Marilyn Manson looks and sounds so cool – had a discussion recently with my favourite pink friend who loves him…I did too, till I heard an interview with him and Beatrice Dalle.

Anyway, I gotta get past that. Being talented in interviews is no the same as being talented in music – and vice versa. This song is the old Eurythmics classic which was already pretty sexy. In Manson’s hands it becomes creepy, and so it really is to its core. “Sweet dreams are made of this/ who am I to disagree?/Some of them want to abuse you/some of them want to be abused”

Well, ah, yeah. That’d be me….still probably be whipped by dear old Annie Lennox than Marilyn, but that is just personal preference…or maybe she is just sexier than he is. After all what is great about this version is how sinister it is….love it. Annie can whip me, but Marilyn can have the microphone….

Here is the Eurhythmics version…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeMFqkcPYcg

The Eurythmics version is way too jaunty and poppy for me….

Marilyn nailed it I think, slowed it down, creeped me out. Yes, have a good night sleeeeeepppp dear…..may never wake up!

Love it…don’t you?

“My whole life has been decided by fate. I think something more powerful than we are decides our fates for us. I know one thing – I’ve never planned anything that has ever happened to me.” – SHARON TATE

Steve McQueen, my favorite actor of all time btw, narrowly avoided being at the Tate house that fateful night. He instead went on a date and took a night in at home with his latest female flavor of the week.

Below is an excerpt from “5 Things You Didn’t Know About Steve McQueen” by Ryan Murphy:

McQueen made a career out of getting under people’s collars. He went through friends the way some people go through tissues, successfully alienated all three of his wives, and once threatened a studio exec with a chainsaw. So it’s hardly surprising then that some people wanted him dead. On November 6, 1969, it was revealed that McQueen had joined fellow celebrities Richard Burton, Tom Jones and Frank Sinatra on Charles Manson’s so-called “death list.” The list was an informal compilation of everyone the hippie cult leader had a personal vendetta against. McQueen had incurred Manson’s wrath simply because he failed to commission a script that he had sent to his production studio in 1968.

McQueen was understandably upset about becoming one of Manson’s targets, and from that point forward he kept a handgun in his car’s glove compartment. It was luck, however, and not the gun that eventually saved his life. McQueen had been invited to a party by fellow actor Sharon Tate on August 8, 1969, at her house on Cielo Drive. At the last minute, he chose to go on a date instead, and in doing so narrowly missed being involved in one of the most high-profile homicide cases of the century. That night four members of Manson’s “Family” snuck into the house and brutally murdered Jay Sebring, coffee heiress Gibby Folger, Gibby’s boyfriend Voytek Frykowski, Steven Parent, and Tate and her unborn baby. Had McQueen been present, he may have suffered the same grim fate.

McQueen was also on Richard Nixon’s infamous Enemies List. Bandito had raised the President’s ire when he suggested he was planning to attend Martin Luther King’s 1963 Washington march. McQueen never ended up participating, but the FBI took an obsessive interest in his career from that point on.

Read more: http://www.askmen.com/entertainment/special_feature_100/107_special_feature.html#ixzz2Kn3KERNH

“You didn’t see my house in California last summer. I know about bleeding.” – ROMAN POLANSKI

– Citeste tot articolul: http://www.constanta.ws/stiri/excentricul-rocker-marilyn-manson-s-a-prabusit-pe-scena-in-mijlocul-unui-concert-video/

– Citeste tot articolul: http://www.constanta.ws/stiri/rockerul-american-marilyn-manson-a-lesinat-pe-scena/

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

…this vision felt different, smelled different.  No racing fear of some poor soul reverberated through Sophie.  A wide blue sky opened over her and grass rolling like waves in the wind surrounded her.  No smell of blood and sweat invaded her nostrils, only earth, sky and good dirt. Was this a new trick of Manson’s?  Peace sang the wind.  Safety whispered the grass.  Manson could not come here.  If he did, he would taint it.  Destroy it.  Leave his obvious mark on the beauty of the open plain.  She search for any blackness and found nothing but unending grass. 

Movement caught her eye.  In the distance, black spots moved towards her.  They rushed closer and closer, until she made out the shapes of horses.  Horses.  The wind could not overtake them.  They ran before it like ships with sails open wide to capture the breeze.  A large black stallion led them in Sophie’s direction.  He released a challenging neigh as they closed in on her.  The thunder of their hooves crashed over her as the herd split apart to pass around her.  The stallion turned back.  He stopped and reared pawing the air.  A child clinging to his proud neck cheered as his hooves crashed to the ground.  In a flash of brilliant sunlight Sophie knew the child.  A strangled cry of joy burst from her as she ran to meet him.  The boy swung down from the stallion and shifted into his mother’s arms.  Sophie smothered him with kisses.

“Sophie!” A voice cracked like thunder breaking her embrace.  A man in white with golden wings stood in the grass.  The stallion stood at his side shaking his mighty head.

“We have brought you here to give you a gift.  See your son as the man he is.” The angel pointed at the boy in her arms.

Sophie released him.  Another brilliant flash of light and the little boy disappeared.  A muscular man with a chiseled face took his place.  Dark wavy hair covered his head and hung past his ears.  Gray shot through his violet eyes, sad eyes.  Sophie’s tattoo, the blood soaked, torn veil and Benj’s moon-lit coffin covered his chest.  On his left arm a black stallion defied the wind, a moth danced with a flame, and a constellation of stars peeked out of the night sky.  The silhouette of a giant black raven with a fierce beak covered the broad muscles of his back.  His fingers bore the symbols of the seasons – he served a powerful witch.

“Son?” she walked around him. “I’m guessing I’ll never see you grown or there wouldn’t be a need for this vision.”

As she came back around him she saw tears in his eyes.  “No, Mom.  You never see me like this.”

“I don’t know many of your tattoos, but they show courage and strange friendships.  What’s this one?”

She reached up and touched his right arm. Four tattoos, connected by a river of blood and golden lines, the power sources of his parents, covered his right arm.  An image of a beautiful woman sat just above his wrist.  She wore a flowing gown, which ran like liquid over her beautiful figure.  Her outstretched hands flowed with jewels and gold.  Above it three images interwove with one another – a moon, sun, and a crown – and then a quote and a list of names. He laid his hand over Sophie’s and read the black inscription. “I love you for always and miss you forever.”

Sophie stood on her tip toes.  A chill crawled over her skin.  She did not want to look but she had to.  She had to.  Above the line her son had read, rose a list of names.   A large X marked the names on his strong shoulder.  She knew all those names – Guinness, West, JC, Jack and more.  Horror grew, clawed, tore as her eyes darted over the list.  She saw her own name with a jagged X through the swirling letters.  Her name crossed out.  Sophie’s heart pounded.  Her knees buckled.  He gripped her arm, supporting her.  Sophie looked for Benj’s name, please God let him live.   Only one name remained unmarked on the macabre list…

“No!” she screamed.  The crossed red arms covered Benj’s name. “No!”

She dropped to the ground rocking back and forth unable to stop the mewing noise spilling from her lips.  He bent down in front of her, put his arms around her, and held her close.

