horror Archives - Black Mass Appeal

Episode 220: Satanists Expose Bohemian Grove

Black Mass Appeal — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 13:04:24 +0000

All the secrets of Bohemian Grove are revealed, including the fact that these guys reveal themselves way, way too often.

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From I Obtained the Attendance List For Bohemian Grove, Dan Boguslaw, Responsible State Craft, 2026: Bohemian Grove is an exclusive mens-only club that hosts a two-week summer retreat for the rich and powerful at a 2,700 acre compound in the redwoods of Northern California. With a $25,000 initiation fee and a decades-long membership waiting list, the hideaway was described in a 1989 Spy article as “the most exclusive frat party on earth.” The club serves as a popular destination for national security officials and defense industry executives to fraternize and party, far from the public eye. The 2023 camp attendance list includes two former national security advisors, three former Chairmen of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and two former directors of the NSA. A 2017 roster, which lists all dues-paying members of the club, included three former directors of the CIA. Each club member is assigned to one of 130 separate “camps” inside the compound, which act as fraternities for attendees to party together. “Mandalay” is seen as the most elite camp, whose members in 2023 included Henry Kissinger, Sen. Dave McCormick (R-Pa.), and Riley Bechtel, the billionaire heir of the Bechtel corporation. A visitor once said of Mandalay, “you don’t just walk in there — you are summoned.” “Wayside Log” appears to be another watering hole for the national security community and defense contractors. Its members include former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Richard Myers and J. Michael Myatt, a Marine Corps Major General who became an executive for Bechtel after leaving government.
- Bohemian Grove also serves as a place for these buttoned-up generals turned defense executives to let loose. While the rule of not talking business is widely ignored, another unwritten rule is “everyone drinks all the time.” Longtime member and musician Peter Arnott wrote that every camp in the Grove is “competing to pour drinks down your throat” in a summer 2009 edition of the club magazine. While the Bohemian Grove’s motto is “Weaving Spiders Come Not Here,” meaning leave your business outside, this rule is often ignored. More recently, Sen. McCormick wracked up over a dozen high dollar donors from fellow club members ahead of announcing his successful senate bid in 2023. In 1967 President Nixon gave a lakeside talk at the Bohemian Grove that he would later claim was instrumental to launching his bid for the presidency. According to Spy magazine, the practice of flagrantly flouting the Club’s only public rule has been going on since at least 1989, though likely much longer; State Department cables published by Wikileaks indicate that longtime member Kissinger — who attended the 2023 retreat just months before his death — discussed business at the retreats in the 1970s. We reached out to many of the national security officials who are members of the Bohemian Grove, but none responded to a request for comment. https://substack.com/@drboguslaw/p-190622651
From Sociology of the San Francisco Bohemian Club, Peter Martin Phillips, UC Davis, 1994: For over 150 years private men’s clubs have existed as a place of personal retreat for socio-economic elite men in American society. U.S. elite men’s clubs are seen by some social scientists as the American equivalent to European aristocracy. Defining a gentleman was one of the essential characteristics of U.S. men’s clubs and a mark of success in American Society. Elite men’s clubs tend to be introspectively oriented: Major activities, events and interactions tend to occur within club boundaries primarily for the members’ and guests’ own self-gratification. Clubs tend to establish traditions and maintain an internal culture to which new members receive some form of indoctrination before or after joining. Finally, elite men’s clubs offer their members a safe sanctum that meets personal needs away from less ordered environments. A man is an aristocrat within the confines of his club: He has supportive staff to wait on him and other aristocrats with similar interests. An elite men’s club is a system of ordered civility in what is perceived as an otherwise chaotic and disorderly world. Elite men’s clubs are actually a relatively rare phenomenon, with perhaps fewer than two hundred in the United States. Given the ubiquitous Rotary, Elks and Lions clubs in every small town in American, two hundred elite clubs is a rare phenomenon indeed. London’s West End men’s clubs, the prototype for American clubs, originated as regular gatherings of men with similar interests in taverns or coffee shops. Sir Walter Raleigh is reported to have founded the Friday Street Club which met at the Mermaid Tavern. Club life in London represented the collective alliance of men with similar tastes and perspectives. Scientific and literary clubs were some of the more honorable associations while gambling and drinking organizations abounded.
