The House On Blackstone Hill

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The House On Blackstone Hill - book excerpt

Chapter 1

You have been lied to about your very existence.

You have been lied to your entire life. Not just your life, but the lives of your parents, your grandparents, great-grandparents, all the way back for hundreds of generations. You and everyone you know have been lied to, and everything you think is sure in the world, every piece of firm ground upon which you have built your understanding of reality is nothing but shifting sands.

The world you think you live in, the world you assume to be so predictable and obvious, so mundane and average, is nothing but a thin veneer covering a much deeper, darker, dangerous world. The world you think you live in is a lie.

By and large, this lie was not perpetrated upon you and your forebearers deliberately. As time went on, the knowledge of things once well-known were forgotten, and then the memory of those things became mere myth and legend. Things became shrouded in the mist, and as so often happens, were lost. You will note, however, my Dear Friend, that I said this was by and large not deliberate. There were, and remain still today, cabals of very powerful, very influential, and very evil people across the world who realized it was to their benefit to allow these dark, dangerous things to remain shrouded by the mists and to keep you blinded by these lies.

But these people will be exposed as time goes on and my writings unfold. Of that you may be sure, Dear Friend.

You no doubt are now wondering what are the terrible details of this great and dreadful secret? What is this huge lie that has been foisted upon you, that has made your entire life nothing but a foolish charade? What is this dark and dangerous world to which I refer?

It is this: There is an entire world of horror, a whole universe of terror, that exists with, is entwined around, and yet is just under the surface of your normal, quotidian existence. It is a perverse world that, warped as it may be, has its own internal logic, its own mores, norms, and values. This is an evil, twisted world ruled by innumerable demons from the depths of hell, bent on the torment and torture of every human being. Things you thought were mere children’s tales, fanciful myths and legends, or superstitious folklore are true.

True, and horrifyingly real.

These very real things are utterly dark and perversely evil. Your worst nightmares can’t possibly come close to the horrors that prowl about in the darkest corners of the world and of the human soul, looking for ways to create unending anguish and suffering, death, and destruction. The most horrible acts that humans have ever committed against each other can never compare to the horror this world delights in creating. You cannot imagine evil of this level, you are incapable of cognizing it, your mind simply cannot grasp malevolence and wickedness of this level; there is scarcely even language adequate to describe it. It is almost a language unto itself.

To know the terror that slithers around your carefully constructed life may drive you insane with an overabundance of knowledge, so if you want to turn away now, if you’d rather live a life of blissful ignorance cradled in the lap of obliviousness, then perhaps that’d be best. Yet, if you’re one of the very brave few who thirst for knowledge and want to know the truth above all else, read every word of what I have to say very carefully, my Dear Friend.

This world of which I speak is one ruled over by legions of demons, evil fallen angels tormented by their Satanic master to a hatred that has become madness. Their only wish is to inflict unending misery on humanity, whom they hold responsible for the fall. They use as many different fell tools in this torture as possible, so it is also a world in which monsters, evil spirits, and nightmarish creatures beyond counting are all horribly true. These vile creatures lurk in the deep, dark shadows of the world, creatures used to horrify, plague, or simply slaughter as many humans as possible.

It is a world of devils, too, but please note, Dear Friend, that demons and devils are not at all the same things. Demons are fallen angels, imbued with massive supernatural powers, whereas devils are twisted little creatures the demons themselves have made to further their goals, having taken them from creation. Demons cannot create any new life, they can only pervert what already exists and use it for their own evil purposes. This is what devils are, horrific beasts twisted and turned by the wicked power of a demon into a supernatural, nearly immortal monster, ever bent on death and destruction. No two devils are alike and come in as many different shapes and sizes as the twisted imagination of their masters can conceive.

Ghosts are true, too, and are used to terrorize people, to cause as much psychic angst as possible for the tortured delight of some wretched demon. These are the souls of very evil people whom the lords of hell believed would be even more tormented by being bound to a place they loved in a material world they can no longer interact with. Sometimes these spirits will be released from hell for a time to specifically torture a surviving loved one. And sometimes these are the spirits of otherwise innocent people killed in a place so powerfully demonic they cannot escape, causing that innocent soul endless anguish. I have more, much more, to write about ghosts, but this will suffice for now.

Vampires and werewolves are also very real, and for as horrifically terrifying as they are normally portrayed to be in modern culture, they are far more so in real life. More on them later as well.

