Authors: Ralph Sarchie
Looking around the room, I noticed that someone was missing, the other single tenant. “Where’s Bill?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Jill replied. “I told him you’d be here at eight, but I haven’t seen him all day.”
I couldn’t help but get annoyed. We’d agreed to take the case—and to come here in the middle of an ice storm at that—only because we’d been promised the cooperation of everyone in the house. To expel the demon, we needed access to every area of the house, so there would be nowhere for the fiend to hide. I’d also like to hear Bill’s story, but that wasn’t crucial to my investigation, since the sinister events had begun before he moved in. Obviously, he’d had no role in attracting this demon, but I was still curious to hear what he had to say.
While we waited for him, Brother Andrew conducted a psychic scan of the two apartments, walking from room to room with his long, thin arms outstretched to help him feel the spiritual vibrations. He detected two areas of intense chill—“psychic cold,” we call it—one in the parents’ bedroom and the other in the room the little boy shared with his sister. “Can you see it?” I asked him.
He was silent for a moment, as if listening to a sound I couldn’t hear. “It’s masking itself; it doesn’t want us to see it. It’s trying to hide.”
“Definitely demonic?” Tommy queried, although we were all sure of the answer.
“Yes, it’s inhuman. It’s scared, but its hatred is stronger than its fear.” Although I can’t explain how his psychic powers work, any more than I can explain how little Timmy knew what apartments his mother would see, I’ve seen the brother’s sixth sense in action often enough to know it’s real. On some cases he’s told us the layout of an apartment he’s never been to or identified where the “portal,” or opening, the demonic force used to gain entry to the home was located.
Once he even read
my
mind. I was visiting the St. Paul Society and brought some pastries with me. Brother Andrew tore into the Linzer torte I offered him with surprising gusto. I was standing behind him as he ate and couldn’t help thinking,
Don’t they ever feed these guys?
He turned around as if I’d spoken out loud and said, “Fuck you, Ralph!” We were laughing about it all night.
Sometimes Brother Andrew reminded me of Father Martin: They were both worldly men and spoke in everyday language, including some vulgarities. That made it easy to be with them: You didn’t feel like you were in church but with a friend. Each had remarkable psychic powers and a real gift for empathy. In Brother Andrew’s case, the gift was so strong that it was almost a curse: He couldn’t walk into a 7-Eleven without the cashier blurting out all her troubles to him. I also confided a great deal in him, but if I’d ask him what the future held for me, he’d say, “Just let it happen, Ralph.”
He once told me about a marvelous vision he had of a big golden cube that gave off a strong feeling of love. Next to it was a big black hole—a spirit portal—that gave off such overpowering evil that he felt he’d be engulfed, disappear, and die. That’s when he made the decision to go into religious life. He’d felt the force of God’s love and the absolute evil of the demonic.
While he couldn’t actually see the evil spirit in this house because it was hiding itself, he could feel its fear and hatred.
“Command it to leave,” I urged.
In a loud, assertive tone, Brother Andrew gave the order: “In the name of Jesus Christ I command to you to go where the Lord sends you, harming no one along the way!” He repeated these words twice more, even louder and more forcefully, then shook his head. “It won’t go—it doesn’t want to leave!”
We gathered up our supplies for the exorcism: holy water; St. Benedict medals for everyone in the house, including the cat; blessed salt and blessed incense. We were just setting the videocamera up when the missing tenant strolled downstairs—with a can of Budweiser in his hand. Taking a noisy slurp, this overweight, disheveled man reeked of both beer and bad attitude. I was talking to Jill when I heard Joe say, “Could you put the beer away, please? We’re having a religious ceremony here.”
Predictably, since I’ve met a million idiots like this while on patrol, Bill started getting in Joe’s face. “It’s my home and I’ll drink beer anywhere I damn well want,” he said in a nasty tone. I could feel my temper rising, but since I was here to pray, not mix it up with some wiseass, I let the other tenants try to reason with their neighbor. Ignoring their cajoling, he continued to stand there, guzzling his beer, as if waiting for the show to begin. Well, there was nothing in the Bible to prevent me from subduing him with a hard-eyed cop stare, so that’s what I did.
