Three Suspense Stories by D.L. Siluk

5

The Account of the Dogface Demon





The Dogface Demon in the Closet


It has been said, and documented, to my understanding, but I didn’t know at the time, there is a demon called The Dog Demon, once seen in the ancient land of Mesopotamia. Well, my dear friends, (whoever may be reading this) he is well and alive here on planet earth. Matter-of-fact, I can pin down the time, and whereabouts of this beast, freak, or creature of nature (meaning he is quite different than us at this very writing). Maybe he is a creature scorned by the Universe; but I have met him, I mean, seen him.

I saw him in as an apparition in a vision in l984, actually it was more than a vision, and I shall get into that in a moment. He had the body of a human, and the face of a gruesome looking dog (as often demonic beings end up having, simply because they must inhabit a physical body to operate in, and often end up with grisly looks because of birth defects in their heritage, which date back to a pre Adamic period (a time before the period of Adam and Eve, biblically, sudeocripitical speaking). He, as I call him, the Dogface demon, or simple Dogface, he could walk upright, erect, with that inhomogeneous look, a bulldog appearance, small droopy eyes, beady they were, a long fat tongue that seemed to find its way out of its mouth automatically without his even slightest intentions for having it slurp and slap and dribble all over his lips and mouth. His nose was like a pig’s snout, a chest a tinge hairy, along with his upper arms, or shoulders; I drew a picture of him in 9-2003, about a year after I had saw him.
Now for, ‘Where did I see him?’ Don’t be surprised, he was huddled up in our Nation’s Capital with a number of other demons. Oh yes, this is so. They all were listening, waiting, observing: for what?
A good question, your guess is as good as mine, perhaps better than mine. They all seemed to be, give the impression that is, to be in a closet of sorts, hiding, listening as if they came out they could be identified, seen by others, what others, is beyond me. I told myself ‘why are they hiding, they are almost invisible’ apart from them who have second sight, no one else can see them.

One of the small number of demons in the closet seemed to have a trunk attached to his face, the Elephant demon I called him at the time (in years yet to come I’d find out there was such a creature in history, and see a statue of him in Java, Indonesia, 1999); I thought at the time (1984), perhaps our National Capitol was infested with these freaks of pre historic nature, and I repeat myself, no one else could see them that I was aware of, and they were not certain I could see them, therefore, three different worlds resided in one, or spheres. I assume they could not see me in their world, in the closet yet I was there, no one said a word, but I’d noticed, they often can sense a presence yet pay little attention to it, perhaps they were aware there were others in the building that might spot them, in their world, should they expose themselves freely, otherwise why hide? So I asked, and told myself, talked to myself in essence during this time, and in the process told myself to leave well enough alone, and just observe, that was, or should be my objective. And so that is what I did.
But right after that ghostly experience—I suppose you might be saying, a hallucination—(whatever, yet I do not take drugs) I had another vision (actually the last one was not a vision, with the Dogface, but rather a happening) it again took place at the Nation’s Capitol (1984), great flame were burning in back of it, and paratroopers were landing on the monumental sites, all around (of course now, as I rewrite this, history has indicated in by 9/11, these so called visions and happenings were—if anything—were warnings, if not prophecy in the making, which again is the something as warnings.
In addition to that mental picture, or visualization, I found it was linked to another, involving, the president’s plane circling in the air. It was all documented long ago, no need to recertify it over again, and put into a book after the fact, in 2002, and given to three clergy during the draft stages of the writing it, the book called: “The Last Trumpet, and the Woodbridge Demon,” now it is called 9/11, and part of our historical past, so it was as it was a vision or happening and part of 9/11; be that as it may, and it all was part of that experience I was telling you about, that being, the Dogface Demon in the closet, with that elephant looking demonic being, and a few others, all cramped in that space doing whatever they were doing.
Thinking about it now, and assuming my assumptions are right, perhaps these forces from the imperceptible world, could see through walls, although there was no need for that I suppose they could hear, and I assume again, translate whatever language they were listening to, and I assume it was English, and so the walls were only barriers for the living. Some times demonic forces, their configurations can be seen by the nakedeye, and if one needed to be cautious (perhaps without reason, but cautious all the same) hiding would be the thing to do.