- Organized in 1872, the Bohemian Club was established in San Francisco as a gathering place for newspaper reporters and men who like arts and literature. (The origin of the term bohemian comes from the French artistic movement of the 1830’s and represented the mutual supportive companionship of artists and intellectuals.) By the 1880’s, businessmen had joined the Club in large numbers, as the original Bohemians found that admitting men of wealth helped pay the expenses. Club activities included poetry recitations, performances by musicians, lectures, and frequent plays. Bohemians liked to publicize their prominence by releasing news reports of important guests attending the Grove or Club functions. Oscar Wilde was entertained at the Bohemian Club in 1882 and is said to have drunk his guests under the table. The San Francisco Chronicle gave first page coverage to the opening of the new clubhouse on November 13, 1910. It was even common for the Bay Area newspapers to report on Bohemian elections and present the platforms of the various candidates for office. In the eleven-year period between 1904 and 1915, the Chronicle ran 331 stories on the Bohemian Club. This represented a yearly average of thirty articles, making Bohemia one of the most highly publicized club in the San Francisco Bay Area.
  - In 1878, several dozen Bohemians held a gathering in the forest in Sonoma County near what is now known as Camp Taylor. This was the start of a long Bohemian tradition of trekking to the Sonoma County redwoods during July and August for camping and self entertainment. By 1882, Bohemians were doing regular midsummer weekend campouts under the stars at various locations in Sonoma County. They rented what is now known as the Bohemian Grove from the Sonoma Lumber Company. The Bohemia’s symbol is an owl, which has been in use since the first year the Club started. The owl has come to symbolize the wisdom of life and companionship, that allows humans to struggle with and survive the cares and frustration of the world. A forty foot concrete owl stands at the head of the lake in the Grove, built in 1929 to serve as a ceremonial site. The Cremation of Care Ceremony was produced as a play in 1920, wherein a High Priest is confronted by “Dull Care,” wrapped in the chains but not dead because Bacchus, the only warrior Care fears, is dead. (The 18th Amendment was passed in 1919). Care is burned, thereby purging the “sacred Grove.” This ceremony has been rewritten on several occasions but the theme is still the same, and Care is still dispatched yearly in a fiery death that symbolizes the initiation of Bohemian fellowship.
From Masters of the Universe Go to Camp, Philip Weiss, Spy Magazine, 1989: Monte Rio is a depressed Northern California town of 900 where the forest is so thick that some streetlights stay on all day long. Every summer for more than a century, the Bohemian Club has led a retreat into this redwood forest. The religion they consecrate is right-wing, laissez-faire and quintessentially western, with some Druid tree worship thrown in for fun. For me, the trick was getting in. A guest card was out of the question: club bylaws have stated that a member-sponsor’s application “shall be in writing and shall contain full information for the guidance of the Board in determining the merits and qualifications of the proposed guest.” And my attempts to get a job as a waiter or a valet in one of the camps failed. In the end I entered by stealth. Some observers of the Grove had warned that security was too good and they’d put me in the Santa Rosa jail for trespassing. Lowell Bergman, a producer with 60 Minutes who used to hunt rabbits in the nearby hills, remembered a fire road leading into the site near the Guerneville waste-treatment plant but said they’d spot me sneaking in. Others mentioned barbed wire and electronic monitoring devices. Finally, a mountain guide demanded only that I keep the methods he devised for me confidential. He had a keen geographical sense and a girlfriend who described a plan to seed magic crystals at the Grove gates to make them open of their own accord so that Native American drummers could walk in. We didn’t do it that way, but it turned out that Grove security isn’t quite what it’s reputed to be. The sociologists who had studied the place were right; there was no real security. I told everyone I was a guest of Bromley camp, where unsortable visitors end up. At 33, I was one of the youngest Bohemians, but I was welcome almost as a policy matter. “We looked around and saw we were becoming an old-men’s club,” a member said, explaining recent efforts to recruit fresh blood. I used my real name. No one inside acted suspicious. One day a member asked if I was related to a Bohemian named Jack Weiss. “No, but I’ve heard a lot about him and I’d like to meet him.” “You can’t,” he said. “He’s dead.” After that I began working a dead West Coast relative’s promise to have me out to the Grove one summer into a shaggy-dog story about my invitation. I was able to enjoy most pleasures of the Grove, notably the speeches, songs, elaborate drag shows, endless toasts, pre-breakfast gin fizzes, round-the-clock “Nembutals” and other drinks — though I didn’t sleep in any of the camps or swim naked with likeminded Bohemians in the Russian River at night.
- One reason for the Bohemian Club’s poor public relations is the name it gave to the yearly opening ceremony: The Cremation of Care. The cremation is intended to put the busy men of the club at ease and banish the stress of the outside world, but it arouses critics of the encampment because they interpret it to mean that Bohemians literally don’t care about the outside world. Cremation of Care, they fear, means the death of caring. Demonstrations outside the Grove a few years back often centered around the “Resurrection of Care.” The club says it serves as a “refuge” from the strivings of the marketplace, and though it’s true that actual deal-making is discouraged, I heard business being done on all sides. A tenet of Grove life is noncompetitive egalitarianism: all men are equal here. But in fact, class and status differences among camps are pronounced. Just as you have to be sponsored for membership, you have to be sponsored for a camp. The sexism and racism were of a peculiar sort: Black jokes are out because there are a handful of black members — though one day near the Civic Center I did hear a group of old-timers trying to imitate Jesse Jackson. As for Jews, old membership lists suggest that they have taken a very small part in the club for decades. That leaves women and Hispanics. When Ronald Reagan came to the green parasol one day, the organ player broke into “California, Here I Come.” Reagan said that it was good to be back. The Grove had been a major factor in his “homesickness… when you are forced to be away, as I was, for eight years.” The speech was canned and courtly. Though he cursed now and then, he seemed uncomfortable with the word damn. It was my last hour at the Grove. My bags were packed — a camera in one pocket, a tape recorder in the other. I’d tried to grab one of the free Bohemian Club walking sticks from the museum, something I could lean against my office wall as a reminder that this had not been just a dream. But there were none left; Bohemians had taken them all hiking.
