A Very Long But Hilarious Letter

To: (protected)
cc: (protected)
Subject: Answers to both the questions

Dear (protected),

There were few questions that you had asked me in a series of emails relating to Husentruit and her co- workers, you asked of when I had met up with the crew of the ten o'clock news there. It was on a Friday night, I was coming from a store after buying myself a few pens and some notebook paper -- I remember the night as one that I was a well running dry of ideas, something that one would be a writer's block.

I had walked into Perkins to get myself a cup of joe because I didn't feel like sleeping much since it was a month after I received a severe blow to my head. I had brought a green backpack with me containing collections of manuscripts that were later stolen sometime in July that year, the contents of the pack were five books -- one of them was a Bible, a book about paganism, a collection of stories written by Edgar Allen Poe, and a book of short stories written by H.P. Lovecraft.

While I was looking through by binders, I had thought about something the youth pastor had said to me about my manuscripts -- remembering what he had called them, and said that my testimony should be the length of all my short stories put together. Pissed off at what he said, I began to think about something that would become the speculative journal titled "Inquisition -- A Narrative." I am writing him saying that he lacks compassion and a Satanist will show more compassion than him.

I have some respect him which is the reason why I am writing to him. Well as the story of how I met up with Amy Kunns goes on how I met was that I was in a booth next to their table -- they were cracking some lewd jokes and I quipped, "A friend of mine sent me an email and the end of the email message was, 'I am a baby seal, whack me in the head.' "

They responded in a jesting matter -- but they were not familiar with how morbid the jokes in Chicago and Peoria are. In fact, I share the same first name as a deceased relative whom was buried in Peoria -- his name was Nickola Pacione, but going back to the story of talking with the news team of KMIT in Mason City. I tried to ask Amy Kunns that if she knew of any dark stories born in Mason City, Iowa, but she refused to talk about it. She had no idea that I wrote my first essay that plays around with the Husentruit kidnapping. As I had described in my last letter, the dreams that I had about Husentruit were a bit gothic -- almost how what if Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King would do if they had written about the story their interpretations.

I had not spoken of the topic anymore to anyone that knew them, but another anchorwoman that I made an acquaintance with had asked me what is someone from Chicago, Illinois, doing in a town such as Mason City? I told her the reasons that I came was to find all information that I can about the Husentruit kidnapping, and I told her a little bit about haunted places that I looked into in the Chicago area being White�s Cemetery in South Barrington, Illinois, and the Marynoll College in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, which is south from my hometown of Glendale Heights, Illinois.

I was drawn by the stories of the bizarre and unusual, and I was no strangler to psychics because in the second year that I was a teenager I had sat in a session with a psychic artist in London, England, after my mother and step-father had seen her on Unsolved Mysteries -- that had been my first experience with the supernatural, and my life had been closely connected with religion and the occult.

Even when I had picked up a Bible when I was 18, I had a connection to the bizarre and had read books of vampires and werewolves while I was twelve years old. I even had dabbled with the Ouija board out of curiosity -- it was a psychic from Elmhurst, Illinois, mother of an aspiring actor and playwright, Adam George, and an editor named, Kim Bowen, of Glendale Heights, Illinois, who was a poet and worked as a model. They had been the ones that had introduced me to the open mic circuit. While I was performing the circuit, I had met up with two people that were also on the circuit. One of them was also a Christian psychic, mildly retarded and his friend had practiced shamanism.

While I had been performing, I had discovered the internet as means the get my writings out where I can get them read. While I was on there, I had met a woman that was five years older than I was and she was drawn by the mysterious writing style that I had. Peers that had came across my work had compared it to the horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, but what triggered much controversy about the work is that at the time I started writing is that I was a practicing Christian.

But the talent that the woman said I have, had later made her turn against me. She was trying to make me chose between her or my gift -- especially when we had a child together, but the state had taken him away from us. She had said to me that she was haunted by some kind of demon, a incubus, because she would have days of dream paralysis.

It was from her that I learned of Jody Husentruit while I had started talking with her on the phone three years ago, then we ended falling in love and the relationship ended because she wasn't able to change me when she thought that she was able to. She tried to change my Bohemian spirit to someone that was more traditional, as someone that was more used to growing up in a rural community. She had never been exposed to a psychic, but she called herself a solitary witch (she even said that Chicago had given her nightmares because I showed her around -- gave her a tour into the darkness that would inhabit there, meeting some of my friends who were homeless.) While I was staying with her in the February of 1998, I had first seen one of the broadcasts about their kidnapped anchorwoman. I had long believed that one who died a violent demise would remain among the living as a ghost until their killer had been placed to rest (this is "The Crow" theory, their spirits are tormented in their eternal sleep because their murderer is alive and killing again. They say that Du Page County is haunted in certain places by various murders that are appalling in nature ranging from being gang related to human sacrifice.) Things like this that had drawn my curious to the macabre and bizarre, along with the supernatural. In fact Glendale Heights had its own fortuneteller, I had met her when I started my first job at an indoor flea market when I was 16 years old.

