Prologue
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The following story is true, I know; I was there for much of it. The story may read stranger than any fiction, but every word is truth. It has not been an easy decision for me to put this story out for public consumption. Over the years I have shared the intriguing events with a select few; digging out my notes and tapes, telling as gently as I could the events of that time far away in the remote mountains of Mexico. I now feel it is time for all to come to the knowledge of the truth about a side of life that we seemingly all know is there, but to which we are reluctant to open our minds.
As a young man I trained as a reporter and worked in that field, both domestically and on assignment in Vietnam. I decided to use strict investigative reporting criteria in describing this disturbing string of events. All events written about were either experienced by me personally, witnessed and related to me by at least two persons, or related to me by a single person who had proven to be extremely reliable through my past experiences with them. I interviewed each person, took notes, and/or made recordings to keep my recollections true to the events. In the interest of decency I have softened some of the sexual abuses of the young lady that was at the center of those horrific events, but by reading between the lines the reader will be able to understand the baseness and evil to which many in this world are subjected. It is certainly not my intention to offend, but only to inform. Those events are true and are a relevant part of the evils perpetrated. The timeline is accurate, but the year dates have not been shown; and the names of individuals and places have been changed to protect the privacy of those who were the victims of the horrors, and of those who opened up their hearts to help with the reconstruction of the events.
Understand that after you have read this book you will never look at the world in quiet the same manner. You will see the love of God for His creation. You will see how so many events in our lives are of the handy work of the Creator, and you will come to understand that many of those things might have just been considered coincidences. You will also realize the depth of the grace of God, and at the same time you will see the depth of evilness on the dark side, that part of our world controlled by Lucifer and his minions. Yes, there is magnificent good in this universe, but there is also the diametrically opposed.
NEVER DOUBT THIS: THERE IS EVIL OUT THERE AND IT IS AFTER YOU. IT IS AFTER YOU TO DESTROY YOU AND AFTER YOUR FAMILY TO DESTROY THEM!
1 Peter 5:8 “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” (NKJV of the Holy Scriptures)
Chapter OneBack to top
Just after sunset, April 18th in San Mateo, a remote village in the Sierra Madre Oriente Mountains, Mexico.
Even though it was early evening and not too long after sunset, the darkness of this night was suffocating. The only noticeable light in the entire area was the occasional lightning from a storm in the distance, so far in the distance that the thunder claps could not be heard. As the lightning spider-webbed across the sky in an eerie display of the wrath of Mother Nature, the village of San Mateo could barely be seen in the otherwise pitch-blackness. San Mateo is an “Ejido” which is an area of land owned equally by all who lived there. Those living there were “Mestizos,” a proud, hearty people with a mixed ancestry of Indian, Spanish, and French. Though the village had been in existence in one form or another for hundreds of years, it had been officially established as an “Ejido” after the uprising of Pancho Villa in the first part of the twentieth century. In that revolution, the peasant population rebelled against the rich landowners and divided the spoils of the land amongst themselves. Operating as a quasi-commune, with some intermingling private ownership, This small section of land and its approximately two hundred inhabitants had survived poverty, drought, civil wars, corrupt governments, bandits, outlaws, smugglers, and spiritual evilness for over three centuries.
The village consisted of twenty-four families living on the side of a 13,000 ft. mountain known as Jefe Mountain. The illumination created by the lighting was scarce at best, but the shapes of the huts could be discerned. The huts were constructed, as were most all dwellings in these small villages throughout the mountains, with sticks, mud, and thatch. The walls of sticks were held together with strips of the thatch material made from the palm-like leaves of a local plant called “suate”; then mud “adobe” was smeared on the outside of the sticks as a sealant. The roofs were fashioned out of sticks and covered over with the thatch material. The huts were exceedingly small and flimsy due to the construction and the materials used for that construction. An occasional stronger and more durable mud brick building might appear among the other structures, but these were the exception and not the rule. Because of the design and the building materials, the huts were small, usually not over one hundred and fifty square feet, and most were even smaller. The families generally used one hut for cooking and eating and another as a sleeping area for the whole family. On rare occasions or in the instance of larger families, more than one sleeping hut would be utilized. There might even be a storage hut if the family so desired and could afford the luxury of another structure. The beds were corn shucks piled on the dirt floor with a thin hand-made horsehair blanket placed on top of the shucks to serve as bedding. To keep warm during the cool or sometimes even cold nights, another horsehair blanket would be used for cover. Around each pair or group of huts stood a stick fence, usually constructed of rocks gathered from nearby, designating the family’s property and containing the animals: goats, pigs, dogs, chickens, horses, and mules.