Witches and wizards? Yes, they also exist, but perhaps not as you expect. Magic can only be used by gaining that power directly from a demon, so there are no good witches and wizards. They are certainly not cute little children going to quaint castles to learn these skills. These are evil, perverted people who have cruelly sacrificed the lives of many cute little children to gain these powers, which they use for their own evil purposes.

Succubi? Incubi? Ghouls? Yes, they’re all real. All of them. These are all demons with their own specialized ways in which they torture and torment humans.

Zombies? Zombies are real, too, but don’t get too impressed by that. A corpse can only become re-animated by a demon or a magic-user, and they are mindless tools used for the most mundane of tasks. They also have one specific weakness: They’re rotting flesh. The magic that reanimates a corpse does nothing to prevent normal putrefaction, so eventually, they will literally fall to pieces. That, and they tend to freeze in the winter and attract predators in the summer, so all in all zombies are not nearly as amazing as modern culture would suggest. Nonetheless, they serve their purpose.

Mummies? Yes, of course, mummies are real. When animated they’re just well-dressed zombies.

Aliens? No. Aliens don’t exist. We are painfully alone in the universe. However, there are terrors that exist in the deep reaches of space, terrors that if you were to see would drive you instantly mad. Your throat would turn raw from your screams and you would shred your face bloody trying to claw out your eyes to make the terror end. We will talk more about these, later.

Perhaps the most terrifying creature of all turns out to be the demonically dedicated, Satanic worshipping human.

Truly, deeply evil people are simply a fact, and while you are by now accustomed to the idea in the modern world of violent gang members or homicidal dictators, you may not realize so much of what appears random acts of violence is in fact deliberately directed from afar – or, actually, from below. Across the world there are small covens of witches and wizards that worship Satan, drawing on him for their power, who have committed unthinkable acts of horror in furtherance of their magic. There are also individual worshippers scattered everywhere ready to do his will and who worship him through acts of serial rape and murder. These people work very hard to create a thin veneer of normalcy so that no one would ever think they bowed down to the Evil One himself.

Yet perhaps even more terrifying than these are the large numbers of people in positions of power – in governments across the world, in all the media, in universities, in the military, everywhere – dedicated to this evil, who work hand in hand with the demonic forces for the end of all things. It may horrify you to realize how organized this evil truly is. It is these people who for hundreds of years have manipulated governments, started wars and revolutions, encouraged genocide, all in name of furthering their Satanic master. It is these people, more even than the covens and the lone wolves, who are the most dangerous of all demonic followers.

And what of me, Dear Friend? What of your humble storyteller, this writer with the strange name of Antonio Ricardo Scozze? Surely by now you are wondering how I have all this dreadful knowledge, how is it I am trusted with these dark secrets, how do I come to possess this clandestine information? Ah, yes. I tell you in deepest truth, the way I come to this knowledge is a story that is both great and terrifying, terrific and appalling in and of itself. That will be a tale that unfolds slowly through my various stories, in many of which I am personally involved.

But this is a tale for a much later time. For now, let us turn our attention to a man in his office, contemplating his career…

Chapter 2

Adam Long sat in the Boston office of the cable news network where he worked, staring unhappily at the subject line of an unopened email from his general manager. Epstein? was all it said, but that was all he needed to see to already know what the content of the message would be.

He leaned back in his chair, his soy latte now growing cold and totally forgotten about, a foot on the opened lower drawer of his desk as was his habit. It was also his habit to cross his arms across his chest and to hold his chin in his hand when nervous or confronted with a vexing problem, which is how he now sat.

Well, fuck he thought. She found out.This could be bad. Very bad.

Adam glanced around his office as he thought about this, looking at the various pictures and awards he’d won over the years in his journalism career. He sighed heavily once, rubbing his chin, and thought How did it come to this?

An early 90s graduate of Berkley’s graduate school of journalism, writing is the only thing Adam ever really wanted to do and focused on political reporting due largely to his parents’ passionate involvement in a variety of southern-California political organizations. He looked at the picture of his graduation from Berkley, flanked by his parents, both of whom hold their fists high in mute defiance. His mother wore a free-flowing, bohemian dress with a garish turquoise necklace and bracelets, while his father wore a political tee-shirt, jeans, and sandals. He smiled thinking of the daily political tirades his spectacled and frizzy-haired mother would regale him with.

How could it be any other way? he thought, chuckling to himself, but his mirth was short-lived.

