The Shadow Men * #TriggerWarning

Before you read this post understand it might be incredibly triggering for you, this is a story of sexual abuse and extreme rape. It’s my story however, and the only way to deal with it, is to get it out, so I have decided to share my true story.

 

It started when I was fourteen, visiting a friend at his house for the first time. His father decided I wasn’t worthy of protecting because I didn’t have any big brothers or cousins, and thus the train began.

I can’t remember how many boys there were, but I was forced to have sex with at least one of them. I can’t say his name, because I do not want to put myself in danger, but as it turned out he was the only Black man in the group in later years.

The second time they came to me. Popping the balcony door that led to my bedroom, and removing it from the track before entering. They drugged me by putting a needle in my neck and one in my toe. I was promised if I fought back not only would it be worse, they would then go after my brother and mother. I was fifteen years old when they started sexually torturing me in a bizarre ritual they claimed was happening because my future self told them to do it. They were psychotic.

They claimed to be from the Hell’s Angels, but they wore no cut, and had no patches, so I knew they were lying. HA’s always wear their uniform when out in the world, but more important than that, they do not attack children in the middle of the night, or any time of day for that matter.

I learned later that his name was Colby, he’s the same man who tortured me, who forced his son Adam to have watch while he had sex with me, and who raped me in a church not too long after.

He came to the breakfasts that we volunteered at every Saturday morning, he even brought his sons with him, Adam and Curtis. I remember Curtis as a young and shy child with a sweet demeaner who hated pancakes and only ever wanted cereal when he came for breakfast.

I realized later that the reason Colby was coming to the breakfasts was to keep an eye on me, eventually I had to pretend to be his friend, eventually he stopped touching me, the older I got, the less his hands found reasons to be on my body, thank God.

During the times of abuse, they tied me up, punched me in the vagina and anus over and over again and made me remember the rules.

1. Only Daddy’s friends are allowed to touch me, whenever and wherever they please.
2. I am never allowed to wear underwear because that way it would be easier for Daddy’s friends to get to me.
3. I was never to tell anyone or my mother and brother would be killed.

The rules were simple enough, that wasn’t the hard part, letting men rape me while not saying a word was the difficult part. I was raped again at sixteen by a man named Mario, who told me he had the favor of the Angel’s, and if I told anyone they would kill me. The fact that he was a member of MS13, allegedly didn’t help with my fear. So I told no one, except Larry Amero….an Actual Hell’s Angel.

I didn’t mean to, we were standing outside of Willy’s Pool Hall in North Delta BC when I asked if he and another man I knew were angry at me. He chuckled softly and told me that he didn’t get involved in childish bullshit.

I know there are a lot of rumours about Amero, but he was always pleasant to me. A giant of a man filled with muscles and blue eyes I never once saw him angry. Which isn’t to say he didn’t get angry I just never saw it.

Colby continued to abuse me in the shadows, continued to make Adam watch, brought more boys in for me to have sex with, one of which was Chad, who wasn’t an Angel at the time, just a kid caught up in something he couldn’t escape.

Like the rest of us he didn’t want to be there, he made promises of getting me out one day, but in the end I got myself out by going to the police and telling them at least parts of what happened.

I didn’t tell them that I had been beaten, or punched in the vagina and anus, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I didn’t tell them that the men who raped me put pillows over my ankles before hammering nails into my joints, to remind me that they’d do it for real if I ever told.

I did however show them the scars on my hand from where they hammered nails into my palms, the Police think they are freckles. Two identical freckles on both hands were there is no other…sure.

I told them how the shadow men put my hands over my head, made me grab my wrists and pray to Satan to protect me. I remember they told me my soul belonged to the Devil, a devil named Angel. (He died of a drug overdose while living homeless on the streets.)

I told them about the boys that were forced to come into my room and rape me, who ended up becoming men who raped me in 2016, to no avail. I have yet to hear back from the Police and yet every time I go out I am at risk of running into one of the men who raped me. I’ve seen three over the last year, one just a few days ago.

I am reminded every time there is an event that I have to change my route in order to get where I am going so I don’t run into one of them, I have to change everything about my life so that I am safe, and I never feel safe.

I block my door off with a piece of furniture when I am home alone, I keep every window shut and doors locked even when I am alone. I do not go out anywhere, I do not see friends, I have cut everyone out of my life so that I could be free to tell my story without putting anyone else at risk.

Because it’s easier to be alone and free, than it is to have ties that keep me silent. I know this because I used to have a lot of friends, and I was silent, and I was fucking miserable.

I am telling this story today, because I am genuinely afraid for my safety, and because if anything happens to me, I want the world to know that I fought back. That it took time, but I found my voice again and I fought back against the men who used the world’s largest Motorcycle Club as a weapon against an innocent child.

I am telling this story because there are men out there who claim to be that which they are not, to destroy the most innocent among us, and while many terrible things could be said about men who claim the Hells Angels tags, in this particular case these men and women are fucking innocent, because they didn’t know.

Those who did know were sworn to secrecy by me, because I was too afraid of what would happen when the truth came out, but I can’t live in silence anymore, because it is literally killing me.

I smoke a pack of cigarettes a day, rarely a day goes by when I am sober, and I am not sure how to get out of the mindfuck that is my life. I am completely and utterly lost, because a group of men forced children to have sex with each other and threatened to kill everyone those children loved.

They used the techniques of Doctor Golden to teach us the family game, used his medications to drug us, used his tools to hypnotize us into believing that what we were being forced to do was normal and healthy, that it was right.

They abused us as children and turned us into rapists and victims as adults. They are entirely to blame, and they follow the lead of Keith Rainier, who molested me when I was seven years old at a Light Bringer’s meeting in Calgary Alberta Canada.

I am hear to tell the tale, and yet I am fully conscious of the fact that at any moment they could storm the gates of my home and beat me into submission all over again just like they promised they would if I ever told.

I am telling because there are other girls out there, other boys who went through this and who need to know they are not alone. I am not asking anyone to join me, I am not asking anyone to fight for me…I am doing this to free myself from the ties that bind me to an arcane satanic ritual that stole my innocence and in very real ways, parts of my soul.

I am doing this so no one can ever ask why I didn’t talk about it before I die, I am doing this so no one can ever say I didn’t try everything I absolutely could to break free from the cycle of violence.

I am doing this to cut ties with my past so that I can move into my future free of guilt and shame. I am doing this so that I remember no matter what, I had the courage to speak up.

This post is dedicated to all those who still haven’t found their voice, I love you. I stand with you.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall