THE DEVIL INSIDE.....

The Mainstream Media are remarkably coy with regard to the existence of Satanic and Ritualistic Abuse. The establishment are working around the clock to discredit, ignore and bury any story that challenges their attempts to keep it out of the mainstream.

Any connection between Jimmy Savile, the BBC and the Royal and political power structure in this country is rapidly being discredited and hurriedly erased in every possible way.

But some stories are emerging.

If anybody, is in any doubt that the establishment, working hand in glove with the Mainstream Media, are going to great lengths to make sure that any and all stories of ritual abuse are seen to be entirely without foundation, then I suggest you stop reading now.

What is recorded below, is no doubt going to be subject to the same treatment. Denial, accusations of being a complete fabrication, belonging in the realms of fantasy and worthy only of Ridicule, is the very least that I expect it to receive. .

Disclaimer: I cannot prove the following account is true as the writer wishes to remain anonymous, but what I will say is that is a very accurate description of the methods employed in ritualistic abuse, which has been reported to both myself and others and recorded elsewhere in more detail.

I have not changed anything in the following account.

The Devil Inside The Establishment

Her full story can be found at her blog, which I recommend you read, but it has to be noted that it contains triggers which may have an adverse effect on survivors of abuse…..

Daffodil Rites

“I’m not sure when I met him for the first time. I remember a man who I think was Savile sticking his tongue in my mouth when I was a toddler and a group of men in suits laughed about it. After that I taken to various places by various rings and was introduced to someone who definitely was Savile and was told not to let on I had met him before. I cant remember him being part of anything definitely ritualistic until after we moved out to the country when I was four but I have a strong sense of ritualised abuse becoming very normal to me very early. ‘I’ wasn’t hurt much during rituals before we moved, I was told they were ‘just pretend’ and was sometimes protected, I was being kept for something or someone who wanted my hymen intact and ‘fresh’ i.e. hadn’t mastered my own disassociation skills. After the move, the people who told me that ‘it was all pretend’ and ‘your not bad, they are’ were gone, except for the odd phone call.

He loved his Satanic birthday/Halloween parties. I’m not in a place to provide much in the way of gruesome details, lots of rape, sexual torture and humiliation building up to sacrifice. He sometimes talked about a girl who was ‘before’ me. One time he took me somewhere, I think it was a shed or a garage, possibly in or near the Scottish glen where I lived with a bloke I often saw him with. It might of been the same guy who he introduced as his ‘producer’ who Savile like to watch rape me sometimes. I met the before me girl he had told me about her and I remember feeling excited about being introduced. I think I’d been getting the impression that I would never live up to her. I got to chat to her for a bit I think she was pubescent aged but she talked like she was much older. She had long hair.

They took turns at her for hours and sometimes raped her together getting more and more violent then killed her. He took my hand and made me approach the body, he crouched down next to it. The floor was concrete the blood looked almost black in places. He said something, I don’t know what, I’d been told possibly by the people who said it was all pretend, not to listen to any of the crap that was spouted.

There was days being driven around Leeds or London, taken to hotels, posh houses, the hospitals. He got off on tormenting really ill/handicapped people who were locked up, restrained or couldn’t move properly. Starting off in his usual over friendly creepy, cheeky manner, then shouting louder and getting physical, sometimes rape it disgusted me through and through. There was long walks along quiet hospital corridors at night, sometimes to the morgue.

There was the ritualised rape in the basements of hospitals with his friends/associates described in those articles in the Sunday Express. I think those sessions were used to test out subjects for more extreme stuff. There was at least one murder at Broadmoor, someone had there arms wrapped around me while a young woman was raped, tortured beaten to death in front of a group of about seven or so people, there was a woman watching too I hadn’t seen many women at this stuff and I was surprised.

There were occasions when we would go to Stoke Mandeville and tell me to wait in the car, I couldn’t come in. I remember feeling quite hurt and ashamed when I was younger than I wasn’t good enough to go in but when I got older I was glad to be left alone in the car. I was often told or forced to hide when we were traveling places, cars, buses, boats sometimes to.

He didn’t like it when I didn’t think it was a treat to go on a plane.

There was plenty of occasions when I would be taken in through the front door to places, especially the BBC. Stuff happened at Maida Vale studios too involving lots of famous faces and voices that was deeply horrific and I may remember if the time is ever right. I hated seeing the way everyone had huge smiles for him and told me I was a very lucky little girl. I was introduced to lots of the high profile people who are known to have associated with him at lunches, charity gigs and stuff, sometimes he would offer me to them.

He always seemed to have a lot of power over young celebs, he would talk to them and they would bow there heads, look serious and nod. Sometimes I would ask people for help, like his secretary, staff at hospitals and I don’t seem to be up for remembering anyone else I asked.

I phoned Childline once, maybe twice. It was horrible and made me feel totally hopeless knowing that lots of the money he gave to charity came from selling me and others.

He would laugh at me when I said he was going to jail or that someone was going to stop him. He talked almost none stop sometimes but I cant remember a bloody word he said now and was probably none the wiser then either.

There was death parties out in Jersey and various other places too. I would be in the van as he moved kids about, bodies too ‘oh no no no don’t you look at that’ wrapped body shaped bundles in the back. I was always very split, and split everyone else to.

There was the Jimmy Savile who sat me on his lap, introduced me to rich and famous people at posh dos and loved me and there was the white haired man who was an evil Satanist.

For a lot of the time during my teens anything I can vaguely recognise as ‘me’ was deeply buried. But there’s his hand on the curve of my slightly swollen belly when I am about eleven or twelve and the words ‘Jimmy’s baby’. At some point something woke up in me, or us rather and he couldn’t approach me alone unless I was drugged or something because I would go for him and beat him.

I could never finish him though, maybe because I was scared, maybe because a bit of me still believed that it wasn’t his fault and he loved me really. There’s the times when I came round during rape and realised it had been happening my whole life, I saw how much his body had aged and how I wasn’t a little girl any more. But I was.

He was present and took part in abuse in my twenties, he phoned me when my baby son was abused (I got to keep this one).

I’ve no idea what he said, he sounded old, almost apologetic. I was glad the sound of his voice meant nothing. I suspect I’m not supposed to still be here.”