Last night, I reached the conclusion that the serial killer and cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer was possessed by a wendigo—a Red Indian creature-spirit known for its proclivity for human flesh. The idea was prompted by a book published by Brain Masters about the Dahmer case—in a synchronicity, as I surfed through YouTube, looking at old BBC arts documentaries, I clicked on one that happened to be about the Moors murders; it featured Brian Masters as the first talking head about Myra Hindley. The insight pleased me at the time; however, as night drew in, I became very much unsettled by the idea.
When I turned in I initially dreamed that I was in a Dr. Who episode in which a God-like entity changed buildings in London in an instant. However, somehow I intuited that this God was the Jewish God—Jehovah, a false god. I was not the only one to notice, I found myself next to an old friend and I said, “Did you notice about the God in this show? It’s not the real God.” He agreed with me. Then I was with my grandmother and she said, “Oh yes, it’s not the real God at all. They’re always doing that, trying to fool us. You need to follow Christ.”
I then found that I stared into a pool of white light in my pillow—the most brilliant white light you could imagine, you couldn’t look into it really. I realised this was the same white star I saw on Hartsfell and I heard my internal monologue say, “They’re here.” I found that I had slipped onto the floor and that the light now came through my curtains. I was compelled to kneel before it; and it was accompanied by unearthly music, as if formed by blowing on a bottle top. I became conscious and forced myself to wake up in panic. I awoke with sleep paralysis, awake but unable to move my body—a condition my mother suffers from.