Excerpt 4 - Temporarily Evil: Fault and Forgiveness After Forced Participation in Satanic Ritual Abuse, MK-ULTRA and the Secret Space Program

A Child Rape-Hunt-Murder "Party"

The Weyerhaeuser Mansion, Tacoma, WA USA

Temporarily Evil: Fault and Forgiveness After Forced Participation in Satanic Ritual Abuse, MK-ULTRA and the Secret Space Program

by Anastasia Sprout

Excerpt 4

NOTE: This chapter completes PART ONE: Memories of Innocence Stolen.

PART TWO: Memories of Psychopathy will follow behind a paywall, as its contents are not suitable for free access.

This book excerpt is intended for educational, healing, and child/victim protective purposes. It may not be reproduced or transmitted for money or commercial exchange without the prior written permission of the copyright owners, Anastasia Sprout and SOAAR Global, PMA.

Non-commercially, please share and quote freely as inspired and helpful.

Disclaimer

TRIGGER WARNING*: This book contains descriptions of extreme violence, emotional, sexual and spiritual abuse, and torture. It contains themes of occult/Satanic Ritual Abuse** and Torture-Based Mind Control***. Please consult your highest source of knowing if reading is beneficial for you, stop reading if you feel overwhelmed, and get safe support.

This book is not suitable for children.

Neither the author nor the publisher shall be liable for any emotional, psychological, physical, sexual, financial, or other kind of damages. If you feel at risk of harm from this material, do not read it.

*I recommend readers practice the meditation described in Chapter 13: How to Create an Energetic/Etheric Shield aka “Connect and Protect”) before reading. What I mean about focusing your intent to create an energetic shield (C&P) is to use your creative mind to visualize a positive energetic barrier between you and anything or anyone that might harm you. Even when not reading, I recommend doing this energy hygiene practice twice a day, as often as you remember. I could not have remained sexually sober since 4-18-04**** (the day after Easter that year, no coincidence) without clearing negative parasitic entities and learning to protect myself from further intrusions.

Meditation to Ground, Connect and Protect

Breathe, feel body, get needs met

Hold any part of body that needs nurture, get comfortable

Visualize a field of love-light surrounding you that nothing harmful can cross

Anything approaching without a positive purpose will bounce off this field, returning to place of origin or to creator source

Invite in assistance from the highest source of love and light, creativity itself

Pause to feel connected with any special ones that can helpfully assist you freely

With each breath inward, strengthen that connection with creative source of love

With each breath out, release any and all tension and density

Affirm your goodness and courage on this day

**I have a friend who studies original languages, who states that the term Satan originated as meaning logic in ancient Greek, or is a derivative of the word Saturn. In my experience, the term Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) has been widely adopted as an umbrella term by survivors of extreme ritualized abuse from around the world, though the actual religious or occult ideology may differ.

***Although I am aware of the popular term Trauma-Based Mind Control to describe forced participation in MK-ULTRA or other Death-Cult Network programs that force-structure dissociation to shape children into enslaved operatives, in this book I choose to use the term Torture-Based Mind Control as a more accurate descriptor of my experiences. All torture is traumatic, but the word trauma (wound) is not synonymous with torture. Childhood Organized Extreme Abuse mind control is extreme torture and extreme control.

Torture: the action or practice of inflicting severe pain or suffering on someone as a punishment or in order to force them to do or say something.(Oxford Language Dictionary)

****For more information on my journey to sexual sobriety, see Naked in Public: A Memoir of Recovery from Sex Addiction and Other Temporary Insanities. That book does not focus on healing from Organized Extreme abuse, but healing from childhood alcoholic/dysfunctional family dynamics, complex trauma and sexual compulsion that are commonly its symptoms.

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12.24.24 Update

Hello dear Care-a-van readers! Happy Holidays! 💫

How are things on my Goldie Campervan journey, you might ask?

Great…but I’m not in the van right now. I miss her! I plan to be back on the road in February 2025!

I flew home to the Seattle area to visit friends and kind family for the December-January holidays. I am loving these visits: hugs, deep talks, laughter, plotting how to end the Death-Cult, rest, puzzles and ping-pong, meals, tea and pie, the dark, the sparkling holiday lights, the cool rain, the Sound Healing Temple and the Puget Sound and Lake Union and Lake Washington and the very, very tall trees.

