"From Burning of the Wicker Man to Human Hunting and Satanic Rituals in Mylor Forest"

11.21.24 | Written and Recalled by SRA and Incest Survivor, Jessica Kaitlin

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Nov 21, 2024

**TRIGGER WARNING! PLEASE TAKE CARE READING THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE A SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE SURVIVOR OR ARE SENSITIVE TO GRAPHIC DETAILS PERTAINING TO SATANIC RITUALS**

In May 2024, I was invited to go the English Ale Festival. I hummed and haaed as I knew it would be a triggering ordeal

I hadn’t known why, but for years I had felt trauma arise in my body whenever I drove past Mylor Forest. I would have trauma surfacing or younger alters arise and say they've been abused there. Saying "I want to burn the forest down" and crying for a good while after.

I had warned the friends I accompanied that this may happen, and that I would leave in the evening before they lit the Wicker Man - which I researched and learned was a Celtic ritual in which they build a large wicker statue and burn human and animal offerings inside.

I enjoyed the day walking around the stalls in my woodland fox elf outfit, spending time with my friends and soaking up the sun.

As the evening approached, the festival migrated towards the Wicker Man, while I walked back to my car.

As I walked alone towards the now ignited Wicker Man bonfire, I began to breathe heavily. My body grew heavy and everything within me was screaming to stop walking towards the large crowd. I had to look away from the fire and watch the ground as I continued on.

Breathing deeply and willing myself forward, I reach the jungle of hundreds of people cheering wildly, playing all kinds of instruments, dressed in all kinds of wild animal masks.

I was in full panic. I averted my eyes from as much as I could while searching for my friends.

I couldn’t find them in the midst of all the revelries - even after circling the entire area, so I bee-lined towards the picnic spot we had made.

Halfway there, I fell to my knees and emotionally let myself release. I cried and cried and cried.

I reminded myself of how safe I am. I am protected. I am loved. I am strong.

I then picked myself back up, dusted myself off and dove back into the fray to find my friends.

I eventually found them, and seeing the joy on their faces, shifted the state I was in.

We danced around the fire as it died down and people began to prance around it.

Transmuting the trauma with healthy exposure therapy.

The next morning, I sat down to write, and the trauma memory came flooding through.

And it makes a lot of damn sense to why I had been so triggered at the English Ale Festival.

This is the memory...

I must have already been drugged, supposedly whenever they took me from my bed.

They dropped us off within the forest, instantly leaving us alone.

But then from within the woods, a big scary dog man snapped his jaws at us.

We ran from the teeth and snout snarling from the shadows.

We ran for our lives, naked. I was rarely able to scream over my racing breath.

Over fallen trees, rocks and a creek which I fell into - feeling all of this with my hands in the barely illuminated forest.

The moon must not have been very full... or the canopy too dense...

The running of four legged beasts sounded alongside us, corralling us with growls from hell and the snapping of sharp fangs as they took bites out of the air.

Scaring us towards a light... a fire... where we could hear people joyfully enjoying the night.

We - the other children and I - ran towards the campfire, believing it be our salvation.

But as we arrived, we realized... we were wrong...

The sounds of revelry, instruments and laughter, was not from merry people camping in the woods…

But a gathering of animal masked and hooded people dancing around a bonfire, with other small torches lining the perimeter in a circle around them all.

As we began to process the scene before us, taking steps back - we were grabbed from behind and knocked unconscious.

My next memory is waking up still feeling heavy headed and witnessing the ritual around me taking place.

The bonfire now smoldering cinders and the people gone, though I could feel their presence watching from behind the torchlight line of the ceremony’s circle. They gathered almost the whole way around but left one direction open, the west. They left as much space as they could between themselves and that direction. Cautious but desperate to get a sight of the spectacle about to unfold.

The ritual sacrifices had already begun.

They screamed with zealous power as they killed someone - a young man, perhaps in his early teens.

Breaking into the body like children coveting candy from the fallen piñata - or vultures fighting over a carcass.

Intestines being sprawled about.

The more demonically ravaged souls seemed to be doing that, while the cloaked ones chanted with deep horns bellowing, vibrating the ground and our bodies, sounding out for something evil... something within the ground, something within the forest...

They chanted, more of a low vibrational summoning song than a Latin poetry reading.

Blood and body parts began to be splattered and sprayed around the circle.

Splaying the blood from their fingers in an intentional way, placing vital organs in specific places.

The weredogs growled, hungry I thought, but perhaps an instinctual response to the small ruffles of sound coming from the unoccupied slice of the forest.

All were facing towards it.

Towards the West. Where the sun sets.

The Grand High Priest, holding the book in one arm, lifts up his other hand towards the trees and cries out something in a dark language.

He commands something forth with a request.

He was making a show of his strength, but I could still feel the fear saturating his inner child.

He was giving the illusion to others that they have control and power of these demon entities. When in truth, once they make that bargain, they are victims to its touch.

As he called out to the demons dwelling in those woods, or the realms of hell beyond - five or six adults in their twenties and thirties, dressed in wet white tunics, translucently clinging to them, came forward.

They looked like they had already been deep in ritual practices before seemly voluntarily taking up their place around the inner boundary of the circle. Knees to the ground with arms bound at the wrists as they held them to the sky. There was blood on their hands. I could see the faint red stain around their lips. Some stray drops staining their wet white gowns…

A climax of sound, of screaming and then dead silence.

All went deathly still...

Everyone’s breath was held as they stared into the forest.

For moment I see nothing.... but then…

...A long pale slender white hand wrapped around a tree reached by the fire light.

Maybe three or four meters high up the tree this inhuman hand continued, pulling forward to reveal a slender man looking demon.

No suit, but tall, dark, matter yet mist, translucent in parts yet opaque in others - as if between worlds still.

There was more than one.

I saw three of them creep forward emerging from the western woods.

Their faces dark, empty, and black - yet watching, seeing, staring straight into the pits of fear within the amygdala.

I began to lose consciousness from terror and the sedatives I imagine where intended to keep me from awakening and witnessing this.

As my eyes faded closed, I saw the demons leap into the open invitational victims in white. Young witches and warlocks I assume.

They began to contort, twist and struggle as the demons made space in its new home. Its new vessel.

I could hear the sound of them eating the squishy bloody raw organs as I drifted back to sleep.

-Written and Recalled by SRA and Incest Survivor,