From Transcript of the Cremation of Care, Graham Hancock, 2007: O Beauty’s vassals Who keep, in this gray autumn of the world, Her springtime in your hearts, I charge ye all: For lasting happiness we lift our eyes To one alone, and she surrounds you now, Great Nature, refuge for the weary heart And only balm for breasts that have been bruised, Her counsels are most wise. But ye must come As children, little children that believe, Nor ever doubt her beauty or her faith, Nor dream her tenderness can change or die! Nay, thou mocking Care, it is not all a dream. We know thou waitest for us when this our sylvan holiday shall end. And we shall meet and fight thee as of old, and some of us prevail against thee, and some thou shalt destroy. But this, too, we know: year after year, within this happy Grove, our fellowship has banned thee for a space, and thy malevolence that would pursue us here has lost its power beneath these friendly trees. So shall we burn thee once again this night and in the flames that eat thine effigy we’ll read the sign: Midsummer set us free. No fire, if it be kindled from the world Where Care is nourished on the hates of men Shall drive him from this Grove. One flame alone Must light this pyre, the pure eternal flame That burns within the Lamp of Fellowship Upon the altar of Bohemia. Great Owl of Bohemia, we thank thee for thy adjuration. Well should we know our living flame Of Fellowship can sear The grasping claws of Care, Throttle his impious screams And send his cowering carcass From this Grove. Begone, detested Care, begone! Once more we banish thee! Let the all potent spirit of this lamp By its cleansing and ambient fire Encircle the mystic scene Hail Fellowship; begone Dull Care! Once again Midsummer sets us free!
From PROPOSED REMARKS BY WILLIAM H. WEBSTER DIRECTOR OF CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AT THE BOHEMIAN GROVE LAKESIDE TALK JULY 22, 1988, CIA.gov Reading Room: THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO TELL YOU ABOUT SOME OF MY RESPONSIBILITIES AT THE CIA, AND THERE IS A CERTAIN IRONY IN THIS FOR ME. AT THE FBI. I SPENT A LOT OF TIME TELLING THE AMERICAN PEOPLE THAT WHAT THE FBI WAS ALL ABOUT WAS LAW ENFORCEMENT. NOT SPYING. NOW. I FIND MYSELF SPEAKING TO GROUPS THROUGHOUT THE COUNTRY REVERSING ALL OF THAT — ASSURING AUDIENCES THAT AT THE CIA WE ARE NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF LAW ENFORCEMENT. BUT AS FASCINATED AS AMERICANS ARE BY SPYING. THEY ARE OFTEN SKEPTICAL–AS WELLAND WANT TO DISTANCE THEMSELVES FROM THE HARSHER ASPECTS OF INTELLIGENCE. MY GOOD FRIEND, GENERAL VERNON WALTERS. FORMER DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF THE CIA AND NOW OUR AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED NATIONS, DESCRIBES THE VIEW MANY HAVE OF THE WHOLE INTELLIGENCE BUSINESS: “AMERICANS.” HE OBSERVED, “HAVE ALWAYS HAD AN AMBIVALENT ATTITUDE TOWARD INTELLIGENCE. WHEN THEY FEEL THREATENED. THEY WANT A LOT OF IT, AND WHEN THEY DON’T. THEY TEND TO REGARD THE WHOLE THING AS SOMEWHAT IMMORAL.” BUT THROUGH TIMELY INTELLIGENCE COLLECTION AND ANALYSIS, THE AGENCY HAS PROVIDED ADVANCE WARNING OF WEAPONS AND WEAPONS SYSTEMS ACQUIRED THROUGHOUT THE WORLD. FOR EXAMPLE, WE GAVE ADVANCE WARNING OF THE MOST RECENT IRAQI OFFENSIVES IN THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR, CORRECTLY ANALYZING THE INCREASED RELIANCE ON CHEMICAL WEAPONS. OF PARTICULAR CONCERN JUST NOW IS THE SITUATION IN THE PERSIAN GULF — A SITUATION MADE EVEN MORE VOLATILE BY THE RECENT INCIDENT INVOLVING THE IRANIAN AIRBUS. WE ARE NOW — AND HAVE BEEN PROVIDING DAILY TACTICAL INTELLIGENCE SUPPORT TO NAVAL FORCES OPERATING WITH THE U.S. CENTRAL COMMAND. OUR SUPPORT HAS INCLUDED REPORTS ON IRANIAN ANTISHIP CRUISE MISSILE SITES, NAVAL BASES. AIRFIELDS. AND COASTAL DEFENSE INSTALLATIONS. WE HAVE HAD A NUMBER OF MAJOR SUCCESSES THIS YEAR [the following page redacted] WE WILL BE MONITORING AND REPORTING ON THE SOVIET WITHDRAWAL FROM AFGHANISTAN AND ITS EFFECTS ON THAT COUNTRY. WE WILL ALSO ВЕ PROVIDING INSIGHT INTO WHAT GORBACHEV’S EMPHASIS ON “NEW THINKING” IMPLIES FOR HIS OWN COUNTRY AND FOR THE WORLD. [paragraph redacted] AMONG THE INCREASINGLY INTRICATE ARSENALS ACROSS THE WORLD.. INTELLIGENCE IS AN. ESSENTIAL WEAPON. PERHAPS THE MOST IMPORTANT. BUT IT IS, BEING SECRET, THE MOST DANGEROUS. SAFEGUARDS TO PREVENT ITS ABUSE MUST BE DEVISED, REVISED. AND RIGIDLY APPLIED. BUT AS IN ALL ENTERPRISE. THE CHARACTER AND WISDOM OF THOSE TO WHOM IT IS ENTRUSTED WILL BE DECISIVE.
