I am Coming to Kill You

I am Coming to Kill You

My name is Sam Erskine and I am a killer. I have killed many, many people. Honestly I don’t know how many. I don’t keep track, and I don’t always remember the killings. Many times I read of them in the newspaper and know it was my handiwork. No, I am not a serial killer, though by the sheer number of my victims, I have no doubt I would qualify for such a distinction or notoriety. I am a trained killer and have been trained and mentored in my craft by the spooks and gremlins of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. It is my hope that someone will find this recording and look into my story or at least attempt to verify some of the details. What I do know is that I am coming to kill you my love and I pray to God in Heaven that you will not answer the door, for I am powerless to resist. No is not in my vocabulary. I must kill you. I pray you will run, far away.

This started when I received a phone call today. A voice that may or may not have seemed familiar to me, spoke but one word – “mindflow.” I don’t even know if this is a real word, but I do know that when I hear it, a certain part of my brain is activated - what I believe to be a separate personality. Something about the word allows this personality to come out in the open, to step to the forefront of my brain, and take charge of my emotions, pushing the real me back into the shadows. At these times, there is no right and wrong – only the mission – a mission I am powerless to refuse. I know not why I get these assignments, have no idea what the person has done to anger them to the point of eliminating a target. I know only that I must eliminate them or face elimination myself. So PLEASE HONEY, when I call you to ask about stopping by, hang up the phone, get in your car, leave it all behind and leave the state, maybe even the country. Change your name and disappear.

I did not always have such knowledge of, such recollections of my actions, my missions. Something happened to me a year ago after I was in a car crash. I was rushed to the hospital and among all of the tests and emergency care I received, I got an MRI. I remember feeling first, excruciating pain, and then a flood of memories – bad, evil, terrifying memories. They showed me some of the imagery afterwards. They said there was some sort of “implant” in my brain, said they could not go after it without the risk of permanent damage. Then they asked me if I was or had been, in the military. I felt like a damn fool giving them the answer that I did - that I didn’t know. How can you NOT remember military service? My theory is that whatever this thing in my brain was, it’s function was to keep my two “ME’s” separate, so the nice guy computer programmer did not know of the trained assassin who lived inside his brain.
Whether or not, I was in the military; I do have distinct memories of two military installations, one well known, the other virtually unheard of. The first is a place called Camp Hero on Montauk, Long Island. It is a supposedly closed Army or Air Force base. I can assure you it is not closed. I have nightmares of that place. I was brought there as a young boy and tortured unmercifully. I remember being tied down as red-hot sewing needles were pushed under my fingernails, screaming till my throat was raw and I spit blood out. I remember screaming to God to let me die, but they pumped me full of speed or some drug, that prevented this and made it so I could not pass out from the pain. I have nightmares about going to one of the extreme lower levels of this underground facility, and being gang raped by strange, horrific beings, that appeared to be some sort of lizard men. I was told or remembered later that this was to break down my personality so that an alternate could be created by programming deep within my brain. I think these beings are aliens and our government works with them. I remember seeing a 12 year-old boy strapped into a chair like a big recliner, covered with wires and electrodes, naked and hairless as the day he was born, with skin as white as snow. He talked to me with his mind, begged me to help. With his mind he told me he had been there since the age of 5, stolen from his mama, tortured, beaten, broken down. He told me the recliner was called the Montauk Chair and he was part of a time travel experiment.