Babylonians believed rabid-dogs where demons of sorts, and sent by god to punish man. Also, ASSYRIAN carvings have been discovered with these dogs, seen as apostrophic figures. In 1984, I didn’t know much of God, or demons or ancient demigods, or such things, but it did present a challenge to learn about them after these so called visions, and happenings.
In this happening there were three, pertaining to this occurrence, the demons were simply clustered up in a tight space, as if gathering information: patient, and with smirks, and listening, oh yes, listening as if they were on a mission: or a conspiracy to be. It seemed to me at the time, they were all part of a coming conspiracy that now took place: why else would they be where they were at the time they were, and this happening was—yes was, this pre-empt strike, was planned even before Ben Laden, knew he was going to do what he did, the demonic forces only needed the face, remember I said, demonic forces have to work through the physical, and they found a willing body, one capable of financing the project, and one willing to play the demonic game, not quite knowing who was pulling the strings. I suppose Bin Laden thought he was, he thinks it is his theme when in essence he is simply going through the motions for someone else, a lot bigger than his ego, only the dynamics belong to him, not the plot or theme.

Anyhow, I asked myself, ‘why else?’ and then you get talking to yourself, so you don’t wait for the answer, you know it. Although I’m sure with the multitude of these hybrid spirits stationed in Washington D.C., would be a classical place to be. Maybe even the World Trade Centres now popping up throughout the world: by and by, Washington’s tragedy might have been part of this conspiracy; for me it is not inconceivable. Yes, yes, it has been many years now since that took place, but so long ago one can’t remember that it took some planning, and in that such things are planned from both sides of the fence, both worlds are usually involved, could be involved, most likely were involved, in this case.
Solomon, used Demonic beings to build his temple, so it has been written. He had power over them, so it has been written, that his power over these deadly spirits were so powerful, he could cast them into oblivion should he care to, or should they dare to defy him, they were scared of him, an rightfully so. And how did they build the temples? They must have used some sort of physical texture, called flesh to operate in, and he could see them. Just to point out a fact, they are here and alive on earth.
But maybe Mr. Bin Laden took a long time to put it together, like the demonic beings took a long time to put him together, like to like, they say. It is not unusually to work with both sides of the world. Do we not pray when we are sick and who to, not the demon, but some do. Not sure, if this is interrelated, but it can prove to be useful in clueing together we are being watched. And I have seen shrines in Asia, and Indonesia, all over the world, depicting demonic carvings, and figurines: in Haiti and Jamaica, and Cuba, all over the world. And I saw them in the Washington. If I was from the dark side, if I had a legion of demon assigned to me, by Lucifer, or the General Henchman of Hell, I’d assign them to Washington D.C., the heartbeat of the world, and a few to Moscow, and Beijing, it would be only prudent.
Along with the Dogface Demon, I saw the Elephant Face Demon as I have earlier mentioned: do not laugh, it is very likely, and it is more than possible, it was, I am not trying to persuade you one way or the other, just laying down an account. You can tell anyone anything you want, but if you want a truthful answer, you can get it. Just as you can see something, and you may be the only one who sees it in your generation, or neighbourhood, but let’s say there are signs around the world that what you saw, folks hundreds of years ago saw, made statues to, documented, are they and along with me, all crazy; If you said yes, they you are among a society that believes in the crazy—if Christ believed in the demons, who am I to go against a man who can walk on water, I can’t, unless it’s ice.
In Malta, I asked an owner of a bookstore if he believed in giants, since legend says, they built most of the temples over there. And he said no. In the back of the bookstore, alone, I asked him again, and to answer me truthfully, and he said, “Of course we do, there is too much evidence to the contrary, and if you lived here, not just being a tourist, but really lived here and investigated the place, you’d believe it also.” He is right; I found a giant’s foot print in stone, while visiting the Bernardo Island in South America.
But back to the demon; likewise, if you’ve seen them, no one can tell you otherwise. They can give you all the psychology tests in the world and tell you that you’re crazy, and keep on you until you agree with them, but fact is fact. If you were to go to Java, or for that matter, Cambodia, you would see the Elephant God in stone, in sculpture form all over the place. I called the one I seen the Elephant-Demon long before I seen such carvings. I saw this very one within the cluster, within the closet in Washington D.C.
‘Hog wash,’ you say, but most likely you believe in a God yet you have not seen him, most folks believe in something on that order, unless they got a head full of the devil that says it’s all hogwash. If I was the devil, I try to have you believe in nothing, not even me. Or if you believed in me, I’d try to have you obsessed with me, so you’d not have any time to look in back of yourself. Either one will work.
Atheists will love this paragraph, I have no scrap with any region, even atheists, let us all go our own way, this is just about me witnessing a situation, it just happened to be in a different dimension than what you and I are used to, when I saw it and what I think I know took place and by whom, 9/11 came about afterwards: no more no less.

