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A Nun's Testimony
- Anonymous -
(Posted here by Wes Penre for Illuminati News, September 28, 2004)

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I was reared in a devout Roman Catholic home and, although our home
contained many religious items, we never had a Bible there. Consequently,
I never heard of God's wonderful plan of salvation by faith in the Lord
Jesus. No one ever explained to me that I only had to invite Him into my
heart and ask Him to save me from all my sins to be born again (Revela-
tion 3:20). Instead, I only knew what I was taught in the catechisms and
in the institution which we attended faithfully.

I had a deep love and devotion to the God I did not really know personal-
ly and I yearned to give my life to Him completely. According to the
teaching I received, the way to do this was to become a nun and enter a
convent. My parish priest pressed this idea on me as did the nuns who
taught in my parochial school.

How well I remember the day two nuns from my school accompanied me home.
The parish priest joined them there for a conference with my father and
mother. In my family, children did not interrupt grown-ups but asked to
speak. When given permission I told my father simply, "Dad, I want to go
into the convent." Both parents wept for joy at this because they had
been thoroughly indoctrinated to believe that to give a child to the
convent in this matter was a great service to God.

They were thrilled that one of their girls had decided to give her life
to the convent in order to pray for lost humanity. It was all so exciting
and religious, and none of us had any idea what was involved or implied
in all this. Tragically, both my parents and I had been cleverly manipu-
lated by carefully trained recruiters, representatives of the Roman
Catholic system, whom we trusted. Not for one moment did we suspect the
deception, lies and horror which lay behind the convent doors. We be-
lieved what we had been taught. Like sheep we were led to the slaughter,
totally unaware of the fate planned for us.

Twelve months went by and the year 1910 came, when I was to leave home.
My mother and I busied ourselves with preparations. The priest said that
they had no place for me near home; therefore, my parents had to take me
a thousand miles crosscountry to enter me in the convent boarding school.
I was then three months from my thirteenth birthday, an immature child,
being snatched from my parents at a critical time in my growing up.

Never had I been away from my parents, not even overnight. When they left
after staying with me for three days, I was smitten with an aching lone-
liness and homesickness. In all of the planning for the move, I didn't
really realize that I was going to be separated from my parents, never to
see them again. I was miserable and unhappy.

Catholic priests select children at the confessional box and begin to
plant the seed to steer them into the convents and the priesthood. Even
when I was seven, I would go immediately to the statue of the Virgin Mary
when I entered the church to pray, believing she would help me to make a
good confession. My childish heart was very honest and the priest always
heavily emphasized the absolute necessity of making a good confession. We
could keep back nothing if we expected absolution from our sins.

I entered what was classified as a sister of the open order, until I took
my white veil at the age of sixteen and one half. Everything was beauti-
ful, and I had no fears or doubts in my mind. The things I was taught
were in line with what I had been told earlier before entering the con-
vent. There was no reason to suspect that there were vast areas which
were hidden and had been deliberately misrepresented.

Shortly after arrival at the convent, I resumed my schooling. I had just
graduated from eighth grade and they had promised me a high school educa-
tion plus college. Actually, I got little beyond the high school level,
other than some nurse's training. The schooling I received was under
duress and terrible difficulties. Following this, I was pushed into the
crucial training required of all noviates entering the convent.

Six months before I was fourteen, the Mother Superior began to urge me to
take the white veil. She made it all sound so glamorous, romantic and
fascinating. I would take the white veil, dressed in a beautiful white
wedding dress. An actual marriage ceremony would follow and I would
receive a ring, similar to one of those tungsten rings, and become the spouse
or bride of Christ. It was not difficult for an impressionable teenager to be
swayed into eager agreement.

Mother Superior then wrote my father to tell him how much money he must
send to pay for my wedding dress. Because he was wealthy, it was a size-
able amount. I learned later that it was customary to demand three to
five times the cost of the dress. The nuns bought the material and made
the dress so that the actual cost was small and the rest of the money
could be pocketed. No opportunity was overlooked to milk funds from the
faithful.

I was always devout and often walked the fourteen stations of the cross,
but after deciding to take the white veil, my fervency increased. In my
anxiety to be holy enough to be worthy to become the bride of Christ, I
began to crawl the stations of the cross each Friday. Surely this would
draw me closer to God and prepare me to take the step I planned.

My heart was bursting with idealistic devotion and love toward the false
goals I had been taught would please and honor God in my life. Hundreds
of innocent girls go down this trail into the maw of the convents annual-
ly, starry eyed and desiring to give their hearts, minds and souls in
unselfish service, praying for lost humanity.

With the wedding ceremony behind them, nuns are treated as married woman.
We were taught that our family would be saved if we continued to live in
the convent, serving the Roman Catholic system. A child's concern for
family members, especially erring ones, is often manipulated by the
father confessor to convince him/her to go into religious vocations. As a
child, I looked on my father confessor as God and others with whom I have
talked did the same thing. This gives his insinuations and suggestions
tremendous power and influence. I thought of him as being holy and infal-
lible, totally incapable of lying.

After I took the white veil, everything continued, rosy, religious and
beautiful. Everyone was good to me and I lived in the open order convent
I saw nothing to lead me to believe it would not continue this way. No
girl is subject to the priest until she is twenty-one, but I knew nothing
of this for all was carefully hidden and covered. There was no clue to
cause one to guess what lay behind the black veil and those double locked
doors of the closed, cloistered convent.

Up until I took the black veil I was allowed to receive one letter per
month from my family and was permitted to write one to them from the
convent. When I wrote I knew that much of it would be censored and marked
out by the Mother Superior who read all incoming and outgoing mail. My
letters from home were always so marked out until virtually nothing was
left to read. I used to weep over all those inked out sections, wondering
and worrying over what my mother had been trying to tell me, but there
was no way I could ever know.

No one imprisoned behind those walls ever comes out to tell the awful
story. Priests will glibly pooh, pooh the idea that there is anything
amiss. They will tell you that in this country and elsewhere sisters can
walk out of the convents anytime they please. That is a lie! I was shut
up for twenty-two years and tried everything to escape. I even carried
tablespoons to the dungeons and desperately dug in their dirt floors
attempting to find a way out. Why a tablespoon? All the other tools were
locked up or carefully supervised. They were used to dig the tunnels and
underground chambers. Convents are constructed like prisons to thwart the
escape of the nuns.

As I approached eighteen, Mother Superior began to work on me again.
Remember that these ruthless women are carefully selected and trained for
their jobs. I was making my plans to come out of the convent after taking
the white veil to become a nursing sister in the Roman Catholic system.
However, she had noted my endurance and devotion so she called me into
her office for a conference.

"Charlotte," she said, "I have been watching you. You have a strong body
and the devotion to make a good nun, a cloister nun. I believe you are
the type who would be willing to give up home and everything you love in
the world to hide yourself away behind convent doors. I believe that you
would be willing to sacrifice and live in crucial poverty in order to be
able to pray for lost humanity. You would have to be willing to suffer in
order to achieve this."

We were constantly taught that living loved ones as well as those already
in purgatory would be delivered sooner by the nun's suffering here.
Mother Superior had observed that I was willing to suffer without murmur-
ing or complaining, therefore she broached the idea of my taking the
black veil. Of course I had no idea what the cloistered nuns did or how
they lived so she began to tell me about the cloisters.

Mother Superior told me that in the cloisters, I would have to shed my
own blood as Jesus did on Calvary. I would have to be willing to endure
heavy penances and live in crucial poverty the rest of my life. Already I
was living in poverty, but if this would make me holier, draw me closer
to God and a better nun, I thought it would be worth it to accept this
crucial poverty, whatever it was.

Two months before my twenty-first birthday I was summoned into Mother
Superior's office and papers were shown to me in which I would sign away
any and all inheritance I would ever have to the Roman Catholic system.
Priests work hard to entice girls from wealthy families into the con-
vents, for the system is enriched by their inheritances. I told her I
needed some more time to think about it.

For two years I seriously considered it. If I took my perpetual vows it
would mean going behind closed doors in a cloistered convent, and there
all my life would belong to God. It would be one of study, devotion,
meditation and prayer; however I would be able to win many more souls to
God because I would have more time to pray. I believed and accepted all
that she said and one day informed her that I had decided to go into
cloister.

To begin, I would be required to lie for nine hours in a casket, dying to
the world. Never again would I see my people or return home, for I would
be bound by the cloister's convent. This was a tremendous price for a
twenty-one year old girl to pay, to give up all that she loved and held
dear in the world, but this had to be done in order to win souls to God.
I was dressed in a dark red velvet funeral shroud for this wedding cere-
mony which was performed by the bishop. Both the dress and coffin had
been made by the nuns in the cloister.

I knew that when I came out of that coffin, I wild never see or hear from
my family again; never leave the convent; and would be buried there when
I died. I walked to the casket, climbed in and stretched out. Two little
nuns came and covered the entire casket with heavy black draperies which
reeked of incense. I thought I would surely suffocate. On one side of the
room were the usual statues and on the other, Mother Superior, the nuns
and priests were seated. For the nine long hours I lay in the coffin they
kept vigil and chanted constantly.

The one purpose of being in the coffin was to learn to hate my mother,
father and all other earthly ties--all for the love of God. I must forget
them, hate them, crowd them completely from my heart, mind and life. All
this was to enable me to be a better wife to God.

Lying there, I reminisced about my childhood at home. I remembered the
dresses my mother had made for me, but I would never again wear one. I
thought of delicious meals, warm beds, and all of the rich and full
family life I had had. Of course I wept bitterly and sobbed as my heart
ached for those loved ones I would never see again. It was an agonizing
experience and I think I loved them more than I ever had before.

I wrung out and spilled every tear in my body. It was so hard to give up
everything. In my agony and anguish I shuddered and groaned until there
simply were on more tears left. After several hours of this, I regained
my composure somewhat. I resolved, "Charlotte, you are going to make the
best Carmelite nun who ever was, because both inside and outside the
convent you always do your very best."

When the ordeal finally ended, a bell was tapped and two little nuns
immediately lifted the black drapes from the casket. When I stepped from
it I was ushered into a room where I was to take my perpetual vows of
poverty, chastity, and obedience. Mother Superior opened a place in my
ear lobe and drew out blood, for these must be signed in my own blood.

I vowed to be willing to live in crucial poverty for the balance of my
life (although I did not know then what this meant). Next the vow of
chastity bound me never to legally marry because I was now the wife of
God (by virtue of the wedding ceremony performed earlier). Then the one
of obedience, the hardest of all. I promised absolute, unquestioning
obedience to the Pope, all the prelates of the Roman Catholic hierarchy,
to the Mother Superior of the convent and to the rules of that convent. I
was totally ignorant of how sweeping these commitments were and had no
realistic concept of the things to which I was pledging myself.

After I had signed all the vows, Mother Superior whacked off all my long
hair with the scissors. This was to be sold to the highest bidder, for
human hair brings a good market price and they commercialize on every-
thing. (This explains the unbelieveable wealth of the church.) After
cutting the hair, she took clippers and shaved me bald. For the rest of
my life, every two months the clippers would go on my head to shave me
bald. The heavy nun's headgear would be very cumbersome if she kept her
hair. Besides, there was neither time nor facilities to wash hair in the
convents.

The next step in dehumanizing and disorientation was to take away my
entire family name and replace it with the name of a patron saint. As she
did this Mother Superior emphasized that, although I was not holy enough
to stand in the presence of God, I could always pray to my patron saint
and she would intercede to get my prayers through to God. I accepted all
this as truth because I did not know any better. Following this if
someone had inquired about me at the convent by my given name, they would
have been informed that no such person was inside the convent.

Next, Mother read this statement: "As Jesus suffered here on earth, so
must we suffer as nuns. We must live our lives as martyrs in the convent.
In the Garden of Olives, Jesus shed 62,700 tears for you and me; He shed
98,600 drops of blood for you and me; He received 667 strokes on His
body; on His cheek, 110 strokes; on His neck, 107 strokes; on His back,
180 strokes; on His breast, 77 strokes; on His head, 108 strokes; on His
side, 32 strokes. They spit in His face 32 times; pulled His beard many
times and threw Him to the ground 38 times. By the crown of thorns He
received 100 wounds; pleaded for our salvation 900 times, and carried the
cross to Calvary 320 steps." I believed all these religious lies, which
years later I learned were the invention of a corrupt Pope.

The last statement she read said, "You will receive a plenary indulgence
for your sins and entirely escape the pains of purgatory. Reward them as
martyrs who spill their blood for the faith." She said that if we lived
in the convent without breaking a rule, one day when we died we would not
go to purgatory but go directly to be with Jesus. What she did not tell
us was that it is humanly impossible to live in a convent without break-
ing rules.

After the vows were signed all of my personal identification was de-
stroyed. Sixty days before, Mother Superior had laid a sheet of paper in
front of me. She said I was not to read it, just to sign at the bottom. I
didn't realize then how completely I was signing away any and all inher-
itances which might ever come to me. They were all assigned to the con-
vent. When my brother was ordained as Roman Catholic priest he also
signed everything over to the hierarchy. There is not a lawyer in the
land who can break this confiscation assignment, for I have checked it
out.

When I took my perpetual vows and signed away my life and possessions I
had sold my soul for a mythical mess of pottage. Not only are the nuns
systematically destroyed in body but hundreds have their minds shattered
and die premature deaths under the cruel and heartless convent bondage.
To make it even worse the poor creatures sacrifice all of this and then
go out to meet God, Christless and lost for all eternity. How we need to
pray for those closed off from the world and the gospel all over the
world in these terrible prisons called cloistered convents.

Mother Superior next locked her arm in mine and we walked down the center
of another room. A Roman Catholic priest, dressed in holy habit, came to
meet us from the other end of the room. When we met, Mother dropped my
arm and the priest stepped around and attempted to lock his arm in mine.

I recoiled in horror at this intimacy, for never, in all my years in the
convent had a priest ever approached me like this. Always they had been
kind, considerate and very polite. Something about the familiarity of his
touch and the lecherous look in his eyes repulsed and insulted me
although I did not understand exactly why. I jerked loose, blushing with
embarrassment and exploded, "Shame on you." I felt violated and
threatened. He turned red in the face and became very angry at my rejec-
tion of his overtures to lead me to the "bridal chamber."

