Laura's Story by John Stormm (best novel books to read .TXT) 📕

I've even heard of "sanguine" feeders, like blood vampires, except I'm not sure if I've ever personally met any of these. I've been to a few exclusive parties where blood was served, but it was usually known to be beef blood, in the circles I've traveled in. Some of the satanic cults, serve and share some of their own blood at banquets, or some of that of their willing victims. It can be a really kinky world, out there. And then there's those, who feed on more bizarre and perverse things still. But I don't really want to get into those. The world is a great deal bigger and broader in its color pallette, than you've ever been taught to expect. Some of it considerably more kinky, and decadent than you ever thought possible. But these are the appetites of the very rich and powerful.

Armani suits and Prada heels may help paint a picture to most of you of authority and respectability. But then face it: What you THINK is a normal, work-a-day draft horse or sleepwalker like yourselves, by what you see on the outside, barely goes skin deep on the individuals you are looking at. A nice haircut and a business suit is simply another layer of deception, for many to use against their victims. This is not to say ALL of them are hybrids, or that ALL of them have dark appetites. It is merely to say that such, is surely not uncommon in the world, that you think you know, around you. What gets taught as FACTS in the schools that you went to, are not taught as such, where some of us others, have come of age in.

Off and on for many years, Laura complained of "demonic problems" of one sort or another. Some might label some of it as poltergeist phenomena, and some of it in other ways. But I've found that Laura had a really good handle on what she was dealing with. Though she would call upon my help as a "witch of the blood" on occasion, to clear out the activities in her house, after her dad had passed away to cancer. She wasn't too comfortable at first, when I offered to teach her some of my craft. Someone of her natural talents would make a first rate witch. But she was concerned that it would only aggravate the demonic elements that she was often vistied by. She was a dear girl all the time I knew her, but cats and dogs never liked her. There just always seemed to be something contrary in their nature. I, on the other hand, always became the best friend immediately upon meeting any animal, whether wild or domestic.

It was years later, when I opened up WitchClan.com as an international communications hub for our clan, and then other interested witches as well, when Laura got more involved with this aspect of training. People used craft names and there was no registry online that contained anyone but my own legal names or addresses, so even though we were under government scrutiny, even as you are today, we could speak and share as we would without fear of persecution. Laura started relating well to all the witches there online, and learning more and more at her own pace.

It was a few years after I had left spending 12 hour days managing Top's stores for them, that I took a position at the hospital where Laura worked. I worked on several commitees and boards and I also worked in maintenance in the radiation oncology department on evenings, after everyone went home for the day. After her shift upstairs was over, Laura would come down to the vaults, of lead lined walls and coded locks, and hang out with me as I worked, and we'd talk and I'd teach her much of the rudments of witch craft and spellcraft. She was smart as a whip, and hungry for knowledge. She made even my toughest days brighter by her presence. I say that, because by this time, I was suffering the ravages of two strokes, diabetes, moderate narcolepsy and radiation poisoning. When I was 40 years old, much like Laura, I would still be carded to buy beer or tobacco products. But now the ravages of the life I had led, were catching up with me, and the years were treating me most unkindly.

In the past, one of our favorite arguments was whether or not I was truly immortal and never likely to die. I had been back and forth across that line several times in my life. So I believed that I certainly COULD die, but that in the past, events turned out as such, that somebody or something was always there to pull me back across. To which she would argue in her own stubborn way that this was precisely the point, that SOMETHING would ALWAYS happen to prevent it from happening. As sore and sick as I've been, I certainly hope that's not the case. Because I have nothing to fear about crossing over, and it would certainly be a pleasant change of pace from life in this darkly corrupt and ignorant realm of existence.

If anything, she was looking like she was handling life better than I was. If anyone was going to outlive the other, I would have been more certain that it would be her out surviving me, and not what it now is. I'd have traded places with her in a New York minute, but I also am very aware that she is presently in a much happier state of being than I am, and would argue: Why should I have all the fun?

