Well recently he did it again
I just hate you with every bone in my body. You're going to wish all you want to see me locked away but we all know that I got some of my freedom the day you left me. You still want to slap me across my face for what I am saying here, this is my blog and I can say what I wish when I wish. You hold no control over what I say or what I do. Maybe that son isn't even mine.yet even though I had already posted damning evidence before, I remembered having more, which I just found from his now deleted livejournal from 2003 courtest of my N: drive. What I am about to post here hasn't been seen in years...
Date: 2003-01-30 00:09Nicky we did this before. Everyone knows that you know you are the father. Most importantly the great state of Iowa does which is why they were smart enough to write you out of the picture for good. The sad yet comedic slant in your plan is that if anyone ever does try to seek you out, fandomwank and Encyclopedia Dramatica's pages on you show up on the first search page, guaranteeing that anyone that seeks you out online will learn the truth about you that you don't want known.
Subject: from father to his non-custodial son
Music: Theory of a Dead Man
Happy birthday son -- it is your fourth birthday last night. It was four years ago that I was in the hospital with your mother (even though the mother and I are not talking, we will always be your parents.) I will always be here for you even though the state would not allow me to be your father, my mind was too far gone and need to get the help I needed before I even began to be a father to you. A year ago I did a post like this and one of the longest I had done on livejournal in a long time along with the one on my birthday; I think of you all the time my son. This was about three years ago in Feburary that I had to sign you away to adoption, it kills me every time when the holidays come around and when your birthday is here and gone. I hope that your family who is looking out for you is doing a good job since if I tried to write a letter to you, I know that the bitch Blankenship would not make sure you get it. I still have a hate for her that is very strong as it was in 1999 -- but this post being that you are now four years old but when you turn 14 or 15, that your family would allow you to seek out the father that loves you but the state would never let you see. Your mother might hate me and I never speak with her -- it doesn't mean that we don't love you though. I don't know how she is taking it when she had to adopt you out -- but when I had to sign those papers it felt like the very thing that was keeping me alive was no longer there. So I continued with my writing in vain hopes that when you do find me, that you would find that first then seek me out. I will be 38 when you are old enough to seek me out, that would be a long time though because of the fuck ups of the system Iowa is.
Of course if you don't believe Nicky, there's always that writer friend of his Theo Wolfe who wrote Loss of Blood. In fact let's read that again, shall we? If you don't want chronic eye bleeding from reading one of his pieces of shit from beginning to end, the following story has the important parts in bold so you can skip past the over dramatized garbage he wrote years ago. (please note some names have been removed, others purposely misspelled)
Tuesday, February 9th, 1999, the Loss of BloodNot to mention my previous post pointing out all the other numerous times he admitted to being the father.
Written by Theodore Wolfe and Nickolaus Pacione
Introduction--LIFE IMITATES HORROR:
Those of you that may have read most of my fiction may not know where my imaginations come up with such terror, but that is a creation of my own imagination. In the years that I had spent reading H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allen Poe, and Stephen King -- horror is taken from reality as well. Theodore saw a copy of the police report that I had hand written, and was reading books written by John Saul (he, his wife and Melany (lol wat) told me to look into him,) H.P. Lovecraft, Robert Bloch, and as well as books of true crime such as case studies of Jeffory Dhamer and Jack The Ripper -- for me this is a true story when I had moved to Mason City's North End, I was actually jumped outside of my apartment.
I told Theodore of the case after he read the police report in the local newspaper. I wrote the rough draft under the suggestion of Officer Jessica Buckman because she was the officer on the scene when I was beaten down -- and said that I can make the report into a gothic tale. Theodore is a young writer, and grown up in New Hampton, Iowa, that was interested in writing out my police report as a story. I gave him the go ahead and this is what he'd come up with. It is based on what had happened February 9 to me.