He thought about the long road that had taken him inevitably to this point. Adam wrote for the Sacramento paper for two years before finally getting a spot at the Washington Post, something he at that time thought was a dream posting. His eye glanced quickly, almost guiltily, at the picture of him beaming with both the Clintons as their time in the White House came to an end. He then looked to the one of him proudly next to Nancy Pelosi when she first became speaker, another with Chuck Schumer, and finally his favorite, the one with Obama. He was proud of the work he’d done, of the quality journalism he had contributed over the years, as well as the small and subtle ways he was able to help contribute to their, and others, political victories. Adam was perfectly comfortable using his reporting to influence important causes he believed were worth fighting for and proud to have helped forward these causes.

Why shouldn’t I be proud? he thought angrily, taking in the course of his career. Why should one damn decision ruin all this?

His eyes lingered for a moment over the various awards he had won during his career. On his bookcase was the statuette he’d won from the GLAAD Media Awards, and on his wall his James Foley Medill medal, his SPJ New American medallion, and the framed letter he’d received announcing his earning the Hillman Prize. He’d earned all these because of his writing, of his reporting, of his decision-making skills – which included sometimes what not to report for the right reasons.

So why the fuck should that decision come back on me now?!

It was during the 90s that his reputation as an excellent political reporter grew and his connections in Washington deepened, so much so that it seemed he knew what was going to happen in Congress long before most representatives did. He was proud, too, of the fact that he could call elected officials and was on a first-name basis with them, would regularly be invited the lunch to offer his opinion of various points, and was trusted with information not all journalists were.

By the decade’s end, these deep political connections allowed him to be recruited away from the Post to a position he considered even better, The New York Times. As far as Adam was concerned it was the very best situation possible: He could continue to live in Washington and cover politics, yet his words would now be published in a much larger and more respected paper.

The greater the vehicle, the greater the number of his readers. The larger his audience, the larger his influence. Adam liked that.

He stood now, walking to his office window so he could look out at Boston on this cold and rainy mid-November day. He stood arms akimbo, hands on his lean waist, looking out the large window on this iron-gray cloudy day. With dark mists hanging low, the skies matched his mood perfectly.

He recalled it was on a day much like this in the early 2000s that his already impressive career took a wonderfully radical new turn, one that would eventually lead him into the powerful news director position he now occupied. He recalled the day that his book was first published, a book about the alleged political connections of the entire Bush family and the political maleficence of the then-current Bush president, as well as the ways in which these various threads were woven together to inevitably lead to 9/11 and to pave the way for the Iraq War. The book sold well, making him fairly wealthy, but more importantly made Adam something of a celebrity within his profession and, of greater personal significance to him, within his niche of political reporters.

Sitting back down at this desk, his arms again crossed against his chest and his clean-shaven chin nestled in his hand, he reflected how that book launched him in a wildly unexpected direction. Adam’s paradigm about how to report the news had always been somewhat ossified in the era he’d grown up in, so when he thought of reporting it was always as a reporter – or editor, as he worked his way up the ranks – in a newspaper. He was not prepared for the eclipse of newspaper by digital media, but when he was offered to be the executive editor for a digital news web site called A New Day, he eagerly seized the new medium with both hands. Adam quickly realized the great reach and potential digital media had when combined with the nascent smartphones and their ubiquitous apps and knew his influence on political decision-making could grow exponentially.

He rubbed his high forehead as a headache started to develop there and ran his hands through his receding hair. What once was a thick mane of curly straw-colored hair had slowly crept further and further up his forehead, then thinned out considerably, due in part to the pressures of being involved in such a new, untested news reporting medium. Yet despite the pressure of not only entering a new process but also building all the upper floors as it grew, Adam relished the chance he’d had to influence the policymakers in Washington.

It was in this capacity that he’d made the decision that led to this still unopened email. Although the choice he made was long before he was recruited by the news network to be the all-powerful news director, long before he uprooted his life and family to move to Boston, Adam knew that decision would eventually be trouble here in his current job.

With a digital format, the way in which news is reported is very different than in a traditional setting, either newsprint or television. One important way this is so is there are far fewer paid reporters on staff at A New Day, many stories being written by reporters they would commission for a specific job, or from reporters coming with a fully developed story ready for publication. Adam had read many such articles, considered them carefully, and either made the decision to publish them or not. Though an editor in the digital outlet and no longer a political reporter, one thing he always considered in this process was the degree to which it would further the good causes for which he’d been fighting all these years.

