Part of the alarming nature of the unknown is its mysterious link to the known; I awake each night to a lewd exhibition of the merging. I open my eyes and turn to see the digital alarm clock, sitting on the lamp table next to my bed and see; 12:12, and1:11 am, 2:22 am and 3:33 am and 4:44 am. This distresses me so badly, upon awakening, that I cannot think; just a wave of panic that SOMETHING is awaking me, as the calculated odds of awakening each night precisely at those specific times is astronomically impossible. The message intended seems to throw me off balance and keep me wrapped in fearful confusion and lets me know that I am being toyed with but yields no greater insight than to let me know that when I sleep I wander amongst monsters and beasties. Sometimes after abductions, the interdimensional door, left open, invites the gangster fringe element of the spirit world; sometimes demons are thrown into the equation as spite work for attempts at thwarting abductions. But the unseen sinister world is as real as the nose on your face.

The building, called Harold Hall, since renamed, perhaps stands four stories and houses some eighty families. The basement area is the only place I've encountered, face to face, the entity that followed me home and whom stands gauntly by my bed at night and delivers mind blowing dreams, It stands at the intersection of 92 St and Fort Hamilton Parkway, in Brooklyn, not far from Shore Road, on the Narrows and abuts the old army base still there, Fort Hamilton Army Base. I Know nothing of the history of this building except that when I left, sure that anyone who entered the basement would meet it, it seemed to have moved with me. I am straddling the fence of the twilight zone surrounded by harassing, omnipresent, sinister, psychic, tenacious entities whose presence fills me with wonder and indignation. Bless you for your patience; the out of body attacks differ from my dreams in their vivid 3D total sensory envelopment and the inherent viciousness in provoking angst, realistic in every way as compared to consciousness. The perspective is waking to find I am asleep wrapped in delusional thoughts and scenes, dreams so aligned with negative thoughts that the scenarios reveal that they are imposed, by virtue of their worst scenario plots and their vividness. They, whomever these discorporate negative thought entities are, are masters of delusions and I have recognized the raw power of the vividness as more than my murky dream scenarios could ever muster and am convinced we are dead wrong about the nature of dreaming, itself. At night, your astral body travels to realms from angelic to demonic, a spirit world of myriad vibration levels and the pictures you see on the backs of your eyelids, while you REM, are not dreams but visits, souvenirs of a greater reality. Like a goldfish who never suspects a greater world beyond the ponds surface, the limited awareness of humankind floats beneath the surface of a greater reality; groping, mouth agape in total ignorance. Now, that's waxing my verbal virtuosity, dramatically. Sadly, I've only met sharks, not the porpoises, in the ocean currents of unconsciousness, between 2 and 6 am and grounding is essential, but, how? As we struggle into consciousness, each morning, a self-erasing mechanism destroys memories of dreams; only vague and vivid snippets remain as clues, But how many people can recall dreams that were not dreams at all? I have recall for hours and days, afterwards of these impositions, unlike the general amnesia accompanying most of my dreams, all of my life. I assure you that I was shocked to unlearn all Jungian and Freudian concepts of dreams; its only our own languages impotence; calling these dreams; the Eskimos have myriad words for snow; we have only one for dreams that often are not dreams which we, ourselves, generate. My experiences, in the extreme, illustrate this indigestible possibility, to me. Paul; God bless you for the chance to ventilate and exchange ideas in this horrid realm; horrid, because that attacks continue and vary in intensity to the point where I have tacitly accepted all I've told you at the risk of denying everything about the mind and dreams I've ever learned description of haunting at night a large black shapeless mass turns out the lights while you are in the labyrinth of mazes hallways en route to storage rooms, in the back, and stands in your way laughing, evilly, there is a terror and a strong wave of hatred felt. Trying to retrace your way in the darkness, back towards the elevator, hugging the walls, brings air blown onto the back of your neck, your name whispered in your ear and your clothing clutched and plucked at by unseen hands. The presence is large and blacker than the darkness surrounding it; you feel a sense of being watched and sense waves of intense hatred which is undeniable. Flashlights fail and dim and blink out when one tries to outsmart its turning the