Blue-eyed Ken was just an average guy. The ink eyed one, who liked to inject girls and experiment on them with torture, scared me shitless. I could feel Doktor Evil inside him, just as I had done inside Ian Brady and I felt as if he was going to leap up and stick a needle in my cheek to minister electric shock.
I stood up to leave. I realised that he was leaning to kiss me.
His kiss penetrated my mouth; his angry eyes my mind.
‘I like you, Chris,’ he whispered drawing back, ‘…but let’s see how it goes with us - ok.’ He said as he stood back.
'But I don’t like you in that way.’
My head became lighter, something lurched forward forcing her body against his…. She was hungry for the inky eyed one. She pushed and pulled at his shirt.
Suddenly his ink black eyes returned to blue.
I felt repelled and pulled back. Catherine couldn't feed on normal human men.
He pulled back. He had switched too and was curious about her.
‘What the hell are you doing kissing me? Don’t you like nice things, Chris? Don’t you feel you deserve them? What the hell are you doing in a prison with me? You’re a Mother.’
Blue eyed, Ken leaned forward and put his mouth to my forehead; then he looked intensely into my eyes ……… 'whats up with you?' I knew he knew about parts – about alters – about not knowing who the hell you were or why you did the things that you did and ended up in prison or in the bed of a dangerous stranger.
A black-eyed being inside me twisted in his searchlight.
He spoke softly. ‘I see you – you in there – come out – I’m going to call her Minerva – let her be birthed by me.’ He held me tight and whispered things. As he did I felt her ice thaw and it cracked – but it hurt so much.
Pain flooded me. Catherine was so hard, so fucked up and lonely. Visiting killers and lying with murderers. Inside a prison of ice. Born of lashes with a stick – created of the breath of a daemon in the hidden parts of the Roman Catholic Church and their Moonchild ritual. He cracked her ice open and she emerged from her prison and the light of reality shattered everything. She was a ‘Handmaiden’ no more. Her body was mine – not a tool, my body to give to J.
I crawled out of the prison in bits, tears streaming down my cheeks and shaking like jelly.
Outside the prison, I slumped in the hired car and I sobbed – I saw how twisted my life was – how lost I was. Catherine came forward and this time Alice/Catherine didn’t go back.
I searched online. This time I wore my investigative journalist hat. I needed to find a cure.
‘Manchurian Candidates – an occult evil using the Alice in Wonderland book.
According to the net Mind Control Slave experiments were carried out by the Vatican on Catholic orphans in their care in the 60’s and 70s – handy kids to use as experimental rats. They used abused kids – unwanted kids – young boys in borstals and prisons and hospitals to experiment on.
Then I came upon it; in the Satanic Ritual Abuse they used the Key of Solomon, attaching entities to the traumatised child they were making into a slave. They lived on inside the child making it extra sensory. I lit a cigarette and I knew. I had to destroy her. No, I had to love her better. Unlock her triggers, clean my system from any attachments, regain wholeness of soul parts – it wasn’t the personality they tampered with nor did they create multiples, it was soul parts – the outer mask was virtually the same.
I found the cure. Simple really. A Pastor called Russ Dizdar was doing a series on ‘Alices’ and calling us Supersoldiers or Chosen Ones. The cure was Jesus.
And so, for the first time in my life I truly got down on my knees and I prayed and eventually after months - I felt something.
Some Christians online met up with me and on a special day in August 2017 they baptized me in the sea in Brighton. On that day the shatter fully unified.
They say that when Jesus comes into a cold heart he breaks down all the splits - he reclaims his own and he calls his lost children back home.
When I moved, I made my home on the Thames Riverside and I bought a variety of rescue birds to give them the best life I could. I found out I adored animals.
In a group of MK victims online I learned more.
At Christmas, 2017, a year after I ceased all communication with Bianchi and after I’d published In for The Kill. Kenneth Bianchi, the Hillside Strangler sent me a photograph of himself in his cell.
It had inky eyes.
