As published by HauntedMLT.com.
Umbra Daemonium (Shadow Demon)
Umbra Daemonium (Shadow Demon)
I was hard at work, amid a veritable mountain of unpacked boxes. This move was unplanned and sudden, but the two years spent living in the previous house had been hell. People can cry hoax if they like, but when I tell you my old house was possessed- it was.
We had moved into the small house in Western Kentucky three years ago, almost to the day. It was cozy and surrounded by friendly neighbors. It had pale blue siding and a metal roof, with more windows than I had ever seen in such a small home. My two sons, Ike and Hunter, shared a room, and my youngest, five-year-old Isabelle, had her own. My husband Harold and I had gotten a great price on the home, thousands less than we had expected to pay. Maybe that should have clued me in that there would be trouble, although I would have presumed problems with plumbing or wiring, not what we actually found.
My first experience with the dark presence in my home was actually not my own. My sons had started telling me what I thought were fabricated stories about seeing shady figures in the dark corners of their room at night, and hearing soft sounds they couldn’t really describe to me. Boys have wild imaginations, and since they didn’t seem afraid, I brushed it off. Who wouldn’t? I didn’t believe in the boogey man, so I was completely caught by surprise when I had an experience of my own.
It happened on a Monday night, right after the kids went to bed. Harold works third shift, six PM to six AM, so I was alone, folding laundry in the living room and stacking it neatly on the sofa. I caught movement in the corner of my eye, and thinking my daughter was up looking for a drink or something, I didn’t even turn my head. “Be quick and then back to bed, baby.” A dark whisper slithered through my thoughts, heard by something more primitive in me that merely my ears. “Yesssss, Mom”. Goosebumps went up my back and my scalp tried to crawl back over my face. I was literally frozen in fear. I finally turned my head and peered over my shoulder. I couldn’t see anything there. I broke into a sweat and the relief made me flop abruptly onto the sofa, sitting with my arms limp at my sides. Feeling foolish, I took a minute to calm down, and resumed my chore.
Nothing else happened until a few weeks later. The boys asked me if they could start sleeping in the living room. They are 8 and 12 years old; too old, by my reckoning, to be afraid of the dark or other childish things. I refused but they persisted. “Why?” I inquired. They looked at one another, then back at me. My eldest spoke up. “We know you don’t believe us, but we’re really starting to get scared of the Shadow Man.”
“The Shadow Man?” I responded. “What’s that?” Even as I asked, I remembered my terror from that Monday night when I had been unable to process what I’d thought I’d heard. The residual fear began eating at me, giving me a sudden stomach ache.
Eyeing each other again, they said, almost in tandem, “Never mind.” Shoulders slumped, they turned away, but my heart just couldn’t let it go so easily. “How about this? You guys can sleep in the living room until your dad’s next night off. Then, you can talk to him about what you’ve seen and how you feel. Does that sound okay?” They grinned and raced off to get their pillows and blankets. I hadn’t mentioned any of this to Harold. It had just seemed silly, and I could easily imagine the eye roll I would have gotten. They piled their bedclothes onto the floor and hopped around enthusiastically, trying to get them straightened out but hampered by their own antics. I kissed them goodnight and took myself to my own bed to read until it was late enough for me to sleep.
Around eleven o’clock, I started to doze off but was awakened from my light sleep by a sound. Not sure what I had heard, I lifted my head away from my pillow and listened. It sounded like whimpering. Worried Isabelle was having a nightmare, I got up and headed toward her room. The sounds weren’t coming from her closed door, so I followed them down the hall and into the living room. At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing. My sons weren’t sleeping, let alone having a bad dream. They were sitting up, grasping at one another, with their backs pressed up against the front of the sofa and their knees against their chests. The whimpering was coming from them, and their eyes were wide with terror, which enraged me as a mom. I spun in the direction they were staring but I wasn’t prepared for what I suddenly faced.
I’m tall for a woman, about 5’10”, and this guy just loomed over me. His head was bowed to avoid brushing the ceiling, which was 8’ high. He had no discernible features; it was like looking at a three dimensional shadow. I sensed his attention shift to me, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel him staring at me with malevolence.