There was no electricity, running water or sewage facilities. San Mateo, as with many other villages in these remote mountains, was a time-warp to the mid-1800s, akin to the Old West in the United States. A road, more accurately described as a trail wound up the mountain to the village, but no one in the village owned a vehicle. Travel was accomplished by walking or by riding horseback or utilizing the many mules and donkeys. Many of these people had never been out of these mountains, had never seen a television, ate in a restaurant, or rode in a car. The diet included beans, cactus, eggs, and corn tortillas, with the occasional chicken; all foodstuffs were grown or raised by the villagers locally. Water was carried in buckets from a spring about a quarter-mile up the side of Jefe Mountain from the village. The clothes, including shoes, were for the most part hand made, designed for function only. It was a poverty stricken life, but the villagers did not realize the difficulty of their lives as it was the only way of life they had ever known.
San Mateo was typical of the villages in this remote part of mountainous Mexico, but there was definitely something not typical about this particular night. At this hour on any other evening, the village would be buzzing with activity. The women would be cooking, the men bedding down their animals, and the children would be being children by dodging chores, running, and playing. Illumination from the cooking fires would be emanating from each of the cooking huts, and there would be a steady din of sound from all the activity. Sounds from the people and the animals, especially from the many dogs, would normally be echoing throughout the village; large dogs, small dogs, and dogs of all types would be barking and baying at every movement and shadow. They carried on all night, every night. They would seemingly take shifts sleeping, so there would be no time of silence. This night was different. The dogs were absolutely silent. The families had gone into their sleeping huts without eating or even caring for or bedding down their animals. They huddled beneath their meager horsehair covers, not speaking or moving, fearful of making any noise. For the most part they kept their eyes shut, but when they were opened they reflected the fear that resided within all the residents of San Mateo. This night was “una noche de esperituales” (night of the spirits). The darkness was complete, the silence was deafening, and as the lightning increased in intensity across the distant sky there was only one barely noticeable exception.
On the highest side of the village, one hut displayed some evidence of activity. Through the cracks in the wall and around the entryway, small streams of yellowish light stood out against the otherwise utter darkness. The light came from the burning wood that was on the open cooking hearth and from a few small, homemade candles. Outside of the hut, two very large dogs huddled beneath a woodpile. They were shivering, not from cold, but rather from fear; a fear that they did not understand. The fear had overcome them quietly and suddenly as the last rays of sunlight turned orange, then red, and finally dimmed in the west. These dogs, which had taken on mountain lions and black bears as part of their responsibility of guarding the goatherds, were now frightened beyond description by something they could not see or hear, something in the darkness. The dogs as well as all the other residents of San Mateo, animal and human, knew something was amiss. No one had to tell them that an evil, an extreme evil, was present in their normally peaceful village. They just knew. The dogs whimpered and shivered and the families huddled together and waited for the rising of the sun. They waited for those first rays of sun to purify the village and chase away the darkness that housed the unseen and unspeakable terror in their midst.
Inside of the small hut, the only one that was showing any light, were eight souls. In the interior of the meager hut opposite the cooking hearth area were two men who sat on sections of hand hewed logs that served as chairs. It was Juan Soto, the owner of the hut, and a guest,. The owner Juan was typical of the mountain dwellers of his time. He was small, strong, and his skin appeared weatherworn from years of hard work in the sun. Juan had no formal education, was nearly illiterate, and he lived from meal to meal, day to day, just trying to survive. His poverty showed in his attire, his wrinkled scarred hands, his speech, and his actions. The other man, Juan’s guest, was known only as Xanateo (Haan’ a taeo). Xanateo was a Warlock.
Xanateo was a full-fledged Satan worshipping, spell casting, God hating, twisted, perverted, controlling, and evil Warlock. His attire showed his affluence, as he wore store-bought clothes and had socks on under his fancy lace-up shoes. His face was not weatherworn and his smooth hands sported many gold rings, most with strange designs of snakes, spiders, and other satanic symbols. These rings were of a type which Juan Soto had never seen before. The dissimilarity of the two men could not have been more extreme. In Juan’s hand were four, two peso gold coins (worth in total about $60.00 U.S.). This was much more money than Juan had ever seen at one time in his entire life. Xanateo had given the elderly villager the four coins as payment for the youngest daughter in the Soto family.