“Mom, I don’t know how this happened, me being here, seeing you.  This isn’t what was supposed to happen.”  He pointed at the words of love under the list of those who had died.  “But this is our family hope.”

Sophie studied him, drank him in through her tears.  She loved him more than the entire world.  Her son.  Sent to tell her Benj must die.  She took his hand and placed it over the tattoo on his shoulder.

“Don’t you ever, ever forget this,” she said.  She kissed his forehead.  The pair of angels, the plain with her son, faded to gray…

Sophie woke up.  Benj held her, asleep.  She snuggled close to him, the weight of his arm comforting her.  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she drifted back to dreamland.  How much time did they had left together?

Benj stirred beside her as the sun went down.

“You cried in your sleep,” he said, kissing her on the back of her head.  He ran his hands through her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

His desire for her entwined and wrapped around the constant love he had for her.  Sophie rolled over in his arms, facing him.  He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her cheeks.  His cold body warmed and the kisses lingered.  Intensity formed around them.  Sophie pulled her face back just a little taking a deep breath.  Her vampire’s violet eyes burned.  They matched the pounding of his emotions.  Sophie laid her hand over where his heart belonged.

“I love you for always and miss you forever,” she whispered.

Benj blanched.  His body cooled. A deep fear replaced the desire.

“How do you know those words?”

“I had a vision last night.  I saw our son as a grown man.  It was tattooed on his shoulder.  He told me it was our family’s tattoo.  It sat under a list of X’ed out names.”

She swallowed the words stuck in her throat.  Benj wrapped her in his arms, skin on skin, human heart beat against vampire echo.

“I find it a cruel twist of fate to have been able to produce a son, but to never get to see him.”

Sophie’s examined the bones just under the skin of his chest too filled with sorrow to meet his eyes.  With a long cold finger, Benj lifted her chin.

“I can feel him growing in you.  I can feel the magic weaving you and I together to make something wholly new.  I am content just to know he will survive this.”

Unable to respond with words, Sophie pressed against Benj as if the pressure would make them one being.  Her larger round womb nestled between them wrapped in love.  Their son slept.  He slept in peace content in the knowledge that his parents loved one another.

“I am going to make a link with you and Cora tomorrow if what we have planned does not work.  We have to attack.  We have to stop sitting around,” Benj said, a new tone of desperation in his voice.

“You’re doing this cause you know you’re going to die?”  Her throat, her heart, caught on the word. She could barely whisper it.  She had seen the vision, she had seen the list, she had seen the mark through his name, but deep down she could not believe it.  She could not comprehend a world without Benj.

“Yes.  I believe that I will die in this game of his.”

“Then why attack?  Why go after him at all?”

“I do not want the lust if I can avoid it.  I do not want our love so tainted.  Please give me one chance to try before just giving in and doing it.”

She rested her head on his chest. “I know.  I’ll give you every chance.”

Holding her close, he ran his hands over her skin.  Showing love as only a man and woman can, they expressed physically their spiritual love for the last time.

The sun dipped below the horizon.  The world turned gold for one sparkling moment before it went black.  When they came out of the room, it had been dark for a few hours.  Stan sat at West’s desk with Jack and JC.  Several guns surrounded him.  They taught him the finer points of battle, loading guns, and hand to hand combat with a little bit of magical advice on the side.  Stan’s wide eyes tried to take it all in as he turned several shades of pale green.

“Everyone eat.” Jack sounded more like himself.

Benj got down a bowl and poured Sophie some milk and cereal before putting several bags of blood in a pan of water on the stove.  Sophie wedged and wiggled onto the barstool.

“Are you supposed to be doing that already?” Jack asked. “I mean, I’m not one to talk.  Being a bachelor doesn’t really give you the right to talk about babies, but I seem to remember it taking a little longer than a few days for my Mom to get that big with my sister.”

“Well, since there aren’t any women to ask who’ve given birth to a vampire’s child…I don’t know.”

They all turned to Benj.

He shrugged.  ”I do not know either.  There are only whispered gypsy legends of this ever happening.  Nothing substantial.”

After they all ate - Sophie even more than her usual amount –they gathered around the sofa.

“So…now Sophie.”  Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Can you get us a link?”

Sophie took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  Time to find Manson.  Opening her eyes inside the forest of her core, Sophie adjusted to the weight of her swashbuckler coat, her guns, and her true-self body, her warrior self.  She no longer looked like an expectant mother, but she sensed her son close by, just as Benj’s red eyes watched her from the trees.

“Why am I still here?” Cora asked, startling Sophie.  Sophie found her sitting on a bench picking absently at the fur of a small brown teddy bear.

“I tried to help you, but you think you can find him without me,” Cora said.

“No.  I don’t think we can do this without you.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because of the curse it’ll bring.  I’m afraid to do it your way.”

“We can’t wait much longer.”

“We won’t have to.”

Sophie cast around for a vision, a residue, anything, but found nothing.  She cast again and again exhausting her tiny supply of energy.  The forest of her core began to fade, her coat became sheer…

She sat up with a start on the sofa.

“What time is it?”

Her heart pounded for no reason.  Terror lit her veins.

“It is almost midnight.  What has happened?” Benj said searching for the source of her sudden fear.

“Come get me,” Manson whispered in her mind.  She clamped her hands over her ears, but he spoke from inside her head.

“There!” Sophie pointed due east. “He’s there!”

They scrambled for their gear and raced to the Buick, bundling Sophie in the front to lead them. Her heart beat in her chest like a frightened bird and with each beat it screamed, “It’s a trap, it’s a trap!”  But she could no more open her mouth than she could free the bird trapped inside her.  Benj, seated right behind her, reached up and squeezed her shoulder.  He tried to feed her strength and confidence which he did not feel.  The primal need to lash out at the thing slowly destroying his family overtook all other emotions.

JC drove erratically.  He jerked the car at each of Sophie’s muted gestures until they pulled onto the lawn of a white house with green trim.  Like a group of Hollywood gangsters, the men climbed from the car, hats pulled low, coats flapping in the wind.  The pump-action of several shotguns broke the stillness of the suburban night along with the heavy click of the drum being loaded by Benj into his tommy gun.  A chill nipped at them, some of it the late fall air and some of it their own fear.

“We will not have much time before the police are called,” Benj said.

He directed Jack and JC to the back while Stan followed him to the front door.  Sophie came just behind, her hands wrapped under and over her large womb.  Manson’s mocking voice rang in her ears.  It echoed back and forth until she could not make out any specific words, only madness.  Her son pushed his little soul against the voice trying to dislodge it from her, but he could not.  On the porch, Benj turned the door knob.  It was unlocked.  He pushed it open and stepped in moving immediately to the right.  Stan followed, stepping to the left.

Only after Benj’s white skeletal hand stuck out and waved at her did Sophie approach the house.  The dark doorway haunted her like an open grave waiting to be filled.  She shivered.  Her feet, seeming not her own, stepped onto the porch steps.  She hovered outside herself, watching as she crossed the porch.  But she could not go in the door.  She could not enter his house.

