Although the campus was now Job Corps and a drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility, many of the old buildings and some of the old areas still remained. Some of these parts included the mortuary, a maze made of hedges, and the graveyard. These areas were strictly forbidden to enter, but everyone found access to these areas anyway.

That night they introduced me to their cult, if you can call it that. Really, just a group of kids that are looking for a way to escape is what I thought about them. They explained their beliefs to me, their beliefs were that everyone was built of certain psychic energies and that these energies were either heat or electrical. They went on with their thoughts, telling me they felt I was of the stronger electrical type. They decided I would be a great addition to the group and asked me to join. I said yes, I figured why not, just to see how this type of thing works. I was intrigued by the occult and all it has to offer, as well as the perils that could come also.

Over the next several weeks I was taught about the book Necronomicon and read it very thoroughly. This book, written by the mad Arab, was bits and pieces of spells of long ago lost. Demons that were mentioned in the book seemed to be from the mind of H.P. Lovecraft himself. As we dwelled deeper in to the magics, things started to happen around the Campus.

The third story of the girl”s dorm started to come alive at night. Noises that were haunting the dorm’s residents seemed to get louder and louder as the days passed. The third story was locked to all and no one had access to it, except the residential advisor, who lived off base. Once again the rumors started, this time about a nurse who had hung herself on the third story stairway back in the 1930’s.

One night, during a strong storm, the face on the barbeque pit exploded leaving just bits of rubble. The recreation center seemed to sprout indented mounds of earth under every tree, giving the look of graves. Reports of ghosts and demons sprung up from all over the campus and fingers were starting to point at our group, as well as the blame.

More things happened than would be able to be mentioned in this short note, but the realism seemed to be unsurpassed, by what we thought was our reality. People started to leave and concerns were increasing, wondering what was going to happen next. The residential advisors had a meeting with me and the other leaders of the group. We were told that this had to be stopped or we would be kicked out. We tried to explain that this was not our doing, and they’re reply was “Then get rid of it.”

The next day there was sharp turn that occurred in our path. A fight, one of the resident bullies decided he would stop this himself, with his, and his friends, fists. The target, was me. This happened very fast and my recollection is very dim. They approached and announced their intent. I told them to stop and that they were being ridiculous, they advanced quicker. Putting my hands out, I began to concentrate, the leader dropped to his knees writhing in pain. One of my assistants tried to stop me, but I couldn’t, he deserved this. Once I was able to come around, I stopped. I went directly to my locker, packed my things and left, never to return.

I have not practiced the arts since that time. Not even in time of need or hope. Well, that’s not totally true, there was that…well that would be another story.