by R. H. Stavis
I forced myself up and walked toward my bathroom. As I approached it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I suddenly butted up against something sticky. Pulling my face and hands back, I walked backward and hit the same filmy substance. It’s the Sandman’s web, I suddenly realized. Then I looked toward my bathroom, and I could see its shimmering silkiness reflected in the mirror and coating the walls of everything in sight.
I gazed toward my living room, and sitting there on the couch was an older man. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and he was waiting patiently, as if he had all the time in the world.
I knew right away it was the Sandman. But there was nothing I could do; he’d already fed on my fear, and it was time for him to move on.
There are people who suffer from really vivid nightmares almost every night, but this is not necessarily due to the Sandman at work. The Sandman wants a very specific type of energy, and it has to be sudden, intense fear—the kind that electrifies you from your head to your toes. If you’re having regular, lower-level nightmares, you’re probably a little more used to your fear. You’re just a tormented person, sadly, and while I can’t say for sure without doing an exorcism, it’s likely that you have another type of entity attached—perhaps a Wraith. The Sandman doesn’t care about your slow, scared drumroll. That’s just not his way.
Neutral Entities
All of the entities I’ve described in this chapter are negative—that is, they feed off of low energy, leading to more of it—but there are some that are completely neutral. They don’t interact with people at all; they just come out of Spirit and move through space, and judging from what I see, they don’t do much of anything at all.
The neutral entity I see most often is what I call the Poof. That’s right. I gave him and all his nonthreatening bros silly names because they’re as mundane as the pile of lint sitting in your dryer. These entities are just there, and they’re never really a nuisance. The Poof is a small ball of smoke that shifts in and out, appearing and disappearing, as it moves through space. I estimate that I see a Poof a few times a month, and like I said, it never attaches to anyone.
I named another neutral entity the Crystal Dragon because it appears as pieces of crystal as it floats through space, usually from one side of a room to the other. Its form doesn’t really have a head or a tail, though it shapes itself into an S, like a dragon kite you might see flying through the air on a windy day.
While I can’t detect any level of energy from the Poof or the Crystal Dragon, the entity I call the Furby has a distinctive negative frequency. Even though he has cotton-candy fur, huge eyes, and a tiny mouth that makes him the cutest entity you’ve ever laid your eyes on, he doesn’t emanate anything good. In fact, when he moves past me, I feel nauseated. Still, I’ve never seen the Furby attached to anyone, so I have no reason to believe he’s harmful.
Given that they don’t do much of anything—and unlike other entities, don’t cause harm—I’m not sure what purpose these types of entities serve. I’ve thought a lot about this, though, and I think it’s arrogant for us, as humans, to believe that we’re the purpose of everything, or that if something doesn’t affect us, it doesn’t matter. In the realm of Spirit, which I strive to be a part of daily, thinking that way isn’t right. Maybe the Furby and the Poof secretly support other entities, and they’re so good at what they do that I’ll never find out why or how. Just because I can’t know this doesn’t mean that they don’t carry weight in the Spirit world. If their existence contributed nothing, they probably wouldn’t exist.
I only hope they’re not helping support the next two entities because, trust me, they have all the power they need.
CHAPTER 5
The Most Dangerous Entities of All
I’ve reserved the two most malignant entities I encounter for last. I didn’t do so to save the big scare for the end. I did this because these forces are truly, deeply dangerous. They need special attention. If you encounter a Realm Walker or a Collector—which I hope to hell you never do—I want you to have all the information I can give so you might deal with them effectively. Knowledge is power—especially when you’re dealing with entities as potent as these.
COLLECTORS
There are many entities who attach to structures like hotels and office buildings. Some are harmless, while others can bring down an entire floor. Most location-based entities show up so infrequently and with so little fanfare that they’re not worth mentioning, nor have I given them names. And like the Poof or the Furby, I haven’t figured out why they exist. But I encounter a location-based entity called a Collector fairly often, and while it’s less malicious than a Realm Walker—the next entity I’ll describe—it’s still not to be trifled with.
Collectors attach to places that are sources of negative energy, meaning somewhere horrible events occurred in the past. You know there might be that storefront in your town where no matter what business goes into the space, it fails? Or the apartment building that always seems to be full of sad, lonely renters living by themselves? For the Collector, that’s not even negative enough. It seeks out somewhere like a house where a murder occurred, or a hospital that was the site of an outbreak of a deadly disease. It typically chooses big buildings simply because people go there consistently, often en masse, and it always seeks out places where death occurred. I’ve taken private tours of the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose—built by the millionaire widow of the founder of Winchester Repeating Arms, and rumored to be filled with the ghosts of people killed by guns—and there’s absolutely a Collector inhabiting that place. In fact, I can sense that this Collector compelled Old Mrs. Winchester to build that strange building. A mall where a mass shooting happened would also be a Collector’s dream come true. Why? Because in locations where horror like this occurred, there’s negative frequency written on the walls, literally, by the spirits of the dead, and the Collector wants to gather up that energy to feed off it. That’s right: when this entity attaches to a space, it collects deceased spirits and hangs on to them like little souvenirs.
