
‘Sorry I have to go,’ I wrote. 'I'm glad we have an understanding,' came from the other end and I signed out quickly with relief.
When I raised the issue with Kelly of what Marta was saying and her signing in on Kelly’s ID, Kelly apologised saying she knew nothing about it. But there was more to follow, including a memorable episode when Marta actually pretended to be Kelly.
It took a long time online with Kelly before I learned the things that were most relevant. Anyone reading this is free to make up their own mind about what is described. In essence, I believe it to be a true account. You are free to read or not, to believe or not. Kelly was a pawn in someone’s insidious game. I learned what I could about related issues. You may not agree with my thoughts and will likely have your own. That is fine – Break into it your way, or ignore it all.
In my life I choose what time to get up, what job I do, what to spend money on, whether to go to the theatre, the park, who my friends are or who to avoid. Like most of us fortunate enough in our society, there is freedom insofar as constraints allow such as health, finances, accommodation, employment, the needs of others etc. Mostly I can do, say and think what I want to, and change my mind if I want. I can have hopes and dreams, however unrealistic or stupid they are. Who should prevent those? Who would want to?
Kelly did not have freedom. If she was required to be somewhere on a particular night she was made to go – Somehow. I believed Marta was instrumental in this. If Kelly was told to do something, however abhorrent it was or illegal, she had no choice. When she refused or stood up for herself, she was punished. Threats were made, or methods of extreme confusion used on her. I could not just lounge in front of TV knowing what she was enduring. Despite all that was done and said to her, Kelly remained an independent soul and paid dearly for that stance. Let us hope it was not all in vain.
Kelly is not the only person subjected to these things. Some details or approaches vary, but the essence is the same: Control, domination, subjugation, brutality, mind-twisting, enforced drug-taking, much of which Kelly was largely unaware about. This takes some doing on someone’s part in terms of mind-control and the sheer time involved. Read on, and you may see connections with how it all began.
You may wonder how I might know things if Kelly herself did not. She was encouraged to dissociate and could put things out of awareness more than most of us do as a natural process. Perhaps she had a natural tendency for dissociation from an early age. I believe someone realised her potential for dissociation, then learned techniques for inducing her to forget or be unaware, till eventually Kelly, who could have had a much better life than she did, had a much worse one. Life can be hard even for the fortunate. Why would anyone do this deliberately to another person or to many?
Some possible reasons are outlined here. The rest would be too personal for Kelly. Please use it wisely to help people, and not to cause any harm by denying her reality, or by imposing it on others for whom it may not be relevant.
Who Would Do Such A Thing?
Kelly had a sudden and urgent desire to plant things in her small garden. I was happy to go along with discussing flowers and bushes. No sooner said than done, she emailed pictures of what she had put in. She had spent her entire monthly allowance on plants.
‘My momi dos tell me to do dat,’ appeared on my MSN screen. This was on Kelly’s ID and a young alter of hers called DaisyMay, Daisy for short. ‘She told you to do what, Daisy?’ I asked. ‘And Marta is not your mommy, she only says so.’
‘Marta is my momi, so der,’ insisted Daisy. ‘U is not my momi. And u is not my aunti no mor. My momi dos say u is not my aunti.’ In an attempt to get along better with Daisy, I had taken on an aunt-type role to help her with growing up, as she had crucial things to say but I could not understand her language.
Daisy was having a stroppy day. She was often helpful in explaining things about Kelly and her life, things Kelly found too hard to talk about, or that she simply did not know consciously. If Kelly found it hard to talk, Daisy often paved the way until Kelly felt safe enough to write. Getting stroppy towards Daisy did not work.
‘Hello Daisy. How are you? What did Marta want you to do?’ I tried again. ‘Get Kelly to spend all her monni on flowrs. Me dos dat,’ Daisy replied.
‘Ok, but why does Marta want Kelly to spend money on flowers, do you know?’ I asked. Daisy replied cryptically ‘Me dos it, k.’ At times when I knew Kelly was going through a lot and was unable to talk for some reason, Daisy’s contributions were a vital function.
