I was attacked by Mormons

I was attacked by Mormons

By: Asa Montreaux

It is not all the time that someone wants to stop your life, and just have a talkathon with you, in which they try to convince you to drop your life, and start doing everything they say instead, but with mormons, that is what happens.

I had a friend when I was kid, nice kids though he had some issues. The father always struck me as a little strange. And he the most abusive farther I had ever seen or heard of. It was not just that he beat his kids when they did something wrong, he beat them every time they did not live up to his expectations. My friends older brother played a few sports, and every step that set him back from the pros, led his father to beat him with a baseball bat. I was young, but I saw it with the neighbours. He would approach them as they were doing yard work, and then he would invite them inside for a ‘friendly chat’. They would say oh, okay. But a little while later you could hear him up and down the street form in his house, yelling at the person that they needed to convert or they would lose their life. If they said no, he would not let them leave, and he would lecture them, and then demand they convert, over and over, until they said they would. It was more than a few times the cops arrived because he had obviously held people hostage trying to convert them. Many people said they would convert, and obviously only to get out of there. But it didn’t end there. He would stalk you, and if he didn’t see you were attending church, and faithfully practicing mormonism, he would scream at you. On several occasions he physically attacked people, and for this the police came to his house. And he had went to jail for doing this a few times. Eventually he was asked to leave the neighbourhood. Though he threatened to everyone that he would return, and he obviously had. He had looked up all his neighbours, and repeatedly threatened them if they were not mormons.

One day my father had gone in there. He told the man no thanks outside, but the man said he would beat him if he did not come inside. My father did not feel as physically strong, so he went inside. It was hours later and he had still not came out. Several people called the police, including someone that lived in my home, and he came home. But he had changed. It was hard to tell is he was really going to keep it up or not. But he had agreed to say he was a mormon. It was very scary. I think he ceased being nice guy to a large extent that day, and start playing an obsessively strict Mormon every day.

A little background, Mormons believe in purity in terms of religion and sexuality. They require complete abstinence. And they ask people to forgo all pleasures. They require fasting for days and days. And they require you to follow their religion absolutely, or else they would punish you verbally and physically. Mormons do not believe in Science at all and will not use modern appliances or electricity. Though nowadays they may use these things in extreme moderation. 

It has often been described as a cult, and it surely is. The reality is they know they have a bad reputation. So a mormon will not tell you until after that they are a mormon. They will say lets have a chat, maybe even have a coffee, and after you have agreed to talk, they will suddenly pitch you a weird religion. 

I guess as this happened, I saw this one friend less and less. In the end, for more than half the short time I knew this family, I only saw him when he came to the door and asked if I wanted to hang out. He started to think I was scared of going out, but the reality is, and the poor kid, I was avoiding him.

At a school in a different part of they city, I encountered a teacher that seemed friendly, though something was wrong. It was only an elementary or grade school, I will not say which, and he was a big man. He was fat, though a bit muscularly. He said he was previously a cop, and that is a bit what it was like. He looked like a fat cop. Everything was alright, until one day we wrote in class short stories, and I submitted one I had come up with more or less on the spot, given the prompt, as the assignment requires. It was the next class were things got weird. The teacher said that all of the essays were bad except one. He said he was terribly upset with everyone in the class, except one person. He said it was so good he had to read it aloud. And he started reading it aloud, in its entirety. The teacher laughed at the funny parts, cried at all the sad parts. He seemed to really, really like it. And it was my story. I was terrified. Because he had previously mentioned he was a Mormon, and I was trying to avoid having a conversation with him, as I had seen kids have to turn him down when he suddenly springs a question. It was different this time, as he always tried pitching it after he told them they did worse than they thought. But I could feel it was coming anyways. After class, he told me to wait behind and speak with him. It made me nervous that I would have to speak to him alone with no one else in the room, but I waited after class. The teacher told me he would love to publish my story. In fact, he was going to, so he said to type it up nicely so he could submit it. I said okay, though I didn’t want to speak to him alone ever again. It seemed I would have to just to meet the requirements of this task he had assigned. 

A couple classes later I handed in in a typed version of my story, and he said okay thank you. Then he didn’t say anything else until class started. He said for me to wait after class to speak to him again. 

After class, I went up to speak to him, and he said he would being sending it in and getting it published. But then it happened, he said I am a mormon. Would you be interested in covering. No, I would not I said. Okay, he said. He said nothing further. 

A week later he handed back the original short stories, graded. He said everyone failed, except me. This time he mentioned me by name. I got my paper back and looked at it. 100 percent. But I never heard from him again about the story. I assume he stole the world. But he never published it as it was.

The identity of this person was again my neighbour. We had moved, but it was the same person. As a kid, I knew to stay away from him, and as someone more mature now, I know for sure it was the same person. Now he did not live across the street, but next store. He seemed to have Tourettes, because every time you stepped out, while he was on his driveway, he would yell at you, You’re fired, or Your house is mine. And sometimes he would say, this neighbourhood is only for Mormons, or Do you need to be converted because being not a Mormon means I have to kill you. He had said all the same things to my Dad. He told me himself. But he had a low level awareness of the things the person had said to me. I knew the fact he did not tell the person go away, had to do with whatever went on in the neighbour man’s house, where he tried to convert my father.

Part 2 to follow soon…


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