During this time I met an older person who pretty much became my mentor. He had that psychics were just people who were masters of magician parlor tricks, but it was my friend�s mother who was a clairvoyant had said to me that my writing was a key to the astral plain because it had an eerie similarity to the writer H.P. Lovecraft. This was at the time before I owned some of Lovecraft�s books, and I had spent a long time studying seances -- and I had the interest in wanting to take part in a seance.

I had pulled out a tarot deck and would lay out a queer spread -- one with the tower card was the first to be laid down, then the death card on top of that card. The Devil was the first to be laid above those two then the eight of swords, and then it would proceed to the five of swords and five of pentacles, and once that spread was laid out -- my friends that were with me had no idea what that meant. I was told that it was one of the darkest spreads to be laid out, and it scared my friends in Naperville -- it was a two years later on that same day of February 9th, on that hour of 8:05 PM, I had received the blow to the head that the had frightened Mason City Police Department and all of the North End. The news were at the scene of the horror, about the hour that I was carted off in the ambulance -- that nightmare about Husentruit appeared to me the next few nights before I went away to Iowa City for a week.

They caught two of the people that had assaulted me, one of the officers on the scene I had became close with because she felt responsible for what the two had done. Between one of my friends, who was a security guard and I had a bad feeling that they were going to follow me back to my apartment -- to this day I had never been assaulted like that. The person that attacked me was like a Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde because he was friendly with me one week, and the next he had tried to take my life.

He would wonder why I felt like he was stalking me, but one of his other friends was out for a witch hunt because he discovered my homepage and said that my taste in music had frightened him. He had said the only way that he would hang out with me is to not listen to industrial and start listening to Def Leppard (no chance that will happen because I am being from Chicago, and industrial metal is born there.) The one that accused me of being a Satanist was named Howie McKee, a native to Charles City, Iowa.

(I never got the ones from Charles City because they would say that they were from the city, but I would tell them that I am from Chicago -- they felt intimidated because I was Italian and was born in Illinois. What does Iowans have against people from Joliet and Chicago -- must be the macabre history that follows Chicago, being the darkest city in the Midwest. There is a running joke among Chicagoans -- giving Chi-town another nickname, and it sort of stuck �The Dark City� in some ways I think that nickname suits it, we call Joliet the �City of Inmates� because of the prison. People from Joliet think the nickname is a little humorous because they send the murderers there.)

As I would continue, on I learned that the police officer that saved my life had been one of the officers that investegated the disappearence of Jody Husentruit. Some the reasons why I got jumped is that I was an outsider that knew too much about the Husentruit story, and they would say that I sounded a bit mouthy -- I couldn't help it, I am from Chicago, and seventy-five percent Italian -- third generation in this country. I take it that they never seen an Italian up close and personal, especially one that is quite gothic in their thinking. They didn�t like the way I dressed or the way I thought.

The youth pastor that I wrote to was one that was bias toward one of the people who had put me in the emergency room for losing two quarts of blood. The officer's name is (protected). She was the one that told me to lay down because I had pissed and had unstaunched wounds , but I had no idea where I was bleeding from -- I was washing the blood off my hands, but I was still bleeding. I bled enough where I should of been in bed for a few days.

My landlord had me coming into the work the next day, but she had been keeping an eye on me watching for changes in my health. She was afraid when I went walking into the downtown district because the police had yet to catch the third one. The people walking into the Velvet Touch car wash had a copy of the newpaper where they had the attack written on the second page and they covered it for a week. I could remember them wrapping me up in six blankets and a shock blanket -- I was asking where was I and what are they putting me in. I had thought at one point that I was going to die because of how much I had been bleeding, and no one in Glendale Heights would of known what had happened to me.

The workers there had said they were going to keep an eye out for the mother fuckers that had placed me in the hospital. I will often have nightmares about being in the hospital and covered totally in blood -- then I would see Husentruit's ghost in the hallway of the hospital, dressed in a long, gray velvet gown, a silvery black cape with a hood, and black hat that had a dark gray translucent, concealment which covered her pale facial features.

That had been first time in my life that I was mortally frightened -- my friend, Trent, was thinking that could of been him, and he wished that it happened to him instead of me. He was in denial that something like that would happen in Mason City, Iowa. I was thinking that Mason City was turning into Addison, Illinois, because Addison had a murder that was as fear-inspiring as the Manson Family in Los Angles -- the similarities in the murder of the mother and her three kids were that they had been each been stabbed at least sixty times, and the unborn child had been ripped out of the half-concious mother.

As I had walked to Trent's office, he notice that I looked a bit pale from what had happened -- he said, "Nick, you should be in bed because you're looking pale. Are you going to be all right? I will keep an eye out for Gepart and Murl; I am not going to let them do what they did again. I feel that what had happened was my fault." I had to convince Trent that it was not his fault, and he did the best that he could. The attackers were following me around the next few weeks; acting like they were my best freind so I will drop the charges, they were fortunate that I didn't file attempted homicide -- I had a one-time use camera concealed in the pocket of the backpack that I was carrying with me. At a thirty feet distance they were following behind me, and I had cleverly snapped the picture when they were not looking -- I had the flash of the camera turned off. I was going to use that picture also as evidence to have them tried, but they got off with a slap on the wrist because of their age.