Evidently Mother Superior overheard the exchange for she quickly re-
turned, called by my church name, and informed me that after I had been
in the convent a while I would not feel this way. She said all nuns felt
the same in the beginning and sternly reminded me of the wedding ceremony
I had gone through and of my obligation. She said a priest's body was
sanctified and what they did was not sin. I was terrified, and sobbed
hysterically, my mind reeling and I refused to accept what she said.

She became very angry and stiffly said, "As the Holy Ghost placed the
seed in the Virgin Mary's womb and Jesus Christ was born, even so the
priest represents the Holy Ghost, therefore it is not a sin for nuns to
bear his children."

I could scarcely believe my ears. I had been deceived and it was too late
to turn back! This ghastly statement made me frantic. When she finally
gave me permission to speak I burst out, "Mother Superior, why didn't you
tell me this before I took my perpetual vows?" She pursed her lips tight-
ly but said nothing.

Needless to say, I was in a state of numbed shock and horror at what she
was saying. It was like an unbelievable nightmare. All my bridges were
burned and there was no way back. I could not get out of the convent.
Hysterically, I sobbed and told the priest that I wanted to go home. I
begged him to call my father to come and get me. I did not want to go any
further with this. All my illusions had been shattered and I could not
bear the picture which was looming up before me.

I related how three months before I left home to come to the convent (at
age 13) my mother told me she would rather dig my grave with her own
hands and bury me than to hear that I had lost my virtue. Because I knew
nothing of sex, she had then explained it to me. When I related this to
Mother and the priest, they stood and laughed at me like fools. They
found my naiveity and innocent gullibility hilarious.

When this sort of betrayal happens I can tell you that you stand abso-
lutely alone. Communication with your loved ones and friends has already
been cut off. Sealed off, you have no one to understand or help and soon
the numbing realization of the utter hopelessness of your situation sets
in. It is like waking up and finding that an unbearable nightmare is not
a dream but a dreadful reality.

I now belonged to Rome and the Pope and Mother Superior had turned me
over to a lustful priest who leeringly invited me to join him in the
"bridal chamber." I did not enter the convent to become a bad, but a holy
woman, by giving my heart and life to God. I firmly rejected his sexual
advances and was strong enough to put up quite a fight had he insisted. I
was prepared to struggle to my last drop of blood to preserve my virtue.

When I signed those vows with my own blood I did not realize the enormity
of what I had done. I had surrendered away every human right, in order to
become a mechanical, robot-like person. From henceforth I would not be
able to sit, stand, or speak without permission. I could not lie down,
eat or do anything else unless authorized by my superiors. I was allowed
to see, hear and feel only what they permitted and ordered. I had become
a helpless puppet of the Roman Catholic hierachy.

The next step was my initiation and for this I had to go to my convent.
They had my passport all signed and tickets ready to ship me out to a
foreign country. Two priests met us at the boat and we were taken, heavi-
ly veiled, out into the mountains to be put in a cloistered convent, one
story underground. (Of course when the priest sat in our living room at
home he never told my dad I would live for years one or two stories
underground in a foreign land.)

I faced initiation penances, so after three or four days at the new
convent, about 9:00 o'clock one morning the Mother Superior told me to
come with her. She told me were going to do penance and I would begin my
initiation as a Carmelite nun. I remember when she walked me down that
dark tunnel and into the room one story below ground level. I had always
lived on the first floor, but after taking the black veil I was to live
one or two stories underground. When we entered the cold, dark room it
was hard to see, for all the light came from seven flickering candles. I
was frightened and apprehensive, not knowing what to expect, nor what she
planned to do to me.

As we came closer, I could make out a nun lying on a board six feet long
(a cooling board). I realized with a shock that she was dead. Although I
was not afraid of the dead nun my heart ached for her. When I signed
those perpetual vows I had unknowingly signed away every human right. I
was not allowed to see, to hear, to complain, to feel or to murmur. I had
ears but was to be deaf; eyes but must not see; feelings but soon would
be brainwashed so they would be blotted out. As I stood looking at the
body, many thoughts and questions raced through my mind but I was bound
to silence. How and why did she die?

Mother Superior ordered me to stand vigil over the dead body for one
hour, then she went away. I was required to walk over to the frail body
frequently, sprinkle it with ashes and holy water and say repeatedly,
"Peace be unto you." In an hour a bell was to be tapped somewhere and out
of the mysterious darkness behind me another nun came to relieve me.
Because she was barefooted on the dirt floor there was no sound. We were
forbidden to speak, therefore my relief reached out and touched me on the
shoulder. I leaped with fright and began screaming hysterically at the
top of my voice.

This loss of control meant I must be punished by being tossed into a dark
and dirty dungeon. There I lay for three days and nights, without food or
water, just because I had shrieked in fear--a terrible crime. I assure
you I never screamed again. You lean fast in a convent to observe the
rules.

On the fourth day, again Mother Superior told me we were going to do
penance and we went deep under the convent into another dark chamber. We
started through the tunnels (there were 35 miles of them under this
convent) and, other than candles, there was no light in the rooms we
passed. She marched me into a large penance chamber, arm in arm, on our
toes, with downcast eyes.

In the flickering candlelight I saw the usual statues of Jesus and Mary
in the room. There was also a large eight foot cross, made of heavy,
rough timber, lying on its side. She took me near the foot of it and
proceeded to strip my clothes off down to the waist. Then she bent my
body down over the cross, pulled my hands down below it and fastened them
securely to my knees, under the cross.

This was where I was to begin to spill my blood as Jesus had shed His on
Calvary. I had been told earlier that I would shed my blood for lost
humanity, but they never gave me any idea of how this would be accom-
plished. Now I was to learn one of the many ways this was to take place.
Two other nuns were given flagellation whips fashioned from six leather
straps fastened to a wooden handle. In the ends of the thongs were embed-
ded a number of sharp, jagged bits of metal. They began to flog me me-
thodically with these cruel instruments until my bare flesh was thorough-
ly lacerated from hundreds of cuts and my blood ran all over the floor.

Twist and writhe as I might, there was no escape from the relentless,
fiery bite of the ruthless whips. Let me tell you they did a thorough job
on me and I was aflame with awful pain and agony. Sobbing and screaming
did not stop them, nor were they affected by pitiful cries for mercy.
They were well trained and utterly heartless and I was swallowed up in a
sea of pain and awful despairing. It was unbelievable, yet it was happen-
ing. I thought the beating would never stop. I was helpless and totally
with out defenses.

Mother Superior released my hands from my knees after I had slumped into
a moaning, suffering heap and she was satisfied I had spilled enough
blood for this time. She drug me to my feet but did not bathe me nor
treat the mass of bleeding wounds on my body. She simply pulled my
clothes back on and I was forced to work all day, until 9:15 that night.
Needless to say, the day was one of agony, but no one seemed to notice.
with a sickening horror I realized the meaning of the teachings I had
received that God is made happy by this penance and other sufferings.
This was supposed to make us holier.

That day was a living hell for me, but this was only the beginning of
hundreds of such days. When night came I stood in front of my cell bed
where we were required to undress, with our backs to each other. I could
not remove my clothing. The garments stained with blood had dried and
were stuck tightly to my gaping wounds. It was several nights before I
could take them off, and then it was an agonizing and bloody procedure.
At mealtime I was not hungry because of the terrible misery I was suffer-
ing.

Ordinarily I would have undressed and have slipped into a muslin night-
gown, and then enter my cell to be locked in for the night. For a bed we
had only a slab or wood--no mattress, springs, pillow or blanket. Before
we were permitted to lie down we were required to kneel on a penance
prayer board. This contained hundreds of upright, sharp wires to pierce
the knees. The upper section where we were to prostrate ourselves upon
our arms was also a mass of sharp wires.

Another day the Mother Superior took me through a long, dark tunnel hall
for my next initiation penance. As we entered the chamber, again there
were seven candles. As she marched me up under the candles I spotted some
ropes dangling from the ceiling with some sort of metal clamps on the
ends. She made me stand very close, facing the wall and extending my arms
in the air. Quickly she snapped the metal bands securely around each
thumb. She then stepped to one side and began to turn a crank which took
the ropes straight up until I was slowly hoisted from the floor. When I
was suspended on the tips of my bare toes she fastened the handle, walked
out without a word and slammed and locked the door. The weight of my body
on those thumbs and my toes was excruciating.

I was already whimpering and moaning in misery. I had no idea how long I
would stay there. Always in these things, you hung there wondering if you
might die before they came back to free you. In the white heat of the
waves of unbearable pain which wrack the body and mind, death would be a
blessed way out.

As hours stretched interminably into days and nights there was no way to
calculate how long you had been there. There was no sun; no sounds other
than your own fevered sobbings and screams. It was like being buried
alive without food or water. Torment and delirium causes you to loose
track of reality and nothing seems real except the ever present torture
and pain.

This was another part of their brainwashing technique. I could do nothing
but to stand there, screaming and crying. No one would hear or help me or
even care. Three, four, six and finally ten agonizing hours crept by and
every bone, muscle and nerve in my tortured body was screaming for re-
lief. The maddening, unending pain is indescribeable and I also grew
hungry and thirsty. When my hands and arms began to swell tightly I
believed I was going to die.

I had desperately prayed to all the statues in the room. Eventually I
realized the Virgin Mary was not hearing a word I sobbed. Hysterically I
shouted and pleaded for help from my patron saint; from St. Jude, St.
Bartholomew, and every other idol or saint I could ever remember hearing
about. I was surrounded by an unearthly silence, broken only by my own
fevered screams and groans and the sputtering candles.

There I hung, wracked with pain and saturated in my own human filth, for
there was no break in the torture regime for toilet facilities. Just as I
felt I was going completely insane, Mother Superior walked in. Directly
on the wall in front of me was an adjustable shelf which she raised to
the level of my face. On it she placed a pan of water and a pan contain-
ing one small potato.

I was starving for water and food but how was I to get it? Painfully I
scooted on my toes, tilting first one arm, then the other, straining to
reach the pans. When I managed to reach them, I felt the tissues in my
lungs tearing with terrible pain. As a matter of fact, many nuns contract
tuberculosis after going through this torture. However, only by enduring
such pain and strain could I manage to get water or food. I bumped and
spilled most of it.

Nine days later Mother Superior came and released first one thumb and
then the other and I collapsed in a faint to the floor. My limbs were
swollen and shrieking with pain. My eyes felt as if they were being
pushed out of my head and my arms were swollen to three times normal
size. No part of my anatomy was free from the throbbing pain and sore-
ness.

Of course I could not move. Two nuns picked me up by the shoulders and
feet and took me, moaning incoherently, into the infirmary and laid me on
a slab of wood. They cut off all my clothes for I was saturated with my
own urine and bowel movements. This was another part of the carefully
planned brutalization and dehumanization program, designed to produce
mindless robots. Following this episode I could not even walk for two and
a half months and would have been happy to die.

One day I was called out and again marched down those dread tunnels, not
knowing what misery and pain I faced. She marched me into a room with a
straight chair with a high back. Pushing me down into the chair, she then
removed my headdress and shoved my head forward in my lap and placed my
hands on my knees. Quickly she fastened my head and wrists in stocks so I
could not move. This done she positioned a faucet directly over my bare
head and adjusted it so that it began on my head, a drop at a time.

I cringed in anticipation for I had witnessed others who had been sub-
jected to this for ten long hours. After a short time the drops hitting
in the same spot will break the strongest person. Often I and others
would writhe and twist against the binding of the stocks, desperately
trying to escape that pounding drop of water, even foaming at the mouth.
Screaming and crying is never absent from these horror holes, deep under
the ground, where no one with an ounce of humanity or compassion will
ever hear. Pleas for mercy only bring longer and worse penances.

Many a nun has gone stark raving mad after being repeatedly subjected to
this penance. Do not worry, the convent takes care of this too. The world
outside will never know the truth. There are underground dungeons for
those who have nervous or mental breakdowns. There will be reports and
records of the nun and how she died, all lies.

You must realize that this entire religious structure is based on lies
and deception and it is small wonder that at all costs, even human life,
the hypocritical cloak of righteousness of the Roman Catholic system must
be maintained. They will stop at nothing to protect it. Slander, lies,
frame-ups, changing and destroying documents, injury and even murder are
standard and acceptable procedure. The average person with a conscience
and some sort of moral code will struggle to grasp the enormity and
inhuman demonic intelligence which drives this religious monster.

Once I was taken to one of the filthy dungeons with dirt floors. I then
had my ankles fastened securely to leather straps in the rings at the top
of rods mounted in cement. I was standing with my feet in those rings
until my strength failed or I fainted. When that happened I just crumpled
over with my chest touching my ankles. After getting to a certain stage
of pain and exhaustion there is nothing you can do. I must then stay in
this cramped position for two or three days, depending on the whims of my
tormentors. No one will come and there was no food, water, or toilet
facilities. Bugs crawled over my body. It is no wonder there is such a
cry against such horrors being uncovered and revealed.

The loneliness in the convent is inhuman and cruel, for there are no
friends there. Everyone is set up to spy on everyone else and the slight-
est infraction of rules brings instant and harsh punishment. There were
on friendships among the nuns. Suspicion and separation was the order of
the day for convent living. We were taught to trust no one and depend
upon no one, by a methodical and systematic isolation. The victims could
never be allowed to unite to do something about conditions.

Communists followed a similar program in Korean prisoner-of-war camps to
prevent any closeness or cooperation between the inmates. Each nun is
taught to be a policeman to watch and inform on all others. Betrayal of
others causes the informer to be in good standing with Mother Superior.
Her approval is desired so strongly that often the sisters make up and
exaggerate things in order to gain this kind of favor. Absolute obedience
in everything is demanded in the convent and you are wise to learn to
obey quickly and without question.