She continued ‘Yes, me dos, so Kelly got no monni left. And Marta punish Kelly for no monni, u get dat?’ Frankly, I did not, but wheels were beginning to turn in my brain which would have to wait. Daisy added ‘An the flowrs are for grave, but dats secrt, k.’
‘Ok, it’s a secret Daisy, I won’t tell. Do you know whose grave?’ I wrote. ‘Bcos me goin to be angel,’ said Daisy.
‘Daisy, we had all this at Hallowe’en when Marta said you were going to be an angel. Angel means dead, doesn’t it? Why would anyone want to be an angel?’ I was now concerned, in full alert mode without knowing what was happening. First it was a manic Kelly planting flowers, then a ruse to get Kelly short of cash with some sort of punishment, now Daisy talking about the flowers being for her grave and becoming an angel, i.e. dead to this world.
‘Kelly dos jump off dat bridg,’ wrote Daisy. ‘Be angel, rit.’ Kelly herself came through then but it was no good my asking about this as she would have no awareness. Perhaps she'd reveal something that would tie in, or we could touch on it later. It would need to be obliquely or would get nowhere.
When she next came online, Kelly was freaking, to use her word for it. ‘There are pills in my cupboard,’ she wrote excitedly. ‘They are not mine, they are all different colours like candy, and they are in my cupboard. In a candy-bowl, and I don’t have a freaking candy-bowl,’ she said. ‘I don’t even recognise it. So you don’t believe me.’ This challenge that I did not believe her ran through our conversations when anything unusual happened, or I asked a question to fathom what was going on.
‘Well give me half a minute,’ I wrote. ‘And I did not say I don’t believe you. When could it have got in the cupboard?’ Kelly thought, ‘Maybe on Tuesday when I went out to get groceries.’ I asked her ‘Did you lock the door?’
‘I never lock the door. There’s no lock,’ came the reply. Kelly had apparently lived there for two years with no means of locking the main door inside or out. This explained why she sat in the room with the computer with the only door that locked. I said that when she got her next monthly payment, she would need to get a lock. Then we set about how to get rid of the pills. Kelly had a strong urge to take them, and her hand was in and out of the bowl as we talked. Eventually she grabbed the bowl and flushed the contents away.
There was an immediate reaction from one of her alters whom I knew as the ‘robot’, one I had intermittent slanging matches with. It might not be the best way to handle things, but that was how interaction went between us, till one day he seemed remorseful about something Kelly went through, and he disappeared. I simply do not know what motivated him, except that he was a type of control mechanism put in place by Marta to report back to her, to delete my emails before Kelly saw them, or to write me misleading emails purporting to be from the Kelly I knew.
This robot called me the usual rude names, then said in large letters ‘What did you get her to do that for? You were not supposed to do that. She was meant to take them.’ And the insults continued, along with several ‘LOL’ which was his idea of making a joke.
‘Why are you laughing?’ asked Kelly. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, just the robot thing having a go at me,’ I replied. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Kelly, her usual response to things she had no way of knowing or doing anything about. ‘Was he rude?’
Actually, I learned a great deal from this robot, as I did from others who replaced him subsequently, all probably put there in some way by Marta. (During subsequent pages, there are some references to ‘protector’ type alters. Unfortunately, many of these apparent ‘protectors’ took on an adverse role towards Kelly and myself. I apologise for confusion.)
That week, there were other episodes with pills appearing in the same candy-bowl which Kelly had emptied. She flushed the next lot. The third batch got dropped on the floor as she dropped the candy-bowl in haste and panic and it smashed. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Kelly kept asking. I think she was so phased by it that she was not properly angry. She seemed more incredulous about the whole episode, despite the many conversations we had about Marta wishing her bad things, and actually doing them around her. Over the weekend, Kelly and I had a normal chat about her garden and some plants people gave her. We arranged to talk a later that day, probably still about her garden.
I don’t know if it was a robot or a ‘protector’ of sorts who came through at the start of the second conversation that day. They said Kelly was laughing and if I could not handle it I should sign out. Kelly had been particularly depressed recently. Now, her recent prescription for medication had disappeared, and she found some old pills in her cupboard. To my mind they did not suit her too well, but she could see nothing wrong with taking them in the absence of the new type.
