So, we have confirmation from Manuel that Pablo rarely attended Mass, and then never actively.

Someone asked why Father Pfeiffer would associate with such a man.  Equally important:  why would a man who basically doesn't practice the faith become so deeply involved with a Traditional Catholic group?  This is a HUGE RED LIGHT.  What are his motives from being there?  This makes it more plausible to me that he's there to deliberately perpetrate mischief, and perhaps even of the occult variety.

But Fr. Pfeiffer has done things similar to the things you list. Attacking Bp. Williamson? I spoke with Fr. P in 2013 when he came here to say Mass. He was very nostalgic about the good old days at +W's seminary. The notion of +W being a bad guy hadn't even crossed his imagination yet.

And betraying +W is one of those things I couldn't imagine doing. Just for starters, he's a Traditional bishop and deserves a good deal of respect because of his office alone. Then there's the additional respect he deserves personally for fighting for the Faith for so long and giving up so much.

And placing young, impressionable seminarians under the authority and tutelage of Pablo, who is superstitious, obsessed with the devil (in both senses of the term "obsessed"), and doesn't attend Mass? Fr. P must know Pablo's bad side. And yet he's OK sending his seminarians like sheep to the slaughter to be taught and trained (and abused) by Pablo.

Facts: Pablo presumed to "bless" my new Rosary, and lied to me that Fr. Pf. had done so.  Fr. could not have blessed my Rosary because he had already gone to say Mass elsewhere.  I saw him drive away, although Pablo didn't know that.  My Rosary was wet, ostensibly with Holy Water, when he returned it to me.  I didn't confront Pablo but later in the week, I told Fr. of my concerns.  It wasn't just one incident, Pablo had been giving "blessed" items to many women, all the while making insulting and demeaning comments about them to certain other women, foistering gossip and ill-will.  Fr. made no comment, but took the Rosary and blessed it properly. As to the comments, he passed them off as the women's fault because women, like Eve, didn't know to keep their mouths shut.

Fact: Two men whose wives Pablo insulted, confronted Pablo in the chapel parking lot, promising to teach him a lesson if he didn't lay off and stay away, "50 feet from my wife, my mother, and my children."  The latter was a police detective.  Pablo continued, only with widows and single women without the protection of a male.  One very shy lady in her twenties stopped going to Mass because Pablo pursued her, calling her, driving past her apartment, continually insitting he needed her help on various projects around the church.  She was afraid to say no, and Pablo had her doing things like taking his clothes home to launder and iron!  When M. stopped coming to Mass, he tried to get me to take over, offering monetary pay and free meals after Mass.  I turned him down, telling him it was inappropriate for a single woman to handle the clothing of a man with a wife and kids. Afterwards, Pablo acted like a spoiled brat, pouting, turning his back to me, and mumbling under his breath whenever in proximity to him at church.  I decided to let this one die out of its own accord rather than acting the same way by tattling to Fr.  

Fact: I entered the kitchen at church, was handed a sponge by Pablo, and summarily ordered to, "Get busy washing those dishes."  I said, "I'm not your maid.  Do them yourself."  There was a towering pile of them, dried on, filthy from a week of Fr. giving meals to day laborers he'd hired to do some rennovations.  In retaliation for my refusal, a rumor suddenly spread around the chapel that I was a feminist plant, so parents had better keep their children away from me and women should not befriend me because I was out to lure away their husbands.  Word of this reached the priory  and I was summoned to speak with the new prior. Of course I denied the charges. Unconvinced, the prior asked me if I had knowledge of why there were complaints to him about me.  So I had no choice but to mention Pablo as the likely source.  The prior's demeanor changed instantly.  He asked a few questions, apologized for having me make a four hour drive, and let me go.  Next Sunday, the sermon topic was about the sin of gossip.  Hmmmm.