The negotiations had been going on for nearly three months. Xanateo had assured the Soto family that no harm would befall their young daughter. He told them that she had ‘the gift’ and that all he and his group wanted was to teach and train her in the ways of the spirits. He promised that the daughter would be kept pure, unharmed, and be returned to them in two years. She would be home before her fifteenth birthday and would be the pride and joy of the family, and of the entire village. At that time, when all of the villagers recognized the knowledge that Juan’s daughter, Sara, would have obtained, they would give much respect to her; and even more to Juan Soto. In the mind of Juan Soto, these promises served as a source of great pride and honor to the family. After the deal had been struck, a series of ritual baths were performed on the girl; tonight was the final ceremony, the seventh ritual cleansing bath. The ritual was taking place on the other side of a crude curtain, made from some tattered clothes and horsehair blankets, which kept the men separated from the women and the young girl. As the men talked in hushed tones, the women were carrying out their duties with great purpose.
On the women’s side of the partition, standing around the small, wooden horse-watering trough that had been brought inside to act as a bathing tub, were five women. The mother of the girl and four Witches from the Coven of Xanateo huddled around the young girl, who sat in the makeshift ritual tub. The Witches were Santiaga, Brillintina, Josefa, and Magdelena, and they had all came into the Coven by the same ritual they were performing tonight for the youngest child of Juan Soto. All had served Xanateo for many years and were quite proficient in their duties. They worked with what could be called obsessive fervor and with great expectation of things to come. Things to come of which, at the present time, only they were privy; things that were only whispered about by the ill-informed. The mother stood by, moving only when she was instructed to do so by one of the Witches, not daring to look them in the eyes due to a fear of something that she did not comprehend.
Sara had reached her puberty a short three months earlier and her body was just beginning to show the blossoming of a young woman. She was shaking, nervous, and afraid; she was also completely and totally embarrassed. Her mother had administered the other six baths, but now she was naked in front of strangers. She had never before been naked in front of anyone except her mother and now there was a room full of people. Deep inside, she felt something stirring, stirrings caused by the attention, the promises that everyone would admire her when she came back, and the power or even authority that she had felt at times since the bathing rituals had begun. She felt stirrings insider her that she had never before imagined. It seemed to her that these people were at least somewhat concerned about what or who she was, and all she had to do was stay with these seemingly nice folks and learn the ways of the spirits, or “Brujeria” (witchcraft). No more herding goats or carrying water or working in the fields. She would do whatever they asked in expectation of an easier life, and to keep experiencing the stirrings that were occurring deep inside her.
The Witches had given Sara a pain-numbing and hallucinogenic herb, and after the effects of the drug set in, Santiaga and Josefa massaged all of Sara’s body with sweet smelling oil soap. They were very careful not to miss any part of her body as they continued massaging. Brillintina brought the hot water that had been heating on the open pit wood cooking area. As they poured the water over the girl as they continued massaging with the oil soap, the lather completely covered Sara, and the room was overwhelmed by the strong fragrances. Magdelena was preparing a small knife for the mutilation sacrifice that would soon take place. She was working with a sacramental obsidian bladed knife, the same type that the Aztec Indians used hundred of years in the past for their human sacrifices. The handle, formed from a human pelvic bone, was in the shape of a coiled snake, and the stone blade was black, shiny and sharper than any scalpel in a modern hospital’s surgical room.
As Sara, responding to the instructions, stood and the lather and oil ran off of her body, more water was poured over her and she started to shiver, not from cold, but from something else deep inside her core that she did not understand. Magdelena took the ancient ritual knife and cut a shallow but relatively large pentagram between Sara’s small, budding breasts. She administered two cuts to each line of the pentagram, each at a different angle; by doing so the raised scar that was desired would be produced. The pain should have been overwhelming, but the pain-killing herb was at work, and Sara felt hardly anything. The wound bled profusely for a time until sienna powder was rubbed into the freshly made wound. The bleeding stopped and the small amount of pain Sara had felt started to subside. The triple effect of the sienna powder was to stop the bleeding, color the wound and subsequent scar tissue, and to totally deaden any pain. The outline of the pentagram was now a very dark reddish brown, almost black. When it was completely healed it would leave a raised scar that would be black and permanent. At this juncture Sara was feeling very dizzy from the drugs, and as she watched what was happening to her it was as though it was happening to someone else. As the drugs took full effect she felt no pain, and she was so light-headed that she even giggled occasionally for no apparent reason. She knew that she should be hurting, but there was no pain. She knew she should be really embarrassed, standing naked before these strangers, but now she wasn’t, not in the least. She actually felt completely enthralled by all the attention.