I began sweating and shaking but my maternal instincts wouldn’t allow me to obey the conflicting primitive instinct that was screaming at me to run! I was choking on fear but stood my ground, staring back at the thing that was threatening my children. He continued to regard me for a moment more, and then stepped to the left, went through the wall, and disappeared. Two quivering bodies barreled into me from behind, and I twisted around to grab and hugs my boys, trying to give them the reassurance that I myself was in need of. I told them it was okay, feeling like a liar for saying it when I didn’t believe it myself. We went to Isabelle’s room and I lifted her from her bed still sleeping. We all piled up in my bed; my children slept, while I waited for dawn.
When Harold got home, it was Saturday morning, so the kids were still sleeping. I was at the door with anxiety eating at me. “Hey, hon,” he greeted me. I wrapped my arms around him and shook. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been up all night. Are the kids okay?” I pulled back so he could see my fear, hoping he would take me seriously.
“I need to tell you about something, and I need you to believe me.” I told him every grim detail, watching his expression go from to concerned to skeptical, and then back to concerned. “I think the stress is getting to you. Moves can be tough. Maybe you should go back to bed and get some rest.”
“If you don’t believe me, talk to your sons! They’ve been trying to tell me for weeks that something was here and I ignored them. I thought it was nothing and I was wrong. Something evil is in this house and we need to leave. Today.”
He scowled at me. “We just bought this place and you want to leave because you saw a scary shadow?”
Frustrated, I took a long breath. “I said it was shadow-like. But it wasn’t just a shadow.”
“You’ve gotten the kids all worked up over nothing. You really need to calm down and think about them. They need their parents to be strong and reliable, not jumping at shadows and running from their problems,” he intoned. What a jerk. Feeling angry, alone, and insecure, I began to question my own judgment. Humiliated, I dropped the subject and went to check on my children.
A few months passed, and the frantic pace of life with kids consumed my days and the late night encounter began to feel more like a figment of my own exhausted imagination. People have many ways of coping, and one of the most common is denial. If people knew what was really out there and didn’t ignore it, we’d all go mad.
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One early evening in late September, I was forced to face that my head had been in the sand. Harold had left for work, and I was busy washing dishes from supper. A piercing shriek ripped through the house and I was running toward it before the plate I’d dropped had even shattered on the floor. Heart racing, I flew into the living room, saw it was empty, and kept going. The first bedroom I came to was Isabelle’s. No children there. In my panic, I half stumbled down to the boys’ room; still no children. The house had fallen to absolute silence beyond that initial terror-filled scream. My panting and my own beating heart were all the sounds I could hear. Crying out to my kids, I turned in circles, anguished, when finally I heard a sound to guide me to them. “Mama!” It was Isabelle! I raced toward her voice, down the hall into the bathroom. I slammed myself into the door trying to open it as I entered, but it was locked. “Isabelle,” I struggled to calm my voice, “It’s Momma. Open the door, baby.” The door opened slowly, but it wasn’t Isabelle. Ike was standing with her in the bathtub and Hunter had opened the door. His face was grim and his eyes showed more anger than fear. I was proud of him.
I took the children into the kitchen and sat them all at the table. Mechanically, I began making them a snack, trying to organize my rattled thoughts. The kids just sat there looking shell-shocked. I finally sat down with them and looked Hunter in the eyes. I spoke very gently. “What happened, Hunter?” He looked at me for a few seconds, and then glanced around at his brother and sister, as though just noticing that they were all present and unhurt. Finally, he turned to me. “It was the Shadow Man,” he insisted quietly. My stomach clenched at the words and I fought the urge to vomit. He explained to me that he and Ike had been playing in their room when they heard the same scream from Isabelle that had sent me pounding through he house. They’d beaten me to her room, and seeing the Shadow Man lurking near her closet, they’d grabbed her up and fled to the bathroom, locking themselves in. Pride for them warred with the grim knowledge that a locked door would not have kept them safe from the creature. I didn’t know what it wanted or what it even was, but it was too menacing to be harmless. Waves of hatred had emanated off of it when I’d seen it the first time. I was grateful that they hadn’t been hurt, but clearly something had to be done, with or without Harold’s approval.
I went with my first impulse and called a priest. Our Mass attendance was spotty at best, but I knew that Father Carter would come to help us if I needed him.