And so it was that all the way back in 2014 a young investigative reporter presented to Adam a story alleging that a wealthy New York financier named Jeffery Epstein was not only sexually involved with minors but that he was in fact trafficking underage girls for the use of powerful people from all across the world. What made this story so salacious and shocking, and so, therefore, news-worthy was that some of the people who were allegedly raping these sex-trafficked underage girls were also some of the most powerful politicians in America.

Adam reviewed this story carefully and with trepidation. As he reviewed it again and again, he thought over the story’s details with a growing sense of foreboding.

He’d heard about Epstein before. He recalled at that time reading a story in Vanity Fair about him all the way back in 2003, although the allegations of sex trafficking had been conveniently overlooked in that article. Wanting to know more about this well-connected and mysterious financier, he’d reached out to some of his political contacts in Washington. Since no one in Washington is capable of keeping a secret, it was well known Epstein had regular sex parties with the Washington elite, and that many of the women at these parties were young – no one seemed willing, or able, to say how young, but everyone agreed that they were very young.

As he learned more about the sordid details, it became clear to Adam that this story was a potential bomb waiting to go off. Though the details seemed very well-investigated and the sources thoroughly vetted, Adam feared the potential legal consequences of publishing something like this about a private citizen without anything more tangible than several young women’s accusations. He also knew many of the victims came from poor households and feared it would look like nothing but a well-executed hit job on an immensely wealthy man simply for money. Adam didn’t want A New Day’s name associated with a potential shakedown.

But of far greater concern to Adam was the fact that by publishing this story he’d be putting the political careers of some of his favorite people, some of the most powerful and influential politicians, the people he believed in, at great risk.

After nearly two weeks of deliberation, Adam found himself weighing what was for the greater good, and he decided that would be served by quashing the story. However, rather than merely declining the story as he’d done with numerous other stories, he paid the reporter for her story and had her sign an agreement legally restraining her from discussing the details of her story with anyone outside his news organization until after publication.

A publication, of course, that would never happen.

At the time Adam felt good about what he’d done, congratulating himself on making a very difficult decision. He kept the story locked in his desk, mentioned it no one, and would never return the reporter’s calls asking when the story might be published. In time her calls become more and more infrequent, and when they finally stopped altogether, he was able to forget the story.

Until 2019, that is, when once again Epstein and his connections to the political elite of Washington were in the spotlight. Stories of his arrest and connections to various powerful elites were quickly followed by allegations that this story was well known among various media outlets, ones that simply chose to not publish or pursue it. When these claims against media outlets were made public by various reporters, Adam knew it was only a matter of time before his name was dredged up in this sordid mess.

Which is why, as Adam finally opened the email to read it, he confirmed he was right about its content. His general manager wanted to know if there were any truth to the accusations being made that he was aware of Epstein as early as 2014 and that he chose to quash the story. The tone of the email, he noted, was not at all confrontational, almost as if the general manager had heard nasty rumors she didn’t believe and, just for the sake of due diligence, wanted to check in with Adam first. That buoyed his spirits. Perhaps he could move beyond this annoyance and focus again on doing his good work.

He decided to tread a very careful line as he mostly told his general manager the truth, but either left out or embellished a few small details. Yes, it was absolutely true the story came to his attention in 2014, and yes, the decision was made to quash the story. However, it was not so much his decision as it was the higher managerial echelons at A New Day that made the choice to spike it, and he was merely the guy who had to execute the order.

Adam was just about to begin writing back to his general manager to explain what had happened when there two quick knocks on his office door and his executive producer, Teresa Sanchez, walked in, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. They met at least once every day to discuss which stories to pursue further, how to develop them, which producers should manage which stories, and all the other many things that were required to make a television news network actually work.

After about an hour of talking and planning they were done, and Teresa was just about ready to leave when she said suddenly, “Oh!”

Adam’s bright blue eyes, already normally larger and pop-eyed than the average person’s – he always had the look of perpetual wonder or surprise about him, something he thought as a political reporter was not necessarily a bad thing – grew now much wider. “What? What is it?”

“Do you remember the story on Cromwell’s Ferry we talked about a few months ago, how there’s a mist there that doesn’t seem connected to the mine fire? How we thought that’d make for a good story because maybe there was something damaging to the environment going on?”