After this, Sara was inspected and ministered to by the Witches, who made sure the bleeding had completely stopped and the coloration of the pentagram was sufficient. She was then dressed in the most beautiful dress Sara could ever imagine. Her hair was combed and styled in a way she had never thought possible. The Witches even had a hand mirror so Sara could see herself. She had never used a hand mirror before, only small broken pieces of mirror that she had found or a shiny piece of metal to look at herself. New shoes were put on her feet, real shoes, not the homemade ones to which she had become accustomed. A necklace, with a pendant in the shape of a small jaguar attached, was then clasped around her neck. This was the first piece of jewelry that Sara had ever worn.
Sara was then given another drug potion to drink and instructed to begin repeating the following: “I welcome you, spirit from the great Somne Octe, I welcome you to your new home. I do not resist, I do not resist.”
She repeated this over and over for what she thought to be an eternity but in reality was about two hours.
The four Witches surrounded her and repeated, “Somne Octe, Somne Octe, Somne Octe, Somne Octe, Somne Octe,” over and over and over.
Somne Octe had been summoned by the faithful in the hut at the high end of the village and he would soon be arriving. Somne Octe was a demon, and not just a run of the mill average everyday demon. He was the commander and controller of this entire mountainous section of Eastern Mexico. He ranked very high in the scheme of things here on earth. In the evil dominions set forth on the earth by the supreme ruler of darkness, he had done well. Only Damien ranked above him in this quadrant, and Damien answered directly to Lucifer himself. Somne Octe had served Prince Lucifer well over the eons of time since the great rebellion and banishment from heaven. He had survived the initial chaos, escaped the chains of damnation, and had been promoted over and over until finally being given complete responsibility for this area of the mountains, which is called the eighth sector. Somne Octe had been elevated to his present level of authority and had controlled these mountains for hundreds of years. Ruling openly with the power of evil; he remained unchallenged from the other side.
Doing as he so desired or was commanded to do by his immediate superior Damien, Somne Octe operated his dominion without opposition from anyone or anything. He did the bidding of the Supreme Evil One as relayed by Damien in total freedom and without any interference from the forces of good. There had never been a serious challenge to his authority, not one. Now some of his very faithful human servants were summoning him and he would not disappoint them. It had already been reported to him that there was going to be a new one added to the faithful this night, and he took this opportunity to bring fear to the village, and through that fear more respect for his faithful servants and himself. He called all the demons and evil spirits who were not in a human or animal host to gather and to celebrate. He commanded them to come, obey, and honor him. He commanded those minions of destruction to gather here on this mountain, on this night, so that chaos, fear, turmoil, and violence would consume all of the village of San Mateo.
When the chanting started in the hut, the air in the rest of the village seemed to thicken to a point that the villagers had to labor to breathe. The babies began to scream at the top of their lungs as the terrified mothers tried to quiet them. In the whole village, with the sole exception of the Soto’s compound, the animals were now becoming restless and tearing loose from their ties, running, fighting, and ripping through the village. For no apparent reason the dogs began fighting each other and at the same time trying to break into the small huts. Dust from all the commotion of the animals began to rise and fill the air, making it even harder to breathe. The huts had gone from a place of refuge, a hiding place, to a very poorly fortified place of protection from the animals. The craziness and evil of that night began to manifest in the people as well. Those huddled in the huts began to bicker and blame each other for the events that were taking place. Some of the normally docile men in that normally quite village began screaming at and hitting their wives and children; then, in response, those children began to physically attack each other. The wave of terror and turmoil rolled through the small village like a dark fog.
In one hut, the home of Jeremias Mendes, the fear of the night took a decided turn for the worst as the hoards of demons continued sweeping into town. Jeremias sat in the corner of his hut, ashamed of the fear he felt, but totally consumed by it. In his mind the demons were telling him that his wife, because of the fear he showed, would not respect him in the future. The evil ones repeatedly told him that Juana Mendez, his wife of nearly twenty years, would despise him and become unfaithful to him because of his fear and weakness. A dark and brooding attitude came over Jeremias as he crawled out from under the covers and hit his wife in the face with his doubled up fist. In over twenty years he had not even raised his voice, but now he hit her over and over. He screamed “puta, puta, puta” (whore, whore, whore), and continued to brutally beat Juana. The children cried and begged their father to stop as they pulled at him trying to protect their mother. Then, unexplainably, the children began to hit each other and scream in their loudest voices. Jeremias would have probably killed Juana, and possibly the children, if their mule had not interrupted him. The normally docile animal had crashed through the stick and mud wall of the hut and was kicking at anything and anyone that moved. This danger distracted Jeremias from the demonic drive to beat his wife to death. After turning his attention to the mule, and driving the crazed animal out of the hut, the anger in him subsided. He now felt brave after protecting his family that just moments before he had been trying to destroy. The family again huddled together in extreme terror beneath the blanket and waited for morning and the rays of the rising sun to deliver them.
