What you will find in this area are theories and fact-based stories that didn't quite fit in as "spooky stories"; things that are definitely worth putting up but that I could not fit into any other specific category. Everything here will be posted as submitted.

So if you're just looking for some cheap thrills and nothing too serious, (hehe), you should go back and look in the Story Archive or the Short Stories or Urban Legends. Heck, even the Pictures.

If you have an idea or need some help, bounce it off of here. Just e-mail me at the address below and title it "Theory" and I'll post it. If you have an answer to a question you see here or think you can help, e-mail me and title it "Re: Theory" and I'll post that. Let me know what you think.

Tinkerbell
Paul Schroeder

Giordano Bruno- February 1600 (burned at the stake by Church Bishops for teachings against the Church)
"Innumerable suns exist! Innumerable earths circle around their suns, no worse and no less inhabited than this globe of ours. For no reasonable mind can assume that heavenly bodies that may be far more magnificent than ours would not bear upon them creatures similar or even superior to those upon our human Earth."

Dr. Gary Lincoff and his wife, Susan were boating on North Conway Lake in New Hampshire, near the North Conway mines, on May 13, 1998. The paddled into a deep hidden canyon, entering between huge boulders which formed a narrow gateway. They had been there before and made love in the wild flowers in a field. They pulled the boat up onto the narrow beach shadowed by overhanging willows and had a cold lunch of chicken and white wine. It was a pristine landscape to wander in and dream. Soon they felt the air vibrate strongly like an explosion's aftershock.

"What in God's name was that?" Susan asked.

Her husband answered, "I'll bet it's a shockwave from a dynamite explosion at the North Conway mine."

"But there was no sound, and we're miles and miles from the mine."

He thought for a moment, "You're goddamned right."

He climbed the boulder behind him and he said, "I should be able to figure out what has happened if I can see out over the lake from up there."

"You'll probably fall and kill yourself," his wife warned.

After hard climbing he reached the top which was split and he could look out through a sharp cleft in the rock. Two large, shiny, round craft floated on the water just beyond the narrow entrance to the cove. What he had seen was so unbelievable that he scrambled down to get his wife. Both climbed to the well hidden perspective. Both craft were fifty to sixty feet wide, about twenty feet thick at the center and fifteen feet thick at the rim. Round, black-edged ports covered the rim at a distance of every four feet. On the top sides, hatch covers were open and moving slowly around its surface were spindly creatures who moved in unison like robots. On both ships over their heads from a central position was a slowly rotating hoop-shaped object.

When the hoop reached a point directly opposite the husband and wife it stopped. So did the creatures. They stared toward the couple's hiding place and remained motionless.

The husband pulled at his wife's dress, "Jesus, get down." Both did. They were sure the creatures had spotted them. They hid until they noticed that a deer below had come to the water's edge to drink. They hoped that the strange creatures were watching the deer and they rose for another look. The hoop was rotating once more, operated by a creature standing below it, who wore a small, scarlet head covering. All were small and wore close-fitting dark suits and blue helmets.

One creature placed a shiny green hose in the water, drawing in water and at the same time discharging something from another hose.

Again the hoop stopped and all the figures froze. They stared toward the couple on the rock. Husband and wife ducked and counted to thirty before they inched up for another look. Two hours later, dazed and confused, missing time, the couple ambled back into their boat and headed for home. They were both grim faced and neither spoke for the whole trip back, and the further they traveled from the lake, the more their amnesia of the incident grew.

That night, as his son slept, he stole into the bedroom and removed three books by J.M.Barrie; he felt strongly protective and oddly repulsed by the idea of Peter Pan, a never-aging figure who comes down from the sky and floats children out of their bedroom, accompanied by a little ball of light: Tinkerbell.

A Tapping
Author: Paul Schroeder (Cecropia999@aol.com)

A tapping, delicately, on my back. I am sitting up on a table, feeling gentle taps on my back, watching a series of images; myriad tables receding into infinity, like two mirrors facing each other.

Farmers milking cows; on each table, a person is sitting up and examined by a small, slim, white, intent, fragile, large eyed creature. Their fingers probe lightly, gently, purposely, like playing a piano.

They are milking Chakras or Kundalini nerve centers, seven along each person’s spine. Their touches stimulate hidden DNA sequences as well as retrieve and store data and information along the length of the spinal chord, along a library of nerves.

