In the Shadow of the Moon: Prologue

By John S. Bohne

This is the shocking story about the hidden cause of Terrorism. Few seem to be aware of the bloody manifestation moving toward their lives today on main street. The locales are strange, as are the characters in the Nether world around them. The story is high in suspense and action. ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN TO ANYONE ANYWHERE AT ANY TIME. This defining statement of the Age of Terror was put out on the wind in 1990. It has gone around the world, and even into commercials. This book is the amplification of it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2005
• ISBN: 9781420837360

John S. Bohne

The author is now 94 years old, with vast experience in the religions and the various churches. He is still a newspaperman whose habit in writing is to be accurate. He set out to be a pilgrim seeker of real Reality...which made this book. Being a Northwestern University student, good looking, and a strong speaker, he could have attended the famous School of Speech (which made a number of the top movie stars) and then headed for Hollywood, but instead he studied at the Medill School of Journalism and became a writer. This was the right choice.....as later he visited Hollywood and definitely did not like the way of life there. He prefers to be on the spiritual plateau rather than the mental or physical one below. He has fashioned his life accordingly, which reflects in all of his writings. A few persons in the hometown of Oak Lawn, Illinois claimed his books changed their lives. In his travels over half the world he has visited most of the cults and churches, direct and extensively. During the Great World War he was a Guadalcanal Marine, right in the thick of the action. He was fortunate in not having to kill anyone....which he claims came about because of his personal protection under the Holy Spirit and his full trust in God. Henderson Field was the key to the Pacific War, and his service was to help keep it in operation. He is certain that people today are free because of the small group of Marines that kept the Japs from retaking the field. One of his books is "Guadalcanal-- the island of death."

Book preview

THE LIGHTHOUSE

Chapter 1

Lucifer Duval was born in the strange darkness of a Lunar Eclipse at a remote lighthouse on a cliff high above the icy waters of Lake Superior. The white tower rose up seventy feet above the cliff that was one hundred and forty feet above the rugged rocky shoreline. The tower was topped by a glass housing that had railings around it. The flashing white beam was visible over twenty-two miles out toward the limitless watery horizon. It came from a rotating lens with two hundred and forty prisms. Only heavy fogs could dim its brilliance.

Despite its isolation, the lighthouse was an important one. It was located on a rocky shore adjacent to well traveled sea lanes. Fierce gales drove the waters of the inland sea up into thirty-foot waves. There were four hundred ships of various sizes down in the icy depths of the largest, deepest, coldest body of fresh water on the earth plane. The depth of the waters ranged from five hundred to one thousand three hundred feet. Even in summer the clear waters never went up above forty degrees. Strange was its formation by fire and ice in ancient times. It was born of volcanoes and glaciers.

The world was not aware of the portent of the birth. His brutish parents had not the least understanding of it. He had manifested on the earth plane from the 5th Dimension—the Prince of the Air turned now to the physical Anti-Christ to direct the bombings in the last days of time.

The parents, Henry and Maud Duval, were short and squat animal people of low mentality. In a drunken lust bout, he was conceived as they made Shakespeare’s beast with two backs. He came as a shock to them. There was no place for him to fit in their limited world of survival. They had tried, to no avail, to kill him prior to birth. Human instincts were dismal and dim in them, and they even had to tolerate each other on a survival basis.

Maud banged her belly against the door jam and walls to abort him. Henry hit her in the stomach. Nothing worked. The baby persisted to come on. It was uncanny. A nameless dread formed in their shallow minds. Drastic direct means of ending him were out. They feared the authorities and only a seemingly legal death would do.

Open the window wide! Maud yelled at Henry as the birth started.

The large frame house, with a red roof, adjoined the tower. The windows on the old house below the light tower were not easy opening. Henry grunted open the sticking window. A blast of winter air, laced with snow, struck the crying and screaming baby as it came into the world. The darkness was weird. The scene was sinister. The baby was weird—and angry mad crying.

Henry was the lighthouse keeper, and the local keeper of the bar at the Royal Inn. He walked down the road during the day to the inn, prior to working the light at night.