I’m feeling much safer on all levels than I did when I left in June 2024. Not only have I reclaimed my voice, but I’ve taken to the streets with it… with a little help from my activist fellows and disclosure role models!

Here we are playing the amazing 26 year-old Ally Carter of #AllysArmy teaching parents and mature children about sex trafficking - and how to prevent it - in downtown Seattle.

I’ve been joining Timothy Lassley of www.milliontownmarch.com in Seattle on Sundays outside the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. He has gone there in person with his bullhorn to call out Gates’ and others’ CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY…ALMOST 200 TIMES!!!!!!!!!! 💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻

I wrote more about Timothy in this post:

I’M CALLING THIS THE SUNDAY STRIKE: a 1-2 punch in the Death-Cult’s fake-face of lies:

1) Calling out the pandemic/COVID fraud

2) Speaking up about sex trafficking/OEA

It’s been glorious! A Big time rage-reducer. Please join us in your town!

TAKE PICS AND VIDEOS, POST ON SOCIAL MEDIA AS #SundayStrike and #TheChildrenNeedUs

My current Seattle-area experience is nothing like my memory from childhood I document below, which may have taken place on or around Christmas Eve…and involves a child hunting party. Sadly, these parties will be going on this year, in 2024, locally and all around the world. I can no longer forget this. May all children be free as soon as possible, and bless them mightily until then. 🙏❤️🙏❤️🙏

Note: I already wrote a brief summary about the scene described in this book excerpt chapter, in this blog post from right after I started my campervan journey. ⬇️⬇️⬇️ Today’s post is far more graphic.

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*Chapter 6: They Especially Loved the Horrified Ones (age 8?)

Recall 2013, Age 43

**Location of Abuse: Old Weyerhauser Mansion, once called “Haddaway Hall”?

4301 N Stevens St, Tacoma, WA 98407 USA

**Zillow Images from the actual house inside which I think these events took place, taken from when it was vacant and put on sale years later. I found these images after writing my account below. This doorway looks like a hungry monster to me!

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4301-N-Stevens-St-Tacoma-WA-98407/49347180_zpid/?

***Note: This property is not currently for sale or for rent on Zillow. The description and property data below may’ve been provided by a third party, the homeowner or public records.

Overview:

“Known as the Weyerhaeuser Mansion, this stunning property perches perfectly above the Sound with unobstructed views of the Sound, Cascade Mountains, Mount Rainier, Olympic Mountains and so much more! This mansion was built in 1923 for John & Anne Weyerhaeuser with a money-is-no-object mindset. Home inc. pipe organ, elevator, dumbwaiter, unbelievable mill-work throughout and every chimney is its own art sculpture. Landscaping designed by the renowned Olmsted Brothers! You must see to appreciate.”

[author’s note: more on the Olmsteads in footnote]

What I recall about this place…

By the time you got to the big square room, you were almost dead.

The best description I can think of for the room in this memory is like the big ballroom in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, where the ghosts waltz. I went there as a child, and I recall watching from an upper balcony, their gliding steps barely visible, the accompanying music slightly tinny in my mind. I was eight years old at the time of this incident, which did not take place at Disneyland, though I believe the hidden, Death-Cult parts of Disneyland are locations for profound organized extreme abuse (OEA) of children, and adults.

I believe the events of this memory took place in this mansion in Tacoma, WA. USA. It was built and first owned by John Weyerhaeuser, and the place was named after his wife as “Haddaway Hall,” to reflect how his wife “had” to get her “way” about all the house project decisions. The estate has been sold several times over the years.

My maternal grandfather Rolland Steffy (who was arrested and mandated to treatment as a sex offender, for multiple counts of child rape) and my Uncle Jerry Dean Ibsen (my horror handler) both worked for the Weyerhaeuser corporation in Everett, WA. Like Disneyland, this company has also been named by many victims as complicit in unprosecuted Death-Cult criminal behavior. The five T’s: trees-trucks-trains-trafficking-torture.