“Benj!  Come see this,” Jack called from the back.

“Stay with Sophie, Stan.”  Benj sensed her inability to enter the house and would not leave her alone there.  He shifted to Jack.  Stan stepped back out onto the porch.

“Sophie?”

She stared down a long dark corridor to the past.  Manson waited at the end with his hand on the knob of a door.  He opened what he had kept from her and light flooded her mind.

“I can see it.  How did he keep it from me?  How did I not see it before?  He’s toying with us by controlling me!”

“What are you talking about?” Stan asked.  He craned his neck trying to see everywhere at once.

“Benj, Jack, and JC have discovered a slaughtered family in the bedroom.  Manson killed them today while we slept.  He kept me from seeing it, from having a Reading.  I should have seen it!”  Sophie pounded the railing of the porch. Something important flitted fairy-like just outside her field of vision.  Something important…

Everything stopped as she caught the willow-wisp thought.

“This isn’t Manson’s house.”

Stan stopped.  She saw her own horror mirrored in his face.  He jumped for the door yelling for the others.

“Get out now!”

Benj shifted as only a vampire can through the doorway and crashed right into Stan.  They flew backward through the porch railing.  Benj rolled and came to his feet.  He dropped Jack on the ground and turned back to the house.  Stan gasped for breath in the grass climbing to his hands and knees.

A scream, painful and bloody, filled the night.

“JC,” Benj whispered.  His fangs and claws extended.

He shifted head down  into the house, but came to a bone-breaking halt at the door.  He shifted again.  A magical field sealed the door to even his strength.  Terror flowed from him as again and again he hurled himself at the blocked door, yelling.  Bones crunched in his shoulder and skin split on his face.  Brute force would  rescue his friend who lay screaming just beyond his reach, right?  Stan grabbed him trying to stop him.  Benj, enraged, flung him back out into the yard like a rag doll.

Sophie crumpled to the floor of the porch crazed with sorrow fed by Benj’s unhinged despair.  Her child cried out in fear, and called to his father.

Benj stopped.

Trembling, pale, and wasted, he dropped to his knees and hung his head. With a shudder he shifted to Sophie still on his knees.  Benj held her.  Their son pulled their souls together.  Dark eyes watched them, young but already filled with the pain of this world.  Stan and Jack stepped up.  They put their hands on his shoulders ready to try to stop him if he flung himself at the house again.

The world went black, all color, all light sucked away.  A wild wind filled with evil cries and senseless laughter stormed around them.

The lights came back on.  Sophie cupped Benj’s face in her hands.

“They have taken him,” she said. “Let’s go home.  We need to be ready so he won’t die alone.”

Benj blinked fast and glanced up at the storm covered sky.  “Why?  Why did he not take all of us?”

“Because he lives on the terror he brings and he is trying to make it last longer,” Sophie whispered.

Jack pushed on Benj’s back to get him moving.  The vampire lunged to his feet with Sophie in his arms and shifted to the car, climbing in the back.  They drove home, quiet and slow.  The four remaining friends steeled their hearts for what they had to do.  Small drops of water splashed on Sophie’s hand.  She looked up to see tears on the face of her vampire, tears she had never seen him cry before.  She pressed herself in close to him and held his hand wrapping her love around his sorrow.  She could do nothing else.  Anger burned deep in her son at the senseless inability to protect his parents.  He wanted to fight, to fight and defend those who could not defend themselves.  He wanted to be the man now that he would be later – strong, determined, hopeful.  Benj stared out the window at the dark, cold world.  He gently push his son away.

Back home, Sophie lit candles and placed one in each window of the little house.  She rested one on the bar for West, right by her phone and notepad.  She put one on Guinness’s desk next to his piles of paper and the jar of pencils reminding her of the one he always had stuck behind his ear.  Last, Sophie went to  JC’s desk and lit a candle.  The flame burned straight and true.

“Come home to us,” she whispered over the flame. “Come home.”

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

We’ve been working with a captain to outfit a new Gunboat 66 catamaran and one of the first pieces arrived the other day. If you ever wondered what kind of anchor is needed to hold one of these beauties look no further than Manson. Their 100lb galvanized Boss model was a perfect fit. Its winglets and spearhead provide quick-setting and holding power while its dual shank design allows for quickly changing this anchor to accommodate rock or mud sea beds. This model doesn’t have the bar as found on the ‘supreme’ fitting the bow roller/ anchor storage configuration much better.

With a size range of 5lbs-400lbs both in galvanized, stainless and black powder coat, your sure to find one that will work for you.

LOS ANGELES (AP) — California’s governor has been asked to make the final decision on whether a former Charles Manson follower will be released on parole after serving more than 40 years in prison.

The state’s Board of Parole Hearings submitted to Gov. Jerry Brown its recommendation that Bruce Davis is suitable for parole. The documents were submitted Friday, one day ahead of the deadline, according to California Department of Corrections spokeswoman Terry Thornton.

The board’s attorneys were required to review the findings of a two-member panel which ruled he was suitable for parole. They confirmed there were no errors of fact or law in the submission.

The governor has up to 30 days to make a decision. His options are to affirm, decline, modify or decline to review, which would allow the parole to take effect, Thornton said.

Davis, now 70, was convicted with cult leader Manson and another man in the killings of a musician and a stuntman. He was not involved in the infamous Sharon Tate murders.

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger rejected a previous parole recommendation for Davis.

Los Angeles District Attorney Jackie Lacey sent a letter to the board last week opposing Davis’ release.

Davis was 30 when he was sentenced to life in prison in 1972, in a case that was a postscript to Manson’s notorious reign as leader of the murderous communal cult known as the Manson family.

Davis long maintained that he was a bystander in the killings of the two men, but in recent years, he has acknowledged his shared responsibility.

A recent photo released by CDCR shows a gray-haired, wrinkled man smiling for the camera.

If he is freed, Davis will go to transitional housing associated with religious groups in Los Angeles County.

Davis became a born-again Christian in prison and ministered to other inmates, married a woman he met through the prison ministry, and has a grown daughter. The couple recently divorced.

Davis also earned a master’s degree and a doctorate in philosophy of religion.

Manson and three of his followers, Leslie Van Houten, Patricia Krenwinkel and Charles “Tex” Watson, remain in prison for life in the Tate killings. Their co-defendant, Susan Atkins, died of cancer behind bars in 2009.