“Listen up, buddy,” I told him. “If you don’t put your beer away, take it back to your apartment and deal with your problem yourself.”
He looked me up and down, then said in a surly tone, “Fine. Good-bye.” Letting out a loud belch, he slowly retreated to his apartment.
“Have a good night—if you can,” I called after him, knowing that what was in that house was likely to head straight for that man’s apartment—and it would be extremely pissed off when it got there. He didn’t seem too worried—and actually had the nerve to turn on his stereo and play the rock band Black Sabbath at full blast.
Resistance is all part of the demonic’s M.O., so none of the investigators really expected the case to go smoothly. Satanic forces are always looking for ways to screw up our investigations, and this fool was playing right into their hands. If he’d been the only person in the house, I would have packed up and left then. We’d all risked ourselves—for no pay, since we don’t take money to do this Work—to deal with
his
problem, and now he was giving us a hard time.
Although I knew that conducting the ritual at this point would be like putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg, two kids were counting on us, so we forged ahead, with Black Sabbath blaring overhead. First, we lighted blessed incense and let the sweet smell fill each room, making sure that no dark space went unpurified. Brother Andrew and I took turns reading prayers, while Joe and Phil did the same thing in the basement apartment. Over the years we’ve discovered that it’s best to hold simultaneous rituals on the different floors of the house, so the demon can’t flee to another floor.
As I read the Pope Leo XIII prayer, I also held up my relic of the True Cross. I always keep it over my bed, except when I need it for a case. You might say it’s the equivalent of a cop’s gun, since there’s nothing more powerful against Satan’s forces.
We were about to start the next step, sprinkling holy water in every corner of the room, when the Black Sabbath music suddenly stopped. The second-floor tenant came downstairs, pale and shaken. Not only was there no beer can this time, but his entire attitude had done a complete 180. He was now eager—even desperate—to cooperate in any way he could. When my partner questioned him about his dramatic change of heart, he refused to say what had happened. “Let’s just get on with it,” he muttered.
That was OK with me; we were happy to finally get full access to the rest of the premises. Quickly, in case he changed his mind again, we resumed the ritual, cleansing his apartment with incense and prayer. Then it was time for the holy water. We hit all the corners to consecrate the room, then sprinkled it in every enclosed space, no matter how small, so no demon could hide there. Holy water is part of the Pope Leo XIII prayer, but we take it one step further. As the final coup de grâce to Satan and his henchmen, we used blessed salt in the same way we had used the holy water.
It was around midnight, when we finally finished the entire house. Brother Andrew said he could see a black shape moving around the house at a high rate of speed. The demon was looking for a hiding place, but we’d done our job well: There was none. Repelled at every turn by the holiness with which we’d anointed the house, the black shape moved faster and faster, until Brother Andrew discerned that it had disappeared.
Once Brother Andrew told us it was gone, I spoke to all the tenants about what they could expect. “In a few days you may experience some supernatural phenomena as a residual effect of our ritual tonight. Sometimes a demon will return just to harass you, but if this happens, you’re to use the holy water and blessed salt we’re about to give you. Most important, you must pray and bring God into your lives. I must also ask you not to discuss what you’ve experienced here, because talking about these events gives the demon recognition—and could draw it back to your home.”
They all thanked us, even Bill. Walking outside in the clean, frigid air was wonderful after being in that house for four hours, but now we had to travel on icy roads after dealing with a demonic spirit. Since Tommy and Brother Andrew had the longest ride, I prayed they’d make it home safely.
That should have been the end of the story, but there was a curious sequel. The next day Brother Andrew got a call from a close friend who lived three thousand miles away in California. Around 9:00
P.M
. Pacific time (midnight in New York), just as Brother Andrew completed the exorcism, this woman was asleep on her couch and had a chilling nightmare. In her mind’s eye, she saw Brother Andrew surrounded by evil. The dream was so vivid that she woke up shaking and went to her kitchen to make some soothing herb tea. While she was pouring water into a cup, she had the unmistakable feeling she was being watched.