I just called you on the phone honey. I got your voice mail. Even though it has been almost 10 years since we spoke, your voice still excites me. I wanted so bad to warn you. I tried to find the words, to make myself say, “I am coming to destroy you, to extinguish the beautiful flame of your life, please run!” Instead I told you what I was apparently told to say - that I found an old photo album and I really wanted you to have it as it has some nice pictures of your late grandfather. “OH GOD PLEASE BE AWAY FOR THE WEEKEND! PLEASE DON’T BE THERE!”
This I know. I am part of a Government project called MKULTRA, that’s MK for Mind Kontrol, a German spelling, as it was developed by captured Nazis at the end of WWII. Its main goal is to create a Super-soldier, a hypnotically programmed killing machine that is afraid of nothing, A mercenary that will do his job, complete his mission, or die trying. It is also imperative that we be civilians, just average folk. I guess this is “plausible denial” for the CIA. As if I got caught, I would more than likely be classed as a deranged man, lone kook or something similar. Think Lee Harvey Oswald, or Sirhan Sirhan.

I remember getting “finishing” programming done in of all places, Guantanamo bay Cuba. I don’t remember much of what I supposedly learned or what was forced into my psyche there. I just know I was subjected to the exact same treatment the captured terrorists and battlefield combatants were subject to. Piece of cake compared to Camp Hero. I read the news and some people are so aghast at the “enhanced interrogation techniques” used on them and they applaud the president for sending lots of them back to their homeland. HAHAHAHAHAHA! What nobody realizes is that these people are done being programmed! MKULTRA is alive and well in Cuba! The only thing this man is doing is sending programmed assassins like me back to their homelands, back to their affiliates in terror. They even give them false memories of their interrogations, so they have some “beans to spill” when they get back and try to get accepted back into the fold. One day each of them will get a phone call, hear a code word, and take out their target. When the day comes that we read of Bin Laden or some other high up, getting killed by a fellow terrorist, you can bet it will be someone who was held in Cuba! Plausible denial man, plausible denial.

This is only the beginning. They are creating armies of men like me, men with corneal implants for superior vision, night vision, thermal vision - you name it! They’ve got guys that can hear a conversation from 5 miles away! But all this is beside the damn point Darlin.’ This is all TMI as they say. You don’t need to know how I got to be the way I am any more than you need to know how many craters there are on the moon. The point is, the message is - GO! GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE! PLEASE DENY ME SUCCESS IN THIS ONE MISSION!

What did you do? Why did you do it? Exactly whom did you piss off. Was it all those letters to the New York Times? I tried to tell you THEY read those and keep track of “dissidents!” I told you CIA, NSA, ONI, MJ7 and a host of others, including Homeland Security, take any criticism of their shit very damn seriously! I told you our freedom was a myth, a well-staged illusion, the highest form of mass mind control, or rather, population control. All you could say is that I was paranoid and read too many conspiracy theories!
Oh God, I just took exit 1 off the highway – “our” exit. I am gonna be there soon – 10 minutes tops! Oh God I hope you’re not there.

PLEASE DON’T BE THERE
PLEASE DON’T BE THERE
PLEASE DON’T BE THERE

I want to call you, warn you one more time. I have your contact open but something in my brain wont let me touch the call button. I have to warn you somehow, someway. I must!
I pass the beautiful 200-year old Church on the shores of the Barrington River, at the entrance to Hundred-acre Cove. I’ll be there soon honey. Oh God I hope you listened this time, took my advice this one time. I’m turning down our road….pulling up to our, or what used to be, “our” house on the beautiful shores of Narragansett Bay.

AND YOU OPEN THE FRONT DOOR AND SMILE AT ME!

I try to scream but I can’t. I have a loaded, cocked 45-magnum in my belt. I reach behind me for it. I try to yell but am

“ 202-blocked from this action”
“ 202-blocked from this action”
“ 202-blocked from this action”

You eagerly hold out your hands out, anxious for the photo album. I realize at last minute, there is one thing they can’t control – my smile, my face, my expression.
I look you square in the eye and try to lose my mind. I give you my best Charles Manson look, they eyes of a deranged lunatic. I bug my eyes out at you, drilling into you with my piercing gaze. I bare my teeth at you. I growl louder than a gorilla, covering your face with spit in the process.
You drop the album and run.
And my head explodes.

“MISSION ABORTED”

“END OF DATA FEED”