Friday, June 08, 2012
by Mike Adams, the Health Ranger
Editor of NaturalNews.com (See all articles…)
Learn more: http://www.naturalnews.com/036112_sociopaths_cults_influence.html#ixzz2Js3qG5Cv

(NaturalNews) One of the more offensive duties of being an investigative journalist is taking out the trash — exposing liars, fraudsters, con artists and scammers for the people they truly are. Each time we investigate a sociopath, we find that they always have a little cult group following of spellbound worshippers who consider that particular sociopath to be a “guru” or “prophet.” Sociopaths are masters at influence and deception. Very little of what they say actually checks out in terms of facts or reality, but they’re extremely skillful at making the things they say sound believable, even if they’re just making them up out of thin air. Here, I’m going to present quotes and videos of some legendary sociopaths who convinced everyday people to participate in mass suicides. And then I’m going to demonstrate how and why similar sociopaths are operating right now… today. Why cover this subject? I’ve seen a lot of people get hoodwinked, scammed or even harmed by sociopaths, and it bewilders me that people are so easily sucked into their destructive influence. I want to share with Natural News readers the warning signs of sociopaths so that you can spot them, avoid them, and save yourself the trouble of being unduly influenced by them. Much of this information is derived from the fascinating book, The Sociopath Next Door, which says that 4% of the population are sociopaths. The book is a fascinating read.
10 signs for spotting a sociopath
#1) Sociopaths are charming. Sociopaths have high charisma and tend to attract a following just because people want to be around them. They have a “glow” about them that attracts people who typically seek guidance or direction. They often appear to be sexy or have a strong sexual attraction. Not all sexy people are sociopaths, obviously, but watch out for over-the-top sexual appetites and weird fetishes.#2) Sociopaths are more spontaneous and intense than other people. They tend to do bizarre, sometimes erratic things that most regular people wouldn’t do. They are unbound by normal social contracts. Their behavior often seems irrational or extremely risky.#3) Sociopaths are incapable of feeling shame, guilt or remorse. Their brains simply lack the circuitry to process such emotions. This allows them to betray people, threaten people or harm people without giving it a second thought. They pursue any action that serves their own self interest even if it seriously harms others. This is why you will find many very “successful” sociopaths in high levels of government, in any nation.#4) Sociopaths invent outrageous lies about their experiences. They wildly exaggerate things to the point of absurdity, but when they describe it to you in a storytelling format, for some reason it sounds believable at the time.#5) Sociopaths seek to dominate others and “win” at all costs. They hate to lose any argument or fight and will viciously defend their web of lies, even to the point of logical absurdity.#6) Sociopaths tend to be highly intelligent, but they use their brainpower to deceive others rather than empower them. Their high IQs often makes them dangerous. This is why many of the best-known serial killers who successfully evaded law enforcement were sociopaths.#7) Sociopaths are incapable of love and are entirely self-serving. They may feign love or compassion in order to get what they want, but they don’t actually FEEL love in the way that you or I do.#8) Sociopaths speak poetically. They are master wordsmiths, able to deliver a running “stream of consciousness” monologue that is both intriguing and hypnotic. They are expert storytellers and even poets. As a great example of this in action, watch this interview of Charles Manson on YouTube.#9) Sociopaths never apologize. They are never wrong. They never feel guilt. They can never apologize. Even if shown proof that they were wrong, they will refuse to apologize and instead go on the attack.#10) Sociopaths are delusional and literally believe that what they say becomes truth merely because they say it! Charles Manson, the sociopathic murderer, is famous for saying, “I’ve never killed anyone! I don’t need to kill anyone! I THINK it! I have it HERE! (Pointing to his temple.) I don’t need to live in this physical realm…” Watch Charles Manson saying this at the 3:05 mark of this YouTube video.
How to dispel illusion and get to the truth
Sociopaths are masters at weaving elaborate fictional explanations to justify their actions. When caught red-handed, they respond with anger and threats, then weave new fabrications to explain away whatever they were caught doing. A sociopath caught red-handed with a suitcase full of cash he just stole, for example, might declare he had actually rescued the money from being stolen by someone else, and that he was attempting to find its rightful owner. He’s the hero, see? And yet, in reality, he will simply pocket the money and keep it. If you question him about the money, he will attack you for questioning his honesty. Sociopaths are masters are presenting themselves as heroes with high morals and philosophy, yet underneath it they are the true criminal minds in society who steal, undermine, deceive, and often incite emotional chaos among entire communities. They are masters at turning one group of people against another group while proclaiming themselves to be the one true savior. Wherever they go, they create strife, argument and hatred, yet they utterly fail to see their own role in creating it. They are delusional at so many levels that their brains defy logical reasoning.You cannot reason with a sociopath. Attempting to do so only wastes your time and annoys the sociopath.
Tip for exposing sociopaths: Start fact-checking something they claim
One simple method for dispelling sociopathic delusion is to start fact checking their claims. Do any of their claims actually check out? If you start digging, you will usually find a pattern of frequent inconsistencies. Confront the suspected sociopath with an inconsistency and see what happens: Most sociopaths will become angry or aggressive when their integrity is questioned, whereas a sane person would simply be happy to help clear up any misinformation or misunderstanding. Beware of fact-checking the sociopath by asking other people under his or her influence. A sociopath will usually have a small group of cult-like followers who not only believe their fictional tales, but who actually internalize those fictions to the point where they rewrite their own memories to be consistent with them. If a guru-style sociopath talks about his “levitation sessions” over and over again, some of his believers will sooner or later start to form false memories in which they imagine seeing him levitate off the floor. So if you ask those people, “Did you actually ever see this person levitate?” They will enthusiastically say, “Yes!” Because in their own minds, that illusion has become something indistinguishable from a vivid memory. Much the same thing is true with sociopathic politicians. If a particularly charismatic politician claims he has “created millions of jobs” even though his economic policies have actually destroyed jobs and caused widespread unemployment, his cult-like followers will repeat his lie and publicly proclaim how many jobs that person has created. That’s why fact-checking a sociopath requires evidence from outside his circle of influence. Does anything he say actually check out in the real world, outside his sphere of direct control? If not, you’ve probably spotted a sociopath.
Sociopaths never answer facts; they always attack the messenger
Another very valuable red flag to recognize when trying to spot a sociopath is to see how they deal with attacks on their own integrity. If a sociopath is presented with a collection of facts, documents and evidence showing that he lied or deceived, he will refuse to address the evidence and, instead, attack the messenger! If you really try to nail a sociopath down to answering a documented allegation, they will quickly turn on you, denounce you, and declare that you too are secretly plotting against them. Anyone who does not fall for the brainwashing of the sociopath is sooner or later kicked out of the circle and then wildly disparaged by the remaining members of the cult group.
Inventing bizarre tales
One of the easiest signs to spot is how sociopaths exaggerate things to an irrational absurdity. In the sociopath’s world, every explanation is more intense and more heroic-sounding than the way it really went down. Where a normal person might say, “I vomited last night,” a sociopath would say, “I vomited up a 27-foot tapeworm!” And a truly psychotic sociopath might even add details such as, “And then the tapeworm climbed up the wall and jumped on me and tried to strangle me!” You might laugh at such an explanation, but I know lots of similar examples that have been believed by irrational cult followers. In fact, this example was patterned off of a real live person who had attracted quite a cult following in a particularly odd, fringe corner of dietary fads. (He also teaches his cult followers to eat rotten, putrefied meat as a form of medicine.) Every story the sociopath weaves, often on the spur of the moment, is impossible to either confirm or deny. No one can prove him wrong, since they weren’t there, so he can spin whatever details into the story he wants. “After eating this, I had a three-hour ejaculation!” Or, “The Dalai Lama wanted to anoint me as a spiritual leader, but I declined, telling him that I only needed faith, not any official recognition.” How can anyone disprove such a claim? They can’t. So the sociopaths relies on these un-provable, unsubstantiated claims to build up a false aura of authority, spirituality or knowledge. This creeps up on followers like a serpent, slithering into their brains and taking hold of their belief systems before they realize what has happened. As a survivor of the Jim Jones “Jonestown” mass suicide says in a PBS documentary video (see link below), “Everything was plausible [at the time], except in retrospect the whole thing seems bizarre.” That’s how sociopaths operate. As they’re speaking, they capture your imagination and sound reasonable, even authoritative. But in the clear light of day, what they are actually saying is absurd… even dangerous. But no matter what fictions are presented by the sociopath, they always present him in the light of a hero — sometimes even a saint — who sacrifices his life for the good of others. He often talks of “healing” or “detoxification” or being “cleansed.” When he is exposed by truth-tellers, he merely accuses the truth-tellers of being secret undercover agents. When he is accused of sexual assault by one of his own followers (a common occurrence in these circles), he denounces her as an enemy or a spy. The ultimate destination of a sociopath is to destroy himself and take as many willing victims with him as possible. This is the Jim Jones scenario: Drink the Kool-Aid laced with poison, and thereby prove your worth to your entire cult group.
A common theme of poison, sainthood, redemption
Interestingly, many sociopaths do indeed center their actions around a bizarre food or drink theme, often demanding their members eat or drink poisonous or highly offensive substances that no rational person would otherwise consume. The Heaven’s Gate cult, for example, was led by a classic sociopath named Marshall Applewhite. He managed to convince 38 followers to kill themselves by eating applesauce laced with phenobarbital.Watch the fascinating video of Applewhite here and ask yourself: Would you follow this man to your own grave? (Other people did!) Notice how Applewhite speaks with authority, clarity and some level of charisma? Notice the intensity of his eyes? This is another common trait among sociopaths (including Manson, above). Remember, this man gained such influence over his followers that they voluntarily killed themselves in order to maintain his approval! As Wikipedia explains:On March 19–20, 1997, Marshall Applewhite taped himself speaking of mass suicide and asserted “it was the only way to evacuate this Earth.” The Heaven’s Gate group was against suicide but they believed they had no choice but to leave Earth as quickly as possible. After claiming that a space craft was trailing the comet Hale-Bopp, Applewhite convinced 38 followers to commit suicide so that their souls could board the supposed craft. Applewhite believed that after their deaths, a UFO would take their souls to another “level of existence above human,” which Applewhite described as being both physical and spiritual. This and other UFO-related beliefs held by the group have led some observers to characterize the group as a type of UFO religion. In October 1996, the group purchased alien abduction insurance to cover up to 50 members at a cost of $10,000.