Each time I came in my cell I was required to kneel there, praying for
lost humanity, while I suffered and shed more of my blood. Only after
this could I lie down on the slab which served as a bed. Promptly at
seven minutes before midnight a bell was always tapped and cells unlocked
so we all could gather in the inner chapel to pray another hour for lost
humanity. At seven minutes till one o'clock we returned to our cells to
be locked up again until 4:30 a.m. At this time a bell was tapped and we
had exactly five minutes to get dressed and report for duty, barefooted.
This is a daily routine. To be late in dressing brought severe punish-
ments.

Each night at 8:00 p.m. we were required to go down a long, dark hall to
do a penance in the meditation room. Located there was a tiny room about
four foot square, which contained a human skull and candle on a small
table. We were to slip to our knees, gaze into the skull and meditate for
one hour on death. When this hour was over, a bell was tapped and we
returned to our cells where we dropped all our clothes. We then took
three interlaced chains with sharp edges (which hung in our cells) and
began to lay stripes on our own bodies in imitation of the stripes of
Christ on earth.

Sometimes, because of lack of food and strength it was difficult to lay
on many stripes. If Mother Superior suspected this, she would order you
to strip and have two other nuns to whip you viciously. Following this
you would lose all desire for your coffee, bread, or anything else for a
few days, because of being in such misery.

This was cloistered convent life, where a merciless system of brainwash-
ing was employed, just as Russia does in the concentration camps. It is
exactly the same brutal barbarism, but Rome rides under the banner of
religion while communist Russia is openly atheistic.

In the refractory where our meals were served, were two long wooden
tables and each nun was assigned a certain place to sit. No one ever sits
in another's place. For breakfast we were given only a big tin cup of
strong black coffee with a piece of black bread which weighed exactly
four ounces. Although we worked very hard all day there was no lunch, and
about 5:00 p.m. we would gather again in the refractory, if we could walk
under our own power.

For supper fresh vegetables were cooked together, making a tasteless,
watery soup, without seasonings of any kind. This was served in a pie tin
with two ounces of black bread and a tin cup of strong black coffee. Two
or three times per week we were given one-half glass of skim milk.

This was our monotonous diet, 365 days per year. The only exception was
Christmas day when we were each given one tablespoon of molasses. My,
what a delight that was, and we ate it very slowly, savoring each drop.
All year long we looked forward to this treat.

With the limited food rations, three hundred sixty-five days per year, we
never went to bed without gnawing hunger pains. For years I would roll
and toss at night, unable to sleep, and wondering how much longer I could
endure this continued torment. I assure you that it is sheer misery to
live on the brink of controlled starvation constantly. Of course starving
persons are weaker and can be more easily coerced and forced into every
form of degrading obedience and subservience. This was executed with
fiendish delight and a definite purpose to crush the human spirit.

With such a horribly restricted diet, torture, bloodshed and long, hard
hours, it is little wonder that bodies fail and become sickly and many
nuns die young in the cloistered convents. Remember there are cloistered
convents in the United States.

In preparing vegetables, potatoes were boiled with skins on and peeled
after cooking. Once while on kitchen duty, I was throwing a pile of these
potato peelings in the garbage. I was so hungry I quickly snatched two
handfuls from the can and hid them in my clothing. I told no one, for in
the convent everyone is watching each other and there are informers
everywhere who betray others. That night, in my cell, greedily I gobbled
down the potato skins because I was so starved.

The next morning at 9:00 sharp Mother Superior announced with a smirk
that I was to do penance and I knew this was not a regular penance day.
With sinking heart I went with her to one of the torture chambers. It was
a huge room with the usual seven candles. When she tapped a bell, two
little nuns appeared, quickly binding my hands and feet together. Mother
then ordered one to pinch my nostrils tightly so that I was forced to
open my mouth to breathe. She then dumped a heaping tablespoon of hot
cayenne pepper in my mouth and I had to choke it down in order to
breathe. For two days after this I was plagued with itching, burning
hives all over my body. This, for eating a bit of garbage!

Another time I saw a piece of bread lying on a table, and watched it for
several days. Finally I took the bread, ate it in my cell, and the next
morning Mother Superior again said we were going to do penance. Somehow
she found out about the scrap of bread. This time I was taken to a room
with a square table and was made to stand at the edge with my hand and
wrist strapped on a board.

It was very dark and my eyes adjusted slowly in the dim light. She moved
over to one side to manipulate some sort of control and suddenly another
heavy board smashed down on the hand and wrist. The blinding pain caused
me to slump to the floor, but I could not get loose and was dangling by
the helpless, injured hand. Stealing even a mouthful of stale bread was
treated as a heinous crime and drew swift and cruel retribution.

As the years dragged by I leaned to use a hammer, saw, shovel and any-
thing else a man normally does. We worked very hard, performing heavy
manual labor, digging out underground rooms and tunnels, building walls,
plastering, ect. Often we were two, three or four miles back in the
tunnels. Sometimes we wondered if we even had voices because of the
strict rule of silence, and would speak in whispers to each other. The
very next morning Mother Superior would call the offenders out and say,
"You are going to do penance." We wondered how she could have heard us.
One day we learned that all thirty-five miles of tunnel under the convent
were wired so she could hear every whisper.

Working back in the tunnels we listened for the tap of the bell which
signaled us to come in for meals. Sometimes, due to fatigue or distance
we would arrive late. Because each was in her own place, it was obvious
who was tardy. When this happened, we had to ask a nun to hand us our tin
cup, pan and tablespoon. We then had to craw behind each nun, begging for
one tablespoon of her food. After crawling to each one, the offenders sat
on the floor to eat. This is supposed to humble them by breaking their
wicked pride, and also to promote promptness.

Our day in the convent began at 4:30 in the morning when Mother Superior
tapped a bell. This signal meant we had exactly five minutes to get
dressed. In the beginning I was late a half a minute, but the punishment
was so severe for this minor infraction of rules that I never was late
again. Raw terror and cruel punishment bring absolute and unquestioning
obedience in the convent to every rule and order, no matter how unreason-
able or trivial. Lies and deceit covering and concealing such infractions
to avoid the dire consequences become a way of life for the nuns.

When we finished dressing, we would march on tiptoes, with downcast eyes,
to report to the Mother Superior. There she assigned us our daily
chores. These could be scrubbing, washing clothes, ironing, cooking, or
other heavy and hard labor assignments.

Washing was done in twelve old-fashioned washtubs with rubboards. We
ironed with cast iron flatirons, heated on a stove. Not only did we do
the laundry and ironing for our convent but the local priests were free
to load us with all of their linens and clothing, which they did. After
all, the service, performed by slave labor, was free to them.

Down in the laundry room there were rough cement floors and the heavy
washing in twelve tubs caused a lot of soapy water to be sloshed on the
floor. We walked around in our bare feet because shoes and stockings were
a luxury we were denied in the convent. Suddenly Mother Superior would
glide up, terrifying everyone because there is no way to know why she had
come. When she made such an appearance, someone invariably had to suffer.
Because things were done so quietly in a convent, we learned to sense her
presence before she arrived.

One of her favorite tricks in the laundry room was to order one or more
nuns to prostrate themselves on the cold, wet, soapy, floor. This done,
with a cruel sneer she would order that the victim lick long crosses on
the rough cement with her tongue. She watched intently to see if there
was the slightest flicker of anger, distaste or hesitation on the face of
the one forced to lick the crosses. If she did, she would assign ten to
twenty-five more crosses to be done. Believe me, the tongue was always
raw and bleeding before she was satisfied, and the victim would be unable
to eat or drink for a day or two because of the mangled tongue. Many
times Mother would return the very next day, seize the same victim and
force her to repeat the crosses again.

Hard manual labor was advocated as a good physical discipline. In our
emaciated condition because of the constant torture and systematic star-
vation we were driven and kept in a state of chronic fatigue and exhaus-
tion. We were property of the Pope and the system, to be worked to death
for their pleasure. All the crying and pleading we did would never be
heard by anyone who would lift a finger to help us.

Another favored punishment was to compel us to crawl up and down an aisle
ten times, upright on the knees. After I made it five or six times my
knees were killing me. Drained of strength, I could not continue but
collapsed in a faint. Mother Superior shook me roughly, pulled me back on
my knees and commanded me to resume crawling. Desperately I tried to
finish my assignment. The next day she might order me to do the same
thing again and this would rip off the scabs from my injured knees,
further bruising and tearing them.

This is typical of torments and tortures to which the little nuns are
subjected day after day, year in and year out. There is no mercy, only
heartless cruelty and this multiplies and reinforces the dreary hope-
lessness and despair which grips the entire cloister.

Continually we were told that doing such "penance" was pleasing and
brought happiness to God, Who looked down on our misery and suffering,
and smiled His approval. Although this was hard to believe, heathens who
know no better simply believe what they are taught. Never having read the
Bible, we had no way to learn the truth.

Most of us were reared in Roman Catholic teachings and traditions and
snatched away from family and friends at an early age. It took a while
for the awful truth and scope of the deception to soak in. When it did,
it produced atheists who hated anything associated with God or the
saints. Vicious hatred and violence then floods the disillusioned and
embittered heart.

There was no bath tub in this convent, only a metal, horse watering tank
and we were only permitted to have a bath when Mother Superior ordered
it. Even when bathing I wore my scapular, although I shed all my other
clothes. We were taught that the first Saturday after the death of a
Roman Catholic the Virgin Mary descends into purgatory. Whoever she finds
there wearing a scapular, she will release. I was bound by these and
other religious fables and lies, but did not know any better. I was
taught to accept as truth everything Mother Superior said.

In the convent there was a huge painting in a certain room which depicted
all horrors of tormented men, women, children and even babies in the
awful flames of purgatory. The agony and misery was so graphically por-
trayed that it actually seemed real. We were marched in on occasion to
meditate on the tortures of the damned for a long period. After this
session Mother Superior would address the nuns and say that they had
better go and work another penance on their bodies, because those poor
people were begging to escape the awful burning flames there.

There were many days when I would deliberately burn my own body and spill
some more of my blood because of my conviction that as I suffered it
would help these miserable people to be delivered. I often say that if
the mass and purgatory were taken from the Roman Catholic system it would
eliminate 90% of her income and she would starve to death. This evil
Babylonian system drains both the living and the dead for funds to
finance her cancerous spread throughout the world.

The nuns cells were bare except for a statue of the Virgin Mary holding
an infant Jesus. As I dropped on the sharp wires which lined the prayer
board and prostrated my arms on still other penetrating wire, I would
pray earnestly for lost humanity. I had been taught that my suffering and
bloodshed would help to save them. I believed that my poor old grandmoth-
er would be released sooner from purgatory (our family priest had assured
us she went there at death) because of my sufferings. Often, in spite of
the misery, I was spurred on to continue in this painful posture longer,
fervently hoping to speed her release.

We were taught that for every drop of blood we shed in the convent we
would have 100 days less to spend in purgatory. When nuns worked in the
kitchen or other places underground they often wounded themselves to
spill blood for this purpose. We had it hammered into our thinking that,
as we spilled our own blood, as we whipped and lacerated our bodies,
tortured and tormented them, we were gaining indulgence for ourselves and
others from purgatory. Remember there is no hope in a convent; nothing to
look forward to except continuous pain, exhaustion, starvation and final-
ly death. (Leviticus 19:28).

To those who have been taught the truth of salvation through faith in
Jesus Christ and know of the marvelous grace of God, it may seem incred-
ible that anyone could be so deluded and ignorant. I remind you that if
you had been taught noting else all your life and, if as an impression-
able child you had been spirited away to be brainwashed and finally
imprisoned in a convent, you would not know any better either.

It took ten terrible years in the convent before I finally realized the
awful truth that I had been duped. I was finally convinced that the
Virgin Mary, Jesus, Joseph, St. Peter, and all the other saints were
simply unfeeling metal, wood or plaster statues. It was a shock when I
knew they could do nothing to answer all the fervent prayers poured out
to them by faithful and deluded people all over the world.

It is surprising how tenacious my faith in all those false idols was. How
long it took to really realize the bitter truth about them and the decep-
tion in which we had been snared. Bitterly, I came to believe that, if
there was a God, He certainly either was dead or cared nothing about
humanity. Oh, the hours I and others have spent in earnest, sobbing
prayer at the feet of these dumb statues. (Jeremiah 10:19).

One regular monthly event we always dreaded was the visit of the father
confessor to the convent. Each time it was a different priest but they
were all basically the same. I hated going and always attempted to get in
the back row. I lived in a convent so long that I would never trust any
priest. All of the ones I met were rotten and vile. The ordeal of confes-
sion sometimes took all day. One by one the nuns had to file in to the
room where the priest was waiting. Never did I see a priest in the con-
vent who had not been drinking.

The room was bare except for the inevitable statue of the Virgin Mary.
The priest perched in a straight-backed chair and the nun must come in
and kneel before him. If she got out without being defiled and forced
into some unspeakable depravity she was fortunate. No one ever interrupt-
ed the priest and the woman, no matter what transpired. One after another
the nuns would enter and leave the room.

At other times it was not unusual for the Mother Superior to usher in a
drunken priest who would pick out a nun and take her to a cell with him
for more liquor and sex. The Mother Superior was a hard and carnal woman
who had borne numbers of illegitimate children of priests and usually she
drank with the visitors. The priest was well fed, healthy, and strong and
lived a relatively easy life; therefore a poor, weakened nun was no match
for him, to fight him off. Because she was helpless, he did whatever he
pleased and violated her any way he chose. There is no one to defend or
help her and none to even care about her being forced into harlotry.
Because Mother Superior locked the cell there was no way to escape.

Often I have nursed these little nuns after they had been brutalized and
shamefully abused. Only the priest's imagination limited the kind of
indignities he could inflict on his victim. I saw and experienced all
kinds of sickening evidences of the wildest kinds of lust being exercised
in the convents. The body of the nun often looked as if it were something
to be thrown out to the hogs, covered with dozens of bruises and other
marks. The people who say I exaggerate are either the priests, trying to
squelch the truth, or those who have never been inside the convents.
Because I was there, I know the truth, which is monstrous and shocking!