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Unfortunately, while I was on the phone with the Father, Harold walked in through the back door. “Put the phone down, Karlie.” His eyes were flat and hard but in my surprise I didn’t register it at first. “Why are you home? Are you sick?”
“No. Put the phone down, now,” he growled. His expression lent his face a vicious cast that made him hard to even recognize. It was like staring at a hostile stranger. The kids had quietly crept from the room, and I intended to give them time to get to their rooms, so I put the phone down and turned to face him.
“What’s going on, Harold?” I murmured. There was something violent in his posture and, for the first time, I was afraid my husband would harm me.
He snarled at me, like an animal, balled his fists, and took a step forward. Alarmed, I grabbed the nearest weapon I could reach, a heavy serving platter, and swung it at his head. I struck him just along his right jaw and his head snapped back but he made no sound. I turned and ran, yelling for the kids to get out of the house and go to the neighbors’. I could hear Isabelle start crying and demanding her momma while the boys ushered her out the door, but I didn’t slow down. Harold stayed on my tail and chased me until I got to the end of the hallway. The pounding of his footsteps had suddenly stopped. I turned to look and he was standing in the hall, staring blankly at nothing. He swayed a little but then went still again. I walked backward, never taking my eyes off of him, until I got to the bathroom. I went in, shut the door, and locked myself in.
After about ten minutes, sirens blared outside and I knew the neighbors had called for help. They probably thought it was a run of the mill domestic dispute. I was still in the bathroom. I had no idea where Harold had gone, or if he was still standing dazed in the hall. I cracked the door, bolder now that help was here, and peered out. No Harold. I crept out, quietly padding to the living room to unlock the front door. The house seemed empty. I opened the door just as an officer had raised his fist to knock.
“Ma’am, are you in need of assistance? Your neighbor called us and said your kids came to them, frantic, saying their daddy was being scary.” The officer was huge, easily big enough to defend me, and I relaxed somewhat. “I’m Officer Davidson, ma’am, I’m here to help you.”
“Thank you Officer,” I sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on. Harold has never been violent in the past; never even raises his voice. And, to be fair, he didn’t assault the kids or me at all. We, uh, we may have panicked a little.” How could I possibly have explained the situation without him thinking I was crazy or on drugs? Harold seemed to be gone for now and maybe whatever had gotten into him had released its hold. It had occurred to me that the evil presence in the house had been involved in some way. It was the only explanation; Harold wasn’t a mean guy.
Officer Davidson was watching me skeptically. I knew he saw this type of thing all the time; women calling for help against an abuser, then backing down and refusing to let them do anything about it. I smiled to reassure him, but once the kids had come home and he turned to leave, he tried one last time. “Ma’am, if you have any more trouble like this, you call us immediately. Don’t take anything and don’t fool around. I mean it.” He said this with a meaningful glance at my kids, and I was grateful that he was concerned for their safety. Once the policeman was gone, I turned to my children and we hugged.
“Where’s Daddy, Momma?” Isabelle looked so nervous that my heart clenched. “Is he coming home?”
“He wasn’t feeling very well, baby,” I said, “He left but he’ll be better when he gets back.” Both of my boys eyed me, unsure. “Come on guys, it’s really late. You need to go to bed. Come to my room with me.” Relieved that they weren’t expected to sleep alone, they followed me down the hall.
The next morning found me still awake, sitting up in bed, with my back against the headboard. Harold hadn’t returned the night before, but now I heard his car pulling into the garage, right at his usual time. I got out of bed, careful to not wake the kids. I slunk down the hall, intending to watch Harold for unusual behavior before approaching him. He was in the kitchen, putting his lunch containers in the sink, which was completely normal. He looked relaxed, so I calmly entered the kitchen and looked him over.
“Hey, sweetie. Been a rough night. We’re looking at more overtime this weekend, so I can’t go to your mom’s with you Sunday. Sorry, babe.” I stared at him. “Uh, I said sorry. I can’t help it if they make me work.” He rolled his shoulders like they were aching and went past me to head to the living room. Just then, Ike came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily. When he saw his dad, he froze.
“Ike isn’t at school? You sick, buddy?” His concern was met with silence from Ike. I spoke up. “All three kids are home today, Harold. We had a rough night, too. Partly because of you, it would seem.” Harold shot me a puzzled look. “The police were here pretty late.”