We had many adventures in the course of our years together at the hospital. We had met another type of hybrid, that we had never seen or really suspected before. A strange young woman with large battleship gray eyes. Laura sensed her from the moment she walked into the hospital and sought her out. I had met her while waiting for an elevator. Laura had long taken to wearing blue contact lenses, that made her eyes look green, instead of that brassy color. I would have passed those as a very pale hazel, but she wanted to better blend in, and not draw so much attention to her unusual nature. As it was, she was nearly twice the age she appeared to be. Most people would have looked upon her, or the gray eyed gal as simply striking, or exotically unusual, and not thought any more about it.

The woman opened up and chatted more easily with Laura than with me, though the three of us enjoyed a few good lunches together in the hospital cafeteria. Within the week, we saw Security escorting the woman out of the hospital. Rumor had it that she had been caught stealing something. But I served on the Employee Dispute board and would have seen some note on her exiting us in this manner, to be ready for it just in case a dispute on this case arose. But we never saw or heard from her again after that. We didn't know what to think about it.

Laura saw what was happening on a regular basis in my life with handlers and all, and had her own reasons for fearing being brought under such programs, though we never specifically spoke of why, or what such experiences as she may have ever had. Anyone who has endured the ravages of MK Ultra or MK Monarch, can relate to the PTSD those experiences bring on. So, it's wiser not to push such people over much, and let them open up about them, in their own times. If ever. When the Gray Lady was taken out from among us, we both started to wondering, if there was something moving among our hospital staff that would be singling out hybrids like us. It sounded more than a little paranoid to even us, but still there was that nagging feeling.

On one evening, when Laura was working overtime on a later shift than usual, she was taking some paperwork down to the Research Department. As she got closer to the area, she became aware of a wild wailing sound, as if someone was crying out for their lives. Things seemed "normal" enough with the staff as she got there. Nobody but her, seemed to be aware of the wailing. Since she couldn't be sure of where I'd be at this hour of the night in my department, she got online to WitchClan.com and posted an urgent message, on our Inner Circle Forum, which was hidden from any public viewing. I would check in regularly as I could, and I picked up on the message much later that evening, after everyone had left Research. When I come into the hall, I too heard the incessant wailing in my head. It was not an area that either of us ever had much cause to enter before. So, this could have been going on for some time, and we'd never have been aware of it.

I had the codes for most of the restricted areas, as I tended to assist most of the technical contractors who visited, to work maintenance on all of the high tech equipment. In this department, the old head of the department, had died of another stroke, and a whole new research staff was settling in and cleaning out all the old junk, and obsolete equipment, and gearing up for all new technology. I had taken it on to keep them supplied with rolling dumpsters, to clear out all of the old stuff, to go down to our Recycling Department. Nobody was present, so I followed the wailing to a utility room. Everything was slated to be cleared out, but they hadn't gotten to this room yet. It was dusty and full of all sorts of boxes of old documents and interesting glassware. In one dusty, unmarked box was a tiny skull of only about six inches measured from its perfectly formed crown, longwise, to its tiny chin.

When I opened it to look inside, the skull sort of smiled at me. Yeah. Of course a skull smiles, you say, but the wailing stopped, and I felt like comforting whoever the skull belonged to. I looked about in the old books and notes, and found that this skull had originally come from Flores Island, Indonesia. It had belonged to a mature woman, fully grown, and perfectly proportioned, at just over three feet tall! We couldn't find the rest of the woman's bones, and in those lands, it is accursed to be separated from one's head in death. Apparently she had suffered some kind of head trauma, by the hairline fracture on her left cheekbone, and had been brought to a local jungle clinic, and had died there, with no next of kin to come and claim her body.

Her perfectly formed, uniquely petite skull ended up being taken by the medical staff, as a medical curiosity or anomaly. Further studying revealed to our Inner Circle participants on WitchClan that this skull was that of a species of hominid known as Homo Florensis, a.k.a. a "hobbit", also formerly known among the Indonesians as "Ibu Gogo". I rescued her from the trash bin, and made a warded glass case to keep her head in the peace, and respect that it deserved, and since we had no name for her, the clan named her as 'Lilalu Ibu" or Grandmother Lilalu. You may see a short video with her on my WitchMan53 YouTube channel.

The very air about us at the hospital was changing, and inspite of all the