From Inside Bohemian Grove, Alex Jones, 2000: I personally am a Christian but even an atheist should be concerned about the information we’re about to bring forth. People travel to Bohemian Grove to engage in bizarre ancient Canaanite luciferian Babylon mystery religion ceremonies–at least that was the rumors. And so I went to the library and got on the internet and saw many of the mainstream news articles admitting that world leaders do indeed go there and they fly into San Francisco uh and other surrounding cities and drive out into the rural uh hills and mountains of Northern California and that these stories have been coming out that they worship some 45ft Stone owl God and then I began to read some of the documentation on this Moloch character of the Old Testament mentioned many times in Leviticus that’s in the Bible. Why are world leaders traveling to the middle of nowhere to worship this thing, well I had to check it out for myself. I successfully infiltrated through the Secret Service uh through the guards through the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department we were inside 4 hours and I hope that our hidden cameras uh can give you at least a small piece of what I witnessed. To have world leaders engaging in this type of sickening behavior just shocks the very foundations of what Americans believe their leaders to be, and then to have it intimately connected with World Governmen–it doesn’t make a lot of sense until you research history, all throughout history spanning back into the midst of the beginnings of civilization we see world leaders uh from the empires of old from the Aztec Kings and priest uh to Babylonian leaders to ancient Rome engaging in Twisted Behavior. Could it be that when you have all the power and all the women and all the money and all the land and all the art you have to do something new you have to go against the basic grain of humanity you have to get off in a sick way; that’s what we witnessed in Northern California.
From Bohemian Grove: Facts & Fictions, Mark Dice, 2016: A staff of several hundred people help run the place during the summer encampment, most of them local high school kids from nearby towns who have no idea the identities of the men they are serving. For almost a hundred years only men and teenage boys were allowed to work inside. But as powerful as Bohemian Grove is, it’s not strong enough to prevent the feminists from crashing their party. In 1978 the club was charged with discrimination by the state Department of Fair Employment & Housing for not hiring female employees. The club fought the charge and in 1981 a judge dismissed the case, but it was only a temporary victory. The judge’s decision was based on the members ‘freedom to associate and included a statement that since the men “urinate in the open without even the use of rudimentary toilet facilities” the presence of women would infringe on the men’s right to privacy. The feminists didn’t give up and continued to pursue the case. Another judge overruled the previous decision and ordered the club to begin hiring women. To be clear, the court didn’t say they had to allow women as members, but it did force them to hire women as employees. The State Civil Rights Act states “all persons within the jurisdiction of California are free and equal, no matter their sex, race, color, religion, ancestry, national origin, or disability and are entitled to full and equal accommodations.” So how is the Bohemian Grove able to legally discriminate against women? Men’s country clubs and organizations like the Girl Scouts can turn down people of the opposite sex for membership without being sued because these clubs are considered private. It’s called the “private club exemption.” from civil rights legislation. Mercy Frost, an employment attorney, says, “The answer is generally yes, they have the right of freedom of association. So at least for now, membership at the Grove means exclusively rereserved for men. Back in 2008, when Hillary Clinton was running for president, Bill Clinto was speaking that at an event when a Heckler began shouting at him about Bohemian Grove. Bill responded, “The Bohemian Club? That’s where those rich Republicans go and stand naked against redwood trees right? I’ve never been, but you ought to go–you’d get some fresh air.”
From Late Night with the Devil Is Inspired by a Real-Life Secret Society, Trevor Talley & Benjamin Vieira, Comic Book Resources, 2024: David Dastmalchian plays the host of the fictional late night show Night Owls. Dastmalchian’s character, Jack Delroy, is a member of a secret society, and while the film is fiction, what fans of Late Night with the Devil may or may not be aware of is that the “Culte Du Grove” of the film is based on a real-world private organization. The film explores Delroy’s association with a secret society that promises him everything, telling the story of Jack Delroy’s drive to become the top late-night show. The host is failing at this goal. The film goes on to say that The Grove was established in the 1800s, has politicians and major businessmen among its members and that it’s known for its arcane rituals and for making and breaking careers. The Grove visited by Jack Delroy parallels the very real Bohemian Grove, where the Bohemian Club of San Francisco holds its yearly meeting, founded in 1872, back when the American West was still considered wild. In Late Night with the Devil a person in a robe drinks from a chalice in front of a person in an owl suit and other people in robes. The owl statue in Late Night with the Devil is very similar to that of Bohemian Grove. While many accounts of the real Grove say that the event is mostly silly machismo, with a heavy focus on getting hammered and performing jokey or overserious songs and plays, there is also a creepy side to the goings-on, including paintings of naked women and many symbols representing the demand for secrecy, often repeating the motto “Weaving Spiders Come Not Here.” Though it was left out of the Oppenheimer biopic, the Manhattan Project met at the Grove during the 1942 event, including Oppenheimer, Ernest Lawrence and members of the S-1 Executive Committee. It is said that this meeting led directly to the creation of the atomic bomb, something Bohemian Club members hold as a point of pride but which has caused critics much concern that such a world-shaking thing could happen at a private men’s club with no oversight. https://www.cbr.com/late-night-with-the-devil-real-life-inspiration-is-horrifying/