Kelly was using the voice mic on MSN and laughing a lot. Very different from how she had been earlier. In fact she'd been quite calm and reflective. I said that I thought someone had changed her pills around, and she'd taken one that made her manic. ‘I am not manic,’ she emphasised. ‘Definitely not manic.’ And on it went, with my trying to get Kelly to throw those pills out too, while she giggled and made jokes till our time was up. Later an alter told me that the pills were switched by an intruder into her home. Kelly had an outpatient appointment with her psychiatrist the following day, and giggled all through although not being admitted as an in-patient.
About a week later I came on MSN to a panicking Kelly. ‘Pills in ice-cream,’ was all I could get out of her. Daisy had mentioned that Marta gave her ice-cream as a bribe to do things, like getting Kelly to go to places. Both Kelly and Daisy had complained of stomach aches after ice-cream from the fridge. We thought some of the ice-cream contained drugs to get Kelly back to see Marta. Kelly hated anything to do with drugs.
‘Maybe you can just throw the ice-cream out,’ I said. Telling Kelly directly to do something usually rendered her incapable of doing what was needed. ‘Nononononono,’ she wrote. ‘My kids are home, they nearly had some. I dug down and there were pills. You knew about the ice-cream,’ she accused me. ‘How did you know?’
Earlier she'd emailed to say there were groceries in the kitchen which she had not bought. When someone who tends to dissociate says ‘Someone bought groceries, I found them in the kitchen’ it can mean that they simply don’t remember, or another alter personality did it. Most of us can’t always remember where we bought a skirt or shoes, or may remember wrongly. It is not usually as critical as this clearly was.
‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘But when you said there was food including ice-cream in the kitchen that you didn’t buy, I suggested you check the ice-cream before your kids had any. Just in case.’
‘Oh right,’ said Kelly. ‘Ya, you did.’ For someone who had these and other things happening around her, she was generally pretty trusting of me. ‘But they could just have helped themselves,’ she added, scared rather than angry. Yes, they could.
People may wonder whether Kelly did these things herself in one of her alter personalities, or in a persona which had been introduced into her functioning. This can happen but I did not believe it in these circumstances. Often I was encouraged to believe by one of the programmed alters, that Kelly was deluded and was deluding me. There was an alternative to this view - a real live other person with an agenda and needs, plus various other people, like players in a well co-ordinated Game.
Several times Marta came online to inform me that Kelly had been admitted to the local psychiatric ward, yet within an hour Kelly contacted me saying she was at home. One day I asked where she was for a whole hour Marta had spent online with me, and she replied ‘Here, crying’. Certain of the hospital staff had instructions to contact Marta if Kelly showed up there. Marta would turn up and whisper in Kelly’s ear, or take her out of the hospital for hours, which was strictly banned. Afterwards communication with Kelly would be fraught as though she was instructed not to talk. These hospital situations seemed designed to drive a wedge through Kelly’s and my contact. Later there were attempts to get me involved in agreeing that she was mentally ill and ought to be admitted.
Special Occasions
This chapter and other chapters may contain triggering material, so please make sure you are safe and prepared before reading.
When Kelly lived in her previous house, she sometimes avoided attending ‘special meetings’ on specific dates in the ritual calendar year, or simply at full moon. She went to a friend’s house, or took sleeping pills so she did not hear knocking on her door, a car horn, or the telephone with triggering messages, instructions or threats. It meant she was not out shopping where someone alerted a cult member of her whereabouts. She sometimes said ‘They get me in the mall’ or ‘They got me in the grocery store.’ Often she had no idea what had happened, or whether she actually attended a cult meeting. She also vanished from her craft classes.
I remember being puzzled that in some ways she was left to lead her life as a mother of young children, while also being required to lead an active cult life. On occasion, she apparently avoided cult meeting dates for lengthy periods without recrimination, until something or someone entered the equation to make her go back. Certainly, things escalated to a point where neither of us had a clue when she would be safe or not. Days when her children were home were generally safe. Someone else knew when she'd be alone.
