NOVEMBER 23, 1963

Dallas, Texas   

The moment William Greer drove the limousine west on Elm Street and passed the Texas Book Depository Building, his third eye began to throb. He looked at his wrist and saw the time on his watch: 12:23 pm.

“Well, Mr. President. You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you…” he overheard the governor’s wife, Nellie Connally saying, as she turned around and looked at Jack Kennedy in the back of the limo with First Lady, Jackie.

“No, you certainly can’t.” said the president.

The sound of a firecracker rang out. Governor Connally, the husband of Nellie, looked around confused as if someone was calling his name. He recognized what those sounds were, and they weren’t firecrackers that were ominously calling.

It was the second shot that caught people’s attention and they knew right away what was happening. Who are they trying to kill? William wondered. Time slowed down as he used his third eye to observe the area, and saw three homeless men taking shots at the car from different directions. The third shot was fired and immediately after the back of the limo was covered in blood, brain and skull fragments.

“Honey?! OH MY GOD! NO!”

It was Governor Connally.

A secret service agent by the name of Clint Hill, hopped on the back of the limo and ordered William to drive faster. The plan was to get the president back to the airport, on the plane and the hell out of Dallas.

William had other plans. The shooters were an unexpected interruption.

Who were they? William’s mind raced, trying to remember specific details of the shooters. While Agent Hill was giving orders to the other agents through a walkie-talkie, Jackie and Jack held each other tightly as Nellie Connally was screamed for her dead husband to wake up.

They arrived at the airport five minutes later and Air Force One was ready to go as the president, his wife, his staff including William, and a press group crammed onto the plane.

Everyone was in shock especially President Kennedy who was at a loss for words. The only person who seemed angry but not about the tragedy, was the vice president, Lyndon B. Johnson who nervously clicked a golden ball point pen while staring out the window, avoided eye contact and conversation with the president.

Much like LBJ, William was sitting at the back of the plane, staring at the cockpit door detached from the emotional melee that had everyone on edge when suddenly, a mild wave of vertigo swept over him. “W-w-w-what’s…h-h-happening?” he asked himself out loud, winded and dizzy.

A few seconds later an announcement came over the PA system: “Attention folks. We are experiencing an unusual cluster of dark clouds…perhaps a heavy rain storm coming in. I’m advised by flight control to fly above the clouds, so fasten your seat belts and prepare for a steep ascension.”

The sickness passed and in that moment, he felt his pineal gland going wild again. “One of them is here…” said William, out loud.

The plane started to fly upright like a slightly slanted rocket. Everyone held on to the arms of their seats and felt their neck muscles straining to keep their heads up from the g-force. Turbulence shook the plane and everyone in it.

Once they entered the clouds, the entire plane went dark. The only source of light came from lightning bolts that illuminated the plane like a strobe light. William decided it was time to end this.

As he walked down the aisle his hands gripping the back of each chair he passed making his way to the president. A reporter holding on to his fidora shouted: “Hey! You’re not supposed to be standing! Is he out of his mind?!”

He got to the top of the row, stood in front of the president and stared him dead in the eyes. The president and everyone else were astonished by the way William stood upright despite the angle the plane was flying in.

“What d’ya got? Lead and magnets in ya shoes, Bill?” asked Kennedy baffled and half joking.

The bolts of electricity flashed and everyone saw madness in William Greer’s face before the plane went dark again. Another lightning bolt strikes, and this time William had no face at all.

A voice spoke inside the head of Jack Kennedy. It was the voice of his father, Joseph Kennedy, who died two years ago from a stroke.

“It’s time, Jack…” his father’s voice said.

“Time for what?” Jack Kennedy asked. No one knew who he was talking to.

“You had your turn, now let Joe have them.”


“Who are you talking to, Jack?” Jackie Kennedy asked.

“Your eyes, Jack. Give Joe your eyes.”

“But they’re mine!”

“They were never yours! Now obey your father…and give Joe your eyes!”

Kennedy looked up and saw his brother Joe’s face the next time the lightning illuminated William’s face. The president nodded his head, and obeyed his father.

As soon as he began gouging out his eyeballs, Lyndon Johnson and Jackie Kennedy grabbed his arms and tried to pull them away. William could not let them damage the eyes. They both heard the same voice in their heads: “Feast on your flesh.”

And so they did.

Jackie held her left arm like a giant turkey leg and began biting off chunks of flesh. She screamed with her mouth full of blood and human meat, shaking violently, as did Lyndon John who was eating his tongue. Blood was flying everywhere.

The secret service agents were climbing their way to the hysteria when each of them heard a voice inside their heads saying: Kill! Kill them all!

And so they did.

They shot everyone including Lyndon Johnson and Jackie Kennedy. When the agents were the only ones aside from Jack Kennedy alive, they received their final command. “Shoot yourselves.”

The gunshots went off simultaneously. Three shots followed almost one after the other. Those were the men who couldn’t find their firearms when he gave the command to kill themselves.

When Kennedy was done removing his eyes, he handed them over to who he thought was his brother, Joe. Immediately after, the president toppled over and joined the dead.

The plane slowly began to straighten out as it reached the top of the clouds. The light slowly erased the darkness but could not wipe away the blood and fear that still lingered. William placed the eyes inside of a canopic jar that he carried in his jacket pocket. He then looked at his watch that had four faces: three for telling time in alternate realities, one was a compass. A sick grimace formed on his face like a father who was proud of his child’s carnage. He stood before the dead bodies like he was giving a speech to a living audience.

“It’s time. I am not sorry for what has occurred here. You’ve all served your purpose and now you will transcend to the other side. The House of Infinite Doors awaits you…”


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