Can you imagine the terrible position of the nun confronted by the pri-
est? If she displeased or refused him, he would complain to the Mother
Superior. Putting their two evil minds together they would come up with
things to do to that nun which normal minds would never imagine. In a day
or two after she resisted the priest, Mother Superior would call her
aside to do penance again. There was no choice and with sinking heart she
would be led down into the dungeons where the awful reprisal dreamed up
by the priest and Mother Superior would be executed.

Some mornings when we were preparing to go to work Mother Superior would
call out ten or fifteen of us. We were trembling and apprehensive, never
knowing what was coming. We were never allowed to question; only obey,
like mindless machines. Would we be punished, go to the penance chambers
or what? Then she abruptly would give the order for us to line up and
remove all our clothes. With sinking hearts we did as we were told. We
knew from experience what was coming next.

Half starved and marked with many scars, with shaved heads, we must have
been a sorry sight. Because there are absolutely no mirrors allowed in a
convent, I had no idea what I looked like for all the years of my incar-
ceration. When I would catch scant, forbidden glances at others with
their gaunt, drawn faces, sunken eyes, teeth falling out, and skeletal
starved bodies, I could hardly imagine that I too looked like this.

On one occasion after we were stripped, three drunken, leering Catholic
priests lurched in and eyes the nude girls lustfully and each chose a
partner to go to a cell with him. Remember, these are cloistered convents
and the priest is free to do anything he pleases behind the cloak of
rotten religion. This same wicked whoremonger will return to his flock to
say mass and hear confessions of people he dupes into believing they can
be absolved from their sins. Full of fornication, perversion and vice, he
acts as their god!

Can you imagine what all these vile and hurtful abuses did to me? I had
no idea that anyone could harbor such hatred, resentment and bitterness
inside. In my mind, over and over I would plot and wish for the death of
the Mother Superior and other tormentors. How I would relish these deli-
cious thoughts of vengeance and hatred! The convent did this to me. I
certainly was not like this when I entered.

After all the nuns had been broken to the will of the priests, they would
become very angry if we resisted anything they wanted to do. Often we
were slapped in the mouth by an irritated drunken priest. I had my own
front teeth knocked loose from being punched in the face. Often we were
thrown on the floor and kicked in the stomach. Being pregnant was no
protection, for the priest knew that baby was going to be murdered anyway
when it was born. Many babies are born in the convents because of the
evil corruption of this foul system, cloaked in religious garments. No
wonder Babylon is slated for complete destruction. She is unspeakably
vile!

I saw scores of babies born in the convents. Most were abnormal and
deformed and seldom was one normal. With my hands I have delivered many,
many of them, therefore I know. With my eyes I have seen the horror of it
all and the world must be told of what goes on in those chambers of
horrors.

Many have said I exaggerate and that these things are not so, but I have
yet to be hauled into court to refute the charges. They would have to
open the cloisters and this they dare not do. After being snared in this
rotten system for twenty-two years, I know whereof I speak.

Normal young expectant mothers eagerly anticipate the arrival of their
precious baby. Everything is ready, nursery, crib, clothing, and every-
one is happy with her. By contrast, a little nun in the convent dreads
the moment when she gives birth. The child is the product of a shameful,
illicit union with a drunken priest which was forced on her. She knows
from bitter experience that the baby will only be permitted to live four
or five hours at the very most. It will never be cleaned or wrapped in a
warm blanket for Mother Superior will put her hand over its mouth and
pinch its nostrils to snuff out its life.

This is why there are lime pits in all the convents. Babies' bodies are
tossed in these holes to be destroyed. Pray for the government to force
the convents to open their doors to release the prisoners and let the
whole world see what horrors are hidden behind those doors of cruel
religious hypocrisy.

If this happens, I assure you that even the Catholic people will agree to
the closing of the convents as they did in Mexico in 1934. They have no
idea what is transpiring there either, or they would never expose their
daughters to such barbarious debauchery and torture.

The convents in old Mexico have been turned into government museums which
you can tour for a modest fee. You should go and see with your own eyes
and touch with your hands the things of which I speak. Go down into the
dungeons, through the tunnels and torture chambers and see all the fiend-
ish devices, demonically conceived, to inflict suffering on the bodies of
helpless nuns. See for yourself the cells in which nuns were locked each
night and examine the beds, and the prayer boards.

This should give you a burden to pray for hundreds of precious little
girls who have been deceived and enticed into entering these ungodly
prisons for a life of suffering and utter despair by the Roman Catholic
system. Remember I had a mother and father who loved me dearly. When they
consented for me to enter the convent they had no idea that I was going
to be subjected to such degradation. They were assured that this was the
highest calling, the finest expression of their faith and love to God, to
give a daughter to such service.

Sealed up in the convents until death, we would never be able to leave
and let people outside know what actually takes place inside. With all
communications cut off, we were beyond the protection of the law or loved
ones and friends. There is no hopeless despair and black depression quite
as smothering as that which seizes you when the realization of all this
begins to sink in. To know that there is just no escape possible is
maddening for there is no end or relief in sight.

Roman Catholics loudly proclaim that anyone can go into any open or
closed order convent. There is an outside chapel and what is called the
speak room. You are not even admitted there without an escort. If you
were taking in food for a specific nun, typically you would walk up the
front of the room and press a bell. This would activate a gate containing
three shelves to swing open to receive your gifts for the nun inside.
When the bell is tapped, you may be sure that Mother Superior is seated
just behind the heavy black veil draped over the big iron gate guarding
the inner part of the convent.

You will not be allowed to go any further but may speak to the Mother
Superior through the veil. If you asked permission to speak to a specific
nun, you might be permitted to converse with her, but only through the
veil. If questions are asked as to her happiness, health, food, ect., the
nun always answers affirmatively. After all, Mother Superior is sitting
there, monitoring every word.

If she were to complain or reveal any of the unpleasant details of life
inside, there would be swift and harsh action to correct her as soon as
the visitor left. There are good reasons for them to refuse to let rela-
tives see the nuns in person. After a time on convent fare and treatment,
the eyes are sunken in the head and the body so wasted away, pale and
unhealthy that seeing all this would bring an indignant outcry.

Many were the nights I was extremely exhausted and badly in need of
sleep, but ravenous hunger kept me from rest. Going to breakfast meant
only a scrap of bread and a cup of black coffee which did not even take
the edge off of that everpresent hunger. To those who have always had
enough to eat it will be difficult to understand the plight of those who
go to bed hungry every night. This is tragic in impoverished, backward
nations. It becomes even more evil when you realize that what I am de-
scribing is deliberately planned and induced with cunning and devilish
cruelty.

Remember that there is not a night or day when those little nuns impris-
oned in the cloistered convents around the world do not go to bed hungry.
They are sick, wounded, hurt, homesick, heartsick, discouraged and filled
with despair. While we look to the Lord Jesus Christ for hope, these poor
women have no hope. Release into a lost eternity is the best they can
look for.

Occasionally I meet Roman Catholics who vow they have been inside the
cloisters and that what I report is not true. You must remember that
Catholics are quite free to lie to protect the church and need not even
confess this in confessional. It is permissable, just as it is alright to
steal up to $40.00 before theft has to be confessed. (Exodus 20:15,16).

My fury toward the succession of Mother Superiors was unchecked. Each
time she singled me out for penance or some real or imaginary infraction
of convent rules she would sadisticaly inflict some diabolical and vi-
cious suffering designed to destroy my body and mind. My mind was so
filled with schemes of violence and retaliation I lived for the bitter
day when I would be able to repay some of the misery I had endured.

All of this awful violence and hatred in me was created by the endless
stream of cruelties, deprivations, harassments and unbelievable suffer-
ings heaped on me by my captors. I often fantasized what a joy it would
be to kill one of the brutal, lecherous priests who regularly violated
us.

In my twenty-two years in the convent, I saw three Mother Superiors die.
Because I was a nurse, one day two nuns came to fetch me to tend Mother
Superior who was critically ill. A Roman Catholic doctor from the outside
had been called in to examine her. He gave me strict instructions con-
cerning some powerful prescription medication he left for her. All of the
hatred I held for this ungodly woman, her cruelty and the wicked system
she represented boiled up in me. I would have my revenge, and this woman
would die. I would see to that!

The day was long as I waited for my chance. The nuns were locked in
their cells and the lights went out at 9:30. Time drug on until finally
the midnight call to prayer was finished with the lights out for the
night. I picked up a number of the tablets and dissolved them in water, a
deliberate, massive overdose.

Eagerly, I roused the half-conscious woman and painstakingly forced her
to gulp down every drop of the lethal potion. As I eased her back on the
pillows I gloated. Soon she would die a horrible death and my vengeance
on her would be sweet indeed. I checked her pulse, which was escalating
rapidly, as was her respiration. In a short time she began to moan and
toss and finally went into violent convulsions. I smiled evilly, for
years of abuse had changed me into a bitter, heartless monster, bent on
murder.

Suddenly I awoke to the realization of what I had done. With a shock I
knew that I would probably be held accountable for her death. There was
no way to imagine what they might do to me because of it. Frantically I
grabbed a stomach pump and worked furiously to save her. I began massag-
ing her with cold water. At long last her respiration and blood pressure
dropped to normal levels and she drifted off into a deep sleep. I could
relax again and reflect on my own narrow escape.

I knew that in a part of the deep tunnel system under the convent, there
was a place where I had often heard horrible screams. They came from
behind a heavy locked door. Mother Superior had repeatedly warned us not
to go there. This was a rather pointless admonition since none of us had
any keys, however my curiousity about the place was overwhelming.

With my patient finally out of danger and the convent asleep, I remem-
bered. Mother Superior's keys were in her desk, so I grabbed them and
raced downstairs. Two stories underground, by the flickering candlelight,
I found the forbidden door which I had wondered about. I fumbled nervous-
ly with the big ring of keys and finally found the right one. The huge
door swung quietly open, revealing a hall lined with nineteen tiny cells.
All had barred windows in the doors.

I gasped in horror as I peered inside the cells to see white, ravaged
and drawn faces of little nuns with whom I had eaten, prayed and worked.
Each had disappeared suddenly and without any explanation. One in par-
ticular I recognized and asked her how long she had been there and other
questions. Her dull, lifeless eyes were glazed with awful terror, but she
would say nothing at all. Paralyzing fear rules the convent and these
prisoners did not know where the Mother Superior might be hiding. None
would speak lest worse things come upon them. I went from one to the
other but always the response was the same, frightened silence.

Toward the end of the hall, several cells emitted a sickening stench and
I became violently ill and nauseated when I peeped inside. All of the
captives here had long chains wrapped around their waists, which prevent-
ed them from being able to sit or lie down. They were slumped in the
chains, reeking with their own urine and body wastes, for they had been
condemned to a slow death, with little water and no food. Some were
already dead and the awful smell of death was there.

Their "crimes" consisted of persistent infractions of convent rules or
they were unfortunate enough to have had a nervous or mental breakdown
because of the pressure of the cloistered life. This was the way such
matters were handled, a hidden garbage dump for the wreckage of the
convent.

Violently ill, my head swimming and mind reeling, I staggered from the
chamber of horrors and relocked the door. Hurriedly I went back upstairs
to my charge, who was still sleeping peacefully. I was relieved to find
that her blood pressure and respiration were still normal. She slept late
into the next day and I remained with her for three more days.

Mother Superior felt so much better that I was rewarded with a six week
assignment to kitchen duty. This was a rare privilege for it was on the
first floor. Kitchen walls were lined with peep holes and there was no
way to know when some nun or priest was peeping through them. With this
constant surveillance, the slightest infraction of the rules, especially
stealing food, could be discovered and dealt with quickly and harshly.
This contributed to the overall sense of being in a hostile prison at all
times. Still I was glad to be there.

There was a double locked outside door in the kitchen which opened onto
the courtyard. On a landing by the door was the spot where we kept the
garbage cans. On the third day of my assignment there, someone rattled a
garbage can. The six of us were startled and jumped. When you work and
live in an atmosphere where silence is constantly required, you become
very sensitive to even ordinary sounds which others would never notice.
We whirled around and saw a man who was replacing a full garbage can with
an empty one over in the corner.

Quickly recovering our composure, we dropped our eyes and busily returned
to our work, fearful that we might have been observed. We were taught
that the bodies of the priests and bishops were sanctified and holy.
However, all other men were unsanctified and if we were caught looking at
them we could receive severe punishment for this sin.

Suddenly my mind stirred with an exciting but dangerous idea. Perhaps I
could smuggle a note to this man! This presented many problems however, I
had no pencil or paper, for these were not allowed, but hanging over the
work table in the kitchen was a pad with a pencil chained to it. This was
used to list items running in short supply in the kitchen. I managed to
snatch a scrap of dirty paper and at odd moments would scribble a few
words on it with the pencil. By the end of the day I had only been able
to write about two and a half lines, appealing for help.

I was terrified at the thought that I might have been noticed and report-
ed. However, I had gone too far now to turn back. At the end of the work
day, I slipped out to the garbage can, put the note on top of garbage,
and left the lid off the can. I then removed my crucifix and, although it
was difficult, I managed to break it and deposited it on the shelf.

After the kitchen chores were finished, we walked out and paused for our
regular, daily inspection by Mother Superior. She carefully examined our
skirts to be sure we were not smuggling out bits of food. When it was my
turn I said, "Mother Superior, I broke my crucifix and put it on the
shelf over the work table. May I go back and get it, please? She queried
me about how it happened and finally crossly told me to go quickly and
get it. After all, a nun could not be found without her crucifix!

I flew to the back door and looked under the garbage can where I had
asked the man to leave a note. There was a piece of folded paper, a
note! My hand shook so I could scarcely read it. My breath was coming in
gasps, excitement mingled with fear. As I managed to make out the writing
my heart really leaped, pounding so hard it seemed to thunder in my ears.
It said he was leaving the outer kitchen door unlocked and also the big,
barred, iron gate in the high wall around the convent!

Escape! I could hardly draw my breath as I cautiously tried the outer
door. Sure enough, it swung open and I eased my foot out on to the cement
stoop. Suddenly I froze, paralyzed with fear, and grew dizzy with nau-
sea. I leaped back inside.