Like ants milking aphids they spend careful time and effort, gently, delicately, fingering each spine in a long sequence of tables, like marionettes playing human harpsichords.

These manipulations of spinal nerves initiate secret, as yet unbidden DNA sequences, which dangerously age and disease and trouble the somatic body and mind of an abductee. After an incident my finger and toe nails have to be trimmed twice every day; early sequences causes acceleration of aging and growth of certain cells. There are horrible psychic and emotional results from activation of these spinal sequences too quickly as well. Interdimensional leaking occurs; one senses other wordly creatures and flirts with the beast of madness, itself.

What is subtly being programmed, stored and retrieved In our spinal chords? We are Manchurian candidates of stellar proportions.

Interdimensionl bleeding through into our dimension? Pranks predominate. Objects disappear to return days later in strange places. I entered the back of the house, passed by enormous four foot wide, four foot tall flower pots, each weighing as much as a man, blooming red with tropical ten foot tall canna plants.

I opened the back door and entered the vestibule into the kitchen; I could not take another step. Glancing backward over my shoulder, I saw that both pot were turned over, the enormous elephant ear-like leaves sprawled to the ground, in a fraction of a second. The despair and confusion and poltergeist shock was so profound, that I stopped and prayed aloud for a spiritual sign.

“God, if there is a spirit world and it is real, and I can ask for protection, send me a sign: God, send me a white bird, up close and personal, in my face, on my window, as a sign”

I put my whole heart and soul and angst into this prayer and minutes later, busy else where, I forgot it, as it promptly receded into the recesses of my mind.

The next day, on route to work, following the same path I always drive, I made a right turn and over the street of cars I saw a cloud of some one hundred gulls, hovering, wheeling, circling overhead as if attracted by garbage or dumpsters, although none was in evidence. As I glanced up at the raucous flock, one white gull swerved to within an inch of my windshield, glossing passed and made eye contact with me. It lasted maybe two seconds.

Preoccupied with driving and having totally forgotten my fervent spiritual request from the night before, I drove on, momentarily startled, but dully unaware of it’s significance.

After a strenuous day at work I returned home, lit a prayer candle and began to voice again my special request for a sign when I remembered the morning gull. I HAD asked for a white bird on my window, up close and personal. Had I been given that sign the very next morning? I decided to be skeptical but not cynical. If I saw any gulls in the area anywhere while in transit on the way to work for the next two weeks I would know it was a coincidence or a quirk of fate not a sign that I asked for. Why was the black eye of that bird, which whizzed passed so fast, so fixed in my mind?

For two weeks, each day, I scanned the horizon and landscape for a sign of gulls hovering, as I believed a flock so large would certainly reappear somewhere. I never saw one bird. I decided I had been given a wonderful sign and it has given me the courage and the confidence to feel protected in this fight against the unseen harassing entities.