Cult nights seemed to be mainly Mondays, then more likely on Wednesdays. There were occasions when I thought she was cult-free especially while in employment, until I would learn she was tired out through having been ‘taken’ the night before, returning with bruises and torn clothes but little recollection. The penny finally dropped that a special ritual started at midnight before the actual day. This explained how sometimes we'd chat on the evening of a ritual date as if nothing much had happened, unless she complained of stomach pains, bruises, or ribs hurting. When I enquired about this during a fairly civil chat with the robot, he said ‘Now you are getting over my boundaries.’
People who work with ritual abuse suggest that there needs to be a degree of co-ordination between alters, to be able to get somewhere, and also to speak to alter personalities who are loyal to the cult and its activities. With Kelly it has always been that she has so little awareness. Mostly I dealt with Kelly, young DaisyMay, and the first robot who did a lot of slanging and LOL. Sometimes I tried saying firmly that Kelly or Daisy simply should not go to an event no matter what the inducements or threats, because they knew what the result would be, and I would be told ‘But it’s not Kelly who goes.’ Daisy said there was someone compliant within Kelly’s small system of DID alters, who answered the door on cult nights. She said the person was obedient - like a doormat would be.
I could hardly believe it when someone wrote in pale Turquoise colour ‘Is there anything you wish to say before we go tonight? This is your last chance.’ Was this person the key? I thought I'd finally struck lucky. Turquoise said I had a chance to state my case that evening, to make a kind of bid for Kelly. She said it was only fair that I have my turn. She explained that Marta offered them a home to visit, security, care, hugs, and Turquoise wanted to know what I was offering. I said a few inane things about believing people should have a free choice and it was their souls that were important. Turquoise called that strange but said the final say was hers. Tonight they simply would not go, I had no need to worry further. As far as I know no-one from Kelly’s system attended a ritual that night.
Turquoise came through another night when there was a cult meeting, asking whether I wanted to say anything. I delayed a little, Turquoise left abruptly and Kelly came through. This meant that anything I would have written for Turquoise would have been read by Kelly, which had already caused problems. The next time Turquoise tried this ploy, I challenged her that she nearly landed me in difficulty with Kelly reading things, and Turquoise vanished from the scene.
There have since been a variety of people who at first I believed to be in a ‘protector’ role towards Kelly. In part they probably were. What generally happened was they began to sound remarkably like Marta, and slanging matches ensued when I called their bluff, or they simply disappeared. They could have been interested in their own welfare or the needs of the moment, or acting under instruction.
Negotiation is a wonderful skill, but I find it hard to deal in a non-straight manner, so that is what Kelly was stuck with, having grown to trust me to the extent she did. I enjoyed tying up the thinking of other alters in knots. They only seemed interested or capable regarding their given role, and in their own safety or continuation of life. Some were apparently willing to die if Kelly chose to end it all. Some said Marta really wanted Kelly dead now, and it did seem increasingly so. But these threats can go on year upon year.
One night I was talking to someone who seemed in a ‘protector’ role, holding the fort while Kelly talked gibberish and rocked back and forth with memories that had recently come through. I called this alter Rachel, and was on standby to help her cope with things she had never done, like shopping, making phone calls, and caring for the children. Rachel and I worked out some of Kelly's likely cult training, which becomes more apparent towards the end of this narrative. We believed Kelly's current therapist was involved in that training before Kelly became involved with her more recently and causing me concern. See Fruitloop Therapy, and also Did You Call the Cops? appearing directly below on the current page.
‘I can do something about this right now,’ Rachel wrote in a bright cerise colour on my MSN screen. ‘I just realised I am capable of making a decision.’ This was quite something, after her alter personality only just learning to speak. I had no idea anything was going wrong.
‘So you won’t have to listen to her rubbish any more,’ wrote Rachel. I became alert. ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.
‘We simply won’t be here for you to have to listen to,’ came her reply.
