Escaping the Cult: One cult, two stories of survival. Kristina Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ her running through forests zapping people with her special powers. If I could have chosen to meet any of Grandpa’s family in real life it would have been her. But the mere mention of the name Davidito, his adopted heir, still brought me out in a jealous rage. The fact he was a boy probably didn’t help. I way preferred the idea of a princess instead of a prince leading me into the fight at Armageddon.

      Uncle Titus called us into the dining room for group devotion time. He stood in the centre of the room with a thick sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘I have something very important to read today’, he intoned in his low voice. ‘The whole family is here because this is an issue that affects all of us. There are many reports of second-generation family members behaving in ungodly or ungrateful ways. This will not be tolerated.’

      He explained that in his hand were a series of letters Grandpa had written about Mene. As she reached her teens she had started calling up demons. Every night the demons came to possess her and trick her into being naughty. She saw demons everywhere; she talked to them and even invited them into her bed. Grandpa had tried so hard to make the demons leave Mene. He had carried out exorcisms where he prayed over her as much as 50 times a day and had been forced to beat her up with a big stick. Sometimes the exorcisms made her faint or throw up, but Grandpa said this was a very good thing because it proved the demons were leaving her body.

      I stood to attention, listening in stunned silence. Uncle Titus continued in his pained-sounding voice.

      ‘I am going to pass around copies of another letter. I want you all to read it carefully. As you will see it is a recording of a real conversation between Grandpa and Mene. You will see with your own eyes how much Grandpa loves her and wants to save her.’

      With shaky hands I looked down at the sheet of paper.

      It began with the explanation that Grandpa had handed Mene a large rod and asked her to feel ‘how heavy it is’.

      Then he and Mene spoke back and forth: ‘Slap her! Slap her good! Knock her around! Let her have it! The Lord took hold of her head … and yanked it around and back and forth until I was afraid I was going to yank her head off or break her neck! God was so angry … And then I hauled her and slapped her, I don’t know how many times tonight, hard, right?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Mene didn’t seem to be answering back, pretty much just saying ‘Yes, sir’ in agreement. But that didn’t seem to be enough for him. He ordered Mama Maria and Sara to tie Mene to her bed without food and water, for days if needed. ‘I don’t care if you wet the bed, dear, your hands are going to be tied to the sides of that bed at night. If you don’t get rid of those demons, you may have to get whipped in bed, caned in bed.’

      After we had finished reading you could have heard a pin drop. Every single child in the room was stunned into their own silent world of terror by what they had just read. The piece of paper in my hand felt so tainted. I wanted to tear it up.

      ‘So, children,’ said Titus, ‘Grandpa has sent us some very important lessons today. Some of you in this house are reaching this same tender age where demons will also come to test you. Do not to be tempted to make Mene’s mistake by calling them up and playing with those demons. Do you hear me? Reject the demons. Reject them! I want to hear you promise Jesus. Say it. We will reject the demons.’

      Clearly worried voices recited back: ‘We will reject the demons.’

      It got worse. Titus said what we’d just read was not in fact the end of the story. It had been written some time ago. But Mene had not heeded her lessons. She had continued to trick poor Grandpa with her pretty face and sweet ways by pretending to be cured, while all the time secretly bringing more demons into his home.

      As a last resort to help her learn the error of her ways Grandpa set up a special school for her on a very remote island. To keep her company he had sent other naughty, evil children to join her. They were what were called DTs, detention teens. If any of us tried the same tricks we too would be sent there. But even the school hadn’t worked for Mene. Grandpa could see now she was simply a hopeless case – a plaything of the devil himself.

      For days after hearing all this I felt nauseous. I got on my knees and prayed extra hard, asking Jesus to help me be really good and not fall foul of evil like Mene. I felt completely betrayed by her. How could my heroine have trusted the devil and let him into her heart? I was so angry with her that if she’d been in front of me I think I would have wanted to beat her too.

      But Merry Mene wasn’t the only problem for the group. The original group (back when it was known as the Children of God) had been formed in 1968, over 20 years ago. The first tranche of babies born in those early days had reached their teens a few years earlier. Ever since then reports had been reaching the Shepherds of teenagers getting into fights, rebelling, drinking alcohol or, worst of all, trying to escape the communes. The leadership saw a crisis on their hands. Without getting the situation under control it was feared younger kids would start to follow suit.

      In Word Time we were read countless more Mo letters about the problems of ‘teen terror’. There was story after story of ‘ungrateful, ungodly’ children who had failed to appreciate the ‘loving family’ they had been born into.

      Eventually we were told Grandpa had set up special camps, called Victor Camps or TTCs (Teen Training Centres), to fix the problem. Young teens would be sent to them before they had a chance to turn bad. In the camps they would do a combination of physical labour, prayer and fasting. That would help them stay on the path of righteousness and ensure they didn’t follow the bad examples of others.

      Once again rules made by leaders far away tore apart my family. Now aged 12, my eldest brother, Joe, was sent to a TTC. My dad promised him that it would be great fun and that he’d get to do lots of activities and sports to help him grow strong. The look of dread on his face as he kissed my parents goodbye told me he didn’t believe a word of it.

      Less than a week after Joe was sent away my father announced we were moving to a different commune. I couldn’t wait.

Chapter 9

       From Russia with Love

      I climbed up onto the closed toilet seat. I knew if I leaned forward onto the windowsill and stretched up onto my toes I could see out to the gate. I stared longingly – praying, willing the gate to open and for my mother to walk through it.

      ‘Natacha. Natacha, where are you, naughty girl?’

      At the sound of Aunty Esther’s voice I jumped off the toilet and ran to take my seat in class.

      As I slid into my chair Esther’s fist rapped into the side of my temple. ‘Wicked girl.’

      Four months earlier we’d moved communes. Initially I had thought the move might make my life easier, but as it turned out I was sadly mistaken. This house was even bigger than the last, with between 150 and 200 permanent residents. On the surface it appeared to be a lot more comfortable than the previous one, with a pretty garden laid to lawn and planted with coconut trees. There was a square-shaped outdoor swimming pool, which I had been thrilled to discover we were allowed to use once a week for physical education lessons. But if the previous commune had been a madhouse of weird regulations, this one was like a military prison camp. Children wore uniforms depending on their age; all the outfits had been donated from various sources and were a funny hotchpotch of styles. I was seven now and the girls in my age group wore a uniform of a short skirt with a drawstring blouse, which was made of a horrible СКАЧАТЬ