Theo had been wanting to write a story on the lines of Robert Bloch and Stephen King, then read some of my fiction in a coffee house while I was waiting for my bus in Des Moines. Then using my police report, he wanted to write something that is likely top scare the shit of someone from Iowa as well as in Chicago Illinois. His wife, (lol wat again)whose name is also Melany, liked the idea and I gave him the go ahead, with Buchman's and my input -- "Loss of Blood" born. He gave me the rough draft, then with Barbara A. Oldham while on my break from work -- made the final revisions, as it would read similar to either "Method Into The Heart Of Madness" or "The Wrong Side of The Tracks" then made a reference to "The Comatose Letters." After I'd been reading the rough draft, at 20, Theodore is still learning the talent, the gift.
--Nickolaus A. Pacione
final revisions: February 9 - 14, 1999 Feb. 9 1999:*
After all this happened and I had time to calm down and think, There was a lot more I could remember and thought I better let the PD know. The altercation at the South Bridge mall happened when about four males and three females, all under the age of 18, were involved -- one was a coworker named Elizabeth (Liz) Anderson, 17. She harassed me about working Friday the 12th, when she knew that I already had plans to go see my (child) and fiancee, Melany in Iowa City. At this time, I'd told Anderson to leave me alone . Then I walked through the youth center in the mall. I talked to a youth pastor Larry Day about getting a ride to Iowa City. I called John from the Assembly Of God church. I left from there -- Murl , Gelpart, with another young man followed me into a book store where a friend of mine works. From there I asked, "What do you want and why are you guys following me?" I said, "I hope you realize I can get you two for stalking and harassment." Gelpart said, "Just tell me what you said and I will leave you alone, if not I will make your life hell for the rest of the days you live in Mason City " . Gelpart said that someone told him I said that his baby was ugly when I didn't even know the child, and when I had a newborn (child) of my own.
I said to him,"That's an out right lie and you know it!!!" Gelpart still didn't budge then An, a friend of mine who worked got right in front of him and told him to leave but he just waited out side of the store. From there I gave An eye signal to call security and mouthed it .The security guard , Trent showed up . I asked him to keep an eye on Gelpart, 17, and Murl, 16. I walked across the hall to the Zoo , another business in the Mall. When I was standing there I was watching for Sean and D. J. And I saw Sean make a motion as he was going to slit my throat.
When Trent showed up to the Zoo, he told me I better get my ass out of there and he that he'd will keep a look out. He tried to keep them occupied while I made my exit to J.C. Penny's. When I exited J.C. Penny's, one of Gelpart's friends tried to corner me so then I darted back into J.C. Penny's. When this occurred, I was looking for the security guard again . Then the guard, Trent walked with me to the employee's hallway , then called the police In the mean time, my coworker, Liz and Sean's sister with another girl whom I did not know was on the SE. end of Mall waiting for me to go out of the building that way. Right before the police officer had shown up, Gelpart jumped in the face of Trent , the security guard, he said "I'll floor you right now, mother fucker!!". I just looked on not saying a word, but then he'd shouted at me saying that I am next. I said you lay one hand on me and I'll have you handcuffed and butt raped in prison. That's when the woman Police officer, Buckman, showed up and then she asked what was going on , first to Sean and then D.J. (probably Dale Murl), which I found out later his name , after every thing was done and over at the Mall. I decided to walk over to a friend's house where I used to stay at . She wasn't home so I decided to walk on home but I was keeping an eye out for Gelpart and Murl because I'd known what type of people they are . When I walked back to my apt. I was greeted by three individuals and it was Sean's younger sister and my Coworker, Liz, a young male -- about 18 with Sean's sister said, "I would slit your fucking throat if I had a knife right now, you Goddamned snitch!!"
My coworker, Liz , tried to keep me from entering my home. They tried to keep me talking until Sean, D.J., and another juvenile, a runaway who had escaped from Waterloo's Juvenile Center, Jason Scholby, 15. Jason showed up and was already at the gas cause he must of received a ride to the gas station next to my apartment from some one. Liz, my coworker, said in an evil tone, " Sean is going to kick your ass, and you'll not going to go to the Police about it -- I'll make sure of that myself. They are going to pull you off some where , where no one can find you so you won't narc on any one else -- maybe if you are lucky, they just allow you to breathe."