‘Oh, you think I haven’t heard this stuff before from other people? You can’t make decisions like that. Only Kelly can. It’s not your decision to make. If Kelly wants to end it all that is up to her, but it is definitely not up to you. You have gone too far with this. It is not your right.’ I did not know where this was coming from within me, but sometimes one gets tuned in rather than missing a cue.
‘Kelly has gone,’ came Rachel’s reply. ‘She has lost her mind and says the same two words over and over. And she’s rocking, and pulling her hair out.’
‘I think I can get her back. I have done it before because we've known each other a long time. But it takes time,’ I wrote. I had been aware that sometimes Rachel stepped in too quickly. When Kelly and I touched on certain areas of conversation, Rachel would say ‘Enough of this. Stop,’ and took things on a different track or signed out.
‘If you want to listen to Kelly whining and crying and talking rubbish then you do, but that’s all you’ll get. She has completely lost it and gone,’ wrote Rachel. ‘That’s ok. I’ll talk to her,’ I wrote, and Rachel disappeared. I never spoke to her again.
‘Hiii,’ wrote Kelly shakily. ‘Hi,’ from me.
Kelly was back, not for long because the robot came through. ‘You did it again’ he wrote in the large letters he used. ‘That person had a knife to our throat all the while you were talking. We were really going to die. That was quite something, thank you.’ Thanks from the robot! All that came from his direction over the years were insults, occasional background information, and unreserved praise for Marta. He used to say in comparison that I was a one-woman joke who knew nothing about anything.
‘Hi aunti,’ wrote DaisyMay, the young alter who blew hot and cold. ‘U sav my lif. Dat person had nif at Kelly frot. Aunti, fank u.’
‘Hi Daisy. Are you OK? What happened?’ I replied. ‘Dat person mean, reely mean. She try kil Kelly an me wiv nif at frot. We got marks.’ Daisy left and Kelly returned.
'Why is there a mark on my throat?’ she asked. ‘I just looked in the mirror and my throat is marked.’ Kelly had no recollection. All I knew was what Daisy and the robot said, plus recent suspicions of Rachel’s intentions to kill the body, which was mostly Kelly’s at this time.
By Lammas, the festival around 31st July/1st August, things for Kelly were more critical. Some nights I was unavailable on the computer, and Marta apparently took advantage to do deep hypnotic work with Kelly, far beyond anything I was aware of or could counter with words over the Internet.
Some years, Lammas had not featured much in Kelly’s calendar. She seemed to get through the summer largely unscathed, until Hallowe’en reared its head in October and there was trouble till the end of May. This year, it was Rachel who warned me to be wary of Lammas. Kelly sometimes alerted me to what was said during Marta’s indoctrinations. It would came out in a rush of pages of cryptic spelling, with no conscious awareness of imparting it, but a desperate need to inform me. Regarding Lammas it was Marta saying: ‘You are trash, you hear me? You had better be dead before Lammas, or I will make sure you are then. You must walk into the flames. Hell is too good for you. Walk through the flames towards the light. That will be the end for you and it will all be over.’ See the end of this Chapter regarding the word ‘trash’.
Kelly’s health was in a serious condition, and I wondered how long it could be before her body simply gave up living, or she might collapse and get taken to hospital. Now there were the Lammas threats. I tried to be available online when I felt Kelly would be vulnerable to being taken to the cult meeting, but this time she was taken from her home earlier. She returned with no knowledge of having attended the cult, and there was never any point in my asking.
After our MSN session the night after Lammas, Kelly signed out in a reasonable frame of mind and I breathed with relief. Wrong again. There was an urgent email from Kelly in the early hours next morning. ‘There are flames, people running everywhere, people having sex with each other. Help me please.’ I replied initially saying that I thought this was probably not real, that for some reason she had been told about these things, or was seeing them in her mind’s eye as she tried to relax. It sounded like the awful awake-dreams she often had.
‘It’s real,’ she replied. ‘And there are ropes and I am meant to hang myself. I am rubbish, trash. And everyone is watching me. And it’s real. It’s from last night. They are memories.’ Kelly had survived that Lammas, and was alive to tell the tale. Once again, the deadline for the end of her life had proved false. What was this stuff, and why perpetuate it as Marta and the cult did?