In the Weyerhaeuser ballroom, there were only soon-to-be ghosts. I’m alive to write about it because I snuck out, at least in my most clear recall. Some mornings after nightmaring about this place, I feared I really did die in there, and that I am a ghost, just gliding through the steps of my adult life. That’s what dissociation feels like – there, but barely…

It is not eerily peaceful in there. It is, by design, the last course of the terror-feast. The hunt has been taking place throughout the house for hours—all night, all carefully spectated via surveillance. The remaining kids are herded in here because dawn threatens; last chance for spilling final blood before the few living children must be shuttled back in white vans to the labs, basements and dungeons, deliberately tortured to forget.

Pondering this now I think perhaps I was never slated to be murdered in these “parties” in the fancy house that ended in the square room. I thought I was so clever to always escape, but maybe I was spared deliberately. Yes, that makes sense, they let me go. I was useful. They’d invested lots of training in me, and I was a performer. I feel a little loss at this, because as a child I’d felt proud of always getting through those nights. I thought I’d lived because I’d been able to beat that final horror.

Those nights were terrible, evoking what I later called the “mean dark-brown bleak hollow” in my stomach, when the dread and denial gave way to certainty that we were going to the big house and it was going to be one of those “celebrations.”

It always started off so beautiful, a glittery fantasy, though my familiarity with how the night would unfold seeped that canvas black quite quick.

They always began dressed in their finest. At first, I’m reminded of Tom Cruise in Eyes Wide Shut, when he finally makes it by choice to the party, as if such a stranger could that easily penetrate this society – and is shocked to see people in robes and masks fuc raping naked women in front of everyone. But it’s not like that in my memories.

I’d been taught: there are only two things to focus on, when you find yourself at the gathering of the beautifuls, the riches, the psychopaths: do not get drugged, and do not get locked in a room. If you slip up, and that happens to you, you are dead.

The children are the hunted, mostly. The cowards, they think children are easier to pick off. They like children better than adults to hunt, rape, torture and kill. Oh, the blood! I have to wonder, who cleaned all that blood up? Was it servants with tongues cut out (metaphorically, probably), or specialty workers, blood cleaners? And why did they stay quiet? How did this society function? There must have been a support structure; how did they get away with it all? Money, power, stealth, family legacy, blackmail and terror I guess, same as always, everywhere.

As the night unfolded, the guests would drink and get high. Everything was available. The children were dressed finely too, and would mingle, at first. Adults would soon lure kids into rooms and lock the doors. There were usually servants in there though, quiet, unobtrusive. Early in the night it was mostly rapes, perversions. More than one kid at a time sometimes, either several little ones, or at least one experienced one. Those who’d been through this regularly like us did not fight back or scream, because we’d been trained not to. We knew that’s what we were there for. I wished it would have stopped there, at the “appetizer course.”

Adults pulling up pants and a stunned, half-ghost kid on the bed, door shut, tears, servant to ensure nothing happens to disturb the guests. I never cried those times. I knew that kid was soon dead, never to survive what was to happen later. I felt nothing for him, or her – like that badly wounded little bird with the broken wing I’d once laid on a stump and smashed with a hammer, to quickly put it out of its misery. After Pippi there was no more feeling. These little birds would be out of their misery soon enough, before the sun rose; at least I didn’t have to do it. I watched the servant lead a shattered child away for holding until the final chase.

I walked downstairs voluntarily, wiping white off the corner of my mouth and smoothing my hair. Someday I’d be a big girl and do this with style, I was told often in (rape) training. I pretended I was there now, my own salon, men arriving by the hundreds, captivated by my beauty and power.

The music and revelry were louder now, faces flushed. Less kids milling around. A gong-noise sounded, and the room hushed up. Words were said, by a man with a deep voice. More words, some laughter. Unsteady kids ushered up from downstairs somewhere by grownups.

Then, a higher tone, “Let the games…begin!”

A shrill, excited cry, people changing clothes or taking off clothes, dark things underneath, barely holding in jiggly parts or nothing on at all. The children were wide-eyed, startled by adults now changed. A girl grabbed, penis forced in her mouth, carefully curled hair crushed in his big hands, tears squeezing from her scrunch-closed eyes. I am above again, by the ceiling, watching as a girl below is bent over a plush cushion, fingered in her small anus by a woman with a long, pointy nail as a man kneels to lick her vulva next. She had my dress on, but no longer. She’s naked now, all the children are naked now, drunken, drugged hilarity and thick lust reigning.