Her motive was that she wanted me murdered, as the person named David Gordon did back 1993 at the DAVEA Career Center in Addison, Illinois, but her motive was that I was the one that turned Murl( That happened in mid Aug. 1998, when I narced on D.J. ( Dale R. Murl, Jr. ., on a possession of marijuana and assault charges which he was on parole for.) Liz said, "Nick, you are a constant narc and you don't deserve to live." (Later, after this all came about I was told by a couple sources that she wanted to plot my death -- it was while Barb and I were typing up the rough draft of the police to turn into Buckman, of The Mason City Police Department.)
As I looked over my shoulder, and I thought "Oh shit, I better take off to the east and then north to the store where I work because there was a tall male, which I had later been told to Jason Scholby, the Waterloo Runaway." Gelpart had caught up with me at the door of the shop where I work. I felt a violent pulling as I tried to open the front door. As I opened the door, I screamed in terror to Barb," BARB!!! BAAAAAAARRRRRBBB!!!!! Call the police!!!! Now !!!! NOW Dam It !!" Sean had pulled me outside by my left sleeve and my upper chest was still in the store -- then I felt something hard hit the top of my head, a weapon of some kind and my Boss Barb screamed at her husband Jack to come up and Jack pulled me into the store and pushed Sean off me . Then Barb told me to stay in the store and she was going to see what was going on. I then took off my quilted flannel then my black t-shirt and went into the bath room because I felt something warm, pulsing liquid on my back. I then thought, "Shit!! Oh God-- no, I cannot be bleeding!!" Tried to wash my hands and thought, no I better let the police see me first.
After Barb called the police, it seemed to be hours because I was bleeding pretty horribly, and in my eyes -- I was looking at my hands in terror because all the voices around me were as an echo as in a cavern of pipes and concrete. At this time, Buckman had seen what had happened to me -- the blood flowing down the front of my face, and five pools of blood on the floor. She told me to lie down and do not move because I had lost about a quart of blood -- more than what I'd lost when I was bit by a good sized rat in the shop. I'd lost enough to cover two mid-sized towels. Then Buckman told Barb to call the ambulance -- I could see at the corner of my eye that the EMTs had gotten there about 8:45 PM. I heard one of them tell me that he was going to roll me over into the stretcher -- I felt a chill of death on my skin as how I can describe it, and my skin was pale as a vampire from an Anne Rice novel. I felt something around my head, a gauze with another dressing to stop the bleeding.
I murmured to the EMT that I was cold so they covered me up in five blankets then I was asked to grip the EMT's finger -- I could barely move because I was harnessed to the fucken stretcher and wrapped as damned mummy. I felt three EMTs lifting me up through the door -- with one of my neighbors from the apartment and Officer Buckman looking on as I was centered on a cart. It is here I felt something like the sleeping bag I would use -- but similar in the material, that the EMTs would use to wrap me in while I was riding in the back of the ambulance that reminded me of the scene in Halloween II where Lorie Strode was taken to the hospital. The Police Officer who walked in the back said that they will follow behind to North Iowa Mercy Hospital.
In my mind at the time when I lay in the stretcher, all I could think about are if I am ever going to see my son again -- this is the darkest fears of a young father because how bad I thought I was beaten. And as I slept, all I could think about are the nightmares that haunted me about how many people had wanted me murdered. One had said that I should not be thinking about such horrors, but as this happened -- I have to reflect and relate, the closest I can relate is the attempted murder in Addison, back in October of 1993, while I was still in Glenbard East.
February 10, 1999:
It had been almost twelve hours to the horror that occurred outside my apartment --of when I got brutally attacked by a blood thirsty individual. Indeed, one would ask what had happened because the incident appeared in the newspaper in Mason City. In my mind, I'd could only think of the most horrific attack on oneself and of the trip to the Emergency Room -- the picture in my mind was of the pool of blood that I was lying in from the hour that I was beaten down by a tall, thin individual. His face was long and hair was a dirty blonde that he kept tied in a ponytail. His eyes had a darkly blank stare to them -- as a demon that Pacione's fiancee, Melany had spoken of in her dreams, as well as the nightmare Melany had after Pacione given her a tour of the place called Ravenswood. As I was lying on the stretcher, I was able to see the nightmare clear inside -- I am barely awake, but very weak because of the loss of blood.