The settlement was a survival community, stretching out in a dismal hollow. The low level buildings of wood were dominated by the higher inn of stone construction. It was the focus of life there.

Maud helped run the light too at times. They were both booze bottle nippers…..and more yet when under some stress. Grown up babies with grown up bottles, and with shadow-dominated minds. Low intelligence that was nibbled by the inconveniences of life in a harsh rocky place. The bottles were their panacea to counter a hard life. They were well tolerated in the small settlement because many of the inhabitants were drinkers too. They all loved to get together at the bar, and laugh at nothings in a boozy haze. Loud talk was the order of the day. The Royal Inn was the meeting place of the town. Maud was the chore woman for the inn. She kept it clean. She had striped socks up to the knee and wore Army shoes for the wet floors. Buckets and mops were her world. She was a rough and tough woman. After a few drinks she could knock a man out.

Naming the baby came in a strange way. Henry’s instincts sensed trouble in him, and being involved with light himself, he came up with Lucifer. His understanding was shallow, so he did not realize how apt the name was. It was just a trouble baby—and he wanted to give it a devilish name. He was having a negative inspiration. His face broke into a drunken grin about it.

We must get rid of him, Maud exclaimed, Throw him over the cliff. The fish and birds will take care of him.

Can’t do it. They have seen you pregnant in town when buying formula. Henry said, with a sad face.

"Oh, I know. We can give him to Tilly.

She dreams of having a baby to take care of. What a frustrated one she is. Being a retarded girl, we can control her…..and we will take him back later when he can do work."

I like the last part. You got the solution to our problem.

Tilly was ecstatic. She started to lift the baby by his arm.

No, this is not a doll Maud informed her, Put your hand under his bottom to lift. If she hurts the kid we are in big trouble she added to Henry.

I’ll watch him. Tilly told them.

She took Lucifer to her room in town She was instructed by Henry to tell others the baby was from a sick sister in N.Y.C. who could not take care of it. No one wanted to get involved, so no questions came up.

Chapter 2

The baby had a peaked face, with sharp penetrating eyes that seemed to be looking out from another world beyond. As he grew the face developed into a fierce countenance.. His features became craggy. His eyes staring and sharp. Strangely stark, and penetrating. His chest was like a barrel. His legs resembled those of a turkey, and were like steel bands. His forehead was kingly. He had a horrible leer on his face. Yet still a young boy. The future bode no good based on his present appearance and demeanor. His mien was fearsome.

Tilly tried to nurse him at first. He bit her. She took care of him at a distance thereafter. She soon feared him. Her dream of a baby was broken. He just tolerated her while developing slowly towards becoming a strong boy.

Then Maud and Henry took him back. They put him to work doing chores around the white tower of the lighthouse and buildings below it.

When the big friendly dog of the village came up to the lighthouse for some petting, the boy shot him dead with the rifle in the shed. He threw the dog over the cliff.

He would go up the tower, and yell over the railing around the top, at the rocky sea surf below. It had power, and appeared to be a challenge to him. The lake functioned as an inland sea. The waves were short and choppy. It had violent storms worse than on the open ocean. Ships were on the bottom. As a storm lashed the lighthouse he got outside, at the railing, and screamed into the face of it. His fury was in the storm. Henry became more scared of him.

Henry was an innovator despite his nature. He had a large device made like the old type of hearing trumpet—it was able to pick up the sounds of a ship out in the fog. Then he would fire off a large carbide cannon. The report reached the ship to warn of a rocky shore. This worked better than the light in a heavy fog.

Despite drinking he was a good light keeper. Ships managed to avoid the rocky shore and survive storms. It was Henry’s pride that no ship ever broke up on the rocks below the lighthouse.

At times he would crap off the tower. The gulls, with no sense of smell, would dive on the falling turds, and then quickly reject them. Henry would come down the stairs with a big grin on his face. Maud would just shake her head. Lucifer was delighted. Henry enjoyed being struck a foul ball in the ballgame of life.

Why don’t you throw yourself down to the gulls? Lucifer suggested. (and that idea formed in his mind)

There were steps going down to the railing at the path, along the cliff, to the white wooden house with the red roof. With great cunning, Lucifer put old milk bottles in the hollows of the steps. He had waited until Henry was drunk. Henry hit the bottles and flew down the steps on his back—and went right thru the flimsy railing. He tumbled over and over, arms flying around, like a rag doll, to the rocky surf far below. A sickening smash was his ending.

