Everyone on Earth, likely, has heard of the infamous pedophile and sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein, who cajoled various world leaders into going with his sex schemes involving teenaged (or younger) girls. Epstein was American; Britain had its own infamous trafficker who also supposedly had ties to some in the Royal Family named Jimmy Saville, who was in fact knighted by ‘Her Majesty.’ Then lesser known is the Belgian Marc Dutroux who also was known to attract world leaders, who was tried several years ago and one can research. And there are others from various nations. Also in the US was the Franklin Scandal of the 1980s and1990s that one can research involving many US politicians.
But my The Prodigal Band Trilogy characters are (mostly) Brits. So when one of my favorite alternative news sites, WinterWatch, posted an article about pedophilia and sex trafficking in the UK was almost standard operating procedure among that nation’s elites, that piqued my interest as a snippet topic. Not necessarily sex trafficking, but mostly pedophilia and especially child abuse (which IMHO is part of pedophilia) even using very young children as victims. Here is the link to find out more about this likely truth.
The first and second snippets go beyond simple child abuse and into child sacrifices. These two snippets both refer to members of an elite satanic cult using very young children in sacrificial blood-drinking rituals to initiate new members into their evil cult. In 1995 in a ritual within Baron Torquay’s dungeon below his manor, tech CEO Mark Besst is being initiated into the Hellyon cult and drinks the blood of the tiny victim. Then he and Torquay discuss this event later at a ‘party’ in Torquay’s ballroom. From Chapter Six of The Prodigal Band:
Enter Mark Besst—The Making of a Hellyon, the Inner Circle, 1995
Allyson Hallsey-Foxworth took a potion meant to cause mild hallucinations for Mark Besst during his initiation into the Hellyon Society Inner Sanctum and slipped it into the water he was about to drink.
“Here you go, Mark. Water. You must be thirsty after all that sex.”
He took the water and drank it. “Thanks, I needed that.”
He did not notice any difference in taste of the water due to the potion, which would cause him to become drowsy enough so that Hellyon minions could bind him and place a black hood over his head as part of the initiation, and cart him off to Torquay’s dungeon for the Inner Sanctum Hellyon ritual.
And when Mark was standing at the foot of the altar as Baron Torquay thrust a sword into a terrified two-year-old orphan as a sacrifice to Satan-Lucifer-Corion, he would consider the event an episode of heightened consciousness, as if he was in a state of Buddhist nirvana.
And so it was, at the altar, when Melanie Ross, at his right side, in nothing but a hooded black robe, handed him a 24-carot gold cup of the sacrificial blood, which he slurped robustly.
The chanting of a satanic prayer began, but the Hellyon on his left side, Ally, implored, “Don’t drink it all, Mark! Leave some for the rest of us!”
The Hellyon closest to Torquay at the baron’s right, the last to sip the blood, was Marty, the Duke of Effingchester. After partaking, he threw the cup against the opposite rock wall and proclaimed, at the end of the ritual, “Come, O Lord Lucifer! This world is yours! And now Mark Besst is yours!”
Above ground in the ballroom of Torquay Hall where millions of dollars’ worth of gold, diamonds, pearls, and human bones and teeth were strewn, the Hellyons celebrated their newest member into their Inner Sanctum.
Torquay, half-naked in a satin black half-robe that nearly exposed his manhood as well as his somewhat flabby legs—he was 65—went up to Besst and grabbed his right arm, turning him around. “Your company success is now assured, and your competition will be destroyed, Mark. You will own the online media, completely. You will help us control planet Earth. Literally. Our Lord Lucifer will make you a god. Literally! For we, all of us here, are gods and goddesses.” Wicked laughter. “We rule the Earth at the behest of Our Lord.”
“Including Ally and Melanie?”
“Allyson Hallsey-Foxworth is 36, but she looks 16, right? Our Lord Lucifer keeps her young and maybe the sexiest woman alive. She drinks aborted fetus blood often. In fact, her company and foundation owns many abortion clinics on Earth, even in places like China. And Melanie? Same thing, but she has an even darker nature. She is the one that buys and sells babies and children for Ally and the rest of us. She now owns over one thousand orphanages and controls the ones my father used to own. She and Marty. And no one who works at these places will ever dare challenge either one of them. As with my father,” he laughed, again wickedly, “they despise the masses and want their flesh and their blood.”
