Seeking the HUZ

By Marty Thompson

Within a world preparing for great change, a young man has no idea he is about to come face-to-face with his destiny. Bent on revenge for the genetically advanced females who are leading the future while making his life a living hell, he sets out on a journey to discover and exploit their weaknesses. Overmatched by the female species known as HU

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marty Thompson
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781962502030

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SEEKING THE

HUZ

MARTY THOMPSON

SEEKING THE HUZ

Copyright © 2024 Marty Thompson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Priors Press

4760 South Highland Drive

Salt Lake City, UT 84117 #140

[phone]

www . PriorsPress . com

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in the work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN 978-1-962502-02-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-962502-03-0 (E-book)

Printed in the United States of America.

To my wife Jackie, most certainly a HUZ,

who navigated my writing of this book from the other side.

I love you and miss you.

To mom, I’m pretty sure she was a HUZ as well.

Author’s Note

THE STORY BEGINS

It’s May 24, 2017, the first day of the sixty-fourth day in the Ninth Wave, the starting point of a thirty-six-wave period. In other words, it’s been almost five years now, and it’s finally acceptable to tell the world the honest story of the most feared cataclysm of the twenty-first century: A true story of how this planet was spared the fate of a failed prophecy! An event the world thought just passed. No reason, just a lot of fear and hype. Not so much! The following revelations will not only change history books on this planet but history throughout the universe!

It seems so much time has passed since that incredible day. It feels as if a lifetime has passed since the mystifying journey of my quest, and I’m writing now only because a creeping realization has finally poisoned my soul with guilt.

I’ve often heard that the greater the magnitude of an event, the longer it takes a person to fully comprehend its impact. By now I should be rejoicing in my accomplishment, but I’ve found little happiness. I set out on a mission of revenge only to be redirected to their will. Even though I live a life others can only dream about, my shame is like a yoke about my neck.

I clearly recall the greatness of that day, but the sting of dishonor at having betrayed my gender still haunts my spirit. I admit I was a smart-alecky wise guy whose inner self-doubt was clumsily draped by a lack of outer self-confidence—until reality was tossed in my face. Indeed, hell is a truth learned too late!

I’d been fooled, misled, and used, and I was a tad slow in figuring out their game. As a result, it has taken a real effort for me to forgive those extraordinary women who transformed my life—female creatures whose souls possess a unique intelligence and the spiritual superiority that now dominates all life-forms on this planet!

My wayward intuition led me to believe they were just women, but now I wvonder how I could have been so wrong. It must also be confusing to the people of the world that the universal shift in power wasn’t to all women but only to certain genetically advanced females.

I know now that there has been—and will continue to be—a shift in the order of power. The transformation is obvious to me. Steadily, change is happening all around me, but only those creatures and I understand the truth of what has happened to our world. It’s not that I feel their growing influence will be a negative for humanity. After all, they were the ones who helped me understand the ancient prediction. It just seems that they’ve done quite nicely for themselves along the way. On the other hand, according to the prophecy, it was to be a king who completes the gallant mission. That certainly didn’t describe me. I still can’t figure out how I got caught up in the middle of something so far beyond my comprehension.

I now inhabit a realm wherein the distortion of time and space can ensnare a person, permanently altering his perception of reality. In fact, as I gaze at the glittering ocean outside my window, I question whether my experience was merely a dream or a vision gone awry. Perhaps I’m simply trapped in a time warp, and my mother will soon be waking me up so I can get to school on time. Or perchance I woke up in this paradise awash in luxury only to realize that everything I’ve experienced has yet to happen. My story is truly a revelation of a past event, and I hope that anyone reading this account will be forewarned that the birth of a higher consciousness has already been set upon us.

I pray that someone whose spirit is pure will understand the magnitude of my pursuit and convey my story to the world so all may realize the untold truth of the world’s redemption. You see, we were all deceived by the experts as to the true event that was going to happen on that fateful day. Oh yes indeed, my story is true—names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Contents