I now do firmly believe in an invisible God, as much as in a materializing invisible world, a shape changing world of demon. If you were me, you’d too believe. We are not talking about falling off the face of the earth here, and reality is quite different when explored, if one dares to explore beyond the normal. Demons, ghosts, fallen angels [or angelic renegades], giants, the King of Agharti [king of the subterranean world, to come above earth prior to the Golden Age], all of the about, have all played a part in the invisible world we live in; the hidden world we live side-by-side with, and if explored so would you discover this to be a truth.
As indicated in this account, about, one I have not mentioned before is bin Laden, mentioned before fully that is: with a little substance. The reason being, I just seen him in a vision before I wrote this originally in 2002, now it is 9/2005, and I have taken this out of the mothball CD area, to update and revise. Now again in 7/2008, I am revising it. He, Bin Laden, was sitting in a chair made of precious tick wood I would guess: to the best of my knowledge. And behind him were beautiful carvings, as if he was in some grand church, or mosque or Hindu shrine. More towards the Hindu shrine area it would seem: I can get in trouble when I pinpoint things I should not pinpoint, but if it wasn’t as I said, it had the figurines of a similar nature to it (could be Pakistan or a place where both Hindu and Muslim live). He was alone. From what I gathered from his left side, either they were drawings or real buildings, but it looked like layered temples, like I’ve seen in Japan, or Bali, or India. Also the wood carvings looked Hindu: again I say that. I thought of Kashmir at the time. But I have never been there. It seemed to fit somehow. The vision took place at 1:45 PM, 1-1-02.
I am not the one to say if he will or will not be captured, I hope he is, but only that he may have the dark side on his side, and that side is helping him, and will continue to help him, until he is useless to them, we live in a complex atmosphere, believe me; but there are windows.

Note: written: January 1, 2002 (Revised/9/2005/second revision 7/2008)


6

Port of Poseidonia:
The Birth of Poseidon



Poseidon, in the Underworld



Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, in the Underworld, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. (Part IX) Here is one of the 26-Parts to this story.



Immortal Minds and Qin


(The Keepers) The sacred solar science of the ancients, understanding the effects of the sun on the earth to include affairs, fertility and personality, were the duties of the “Keepers” of this science, the immortals, once born into humanities realm [the Feathered Serpents, Qin being one of them, a shaman of sorts]. The information was encoded into the Keepers cranium and his imperishable soul at birth.

This information was concealed, to be preserved as a form of hidden knowledge, by way of numbers, pictures and stories for future times; considered mythological legends with whole civilizations, like Atlantis, who was the most worshipped, who claimed the highest god’s, to be their protectors, during those far-off days.

In the simplest sense, the eagle of Atlantis displayed the ‘spirit of the sky,’ and the serpent ‘reincarnation’ the shedding of he skin of the snake, and then we have the ‘Feathered Snake’, the perfect being, the Atlanteon, the Prophet, the Keeper, so it was thought: whom was the sun itself; consequently, this person ’The Keeper’ could do miracles, like the Moche of Peru, and other such ancient and gifted individuals.
Hence, these “Feathered Serpents,” performed miracles (prophets of sorts) and upon their death they would go to the brightest star, so it was said. This was what was handed down to the people and this was the truth for its day.

It was Poseidon’s mother (some 16,000 to 13,000-years ago), and Phrygian’s grandmother [Neuch] who witnessed a great burst of light in the sky over the acropolis of Atlantis (Phrygian was not born yet). But he was told the story many times, and remembered it quite well, that was:
Lighting lit up the whole of Port Poseidonia [that day], somehow, someone while she was asleep (his grandmother) had gotten pregnant and after sixteen-months she gave birth to Poseidon, whom could speak three languages, that had only taken him three days to learn. His birth was almost dragon like, save for his eyes. He could command demons and giants at an early age, which he did and in so doing, they helped build the Acropolis there at Atlantis, and they did just that, help build the Port of Poseidonia likewise. They say one of the Watchers, Azaz’el, got her pregnant, one of the two-hundred angelic beings that left God’s abode to live on earth. Defied the Almighty; he even invented the long cone hat for the Atlanteon, which would be worn for a thousand years to come, if not longer.
Poseidon left the kingdom well equipped for Phrygian, the city had glorious obelisks, with carve designs on them, and gold and ivory covered tips, some glorified with other precious stones. The kingdom was the glory of the known world when Phrygian inherited it.