I was tired that day and I fell asleep holding it. I dreamed I was in Germany with my loving twin brother – my 12-year-old brother Jack whom I absolutely adored. An evil Doktor kept us imprisoned, even though we were children. He experimented on us with needles and bleach and gas – so much daily infliction of torture and pain. We both ran off in the snow and died in the freezing ice rather go back and be tortured again by the Doktor. We walked into the light - where we were separated. I shouted to him that I would search through time to find him and I would never ever give up searching for my Jack, my cherished twin.
Kenneth Bianchi was ‘Jack’ …who had once been my twin in a previous life. Jack, who I had searched for inside this one, yet not known it. He had been split into parts in the Programs and now the real part of him had been programmed as a serial killer. He had killed girls as an experiment in control by the Deep State via created alters. Who would
believe it, but I had experienced Programs and I knew Anna and the thousands saying it online were not mad.
I was lucky that Bianchi had affected me so much when I visited him. Yes, Jack had bashed down my walls and pulled out the real.
J had kissed me awake out of my living sleep.
J had broken the evil spell over me that kept me hidden underneath glass.
And I had been waiting for J.
If one believes that more things happen in heaven and earth than mere man is aware of; then one could believe that this evil man had somehow healed me.
I put his photograph inside a book, then lost the book amongst my others. I was haunted by what he had done to others.
I wanted to expose this evil mind-bending occult dirty work. I wanted to somehow find this ‘Doktor’ character who had stalked me - hunted me - for lifetimes.
I had to research Black Magick and the Goetian daemons. I came across a man who knew much about Monarch Magick and had worked with a man called Colonel Michael Aquino who they said created a lot of the Programs running today – he was called Douglas Dietrich and he lectured online about Hollywood. Douglas got me a radio show alongside his that went out across America.
My first guest was expert on Mind Control Fritz Springemier.
He filled in the blanks as he had studied and written books about the Programs that most of the public knew nothing about. He confirmed I had had it done to me and something about that helped me.
Fritz told me on air that leading Nazi, Dr. Josef Mengele known as the ‘Doktor Death’ masterminded human trafficking in Monarch Kontrolle Programs. He had specialised in MK Ultra using blue eyed, blonde twins to try to create a master race. He had also overseen Lebensborn – manufacturing blue eyed blondes in orphanages.
I thought of my orphanage – the girl and man they threw up as my parents had dark colouring, yet mine was Aryan. I knew there was a man out there who looked like me and was my real father – I could feel him, yet I would never know him, I was born of test tubes and genetic manipulation.
Josef Mengele, died in 1979. He looked so familiar to me.
Doktor Mengele was Daddy of the Programs. He had, according to expert, Fritz Sprimgmeir pushed his own spiritual essence inside the Mind Control Program to make himself immortal.
The occultist Nazis who wanted to be immortal and had achieved it. CIA and MI6 had taken the work by the Nazis and in Project Paperclip even taken those same men and given them a place – a high place inside the CIA. Some believed Mengele now called himself Dr Green.
I had heard him inside strangler Kenneth Bianchi boasting about torturing girls. I had seen him hiding just inside Ian Brady’s vacant eyes on the book cover as a child. I had smelt his handiwork in the horrific aftermath of the Omagh bomb.
Because of the Ascension we were waking up to slavery. I had seen the man who had imprisoned me and I had sought him to get the keys.
Victims came forward for me to interview. Fritz wrote that I was like Candy Jones, a CIA doll asset exposed in the 70’s. It was exciting for a while – but there were lots of frauds claiming to be mind controlled; and many of them made major radio shows and the public began to reject the idea of it.
I began to see it was leading nowhere. It was just a freak show. I decided to just plain shut up about it. After all Anna had warned me to do just that – ‘you’ll be killed – but if you want to be killed… just shout it from the rooftops and you’ll die.’
I had my Arthur, I didn’t have the luxury of being a hero.