His puzzlement quickly turned to concern and anger. “Police? You should have called me to come home. What happened?”
“Daddy,” whispered Ike. “You scared us bad.”
“What? What is this? Karlie, what the hell is going on here?” Harold demanded.
I sat down at the table and, after a slight hesitation, Harold sat down, too. I explained to him the events of the previous night, and Harold’s expression went from confused to alarmed. “I never came home last night, Karlie. I think you need to start seeing someone, get some help.” Flabbergasted, I stared at him. I knew it was an unbelievable story, but it still stung.
“What about what Ike, Hunter, and Isabella?” I scowled, “you think they need help, too?”
“What I think is that they want to please you, or maybe they are still impressionable enough to be convinced of your, well, your delusions,” he ended with a wince. I knew he was uncomfortable saying this to me but I blew right up anyway.
“My delusions?” I shrieked. “The kids and I are here all night, alone, and we’ve been through hell and you have the nerve to say I’m just delusional?” He opened his mouth but I cut him off. “Any one of us could have been hurt last night, by someone who looked exactly like you, and I didn’t accuse you of anything! I could have called the cops the minute you walked in the door and they would have arrested you! But I didn’t. And do you know why? Do you? Because I believe you. You said it wasn’t you, it didn’t seem like you, so I went with it not being you.” I sat back and tried to calm down. Harold watched me warily and then turned to Ike. “Ike, go wake up our brother and sister. We’ll go get some breakfast, okay?” Ike didn’t move at first. “Ike?” I could tell Harold wanted to keep everything calm for the kids but this was serious, and he needed to take it that way.
“Dad”, said Ike. ”Listen to Mom. Hunter and I saw this thing first. Mom didn’t even believe us. It’s real, Dad. We’re scared.” He seemed so grown up in that moment. I was overcome with the pent up emotions and began to cry quietly. Harold leaned over and touched my shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. We’ll figure this out.” I wasn’t confident that we would. Nothing could get better until he knew what the problem was, and that the problem wasn’t me.
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I let Harold take us to breakfast. I thought it might do the kids some good to see he was okay and not a threat. It had shaken them up pretty badly to be afraid of their own dad, and I didn’t want that as a lasting image for them. I knew in my heart that it hadn’t been my husband I had faced last night. He would never try to physically hurt me, no matter the provocation. At the restaurant, the kids laughed and talked to him about other, more cheerful topics. Isabelle’s Kindergarten teacher had read a funny story to her class and she tried to act out the best parts, making us all laugh. Ike had his first crush, although at twelve years old, I wasn’t sure he was old enough to start all that. Hunter was the only quiet one. He ate his food and laughed at a few of Isabelle’s antics, but his heart wasn’t in it. I hurt for him.
Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Harold turned his attention to his youngest son. “Hunter, I bet you’re glad you aren’t at school today. We almost never get to have breakfast together.” He watched Hunter hopefully, but all the boy did was swallow his food and nod his head. His eyes were sad and Harold tried again. “Son, I don’t know what happened last night. I do know that you never have to be afraid of me. Not ever.”
“ I know, Dad. That’s not what’s bothering me.”
Obviously relieved to hear that, Harold prompted him, “Well then, what is it buddy?”
Hunter sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I can’t feel like everything is okay because it isn’t.” I agreed with him but I let him express his thoughts without interruption. “Whatever that thing is, a shadow, or a ghost, or whatever, it isn’t going away. We’re afraid to be in the dark, and we aren’t being babies.”
This is exactly what Harold needed, I thought. He needs to know that his kids are afraid and that they know what they are talking about.
“Well, Hunter,” said Harold, “I may not know what this ‘thing’ is that you and your mom are seeing, but I want to you know that you are safe.”
“No, we’re not!” shouted Ike. “You don’t know, Dad, you just said you don’t. How do you know we’re safe? This monster thing is awful and I don’t even want to go home!” Ike struggled valiantly against tears and stared at his dad, defiantly challenging him to deny the situation again. Harold sat in silence for a few minutes. “I need to make a call,” he muttered. He got up and walked away from the table, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I actually sympathized with Harold quite a bit. He was being asked to believe a wild tale without the benefit of seeing anything, and I don’t know that I would have reacted any better.