Notes regarding ‘trash’
The words ‘trash’ and ‘garbage’ featured frequently in conversations with Kelly. When I first came in contact with her and knew little about her circumstances, the young alter Daisy told me that Kelly drove to the garbage dump. That was where she felt she belonged because that’s what she was, ‘garbage’.
Did You Call The Cops?
I was away earlier in the week using a laptop which froze, and downloaded software while Kelly waited. The mobile phone alerts packed up working. Marta or an alter on her behalf, was blocking emails from another account I set up, and it was back to square one. Communication between Kelly and myself was fraught, with Kelly asking searching questions about her life and what she could do to help herself.
Over the following weekend I took a day out from Kelly and the horrific things I was hearing. The email situation was OK, the phone alerts were working, and there was no message from Kelly until my return journey. ‘Did you call the cops?’ she asked.
‘No, I would not do that. Why? I will be back in an hour for MSN,’ I texted, glad I could communicate this way. When I was 15 minutes from home there was another email alert, ‘I have to drive the car. The cops are coming. I have to leave.’ Later that evening Kelly returned to her home and we tried to sort out what happened.
‘You called the cops. You said I would get into trouble over all those emails last week,’ she accused me.
‘You did not write those emails. It was that robot alter. I got mad at him,’ I replied. The robot part of Kelly’s system had jammed my email box with 200 emails.
‘Well the cops were coming and I had to drive.’ Here I would remind readers that Kelly was an intelligent woman with a degree, bringing up her children as normally as she was able, doing a good job of it in appalling circumstances.
‘Aunti,’ wrote Daisy who often knew more about things than Kelly. ‘When cops come, Kelly always leaves house. K.’ Gradually things fell into place from other episodes. One way to get Kelly out of her house and available to the cult was to get her scared. The fear would settle in one of a few ways, instilled into her as the only options. Kelly would feel an absolute urge to leave her home, then would be picked up by the cult. Or she felt compelled to go to Marta's home believing it safe. The robot alter had said everything was about control.
I do not believe all of the police in the area were corrupt or in the cult, but some were asked to drive by Kelly’s house. Many times she said there was a police car outside when Marta or the cult were agitating for Kelly’s physical or mental deterioration or demise. On other occasions Kelly felt compelled to admit herself to hospital. Sometimes when in a severe panic or manic state, Kelly was not admitted to hospital. Other times she was easily admitted, then suddenly released home when she seemed in no fit state to cope.
As Daisy put it, ‘U say get help. Who dos we call? Cops no good, hosptal bad. Wher we go aunti? Who we gonna tell? Nobodi dos nuffin.’
One of the problems with accounts of ritual abuse like Kelly’s, is that she has been basically very consistent in what she says. Then it all becomes too much for her to think of as reality, so she prefers to believe it was just a dream that could not happen. Regarding threats of death and other things, these are indeed an effective method of control. They make people look foolish or lying if they tell other people about them in a bid to get them examined.
Regarding things that cult members like Kelly do recall and talk about, there are other factors involved such as subterfuge, mind-twisting, the difficulty of telling fact from fantasy. When I said to Kelly ‘Sooner or later the cult will make a big mistake and we will all get to hear about it, she replied simply ‘People who make mistakes, pay other people to cover up those mistakes.’
All Over Now?
Kelly had been online on the Monday evening and we managed to prevent her driving her car. It was hard to tell exactly what happened on such occasions. Daisy would say ‘Abodi dos driv dat car’ which seemed to mean another alter drove.
Neither Kelly nor ‘abodi’ drove on that Monday evening. The next night we chatted on MSN, and I was later flooded with emails from Daisy alerting me that something was wrong. Eventually Kelly came through. Something sounded urgent and serious. There was one email in my inbox which had not come through on the alerts. ‘Please, please can you come on MSN now.’
‘I did all you said. I tried and I tried, and I feel myself going,’ pleaded Kelly. What happened next had happened before but not to a great extent. Younger alters from Kelly’s past vied for my attention which disengaged Kelly. The present was no threat for the youngsters, who felt no need to leave the house. They could not be influenced by the triggering emails or threats.