Chapter 1

SHE’S CRAZY1

Chapter 2

OUT THE DOOR7

Chapter 3

THE PLAN16

Chapter 4

I GET A BREAK23

Chapter 5

FINDING THE HUZ28

Chapter 6

HOW THE HECK DO I IDENTIFY A HUZ?33

Chapter 7

THE HUZ IS HUNTED46

Chapter 8

THE SECRET SOCIETY57

Chapter 9

THE HUZ MOVEMENT67

Chapter 10

RULES FOR SURVIVING A HUZ80

Chapter 11

YOU HUZ - SAY IT CAREFULLY89

Chapter 12

HUZ PREDICTORS101

Chapter 13

HUZSTROLOGICAL SIGNS FROM THE STAR113

Chapter 14

PSYCHIC POWERS140

Chapter 15

SCIENTIFIC POINT OF VIEW153

Chapter 16

HUZ DAY166

Chapter 17

CAPTURED BY THE HUZ197

Chapter 18

DISCOVERING THE REASON220

Chapter 19

SENT FROM HEAVEN235

Chapter 20

A BRAVE NEW WORLD245

Chapter 1

SHE’S CRAZY

I Thought My Grandmother Loved Me

Let me begin with my grandmother. She was from a different world! Not only did she love me, but we were kindred spirits—that is, as long as I did as she requested. She was a tall, graceful, elegant woman whose fancy often turned to fine jewelry and beautiful clothes. She was well-intended, but she had high expectations of people.

On occasion, I got glimpses of her other side whenever an arrogant, domineering man made the mistake of assuming she wasn’t as intelligent as she was striking. Equally memorable were the looks on the faces of the many women Grandma told to get off their lazy butts and do something about how unfair life was. Having witnessed her temper, I was never foolish enough to challenge anything she said—until I heard the last words she ever spoke to me.

My grandmother passed away on my twenty-third birthday. I was with her during her last moments, at which time she told me a story that didn’t make sense until later in my life when I faced my own demise. I remember the moment she motioned weakly with her index finger for me to come to her bedside. Then, to my surprise, she directed my mom and dad to leave the room. As I drew closer, I’ll always remember the quiver that ran down my spine as she fixed her eyes onto mine.

Come close, my son, Grandma softly said, struggling for words. I have something I must tell you–something that happened on this very date when I was your age. Never forget my words, and pass this story on to all your daughters!

What is it, Grandma?

You are the Seeker, but you have so little time! I know what it is and what it does, but I don’t know what it controls. Many years ago, my closest friend, Cayce Wilson, discovered its true purpose while she was the secret president of the United States.

Secret president of the United States? I asked in disbelief.

Yes, she continued. "Cayce was the wife of President Wilson, and she and I had been friends since our childhood years back in Wytheville, Virginia. From the time of their marriage, Woody was quite sickly, so she devoted herself to caring for him. As a result of his illness, she secretly ran the country from his bedside. She screened every top-secret document intended for his review and often directed state-of-the-union decisions.

One cold overcast October morning, she came banging on my door. Stunned, I barely recognized the First Lady because she looked like a rumpled bag lady. Pushing her way in, she told me she had a story for my ears only. That story changed my life, and it will soon change yours.

Alarmed, I asked, What could she possibly have told you that would change both our lives?

Grandma put her hand on mine and whispered, "She told me of a strange happening. It all started when 115 women braced themselves against the snow on the twenty-first day of December 1916 on Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. Their collective voices demanding the right to vote rose into the cold night air. In unison, they decried the inequities of the times. The country was being torn apart by division on the issue.

"President Wilson sat gazing out the window of the West Wing, watching the defiant group. Cayce could see he was troubled when he turned to her and in a quivering voice told her that everywhere he looked, women were demanding equal rights. Virtually every city in the country—in the world, for that matter—was hearing similar demands from women.

"Cayce felt that deep down her husband was convinced those rights would soon become reality. But she also knew that politicians in Washington weren’t so sure. Most felt that giving up power to anyone— much less to women—would diminish the strength of their special interests. Cayce could see that the world was changing, and power was slowly shifting. She was sure Woody would soon enact laws for women’s rights and be viewed as a hero.

"But Cayce’s life changed radically that October day when the secretary of state walked into the room with an intelligence brief. Cayce seized the report and read it to Woody. It was the official confirmation of an old 1837 army surveillance report regarding unexplained events that occurred at Mount Holyoke College for Women. Evidence in the report substantiated those events beyond any doubt. Woody questioned Cayce about that document, especially the first words: ‘Specially gifted women who move mountains.’ Conclusive proof of a legend of godlike females was at hand! More distressing, it also contained evidence that similar unexplained things had occurred with increasing frequency all across the country.