“Come on, kids,” I encouraged, “finish your breakfast. We’ll go home in a minute.”
By the time the kids had finished their meals, Harold was back at the table. “I’m taking a few days off,” he announced. “ I want to check this out for myself.” Everyone else heaved a sigh of sheer relief. We knew that Harold was no match for a spirit, or demon, or whatever this was, but we would all feel safer with him at home defending us.
During the first two nights, nothing happened, other than Harold’s perplexed reaction to three kids in our bedroom with us. We had made pallets on the floor to accommodate the extra bodies. The fact that even the boys didn’t want to be alone made an impression. We hadn’t raised them to be fearful, and Harold didn’t make any comment that might embarrass them.
The third night, we awoke to loud sounds coming from the kitchen. It was around midnight and Harold jumped up just as the kids jumped in bed on top of me. “I’ll go check it out,” he stated grimly. He grabbed a .22 pistol from the lockbox and headed down the hall. We waited in tense silence. After several minutes, Harold came back. He still had the gun, but it dawned on me that it wasn’t actually him. Horror filled me and I screamed for the kids to get under the bed and run as soon as the way was clear. I launched myself at “Harold” with a shrill war cry and tackled him before he could bring the gun up to shoot.
Powerful hands caught me, mid-leap, and I realized he’d dropped the gun to do it. I screamed for Harold as loud as I could, but I had no way of knowing what the creature had done to my husband to disarm him. I was thrown across the room and landed on the bed. “Harold” shifted back to the Shadow Man, so I knew that the evil thing didn’t possess Harold. My husband was still in the house somewhere. For now, my focus was on my kids. The Shadow had stopped chasing me once they were out of the house before, and that meant only one thing. It was hunting my children.
In the two and a half seconds it took me to process this, the creature had begun approaching the bed where I still lay and where my kids were still huddled beneath. It reached for the edge of the mattress, presumably to lift it up and get to them. I screamed in defiance and leapt back at it, trying to grab hold, but now that it was shadow I fell right through it onto my face. Stunned for only a breath of time, I got back up and yelled at the kids to scoot out and scatter. How could it touch solid objects if I couldn’t grasp it? How could I fight such a thing? The only option was to remove the kids from the equation; get them out and hope it stops again. Ike, Hunter, and Isabelle had obeyed me. They were small but quick and had practice chasing and evading one another. The creature was no match and they all managed to get out of the room and down the hall. It turned and watched them, then, when it seemed he sensed they had left the house, he just disappeared.
When the real Harold staggered into the room a few minutes later, I was still catching my breath. My ribs ached terribly, and I was pretty sure at least one was cracked. “Kids?” he puffed. “Where are the kids?”
“Outside. Probably back at the neighbors’.” Unfortunately, if the police were called again, I wasn’t entirely sure how to handle such a comparably trivial, but potentially disastrous situation.
In the end, Officer Davidson wasn’t the responding officer, so I had a new cop to reassure that all was well. I wasn’t very successful in convincing him either, but there was little he could do. Harold was a bit aggrieved at being viewed as a possible abuser, but even he understood how things looked to outsiders, and he was finally in the same boat I was in. Neither one of us waned to try to explain the real situation; not even to save face with the people next door.
The kids were back at home. Isabelle was curled in Harold’s lap, sleeping, and the boys were silently staring at the TV screen. “What else can we do, Harold?” I asked. “We can’t live here anymore. It isn’t safe.”
Harold’s face twisted into a grimace. “I know that, honey, but this isn’t some horror movie where people just abandon a house and start fresh in a new one. There’s no way we can swing the mortgage here and rent elsewhere. We have to sell the house, then move.”
I absolutely hated that notion, but it was reality. Budgets are the real horror we face in life, I guess. If we welshed on the mortgage, we wouldn’t have enough credit to rent a boat, let alone a home. We had to face facts. The boys glanced at me, their hopeful expressions fading as they saw we weren’t getting out yet.
“I feel so helpless,” I complained. “Well, that monster usually doesn’t show its ugly face for a awhile once it takes off. Maybe we can sell fast and get out before it comes back around.” It was true. Sometimes a few months passed before a sighting, so our chances weren’t as bad as they could have been. Still, the Shadow Man’s strength seemed to be increasing, and we still didn’t know any more about it than when we had started. That needed to change.