The following evening, Daisy wrote sadly, ‘My momi no want to see me. Her no come no mor. Her no lik me.’
‘I’m sure Marta will see you,’ I replied, not knowing what had happened. ‘You did it, we won,’ said Kelly excitedly. ‘It’s over.’
‘Not really. You did most of it, and I was just here,’ I replied. ‘No, it’s really over,’ she said.
A new ‘protector’ intervened: ‘There was a telephone call from Marta today that she no longer wishes to see Kelly, and all Kelly’s obligations to the cult are over.’
What had I missed? ‘Sorry, I don’t understand. Kelly and I were online half the night. What happened?’
‘You won,’ he replied. ‘It is over now. Marta will not be back.’ I tried to think back, and we continued like this for a while with my still not understanding. ‘U did it aunti, but me no see momi no mor,’ wrote Daisy sadly.
The new ‘protector’ whom I later came to think of as Wilf continued. ‘There are some things you need to remember. You must not lie to Kelly. She must get rid of the red ring. There will be spiders in the house and she must kill them. You must be patient with the little one Daisy and not push her down. She will fade with time. All others are gone. It is over.’
Rings set with a red stone featured through my dealings with Kelly. She recalled people wearing them during cult meetings, as well as having one herself.
Gradually things in Kelly’s life began to return to normal, she managed to eat a little, her thought processes cleared, she attended her children’s events again, and we breathed a sigh of relief. Kelly voiced concerns that she'd been here before with thinking it was over, but things were much better. So it seemed.
On the Saturday, Kelly went out with her children and we spoke briefly. On Sunday she was disinclined to say much. By Monday, Kelly, Daisy and myself were all uneasy. Wilf, the new ‘protector’ came through with further instructions for me, including that it would take time for Kelly to adjust, and there would be memories but that's all they would be. However, he said, I should not have much contact, leaving Kelly to cope more alone. I am the first person to encourage independence, but I grew suspicious of Wilf's motivation.
‘How did you know there would be spiders?’ I asked. ‘And who are you to tell me what I must do regarding Kelly?’ Wilf replied ‘OK, I can’t tell you what to do. I can only ask. But have I been wrong about anything yet, like the spiders?’ Kelly had complained of them in her house.
‘I wonder why that is,’ I challenged him. ‘When you speak to Marta, give her my regards.’
‘I am sorry to disappoint you,’ he replied. ‘I have no communication with Marta. I simply tell you what you should do. You don’t trust me. But just remember the red ring. Kelly must get rid of it.’
‘There are now three of us suspicious about this whole thing,’ I said. ‘Kelly, Daisy and myself. So do you like your new job, your promotion?’ From then on communication with Wilf went downhill. I thought of him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but he occasionally said something useful during the terrible times ahead. I have no idea if he is still there with some cult-relevant role.
Late one night I had an emergency email from Kelly not preceded by alerts from Daisy. ‘I am not home’ wrote Kelly from her Hotmail address instead of her usual one. She was signed in on MSN on someone else’s computer, as happened before. ‘Can you come on MSN?’ she asked urgently. ‘No' I replied. 'Can we do emails please? We can do it that way. We have before.’
We exchanged some frantic emails, myself using a text phone for prompt replies, also logging in on a more robust mobile. Marta sent me four lines of a poem, leading me to believe that Kelly’s life was indeed in danger, not from her giving up the ghost and committing suicide - although that was how it would look to anyone. This looked like a direct threat to Kelly’s life.
‘You just showed your part in all this. Big mistake. It’s not too late to retract.’ I replied to the spooky email address Marta was using.
All through my communications with Kelly, there was a theme that Marta did not exist in reality, that everything Kelly believed and said about Marta was based on delusion, confusion, dissociation or psychosis. Gradually, each robot or ‘protector’ alter put in place said the same: ‘There’s no Marta at all’ and ‘Turn off that phone.’
‘Help me, please. It’s me Kelly. What do I do? Please, please come on MSN,’ begged Kelly.