lights out. The six floor apartment building abuts the Fort Hamilton Army Base, a quarter mile away and is at the virtual foot of the Brooklyn side of the Verrazzano Bridge. I have been the superintendent of that building between 1990 and 1999 and have encountered that entity through my denial to acceptance to raw fear of it. It has intruded into my dreams; followed me into the elevator and into my bedroom to evoke horrid worst scenario nightmares which betray that it knows our minds better that we do; I avoided the basement, neglected my duties there and was subsequently fired by the management office. This building stands at the intersection of 92 Street and Fort Hamilton Pkwy, in Brooklyn, New York. The psychic attacks continue, nonetheless; I am drowsing over the bathroom sink; half asleep and yawning, supporting myself with my arms on both sides of the sink, tired, still half asleep naked, when something brushes my face and loins, both just below the sink and just above my face, above the sink. I open my bleary eyes and see an enormous conglomeration of festooned fishhooks surrounding me, hanging from the ceiling across the sink; a filigree chandelier of razor sharp connected fishhooks that I've stumbled onto, stark naked, now, with pinching sharp connections at my groin and lip and face that apprise me, quickly panicking now, that I've been deeply hooked in myriad places; into my genitals, pulling through my lip and my cheek and that to move backwards, in shock or panic flight is to deeply gaff myself further, inextricably and beyond help. I am attached painfully and as I lift my right arm to gently work out the fishhook, razor thin, dozens of others fasten against and bite into my flesh scaring me further into desperation and deepening my angst as I awaken, quickly now, to a gathering sense of panic and helplessness and the hook in my cheek tears deeply into my mouth and the fishhooks, unseen, beneath the sink begin to bite deeper and more painfully into me, I am a marionette impaled from face to scrotum and have wandered unknowing into this macramé of razorblade like fishhooks some madman must have concocted over my sink in my bathroom. The slightest movement brings sharp painful reminders that I an stuck fast and in a nightmarish predicament I cannot solve as I am screaming, muted for help from my wife asleep in the other room. Opening my mouth to holler I feel the deeper bite of the hook into the deep muscles of my face and I can only growl and moan loudly, aware I wont likely be able to reach her ears with my low moaning and an becoming more entrapped with every movement. Like a monstrous wind chime of dangling fishhooks, I am trapped and my fear level climbs to near hysteria as I awaken, suddenly, in bed. Again I am aware of the imposed horror for ethereal feasting but dazzled at the raw power of the attack; the totality of sensory construction and the viciousness inherent in the scenario. I am beset with demons; negative thought entities who are malevolent and who know our minds much better than we do in projecting telepathic sustained attack. How can you fight something you cant see? This was the first of several creative virtual reality psychic attacks delivered, on this night and represent a continued program of spiritual and out of body attacks at the hands of unseen entities who are clearly brilliantly malevolent and tenacious submitted by Paul Schroeder for your comment and assistance.

Some time ago a friend of my wife's and a group of friends made a trip to historical sites in the Middle East. During the tour she had a chance to visit a cave on one of the hills around the holy city of Makkah. Inside, she was attracted by-she swears it was nothing but-a bright light perched on the cave's wall, and took a picture of it. When she returned home the rolls of film she used during the trip were developed. And she was surprised to see a picture of a creature she never saw before in her life. She took the picture and showed it to her spiritual teacher. The Ustadzah explained that it was Satan in one of its forms, as was described by her teacher decades ago while she was still in school. Subhanallah! She made copies of the picture, my wife took one, and I scanned it for you to see (for larger image click here). The waves of sheer hatred, intense telepathic bursts of raw hatred felt by me in the unseen presence of some of the harassing entities might well echo the demeanor of this clearly interdimensional creature; note the veins of the rock which bisects its waist, like a belt; it is transparent. Again, I am convinced that since a hateful bottom spectrum of the unseen universe exists-I, too, have been grabbed and shaken by demons, large, black and strong as a bull-that a goodness, top-spectrum of the unseen spirit world MUST exist; I have sneaked into faith by the rear door. The last sentence of the letter accompanying this pix was; MAY ALLAH PROTECT US ALL FROM DEVILS