They had continued to stalk me well into April, and one of their friends had chased me through the post office after hours; door to the main office was still open and when I tried to exit -- one of them chased me through to where I had locked myself in the postal workers office. I felt like I was in a horror film -- one of those victims that locked themself in somewhere to hid from the killer. I somethimes would think about that night -- calling the police in a frantic attempt to make a safe route back to my apartment which was right off of HW 65 and 11th N.E. Since the attack and the state had snagged my child, I had became an emotional wreck -- and just now I am seeking some kind of closure.

Since then, I had formed a circle at a place called Gothic Society in a place called CollegeClub -- founded it when I returned to Illinois for a week, and used it as a means of finding other people who had survived a violent crime as well as being a target of a modern witch hunt. Before I moved back to Illinois, the people I had thought were my friends had tried to change my look and appearence just so they can be comfortable for me to be around them -- then I discovered some of the friends that I had that had been there when I got banned from the local library had vouched for me because they knew that my email was something that I couldn't be without because that was my communication back to my friends and family in Chicago.

They were the ones that knew if I stayed in Iowa, I would of tried to take my life because the system tried to single me out because of my dark lifestyle, and trying to retain much of my individuality. This had eventually broke up the long term relationship that I had with the solitary witch who now lives in Hampton, Iowa. (I am now over her, but she sends me nasty emails from time to time -- threatens bodily harm to me. She gave the determination to try to kill my writing career before I even send out my first manuscript if I wanted to continue to stay with her as a significant other, but I couldn't give up my talents because that would eventally be the end of me -- would be the thing that would destroy me. She had been trying to get me to go back to church, and shed the back clothing -- she could change what I am, and the black is a part of me. That is my creativity and she didn't give a fuck if I gave up.)

Well I hope this letter will answer some of your questions about the man behind the horror writings, and the speculative essays. I was wondering if you can write out some of your nightmares for me because I was curious on how harrowing the nightmares that would haunt a psychic. In response to your question about goths being allergic to psychics, to tell the truth -- psychics are intriguing to the imagination of the gothic writers, and poets alike. We can learn a lot from each other -- because some would say that a horror writer does have an eerie imagination; especially when it comes to writing of supernatural horror and of things about the astral plaine. In my practice of paganism, the color black is a power color -- as would also a medium would say the same thing.

You were saying that Amy Kunns would tell you anything. What the rest of the news crew say to you? When I had spoken with another anchor, I mentioned that my hobby is chasing spectral activity. My intrest in the supernatural had carried me to Winnona, Minnesota. because I investegated the story of Heffern Hall which I later wrote of in one of my journals -- describing a nightmare that I had six days before going up there with my former roommate, who was also a horror writer; he wasn't as productive as I was when it was time to write. When I would sit at a keyboard, it would feel as sometimes an essay or a story would write itself as I would be writing this correspondence.

This had been the first time that I had corresponded with a psychic. When I was taking a public speaking course in college, at College Of Du Page, I had tried to do a speech about D. D. Home -- the instructor refused to let me have an extension on it because I had problems getting the things I need for the seance, and she was too religious; saying what I was doing was disturbing. I ended up withdrawing from the course because I fell deathly ill -- lasting three months, had to stay in bed for seventeen days.

Ever since I had written that about D.D. Home, the years that I wandered away from my grasp of the occult would later surface in my writings -- the second horror tale that I had written was about the dealings of the witchboard or Ouija board and the results of using the board. I am trying to find that novel that was written by a spirit from the Ouija board whom had called itself P. Worth (perhaps you might had heard about this case of the supernatural -- kind of a form of automatic writing.)

This was something that I had seen on Unsolved Mysteries recently and things that I have seen on Ripley's Believe It Or Not as well as Journey Into The Bizarre on The Discovery Channel. This is the reason why I wanted to join you on your next trip to Mason City, Iowa. With you, I might be able to pick up on details that I had missed when I had lived there during the year and a half -- would there be some way that you can make your way up to Joliet, or get me down to Peoria? I have been wanting to do something that is on the lines of H.P. Lovecraft colaborating with Harry Hodini (this is when Lovecraft wrote "Entombed With The Pharrohs" with Harry Hodini.) I had seen supernatural happenings ranging from a psychic artist when I was 14 to seeing someone speaking in tongues and "slain" in the Holy Ghost.

I had the Christian orientation, but I had said that Christianity was not my path because of everything that I had researched. I am going to conclude this, but when you respond -- could you go into some detail about your nightmares. This was the reason why I took my time and didn't answer you right away -- I wanted to organize what I was going to say and answer some of your questions, I hope that this would give you some insight about the horror writer from Du Page County.

Sincerely,
Nicky

Inside out -- crawling within the eternal sleep,
Inside out -- lurking inside the forgotten dreams,
Can one see within the shadows of the astral plain
inside the mind, no one can hear the dead souls scream