Beware the Night (35 page)

Leaving the parking lot, my Ford Thunderbird was suddenly jolted violently. I looked back and saw that another car had hit us, but miraculously, no one was hurt. Was it the supernatural—or just an incompetent suburban driver? Since neither car was damaged, we continued on our way to the church. I hoped that the ritual would be successful and not violent. Since each exorcism is different, I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, not knowing how this particular demon might attack. The one constant in our Work is that battling the Devil is extremely taxing to the mind, body, and spirit—and puts you at risk of all sorts of dangers.

Although I was now driving extra-cautiously, as we entered the driveway of Our Lady of the Rosary Chapel, where Frank’s ritual was to be held, apparently I wasn’t being careful enough and narrowly missed having a head-on collision with the Mother Superior. Seeing her in her traditional black habit, staring at me in astonishment through her car window, I couldn’t help thinking
Boy, would I have gotten the ruler for that one, as I did so many times as a boy in parochial school! I can’t believe I almost hit a nun!

Once we were safely inside the church, I finally felt calm and at peace, despite the battle that lay ahead. JoAnn remarked on the beauty of the church. Although I’d seen it hundreds of times before, my spirit was still refreshed by the sight of this peaceful chapel and the room-sized rosary that surrounds the chapel’s pews, attaching to the figure of Christ on the cross that hangs behind the altar.

Frank was clearly nervous. Like most possessed people at exorcisms, he had no idea what to expect. None of us did, really, since each exorcism is different. I told them why we would be strapping him into a chair but didn’t go into any details about the ceremony. It’s not important for the exorcee to know anything about the prayers: They are for the evil spirit hiding inside, which is well aware of what will be taking place shortly.

“How long is this going to take?” Frank asked.

“As long as Bishop McKenna feels it should.”

Joe and I began to set up for the exorcism, while the bishop spoke privately with Frank. We placed a sturdy wooden chair in front of the altar and readied the restraints. JoAnn sat in a side pew, looking extremely pale and distraught. I went over and talked to her but could give no guarantees about the outcome. “It’s up to the bishop and ultimately, to God now,” I told her. “But Frank also has a hand in it, because if he continues to view the demon as part of his life, forcing it to leave will be very hard.”

She squeezed my hand and thanked me for everything I’d done. “If it weren’t for you, my husband wouldn’t be here at this church right now,” she said.

Joe and I secured Frank firmly to a chair, using wrist restraints and a nylon strap around his chest to keep him from injuring himself—or others—should the exorcism turn violent. Wearing his black cassock, white surplice, and purple stole, the bishop glided silently into the chapel. After being in places that are so oppressive with evil, I appreciated this house of God more each time I came here.

But battle was imminent, and we began to prepare, stocking up on our supplies: having the bishop bless salt, incense, and saints’ medals; filling five-gallon jugs with holy water; and saying prayers for our families, who waited for us at home, that the good Lord would protect them during this exorcism. Then we said more prayers to keep us strong for what was to come and for the ritual to succeed.

Finally it was time for the exorcism.

In Latin, the bishop recited the Litany of the Saints; calling upon each and every one of them to help free this man from the evil spirit. I sat next to Frank, watching his face intently. For the first half hour, there was no reaction at all. The pretense was very strong in this exorcism. Sometimes a demon shows itself quickly, and other times it hides for quite a while.

Either way, as an assistant, my job was to be ready for any sign of its presence, whether a strange movement from Frank or an indication that he was in pain. During exorcisms, certain areas of the body are most likely to be affected—usually the head or stomach, but occasionally the back. These major chakra, or power, points, often serve as portals of entry for the demonic. Sometimes the person will be shivering as if it’s below zero in the church, even in summer; other people go into a seemingly comatose state or just sit there as if they are watching a movie.

Alert for any clue that the demon was being forced to come forward, I monitored Frank’s breathing, facial expressions, and movements, aware of even the slightest quiver in his skin. I was intent on all the sounds of the church and watching all the assistants for signs they were being affected, just as they were watching me. I was also keeping an eye on JoAnn, imagining how hard it must be to sit to the side and see a loved one going through this when she was powerless to help him. If possible, I don’t let family members assist in an exorcism, because I don’t know if they are in a state of grace. If they are not, they might become possessed themselves, either briefly or long enough to need an exorcism of their own. They are also extremely emotionally involved in the case and can be targeted for that reason, since the demonic are drawn by negative emotions.

