BIG TRIGGER warning – S***nism and human sacrifice (no details, not explicit).
This is out of context unless the blog has been read in a chronological order.
Guinevere, 5 years old:
Grandfather gives me a serious look:
”Do you want to see a scary thing?”
”Yes”, I say.
”She can’t consent to it”, Grandmother shakes her head. ”Because she has no idea. Nobody does and especially not a child.”
”She’ll have to be there”. Harry leans back in his chair, observing me with sad eyes. ”She needs to demonstrate her wickedness to those who would have her killed. Strike first, I say!” Later on, he instructs me on how to swear allegiance to S***n.
”Mom says no swearing or she won’t give me candy on weekends”, I frown.
”It’s only words”, Grandfather teaches. ”When a group of people catch you and ask you to swear an oath to S***n, you do so! If God cares about anything, it’s your actions. Words are only words! Any God worth praying to would rather you swore the oath than see you – a child – tortured to your death.”
After the events in the barn, Grandfather Harry realized one or more adults would snitch, simply because they’d been trained to do so. He decided to report everything himself and found out he was right – someone had told the story before him. How should Eric and I prove we weren’t saints? We’d need to demonstrate it to the most fanatical Society members. But how to find those? Human sacrifices – officially outlawed by the Society – were rumored to be performed in a secret circle constituted of different members for each ’event’. Harry likened it to a concert you needed to buy tickets to – but with a secret ticket vendor. Then he ordered all adults of our bloodline to search for the ticket vendor. We were to attend a ’show’.
A man is standing outside our door. Mother says it’s not somebody we know. I begged her not to open when the doorbell rang, but she shushed me. Now he’s checking the water pipes in our bathroom, while making small talk. I eye him suspiciously.
”Your daughter looks like a little angel!”, he compliments Mother.
”She is, she’s my darling angel”, she answers with a smile.
”She must be a kind little girl…a little saint, isn’t she?” The man asks.
”Yes she’s very kind! But she’s too young to be a saint”, Mother replies. I feel a cold fear grip my chest. I wait until she’s out of earshot, then I whisper:
”Never call me saint! Or I’ll bite your dick off!”
He’s stupefied for a moment. Then he cracks up and he just won’t stop. He laughs so much he needs to use our toilet or he’ll pee himself.
”What on earth happened?” Mother questions. ”Did you do anything?” I shake my head. Words like ’dick’ are forbidden and threatening to bite people would certainly deprive me of my weekly candy. The man is drying tears from his eyes when he exits the bathroom. On his way out, he comments:
”That one’s a little devil!” He roars with laughter all the way down to the street.
”There are many mad persons in the world”, Mother reflects. ”You’re right, we shouldn’t open the door just like that.”
The search for the ticket vendor goes on. Mother is oblivious to the existence of any threat. Her siblings tried warning her, but she had a breakdown and the next day she didn’t even remember them having visited. Eric’s parents debate what to do if the vendor is found:
”She’s too young.” We’re in their living room. Eric’s mother regards me, teary-eyed. ”She’s too young.”
”It’s better she sees it than…than it being her.” Eric’s father is stone faced, decided.
”She’s way too unbalanced already. She’s the most violent little girl…probably because of Harry’s training. I fear…I fear she’ll turn out like me! Darling…these events – they’re designed to split adults! To make adults who are more jaded than stone split! What effect would it have on her, on her personality? I fear she’ll go mad! And you – how will you handle it?”
”I don’t know”. Eric’s father has tears in his eyes. ”I don’t know. But I’ll go there if it will save our child. And her.” He throws me a glance and sighs. ”How can anyone accuse her of being a saint? And Eric? Don’t they know he’s the one who taught her what household items are most useful as weapons? They’re two peas in a pod and anything but saintly!” Later on, the conversation continues in the hallway:
”I’ve changed my mind. They’re not gonna see it.” Eric’s father appears exhausted.
”I’ve changed my mind too.” Eric’s mother returns his gaze with a decisive expression. ”They have to see it – I don’t see another way to save them. They have to know there’s a real threat. I won’t have them wandering around clueless, defenseless!”
”We can’t tell Eric beforehand. He’d go to the…”
”To the…yes. He’ll just have to see it. We’ll bring him there asleep.”
Eric and I were taken to witness a human sacrifice ritual. He was carried there sedated and left sedated. When he was still asleep, they tied him up and gagged him. We were forced to watch. I wore a blindfold on my way to the place and a blindfold leaving. The ’audience’ and the ’Ceremony Master’ wore masks. Before it all started, Eric and I were indeed asked to swear a s***nical oath and both of us did so. We didn’t know what was going to happen. ’A scary thing’, Harry had said to me. It broke my heart. After it was over, Eric’s parents implored him to look at me:
”If you don’t train her, next time it’s her! Or you!” Eric promised to train me.
Unfortunately, afterwards none of Eric’s Selves would believe the sacrifice had taken place.
”It must have been a bad dream”, Eric’s Normal stated, eyes wide with horror. ”The worst I’ve ever had. But it wasn’t real. Such things don’t exist. And why would you be there? It doesn’t make sense.” His other Selves were equally reluctant to admit it occurred and we argued. I insisted the scary thing had really happened and he accused me of being a pawn in his parent’s manipulative schemes. But I could see there was a fear in him now that wasn’t there before.
”I have something to tell you”. Eric and I are sitting in his room, on the edge of his bed. ”I’ve joined the Half Men”.
”What are they?” I ask.
”You don’t remember?”
”No.” Eric sighs.
”It’s a group I had to join…Guinevere? It’s you?”
”I will always love you. All the girls you are. I will always love you…no matter what I do.” He looks like he’s about to cry. ”If I do something bad to you, please forgive me! Everything I do I do to keep you alive. I…if you have a memory like they say you do…please, remember me like I am now. If I become a monster”, his voice breaks, ”remember I was not always so, I was not always a monster and I love you. Even if I’m a monster I love you.”
”I love you!” I hug him for a long time. ”I love you, I will always love you, and you are never a monster to me.”
Some questions I imagine readers could have after this post:
Have you reported this murder?
Yes. Many years ago. The investigation was shut down because the police couldn’t find the victim, the perpetrator or the crime scene. Whoever planned it did so meticulously.
How was the sacrifice performed?
I do not want to share that – I’ve read somewhere details of a murder could inspire killers. It’s enough law enforcement knows.
Does Eric remember anything?
No. The sedatives (and possibly other drugs) he was given made him experience it like a nightmare, and like all nightmares he forgot it.
I don’t believe in Ritual Abuse, murders like that can’t happen, people don’t just disappear.
I’ve only ever witnessed one human sacrifice in my life. It could be a very rare occurrence. Sadly, many persons disappear each year, in most countries. Out of all those disappearances, is it so impossible a small percentage could have been sacrificed by fanatics? I am aware writing about human sacrifice automatically discredits everything a survivors says. I still choose to write about it because it’s the deepest fear of all cult-members. That’s why it’s important to be honest about its existence. Cult members fear they’ll be the next victim, they fear their children will be the next victims. This is what stops them from leaving. This is what stops DID alters from trying to integrate with a Normal (amnesic) host.
I’m asking everyone who reads this to please share a silent minute with me. A silent minute for the human being who was tortured to death. It was a person who deserved love and safety.