I was remembering the dread sound of the buzzer which sounded the alarm
when a nun attempted to escape. I also shuddered when I recalled how
quickly the priests would capture the forlorn runaway and drag her back.
Then began an endless round of penances and inhuman torments to bring
repentance. Was I ready to risk all this?

I shivered, took a deep breath and stepped out once again, this time
closing and locking the door behind me. Now I could not turn back so I
darted to the iron gate. Just beyond this was glorious freedom from the
charnel house of horrors where I had been imprisoned for twenty-two long
years! Freedom was worth any risk. Although I had despaired so often, I
still longed for it. At last it was within my grasp, and overwhelming
emotions swept over me as I raced to the gate.

I arrived at the iron gate and pulled gently. Raw terror knotted my
stomach as I pulled and then jerked as hard as I could. It was locked! I
sobbed silently and almost fainted when I remembered that I had foolishly
snapped those kitchen door locks. I was locked out in a forbidden area
with no excuse which would be acceptable. Panicking, I thought of all the
tortures Mother Superior would use on me to break this "rebellion." I
shook uncontrollably and my mind was spinning. Why, why was this gate
locked?

In desperation I began climbing the high, wrought iron gate. We were kept
half-starved and worked almost to death with heavy labor, to say nothing
of the regular, draining bouts with the torture chamber. A frail, wasted
body, little more than skin and bones, has no reserve energy. I slipped
often, skinning hands and bare feet on the rough metal bars.

It was sheer misery, but finally, panting and bleeding, I clawed my way
to the top ledge which was lined with long, sharp spikes. I paused, my
lungs painfully strained by the exertion. My heart sank as I gazed down
in dismay from the top of that twenty foot gate. I only hesitated a
moment for there was not turning back possible now. I must go down the
other side. Hindered by my three, long heavy skirts and knee-length veil,
Awkwardly worked one foot between the spikes and decided to chance jump-
ing.

I pulled my heavy clothing up over my head with one hand, took a deep
breath, and leaped for the ground. Two of my skirts snagged on the gate
spikes and I was suspended in the air and swung back against the gate.
Now I was more afraid than ever and rocked frantically back and forth
until I could get a fresh grip on the gate bars.

With my free hand I managed to pry loose two or three heavy snappers
which fastened my skirts around me. Suddenly I plummeted down, hitting
with a sickening, crunching thud and my skirts fluttered down upon me.
Later I discovered I had an arm and shoulder with compound fractures.

Because I was so skinny, the shattered bones were exposed through the
flesh. Waves of pain engulfed me and mercifully I swooned into uncon-
sciousness. I don't know how long I lay there piled in a heap, but it was
probably only briefly. After regaining consciousness, flashing pains
seemed to be shooting all over my body, especially through my mangled
shoulder and arm.

I moaned softly, and, biting my lips, I struggled to my feet. The terror
of being recaptured overcame bodily pain and drove me to stagger along as
swiftly as I could. I was in a foreign country. Where could I go? What
would I do? I was a wreck physically, I had no money, no friends and only
the desire to be free kept me going on.

I walked, then ran, then walked again. Schooled to quietness in the
convent, I kept thinking the rustling of the leaves behind me were the
sounds of pursuit. Sheer exhaustion was making it increasingly difficult
to keep moving for I was so nauseated, numb and sick.

I spotted a tiny storage building and painfully crawled in and tried to
get some sleep. I must have been delirious and may have dozed a bit, but
eventually I was hurting so badly I decided I might as well be moving on.
I gasped with fresh pain and stiffness as I laboriously crawled out and
walked the rest of the night.

With a determined effort I pushed myself to move away from my convent.
One thing I had been forced to learn in the cloister was to continue to
function in spite of agonizing pain and suffering. Miraculously, my
escape was not discovered very quickly, and this gave me an advantage.

The second day I hid under a pile of boards and sheets of tin. The
boiling sun baked my hiding place as I tossed and turned feverishly,
attempting to snatch some rest for my drained and broken body. I was a
mass of shooting pains, and was weak, thirsty and hungry. I probably
lapsed into unconsciousness a number of times during that long, hot day.
When night came I dragged myself out and managed to get moving again.

I was very fearful of knocking on doors of houses, lest some devout Roman
Catholic family report me to a priest who would haul me back to the
convent. The thought of this possibility forced my aching legs to take me
deeper into the countryside, and hopefully to safety. I had decided that
I would rather die than to return to my unmerciful tormentors and
jailors.

By the third day I felt certain I was going to die. I had a high, raging
fever, was horribly nauseated and my hand, arm and shoulder were swollen
and throbbing. Even the ends of my fingers had now turned blue and green.
Like a wounded, dying animal I crawled under a fence and despairingly
burrowed into a haystack.

Most of the day I lay there but the combination of pain, hunger and
thirst finally drove me out again. I came upon a small and obviously very
poor home. Throwing caution to the winds, I knocked on the door. When a
man answered, I croakingly begged him to give me a drink of water.

I must have been a frightful sight, but he said nothing. When he called
to his wife, she immediately opened the door and brought me into the
house. It was the first time I had seen real compassion in human eyes for
years. Tears started in her eyes as she looked at me and said tenderly,
"Come in and sit down here my dear." That was the most beautiful music I
had ever heard.

She made me sit down at a table and rushed to fetch a cup of cool milk.
Remember I had not even seen whole milk for years and I was ravenously
hungry. Rudely, like a wild animal, I snatched the cup and greedily
gulped down every drop. When it hit my gnawing, empty stomach, predict-
ably I regurgitated it violently and made quite a mess. Automatically I
recoiled and cringed, for I was conditioned to expect that each mistake
had to bring recriminations and punishment.

The kind woman said nothing but tears glistened in her eyes as she
cleaned up the mess. She understood what was needed and moments later
had mixed some sugar in a cup of warm water. This time she fed me slowly
with a teaspoon, a sip at a time. This revived me and tasted so good.
Later she warmed some milk and gave me just a bit.

Deeply concerned, the man stared at my helpless, bloodstained arm lying
on the table and asked how I had gotten hurt so badly. It is hard to
express what a relief it was to talk with someone who genuinely seemed to
care about me for a change. I explained how I had climbed over the gate
and fallen to the ground.

When he announced that he would have to call a doctor, I went wild and
bolted for the door. Hysterically I shrieked, "No! No! I have no family;
I have no money; I cannot pay a doctor bill; I will run away; I must go
now." This outburst had so drained me that I swayed dizzily, almost
fainting from the exertion. The old man tenderly eased me back into the
chair and soothingly reassured me. "Now, now, you need help and I must go
for the doctor. However, you need have no fear for neither we or the
doctor are Roman Catholic."

I so wanted to believe him but was still trembling violently with fear. I
hoped they meant me no harm, but I had been conditioned to trust no one.
For all those years in the convent I had been surrounded by treachery,
deception and lies of all kinds.

Actually, I was much too sick and weak to do anything but settle back and
wait. I had no choice for I had no strength and was quivering uncontrol-
lably. The lady of the house moved so quickly to my side to calm me. It
had been years and years since I had been shown any kindness or consider-
ation. I just dissolved into gushing tears, for my nerves had been thor-
oughly frayed by all I had endured. Both these strangers seemed to under-
stand and were exceedingly kind to me.

The old gentleman hitched his horse to the buggy and drove nine or ten
miles to the nearby town. A doctor came out in his car and after a
cursory examination, shook his head very angrily. I was terrified and
refused to tell them who I was or where I came from. I was afraid of
everyone, dreading a betrayal which would return me to the prison house
of the convent.

After the doctor examined me he kept walking around me, staring in utter
unbelief. Gazing at the shattered hulk of what was supposed to be a human
being, he swore softly and angrily under his breath until he noticed he
was frightening me. He was furious, not with me, but with the inhuman
treatment which had been inflicted upon me.

Gruffly, but kindly, he said, "I must put you in the hospital without
delay." I began to protest weakly and sob that I did not want to go to a
hospital. There, I was sure my enemies would find me and take me back. I
pled with him not to force me to go. He replied that he was not going to
hurt me but would have to take me where I could receive the treatment I
required.

When he admitted me to the hospital I weighed in at 89 pounds (over 80
pounds under my 1968 weight). First I went into surgery where they
attempted to reduce the awful swelling and infection in my arm, hand and
shoulder. It was over two weeks before the swelling subsided and the
bones began to knit. Because they were crooked, later they had to be
rebroken and once again put in a cast, a very painful procedure.

The doctor and all the hospital personnel were extremely understanding
and gave me the very best of care. After the many years of starving,
torture, constant condemnation and being degraded and treated like an
animal, it was almost too good to be true. I was there over a year, very
slowly recuperating in body and mind. After six months my kind doctor
friend walked in, pulled up a chair and took my hand. "Well girlie," he
said, "We have done everything in our power to get you well and on your
feet. Now we must know who you are and where you are from and I will try
to locate your people."

He knew I was a foreigner and wanted to contact my parents. His kindness
so touched me that I melted into tears and gave him the information. Ten
weeks later he had finally located my parents. Both were living, but
mother had been a paralyzed invalid for over seven years. Of course I
knew nothing of this for, as I discovered later, they had received none
of my letters. My jailers did not allow any communication with outsiders.

Because I had undergone an operation for tuberculosis of the bone, I was
unable to walk. When I recuperated enough to sit in a wheelchair, the
doctor felt I needed to change from the hospital environment. He carried
me to his home in the suburbs where his gracious wife bought me my first
civilian shoes and clothing.

During all my time in the hospital the dear old couple, who had taken me
into their home that dreadful night, visited regularly. Almost every day
they came, bringing a bouquet of wild flowers to brighten my hospital
room. I anticipated their trips to see me and eagerly watched for the
little horse and buggy to come up the hospital drive. When the flowers
quit blooming, she made blossoms from bits of colored paper to cheer me.
I loved them as if they were my own flesh and blood.

The day I was released from the hospital they were there and asked if I
would like to come to their home. I wept and said I would love to, but
was going with the doctor to his house. When the doctor found me crying
he quickly assured me that it would be all right to go there. He took me
there in his automobile and visited me often, bringing fresh fruit and
vegetables.

I stayed six weeks and then moved back to the physician's home. I went
back and forth between these two families for about a year after leaving
the hospital. Because my hair still refused to grow out, I wore dust
caps.

The day came when I was recovered enough to gather eggs, dust furniture,
wash and dry dishes. The doctor contacted the old people and gave them a
check to take me shopping for a suitcase and clothing. On a certain day
he came to take me on a trip. Many people had given me money which was
carefully sewed in my clothing.

When my benefactor took me to the train, he cautioned me, "Charlotte,
don't eat a bite of food or candy; touch nothing except what this one
person gives to you for he will take care of you." After the train ride I
was taken to a ship and put under the protection of another person with
the same strict instructions and precautions. Two weeks later the ship
docked in the United States. I was met at the dock by other people who
put me on a train, under the care of the conductor. He was very good to
me and brought me all the food I could eat. By now I didn't have a penny
and he gave me some silver dollars.

I spent three days on the train and when we were twenty-five or thirty
miles from my father's home I was quite excited. The conductor brought me
a sandwich, two more silver dollars and helped me off the train with my
suitcase. My home town was very small but had grown considerably in
twenty-four years. The train pulled away from the brand-new depot and I
stood on the platform, feeling very alone, fearful and confused. I took a
deep breath, walked inside and asked a man for directions to my father's
house.

I had been reared in a frame house, but this new one was brick. My heart
was beating very fast and I was breathing heavily as I rang the bell. A
stooped and wrinkled old gentleman with gray hair opened the door and I
asked for my father. When he asked who I was, I gave him my real, not my
convent name. Tears welled up in his eyes as he wonderingly and trem-
blingly said, "Hookie?" This was the nickname given to me when I was a
little girl. We embraced, weeping for the joy of our reunion. When I
asked about my mother, he became very evasive, asking me questions. When
I kept pressing him he told me she had been very sick and finally took me
to her room.

My mind reeled with shock to see her lying there, completely paralyzed.
Wasted away to a pitiful sixty-nine pounds, almost all her beautiful hair
was gone. She looked like a frail skeleton and I could scarcely believe
this pale, emaciated creature was all that remained of my beautiful,
strong mother I remembered.

Waves of nausea and darkness swept over me as I almost collapsed in a
faint. My dad gently steered me out and helped me into the next room
where I crumpled into a bed, sobbing and soon I went fast asleep. The
excitement of my homecoming coupled with the shock of seeing my parents,
broken by age and sickness, was too much for me.

At 2:30 p.m. I awoke in severe pain. When my father had the nurse check
me, she advised him to call the family doctor immediately. He was my
godfather and had delivered me into the world and refused to believe I
was really Charlotte until he saw the birthmark on my back. I was at once
rushed to the hospital where I stayed for fourteen weeks. My father was a
very wealthy man and paid all the bills. My godfather reimbursed those
overseas who had befriended and aided me. Grateful to those who had saved
my life, my dad also sent them gifts as well.

While hospitalized I underwent a second operation on my left hip because
of the tuberculer bone condition. When the ambulance brought me home I
was placed in a reclining chair and my dad instructed me that I was to
eat, sleep and recuperate. I was given books to read but try as I might I
could retain nothing I read. I became extremely agitated and after two
weeks of this my doctor called the family doctor and told him I was
having a complete nervous breakdown and should be put in a sanitorium. My
father refused, not wanting me to leave again after having been away for
so long.

I was so thin, frail and hairless that my relatives would shuttle me
quickly to the back room, out of sight, when their friends would drop
over. They were ashamed of the way I looked and this broke my heart and
was a real source of grief to me. Because of this, I was very shy and
extremely self conscious.

All of my brothers and sisters had received college educations while I
had been locked away in a foreign convent, praying for lost humanity, and
pouring out my blood for the sins of the world. Somehow it did not seem
fair.

After I was able to be up in a wheel chair and could walk a little, one
of my sisters set up appointments with a beautician for scalp treatments.
However, when they put hot towels and oil on my head I passed out, be-
cause I was so sick. Months of continued treatments were finally success-
ful and one day the hair began to grow back. After I had become more
presentable, my relatives began to purchase expensive clothing for me and
I had to learn how to act, how to wear clothes, ect., all over again.