The next day, the kids were at school, and Harold and I were searching online for anything we could find about a similar being or stories of other people who’d experienced what we had. We saw a plethora of myths and urban legends about many different non-human entities, but it seemed like a dead end until I found a picture of the Shadow Man. Well, a rendering I suppose. Someone had drawn a shadow-like being, and it was tall like ours, and it was depicted as hovering over children while they slept. Chills sent goose bumps running all over me, and it took me a minute to recover before I could speak.
“H-Harold,” I stuttered. He glanced up. “This is it. This is the demon that is stalking our babies.”
Harold leaned over to see my screen and gasped. We read the short article but there was little information. It stated that the demon was a hunter of innocence and there was no known way to deter him from a target. I was terrified for my kids, and the terror transformed into rage, which was much easier to cope with. “No known way..” I murmured. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be done, just that the author of the article didn’t know.” It was all I had to cling to; the possibility that the author, in his ignorance, just couldn’t provide us with what we needed. It was infinitely better than the thought that we were helpless to protect our family. “We need more help. Do you remember- Oh right, that wasn’t you.” Harold looked understandably confused by my rambling. I told him about my thwarted call to Father Carter. “We need to get him involved. Maybe a move won’t even be necessary!” With renewed hope and purpose, we got into the car. We would speak to the priest in person, so he could consider our dilemma face to face.
Walking up to the doors of St Peter and Paul church, my confidence bloomed with giddy joy. Surely the church was prepared to handle this type of thing. Father Carter had only known me for the past year or so, but I was a lifelong Catholic, and devout at that. Our interview didn’t, however, go as I’d planned.
“You must understand,” intoned Father Carter, “the modern church just doesn’t have the same protocol in place as it used to. Demon possession is looked upon as, well, old school, you might say.” Father Carter was a very young priest. “There are still exorcists, but nowhere near local. I don’t do them, of course. I lack the proper training.” The Father’s excuses had me frothing with frustration.
“No, Father, I do not understand,” I tried to keep my tone respectful, but from the looks Harold sent my way, I failed miserably. “My kids are in danger, I only know what I read online, and it isn’t much, but the term predator is pretty suggestive that it’s a REALLY BIG DEAL and we need help. Today.”
Father Carter didn’t seem offended. “I do understand that, Mrs. Preston.” I silently disagreed. “However, there are certain limitations. I will forward your concerns on, of course, but for now you must have faith that all will be well.”
My entire life, I had had faith in God. Not just in some higher power that couldn’t be defined, but in God Himself. I knew He existed, but so did evil. You can’t believe in angels if you don’t believe in demons. My heart sank to my toes. I would pray, but I needed someone stronger than myself, someone who knew about what I was dealing with. If just anyone could exorcise a demon, we wouldn’t need trained exorcists, would we? Harold seemed as defeated as I felt when we finally shook Father Carter’s hand and thanked him for his time. It was time for Plan B.
If you’re ever curious about demon possession or exorcism, just Google it. I’m not kidding. You can get names of actual exorcists and read their stories of their experiences. It won’t reassure you by any means because some of it is plain terrifying, but if you need to know it can be done, this is where you verify it. After searching names and researching the most successful of the church’s warriors, I finally settled on one. It was time to take back our house.
The first thing I learned with continued research is that Father Carter was mistaken about the church no longer offering as much help in the case of demons and possessions. Alarmingly, I found that in the US alone, the number of exorcist trained and used by the church had increased from twelve to fifty in the past decade. Why he would be so wrong or worse, lie, escaped me, but I faced the possibility of having to work around him. I quickly searched for and found the contact information of a priest in New York that looked promising. He sometimes traveled to the victims and had participated in over fifty exorcisms. With the demon inhabiting the house rather than someone’s body I knew that traveling to him wasn’t an option. I had to get him to come to us.
It was surprisingly easy. Father Cornell asked very direct and precise questions over the phone, and then he told us to expect him in three days. I had very mixed feelings. If he was in such a hurry, on the one hand, it meant help was coming quickly, but one the other, it meant that he felt it was a serious enough situation to warrant an expedient response.