A belt leaves a welt, male laughter after the smack, and then another. “Run, little rabbit, run!” he shouts excitedly, and the boy, dazed, turns and runs down the hall while the man stands tall and begins his stride after, belt in hand. I can tell from my perch floating near the ceiling that that boy will not survive, because he’s become one of the horrified ones, his flee erratic, uncalculated. He will run into a trap, or maybe he’s already let himself be drugged by accepting a drink or a tasty treat from an adult when they were still dressed beautifully. Once that happens, there is no way to keep your wits about you at all. You’re a goner.

They especially loved the horrified ones.

Loved their shakes of revulsion, their curling up in corners or hiding their eyes as if that would hide their bodies from the monsters. They loved the helpless, another man was pulling a bow and arrow from somewhere and aiming at the little form backed against a wall, frozen. In this part of the party, the assaults shifted from fondling and coercive molests to rape, and violence became more the rule. Knives were favored.

But the chase was important – my rape ended and I snapped back into my body and ran, naked, always staying in the halls or rooms with two doors, careful not to tuck into a bedroom with only a closet and high window, no matter how inviting the slightly open doors were. Often they were already in there, waiting. They usually wouldn’t kill in the halls. They must have had some kind of rulebook on their end, somehow they followed some order: don’t damage the house, and the smart kids, the ones who could beat the horror, could think enough to figure things out. I knew some of these kids; my neighbor, the doctor’s son, his younger brother. I never knew the dying ones. I looked right through them. How could the adults tell which were the kill fodder? Did we have wristbands on? I don’t recall.

Kids and adults, running around the house. Breaks for the adults, for food or more drink or drugs, resting time in rooms with cameras, to follow the others’ progress. Henchmen to remove any bodies, but blood was left as part of the ambiance. A kill took place here.

I wish I was making this up, I wish, I wish, I wish.

Just keep running! They don’t touch you during the hunt unless you freeze. The outer doors are locked from the outside, the windows frozen shut. But eventually, living kids are force-funneled into the great room, and that door too, is locked. I sneak out of there, behind a curtain to a secret door, with my neighbor boys and a few others. We are escorted out, into the familiar van. The rest, huddling in the center of the circle of remaining grown bodies, will not leave on their feet. I hear the faint screaming behind me, the “No, no, no’s.”

Recalling this memory and grieving it in therapy helped me to understand and overcome my life-long deep dread for holiday dress-up parties.

This haunted mansion is still standing in Tacoma, WA, USA!

It's still standing: 4301 N Stevens St. Tacoma, WA USA

My research showed that The Weyerhaeuser Family still owns 25 million acres of forestland across North America. After this house sold, it was made into a seminary on the grounds and a chapel was added, called The Northwest Baptist Seminary. Apparently the house and land was made into a non-profit in 2016.

Originally, this mansion was built on land previously owned by Allen C. Mason, whom I read once traveled to Egypt and brought back a mummified high priest. Does that sound like an occult practitioner? Did he have any connection with John Weyerhaeuser and other wealthy elites? Or was he a generous man of integrity, as this dedication portends?

I just looked at the latest comment on this mansion tour video, made years after I wrote down this memory and then looked the story up online. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Independent corroborating statement about secret passages!

I wonder - should I post a link to this story under the video? Should I reach out to @megwatts1903? Contact the Tacoma News Tribune? File a complaint with the Tacoma Police Department? How about send a blog link to the Weyerhaeuser PR department? Go to the mansion itself and knock on the door?

What does one do with memories as this?

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The Weyerhaeuser family made national headlines after the kidnapping of their son, George, who was apparently “buried in a pit” before being eventually returned home safely after ransom was paid. History buffs will recall many kidnappings in wealthy elite families. Not to minimize the suffering of kidnapping on any family, but I do wonder if there is more to these stories hidden behind the headlines – namely a convenient excuse for separation from parents and Satanic Ritual-type Abuse of children?

Though not detailed, I remember being terrorized by being left in a crypt drawer with a dead body as a child by my Uncle Jerry in a cemetery somewhere in or near Everett, WA, and this is another common theme spoken about by survivors of SRA. 😱 There are children trapped in such places right now, I am sure. How can we find them and get them out?