Phrygian (once king of Atlantis) was now in the vaults of Hell wondering why he was always thinking of Atlantis, and its history thereof, I mean, every minute it was Atlantis, or Ais (his ex-wife), and sometimes his first love Lailis, he wondered where she went to, was, for she had died a early death. He had been in Hell many years now. And he could go off at times for days or weeks day-dreaming of her and Atlantis. He was looking at each detail of his life, he had the time, and matter-of-fact he could go over each detail several times without concern. He knew in Hell there were degrees; and the Hordes of Hell, the henchmen himself had no control over which area the God of the Universe commanded a soul to go to. If He said, Hell, then it was up to Commander of Hordes to put him wherever; if he said, “The Lake of Fire,” then it was there he went—the everlasting furnace of sorts.
Phrygian was not, evidently was not, as bad as some of the kings who had entered Hades realm, for they were assigned to the cold vaults where they made coats out of worms to keep themselves warm. Oh Agaliarept, the Henchman of Satan, could go there and hassle them, but who wanted to go into the cold vaults or the horrific fires. It was better by the docks of the Great River Hades, or Mount Hades, the highest mountain in hell.
He thought maybe it was about 225 BC at this juncture of time, for Roman echoes were heard down in Hell, they had a Republic; thus the Greek and Persian wars were over. The time of Gilgamesh had long past (2700 BC). So many ages had come and went, since he was poisoned with a bone in his meat, and dragged out of the waters of Hades to his abode on the docks of hell.
Qin, the Feathered Serpent, was his teacher so many years ago who taught him all the things he’d need to know in time, in life itself, yet he did not teach him about Hell.

Written 2-26-2006 Readied, 7-2008


7

The Monster Archaic
[A haunting bullfight in Lima]




(The Bullfight) I tell you this for a truth. Well, it all started out simple and my Grandfather, well—something inside his head got triggered. It all took place in the bull-ring at Lima, 1923. My Grandpapa was born in l886, and had retired from boxing long before, unwillingly, but kind of had to. Oh, he had fought the best, Jack Johnson, Sullivan, and then, well I will tell you the story. I didn’t see it happen, how could I, I wasn’t born yet. It was a mystery for many years to me and many others, but I know how he was, and the Peruvian woman he said he was in love with, fine, Latin blood she had, but she didn’t understand, I doubt anyone in Peru understood that warm hot summer day when Anatolia, the blue-eyed gringo went mad, nutty.
He was a brave man though, let no one say otherwise, six foot three, two hundred and fifty pounds, maybe a bit more than that, I can tell by his pictures somewhat, and I read his history. He was from Russia, came over to America as a youth, learned how to fight like Sullivan and Dempsey in the bars and then in the ring. I am Russian myself, in that capacity, like my Grandpa. The Peruvians laughed at him when he stood up and yelled at the capadores sitting in the arena, when he slipped and the bull gored him, a breathless moment I do expect, perhaps this was the moment the fans took notice of him, for he did it unexpectedly, and thought him a fool, oh I suppose he was more then excited, more than he wished to be anyhow, ‘it is their bullfight,’ he murmured,’ so it is said, and he sat back down.
The lovely Señorita he was with, one to be his bride someday, she hoped—was dismayed at the Gringo’s disposition on this matter. For she said something like, ‘excuse me,’ (she loved the bullfight) and looked at him. You see, he was for the bull, because the bull had no chance. None whatsoever he said, he told his beautiful Senorita as she sat in his sitting place, marked with a number, --her by his side and her friends to the right of her, of which he told them with even more venom, ‘The bull is dead the moment he enters the ring, and paces the walls trying to find his way out’. Some say, Anatolia wanted a way out of marrying the young lady, for he was close to forty, and she was close to twenty—but I don’t believe that, I think what took place was because of other reasons, enemies inside his head came out of his tongue, like the bulls, when they are thirsty, and the bull of course is filled with water to make him slow during his fight with the matador. And the banderillos placed the darts, and often times fail to place them properly (as they did this day), thus the bull gets mad and so did my Grandfather. I know he felt it was cruel and cold-blooded punishment for the animal that didn’t want to be there in the first place.
So what did Anatolia do, what you would expect, he stood up from his seat, in the hot summer high temperature, gazing, staring—hypnotically into the bullring and yelled like a mad bull himself, ‘What chance, what damn chance has the bull got!’ he yelled. His girlfriend’s Peruvian friend, an enthusiast comrade like her, that liked her, matter of fact, would have liked to marry her—had he not been married, tried to reason with Anatolia, but as the bull was enticed into charging the capadores, and the man who looked like he was to be eaten up by the bull, escaped unhurt, he again could not help himself, he yelled feverishly at the bullring. The audiences jeered at him liken to a viper, told him to sit down in Spanish, but he didn’t understand, and thus, a sword appeared and missed the heart of the bull and stuck out through the side of his ribs. But he just sat sadly in his seat—unmotivated, with hidden anger and staring, his face contorted, his teeth grinding.
Then came out the picador on his horse (I have talked to Picadors, they are brave to go into the ring on an old horse like they do, most are old and ragged looking, this poor horse was so old and skinny, good for nothing else I suppose, and this is why they use them of course, and my Grandfather knew this, like him, he was now aging, and good for what?), and the bull charged the horse, sad as it was, the horse flipped flopped about rolled over—not knowing another gore was coming and when it did, went in the air, and the picador landed on the ground, and again escaped like the capadores before; a hideous crime he thought. This bull was very strong, like a bull I saw in Mexico City—Nico, who died slowly like this one, and was strong, so very strong like this bull, they were both fighters, ones that would not go down with a blow, like in the ring where my Grandfather fought as a professional boxer. I’ve seen this same fighting instinct in the bull in Mexico City, what my Grandfather saw in the ring in Lima, he had in himself, but for him it went a little farther. I shall explain that now, for it is the horse that triggered him.