Three days later, I heard a sharp knock at the door. I opened the door and was immediately surprised. The man facing me was, well, diminutive, I guess. He came up to maybe 4’11” and had to crane his neck to look up at me. He was in his mid-sixties, wiry thin, and had a skinny gray mustache. There was a small messenger bag slung over one shoulder. “Hello, Father. Thank you so much for being here. Come in, please.” He stepped lightly over the threshold, looked left and right, and then proceeded into the house. “This is my husband, Harold.” They shook hands and I moved on. “This is Ike, Hunter, and little Isabelle.” The kids eyed him curiously. They were accustomed to adults towering over them, and Father Cornell was eye-to-eye with Hunter, and was a little shorter than Ike. “Nice to meet all of you,” Father Cornell greeted us. “I feel it’s best if we move things along. If what you are experiencing is what I believe it to be, then we have little time.” Chills went up my arms and I looked at Harold. He seemed as uneasy as I was.
“What is it, Father?” Harold questioned.
“Well, to put it bluntly, you have a demon infestation. Not a possession, mind you, although it will come to that if we don’t act now.”
Harold paled and I felt sick, but this is what we had expected and we knew we’d picked the right man for the job. Small or not, Father Cornell’s record was impressive and he didn’t seem afraid at all. Concerned, but not fearful. “We’ll do whatever you think best, Father. I would prefer if my wife and kids could go somewhere until this is over.” I was shocked by Harold’s words. I agreed that the kids needed to be out of it, but the thought of leaving my husband here to face a literal demon alone, even with the priest, didn’t set well with me. I needn’t have worried.
“No. It will follow its intended victim if he or she leaves the house. You must understand, these creatures are not weak and they are most certainly not stupid. They are quite literally fallen angels. If it has chosen one of your children, which is what I believe it sounds like, then your children will be better off with us, where we can offer protection.” At his words I was filled with a protective rage that was only ever triggered by threat to my babies. If that thing came after one of them, it was going to have to face me first. “I can tell how this makes you feel, Mrs. Preston, but allow me to caution you. You are no match for a demon, no matter your anger or courage. The best weapon you or anyone else has against it is God Almighty. I will be using every ounce of my faith and training to assist you and your family, but you should be aware that it will not be easy, and there are no guarantees. People can and do get hurt. People can and do die. I’m sorry to be so grim, but facts are facts and the more informed you are, the better. Do I still have your consent to perform the rituals needed?”
At first I could only stare at him in dismay. Harold answered for me and agreed to whatever the Father needed to do. They ushered the children into the kitchen and I offered to cook a light lunch. “It is required that we fast, Mrs. Preston, but thank you.” The priest and my husband were discussing the steps they needed to take but I couldn’t focus enough to be any help. I kept thinking about what could happen. Would one of my children be hurt in the next few days? Would I lose one of them? Somebody was in very real danger, but who was the chosen victim? Was it Isabelle? The demon had been in her room, hovering over her, but then he had been terrorizing my boys since before that. I posed my questions to Cornell, callously interrupting the men. “Well,” Cornell drawled thoughtfully, “it may not have made its choice just yet. If it has, I can say that they typically target youth approaching puberty. It is a very vulnerable time for people that age.” I glanced at Ike, who surprised me with his response. I had expected fear, but what I got was courage.
“I’m glad if it picked me,” he insisted. “I don’t want that nasty thing anywhere near Hunter or Isabelle. If it comes near me again, I’m not going to be so scared!”
Farther Cornell looked slightly alarmed. “Hold your horses, boy. It’d be better for everyone if it hasn’t gotten that far, and don’t think for a minute that I’ll be letting you take any chances. You never want to issue a challenge to a creature such as this. They hear you, and any invitation is going to be accepted.” Ike blanched and was quiet after that.
A short time later, we all tramped into the living room where we walked Cornell through where the demon was seen, what it was doing at the time, and Harold’s experience with it on the night he’d come into the kitchen armed with a gun. I had never heard his accounting of it. I’d been both relieved to see he was okay and terrified, so I hadn’t asked any questions, and he hadn’t burdened me with the story.