I decided to play it safe. I half didn't beleive the whole MK thing deep inside - it was too much to suck up. But I felt I must protect my son, so I shut down all mention of MK and made radio shows about flower essences and Matcha Tea, yet I began to notice something sinister... it was too late.
A famous Professor who lectured on journalism called Professor Brian Cathcart was calling me a theif online.
Brian is on the left in the above picture with Alan Partridge and Nick Clegg MP and since he does not know me and I have not been convicted of a crime - he has ignored my emails yet announces on Twitter that I am a theif; I can only conclude he enjoys hurting women. He also asks why mainstream haven't ganged up on me like he has.
Maybe they don't just easily believe the horseshit of the long-gone reporter who once worked with me called Graham Johnson like you do, Brian. Just a smidgeon of pain just might have made you a kinder man, but no, your smooth ride has made you smug and entitled.
Johnson has been to prison for phone hacking and was still obsessed with me and bitter, believing I’d got away with something and so he had begun to target me using the money of Hugh Grant and Max Mosley who were paying him 5k a month to front Hacked Off who were supposedly against sneaky tabloid journalists.
It seemed like they were not against it - they just wanted that dark power themselves.
Graham had been always yearning to try to prove to himself and others that my feted golden days on Fleet Street were not Magick, but base dirty illegality and that he, Graham, was the superior investigative journalist.
Graham began to ring me and throw money at me and take me out on dates to a cosy French restaurant in Kew and often MP Evan Harris would come along to eat with us and my little boy Arthur Charles.
Evan warned me over the lemon tart that my life could become 'very stressful' if I didn't co-operate to help Lily and the other victims. (Lily Allen who claimed I had spied on her) I tried to 'read' Evan who was a very handsome figure by touching his hand - but he had cloaked himself - I found that odd as usually only practicing Magicians cloak up.
I had already been approached by a film company by then and I was wired for sound by the company who were waiting around the corner.
Graham got the BBC involved and a reporter from Panorama came to meet me at the same venue which I also taped for the film company. It was the BBC who then through Graham paid for me to go to Rendlesham for a weekend.
It was all expenses paid for me and Arthur at Seckford Hall. I was enjoying the attention despite having nightmares about Greys at the Hall (Grey Aliens) and them carrying out dental work in my mouth after abducting me. I did a radio show from there with a man who researched MK experiencers and I had found online, called Miles Johnston and his Bases Media and a girl who once knew Evan as she was an MP in Cornwall called Lisa Williams (name changed) who had also experienced abduction by Greys.
They warned me. ‘For Godsake, don’t go near them, Hugh Grant is Deep State.’
I liked Lisa and Miles but I had heard too much ‘Conspiracy Theory’ and my mind wasn’t used to it, so I ignored them. I was also broke and Graham, fresh out of prison was throwing me Hugh Grant’s money.
Graham promised me Hollywood would take my story of what happened to me at the hands of the Vatican and I would be heralded as a super hero for exposing, Monarch Mind Control.
Graham told me Hugh Grant had now spoken to Charlize Theiron who had read my book and wanted to play me. Why did I listen?
I wanted it to be true, reader – I was tired of poverty. I wanted the world to be a nice place. I wanted to believe here was something good; the compensation of years of sexual abuse and violence in a movie made by Hugh himself. I had had movie near misses and I was hanging out with Anne Hardy - Tom Hardy's Mother and Tom Hardy was close to Charlize and Anne had passed him my book she had loved it so much and he liked it to and was mates with Charlize. I wanted it all to fit.
Tom and Anne adored Arthur and welcomed him into their family and were very protective of him. Somehow it felt like it was all going to happen for me and Arthur and I hoped we could buy a home.
I hoped my story would have a happy ending and the conspiracy world would turn out to be not real.
So, I sung the Hugh Grant/Max Mosley Cabal a song of what they all wanted to hear.
Yes, I had spied at The Priory – yes, yes, I had carried out all the newspapers asked me – but I backed out when I realized I’d have to say this all-in court. It would be perjury. I still wanted the Hugh Grant movie deal though.