My Grandfather was in many fights like me as I have tried to explain, so I know what took place that Saturday afternoon in the heat of the afternoon, the Peruvian warmth at the bullring in Lima. It was akin to a fight in the ring, in the hot hours of daylight. When the horse fell, gored in the stomach, gored several times, his insides came out—his whole insides unfilled, bare, unoccupied there on the dirt of the bullring emptied out, the horse kicking his feet like a man down in the boxing-ring trying to get up, trying but not getting up, but let’s say is also blindfolded: told if he does get up—if he does stand on those feet of his, those limbs, tentacles, he will get his guts opened up like the horse, emptied out in front of his family, and his families guts emptied out like his; he had to take a dive in the ring, let the other man win, he had no choice. The scum of the earth made him stay down, lose the fight, like the Peruvian’s who made the horse go into the ring blindfolded, now was down; blindfolded so he could not see it coming—death coming, the spear of death; so he could not see the bull ready to gore him, trusting humanity, the nature of humanity; dumb as that might be. The horse like the fighter has no chance; that is what went through his head at that very moment—that last millisecond. It was the last fight my Grandfather ever fought, the day he lost to a smaller man, less skilled, but he had a family, and should he get up—stand up on those legs to fight this man, this puny man, they would cut their guts out, like the horse in the ring, no chance—you see, none whatsoever. But he lost his wife none the less (and that is another story unto itself), and met his Señorita, but that is all history, let me finish the story for you.
He stood up now, all wondered why he did not go crazy when the bull was killed, I should say slaughtered slowly, and dragged out of the ring by a mule, two mules. ‘Why the horse,’ people kept saying for years, still say it. As I tried to explain, my Grandfather was the horse, the audience were the scum, the boxing people who fixed the fights, the ones that humiliated him to, to such a thing as to take a dive in the middle of his life for a younger fighter, who knew nothing. He was blindfolded, kind of speaking, like the horse. The bull to him was simply a stupid animal with no chance at all, dead the moment he walked in the ring—like the young fighter. Yes, yes, my Grandfather was gored by the scum, by the stupid young man [likened to the stupid bull, he knew no better].
—So now you see why Anatolia stood up and yelled, and then when the horse got gored, like him, he lost it, hit the man beside his Señorita sitting next to her with his wife, broke his nose, and when two soldiers came running toward him—well, then the shooting started, and the crowed stood up to see what was happening. The soldiers and the crowd killed him, as he went wild hitting any and everyone who got close to him, several Peruvians went to the hospital that day, but nonetheless, he was dead from the insanity ended that day. Yes, oh yes, it was a hot day in Lima and the beast primitive came out of Anatolia, my Grandfather, what more can I say.

Benediction

Oh, I say to one and all, I am neither for the bull or the matador; as Hemingway protested, one must be for one or the other—no, I am for the champion of the brave, the glory of the arena, the ceremony of the event, its intrinsic meanings, and its blessings. So I make no judgment inasmuch as I do enjoy the bullfight, the cockfight, the ring, the karate tournaments, and the sumo wrestling tournaments. In all such events it is the grit and endurance and it all pleases me.


Note: Inspirited by Jack London, Earnest Hemingway and a bullfight I saw in Mexico, City, and the bullring in Lima, Peru, as well as the one in Seville, Spain. Also inspired by my grandfather and boxing in particular, which I enjoy watching. Written in 2005, reedited in 7/2008