She whirled around and saw a very hairy creature, about five feet tall, glaring at her and gnashing its horrible yellow teeth. The feeling of hatred the beast gave off was frightening beyond anything she’d ever experienced. But she had the presence of mind to do what Brother Andrew had taught her: command it in the name of Jesus Christ to leave. It immediately vanished, but she was so distraught she didn’t sleep at all that night, and called Brother Andrew first thing in the morning to see if he was all right.
He told her he was involved in a case of demonic infestation at that very time and this is what happened: Just as the demon was leaving the house by the graveyard, the woman was thinking of Brother Andrew, because she sensed he was in danger. When you think about someone, you form a psychic connection with the person, because thought has substance, just as when you pray, you connect to God. When the demon departed, it followed that thought connection to her and, in its diabolical rage, manifested itself in her home until her command banished it back to where it belonged—Hell!
Chapter Five
The Incubus Attack
L
IGHTNING CRACKED OVERHEAD
and sheets of rain lashed at my car as I set off on the five-hour drive to my next case. My partner Joe couldn’t get the day off from work, so I was alone and on edge, well aware that the people I was about to meet were being assaulted by forces far more perilous than this torrential downpour. I’d seen the McKenzie family profiled on the TV show
Sightings,
which reports on real-life cases of supernatural activity. As soon as I heard what kind of phenomena this family was experiencing, I knew they were being oppressed by demons. I called Ed Warren, knowing he had contacts at the show, but he said he wasn’t comfortable soliciting a case. “If God wants this family to get our help,” he said, “He will lead them to us.”
A few months later I was chatting with Ed over the phone. “Hey, Ralph, I got a call from
Sightings
the other day,” he told me. “They want Lorraine and me to look into a case in Washington, D.C.” I knew immediately that it was the same case I’d called him about, but Ed had forgotten our discussion until I reminded him. “You should come too,” he urged.
If what the McKenzie family said on TV was true, then they were in the clutches of a very powerful demon. By the time I reached Washington and stopped at a pay phone to let my wife know I’d arrived safely, the wind was near gale force. Jen is very tough and tried to hide her anxiety, but I was worried too, being so far from home if my own family should need me.
Running through the rain to my car, I saw a large branch crash to the ground on the other side of the street.
Was I nuts to drive two hundred miles through a raging storm to help people I don’t even know?
You might think so, but how much crazier is this than risking my life every night on street patrol? Officers a lot tougher and braver than I’ll ever be have been killed in the line of duty, young men like Kevin Gillespie, a comrade from the midnight-to-eight shift, who was gunned down by murderous carjackers a few years ago—despite a bulletproof vest. Like me, he was a married man and had small children. His seven-year-old son, Danny, wrote a letter that was read during his father’s funeral mass: “I love the police. Someday I will be one.”
Now his green metal locker at the station house stands as a somber memorial, with a plaque reading “In memory of police officer Kevin Gillespie, shield #4503. He made the ultimate sacrifice by giving his life in the line of duty on March 14, 1996.” Below are inscribed two words he often said to me and other officers: “Be safe.”
* * *
The children in this D.C. case had suffered the same shattering loss as Kevin’s son had. Just three days after they moved into their new home, their dad was diagnosed with inoperable cancer; he died a month later. I didn’t feel that the demonic had anything to do with it: It was probably just coincidence, but the number three always figures in these cases.
Their house didn’t
look
particularly spooky: It wasn’t a drafty old castle or ruined mansion you’d see in the movies, but a very pretty, vine-covered Colonial on a quiet suburban street. I didn’t detect anything hostile or malignant as I rang the bell.
“Are you the exorcist?” I instantly recognized this thin teenager with huge, haunted eyes as Monique McKenzie, the oldest daughter, from seeing her talk on TV about the unimaginably grotesque horrors they’d endured.
“No, but I’m here to help as best I can,” I assured her, then made small talk with the family, who were all huddled together in the living room. None of them wanted to be alone in that house, even in the middle of the day. While I waited for the Warrens to arrive, I took a walk around the spotless, spacious rooms, to see if I could sense anything out of the ordinary. I knew already that the house had a sinister secret, a sordid past.