"When he heard the update, Woody assured Cayce he had no fear of the women’s groups or the pressures of political and social change. His concern was that such ungoverned power might pose a threat to national security, and there was now too much evidence to discount that possibility. A decision had to be made, so he told Cayce he was going to make it. The more he thought about the dilemma, however, the worse his migraines got.

"When Cayce came to me, she was upset because she couldn’t correct one of Woody’s strategic miscalculations. He had assumed the leaders of all women’s groups possessed unearthly power, so he directed army intelligence to keep those female reformers under constant surveillance. While trying to suppress that mystical cadre of women, Congress delayed passage of the equal rights to which all women were entitled. Out of misplaced fear, the administration changed the course of history. Cayce was terrified that Woody’s actions would exact a steep price and that the day of reckoning might be at hand.

She was also convinced that because of his illness, Woody hadn’t completely understood the report. She was also annoyed that he either couldn’t or wouldn’t see that those empowered women were stronger than the frail political structure of the United States. They weren’t foreign infiltrators targeting the country for takeover. Certain members of the ‘weaker sex’ had rediscovered a universal connection—one that could transform all things. They had a target, but it wasn’t the United States; it appeared to be the entire world! Women with the power to turn the world upside down were returning to set things right.

When Grandma paused to catch her breath, I could see she was in pain. In that quiet, awkward moment, she lay still and stared intently in my eyes.

But, Grandma, what can I do? I whispered.

A lifetime of silence seemed to pass before she found the words. "There’s more to this story. Because Woody was so sick and Cayce was wielding presidential power, she had access to top-level security documents. Searching the White House basement for the 1837 army report, she not only found the original document but also a leather pouch containing an ancient metal symbol.

"Cayce was shivering as she finished her story, and it wasn’t from the October wind blowing under the door. She sat down, reached into a brown paper bag at her feet, and pulled out a dirty leather pouch. Thrusting it into my chest, she clutched my arm and begged me to help decipher the symbol and uncover the truth. She said that the prophecy discovered in the document made it clear to her it was no coincidence that she had married Woody or that we were lifelong friends. And it had been no accident that she had found that pouch!

Woody’s fear about the legend was finally confirmed. There was much more to learn, but because she had to look after Woody and his executive duties, Cayce could do nothing more to pursue the mystery. She told me it was my responsibility to go around the world if I had to, to learn the meaning of the prophecy concerning a great redemption.

Grandma then stopped abruptly. With labored breath, she fought to gather a measure of strength. I winced as she struggled to collect her energy and tell me more. Grandma, I begged, please! You must rest now. You don’t have to say another word.

Her piercing glare told me I needed to be quiet and listen. Dang it, she snarled. "Sit up now and take note. What I’m about to say is the most important thing you’ll ever hear.

"Because the parchments were so old and delicate, she couldn’t extract them from the archives, so she relayed them to me to the best of her recollection. Those words launched my journey toward decoding the meaning of the symbol and realizing the complete activation of the prophecy.

"I discovered special powers were bestowed upon a privileged few women and then passed on to their female descendants—with one exception. Be it fate, a twist in the genetic coil, or even a mutation in the hereditary evolution of supremacy, you too are of such blood! Imagine my surprise to learn that you—a man—are among that small and elite hierarchy! As the only man to ever be such, you’re to play a pivotal role in this odyssey. You see, the prophecy stipulates that only the purest of the bloodline may make the quest to discover the truth, and while there are others like me who know parts of the legend, no one person has ever pieced together the entire prophecy.

"At one time, those of the blood knew the answer. But after so many centuries, much has been forgotten. Our spirits have returned to this earth to recall the details of something so powerful that it will rechannel universal energies and shock the world. Your soul and all those you touch on this quest must remember the past, or all will be lost.

"So you see, you’ve been charged with piecing it all together. Governments, military, and those seeking power have taken so many down the wrong path. Don’t pursue the tainted truths of those whose intent isn’t pure of spirit. It’s the untold truth you seek. You’re the last hope for humanity!

Be it by natural causes or the handiwork of those I’ve infuriated, it’s time for me to move on. I’ll rise into the light today, but I can never move fully beyond the mundane world of matter and into the next dimension until the prophecy has been fulfilled. Until that time, I must walk with you. You hold in your hands not only my own spiritual destiny, but also the promise of a new world.

She then struggled to remove a necklace from around her neck and pressed it into my hand.

Pulling me close, she whispered, You now have the symbol. Wear it always and learn its secrets.