The cult rented a 9,200-sq.-ft. mansion, located at 18241 Colina Norte (later changed to Paseo Victoria), in a gated community of upscale homes in the San Diego-area community of Rancho Santa Fe, California from Sam Koutchesfahani, paying $7,000 per month in cash. The thirty-eight Heaven’s Gate members, plus group leader Applewhite, were found dead in the home on March 26, 1997. In the heat of the California spring, many of the bodies had begun to decompose by the time they were discovered. The corpses underwent autopsies, where cyanide and arsenic were found. The bodies were later cremated.

The suicide was accomplished by ingestion of phenobarbital mixed with applesauce or pudding, washed down with vodka. Additionally, plastic bags were secured around their heads after ingesting the mix to induce asphyxiation. Authorities found the dead lying neatly in their own bunk beds, faces and torsos covered by a square, purple cloth. Each member carried a five-dollar bill and three quarters in their pockets. All 39 were dressed in identical black shirts and sweat pants, brand new black-and-white Nike Decades athletic shoes, and armband patches reading “Heaven’s Gate Away Team” (one of many instances of the group’s use of the Star Trek fictional universe’s nomenclature). The adherents, between the ages of 26 and 72, are believed to have died in three groups over three successive days, with remaining participants cleaning up after each prior group’s death. This episode speaks directly to the mind-altering power of sociopaths. Their delusions can be so convincing that followers will even kill themselves in order to stay in alignment with the expectations of the group. I know of a fringe health sociopath operating right now who has killed several of his own followers, but of course he always blames them for their own deaths. It’s never his fault, you see. Sadly, even when one sociopath kills himself (and takes a few of his followers with him), there is always another sociopath waiting to take his place, seeking power, influence, and sometimes fame. It is common for sociopaths to strongly desire to be on television shows or to desperately seek out opportunities for short-term fame, often from engaging in bizarre acts or staging strange events. This is one of the ways in which they recruit followers to join their cult.
Jim Jones and drinking the Kool-Aid
The most horrifying master of sociopathic delusion was, of course, Jim Jones who convinced 900+ people to kill themselves by drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. And people loved him for it! They felt inspired, excited, healed and guided. Jim Jones was their savior, their prophet. They believed his every word, and they paid for their foolish belief with their lives.Click here to watch this powerful PBD documentary video about Jonestown.As Jim Jones proved, people can be easily swept up into an irrational belief in a guru or prophet who quite literally plans to murder them. This is the other dominant factor we see in dangerous sociopaths: An odd obsession with dead things, rotting things, putrid things… things that would cause a normal, mentally balanced person to shrink away in horror. Jim Jones, for example, was fascinated with death and would reportedly murder small animals and then hold funerals for them. Jones was a master at invoking spiritual concepts and presenting himself as spiritually evolved. This is another common theme among sociopaths, and you see it among Applewhite, Manson, Jones and even present-day sociopaths who are operating in America right now. Historically, perhaps the best example of a delusional sociopath was none other than Adolf Hitler. He showed all the classic signs: A brilliant orator, a congenital liar, a complete lack of compassion for others, a dominant, aggressive personality, and the invoking of spirituality to justify his actions. The Nazi Swastika symbol, in fact, is a derivation of the Flower of Life symbol derived from sacred geometry. See video explanation here.
The modern sociopath: A threat to us all
Sociopaths aren’t just a relic of history; I see their kind operating today, in 2012. A surprising number of people continue to fall for the delusional (but convincing) web of lies spun by wordsmithing sociopaths who may operate in almost any area of society: Science and physics, New Age circles, fringe health, self improvement and even “pop” spiritual development. People from all walks of life allow themselves to be fooled by these sociopaths, buying into their false narratives, toxic products and destructive behavioral patterns, all driven into their heads through a complex web of social engineering, linguistics and emotional influence. Most people are completely unaware they have been mesmerized into these cult groups, just like the Jonestown people were completely unaware… or the Heaven’s Gate crowd. There are people today, right now, who are zealous members of fringe cults that advocate drinking toxic metals dissolved in sulfuric acid, eating rotten meat festering with deadly bacteria, playing with poisonous snakes or even dehydrating yourself in a sweat lodge to the point where you suffer hallucinations that are then interpreted as “spiritual guidance.” These cults are operating right here in America, and they are led by sociopaths who follow in the footsteps of monsters like Jim Jones and Marshall Applewhite. Some of today’s cult followers will pay for their misplaced faith with their lives. Others will eventually come to their senses and wonder how they could have been so completely blinded by a false prophet.
Seven rules for personal empowerment (without joining a cult)
The most shocking realization to take home from all this is that people who live under the spell of a sociopath almost never realize it until after the spell has been broken. Just as the worshippers of Jim Jones believed his organization to be based in love, life and light, people today who worship sociopathic, charismatic leaders usually have no idea they have already surrendered their will to someone who does not have their best interests at heart. This is why, here at Natural News, I have always taught people the following authentic principles of responsibility and power: #1) Think for yourself. Be skeptical of everything. Most people, corporations, governments and institutions are lying to you. There is much good in the world, but there is far more selfishness and greed which is falsely presented as that which is good. #2) Follow your inner truth, not some external guru. Any guru who demands your obedience is a false prophet. A real teacher is one who empowers you and sets you free to explore your life experience with complete freedom tempered by a code of morals and personal responsibility. #3) Serve in the protection of life, with or without a church or spiritual group. You can protect life every day in your own garden. Resist the seduction of profit and power that comes from serving darkness (i.e. working for Big Pharma or pesticide companies). Seek to protect life, which is sacred and precious. #4) Value all living things, including animals and plants. You are their shepherd. Protect the diversity of life and the integrity of the continuation of life. (For example, resist GMO and plant only non-hybrid seeds.) #5) Live an authentic life. Practice what you teach. Walk your talk. Do not speak with one face and then secretly act out another. Spiritual strength comes from spiritual authenticity, and even if the world isn’t aware of what you do when no one is looking, God and the universe most certainly are. Karma counts. #6) Defend the innocent. Stand your ground against bullies. Resist tyranny. Promote freedom, liberty and justice. Help others when you can, and seek to empower others with the skills and knowledge they can use to support themselves rather than creating dependency. #7) Tell the truth. It is powerful… perhaps the most powerful thing in the universe. The truth unfailingly outshines lies and deceptions. And even when the people around you may not see the truth, the greater universe does. By telling the truth, you empower yourself in all areas of your life, and you bring yourself closer to true spiritual understanding.
Learn more by NOT joining my cult
My name is Mike Adams, the editor of NaturalNews.com. I do not have a cult to offer you, but I do have a free email newsletter (see below) that you can subscribe to without joining a cult. As an explorer of the world around us, I investigate and write about psychology, health freedom, science, spirituality, history, economics and more. You probably won’t agree with everything I write, and if you did, that would be a failure on my part to get you thinking, wouldn’t it? I’m an advocate of the Socratic method to finding knowledge: Ask intelligent questions and let the student find their own way… and their own wisdom. Learn more: http://www.naturalnews.com/036112_sociopaths_cults_influence.html#ixzz2Js40LefF