As the ritual progressed, the bishop asked Frank how he was feeling. “I’m okay,” the drycleaner replied, “but I feel that the voice inside me is scared. It is talking to me and saying all kinds of things.”

The bishop continued the exorcism. “Demon, I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come forth!”

Suddenly I saw Frank’s breathing change from slow and rhythmic to rapid and shallow. I could tell at once that the demon was present. Even in this holy place, there was an unmistakable, overpowering sense of evil. The drycleaner’s face tensed up and he began to blink very rapidly, as I felt a subtle drop in the temperature of the church. His eyes widened as if he were seeing some threat that was invisible to me and darted from side to side, looking for an escape. His face took on an expression of hatred and fear, loathing and terror.

Frank reminded me of the criminally insane that I’ve taken off the street as a cop: all wrapped up in restraints and powerless to do anything as we load them into the bus (cop slang for an ambulance) for a trip to the psych ward. This demon didn’t want to be here, but through the providence of God, it had no choice. I’ve seen facial expressions as strange and frightening as Frank’s before, but not what he did next: His entire body began to shudder in stiff, jerky, decidedly unnatural motions.

He opened his mouth and spoke in a voice that sounded much like his own, except deeper and full of scorn. “I don’t want to be here. Who do you people think you are?” The question was obviously rhetorical, and we didn’t dignify it with a reply. We all knew that the demon had been forced to come forward and was now here for the battle. Breakpoint was here.

“Evil spirit, tell me your name, in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ!” thundered the bishop, touching Frank with a relic of the True Cross.

The mocking laughter that issued from Frank’s lips wasn’t the least bit convincing. Even though it was sneering, the satanic power was suffering agonies worse than the fires of Hell. It didn’t want to leave; it had to be compelled and commanded to depart in Jesus’ name. This battle was taking place in a little church in Connecticut but also was being fought on another plane of existence, a spiritual plane older than man; this battle has been raging since before the creation of humanity. This mental, physical, and spiritual struggle was a battle that we humans are caught up in whether we believe or not.

I had a hunch about this demon because of the manner in which it had gotten hold of Frank. Since it snared him through his intellect and spirituality, I suspected that was how it would respond during the exorcism, rather than with physical brutality.

The bishop’s dark eyes narrowed into a piercing stare. “Demon, what brought you into this man?”

The voice deepened. “I’m not talking to
you.
I hate you people!”

As if drawing a gun, Bishop McKenna held up a cross. “Demon, begone!”

Now speaking in a low, almost inaudible tone, the evil spirit retorted, “I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sick of you! Stop talking!”

Touching Frank with a holy relic, the bishop asked, “Am I bothering you, demon?” A veteran of over one hundred exorcisms, Bishop McKenna knew better than to fall into the trap of quarreling with evil spirits, since giving them any sort of recognition can be dangerous. The goal isn’t to beat these demons in a battle of wits, which could tempt even the most devout exorcist into the very sins of pride and vanity that had led to Frank’s possession. Instead, the priest must maintain a humble attitude, remembering that his only power to defeat the Devil comes from serving God’s will, not his own charismatic gifts.

The reply sounded like a petulant three-year-old. “You’re stupid and everything about this place is stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I’m not telling you anything!” Here again I felt the demon was simply making malicious mischief, by encouraging us to think, in our conceit, that we must be a lot smarter than such a seemingly childish entity—a very dangerous thought to entertain.

“We can’t believe you anyway, demon,” the holy man snapped back, draping a black rosary around Frank’s neck and dousing him with holy water.

The evil spirit let out a taunting laugh. “You people don’t make sense. Why are you here?”

“Because we believe in God!” retorted John, the Warrens’ nephew, provoked past control.

The bishop ignored the interruption and continued his fierce interrogation: “Don’t
you
believe in God, Devil? Where did you come from?”