This type of turmoil was commonplace in the other huts as the demonic spirits planted lies and fears in the minds of the villagers. The village’s men, women, children, babies, and animals were all on the verge of insanity. The spiritual attacks became too much for many to bear and they ran blindly from their huts and from the village, not knowing where they were running to, or exactly what they were running from. They just ran and ran until they would fall, exhausted and shaking with fear. Many were injured from falling down steep grades or tripping over rocks and other obstacles in the pitch blackness of the night. It seemed as though every demonic spirit in the Mexico had gathered on the side of Jefe Mountain and invaded this small village, yet it wasn’t every demonic spirit in Mexico, it was only those that had been summoned by Somne Octe.
In the Soto’s hut, the chanting was at a fever pitch. Sara had her head rolled back and her upper lip was pulled back over her teeth as saliva was running from the corners of her mouth, dripping off the sides of her chin and onto her shoulders. Even though it was very cool inside the hut, beads of perspiration formed on Sara’s forehead and upper lip. She had been assured that this was her night that she was being elevated from poor mountain girl to the respected (or more likely feared) status of Bruja. More feelings were stirring inside here that she did not understand, or at the moment care to understand. She also felt a presence that was completely foreign to the experiences of her young life. She thought that what was happening to her was strange, wrong, and even evil but she did not care; she was beginning to welcome the stirrings. After two hours Sara was psychologically overwhelmed by the drugs, the chanting, and the surrounding demonic activity. She began to move her young body to unheard music and totally gave into the feelings rising inside her. Her eyes widened with excitement and anticipation, and her breath came in short gasps. The witches surrounding Sara were in their own trance as they danced in place to the unheard tempo. Groans were escaping the lips of the Witches as the scene devolved into one of seemingly total decadence and chaos, but it wasn’t chaos, for the spiritual realm of Somne Octe was carefully orchestrating it.
Sara’s mother could do nothing but sit and cry and her father closed his hand on the money, wishing these people would just take his daughter and go away. Just before midnight, Xanateo went to the area of the hut where Sara was and told his witches that it was time. Then he took Sara by the shoulders and looked deeply and intently into her eyes. He instructed her to open her mind, soul, and body to receive the visitor that was about to enter her. Sara’s body began to tremble and shake as she did as was instructed. In the spiritual realm, Somne Octe chose one of his minions to move into the warmth and moistness of Sara’s body. The demon chosen was a ‘familiar spirit,’ one that specialized in revealing secrets to humans. Even the deepest and darkest parts of one’s life were not privy to this type of evil spirit. This demon, this fallen angel, was used for divination and fortune-telling. This evil spirit was also used to bring trouble, turmoil, and conflict into every area of human life. These divining spirits cannot foretell the future, but when they first reveal to someone the secrets of their past, whatever predictions of the future they make are easily believed by the recipient of those prophecies. The object of this demonic spirit is to steal and destroy, and to bring confusion by combining some truth with a multitude of lies. This evil scheme always works with those who do not have an understanding of the spiritual realm around us, which, sadly, is most of the world’s populace. This particular divining spirit was named ‘Basar.’ In the ancient language of Babylon, the name means “the revealer.” Basar had served Somne Octe well over the stretches of time, and was now rewarded with a soft, warm, and moist body to inhabit.
Somne Octe reflected on the events of that night and knew that those above him in the order of things would be pleased, and he would gain much respect from the demons in other sectors. He reflected on his last promotion, many hundreds of years before, with only two superiors in the ranks above him; arrogance and pride rose up in Somne Octe. He felt that someday he would take Damien’s place and possibly even, well possibly share the Seat of Satan. Sara was ready to become another faithful servant of the dark side. Somne Octe and Xanateo would both be rewarded for their faithfulness in carrying out the events that would take place this night.