“Really? Well,” Mark laughed with a smirk, “they need to save some for me.”
Eight years later while Baron Torquay is on his death-bed in July, 2003, he, his son–band manager Joe–and the six band members surrounding Torquay’s bed bring up another sacrifice ritual on an infant that Joe was forced to witness as a child himself. The doer of the sacrifice was Joe’s evil grandfather, Aston, who is compared to Dracula! From Chapter Sixteen of The Prodigal Band:
Then Joe turned to the six again. “It was my grandfather, the seventeenth Baron, who founded the Hellyons. His name was Aston Torquay-Lambourgeau. And Aston was perhaps the most evil man ever. You’ve heard of Vlad the Impaler and Count Dracula, I take it.”
“Dracula?” Jack said. “I think the whole bloody world has heard of that guy!”
“Well, I will say this. Count Dracula had nothing on my grandfather! I mean, guys, this man literally was a vampire.”
“Yes, boys, Aston drank blood continuously, at every meal.”
And on and on as six men in their thirties started feeling nauseous.
“And it was Boris, my mother too, but mainly Boris, that made me feel that life was worth living. And then he died, and then my mother died. Then fortunately for me, my father. He had drunk blood from a diseased orphan. Septicemia. The bastard deserved every vile drop of this blood!”
“But you had already married, father.”
“Yes, to a cousin. Inbreeding. But, boys”—he said to the six—“that is how the Effingchesters and Torquay-Lambourgeaus have survived. Inbreeding. And I think that is why so many of our clans partook in the evil. Inbreeding. It is as if it was in our DNA.”
“Father,” Joe then said sharply, “it is not in my DNA!”
“I know, Joe. And as much as I had hoped you would be a Hellyon, I was always glad you did go off on your own. Especially after I forced you to do the will of Aston when you witnessed that Hellyon sacrifice of that baby boy.”
“Okay,” Bry cut in. “Can we stop the sacrifice stuff? I mean, I’m feeling like I want to throw up here!” And his band mates agreed.
“But young men, that witnessing I think is exactly why Joe here has never accepted the evil. Joe was too traumatized by it. And that is exactly the way I wanted it! That is why I forced Joe into it.”
The third snippet is also beyond mere child abuse but is not exactly ‘sacrificial.’ In a previous post I had a snippet whereby guitarist Jack was badly abused by his father, a member of a bogus ‘Christian’ cult, who beat Jack over the head with a Bible for not being about to recite a Bible verse. But the abuse didn’t end with his father, as the cult leader, in this snippet, did something much worse, on an Easter Sunday in 1977. From Chapter Thirteen of The Prodigal Band, Jack tells his band mates about this incident, within a timeless void. On Earth it is July 9, 2001.
“Are you ready for church, my son?” Art Lubin could be nice to his son at times, when he had to be. He had to be on this day as he did not want to clue Jack in to what would await him shortly.
“Ready. Do I look dressed for the service, dad?” And why is he smiling at me? Are they having an Easter egg hunt, or what? And why Easter, anyway? They don’t really worship Jesus.
“You look ready, me lad. It’s an old suit, but it serves you just fine.” Smile. “Well, then, Jack, let’s, as Pastor Righteous would say, ‘get the show on the road’.” Laughs.
“That was the clue, eh? That’s when I knew who that ‘Beast’ guy was. When he said ‘get the show on the road’.”
When the father and son entered the decaying, formerly Catholic, church building through the double doors, two male elders grabbed Jack by the chest just as his father let go of the boy’s hand—the signal to grab the boy. As the boy screamed for his father, the man continued walking to find a seat on a church bench as the organist played.
That will teach you to disobey the Pastor! But Art’s face was not smiling. Just don’t kill my son, please, Pastor Righteous! He’s all I have now.
There was a large curtain surrounding an enclosed space on the altar floor and dais from where the pastor would give his sermon. As cult members began sitting on the benches, they heard shouts and yells of help from behind the curtain. But soon the cries stopped.
As Pastor Righteous took the stair to the dais on the altar floor, about to give his sermon about Jesus Christ’s death at the cross based on Matthew’s Gospel, the curtain was removed.
Exposing a crucifixion cross. And tied arms and legs to the cross was Jack. He was quiet now because he had been given a sleep potion. He hung there, but able to breathe since the cross was tilted backwards at a forty-five degree angle.
My next snippet post will be in early May and will be of a better spirit. Cheers!
The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.