“If I tell you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. I came because I wanted to. You can’t find me because I’m not here.”

Touching Frank again, first with a holy relic, then replacing the black rosary with a white one, the bishop never broke eye contact as he steadily intoned the Roman Ritual of Exorcism.

“Stop! Stop! Stop talking!” the demon shrieked. Frank’s head and shoulder jerked in a more intense robotic tic, as if the evil spirit were trying to shrug off the torture it must be suffering. The exorcism was proceeding just as I anticipated—a lot of head games, but no rough stuff so far, thank God.

“What keeps you in this man? Answer me in the name of Jesus Christ! Who cursed him?”

That evoked a defiant outburst. “I won’t tell you. What you’re doing is not working,” the diabolical force repeated over and over. The torrent of words stopped for a moment, then Frank’s eyes began blinking much more rapidly, and his lips moved again. “I cursed him because he was too good, so very good. I had to have him make a wrong decision.”

Bishop McKenna had heard enough of this nonsense. It was Frank’s vanity—not his virtue—that had allowed the demon to possess him. The priest held up a crucifix and made the sign of the cross over Frank’s body. “With the help of God, I’m commanding you to go out of him, Devil!”

The demon’s remarks became increasingly incoherent: “What are you? If I stay here, it’s because I want to! Stop talking.… I won’t do it.… Stupid people.… I won’t do anything.…” The words became quieter and quieter until I found myself straining to hear them. This can be a distraction technique satanic forces use to break an exorcist’s concentration. If so, it didn’t work, since the bishop never wavered in his recitation of the ritual. Acknowledging defeat, the deep, contemptuous voice finally sputtered to a halt.

The priest’s voice remained firm and steady as he finished the ritual, touching Frank repeatedly with relics, making the sign of the cross over and over, and giving many sprinkles of holy water. I could see Frank’s breathing slowly return to normal, and the shuddering stopped.

Although the demon had been banished for the moment, all of us sensed that the war wasn’t won yet: Frank wasn’t free. When I spoke to him afterward, I could see that he was still confused about the true nature of the demonic spirit possessing him and still didn’t grasp how warped his religious experiences really were. The demon was causing so much pain in his life but, at the same time, was giving him what he believed to be special insight into God. In his own mind Frank became more important than God. His aim was to know the divine plan, but he had no reverence for God. That’s what this demon gave Frank: not a sense of hope and love that true religious experience brings, but a twisted sense of cold “understanding” that had no real meaning.

“Where do we go from here?” JoAnn asked.

“Frank needs another exorcism, whenever he feels he’s ready to try again. This isn’t like going for surgery, where the doctor opens you up and removes the poison from your body. This is spiritual and has a lot to do with the spirituality of the person. When a demon attacks through the intellect, as it did with your husband, it’s harder for the possessed person to see his situation clearly. Sometimes this happens soon after the exorcism. In other cases it takes longer for someone to find his free will and help us force the demon out.”

Frank was very somber after his exorcism and was completely silent when I drove him and JoAnn back to the train station. The only words of encouragement I could offer Frank were that we would continue for as long as he was willing to accept our help. The bishop, however, wasn’t discouraged. He’s found that fewer than half of his exorcisms succeed on the first try, and even repeated attempts may fail if the person isn’t willing to let God back into his soul.

“By no means is this over,” he assured me when I returned to the church to pick up Joe. “Heaven only knows why this man refuses to give up the demon that is such a cross of suffering to him, but if he’s determined to punish himself, we must pray that the Lord in His providence will allow Frank’s soul to be saved.” Bowing our heads, we each lit a candle for the drycleaner and his wife and stood in silence, watching the brave, hopeful flames shed their glow on the little church in Connecticut.

Chapter Fourteen

Possessed Over the Phone

L
IKE SERIAL KILLERS
and sexual predators, whose crimes often have a distinctive pattern or “signature,” the demonic have their own M.O. While the goal is always the same—to destroy humanity—some evil spirits act like street punks, announcing their presence with lurid acts of vandalism and senseless destruction; others attack physically, clawing and scratching their victims in maniacal rage.