Fact: In 2015 I went on a women's retreat at OLMC.  I caught Pablo in my "room" twice.  The second time he was looking into my backpack.  He made an excuse about people walking away with utensils and mugs---as if I'd stolen some and stuffed them in my backpack for a souvenir.  The first time he accused me of unjustly judging him and denying he was actually in my room, just passing by.  
During this retreat, Pablo acted as if I were there not for a retreat but as a worker; slave would be a better word.  Along with a few other retreatants with prior connections to OLMC or various relatives of the Pfeiffer family, Pablo ordered us to assist the volunteers and "seminarians" with chores like food preparation, cleaning up after meals, and laundering bedding and shower linens. Sometimes, if Fr. Pfeiffer was not present, only Fr. Hewko, he'd order us to leave in the middle of conferences and miss meditations in order to work.  If anyone protested, he said it was penance!  At one point, I was ushered from the room in mid-conference because I might be an answer to prayers.  Did I know how to drive a stick?  Caught off guard, I found myself behind the wheel with a "seminarian" beside me, making a grocery run to E-town!  I missed one and a half conferences, two meditations, and Confession.  Upon return, Pablo chastised the seminarians for being sissies, girly men, and wimps because a woman was the only one who could drive a manual transmission.  Once again, instead of being thanked, I was branded a feminist to the seminarians because "real woman
don't know how to drive a man's vehicle."  The obscene connotations of that statement made all but one seminarian blush in shame.  Even the black guy turned red.  One seminarian "didn't get it."  He stood there looking confused.  I don't think he was the sharpest knife in the block, or maybe there was a language barrier.  It later occurred to me that he was the only one who might emerge unscathed and go on to a real seminary and become a holy priest.  I complained to Fr. Hewko, and he told me to ignore Pablo.  He's all bark and no bite.
The proverbial straw that broke this camel's back happened on the fourth day of the retreat.  I wasn't feeling well, and excused myself to lie down.  Pablo was in  the room. He suddenly turned all solicitous, insisting I go over to the house where I could rest in a real bedroom with peace and quiet, instead of in the dormitory where a lot of noise and  commotion was going on.  I tried to refuse, but a certain lady, an employee at the time, agreed with Pablo.  She had some linens that had to be brought to the house, so Pablo would bring me over on a golf cart.  I went with him reluctantly.  Pablo got angry upon finding the front door ajar and cats wandering in and out.  He cursed at the cats and roughly kicked one aside hard enough to hurt it.  Once inside, Pablo closed the door and locked it.  He gave me a stack of linens, told me to bring them upstairs, make up two beds, put away the towels except for a particular set, in a linen closet.  I was to take a shower, use the set of linens, to dry off, and wear a robe I'd find in a certain bedroom closet.  When I was done with that, I was to take a long nap in that particular bedroom, none other.  I could feel secure because he'd have all the doors to the house locked.  Horrified, I asked exactly why this was necessary.  He said it was his duty to protect me from any males who might try to break in, that the house was isolated from the rest of the buildings and it was dangdrous for a woman to stay there alone.  We were in the kitchen, Pablo standing in the doorway.  I feigned going for a glass of water, and when Pablo went to "assist" me, I dashed through a utility room and out a back door.  I got in my car that was parked in the driveway and drove, locked in, to the side door of the dormitory.  I hastily retrieved the few items I had inside and drove an hour east to a friend's house.  

Fact: Starting a week or so after this incident, and lasting about four months, I received nasty, even threatening emails, texts, and voice messages, some in Spanish, others in poorly written English.  Several of these I reported to the police.  I attempted to trace them and came up with locations in New Hampshire, Kansas, Florida, and Quebec.  Eventually, I changed my phone and email numbers. They stopped. I made one last attempt to talk with Fr. Pf. and Fr. Hewko about what happened.  Fr. Hewko brushed it off as Spanish machismo, and Fr. Pf. told me I was making rash judgments, that Pablo meant no harm. When I mentioned the cat getting kicked, Fr. made a joke of it.  (Anyone who is unnecessarily cruel to harmless animals is a sign of a black heart in my book)  That is last time I had any contact with Fr. Pf, Fr. H.or from OLMC.  

In retrospect, maybe I should have gone to the police, but really, there was nothing illegal that transpired.  Pablo never physically touched me.  His words, while creepy, were not worthy of legal charges.  There are no laws against being a creep.  I was at OLMC of my own volition.  I could probably have had Fr. Pf. or Mr. Pf. forced to evacuate and disassemble the makeshift rooms.  They were a serious fire hazard.  Pablo, the seminarians, and various volunteers could have received a legal slap on the paddies for helping make them.  What good would it do?  I'm of the opinion only Our Lady of Mt. Carmel in Heaven can straighten out OLMC in Boston, KY. The perpetrators need to come to themselves like the Prodigal Son who was so self-deluded under control of Satan, that he lived a year as a pig before receiving the grace to wake up and smell the manure.  