Like Realm Walkers, Collectors are massive—as large as whatever space to which they’ve become attached. I’ve seen them as big as two-story buildings. Most of the time, they take on the shape of the souls of the beings they’ve collected, so when I look closely at them, I see dead people or animals instead of their shadow. I can spot faces, arms, and legs inside them, all of which are attached to trapped souls. Think of a huge wave full of fish, shells, debris, even a shark. (Google it! There are photos of this happening!) That’s what a Collector looks like. When you exorcise the entity from a space, washing away all the trapped souls in the process, all that’s left is an imprint of the entity. Essentially, for just a moment, there’s a lingering shadow, almost like residue, with dark smoke hovering above. Then, just as fast as a wave can rise up and crash to the shore, that dark smoke dissipates. Sometimes, Collectors are thin and muscular, almost sinewy in their build, with huge, long-fingered hands, which they use to trap souls.
Collectors aren’t incredibly common. I see them much, much less than the entities people carry—like Wraiths—and I certainly encounter them less frequently than Clives. For every ten Wraiths, I see one Collector, and I rarely exorcise them. In fact, I’ve only done three Collector exorcisms: one on a bank building where there had been a massive, deadly fire, and another in a house where multiple murders had occurred. The third took place on a television set, and I’ll describe that in a later chapter.
In each of these locations, dead souls were stuck—held captive by the Collector—and hadn’t been able to pass back into Spirit. They’d experienced horrible trauma before death, then taken their last breaths strangled by panic and fear, and they were trapped in the places and frame of mind in which they’d lost their lives. This a terrible, desperate situation, and if I can’t get rid of the Collector, these souls will never reenter Spirit.
Collectors don’t just control deceased people. If they’ve taken over a building, they can
overpower individuals who live or work there, causing them to say things they wouldn’t normally say—and that are counterproductive or harmful to others. They can cause destructive events within the building that can lead to injuries, and they can render a place so miserable that everyone working or living there becomes unhappy.
People aren’t necessarily repelled from sites where Collectors live. Sure, they may feel an awful, ugly vibe radiating in these places, but they’ll still live, work, and visit there. When I’ve walked around the grounds where the Manson Ranch used to be, for example, I’m certain there’s a Collector present, and yet thousands go there every year to experience that ugly chaos. The Collector didn’t compel Charles Manson to do what he did—he surely had his own collection of personal entities—but it’s no coincidence he chose to start his commune in a location where a Collector was stuck. In many ways, a Collector is a magnet, and when it traps what it can feed on, it will never let go.
Until, of course, I come in.
REALM WALKERS
Hands down, the most toxic and malevolent entity in the world is the Realm Walker. Fortunately, it’s also the entity I see least frequently. If I encountered Realm Walkers in even a fraction of the exorcisms I perform, I wouldn’t just be spent. All of humanity would be well on its way to a violent, brutal end.
When you’re faced with a Realm Walker, you might as well be dealing with the Devil himself. In fact, when people attribute large negative events to Satan, chances are, Realm Walkers are the cause. Practicing Christians describe Satan as the single most powerful force of evil in the world, but I see many devils in the world—and I know them all as Realm Walkers.
From a very early age, Spirit made me aware that Realm Walkers existed. I believe Source knew what my life path would be, and that I’d come up against at least one Realm Walker in my future, so it delivered this realization in a slow, dawning manner rather than through a full-scale visual attack. I sensed a steady drumroll of extreme low frequency. Then, when I was around eleven and was emotionally ready, Spirit began to send me unvarnished images, both in my dreams and when I was awake. What I’d see in front of me was a giant, looming blackness; an all-encompassing evil, the likes of which I didn’t know existed. I was terrified. I had to turn on the television in my room and keep all the lights on just to fall asleep. What if one tries to kill me? I’d think as I drifted off. What if one causes the world to end?
The sad truth is that one Realm Walker, who finds the right host and hooks into them, just might. This is not something I say lightly. But it is something I know to be true.
A Realm Walker is cunning, intelligent, and malevolent—like I said, the most lethal of all the entities that originate in Source. Its intention is to find someone or something, attach to it, and use it as a pawn to enact global destruction or manifest negative worldwide change. A Realm Walker is a movie-style demon who can descend on a building, feed off its negative energy, and then cause many injuries to happen inside. It can break gas lines, move furniture around dangerously fast, and worst of all, influence people who live or work in that building to kill each other. If a Realm Walker attaches to a person, it will compel that individual to use any means necessary to exert negativity toward everyone and everything in his or her path. Think Hitler. Visualize Charles Manson. And I’m not naming any names, but there was a Realm Walker very present in the 2016 U.S. presidential election.
Realm Walkers are only interested in inhabiting people powerful enough to affect major world shifts, like politicians, business leaders, and influential celebrities. They won’t seek out an average Joe, living on a farm in Iowa, with no great aspirations beyond feeding his cows. Realm Walkers won’t make you hit the global stage; that had to be your own intention. Chances are you’ll never be directly affected by a Realm Walker—meaning it won’t attach to you—but it’s very possible you could get caught in its path in one way or another. Stalin, for example, had a Realm Walker, and while the entity itself didn’t murder anyone, it did influence Stalin to order the deaths of millions.