The post Episode 220: Satanists Expose Bohemian Grove appeared first on Black Mass Appeal.

Episode 204: Mazes & Monsters

Black Mass Appeal — Wed, 17 Sep 2025 01:00:32 +0000

It’s a far-out game, AND the only Satanic Panic anti-D&D scare movie starring the East Bay’s own Tom Hanks. It has to be, right?

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From Genius Missing at MSU, Gregory Skwira, Detroit Free Press, 1979: Police continue to search the area Thursday for a missing 16 year old computer science student last seen August 15th in his Michigan State University dormitory. “At this point we do not suspect Foul Play,” said Sergeant Larry Lyon of the MSU campus police. “But we haven’t ruled it out either.” James Dallas Egbert III, a sophomore, was attending a summer session and was last seen in a dormitory cafeteria. He was reported missing by a friend on Tuesday, days later. He had very few friends, Lyon said. “He was a loner and he was obviously a genius.” Egbert had been studying computer science at MSU since last fall. “Many nights when it came time for me to lock up the school I would have to run him out of the computer room where he would still be working,” the school’s principal told reporters. Police weren’t surprised that Egbert had missed four days of class before he was reported missing. “He evidently had a habit of not going to class all that often,” Lyon said. “He really didn’t have to. He had an exceptional grade point average.” A university spokesman said, “We don’t have a bed check. Kids are pretty free to come and go as they want.” Egbert’s parents refused to talk with a reporter. When police searched the youth’s room Lyon said there was no indication that clothes had been removed and anticipation of a trip. “That concerns us a great deal,” he said.”Egbert’s dormitory neighbors were knowledgeable that Egbert hadn’t been around for several days before the youth was reported missing. But that’s not unusual in a dormitory situation, he said. Students sometimes go off for 2 or 3 days to get themselves together. Police have located two friends of Egbert’s and neither say he seemed troubled. Final exams for the summer session begin next week. Egbert once left MSU for 2 weeks during the past school year, but he told someone he was leaving. “We have no other record of him doing that here,” said Lyons.

From Student’s Disappearance a Puzzle, United Press International, The Daily Breeze, 1979: A thumbtack-studded bulletin board that could be a map or part of a bizarre game could be a clue in the mysterious disappearance of a teenage Michigan State University computer wiz. One theory is James Dallas Egbert III, 16, “is playing a game with us” said Sergeant Bill Wardwell of the MSU campus police. “He was quite a game person.” Police have called in computer and logic specialists plus those familiar with an elaborate game popular among college students in an effort to decode the board left behind by the young genius. The precocious sophomore computer student left behind a note asking his body be cremated if it is found. The police said they are not convinced the message was intended as a suicide note. Egbert, a science fiction devotee, was seen on campus August 15th at a dormitory cafeteria. He had a history of walking off for days at a time. Although certain that Egbert left campus voluntarily and was not abducted, police are not really out of the possibility he ultimately was the victim of Foul Play. The puzzling bulletin board had been removed from the wall and placed conspicuously in the middle of Egbert’s dorm room. Thumbtacks were stuck in the board in a pattern resembling a square with one corner indented. Please have compared the pattern to the shape of several campus buildings but have not reached a final conclusion. Others suggest the board might have been up for a round of Dungeons and Dragons, a highly complex game involving fantasy and roleplaying. Wardwell said police are trying to locate students who played the game with Egbert who might be able to interpret the bizarre diagram and unlock the secret of his disappearance. “I hate to say it’s a secretive game, but you only get into it by invitation,” Wardwell said. “Those people just haven’t come forward.” Wardwell said Wisconsin authorities were contacted because a Dungeons & Dragons conference was scheduled in that state, but nothing came of the inquiry. Wardwell admitted the police are grasping at straws a little bit but added. “That’s all we’ve got right now.”

From The Disappearance of James Dallas Egbert III (Part I), Shaun Hatley, Places To Go People To Be, 1999: Dallas was a D&D player. That is not in dispute. It is also not in dispute that students at MSU played live-action games in tunnels under the University buildings. There are other facts to be considered, however, which got nowhere near as much coverage: Dallas was either gay or bisexual. He was also a drug user who used his knowledge of chemistry to manufacture his own supply. Dallas also suffered from severe depression caused or exacerbated by, in the opinion of an MSU psychologist, “parental pressure, criticism, academic pressure, and the failure of all persons to realise that, although Dallas Egbert was a genius, he was socially [helpless].” When William Dear was called in, he learned all of this. He also found a board in Dallas room which had a strange arrangement of drawing pins placed into it. The design was a map. Dallas had attempted to mark all the rooms in the tunnels underneath the University, as close to scale as he could manage. The only one he had not marked was the room he intended to hide in. Dear considered a number of possibilities: That Dallas had committed suicide. That Dallas had gone into the steam tunnels and been injured or killed. That Dallas disappeared for the sole purpose of making people look for him. That Dallas had overdosed on drugs. That Dallas was being held by a gay man or a group of gay men. That Dallas had been kidnapped by some sort of intelligence group to make use of his special talents and intelligence. That Dallas had come to identify so much with his D&D character that he believed he was his character. That Dallas had been sent on some sort of a mission by a D&D Dungeon Master in order to prove that he was worthy to play in an advanced game. Dear wanted to keep the drug and sex theories out of the papers for several reasons: The first one was that he didn’t want any people holding Dallas to panic and kill him, because they thought the law was closing in. He also wanted to protect Dallas, and Dr and Mrs Egbert as much as possible. For these reasons, he pushed the Dungeons & Dragons theory. Dallas had been planning to disappear for a long time. His reasons differed at different times. He planned suicide over a nine month period, and at other times decided merely to run away. He took sleeping tablets in the tunnels with the deliberate intent of ending his life. He awoke the following night and went to a friend’s house. This was a gay man in his early twenties, and Dallas stayed there about a week. When the story of Dallas’ disappearance broke, this man felt himself to be in danger from the police and did not come forward. Dallas took a train from Chicago to New Orleans and lived on the streets for several days before meeting a man from New York. They became friends, and this man helped him to get a job as a roustabout in the oil fields near Morgan City. It was this man eventually who persuaded Dallas to contact William Dear.