When I grew steadily worse, my Dad did eventually consent to my going
cross-country over 600 miles, to stay with my Uncle John. For a year I
lived there but still had very little hair on my head. This was a source
of much shame and embarrassment to me and I became somewhat of a recluse.
One day my uncle asked me to visit some neighbors with him but I bolted
for my bedroom, fearful of being around other people. However, when I
realized this hurt him, I changed my mind, dressed and went with him. A
few days later, he asked me to pick up a package from these neighbors and
for the first time I went out alone.

After walking a couple of blocks, I sensed something was wrong for
someone was following me. When I whirled around, there were four big men
close behind me. One called me by my convent name, warning me not to move
nor make a sound. I was paralyzed with that old terror so much that I
could not move. They closed in quickly on each side; picked me up and
pitched me into their car between the front and back seats.

As they sped away I was forced to lie on the floor and they covered me
with a dirty rug when I begged for mercy. As I was held down under their
feet and fear gripped me, I listened and realized that these were actual-
ly four Catholic priests in civilian clothing. We drove all night and
through all the next day and night. The following morning we entered the
suburbs of a large city and pulled to the curb. I was aching all over and
cramped from being forced to lie prone on the floorboard during this wild
drive.

I had no idea where we were but when I was allowed to sit up I slowly
stretched my cramped muscles and aching back. I stiffened with horror
when I saw we had parked in front of a convent. My heart sank and I shook
in terror. I wished I had not gotten up at all. Desperately I prayed to
the Virgin Mary for a heart attack and then called on St. Jude, St.
Bartholomew and every other patron saint I could remember.

They dragged me from the automobile, one on each side, and instead of
entering the convent, they marched me blocks and blocks down the street.
At last, walking on my toes with downcast eyes, I was guided upon the
porch of the priest's home, next door to a large Roman Catholic church.

They hustled me inside, down a hallway, through the kitchen, and then
down into the basement. There a secret, locked door opened to reveal a
tunnel which led straight back, many blocks underground, to the convent!
As usual, they had sneaked me in leaving no trail, in case we were ob-
served. As always, they were out to deceive the world and hide their dark
and evil deeds.

At the end of the long tunnel there was another door but no way to open
it. However, one of the priests knew exactly where the secret button was
located and when he pressed it, the big, heavy door swung silently open.
Behind it Mother Superior stood waiting. Her cruel face was grim and set
as she snapped, "Bring her in." I had seen those merciless looks many
times before and it was like the rerun of a thousand other horrifying
nightmares of pain and suffering.

Mother Superior led the way without a word to another room and harshly
ordered me to prostrate myself on the floor. I had no choice but to obey,
as I had so many hundred of times before. Mother Superior tapped a bell
and two nuns suddenly appeared and one set a strange looking object on
the floor beside me. She handed the sisters each a piece of rope and they
bound my hands and feet securely. They were quiet efficient and obviously
had much experience in doing this.

The object on the floor was a plumber's blow torch, but I had never seen
one and did not know what it was. Mother gave a quick order and a nun lit
it. One nun got under my shoulders, the other at my ankles, and they
lifted me up. Mother Superior came and stood over me demanding that I say
I was sorry for my wickedness, recant for running away from the convent,
and promise I would never run away again.

I knew I would run away again at the first opportunity and would never
make such a promise. From long experience I was aware that I faced hurt
and torture no matter what I said or did not say. There was no mercy or
escape regardless of promises. I was an old hand at understanding the
duplicity, lies, hypocrisy and treachery in a convent. Everything was
designed to deceive and entrap the unwary. There was absolutely no way to
win a fair hearing or trial.

When a Mother Superior dies, they always have three or four replacements,
one of which can take her place. Always they are chosen for their hard,
cruel and inhuman disregard for suffering and misery and lack of compas-
sion. She must have proven herself totally loyal to the system with all
its rottenness and must even relish and enjoy all the gross practices.

Mother made her demands three times and I met them with grim silence. She
gave the order to lower my body down on the torch. Naturally I screamed
and struggled, bucking and pitching, trying to escape the merciless fire
on my back. When my clothing caught fire I was writhing and shrieking in
agony as the flesh sizzled and blistered while the relentless and emo-
tionless sisters held me firmly over the fire. Finally Mother Superior
decided I had burned enough for now and rolled me in a filthy rug to
smother the flames. I was like a wild creature, throbbing with unbeliev-
able white-hot pain and misery.

After she did this the nuns dumped me roughly to the floor and I screamed
even louder as the seared and blistered flesh on my back slipped. I was
then carried to the infirmary where I was laid out on a slab of wood. I
was placed on my stomach because my back was so dreadfully seared. My
agony and torment from the burns was beyond description. Mother and the
nuns then walked out, shutting and locking the door. Once again I was a
prisoner of those who had no hearts or conscience and who lived to in-
flict suffering and torture on every helpless victim.

I begged and wept, pleading and moaning for water when nuns passed by,
but they were robots, programmed to ignore suffering and they did not
stop. My cruel captors thought I was surely going to die and I believed
it too. When I lived on, Mother Superior called in a doctor. I often
wonder what kind of lies she told him to explain the horrible mass of
burns on my ravaged body. He came in for several weeks to dress and treat
the burns. One miserable day crawled into another.

Months dragged by before I was able to walk. The first day I was able to
be up I was escorted to the refractory where meals were served. As was
customary, each nun had her own place at the tables but there was none
for me. Mother Superior ordered me to keep walking over to one corner of
the room. There a shelf could be adjusted to the height of a nun and on
it sat my tin cup of black coffee and four ounces of bread. I had to
stand with my nose in the corner to consume my meager rations.

When I was brought back that night the shelf was bare and Mother marched
me to another place, past three statues. They had taken all my vegetables
out of the tin pie pan and piled them on the floor with the two ounce bit
of bread and tin cup of coffee. I was to sit on the floor and eat off the
floor and this was forced on me for months.

One day I asked permission to speak with Mother Superior. I told her
that if she would not make me commit sin I would break no convent rules.
She loftily informed me that if I kept all the rules, one day I would be
allowed out in the courtyard for a short recreation period.

Years ago I had learned never to trust in or believe the lies told by the
conscienceless Mother Superiors in convents. They were past masters of
deception, manipulation and sadistic cruelty. This one long ago had told
me that my life was to be one of constant penance and suffering because I
had dared to attempt escape from the convent. Absolutely everything she
was big enough to inflict on me, she did with a vengeance, not minding
what it was. Hers was an all-out campaign to break me completely, and
nothing was too cruel, painful or inhuman for her to devise.

One morning, for a penance, I was taken to a long metal horse watering
trough which served the nuns as a bathtub. I was ordered to strip off my
clothes, slip on a muslin nightgown and get into the tub of water. Mother
Superior seized my head and pushed my face forward into the filthy water,
then up, then back into the water. I was scarcely able to get my breath
and strangled as she kept this up continuously. I became so exhausted I
crumpled in the tank, so weak I could no longer resist or even struggle
against the fear of asphixiation and drowning. The mental and physical
pressures of such punishments are difficult to describe.

Two little nuns pulled me from the tank, limp and half-conscious, gasp-
ing, gagging and chocking for breath. They held me firmly while two
others began to beat me thoroughly with cruel, cutting, flagellation
whips, whose chains and sharp metal teeth bit viciously through and
shredded the thin wet muslin nightgown. I was soon soaked with my own
blood, badly lacerated all over.

In the convent, complaining and murmuring are strictly forbidden and
bring swift and harsh punishment, therefore you learn to bear everything
without hope of any relief. I had developed a festering infection on my
finger which grew worse day by day. Terribly swollen and painful, it
throbbed so I could ignore it no longer. It should have been lanced to
relieve the pressure. That day I was assigned to kitchen duty and I knew
that I would have my hands in hot, soapy water all day long, scrubbing
and cleaning.

When I asked Mother Superior for permission to speak to her she glared at
me but gave consent. Laying my finger on the kitchen work table for her
to see, I explained how dreadfully painful it was and asked if I might
switch duties with another nun to keep it out of the water until it was
better. She glanced at it and quick as a flash, snatched a meat cleaver
and before I realized what was happening, savagely chopped off the side
of the infected finger.

Although mercifully, unconsciousness caused me to slump to the floor,
they quickly revived me. Mother Superior snapped at me angrily and said,
"Now you quit fooling around making excuses and get busy scrubbing." I
had no choice but to obey and slaved away in the hot, soapy water all day
long, fainting several times from the endless pain.

So life went on, one dreary day after another, with dreadful and agoniz-
ing penances being imposed one after the other, limited only by the
demonic imaginations and devices of the heartless and ruthless Mother
Superior. These awful women have to be totally demon possessed to do what
they do.

One day I was again taken down into the furnace room where the coal
burner was located. It too was used as a torture chamber and as usual, my
clothing was stripped to the waist. I was forced to lock my arms around a
large hot water pipe and my hands and feet were tightly bound to it.
Mother Superior then shoved the poker into the hot coals of the furnace
to heat it red hot.

This done, she slowly and painstakingly burned three crosses on my back,
returning the poker to the coals when it cooled. Horrible screams ripped
from my throat and pitiful, whimpering pleas for mercy gurgled out once
more, but of course there was none. My nostrils burned again with the
sickening acrid stench of my own burning flesh. Awful convulsions of rage
and pure hatred for my tormenters boiled up in me.

After over twenty-eight despairing, miserable months of captivity, these
evil people had almost managed to destroy me for the second time. The
utter hopelessness I experienced is very difficult to define or describe
in words to one who has never gone through it.

Mother Superior summoned eighteen of us to follow her on another day. As
usual, we were afraid for we never knew what awaited us when we were
called out. Silently we trailed her as she led us to the kitchen on the
first floor. Handing us seven bean bags she unlocked the door leading
into the outer courtyard which lay behind the high walls. We were actual-
ly being allowed a recreation period!

We could scarcely contain our joy and amazement as we walked out into the
fresh air and sunshine, for the first time. To those who have never been
deprived of such ordinary things this may seem strange, but we walked
only a few steps off the patio and fell eagerly on our faces in the lush
green grass, smelling and clutching it greedily.

To lie there in this way was like heaven, unbelievably wonderful and
satisfying to our deprived senses which had been imprisoned inside the
sterile convent walls and caverns for so long. We lay there side by side
revelling in the air, grass and the sunshine and must have been a strange
sight indeed. We were literally intoxicated by it all.

While lying there, a coal truck lumbered up to the heavy iron gate of the
courtyard. A man took a wheelbarrow from the truck and began to load it.
After unlocking the gate, he pushed it open to bring the coal to the
basement chute around the corner of the building. We all lay quietly
still after stealing hurried looks to see what was happening. Quickly we
turned our heads away, for it was punishable sin to look on any man other
than a priest or bishop.

A wild thought flashed through my mind. If I had what it took, I could
dart out of the open gate ahead of him, as he was slowly making his
repeated trips to the chute. Indecision paralyzed me, however, and I
could not move because I had been so conditioned by fear to obey the
rules. He made several trips and finally pitched the wheelbarrow on the
truck and closed the outer gate. My heart sank as I heard the sound of
the gate swinging shut, however I started up. My hearing was so sensitive
after being in the convent silence that it seemed the gate sounded dif-
ferent when it closed. Could it be that the catch jammed and did not
lock? It was impossible, but supposing it were true?

With such thoughts surging through my brain, my heart seemed to be pound-
ing so loudly that I glanced cautiously at the other nuns to see if they
heard it. However, they were still luxuriating in the fresh green grass,
the sunshine and fresh air and were noticing nothing. Very carefully I
eased to my feet, moving quietly so as not to disturb them, and slipped
over to the gate.

Furtively, I looked back to the convent to see if I was being observed.
As I got closer, I panicked and began to run. When I hit the big gate it
swung open so easily I lost my balance and tumbled headlong into the
cinder path, skinning my face, hands, and knees. Quickly I leaped up and
shoved the open gate closed and the spring lock clicked, locking it
securely. I did not want to attract attention by running, but my feet
just flew down the sidewalk.

It was incredible! I was free once more! I was outside the prison walls
of the convent at last. It was a beautiful day but very windy, causing my
habit and veil to blow around my face. I could scarcely see where I was
going. Suddenly, I bumped into a man and in desperation I seized his arm
and gasped in a frightened voice, "Please help me! Hide me quickly. I
have just escaped from the convent."

This frightened him and he looked shaken, but he said, "Come with me and
I will put you in my barn." He had just put a load of fresh hay in the
building and I began to climb up the ladder to hide in the loft. He
stopped me, saying he had thought of a better place for me to stay. I
followed him into his house where he quickly explained to his wife what
was happening. They opened an access door in the corner of the kitchen
ceiling and boosted me up there into the attic.

This precious couple, in their thirties, were very good to me. They sent
up pillows, blankets food and water. I hid there all night and through
the next day. At dusk I told them that I must be on my way, to flee in
the darkness. From them, for the first time, I learned exactly where I
had been imprisoned for over two years. They supplied me with maps, and,
as we checked them, found that I had been kidnapped 650 miles away. The
maps were then marked so I could find my way back to Uncle John's house.

The lady packed a shoebox with food, gave me seventy-five cents and
insisted that I change into some of her clothing for the trip and carry
mine along. I was still hairless so she gave me a stocking cap. I had to
go barefooted for I had no shoes or socks, and my friends had nothing
which would fit me. I was undoubtedly a peculiar sight, dressed in cloth-
ing three sizes too large for me, as I began my trek to safety trying to
hitchhike crosscountry.

I walked and walked until my feet were so sore and I was so tired I felt
I could go no further. When I stopped at a house to ask permission to
sleep on the porch or in the garage, the lady took one look at me and
slammed the door in my face. Wearily I plodded back to the road, heart-
sick, frightened and thoroughly discouraged. Only the thought of the
horrors behind me kept me from giving up completely.

These comfortable people, secure in their warm homes, comfortable beds
with full stomachs could not relate in their wildest imaginations to what
was going on so close by. The truth was too terrible to be believed,
therefore nice people just deny it. Exhausted, I stumbled and half fell
into the ditch until the lights in the house went out. I then crept out,
slipped up alongside the house and lay down to fall into a fitful sleep.
I was glad I brought along my heavy, holy habit because I wrapped it
around me to keep out the biting night chill.