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…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

Forgetting the tattoos, the anger, the doubt, Sophie and Benj raced after Stan.  Benj yanked the hood of his coat up protecting his cursed skin from the light of the sun.  JC waited with the Buick’s engine running along with the two detectives.  As their doors slammed shut, JC  roared out of the police station.

“Speed.  Speed,” Lyons said pounding JC’s head rest.

JC, already flying down the road, needed no encouragement.  A sick heat welled up in Sophie.  Fear of what was coming wrapped large hands around her lungs and squeezed.  Benj ripped the hands way shielding her with his own.  He offered love and safety in place of fear.  As much as Sophie wanted to rest in his hands, she did not believe he could protect her from what was to come.  Could he keep her from watching West be tortured? Could he block the visions?  No. Benj stewed in useless anger at his own impotence.  He could only be beside her as she walked the dark path of her magic.  No matter how much he might wish it he could not walk it for her.

They spilled out of the car before JC threw it into park half way up the driveway.  Benj shifted in first crashing through the front door.  The others piled in behind him.  A crazed Jack sat on the floor by the bar with his extra .357 beside him.  He jerked the gun up taking a wobbling aim.  Sophie gasped at the black barrel covered her.  Benj stepped in front of her.

“It’s us Jack.” JC held out his hands. “It’s us.”

He dropped the gun and it skittered noisily on the tile.  Jack crawled towards them, a weak old man.  JC lifted him to his feet and Benj wrapped his arm around his other side.  They guided Jack to the sofa.

Sophie put her hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Get chairs and bring them around the sofa, close together.  Just enough for us.  We won’t let her die alone.  And please make sure the curtains are all secure.  It is still a few hours before dark.”

Stan nodded and hurried off.  Sophie leaned against the wall of the entrance hall.  She rested her hands on her belly, convinced it was bigger than when she left the police station.

“Son, this is going to be very hard and scary.  Be strong.”  Love from Benj flowed over her with the strength of a thousand waves.  She smiled a sad little smile to herself as she came into the living room.

“This is neither the time, nor the way I wanted to do this, but we need hope. Everyone,” she announced, “Benj and I are expecting.  We’re going to have a baby, soon.”

Jack brought his head up.  Haggard eyes focused on Sophie.  JC patted Benj on the shoulder and whispered, “You bastard.”  Stan stopped half way through shutting one of the curtains, startled.  Sophie dropped onto the sofa beside Jack.  She wrapped her arm him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“A baby? Now? How’s that even possible?” Jack asked.

Tears pricked Sophie’s eyes.  This should have been a time of such joy, now it was a quiet sadness, a gentle smile from friends.  Guinness and West would never know about their child.  They would never know their child.  Oh, God above.  Sophie swallowed the groan of pain her whole body wanted to utter.  She made a fist, letting her nails cut into her skin.  She had to be strong.  Had to be strong for her child.  She turned her fist over and studied the tattoo on the back.  A black bird, wings spread with its head pointed to the right, wrapped her hand.  No details marred the black ink, but the shape of the head and the beak could not be mistaken.

“A crow?” she whispered.  Her eyes sought out Benj and her heart skipped a beat.  He stared at her slowly holding up his own hand.   The same tattoo of a crow covered it.

Benj disappeared.

A burnt smell wafted through the room  followed by a trail of smoke.

“Sorry,” Stan said sheepishly.

A ray of sunlight shown on the space Benj had, until very recently, occupied.  Stan snapped the curtain shut, avoiding Benj’s steely glare.  Benj joined Sophie, pulling his chair close.  Sophie tried to hold onto laughter and joy, as Stan sat as far away from the vampire he had just burned as he possibly could.

The world tipped on its axis…

Sophie moaned.  She was not ready for this.   She was not ready….

.… a new room.  A room of light.  Not the shed where he had butchered Cora and Guinness.  Someone else sat in a dark corner.  The killer and Sophie were not alone.  Sophie looked down at the room instead of out at it through West’s eyes.  The change surprised her.  She never experienced a vision unconnected from the victim.  Who stood in the corner?  Moving closer she gasped.  It was Mrs. Heather Gray.

“What is she doing here?” Sophie wondered out loud.

West screamed.  Mrs. Gray laughed.