Luckily, there’s no possible way that someone could have two Realm Walkers. First off, the world would probably spontaneously combust if that happened, and, second of all, each Realm Walker is so powerful that they can’t exist in the same space. The result would be like trapping two cats in a pillowcase.
When I see a Realm Walker, they’re unmistakable, and their energy is so malevolent that it nearly knocks me over. Sometimes, I catch one hovering over someone on television or in old photographs, and it looks like a giant dark cloud or shadow. In public appearances—say, if a movie star is accepting an award in front of millions of television viewers—the Realm Walker won’t show its face, but it casts an unmistakable darkness.
If I come face-to-face (or even close to) a person with a Realm Walker, the entity looms physically huge, like a giant, imposing king. In fact, its mass is its most recognizable feature. It’s a sudden, torrential thunderstorm that envelops the sky and changes day to night in a matter of seconds. Sometimes I compare them to Orson Welles in Citizen Kane, but they’re far more demonic, like how you’d imagine Satan looks. They frequently arrive as tall, cloaked figures, but unlike a Wraith, who appears to be bald, tall, and skinny, Realm Walkers are physically strong, and when they’re attached to individuals, they show their muscular bodies. They can change their size depending on who or what they’re targeting, and as they feed, they grow even larger. This may sound strange, and I have no idea the reason, but a Realm Walker wears a huge crown made of wood—or maybe it’s an entire tree given its size. Finally, Realm Walkers are definitely masculine, with long, odd-looking faces. They sometimes have beards, and when they do, they’re also made of wood. I know these are incredibly detailed descriptions for something I’ve only seen a handful of times, but, believe me—a Realm Walker is something you just don’t forget.
Realm Walkers can be attached to individuals or to locations. When I witness Realm Walkers on structures, they’re larger than the building itself, like giant robots straight out of an old-fashioned disaster film, descending on a particular part of town.
The worst part of encountering this type of entity is the fear a Realm Walker strikes within me. When I see one, it’s like looking into a black hole of evil. I immediately feel a complete revulsion, like my body is working against me, and I often throw up. I start sweating. I get the chills. I’ve never had cancer, but I imagine the pain of your cells morphing and attacking your organs is quite similar to the sensation a Realm Walker gives me. The feeling isn’t all internal, either; I sense the violence and the anger all around me. Remember when you were a kid and you shuddered and turned inward when you heard your parents fight? Did you ever cry or hide because you were so afraid? Multiply that times 1,000, and that’s what a Realm Walker feels like to me.
What happens after a Realm Walker attaches to someone really depends on that person’s agenda. Unfortunately, that’s what frightens me the most. If I see a Realm Walker, I know immediately he and his victim are up to no good, but I have no idea what they’re planning, nor is there anything I can do to stop the destruction unless the host comes in for an exorcism. Together, the host and the entity, who have a deeply symbiotic relationship, could be plotting nuclear war or in the midst of toppling the banking system. They might be setting a genocide in motion, or they may be about to take over a nation in a hostile coup. All I know is that the Realm Walker’s looking to set off a major tipping point in a society—and it’s going to be negative.
Unfortunately, world changers who have Realm Walkers are the people who are least likely to come to me because they have a symbiotic relationship with their entity. It makes them feel powerful and driven. They can really do things that affect a lot of people, and that’s an ego rush. But they’ve—quite literally—made a deal with the Devil. In exchange for great personal power, immense wealth, a phenomenal career, terrific sex, or the huge influence they’ve always craved, they’re in fact charting a course of destructi
on.
Of course, to the host, death and mayhem isn’t something to fret over. It is simply an unfortunate by-product of getting to be so damn influential. Someone with a Realm Walker realizes they have something helping them, lifting them up, but they don’t acknowledge, nor are they even aware, that it’s a malevolent force. Instead, they believe they have a God-given gift. This symbiosis is sort of similar to how a Trickster behaves, but the difference is that Tricksters attach to people who are inherently good. When they’re not feeling isolated, they have the ability to vibrate at a high level. The Realm Walker, on the other hand, will never pick a positive person. They look for someone who’s low frequency by default, who likes being that way, and who manipulates that negative power to their own ends. To attract a Realm Walker, a host needs to be petty and small; someone who wants and wants and wants.
All that narcissism doesn’t come without a cost. People with Realm Walkers attached to them will reach rock bottom. Generally, that breaking point is a health crisis. They may lose a tremendous amount of weight, develop a life-threatening illness, or simply look so poorly that an instinct for self-preservation takes over. The insistent nagging of family and friends that they change their lives finally gets through, and the host will realize that they cannot keep living in the same way. To make a change and be exorcised is a huge step—and it can’t come without a lot of support from others—but it’s the only choice an infected person can make to better their lives. To save their lives, in fact.
Realm Walker exorcisms are exceedingly rare. In fact, I’ve only done a handful in my career, but they’re the most difficult by far. Exorcising a building is much more difficult than getting one out of a person because in a building, there’s an enormous number of spaces, rooms, nooks, and crannies that the entity has invaded over time. There’s just more required of me, more negative energy to remove.