When dawn broke, I nervously roused myself and again began to walk. I was
filled with fear because I didn't know what the people might do to me.
After I had eaten everything I brought with me, I stopped and begged food
along the way. Some were gracious and gave me a nice meal, others abrupt-
ly refused and slammed the door in my face.

Days and weeks went by as I painfully walked across the countryside. No
one offered me shoes and my feet got so bad I wept and begged to die. For
fourteen weeks I walked and hitchhiked, begging for food and a place to
lie down to sleep. Finally I was about twenty-five or thirty miles from
Uncle John's, according to my maps.

I asked at a railway depot if there was a train to Uncle John's town and
discovered there was a one car train which would come in five hours. From
the meager store of coins which had been given to me, I counted out
money, bought a ticket and lay down on the station bench to sleep.
Although I was very hungry, no one offered me food.

I caught the train and when I arrived at Uncle John's house he said, "My
God, Charlotte, where did you come from?" Then he showed me a letter
from my dad stating that my own father was the one who had put me back
into the convent. The letter said I was in safe keeping and that they
knew where I was. My father was terrified because my invalid mother was
so sick. Every time any member of the family, especially my father, went
to confession, the priest would solemnly announce, "There will be no
absolution for your sin until Charlotte is back in the convent."

The priest assured my dad that if my mother died she could not go to
purgatory but would have to go straight to hell. My tormented father
believed this and desperately feared this dread sentence on his beloved
wife. To him, betraying me to the convent was not as bad as condemning my
mother to hell. As I heard this, I was again filled with wrath and
furiously assured my uncle I never wanted to see my father again. I was
raging, deeply hurt and felt terribly lonely.

Uncle John began to share with me about how his Roman Catholic neighbors
had gotten saved. This had radically changed their lives, especially the
father, who had been a wife and child beating drunkard. When my aunt
died, they showed such concern and love to my uncle that he visited a
Pentecostal church service with them. At 67 years of age my Roman Cathol-
ic uncle had never attended a church other than the Roman Catholic. He
was deeply touched by the services and particularly by their clean-cut
young people who were so different from the worldly Roman Catholic young
people he knew.

After several visits to the church, one night he leaped from his seat and
ran to the front of the church shouting, "My God, I'm lost, I'm lost, I'm
lost!" He was a well known local businessman and it created quite a stir
when he was saved. Later he received the baptism in the Holy Spirit. A
childless widower, he promised to give himself and all his property to
the Lord.

As he finished this strange narrative, I was thinking the old man must
have gone crazy. However, I had no other place to go, so I just said
nothing. That night I overheard him praying for me, and again the next
morning. Each time he was asking the Lord to save me. This went on night-
ly and for the rest of his life.

Because I was so ill, my uncle put me in the hospital, paid my bills,
took care of me, fed and clothed me. After I came home, my uncle became
very sick and his doctor said he needed to be in the hospital. I begged
the physician to let me keep my relative home and nurse him. It was my
chance to repay him for his kindness to me. The doctor consented, however
he steadily got worse and worse.

In a few days my uncle called me in and said, "Honey, I'm going home to
be with the Lord. I want you to call your father and tell him that my
funeral will be in this church here." He told me which undertaker to call
and also mentioned what he wanted done at the funeral. I was stunned,
scarcely believing what I was hearing. He smiled, looked in my face, then
closed his eyes and he was gone.

When I realized he was dead, I was wracked with waves of awful grief.
This man was all I had in life. All my precarious security was swept
away. I was lost, and had been betrayed by everyone except this man. I
felt I had been robbed of all I held dear and precious in this world. I
fell across his lifeless body screaming furiously and hysterically, "If
there is a God, why, why did you take him away from me? He's all I have.
It's not fair! It's not fair."

I finally pulled myself together and began to carry out my uncle's in-
structions. I called the pastor; the undertaker; picked out the casket;
sent telegrams and made all of the funeral arrangements. Uncle John never
told his relatives that he had left the Roman Catholic church because he
knew they would cut him off. Sure enough, when they learned this, not one
single relative came to the funeral or sent flowers. People from the
church knew of my deep attachment to my uncle and some stayed with me in
the house for six weeks. When they had to go home, I was told to charge
anything I needed at the grocery store and they paid every bill.

Seven months after Uncle John's death I begged the doctor to release me
to go back to work. I hated being dependent and was anxious to assume
responsibility for myself. I went to the neighboring state and took and
passed a nurse's examination. In a matter of days I had been hired by a
large Roman Catholic hospital to nurse. In spite of all of Uncle John's
fervent praying and witnessing, I was still unsaved.

For three years I worked there and was able to support myself. What a
glorious feeling after being sick and dependent on others for so long. As
Assembly of God woman preacher came in for major surgery and I was as-
signed to be her special nurse. Following her operation she awoke prais-
ing the Lord for sparing her life and asked me to read aloud from the
Bible. I began to shake all over for, as a Roman Catholic nun, I was
never allowed to read the Bible. Nevertheless I read to her daily for the
ten days while she was hospitalized. I was assigned to nurse her at home
also.

When she was able, I accompanied her to a church downtown. I had been
taught that all non-Catholics were heretics; therefore I only sat at the
edge. Because I went each night, my employer gave me a Bible of my own.
At the house I got in the habit of going down in the basement to read.
Finally I dropped to my knees and said, "If there is a God, I want you to
show me." Many nights I would read the Bible until the wee hours of the
morning.

One night I dreamed about falling into the lake of fire and awoke scream-
ing. My employer assured me God was trying to show me I was lost and
needed to ask Jesus in my heart and be saved from all my sins. I dropped
down on my knees and begged God not to let me die before I got saved.

I went to church one night, so under conviction that I was miserable. The
preacher got up to read his text but I could bear it no longer. Leaping
from my seat I raced to the altar sobbing and crying out repeatedly, "I
don't want to go to hell! Oh God, have mercy on me, I don't want to go to
hell!" I fell in a heap at the front and there I wept as I confessed all
my rotten sins, my hatreds, bitterness, evil thoughts and deeds. I poured
it all out, not caring who heard me.

What a refreshing and what a cleansing, as I asked for and received
forgiveness. The Lord Jesus came into my heart and gave me salvation,
full and free. Only those who have experienced being born again, being
redeemed out of the hand of the enemy by the blood of Jesus Christ, can
understand the supernatural glory, relief and joy which flooded my being
that wonderful night.

My friend took me to the telegraph office where I sent a wire to my dad
notifying him that I was no longer a Roman Catholic, for I had been
gloriously saved by repenting of my sins and receiving Jesus Christ as my
personal Saviour.

Three days later, sitting in my window at home, I looked up as a car
screeched to a halt out front. My father and two Roman Catholic priests
got out and came up the walk. Frightened, I ran quickly to the kitchen
and told my friend that they were coming after me. She calmly told me to
go to the door and invite them in. Because I was saved, she said there
was nothing to fear.

I did as she said and ushered them into the living room. Dad immediately
blurted out, "Charlotte, we're come to take you home." Incredulously I
answered, "Dad, I'm not going home with you. I'm staying right here and
will continue to attend the church where I found salvation. I want to
learn more about God and the gospel of Jesus Christ." They had actually
thought I was still the same mechanical robot I had been brainwashed to
become in the convent!

My father looked distraught and said, "Charlotte, we've driven over 650
miles to come and take you home where you belong." After I again told my
dad very firmly that, under no circumstances was I going to return with
them, the older of the two priest leaped to his feet. He shouted furious-
ly at me, "Of course, you know what you have done! You've damned your
soul and you'll spend eternity in hell. One day you'll crawl back to the
Holy Roman Catholic church on your hands and knees and beg for novenas to
be said for you. One day you'll want to come to the confessional box and
receive absolution for your horrible sins."

I had had enough of his raving and threatening. I thrust my Bible out in
front of him and challenged him. "If you can show me one scripture in the
Holy Bible where God says I am to go to a man to confess my sins, I'll
get down on my knees beside you now and crawl back to a Roman Catholic
Church!"

His face turned red as he sputtered in a towering rage, snatched the
Bible from my hand and threw it to the floor. He slammed his foot on my
beautiful Bible and spun around with all his weight, ripping it to piec-
es, breaking the binding. If he had put his foot on my face, I doubt that
it would have hurt half as much as witnessing this. Through this Bible I
had found the truth, and assurance of salvation.

If the Roman Catholic priests had the power, they would lead a house-to-
house canvas, seize all the Bibles, soak them with gasoline and burn them
all. When they come into power Bibles will not be permitted.

The priest began to pronounce all of the curses of the Roman Catholic
excommunication upon me because I had worn a holy habit and dared to take
it off. First he cursed my eyes, that they would rot and fall out of my
head. I wept hysterically and fearfully, for as yet I did not know very
much what the Bible teaches. When I escaped the convent I only had 4
percent vision in my left eye and eight percent in my right eye. I was
practically blind because of the vicious treatment I received at the
hands of the demonically driven Mother Superior; therefore this curse
frightened me.

Next the priest cursed every vital organ in my body and commanded that
maggots devour these organs. He droned on, "By the authority of God
Almighty, the Father; the Son and the Holy Ghost, and of the holy canons
and of all the undefiled; the Virgin Mary, Mother of God; and of all the
apostles, evangelists and holy innocents, who in the sight of the Lamb
are found worthy to sing the new canticles; and of all the holy martyrs
and holy confessors; and all the holy handmaidens (those are the nuns and
sisters) of the Lord, and of all the saints together with the elect of
God; we excommunicate Charlotte from the threshold of the Roman Catholic
Church; that she be tormented with eternal suffering forever, and that
the fire which burns will never be quenched.

"May God the Father who created man, curse her; the Son of God who suf-
fered for man, curse her; may the Holy Ghost Who was given us in baptism,
curse her; may the holy cross which Christ descended triumphant over His
enemies, curse her; may the Holy Mother of God, the perpetual Virgin
Mary, curse her; may Saint Michael, Keeper of holy souls, curse her; may
all the angels, the archangels, the principalities and powers and all the
heavenly armies, curse her; may the praiseworthy rank of patriarchs and
prophets, curse her; may Saint John the forerunner and baptizer of Christ
and Saint Peter, Saint Paul, Saint Andrew and all of Christ's apostles,
together with the other disciples, even the four Evangelists, who by
their preaching converted the entire world, curse her."

"May the marchers and confessors, which by their good deeds are found
pleasing to God, curse her. May the choirs of the holy handmaidens of the
Lord, (nuns and sisters) who for the honor of Christ renounced as repre-
hensible the vanities of the world, curse her. May all of the saints who
from the beginning of the world to the everlasting ages are found to be
beloved of God, curse her. May the heavens and the earth and all the holy
things remaining therein, curse her.

"May she be cursed wherever she goes, whether it is in the house, whether
she is in the field, whether she is in the roadway, whether she is in the
path, whether she is in the woods, whether she is in the water, or wheth-
er she is in the church; may she be cursed in living, may she be cursed
in eating, may she be cursed in drinking, in being hungry, in being
thirsty, in fasting, in sleeping, in drowsing, in being awake, in walk-
ing, in standing, in sitting, in lying, in working, in resting."

All this was spoken in Latin and some statements were so filthy it is not
decent even to repeat them. Of course, all of this comes straight from
the pits of hell. The other more filthy parts, omitted here, were easily
mouthed by a Roman Catholic priest in his "holy" habit.

The curse continued: "May she be cursed in all the faculties of her body;
may she be cursed inwardly and outwardly; may she be cursed in the hairs
of her head; may she be cursed in her brains; may she be cursed in the
crown of her head; in her temples, in her forehead; in her ears; in her
eyebrows; in her cheeks; in her jawbones; in her nostrils; in her teeth,
both the biters and the grinders; in her lips; in her throat; in her
wrists; in her arms; in her hand; in her fingers; in her breasts; in her
heart and all the interior parts down to the very stomach; in the kid-
neys; in the groin; in the thighs; in the hips; in the knees; in the
legs; in the feet; and in her tonsils."

"May she be cursed from the top of her head to the soles of her feet; let
there be no soundness found in her; may Christ, the Son of the living
God, curse her with all of the might of His holy office (this hurt me
more than all the rest.)"

During all this tirade of cursing and denunciations, my poor father stood
like a pale and tight-lipped statue. He was completely bound by the
traditions, darkness, superstition, illiteracy and illegitimacy of Roman
Catholicism. When the priest finished his horrible condemnation, I was
shaking with fear and sobbing hysterically. Remember, I was just a babe
in Christ and still had to be delivered of the terrible fears instilled
by years of agony and pressure in the Roman Catholic system.

It was in 1946 when my father walked out the door with those two priests
and I was left with a broken heart. I was numb, in a state of emotional
shock, but went with my patient to a revival meeting that night. The
message was on believers water baptism. This was all new to me, therefore
I went to the pastor and requested a list of all the scriptures on water
baptism.

I wanted to know the truth for I had come out of such gross error and
needed to be sure of what the Bible taught. When we came home I went
directly to the basement to search the scriptures and prayed that the
Lord open my understanding. Through the night I studied and prayed, and
by morning I knew I must be baptized in water as the scriptures taught.

The following night I went to church and was later baptized in the icy
waters of the Mississippi River. As I came up out of the water, many
infirmities, sicknesses and pains were miraculously removed from my body.

Later, at the church I learned about the baptism in the Holy Spirit.
Again I requested and received a list of scriptures on this teaching. I
plunged into another session of study in the basement to learn what God's
word taught.

Seven priests showed up at the home to bluff, stare at and threaten me. I
cried all day long after they left until my face was swollen and eyes
bloodshot. I was learning how strong and tenacious the old soul ties to a
demonic religious system could be. Keep in mind that I was caught in this
religious snare from birth and was soaked through and through with the
power which energizes the wicked system.

I almost did not attend church that night, but went anyway. The sermon
topic was the crucifixion of Christ and this repulsed me. I wanted to
wait outside in the car, but the lady with whom I stayed urged me to come
inside. To me, the cross was what I had learned to dread and hate.