From The Dungeon Master, Publisher’s Preview, 1984: William Dear wears cowboy boots, sports enough gold nugget jewelry to make a cattle baron envious, and would have you believe he’s a good old boy. Don’t believe a word of it. The super sleuth extraordinaire obviously has his suits tailored, his custom boots made from sharkskin, and is suave enough to have tea with the royal family. The London Times once said, “If there is a real James Bond, he’s in Dallas and his name is Bill Dear.” Unorthodox his methods may be, with spies spying upon spies and mysterious planes landing in the dark. “Any deviations I have made were necessary to save lives. If they want to take my license because I helped save the human life then let them try,” he says. Dear is well known for his investigations and solutions on many difficult cases. His lifestyle is also legendary. Dear’s million dollar home on Cockrell Hill Road draws sightseers from far and near. Security is tight at the residence of Bill Dear/James Bond because it is necessary. “In this business you get threats all the time.” One room is filled with the most advanced spy gadgetry available. His bedroom is a replica of James Bond’s in “Diamonds Are Forever.” For hasty getaways his limousine is equipped with a remote control starter. Deer is unmistakably Texan in his three-piece Bond suit and the rings he sports on each finger. When James Dallas Egbert III disappeared for the Michigan State University campus in 1979 the family called in Dear, the real life James Bond. Dear’s search for the boy reads like a sensational novel although in fact every detail and adventure is true. The Adventures of Bill Dear read and sound like a Hollywood script. Perhaps it is why so many Hollywood producers have acquainted themselves with them over the years.

From The Dungeon Master, William Dear, 1984: They suggested we search out near Party Hollow, the clearing in the woods that campus groups use for a variety of purposes. The Tolkien Society meet at Party Hollow once a year for a ritual to celebrate the birth of Gandalf the Magician. It was perhaps thirty yards in diameter, a clearing in the middle of the forest. In the center, arranged in circular fashion, were signs that big bonfires had been built here: ashes, charred rocks and wood, the remains of seared newspapers. I could imagine a bonfire out in this remote spot. Had it risen eerily to the tops of the trees while strange rites were being performed, or had it been a pleasant campfire, with songs filling the air, hot dogs and marshmallows roasting, sweethearts cuddling in the crisp, cool night? I imagined that Dallas had come out here to think. I wondered if he had come out here to die. But if Dallas had died out here, he would have been found by now. Party Hollow was obviously a place that had frequent visitors. The note had indicated that a meeting was planned. It was almost surely something completely harmless, a college get together under the stars. Yet it might be more. Lambert and I had seen pentagrams painted on trees surrounding the clearing. Between the two circles were magic symbols which, I was later told, were associated with druidic witchcraft, and were used as protection by a sorcerer against demons. Pentagrams had also been drawn into the ground, where a sorcerer could stand on them and be safe .I retreated back into the woods, and soon there were four students, two boys and two girls. There seemed to be nothing out-of-the-way or bizarre about their dress—no pointed wizard’s hats or strange polka-dotted costumes. From what I could tell, which was hardly a great deal despite the light from the fire, they were dressed as thousands of other college students might be. They formed a diamond shape around the blaze, hunched much as I was, and if a single word could capture the atmosphere, that word would be serious. No one had lugged a case of beer out to Party Hollow. The four crouched around the fire. One of the girls, wearing a necklace, rose and tilted her head skyward, and I heard her voice cry out, “Great Gurdjieff, guide us to the goodness of God’s goals!” These were the only words I understood the entire evening. The students remained 45 minutes, then extinguished the fire and trekked back through the woods. I was interested in how many such cults existed on campus? One of them might have the answers I sought.

From The Exploitation of James Dallas Egbert, Grady Hendrix, Reactor Magazine, 2014: If you’ve played D&D you know that a game “goes wrong” when someone throws a hissy over a roll or one player keeps screwing around on his phone and ignoring what’s being said. And if you’ve never played D&D you assume that when a game “goes wrong” Satan is summoned and sucks out everyone’s soul.By the time Dallas Egbert was found, two books about the more colorful version were already on their way to market. The first was from Rona Jaffe, extremely famous author behind the scandalicious bestselling proto-Sex and the City novel, The Best of Everything. Mazes and Monsters is a book written by an author who knows nothing, and cares less, about roleplaying games. Each of the kids turned to RPGs because something was broken inside of them (Kate’s parents are divorced; Daniel’s parents push him too hard; Jay Jay is neglected by his divorced parents; and Robbie’s brother ran away from home). Mazes & Monsters is probably best remembered today for its TV movie version, which aired in 1982 and featured Tom Hanks in his first leading role as Pardieu the Holy Man, freaking out on the streets of New York, then trying to jump off the World Trade Center. (“I have spells,” he says. “I’m going to fly.”) It’s an unwritten rule that if you’re going to try to make a quick buck off a young person’s attempted suicide you should at least be entertaining. Jaffe broke that rule, but the next book would not repeat her mistake.