“You’re so young and ignorant.  Manson is not the only one who can have a witch’s help. And not all of us are good like Dream and her sisters,” she sneered.  “It does seem you’re mastering your gift a little.  That’s the difference between me and them.  The petty little creatures.  They believe you should learn how to handle your gift on your own.  I, on the other hand, have taught and trained my son how to enjoy his.”

Unsure how the woman heard her, Sophie turned to the man Mrs. Gray had called Manson.  He bent over West and blood splattered the wall. 

In a living room with all the curtains closed, a circle of hands bravely connected with hers.  They fed their love into her.  Fear laced the love, tainted it, but love trumped fear.  West.  Focus.  Save West.  Only West.  Ignoring Manson, ignoring Mrs. Gray, Sophie opened her Reading so the others could join her.  She drifted over to West. 

Her soul lay over her like an open wound, torn and bleeding.  The fear in the connection could not compared to the fear seeping from West.  She had been here before.  She knew what was coming.  The pain, humiliation, terror.  West scars bled again.  Sophie gathered up her gentle soul.  She tried to keep her together.  Over West, Manson grunted and panted.  Nauseous, Sophie clung to West’s soul, focused on her dear friend’s wounded spirit.  She had endured this once before, but this time….this time, JC would not rescue her.   Sophie wept and clung. 

The screaming stopped. 

West’s eyes glazed over as her friends gathered and guarded her soul.  Manson yelled, enraged by her lack of terror.  He turned and wiped the sweat off his face.

“She’s here, isn’t she, Mother?” he asked the witch in the corner.

“Yes, my son. They’re all here.”

“Sophie?  I don’t think we have met officially, but you should be enjoying my little show.” 

Manson rolled a cart next to West.  The knives, scalpels, pincers, and needles on a tray gleamed with an evil light.

Manson gestured to the room around him. “Mother put a sound barrier around this room so I can work more comfortably,” he explained.  He picked up West’s hand, examining her bright nail polish, now chipped and broken.

“Tisk, tisk, you need a manicure.” He picked up a pair of pliers.

Dread pumped through West’s veins.  She slipped from their grasp.  The light returned to her eyes.  Manson ripped off a nail.

West choked on a bloody scream. 

“That’s right, beautiful, let me feel your soul.”

West howled as Manson ripped off another nail. 

Sophie scrambled to help her.  She plunged into the damaged soul, going deeper than she ever had in the past.  Pain flew up her body from between her legs.  Sophie embraced it.  The pain flew to her hand and Sophie’s scream joined West’s.  Benj squeezed her fingers and held her heart while she endured what West endured.  Sophie became aware of JC, Stan, Jack and her baby – all holding on physically and spiritually, all lending their strength.  Together they battled back to West’s soul.  They gathered her in their arms. 

Manson ripped her from them with a new pain.  Blood poured from her body.

“You will never have Guinness’ children,” Manson whispered in her ear as he opened her womb with a scalpel and removed it before her very eyes.

“For Guinness,” JC grunted through his clenched jaw. 

“For Guinness,” they each repeated.

Drawing on a deep inner strength, the greatest power in the universe – love – they called her back.  They held her shattered soul, her brokenness, gently, gently, in a large embrace.  Disfigurement, amputation, and disembowelment could not break them.  West did not return to her ruined body. 

Manson drove a knife into her neck and carved a Cheshire cat’s smile into her white flesh.  Dark blood poured from the wound. 

“I love you, Sophie.  I love you all.”  West said, and then she was gone.

They slipped from the room the vision fading.

“I’m coming for you all,” echoed after them…

Silence. Still holding hands, the wounded few, gone from them the wild youth, always the first to fall.  Gone the smiles and the silly rebellions still embraced.  Guinness and West’s souls fled this Mortal Plane, fled without stopping on the Spiritual Plane, fled into eternity where their friends could not follow.

Sophie dropped from her chair with a heart-broken wail.  The others wrapped around her.  Deep inside her body she heard her child cry.

“The visions have changed,” Sophie said.  She pulled a navy sweater on over her head.  It fell to her knees, far too big on her.  She curled up on the sofa next to Benj.

It took centuries to say those four words.  So much death and sadness in so short a space of time dulled all her senses as her heart walled itself off from the shock.  Fall clouds rolled in from the north.  They overtook the last light of day and brought a chill wind and a silver rain.  It did not heal them but it did not mock them, either.  Sunshine would have kept the wounds raw with its cheerfulness.  The rain and cold acted as a blanket.  For hours they had sat together in the circle the detectives leaving them to work other cases.   Sophie had slept, so far beyond exhaustion she did not even dream.

“How have they changed?” Benj asked.  He rested his hand over her womb and sensed his son sleeping.

JC looked up from his office chair and Stan, who had set up a vigil at the bar, also perked up.  Work would help dull the pain.  Jack remained uninterested, lost in guilt and terror.  He had been the one who agreed to let West go when a hysterical Mrs. Gray had called.

“Before, I started in the victim’s soul, right?”  Nods all around.  “Then after two deaths, three at the most, I could Read the killer and we could find him and get the police involved.”  She stood up, re-energized by her discovery.  Pacing up and down in front of the sofa, Sophie unconscious laid her hands protectively over womb. “This last time, I appeared hovering in the room.  I could see Mrs. Gray, Manson, and West.  I wasn’t looking out West’s eyes.  I moved to West’s soul on my own.  I controlled where I went.”

She put a hand up to her mouth and tapped her upper lip, thinking and pacing.

“Emma said Manson was better trained then you,” Stan reminded them.

“Manson called the witch, Mrs. Gray, mother,” Sophie mused.

“Mother as in his mother or a title?” JC asked.

“Mother of a Coven…”Benj mused.  He sat up, resting his arms on his knees, hands clasped between them.  He stared into nothing.  The thought he had pushed back when they first met Mrs. Gray resurfaced. “Sophie, all we could do was feel West.  We could not see anything.  Describe the witch,” he commanded.

“It was Mrs. Gray,” Sophie said, furrowing her brow, confused by his order.

“Yes, but if she is a witch then that was not her true form any more than Emma looks like an old bag lady.”

“Go over that again,” Stan asked.

Sophie closed her eyes recalling the vision.

“All powerful witches have a true form and a mask form.  Humans only see the mask form.  Equally powerful beings see the true form – the TrueSelf.  The general trend at this time is the uglier the mask the more beautiful and good the true form.  The more beautiful the mask . . .” Benj stopped.

“The more evil the witch,” Stan finished.

“Her mask form has gray rolled hair and her eyes seemed liquid silver in the light.” Sophie said.

“Any visible tattoos?” Benj asked.

Sophie closed her eyes and tried to re-see the vision….

.…a kitchen.  A dusty light with a nondescript shade hung from a chain over a table where Manson sat.  He bent over a fly impaled with a pin and pulled its wings off one at a time.  He watched it squirm under a magnifying glass before he lit it on fire.   Sophie wondered if Manson had the ability to not harm living things.  Her stomach churned as a thin trail of smoke rose from the trapped bug.