Abductions
Author: Paul Schroeder (Cecropia999@aol.com)
Within a blackness, a voice, intoning, resonant and deep, over and over and over. What a beautiful child, such a lovely child. I am walking to a parade; excited blare of crowds and distant drums and trumpets propel me foward, holding two children , one in each hand, as I rush expectantly eager that these small two experience the thrill and joy of what is obviously a people- lined event, just ahead. In my right hand is a small child of pe rhaps six, in the other a frail, grey, long-armed and long-legged sickly tubular creature-child who couldnt keep up; I swept this odd child up onto my shoulders and felt its joy; it was a handica pped, ailing entity, sadly listless and lifeless. The scene chan ged, as did the perspective; I was looking down at this tubular d iapered child on a bed as I heard that deep resonant voice sugges t I change its diaper. I was never an eager changer of diapers w ith my own children when they were babies, choosing sometimes to neglectfully leave a full ripe pungent baby for their mother to change, who was due home any moment. I recoiled at the suggestio n to nurture and care for it; both the creature and its toilet ne eds clearly repulsed me, as I examined it closely. I awoke, conv inced that my experience was similar to others in attempts to hav e offspring reunited with somatic abductee parents for nurturance as these hybrids seem to be expiring. And that the word we use; dreams, is simply an inpotent problem with our language's inabil ity to describe it, the experience in any other way. Mass abduct ions are the taking of many people in an area at the same time, folding time and space in a manner beyond belief so that no time missed is noticed by abductees. As a loose rule abductees soul-personalities have agreed to participate in these abduction s at a distant point in time, as a spiritual agreement and these people are often virtual peace offerings between warring alien factions as somatic banks to periodically retrieve somatic tissue from people with alien DNA; most abductees have alien DNA. They locate us as children to begin this tampering and it continues regularly, throughout life.I refuse to acknowledge this agreement as this particular personality of mine has been purposely made aware of these intrusions and as such reflect a clear violation of spiritual rights, in their continuing.I have dragged my feet and refused cooperation; they change tactics and redouble their efforts. I enlist the spiritual help from the same dimension that they use to enter and they lend demons into the equation as spitework, muddling the picture. Tell yourself that you will remember and vague and vivid snippits will remain which you can unfurl at leisure by worrying the edges of the snippet; what happened just before and just after will intrude, slowly, until a fuller grasp entails. They now give me screen memories that are dreamlike in nature and wrap me in general blackness at other times so that I awake with nosebleeds, scoop marks and exhaustion without vivid remnants to recall. But the screen memories are so aligned with their negative thoughts that the scenarios reveal that they are imposed, by virtue of their worst scenario plots and their vividness. They are masters of delusions and can have you dreaming a snug little dream while they march you around their craft for various nefarious purposes, and most are none the wiser. I resent and frustrate their entrances, approaches and goals when I resist and their tempers ill befit the advanced technology they have. Since they primarily wait until you are in REM sleep, lucid dreaming works well to detect and interact with them and is worth all the trouble it takes to master techniques of lucid dreaming. Prayer works only if it is effective and repetitious and none of the standard appeals to saints and Jesus works, but repeating GOD over and over does set up a different vibrational level that can instantly end an abduction if one had the presence of mind; that's where lucid dreaming comes in. Despair not; as they are psychic and have implants within you that see and hear what you do, repeat often and with severe indignation to leave you alone, now and forever; they'll hear you and then wait and see their reaction; never fear; they feed etherially from negative fears; love them away and they'll be puzzled enough to sit down and think things over before they come again. Remember that creeping anxiety is the signature symptom of their intrusion and that if you feel that fear building that they're aleady inside. Treat the anxiety as though it were a person and order it away, in the name of God, you'll see that the feeling abates instantly but like yellow jackets at a picnic they unerringly try again, over and over; fighting them is a 24 hour 365 day job from now on. I, too, am convinced that effective repeated prayer that repells can and does work for me, intermittently; the entities whom abduct are unseen but the entities who assess the testing I've been submitted to are flat like a gumby character, white like a refrigerator, tall, hooded and telepathic in nature. The brain is somehow detached from the front of the brain, where one's shoe hangs before ones eyes but one can't discern just what it is; that's what looking out of the craft's window and seeing nebulae and stars was like, precisely stated. The perspective was waking to find I was asleep wrapped in delusional thoughts and scenes, I later discovered that these entities, just outside of sight, were keeping me and a host of others, during a mass abduction, on short, psychic, surreal leashes of control while manipulating them around the craft for various purposes. The psychic nature of these entities is most uncannily canny and most who experience an abduction will not recall being inside an alien craft or will dismiss these vivid flashbacks as dreams. My only clue was awakening with the joy of dreaming about a wonderful wood inlaid staircase that brought me a rapture; it was unfurling, backwards, in my mind. The events around the picture and joy recalled at the staircase that revealed it was a ploy to erase the stars and nebulae I'd seen outside the window; a cruel mind controlling taunt that ultimately backfired for the controlling mind reading entity that imposed it. There is much yet to be remembered.

Alarm Clock Demons
Author: Paul Schroeder (Cecropia999@aol.com)
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 interdimentional door, left open, invites the gangster fringe element of the spirit world; sometimes demons are thrown into the equation as spitework 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 envelopement and the inherent visciousness 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 vibrational 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 snippits 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 have shockedly unlearned 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 undigestible 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 eveything 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 enroute 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 ajuts 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 supt 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 deeping 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 fishhhooks, 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 macrame 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 predictament 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 monsterous 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 etherial feasting but dazzled at the raw power of the attack; the totality of sensory construction and the visciousness inherent in the scenario. I am beset with demons; negative thought entities who are malovelent 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 malovolent 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! 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 interdimentional creature; note the veination 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 been snuck into faith by the rear door. The last sentence of the letter accompanying this pix was;
MAY ALLAH PROTECT US ALL FROM DEVILS

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