Xanateo instructed Sara to receive her visitor and yield to the forces and desires she felt stirring inside her. He carefully guided Sara to simply trust what was happening, to neither question nor doubt, and to yield totally. Sara’s eyes rolled back in her head as she took a deep breath and shuddered to the very core of her young, innocent soul. Basar took up residence in the warmth and comfort of his host. He had been invited in and in he came. It would be much more difficult to move him out than it was to ask him in. No longer walking around in the dry places, he felt at home, and home to stay. He would greatly please his master with as much mayhem as he could conjure among the humans. Somne Octe watched as Basar entered into the young girl. He knew that Basar was only the first of many who would be sent to take up residence in Sara, all in due time. Sara felt the difference immediately, it was not as though anything physical had changed, but she seemed to have more knowledge and a greater understanding of her surroundings. There were also more feelings stirring inside her – deep, sensual feelings that she could not fathom yet. As stated, Sara had only entered puberty a few months earlier and these sensual feelings felt foreign and slightly unsettling to her. However, the drugs were doing their duty, and the unsettling feeling did not last long. It was now midnight and Xanateo was ready to be through with this part of the ceremony.
Xanateo brought Sara to her father and told her to sit across from him. Sara’s mother was sent outside while the next part of the ceremony was to take place. Sara sat down where she had been instructed and she sheepishly looked at the floor as it was not the custom for a daughter to stare into the face of her father. She was instructed by one of the Witches, who whispered into her ear, to look her father in the face and to open her mouth, so that Basar could speak through her. Juan Soto sat in disbelief as he stared at the dress, shoes, and jewelry Sara wore. He was wishing he had the money that they cost, thinking it to be a waste of money on this girl. Sara looked at her father and, from somewhere deep inside of her, out through her mouth, came a deep voice, a man’s husky voice, commanding and full of authority and power. Her father was visibly shaken by this turn of events; he wanted to run out of the hut, but pride and fear held him. In reality all he wanted was for them to leave him and his money alone.
Basar begin to speak through Sara and to reveal to everyone in the room the secrets of Juan’s past. The voice spoke of the infidelity of Juan with a sister of his wife, and of a time he stole money from a brother. The voice coming from his daughter even spoke of a homosexual event one night in the city when Juan was full of ‘Pulqe’ (a very strong alcoholic drink). Continuing revelation told of stealing neighbors’ animals, and the voice from inside of Sara spoke on and on. Juan began to tremble and started begging Xanateo to stop her and to please not tell anyone what was being said. The sweat ran off Juan’s face as he nearly passed out from the terror that was rising inside him, overwhelming him, starting to choke him, and eventually completely terrifying him. Xanateo didn’t speak a word as he put out his hand, palm up. Juan, continuing to tremble and shake, now sobbed openly. He knew what he must do, and he reluctantly took the four small gold coins and placed them in the waiting hand of Xanateo.
Juan looked at his daughter in disbelief and with hatred as he screamed, “Puta, puta, puta” (Whore, whore, whore). He spit at her before running out of the hut to hide his shame in the suffocating darkness of the night.
Sara felt a rush of excitement that she had never experienced. An older and more experienced woman would recognize it as sexual arousal and gratification, but not this young girl. She had no idea what the feeling was. The group gathered their things and left the hut, disappearing into the night. Xanateo instructed the four Witches to walk on each side and in front of and behind Sara. Xanateo led the small group on the three-hour walk to Lleno, the town where the Witches’ Coven House was located; and where the completion of the indoctrination would take place. The Coven House was the place where Sara would begin to realize the true depth of the darkness into which she was being initiated and the evilness into which she had been sold. For now, the drugs, the feeling of power, and those ever-increasing deep strange feelings kept any possible concerns well under control. She was ecstatic with the turn of events in her otherwise dull and drab existence, though unaware of the depths of utter wickedness to which she would be subjected to this very night.
The hoards of demons continued to wreak havoc in the village on the side of Jefe Mountain. It would continue until sunrise and then just as quickly as it had started, it would cease. Some of the older villagers had a vague idea of what was happening; not precisely, but they knew that this night would be the causation of even more evil in the future. They knew that more evil and terror would be coming – maybe not this week, this month, or even this year – but what had started this night was not over. These older ones had seen similar events before and knew that other things would result from the unknown events that had taken place this night. The village would stir and come alive in the advancing early morning light, and not one word of the events of the night before would ever be mentioned. Publicly it would be as though the terror had never happened, while privately the villagers carried the fear and terror deep inside of themselves.