John Coyne was a slick journeyman writer, turning out relatively forgettable mass market horror paperbacks in the wake of Stephen King’s massive success. His cash-in attempt, Hobgoblin (1981), isn’t a thinly veiled account of Egbert’s story and the result is a book that is less offensive. Meet Scott Gardiner, exactly the kind of kid Jaffe warned us was vulnerable to the lurid lure of RPGs: brilliant, creative, socially awkward, and WITH A DEAD FATHER OMG NO THIS KID IS DOOMED. Scott is obsessed with a truly terrible RPG called Hobgoblin that may be less boring than Mazes and Monsters but only just barely. One part RPG, one part Magic: The Gathering, it’s based on Celtic mythology so it’s full of unfortunate character names like “Boobach” and questionable spells like “fairy vision.” Players speak in fraught, reverent tones (“The dice? Oh, God, Gardiner, no! It’s too risky.”) and, in a deeply unrealistic touch, Scott is wildly popular after introducing this role-playing monstrosity to his fancy boarding school. Scott is a whiny jerk with a hair trigger temper. When Valerie, the resident hot girl at school, falls for him because he memorizes his locker combination so quickly, he tries to make her play Hobgoblin, gets angry when she doesn’t take it seriously enough, then erupts into a rage when she calls him a “turkey” (“Kids say it to each other all the time,” she explains. “Not at Spencertown. I never heard it at Spencertown.” he mutters). After a ambling along like a relatively slow-moving character study for 18 chapters, chapter 19 is a gibbering, blood-drenched scene from a slasher movie set during the school’s Halloween dance, For all that Dear, Jaffe, and Coyne posit that RPGs are a way for disturbed individuals to escape from reality, it turns out that they themselves were the ones running from the truth, fabricating a fear of games based on false information about a missing persons case. https://reactormag.com/summer-of-sleaze-the-exploitation-of-james-dallas-egbert-iii/

From Mazes & Monsters, Rona Jaffe, 1981: In the spring of 1980 a bright, gifted student at Grant University in Pequod, Pennsylvania, mysteriously disappeared. Vanishing students were not unheard of, particularly during the stressful period before final exam time, but when the police were finally called in, it was revealed that the missing student was one of a group at Grant who were involved in a fantasy roleplaying game called Mazes and Monsters. Played with nothing more than a vivid imagination, dice, pencils, graph paper, and an instruction manual, Mazes and Monsters is a war game with a medieval background, in which each player creates a character who may be a fearless Fighter, a treasurehunting Sprite, a magic-using Holy Man, or a wily Charlatan. The point of the game is to amass a fortune and keep from getting killed. The characters are plunged into an adventure in a series of mazes, tunnels, and secret rooms filled with frightful and violent dangers— monsters who can kill, maim, paralyze, and enchant the players. But if the players can kill, maim, trick, or stop their assailants they can take home fabulous treasure. What made the student’s disappearance so ominous was that the police discovered this particular group of players had begun to act out their fantasies in a real environment, taking the game to the underground caverns near the university campus.

Last year the four of them had been perfect. Daniel had been the Maze Controller because he was a computer genius with a wild imagination. Also Daniel was calm, and he was never arbitrary. If he said the King of the Gray Rats had bitten off your arm, he was indisputably right. Kate, Michael, and Jay Jay had been the players. Kate was the bravest, Jay Jay the cleverest, and Michael— well, forget him, he was scooping ice cream at Baskin-Robbins now. At the end of last year they had decided that this year they would all get single rooms, but Michael would room with Daniel and they would use the extra room just to play the game. It would be sacred. Every room had a lock on its door. They would have their own fantasy world just for themselves and no one would know. But the dummy had been so involved in the game that he stopped going to classes, stopped studying, and blew it. Kate was small and tough and fearless and independent. It was typical that when they chose which characters they would be, Kate had made herself Glacia the Fighter. Jay Jay had been Freelik the Frenetic of Glossamir, a Sprite, with his flighty but wily ways, the scamp, the trickster. But secretly Jay Jay knew that he and Kate were just the same. For under that armor she wore for the world, he had seen what no one else had been able to see: seen it and loved it and loved her for it— her frightened, vulnerable, wildly beating heart.

“A half day’s walk from a small town there is a wasteland of gnarled hills, covered with withered trees and dried grass. Beneath these hills is the entrance to the forbidden caves of the Jinnorak. As long as anyone can remember, no one has entered these caves, and it is rumored that within them lives a mutated people, once human, now changed from generations in the foul depths to creatures unrecognizable and vicious. But perhaps that is just a rumor. But it is also known that there are wondrous things within, for those brave and clever enough to take them. Shall you enter?” Kate felt herself entering the landscape of the game now, and her heart began to pound. It was dangerous to light her lantern in case there was a monster in the room who would then be able to see them and attack them. But darkness frightened her more. Darkness was one of the most terrible things she knew, with the sound of breathing; the thing that had happened that night . . . but she wouldn’t think about it now. Now there was only the game, where she would take revenge and kill, and conquer. There was writing on the doors; Daniel rolled an 8. “Pardieu will be able to decipher the language, but the message will be garbled.” Kate said, “If it’s running water behind one of these doors it might be magic water and we don’t want to let it out. “She threw the dice; a 12. “You can open one of them,” Daniel said.

They were only dimly aware of how much the game had taken over their lives already. All they knew was that nothing else, not even this special party with its atmosphere of affection and luxury and celebration, was as real to them as the game. And each of them felt, in some secret, guilty way, that they wanted to get the party over with so they could go into Daniel’s room and enter their world. “You have found the talking sword of Lothia,” Daniel said. He held the dice in his hand and looked at the three eager faces of Glacia, Freelik, and Pardieu. The dice he held were both chance and power. As he surveyed the underground perils he had laid out so carefully, he wondered whether all of these adventurers would still be alive at the end of this night. He didn’t want them to die. He was as excited as they were as they fought their way deeper and deeper into the maze, winning battles with strength and wits, amassing plunder. He knew he had to be objective in order to be an effective M.C., but he wanted them to find the treasure. It didn’t belong to him–it belonged to the evil king of the Jinnorak. “You have found tht walking sword of Lothia,” Daniel declared. Glacia grasped the talking sword and gazed into its polished surface. The light of her lantern glanced off it, gold and silver, and her heart turned over with fear. But this was her sword, no one else’s, and it would obey her commands. It would kill her enemies and it would speak to her of secrets none of them yet knew. “What lies beyond that door?” she demanded. “Wait,” Pardieu said. “Talking swords have been known to tell lies. How do we know this is a truthful sword? We must test it.”

