I was Wrong about Harold the Doll. Part One.

When this happened I shared it with a couple of members of my “Inner Circle” team. I wasn’t going to tell the story publicly, but I kept hearing that it’s a story that needs to be told, so here it is. 

You may remember when, a little over a year ago I was living in Gardner, Massachusetts, and someone claimed to be an “exorcist.” He said that could help me with the “demon” the owns Harold the Doll. He also claimed that he, and whoever helped him, both  made contact with the entity that was causing all the problems, and they both agreed that I wasn’t dealing with Abaddon, but a “low-level demon.”

When I was told this, I heard in my head. “I sent Harold to him. It was Harold that he saw, not me.” I also heard, “If he tries to do anything, I’ll kill him.” I decided to let this “exorcist” do his thing anyway, even after he suggested that I put the doll outside, and that would stop everything. Seriously? The spirit calling himself “Harold” was wreaking havoc in the lives of people around the world and putting it outside would stop it from bothering me?

Seriously? The spirit calling himself “Harold” was wreaking havoc in the lives of people around the world and putting it outside would stop it from bothering me?

To me, it just showed how little he knew.

Well, I decided I wasn’t going to warn him as I was told and I immediately felt as though my guts were being ripped apart. I went to the bathroom, passed out, and woke up with three cracked ribs.

I’m bringing this up because last Wednesday, March 1st, it had been two weeks, to the day, since I, with the help of a couple of new friends I’d made, facilitated the release of the souls imprisoned in the doll, with the exception of Harold who remained behind by his own choosing, in Brisbane, Australia. I thought that as soon as it happened, the lives of those were affected by the doll, including myself, would start to become better. They didn’t. In fact, in the case of a couple of people, they had become worse.

I’m now back in Denver, Colorado, and this past Thursday morning, I woke up, my intestines feeling the same way that they did that night in Gardner. I out of bed and went to the bathroom. As I was sitting on the toilet, I started to black out. I wondered, again, if I was dying. I felt my wrist for a pulse, more than once, and couldn’t find one. I thought to myself, “I wonder if I did what I’m supposed to do, and now it’s time for me to go to my Father’s house.” Then I thought, “There is no way I’m going to die here and have someone find my dead body sitting on this toilet with my pajama pants around my ankles!”

I got up, used some toilet paper, flushed, and went to bed honestly not knowing if I were going to wake up in this life or the next.

Shortly after I fell asleep I woke up again because the Facebook Messenger app on my phone dinged. I didn’t look at who sent me a message or why. I was so tired I just wanted to sleep. So I rolled over.

When I woke up and looked at the message, what I saw took my breath away. I wasn’t done with Harold the Doll just yet.

Harold High Resolution Front Cover 2

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