‘Just pray for what is right and just for yourself, and for all the others who are with you. What is happening is wrong.’ I named the younger versions of Kelly whom she did not consciously know, but I felt Marta would. ‘I can’t come on MSN in these circumstances. It is not good. I am sorry.’
What happened next was a surprise. ‘Where do I go?’ asked Kelly urgently.
‘Sorry, I don’t understand,’ I replied cautiously, liking this less by the minute. I actually thought she was asking if she would go to heaven or hell, such was the the scene in my mind. ‘No. Where do I go? She’s giving me money and someone’s car. I can go.’
‘Is your car there?’ I wondered if Kelly had been persuaded to drive to Marta’s in her own car. ‘No. Someone else’s. I can have it. But I’m not going home. Motel room?’
‘If I make any suggestions, someone else will read them,’ I replied and Kelly’s emails stopped for the night. When we resumed contact, she was literally on the run. Daisy said Marta suddenly stopped with a huge knife at Kelly’s throat. I wondered if something I did had changed anything. It turned out that when I mentioned praying for what was right and just, and Kelly’s younger parts, Marta stopped and offered Kelly money and the use of someone’s car. High drama, or what?
Kelly spent a horrendous week on the streets, doing MSN with me from cafes with Internet. When she returned home after the weather turned wet and she was soaked through, her computer had been moved to a different room, food was in the kitchen, a CD with triggering songs which she had pawned was by her computer. All her light bulbs were missing. Any one of these would be scary. I engaged with other alters who were unaware of the situation, and were not scared of the dark like Kelly.
Daisy said triumphantly ‘I smashed dat CD aunti, I brok it.’
And there was a police car parked outside. I have no idea what this whole episode was about.
Kelly once used a computer in someone else's house, being told to say goodbye to me, and said I must say goodbye but I delayed. When Marta came in the room, Kelly messaged she was hurting her, and suddenly my computer crashed and I lost connection. Three years later I learned that the reason for leaving Kelly in a room with nothing but a computer, was to demonstrate that no-one including me could save her.
Marta was apparently furious and tried to get round me by saying she was not a monster, she would not hurt people, and could we not become friends? She said we could all sign in on MSN and she could 'verify' what Kelly was telling me. I emailed Marta that anything Kelly said to me was confidential, and Marta’s suggestion was preposterous. Marta made Friend requests to me on MSN. Eventually I accepted and immediately blocked her from seeing me online. I could watch her signing in, often from outside Kelly's house where she sat in her vehicle sending messages from a phone or laptop.
Later Marta emailed that I could either work with her, or against her. I did not know at that time that Marta was a bully to Kelly to anything like the extent she was, and Kelly paid the price for my bravado. When I joked that I would sort Marta out. Kelly begged me not to frighten her with such remarks.
‘Does Marta hurt you when I send her a rude email?’ I asked. ‘Yes, she does,’ replied Kelly.
‘But I asked you before if she did, and you said no.’ ‘I don’t know,’ came the reply. ‘Ever since I became this sort of slave-thing to her, I suppose.’
I thought back to my curiosity relating to food Kelly said someone left, that she had not bought and could not cook. There was petrol in Kelly’s car when she needed it, at times when she had no money or credit on her cards. Plants appeared in Kelly’s garden, some triggering for her because of the colours and names. Saturday evenings seemed a time when Marta was around more than previously, perhaps because Kelly’s children were now discouraged from being home. Kelly lost track of the usual TV programmes she used to mention.
Basically, Kelly was unaware of links and activities going back many years. Somehow Marta managed to keep Kelly’s awareness and alter personalities in tight compartments, with some parts totally inaccessible and little seeping through to Kelly. I had known Kelly for four years, and wondered what else I did not know. Kelly was not the main person in the system, having arrived a long time ago during a crisis, yet having close connections to Caitlin the original host-person.
Caitlin was not present when I first came in contact with Kelly. Then Caitlin returned and interacted with me for some months, saying her goodbyes when everything became too much. Kelly resumed and became subjected to the totally inhuman and complex practices which form a substantial part of ‘the Book’. It is small wonder that Caitlin left again.