Horrifying memories of the ghastly tortures, torment, abuse and suffering
were associated with that rough, bloodsoaked cross in convent torture
chambers. How many times had I cringed and groaned after flagellation
with whips as Mother Superior forced the cruel metal crown of thorns on
my scarred, bald head. Then loaded with a rough-hewn, heavy, eight foot
cross dropped on my frail, lacerated back, I had to drag it, staggering
across the room, until I collapsed. I was so weak I could never get very
far.

There was another horror chamber two stories underground in the convent
where several times I was forced to lie on the dirt floor in the form of
a cross, without moving, for three days and three nights without food or
water. During this time all the priests and nuns were there with Mother
Superior and they repeatedly walked back and forth across my body. This
painful and humiliating trial was supposed to teach me humility and
submission and crush out pride. No wonder I shuddered and recoiled from
hearing about the cross.

However, as I listened to the Biblical message on the meaning of the
cross, it took on a whole new aspect. I was caught up in the awe as
scriptures regarding it were expounded. By the time we got to the part
where the Roman soldier pierced His side, I wept with real understanding
of the bloody sacrifice Jesus had made for me. During the invitation I
fell to my knees and asked for the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

Although I had always been very conscious about my haggard looks and lack
of hair, this night at the church I did not care about my hair, dress or
anything else. I ended up stretched out on that dirty floor weeping for
over an hour. Many, many ungodly things came out of me during that time
of heart searching. God dealt deeply with me as I laid my entire family
on the altar, my brother, the ordained priest; my parents, sisters and
other brothers. I asked the Lord to save them at any cost.

Once again, upon arrival at home, I went down in the basement to spend
the time alone with the Lord. There I danced all night before the Lord.
The next morning when the lady of the house came down to check on me she
asked if I was hungry but I had lost my natural appetite. Each time I
tried to answer her I spoke in tongues and could not speak English. For
two days and nights this continued and I promised Jesus I would go any-
where He would send me to testify of His glory.

Three days before the revival meeting closed I was handed a telegram
stating my father had died and gave the time of his funeral. My father
disinherited me when I refused to go home with him and the two priests. I
was afraid to go to the funeral and it was nearly seven hundred miles
away, however I did send some flowers.

My mother had her personal banker set aside $12,000 of her own money for
me when she learned that my father had cut me out of his will. I didn't
even know she had any money and when her attorney contacted me about it I
wept happily. With these funds I was able to buy a used car and a new
cloth coat and I banked the rest.

Before she left town, Sister Nila, the young Pentecostal evangelist,
invited me to come to see her if I was ever in Chicago. I told Sister
Nila I planned to run an ad to sell my furniture and everything else in
the apartment. The first morning two priest came, not to buy, but to
harass. I had to threaten to call the police to get them to leave. The
next morning another priest showed up, heckling and trying to frighten
this ex-nun who had publicly gone to a Pentecostal altar.

I hired a woman to stay in my apartment until all was sold. I packed up
and moved to a large hotel nearby. Here I knew the owner personally and
gave orders to let no one come to my room. I could come to the lobby to
see any visitors.

One morning the phone ran and I was told that three people had come to
see me. When I came down, there stood my brother, the priest, dressed in
his holy habit, with two of my sisters. The women turned their backs to
me but he strode across the lobby towards me.

My mother had died from a stroke two weeks before. Furiously he spat at
me, "I guess you know what you did." He proceeded to belittle me and told
me I was damned forever (because I had run to the feet of Jesus) and I
would certainly burn in hell forever for this.

He further stated that I had sent my mother to an early grave. Imagine,
my mother who had been a complete invalid for seven long years while I
was imprisoned in a foreign convent! He raved on and made many nasty,
hurtful statements and wild charges. After he had vented his spleen on
me, he turned to walk away.

I caught him by the arm and said, "Now wait just a minute, Chet. How many
women have you destroyed in the confessional box? I know about the pri-
ests who go to homes when the husbands are away." He flushed angrily and
glared at me with hatred in his eyes. I continued, "Chet, have you ever
been in a convent? Did you ever rob a little sister of her virtue?"

He hissed curses under his breath, lunged for me and struck me viciously
with his fist. He was over six feet tall, a big man, so I got a black eye
and a huge knot on my head when he knocked me down. The man behind the
desk witnessed the attack and leaped to my defense. He said terrible
things to my brother and ordered him to get out of the hotel and never
return.

I put my car and coat in a storage and caught a train to Chicago. There I
found a hotel room near the meeting where Sister Nila was working. I went
every night and then, at her invitation, went with her to visit her
family. From there we went to a meeting in Wisconsin.

Several days later, an attorney called telling me that a member of my
family was sueing me for all the money my mother had left to me. After a
wrangle with lawyers and courts, they took all the money and my car and
coat. I wept at the greediness and unfairness of it all, but it actually
drew me closer to the Lord. I accepted Sister Nila's invitation to travel
with her for the next thirty months.

It was after I returned to the place where Sister Nila was in revival I
received a telegram. My youngest sister asked me to return home because
my dad was asking for me. Remember, earlier, I had wired a funeral wreath
for him because they notified me that he had died, so this was a shock.
My family deliberately led me to believe he was already dead. When I
arrived, my sister told me that my dad was still alive, in his eighties,
very independent and well off financially.

I was apprehensive about how he would react to me. However, when I saw
him he grabbed and hugged me, saying, "Hookie, you look wonderful." He
was leaving on a trip to see his other children, but I was very happy for
our reunion.

After he returned two months later, he wired me to come back to see him.
When Sister Nila and I visited him, he asked my forgiveness for all the
family had done to me. His heart was definitely softening toward me, but
he still did not want my God.

Later, when we arrived on the West coast, I prayed until God gave me
grace to call my brother, the Catholic priest. He then asked that I
forgive him for striking me at the hotel. Late that night we drove twelve
miles to his home, where he was waiting on the front steps. Dashing to
the car, he grabbed and held me, asking anxiously, "Oh, Charlotte, have
you forgiven me?" I assured him that I had.

I learned that for seven years he had lived in adultery with his house-
keeper. As he heard confessions from his parishioners, he felt increas-
ingly guilty and hypocritical. At last, he notified the pope that he was
leaving the Roman Catholic church and the priesthood. A bishop came to
urge him to retire to a South American monastery to reflect on and recon-
sider his decision, but he refused.

Six months after his excommunication he married his mistress. One day
while browsing in a second hand bookstore he purchased a King James
Bible. Through reading it, both he and his wife were brought to salvation
by faith in Jesus Christ.

He took me to see my sister Connie, who immediately said, "I don't want
anything you have. I'm a Roman Catholic, and I'll die a Roman Catholic."
She pushed me away. Eighteen months later she was taken to the hospital
for a double goiter operation. Her vocal chords were severed, destroying
her voice box and she went blind in both eyes. Six weeks later arthritis
struck, twisting both her hands and feet. Medical doctors helped to
straighten her feet but she still could not walk or talk. A therapist
worked with her a year to teach her how to speak again. I gave a Bible
which she quickly destroyed.

She heard of an eye doctor in Mexico and went to him. A series of opera-
tions restored her sight but she still refused to repent and seek the
Lord. In 1964, she awoke with terrible pains and they removed a sizeable
growth from the large intestine. Within ten days she was back home, but
would not turn to God. Two years went by and she was again seized with
awful pains. This time tests revealed cancer scattered throughout her
entire body.

In desperation and fear she called me to come and pray for her healing. I
went to her and advised her to ask God for forgiveness and prepare to
meet Him, for she was surely going to die. Her weeping family was
gathered around her and she cries out in terror, "Oh no! I'm so afraid,
I'm afraid, won't someone please help me, I'm so afraid!" She knew she
was dying and dropped into eternity crying out in despair and fear. How
tragic to have refused the Lord's mercy so many times. Six weeks after
the funeral, her husband went to a small church and cried out to the
Lord, was saved and filled with the Holy Spirit also.

Over the years I had received many hate letters from my family and each
time I received another one and read it I would become terribly upset.
Finally I stopped opening them and stored them in a box located in a
safe. Four years passed and I received another letter from my youngest
sister. This one I felt I should open and read. She was critically ill
and said that she believed if I would come home she would get well. She
asked my forgiveness for all the harsh and derogatory letters she had
previously written to me.

At their house my brother-in-law and niece came out to meet me and it was
obvious that he was broken and his heart was tender. He swept me into a
close embrace, lifting me from the ground as we both wept for joy. He had
diagnosed her trouble as inoperable stomach cancer and there was no hope.

My sister, a petite, five-foot woman, could keep nothing on her stomach
and looked very gaunt and wasted. I assured her that God wanted to save
and heal her and she need not die. We took her to Brother William Bran-
ham's meetings in Vanadalia.

I was up all night with my poor suffering sister. Finally we got her into
the prayer line where many miracles of healing were being performed in
the name of the Lord Jesus. When she received prayer, she dropped to the
ground, weeping loudly. Anxiously I asked what was wrong and she sobbed,
"Oh, Charlotte, God has healed me, God has healed me!"

She was hungry and we went to a restaurant to eat. She ate a good big
meal, had a wonderful night's sleep and awoke with no trace of her former
pain or sickness.

When we arrived back home, her husband had difficulty believing that the
miracle had actually been accomplished. However, when the doctor made
fresh x-rays, he announced, "Your wife is well from the top of her head
to the soles of her feet. A greater power than I has healed her." Weeks
later my sister and her husband were saved and became workers in a local
church.

I went to visit my father when he was 93 years old. He told me that if I
was going to church he wanted to go with me. Three weeks earlier he had
completely lost his eyesight for the second time. After we returned from
the services we were sitting in the living room when he began to tremble
all over. I quickly dropped to my knees beside his chair and talked with
him about receiving Christ as Saviour. I read scripture showing that
Jesus alone could give absolution for sin, not the priests or the cathol-
ic hierarchy. He fell to his knees and sobbed many tears as he followed
me in the sinner's prayer, asking Jesus Christ to save him and forgive
his sins. Then he wept for joy saying he had never felt so wonderful in
all his life. I was going to baptize him in the bathtub but my two broth-
ers walked in and stopped me.

My brother John, lying in a bed dying with leukemia, told me he was a
Roman Catholic and would die a Roman Catholic. I was with him praying
when he slipped out into a Christless eternity. My older brother later
left the Roman Catholic church and began to attend an evangelical church
and accepted Christ as Saviour. He wrote me, encouraging me to continue
giving my testimony and saying he was praying for me.

My older sister lies crippled with Parkinson's disease in a Hollywood
hospital and is dying with hardening of the arteries. She too is a
staunch and determined Roman Catholic, totally closed to the gospel
message of salvation.

While Sister Nila and I were ministering to Roman Catholics in Quebec, my
eyesight, already poor, gave way completely. I could no longer read my
Bible or even my watch. As we swung back through Maine and into Boston I
stopped to see an eye specialist whom my father had used to fit me with
glasses years before. I told him I was losing all my vision so he ran
tests and shook his head and said he could do nothing to help me. I was
going blind and I so needed to read and study the Word.

We went to a meeting and had prayer for my eyes. I just knew God was
working a miracle when the clock on a distant wall suddenly came into
focus. Excitedly, I took a Bible and opened it, and sure enough, I read
it easily. There was great rejoicing and praise to the Lord Jesus that
day I can tell you!

On our return trip I once more stopped to see the eye doctor and asked
him to examine me once more. Imagine his shock when I was able to easily
read the fine print on the bottom of his charts instead of the large
block printed letters at the top. Because of this, later he went to
church and sought and received the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

Since I was saved in 1946, I have daily prayed for God to move upon the
Roman Catholic Bishops, the Pope, prelates, priests, nuns and people.
They all desperately need the touch of the Lord in their lives and the
saving blood of Jesus Christ to wash away their sins. They labor under a
terrible yoke of deception, delusion, darkness and religious works, never
suspecting the liberating truths we know, of life in the Lord Jesus
Christ.

Today I can still burst into praise when I recall my wonderful salvation
and deliverance from unbelievable demonic bondage. Thank God, there are
no more Roman Catholic priests in my life; no more confessional boxes; no
more worship of and prayer to the Virgin Mary and all the other "saints;"
no more wafer god.

Thank God! No more purgatory (the only purgatory the Catholics face is
the priest's pocket.) In the United States, November is purgatory month
and during this period priests collect nearly $22,000,000.00 saying
masses for the dead. Many have paid regularly for twenty or twenty-five
years of masses and are told their loved ones are still not in heaven.
This terrible doctrine will force the faithful to pay and pay and pay
indefinitely to secure their release. It is one of the cruelest religious
hoaxes ever dreamed up by the demons to be foisted off on human victims.
The awful bondage and fear generated by this false teaching is incred-
ible.

No more scapulars, thank God! Every priest, bishop, every nun in open or
closed orders and all prelates of the Roman Catholic Church wear them. It
is a dirty piece of brown cloth with a hole in the middle of the top.
Your head goes through the hole and the scapular falls to the front and
back. From the time I entered a convent I wore one constantly. Even after
escaping from the overseas convent and returning to the United States I
still wore the scapular.

The night I heard the gospel and ran to the feet of Jesus for salvation I
was still wearing it. I raced home, undressed, ripped off the scapular
and burned it. I no longer needed that relic of past bondage and darkness
for I knew I now belonged to the family of God and His royal blood flowed
through my veins!

No more holy water! This was supposed to keep away all evil spirits and
was stored in the convents by the barrel. Following priests' visits in
the buildings, Mother Superior would give six or eight nuns bottles of
the holy water with orders to sprinkle it everywhere the priests had
walked, just in case they had brought some evil spirits in with them.

No more prostrating and blowing to dumb idols in prayer and supplication!
God only knows how many hours I spent and how many gallons of tears I
wasted at the feet of idols when I walked in the heathen darkness of
religion without reality. Now I bow my knees only to the lovely Son of
God, my Saviour, Jesus Christ. To Him be all glory, honor and praise, now
and evermore.

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Updated/Revised: Friday, May 26, 2017 17:16:57 -0700