A woman entered the room, stately and cold, elegant but untouchable.  Her charcoal gray gown hung to the floor with seductive ease while a plunging neckline revealed curves and white clear skin with a dark tattoo – half a faded face – following the curves.  She ran her fingers through Manson’s hair.  He shook his head in irritation.  Tattooed shackles bound her wrist, but the backs where blank where a servant tattoo might be.

“She has grown stronger, my son.  She is learning to control her Readings.  We must kill her soon.  We should go to their house.”

“No! How many times do I have to say this?” Manson slammed his fist down on the table and screamed. “I want her to feel the terror of my kills and I want to savor her death.  I don’t just want to slaughter them or I would’ve done it already.  We know what she is.  We know where she is. We’re having fun!”

“My son….”

“Stop calling me that!”  Manson leapt to his feet and grabbed the woman around the neck.  He slammed her into the refrigerator.  “I have served you so long.  Now it’s my turn.”

 An engraved knife appeared in Manson’s hand  from the pocket of his jeans.  The light seemed to slip off the curved blade instead of reflecting off its shiny surface.  He raised it up with a hand tattooed with a faded G  and plunged it into the witch’s forehead through her third, all-seeing, invisible eye.  Sophie jerked.  The witch’s feet drummed against the refrigerator but she did not die.  The G disappeared from the back of Manson’s hand and a smiling maniac with a knife shredding a glowing shroud appeared on the witch’s hand.

She was now his servant.

The witch screamed.

Manson chanted and the knife turned black….

Sophie pulled away.

“I’m so tired.” She sat up on the sofa and accepted a cup of hot tea from Stan.  It did not even disturb her to suddenly wake up somewhere else.  Going from pacing the floor to lying on the sofa seemed as ordinary as the cup of tea in her hands.

“Tell us what you saw.”  Benj bent over her.

He put his thin hand on her womb sensing his son, calming him.  The baby moved up and push against Benj’s hand.  Benj started, surprised by the child’s reaction.  Sophie laid her hand over his.  At least this was right, this connection in their small family.  She sighed, took a sip of her tea before she told them what she had seen from the pinned fly to the pinned witch, tattoos and all.

“We are fucked.”  Benj ran his hand through his hair destroying  its curve.  White spikes went in every direction.

They all stared at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve worked with you forever and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss, not like that.  That scares the shit out of me more than anything.”  JC said adding his own colorful language without apology.

“When you have been alive as long as I have and you are indestructible, cussing is no longer an everyday necessity.”

“Until now?” Stan said his eyes going wide.

“Until now,” Benj replied. “To guess in an educated manner what has happened, I would say our enemy, Manson, was found and identified as the SoulReader by the Gray Coven.  They are one of the oldest Covens and one of the most evil.  They have trained him knowing full well he is without conscience.  Now, he is too powerful.  What Sophie saw was him taking control of the Coven.  They were unable to teach him to maintain self-control over his urges like they had hoped.”

Sophie slipped her fingers between Benj’s cold ones.  He wrapped them around her.

“Um…coven?” Stan said.

“Seven witches.  The most powerful witches are three sisters by blood and by magic.  Seven witches, connected, are the next most powerful force.  These specific seven witches happen to be the seven with the most evil twisting of their power sources.”

“You said that what Sophie saw was Manson gaining control of the Mother?” Stan asked.

“What he’s saying is one, this SoulReading monster just happened to be a vicious killer,” JC said, ticking each point off on his fingers.  “Two, he now has the power of a full Coven – and not just any but the Gray – to compensate for his split powers with Sophie.  Three, we are all just toys to him in his path of getting a Reading high.”

“That is a good synopsis of our current situation,” Benj said.

“Well fuck is right,” JC said his face paling.

“Yes.”

Benj squeezed Sophie’s fingers again.  Stan mirror him his stress running his hands through his slicked back hair.  Benj’s son sank down, pressing close to Sophie, listening to her heart beat and her lungs breathe.  Sophie wrapped herself around him and Benj held them both deep in his ice filled soul.  His family.  His family.  There was no way in all the heavens or hells he would let this monster get his wife and son.

“What can we do?”  Stan asked.

“We can find the son of a bitch and kill him,” Benj said as calmly as if he commented on the weather.

“Trying to make up for a few hundred years of not cussing in one fell swoop, Captain?” JC said.

“How do we find him?” Sophie asked.

Benj examined her gray eyes.

“Can you locate him now?  You found him in this last vision.”

“I think I can but I need some rest.”

“We cannot do anything during the day.  We will rest tonight and all day tomorrow and then tomorrow night we will act.”  Benj stood up and went to his ice box for blood.

“Are we crazy?  Do we really plan on taking this monster with a whole coven at his back?”  JC said to the room at large.

“No.” Benj turned from the stove.  “You will take on Manson.  I will take on the Coven.”

“No!” Sophie jumped up. “They’ll kill you!”

“My love, they most certainly will not.   And I will not kill all of them.  But, I will keep them busy while you tend to Manson.”

The chill smile on his face dropped the temperature in the room as fast as Cora could.  JC and Stan shuddered.

“Glad you’re on our side,” Stan whispered.

Sophie lay down back down and studied the ceiling.  Deep inside herself she knew this would not work.  She knew the only way to stop Manson involved creating the link with Cora.  Manson commanded more power, more experienced than she.  It would be a trap.

“Even if it is a trap, we might die quickly.  We might wound him or some of his Coven.  Either way we are destroying his plans.  We are doing something,” Benj responded to her doubt and fear.

“He’s right.  Anything’s better than sitting around waiting to be tortured to death,” JC said.

Stan shook his head.  ”What if it’s a trap, though?”

“We will go into it with our eyes open,” Benj said.

“I’m going with you.”  Jack snapped out of his paralysis at last.

“We wouldn’t do it without you, old man.”  JC clapped him on the shoulder with a relieved smile.  ”Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The phone rang.  They all looked at it startled and suspicious.  Stan picked it up and answered it.

“It’s Morry and Lyons.”  he held it to JC.

While JC talked, Stan turned to Benj.  ”We know Manson knows where we are, you think we should go stay somewhere else?”

Sophie closed her eyes only half listening to the conversation with the police intermingled with plans for tomorrow night.  It comforted her to hear Jack interacting again.  She dipped down into her forest and wrapped herself around her son, growing so quickly inside of her.  She played a tiny piano amongst the trees and he hummed along.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  You make me happy when skies are gray.  You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.  Oh please don’t take my sunshine away,” she sang softly.  The trees swayed.  The red eyes watched.  Her family together.   Sophie drifted off to sleep as the rain fell softly and the sun set behind the clouds.  Benj carried her off to bed a few hours later.   He guarded the house of fragile humans while the darkness lasted.  With the rising of the sun, Benj joined Sophie still asleep.  The sun filled the house with light.  Sophie woke up long enough to soak in its warmth while she ate some food.  Sadness wrapped around her.  She left the sunshine and  joined Benj in their bed while JC and Stan took up the guard.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

Get Black Album

New York based Charles Manson concept band.
THE LABIANCAS =
JJ Brine + Lena Marquise
We are †††New Family†††