She kissed me on the cheek and said farewell, assuring me we’d be together again soon. She then turned away and gazed up at the ceiling. I started to leave, telling her how much I loved her and that I’d always remember the story.

No sooner had I said that when Grandma turned back to me, reached up, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and screamed, You’d better remember every word—and you’d better not fail! When you next hear my voice, it won’t be a figment of your imagination! Trust your psychic senses, and may the Lord be with you … us!

As I kissed her hand, she gradually released her grip and was gone.

For years I remembered every word of that story, and for years I assumed Grandma had lost her sanity at the very end. I was heartsick to see such a great woman depart in such a state of delusion.

Chapter 2

OUT THE DOOR

What Have I Done?

High school is that special time in life when average intelligence gives way to hormonal surges of lunacy. It’s a normal phenomenon, and I was no exception. My school life consisted of doing the same things most other guys did—playing sports, participating in band, getting detention, sneaking drinks of beer, and annoying girls. I attempted to get dates, stood around at dances, and ran errands for pretty girls, but through all those adolescent dramas, I never got close to the type of girl I really admired.

The girls I hankered for always went for the older, smarter, richer, more arrogant kind of guys. I never had a chance. The type of girl I admired had a combination of brains, looks, and a commanding presence that conquered a room—girls who could make the English teacher blush. They wore eye-popping makeup, wild hairdos, layers of jewelry, and exuded enough fiery confidence to illuminate a dark room. Most kids gave those super babes a wide berth and a lot of respect. I knew they were out of my league, but I was drawn to them like a fly to a zapper.

I was born and raised in the small industrialized town of Tollan, Iowa. Almost from the cradle, Mother taught me—an average, shy Lutheran boy—to treat all females like ladies and never act like an animal. That made it difficult to assume the tigerlike courage I needed just to speak to the type of girls I admired. If Mother had known of my interest in this sort of girl, she would have marched me back to catechism class or washed my eyes out with soap.

Grandma Lucy, on the other hand, was more aggressive and continually encouraged me to go for the gold—and answered my questions regarding those girls, even though I got the impression she was frustrated by my failure to understand her answers. Nevertheless, her knowledge of those girls was astounding, and I often wondered how she’d come by all that information. After all, the Burns family was quite proper.

Actually, it wasn’t just the superior type of girl I liked that caused me so much heartburn. I never had the intestinal fortitude to approach the inferior types either. I sensed what other kids were thinking, but loser was an inaccurate word for a guy like me who was reasonably attractive and relatively sincere that I never seriously entertained it as truth. Looking back, I preferred to think of myself as just exceptionally immature.

So that’s where my story and frustration really began—a magnetic attraction to irresistible girls who never gave me the time of day. During that period, I deemed it a hormonal excess—thoughts and sensations that I’d soon outgrow. As I grew older and bolder, though, occasional bursts of testosterone would inspire me with enough confidence to approach those mesmerizing females. However, my feeble attempts always ended in failure. I could sense a repelling surge of energy rushing in my direction, and my power to persuade vanished as quickly as the girls did. While I couldn’t determine exactly what made them react that way, there was a distinctively recognizable vibration in the air each time they expressed their feelings for me.

By the time I dropped out of Oberlin College, my adoration for that class of young women had escalated far beyond unadulterated lust. In college, I never missed a fraternity or sorority beer party. On those festive occasions, I’d seek out the most-in-charge young lady in the room, even though I always wondered why I was behaving so stupidly.

Perhaps I’d developed some type of self-destructive, postpubescent addiction. In light of all the humiliating experiences I endured, I admit it might just have been a series of sick infatuations. In any event, I know that all those parties had something to do with the end of my college experience. Addiction, beer, hormones, whatever—I was attracted to a unique female personality, and I couldn’t seem to break its hold on me.

Even though my disappointed parents accepted my educational failure, they were less understanding about my employment situation. Unaware of my addiction, they only knew that I was out of school and unemployed. My father told me to get a job or get out. Mother, on the other hand, wanted to know the details of my frustration.

As hard as it was, I sat her down and tried to explain how my mind had been preoccupied by a certain kind of girl. Just before I got to the good part, however, she called me a pervert, blamed Grandma for putting such notions in my head, and told me to get a job. My own mother had turned against me.