Even though the Weyerhaeusers are reportedly not on record as owning this house in 1977-1978, when I remember being there, were they networked with those who did? It’s not like there was a huge social circle of people or even organizations who could own such a mansion in the “scrappy port city” of Tacoma, WA in the shadow of The Port of Tacoma and Joint Base Lewis McChord military instillation (JBLM). The ARMY BASE of JBLM is also connected to eastern Yakima, where I recall being taken underground. I wrote of that memory in my last excerpt:

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Are connections forming for the guilty parties? In the Zillow ad for the mansion when it was on sale, it is stated that the landscaping for the grounds was done by the world famous Olmstead Brothers, who are responsible for creating many, many open public spaces/parks in Seattle, and elsewhere. Per this cheerful summary on the “Friends of Seattle’s Olmstead Parks” website:

*PREFACE – THE ORIGINS OF A PARK SYSTEM IN SEATTLE

For thousands of years the Puget Sound region was inhabited by people known collectively as the Puget Sound or Coast Salish people. The Duwamish are among these people. They, as noted, that lived on land that has become the City of Seattle.

Upon the arrival of settlers in the early 19th century, the ownership of land and land use changed greatly. The federal Donation Land Claim Act of 1850 opened the way for US citizens to claim land in the Oregon Territory — of which Seattle was a part until 1853. As early as 1852 citizen settlers claimed land along Elliott Bay and then all over what became known as Seattle.

In
1855 when the Coastal Salish people signed the Point Elliott Treaty and ceded their title to their lands, the U. S. citizen settlers gained full legal title to the lands they had claimed. These American settlers of European origin built a port city which grew rapidly in size and population. Within 33 years the need for an open space for Seattle residents was recognized and, thanks to the Denny family, Seattle had its first park. A short 20 years after that, the city had a comprehensive plan for major parks and parkways that would rival any found in the United States.

Today’s Seattle residents owe a debt of gratitude to the city leaders of the early twentieth century and the landscape architects responsible for crafting the master plan for the Seattle parks and boulevard system— the Olmsted family of Brookline, Massachusetts. The forward-thinking city leaders were anticipating the needs of a rapidly growing city and imbued with the philosophy of the City Beautiful movement which recognized the importance of open space in urban environments.

*I don’t believe this synopsis!

DO YOU SEE the number 33 in the above? As in, 33rd Degree Masons? I fear this is ridicule - code to flaunt themselves and laugh at the unaware public. Look at the gaslighting language for the likely genocide and theft of indigenous land:

Upon the arrival of settlers in the early 19th century, the ownership of land and land use changed greatly.

That’s like rewriting my journal entry above to say,

When Anastasia, then called Staci - that very loyal child - went to the fancy mansion, she was left with a strong impression.

🤬🤬🤬

It was at the time of this memory returning in 2013 that I began to research online, and tried to hire a Private Investigator who taught a local P.I. class. She stopped responding to me without explanation. How hard could it be to find out more about this property, who exactly owned it in 1977-78, and who by name was involved in its sale? But more of such research has been overwhelmingly exhausting to me, due to DO NOT TELL/KNOW programming, and so I return to doing my best to make my life work without stirring up any more difficulties.

For now I’ll leave it here, other than to say that those Olmstead Brothers - whom as I mentioned above designed this Weyerhaeuser estate grounds, do get around. Their landscape architecture firm apparently designed Central Park in Manhattan, NY, and are connected to the recently flooded North Carolina area and the Biltmore family estate, which is rumored to be connected to the Rothschilds and Satanic Freemasons. Could it be they were actually Death-Cult lackeys charged with creating or covering up structures that hid secret tunnels underneath for child trafficking? Does this cover-up go back further, to the lost properties not just of indigenous peoples but Tartaria?

Check out the list of Olmsted projects - anyone seeking to investigate corrupt hidden underground strongholds may be wise to use this list as a starting point: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Olmsted_works

I envision a future where stories like this are not what I write and send out on Christmastime/Hanukkah. Meanwhile, thank you for reading.

❤️

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PLEASE HELP!

We must stand up for survivors of Organized, Extreme Abuse! Please sign and share this petition:

END All Forms of Satanic Ritual Abuse/Mind Control and Demand Reparations Now

https://www.change.org/p/end-all-forms-of-satanic-ritual-abuse-mind-control-and-demand-reparations-now

https://5forfreedom.org

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©Anastasia Sprout and SOAAR Global, PMA