What a roller! Lucifer exclaimed delighted in the extreme.

Maud heard his screaming. She came to the broken railing, looking over below to spot Henry. Lucifer pushed her over the cliff.

He was now finally alone.

The authorities came to the lighthouse. Lucifer was crying. They felt sorry for him. There was no suspicion of the little boy. (the bottles were stacked back in the shed) They argued what to do with him. One if them started some check ups. He found there was an uncle at The Monastery of the Mother of God in the far reaches of Quebec.

Let us send him there. he suggested to the others. They agreed.

THE MONASTERY

Chapter 3

The Monastery of the Mother of God was located on the edge of the wild country. No men lived in this region of Quebec. It stretched out into long rocky vistas to the distant horizon. The monastery was isolated. The monks had chosen the sit carefully. The main building was a long three story structure of gray stone, with other smaller wooden ones around it. The community of rebel monks was self-sustaining. It had its own water supply. There was even a bakery. There were gardens. Seventy monks and forty nuns lived in the extensive building. Its founders had broken away from the Historic Church claiming total corruption and need of reform. But corruption was not the issue—the rub was that it was not their corruption, and not under their control. They created their own Pope. He was a kindly old man playing out a role for soup and buns.

Of all places Quebec was the worst location for it—that is why they put it there being rebels. Quebec was ruled by bishops in black robes –- and all the inhabitants of the region bowed down to them there. The bishops, by their power, got the government of Canada to persecute the rebels. Police came from Ottawa on pretext raids. Monks and nuns were struck with clubs, and the Pope was hauled off to jail in Ottawa. His jailing became a backfire happening. He became the papa of the prisoners. Outside monks picketed the jail in marches around it with a large wooden cross fifty feet long, and carried horizontal. The Press had a field day. The monks had inflammatory literature to pass out. They had printed up books and pamphlets on their own Press. It was paranoia propaganda, carefully worked into what appeared as an appeal for freedom.

The monastery had been partly burned down twice. It was said the Catholics did it. Some blamed the Masons. An erected fence did not stop intruders. The monks did not receive any police protection. The monastery was a strange radical intruder in a Catholic World. The Papacy had great power in the world extending everywhere to back up its churches, and to shore up any weak spots. It had caused kings and emperors to bow down to it.

Lucifer liked the huge statue of Christ that dominated the entrance. It was near seventy feet high and up on a built-up pedestal eighty feet high. The arms were stretched out wide. It loomed down dangerous from high above. It seemed about to fall on those who came in. (after all, as the Shadow god, he started the statues forbidden by the Scriptures) It was a frightening sight to the few visitors. There was a dirt road with a chain blocking the way, and there was a small guardhouse at the entrance. Visitors had to stay in trailers outside the grounds. The mysterious atmosphere in the air delighted him. Such strange ambience always delighted him. Was he not the Great Unseen Mystery of the sinning world that few knew or believed in?

Where is my uncle he asked. Not speaking, a monk directed him to follow him to the long building some distance in.

Uncle Rah was one of the founders of the peculiar monastery. He lived in an upper room at the far end of the main building. It had a sort of laboratory in it. Glass retorts and burners lined the tables. The windows were dirty, blue-white stained, and strangely cracked. It seemed a woman’s image was manifesting on them.

Of course, he once informed a monk, It is our Queen of Heaven of this monastery. You know that Quebec is a place full of miracles

He was known as the Wizard of the Woods as he had spent much time in them at various locations previous to the present one. He was a Sorcerer deep in the black arts—.in the rituals, the formulas, incantations, symbols, invocations, manifestations, esters, elements, crystals, pentagrams, all of it.

He had done extensive workings to change water into ethereal substances other than vapor or ice The windows of his room became cracked, and a vision of the Mary appeared in electric blue and white on the panes of ordinary glass. Since this odd monastery was touted as a place of miracles, no one mentioned much about it. It was kept quiet as the monks knew it would