Long before she was Kate’s mother, Meg Porter had grown up as a perfect child of the Fifties. She fervently believed every movie she’d ever seen, and when life did not turn out like the movies she never questioned the movies; she thought something was wrong with life. She was a cheerleader in college, leaping around with pom-poms, and she was also an honors student. She was a mischief-maker who never did anything really bad, so she didn’t get in trouble. People thought she was cute. When she was at college her friends used to say: “I have to get married before all the good ones are taken.” Surrounded by the “good ones,” popular and secure, Meg waited for her own special Mr. Right. She knew when he came along she’d know it immediately, just like in the movies.Mr. Right was Alan Finch. She found his name romantic and English. He was a veteran, a former lieutenant. They were always lieutenants in the movies. He even looked like an actor; the nice one who got the girl at the end. He was four years older than she was and seemed experienced and sophisticated. She met him on a blind date in Senior year, and they were married right after she graduated. She pictured the two of them growing old together. by the time he told her they had already grown old together she was shocked. What did he want her to be? He said he was bored, sad, disappointed. She had never been bored. How could he be disappointed when they had everything they’d dreamed about? He tossed her and the children away as if they were biodegradable.

On the commuter train to New York from a suburb not far from where Robbie and his family lived, a man named James Herman looked at Robbie’s picture in the newspaper and his jaw tightened in anger. He felt a little fear too, and a great sense of irony. His shoulder still hurt from where he had been stabbed, and even though the stitches were out there was an ugly fresh red scar. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed. It was hard to tell from a newspaper photo, and it had been a while, but he was positive this “nice” Robbie Wheeling was the hustler who’d tried to kill him the night he’d been cruising. No wonder the kid wouldn’t talk about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Wouldn’t that be a shock for the parents! James Herman sighed and tried to relax. Life was shit, and there wasn’t much left you could believe in. He had two kids of his own, teenagers, and he hoped he was bringing them up well. He had a responsible, well-paying job in a big company, a bright wife, a comfortable home complete with swimming pool. There was also a dark side to his nature— the compulsion to seek out young men in degrading places for sex–but no one knew. No one ever would. He didn’t know what had turned him into the kind of man he was: a respectable, well-meaning citizen with one fatal flaw. He didn’t know what had turned that privileged college student into a knife-wielding junkie. He worried about his own children. He worried about the whole damn world.

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Episode 180: Frankenstein

Black Mass Appeal — Thu, 17 Oct 2024 00:44:41 +0000

Our shocking Halloween season show disinters some Satanic perspectives on Mary Shelley’s modern Mephistophelean marvel, “Frankenstein.”

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Episode 154 – The Amityville Horror

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 17 Oct 2023 22:40:12 +0000

We’re making a Halloween house call to the famous haunted home that revived American demonology with our look at the perilous publishing venture behind “The Amityville Horror.”

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Episode 139 – Cutesy Satanism (with Artetak)

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 07 Mar 2023 08:01:35 +0000

When it comes to Satanic aesthetics, you know the drill. But these days, we can’t help but notice a lot of Satanic art and fashion is looking downright cute – even adorable. Artist Artetak joins us to discuss this brand of “Soft Satanism.”

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Episode 134 – Why We Hail Satan

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 13 Dec 2022 08:01:03 +0000

Every Satanist knows that there are really only two magic words in life: Hail Satan. But where does this phrase come from, and why DO we say it so often?

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Episode 133 – The Devil’s Advocate

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 29 Nov 2022 08:25:33 +0000

“It’s my time now,” Satan declares in the 1997 horror/drama Hollywood hit The Devil’s Advocate, starring Al Pacino as the original boss from Hell. Now, at the film’s 25th anniversary, has his time passed -– or has this become a truly timeless work?

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Episode 129 – A Jack Chick Halloween

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 04 Oct 2022 07:25:28 +0000

Satanic Bay Area has our very own Satanic ‘Chick’ Tract celebrating the real history of Halloween, but the actual Jack Chick spent decades hatching fabrications about our favorite holiday. To help us with some of these comic misconceptions, we welcome Satanic artist Jason Lenox back to the show.

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Bonus Show #11: In the Mouth of Madness

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 05 Jul 2022 16:25:03 +0000

It’s the return of our podcast-within-a-podcast, Neil Before Pod, this time with John Carpenter’s 90s Lovecraftian apocalypse classic, “In The Mouth of Madness.”

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Episode 122 – “The VVitch” Revisited

Black Mass Appeal — Tue, 24 May 2022 07:07:12 +0000

We’re hitting rewind on one of our favorite movies to re-live deliciously. Also, Satanic Bay Area is once again being crafty, and in the news, Bay Area exorcists are confronting their own worse angels.

CONTENT WARNING: The news section is a heavy one, dealing with child abuse and child death. If you’d prefer to skip it, the main topic starts 32 minutes into the show.

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