I had passed a few accounting courses in college, so I figured I could get a bookkeeping job to see me through those difficult times. After much groveling and begging, I was hired as part-time bookkeeper at Bascom’s Italian Lounge. I wasn’t quite sure whether the owner, Ansel, had hired me because of my outstanding personality or my outstanding bar bills.

In any event, I began working in a place where I was reasonably sure I’d encounter the sort of superwomen essential to my obsession—and because I now had a job and didn’t have to pay rent at home, I had a few extra bucks to spend on my infatuation. I got a haircut, bought some stylish ensembles, picked up an imitation Rolex in Chinatown, and proceeded to wine, dine, and dance with those enticing females. Over time, though, the result was always the same—dreary déjà vu. When the money, the fun, and the presents ran out—so did the women.

I did learn that it wasn’t just my personality or even a subtle variable (like my breath) that turned the tide. The fact was that all men had to impress those women, or they were also dealt with in a most inhumane manner. The good news was that I was finally one of the guys.

I soldiered on, and after a painful hodgepodge of failed experiences, I finally got close enough to one of those women to create some semblance of a relationship. She was definitely the type of female I’d always yearned for. She was classy, sexy, gregarious, strong-willed, outspoken, determined—and impossible. There I was, after years of wishing and hoping, finally up close and personal with one of those special ladies.

I’d hoped that the status and security of my bookkeeping position might afford her the lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed, but I was sadly mistaken. It turned out to be an association with the devil incarnate, and she put me through every ring of hell—but at least I knew that nobody could get along with such women. What they had let me see and what I thought I knew about them both turned out to be figments of my imagination.

After having suffered an unglamorous breakup, I felt betrayed by my own desires. Life sucked, and I was in a funk. I probably should have dated a timid preacher’s daughter. She might not have been as juicy or colorful, but she had access to the communion wine. The breakup disturbed me deeply and battered the little self-confidence I had previously gained.

So why would a nice guy like me seek to devastate himself by chasing such ruthlessly adorable women? They had cost me an arm and a leg, and worse yet, they demanded my undivided attention. They were smarter, bolder, and tougher than other women. My dilemma drove me to the brink of insanity, but eventually I figured it out—I’m stupid! For all its elegant simplicity, that conclusion only confirmed what I’d been told by others many times before, and that extra dose of ridicule was the KO punch to my self-esteem.

Even work became unbearable. Daily, Ansel would remind me of my failure: What I tell you, dummy, eh? Women! Now get ta work!

It was time to change my ways, put those unfortunate memories behind me, and start a new life. There was nowhere for me to go but up! I became devoted to my job, demonstrating that commitment by showing up nearly every day. I listened to motivational tapes, attended AA meetings, and even took kundalini yoga classes. I consulted with 1-800 psychologists and 1-800 psychics. I grilled my female friends about aberrations in their species. I watched the Dr. Phil show. I surfed the web daily, seeking facts about that strange sort of woman. I even attended a Man Haters course offered by the Oberlin College psychology department, but no matter how hard I tried, those remarkable women were fixed in my head. I was haunted by those finicky females.

One chilly October morning, my life took a turn for the worse. I was getting ready for work, and as usual, my mind was struggling with a mild bout of depression.

What am I doing wrong? I asked myself as I stood in front of the mirror combing my hair. It’s true I’m mesmerized by the flash, the fancy, and the confidence of those women, but I believe I’m just confused—not crazy!

I stepped back and took a hard look at the guy in the mirror. I’m a nice guy, tallish, blondish, and fair-to-decent looking. I have Grandma’s Caribbean-blue eyes and her trademark crooked smile. Years of sports have left me in pretty decent shape, and at social functions, I still like to play The Blue Danube Waltz and the bass part of Heart and Soul on the piano.

I get along with most people and like to shoot the breeze and have a good time. Before college, I’d never failed at anything I really tried to do—and maybe that was my problem. I got As in high school but found it mind-numbing, and college wasn’t all that difficult, just boring. Four time-consuming courses per semester left so little time to party that I dropped most of them and concentrated more on a comprehensive study of social dynamics.

Then as now, I get fired up by a good challenge, hate to lose, and can sometimes come off as a tad vengeful. Guess that could be a problem too.

All of that could very well be Grandma’s fault. She insisted that I read books, challenged me with puzzles, and tested me with math games from kindergarten through high school. If I got one of those puzzles wrong, she wasn’t gracious about it. On Sunday afternoons, she’d quiz me on everything from trigonometry to genetic decoding before she let me dip into the cookie