When I saw the blood on the floor, I was thinking that I was not going to live to see the next day because I had been bleeding as heavy as the day that I lost part of my finger -- I was living out a horror tale that would appear on Pacione's web site where He'd written the tale, "The Comatose Letters." My terror was becoming quite real because I'm quite nervous when I walk around the North End of Mason City, Iowa, near where N. Albert's friend had messed up his arm in a fight during mid September on the North End, near the apartment where Nick had made his home. It was last night, that I'd been attacked and the thoughts inside were quite unspeakable as the pictures Pacione would describe of his nightmarish images -- I found myself lying on my back thinking, "God -- Oh Dear God, I am bleeding -- I'd been fucking cut, but where?" All that I could see is a police officer in her mid 20s, telling me to lay down and stay calm. I shouted, " I want this mother fucker in handcuffs, and make sure that his hands are bleeding because the cuffs are tight around his goddamned wrists!"
I was still shaking at the time when the female officer had been on her knees until the EMTs had appeared to the place where I had been lying down. My skin was quite pale from the shock of what had just occurred -- pale as the flesh of a vampire that had just been embraced, such thoughts one had were of not being able to see my wife (haha wat) and son ever again because how much blood that one had lost. But the picture of the black shape, a 17 year old male -- a minor who had the personality complex equal of Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. Something of this nature is always frightening, in the sense that something is going down as the fight of Pacione's friend was in on the North End of Mason City. As what Nickolaus described in his nightmares about walking around in Chicago -- near the town where he lived seeing graffiti from a local gang, I'd seen similar shadows in Mason City before moving out of New Hampton, Iowa, to live in Mason City.
Last night, as I'd fallen asleep -- I dreamed that I was walking the streets of Downtown Chicago with Nickolaus as my guide, and what he had showed I was pictures of a frightening nature. Such pictures that he told me in a letter were as icily frightening as what he'd wrote of in his fiction are of the darkest fears inside his mind, but as what I'd been told that one should not be writing of such things because it is the work of an unsound mind. In one way or another, Nickolaus had been considered a madman in the eyes of a rural city because of the dark, vampire-like thoughts that he describes about his nightmares. Such as what had happened to me last night, my wife had known nothing of the horror that I sit down to type in my personal journal -- one that I describe was of the loss of blood that was invoked by the beating on the North End that had taken place.
It was a horror film playing over and over as a story of Nickolaus' would quickly be unleashed about 8:30 in the evening -- in one's mind when I got beaten down the night of February 9th, one cannot begin to imagine the horror that is crawling around inside one's mind that would drive another to beat another down. Only as this thought lurks inside -- I am a bit touchy, touchy with a sense of dread. A dread that appears in form a loss of blood that is slowly dripping on the floor -- similar to the darkening paranoia inside the morbid fears as one would fall into a dark, tormented sleep. The dream that I had was of a tall, heavy set individual smashing in the door of my place on the South End of town -- with the intent to slash open my throat. The individual was that of a demented personality -- making Norman Bates seem like a better person to hang around with than him.
One of those that I dread if my wife (lol haha wat), Melany *, and young (child), (name withheld), would fall victim to what his motives are. The horror in my mind that I'd find them on the floor, cold and lifeless because he'd taken their life -- before I would even return from work, but as I'd seen this I'd awaken from the sleep, I was lying in the ambulance -- alone with the EMT in the back of the ambulance, wrapped up inside the sleeping bag and five blankets. One could not see the outside of the ambulance, but the fear inside one's mind had left one's thoughts blank from all the things that are around me at the time -- the very hour that color of the hour was black as the darkest sky. Inside that I'd see the things lurking among the terrors -- the terrors of the soul as a shadow lurking as a stalker waiting to take the life of one that should not be facing in the waking hours. The waking hours at the time of the loss, the loss of blood.
I shouldn't have to post any more proof, but for the record, Nicky is the liar, not Melany.
And please bear with me I am experimenting with different fonts trying to find one that makes it easier to read this site. :)