I told Graham about the online victim’s group called Bases for MK whom I wanted to feature in the movie. I told him about James Casbolt and Max Spiers, this amazing man who I had interviewed and who knew all about Mind Control. Max Spiers knew about the Deep State and was preparing to reveal a paedophile list of Hollywood stars and sex trafficking linked to recent Hollywood murders.
Max was set to release new info at a ‘Red Pill’ conference in Devon I had persuaded a man called Miles Johnston to let him speak if I baby sat him and his girlfriend on the day.
‘I’ll film it;’ said Graham – my people are very interested in him. He's good. I’ve got the BBC, Channel Four – all coming to film him. Happy?’
Max was found dead in a flat in Poland a week prior to the event. He was 39 years old.
Graham sent his lesser ‘Vice’ team who filmed the conference.
There was no movie.
I moved to a house Hugh Grant had paid for. As it was Max Mosley and Hugh Grant's money, our new home was lush; it had wood ceilings with a fan and even a name - The Boathouse. We had a boat parked out in the river we could use.
My son and I feared the isolation a bit - there was no one for miles, but there were swans and Arthur sat each day and fed and talked to them.
I was a little scared we had no neighbours, yet they had been so nice to us we felt taken care of. Arthur loved it so much because it was a long way to his school and he felt excited about the boat and the animals. It was only nightfall and its isolation scared us.
We bought birds and watched the Red Kites who would swoop in the trees opposite.
The remote country house was the best home we had ever had.
Three weeks after we moved in, we were leaving for the school run at 6.30am and I couldn't shut the front door.
Later that night I searched for my lap top and then I found computers missing - one of which belonged to my ex and all my cameras were missing. I couldnt find my new lap top either, Graham told me to buy with money he gave me.
I dialled 999.
CID showed me how the thieves got in - the door had been professionally broken into. They took none of my Gucci jewellery or my few bits of gold from my days of working and no valuables even though they were laid out just to pick up – they just wanted all my computers and cameras.
Graham joked, ‘…lucky you and your son weren’t beaten up – just think about that and move on. It was only drunken scallies.’ (on tape)
‘Move on?’
‘Yes, move on. You’re one of those mad people who think your targeted aren’t you – now you think you’re burgled like those targeted nuts at that conference.’
The stuff is missing, Graham – the cops are dusting for fingerprints and have found how they got inside my home. The CID told me it was professional, a clever job – not scallies.’
I had to tell the cops again when Graham threatened me (recorded) in a phone call to say – ‘I’ll come there and kick your door down if you don’t give me your remittances advices from that c..t Dacre and The Daily Mail.’
Arthur couldn’t sleep; he was scared of the rough gangsterish Graham bursting into his bedroom at midnight.
I slept with a weapon under my mattress and was ready to fight if they entered.
Brian Harvey, a very famous singer, formerly of East 17, had dealings with Hacked Off and wasnt happy, he came on my radio show and told how he was targeted by Greg Miskiw and possibly Mazher Mahmood - he later exposed Greg as being on the Hacked Off payroll after coming out of prison. He still hasn't received any compensation for the loss of his career.
My little boy overheard CID say they had done the burglary at night whilst we were sleeping. The cops said the intruders would have been masked incase we woke and caught them at it.
I had already been threatened I would have kilos of cocaine planted on me by bent cops and arrested if I didn’t go along with them and take down The Mail (the only investigative paper left they had no control of) with my bullshit revelations of Priory spying for them.
Their group ‘HACKED OFF and their magazine BYLINE said to be an anti-press lobby group made up of celebrities was terrifying; they had dangerous bent cops on their books and they were being checked out by TV journalists and had powerful enemies inside the press, politics and crime. I was living in fear of them as was my son.
I had come across an influential hive and the Hollywood bees were out in full force and ready to sting. Yet, did they really just want millions out of News Int or was it far worse than that?