Is overt witchcraft taking place?  Maybe.  I never saw any direct evidence such as sacrifices at the firepit, burn holes in weird places, bags of blood or tomato sauce, take your pick.  I have reason to believe Pablo killed a kitten out of desire to wound the soul of a an emotionally fragile person.  In addition to a beagle dying, I heard it was hit by a car after being given to the care of a relative.  The donkey that stood tied up and neglected may have died as a result of mistreatment.  Thankfully, chickens take care of themselves despite having chicken brains.  One thing I'm sure of is that the premises are occupied by oppressive spirits, and that Fr. Pf., Fr. Hewko, and Pablo are suffering under demonic influence.  An exorcist is definitely needed. The devil uses sin to blind people to reality so that they think, say, and do things that defy common sense and rational thought.  That's why there are volumes of YouTubes dedicated to "The World's Stupidest Criminals!"  (The chickens are probably the holiest of sentient creatures on the grounds of OLMC.) Fr. Hewko has received the grace to physically escape.  Mental, emotional, and spiritual wounds will take longer to heal.  Let's pray for complete restoration for him.  As for Fr. Pf., let's pray for him to wake up in the mud and smell the "crap."  Pablo needs a thorough conversion to the Catholic Faith.  Right now, he's like a man in the middle of the desert who claims to be a skilled seafaring captain. He knows all the right words, the right actions, the right equipment.  Sadly, he's never put a foot in the ocean or even seen a ship in real life, and wouldn't know a real sailor if he literally ran into one. He's  a fraudster who sells cruise tickets to the misguided, ignorant, and gullible. He believes his own lies.  A secular psychiatrist would probably diagnose him with a personality disorder.  
It's so sad what has become of once holy priests, full of zeal for saving souls, dedicated to the Catholic religion as handed down.  For now, OLMC is descended to the likes of Pope Michael, the Dimond brothers, and the Palmarians---for po' folk.  But they're all still physically alive, so there's hope until theit souls have been judged.
As +Bp. Williamson says, "Kylie Eleison."

Manuel, the "story"is neither a story, nor a good forgery.  It's a true account of my personal experiences with Fr. Pf.and Pablo beginning in 2005, ending in 2015.  Yes, I'm quite familiar with the grounds.  Need further proof?  The first time I visited was before the house burned down. On the ground floor was a big dining room table with a lazy Susan in the middle.  There was a rather hideous orange snd rust shag rug from the 1970s in the living room and dining room.  One walked through them to reach the kitchen.  The sink was to your right, the table to the left. There were whitish tiles on the floor. From the kitchen there was an alcove of sorts with a restroom on the left.  Walking forward, there was a door that opened onto a narrow driveway very close to the priests' residence. There was a small bedroom and office/utility room off the Iiving room.  The walls were of dark brown paneling. A sofa was against the wall to the left, Mr. Pfeiffer's chair across from it with a wall mounted tv where he watched Fox news.  Beside the dpor on the right was a pencil drawing of the Pfeiffer boys. I was never upstairs, so cannot describe it.  
The schoolhouse is behind the chapel, built into a steep hill.  To get to the fire pit without entering the schoolhouse, one descended a rather precariously steep hI'll with assorted rocks serving as stairs.  
On the grounds were the actual seminary to the left of the chapel which has a circular driveway around it.
On the grounds are also an old barn, a deck with picnic tables, a garage or carport with a corrugated metal roof, and a workshop by the priests' residence. Thr worldjop had black widow spiders in it. The senior Pfeiffers now live in a mustard colored double wide trailer house on the left of the driveway, just past a small private cemetery when entering. In place of house that burned is a paved area to park or play basketball. Up between the chapel at the top of the a hill, and seminary is the Pfeiffer cemetery.  There's a statue of Our Lady. Buried there are various Pfeiffer grandparents, Fr. Hannefin, and Pablo's son.  
Need any more proof?
Readers may rest assured that the adventures with Pablo and Frs. Pfeiffer and Hewko in my original post are also true.