A film company informed me about a court case going on at the High Courts in Temple Bar; Hollywood v The Sun. I was at the centre of it – they were demanding millions of pounds pay outs for, ‘this woman who had stolen the data of the rich and famous of Hollywood.’
I asked the famous Barrister involved, David Sherbourne what he was playing at by calling me a data thief in court and high valued private spy of Rebekah Brooks. It was now on the net I was a criminal and a theif by a top barrister and close friend of Hugh Grant.
I hadnt been arrested or charged with any offence. He passed a message back to me to say ‘. it’s nothing personal – by the way to talk about this case online is illegal.’
Facts were, I had never taken information off of a computer. It would have been suicidal to steal data and then see it published, the victim had a right to demand how they got it and they would have to then tell. I was no phone hacker idiot. I had been trained by the military – and fully informed about the dangers of Fleet Street by my ex military employers and the likes of Barry Trigwell long before I joined it.
Being called The Devil’s Daughter at 22 had reinforced the knowledge that the press was not to be trusted. I had been exceedingly careful – and I had never done anything illegal that they could turn on me for, let alone data theft.
Yet the Hollywood cabal was determined to make sure I was discredited as dishonest. This ws what they did to experiencers of merit - murdered them or took them down.
Sir Elton James, Liz Hurley, Heather Mills and others like Lily Allen were queuing up to say I had accessed their private data in The Priory. Geri Halliwell said I spied on her as she had Bluebell.
Graham Johnston boasted to me, ‘…you were the Daily Mail’s sole, senior investigator for over decades, probable cause on times they were spied on, it must’ve been you – so they’re coming to prosecute you, even if you didn’t do it. They can come for you and finish you off – put a charge by your name, so you’ll be forever in debt – forever known as a thief scumbag – unless you help me destroy Paul Dacre ’
I had recorded him saying this to me in a French restaurant.
According to them I had spied on the great and the golden. I would be lucky if I got a job waiting tables. I was in the middle of a war between Hollywood V News International and Rupert Murdoch. Yet there seemed there was more to it than that.
I believe that we, not of the HUM, are refined in pain ready to rise when the time comes. This will be our end game… our war…our Ragnorak.
I knew that they could/would kill me and not bat an eye, they had threatened as much.
I knew their lily livers, their pride and ambition and their Godlessness. Their huge mistake was they didn’t know us.
This is not my home; this is a bee hive.
I ask again…………who are the bees?
I tried to think of all the late Max Spiers said.
In a letter from his prison cell where James Casbolt was serving 12 years for very little, he wrote to me. ‘Negative Alien Agenda -NAA - to use humanity as a resource- they gain control by using our bodies as vessels - they have long taken over the Media, Banking, Education, Hollywood. They use our blood and organs and the cattle having their organs removed and left destroyed aren't the only meat going missing for their hybrid programs so they can live here and have their own kind present among us. It's a take over; but not by force, but Intervention. The last thing the elite - who aren't human - need is anyone investigating anything.'
The late Max Spier's advice was, ‘…. Let go of your anger, Chris ….just pray for them.’
I am of a different kind.
Earth is on total Satanic lockdown and the plan for humanity is total control.
They now have full control of all the 'systems' that govern earth; banking - education - hospitals - Law - Media - Hollywood.
Europe has been flooded because daemons are involved with 'The Visitors' and they hate 'The One.' Their war is on Christians and they will use Islam to do their dirty work for them, via ISIS.
Food is expensive, social housing and healthcare all but destroyed.
I watched the Netflix version of The Handmaiden's Tale; I had been a Handmaiden in the same way the Monarch Program operates. Margaret Atwood, wrote in 1985 how they would use Islamic attacks to create the scenario shown in her book.
Close down bank accounts - round us up into camps - use the women for breeding.
The inhuman nature of the reptilian cold bloodedness of the elite was portrayed very cleverly in this Netflix series. This day is here.
Let's allow Jesus Christ to enter into our cold hearts and rise against this common enemy who walks among us.