“I came in to the kitchen, and at first everything looked fine. The noise we’d heard sounded like a loud thump, so I looked around, expecting to see something that had fallen from a shelf. I had just turned to go back to bed when I felt something hit me from behind. It wasn’t a hard hit, but I went down anyway. I felt like my muscles were locked up or something. I could see the thing when it took the gun and drifted upstairs. I was so scared. I’m not sure how I was finally able to get back up and moving but once I had, it was all over.”
Father Cornell considered Harold’s words for a moment, then he asked the boys to recount their own experiences, then he asked the same of me. Only Isabelle had yet to speak, but she was so young, I wasn’t sure she could tell us much. “It certainly is getting stronger.” Father Cornell decided.
“I thought you said they were strong already,” Ike challenged.
Father Cornell smiled gently at him. “Yes, but it gets a stronger, more tangible hold on people or places with time. And with fear feeding it.” I flushed guiltily but the Father wasn’t finished. “It’s perfectly normal, and in fact sane, to be afraid, at least at first. But now you are being armed with information and of course, you have me to intercede on your behalf.”
“Where’d you get the power to do that, Father?” Hunter asked.
“Oh, the power isn’t mine.” He chucked at the bemused expressions his answer gave. “The power belongs to the All Powerful. To the Alpha and the Omega- to God, of course. I only borrow it for a bit. He loves us and wants us to be free of the taint of evil. He knows that on own we are subject to temptations and sin. It is this sin that allows the devil an opportunity.”
I butted in. “Sin and temptation? We read that this thing targets innocents! These are children! How does sin even enter into it?”
“I’m glad you asked. You see, people assume that children remain innocent and free of sin until full adulthood. This just isn’t so. Once a child is old enough to know right from wrong, and to feel genuine temptation of the flesh, he or she is old enough to sin. That’s why puberty is such a vulnerable time. Boys and girls notice one another, and, as innocent as it all seems, it opens a door.”
Father Cornell took a small vial of oil from his bag, along with an ancient bible, and began dabbing oil on our foreheads, intoning in Latin. “Credo in unum Deum, tertio die resurrexit.” He went on and I didn’t really know enough Latin to follow it all. At some point, I noticed there was a reaction from Ike. I had looked over at him and did a double take. He didn’t just look angry, he was furious! His little fists were clenched at his sides and he was sweating heavily. His eyes were so wide they bugged out and his cheek was twitching. The Father had noticed and sidled over to him. He laid his hand gently on Ike’s forehead and began to pray. “In Jesus’ name, I rebuke thee,” he said in English. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit I exorcise you from this innocent child. Leave now, I command thee. LEAVE NOW!” he had begun to shout and Ike had started thrashing and kicking at the father. Harold went to restrain his son and I began to cry softly. There was no denying the truth. My son was possessed.
After nearly an hour, Ike finally slumped into his daddy’s arms and the sweaty, exhausted priest lowered himself to the sofa. “Is it done? Is he free?” I asked in a small voice.
“No. Not yet.” He saw my face and added, “The demon is quite strong, as I said before. It needs to be worn down a bit before it’ll leave. This isn’t going to be easy on anyone. I’m truly sorry. It’s what I expected. I’ll stay with you, day and night, until it’s done.”
Somewhat reassured, I followed Harold as he carried an exhausted Ike to his bedroom. “He must not be left alone, or unrestrained.” I stopped in my tracks.
“You want me to tie up my child? Are you serious?”
“Oh, quite serious, Mrs. Preston. The boy could harm himself or someone else. You must remember if the demon takes the wheel, it will be a monster calling the shots, not your sweet-natured, gentle son.”
Reluctantly, I allowed the priest to bind my son with restraints he dug from his messenger bag. He also laid a crucifix on Ike’s chest. Ike never even flickered an eyelid; he was out.
“Now, what?” Harold sounded even more tired than the old priest looked.
“We begin again.” He sounded grim. Any rest we give Ike is also rest we give the demon.”
My heart was breaking, but I had to ask a question. “We keep calling this thing ‘the demon’. What’s its name?”
“Saying it out loud in casual conversation would be a grave error, Mrs. Preston. Names have too much power. I will invoke its true name in a few moments. Prepare yourselves, and keep the little ones well away.”
I guided Isabelle and Hunter to the far corner of the room. I had given them some books and toys but I was pretty sure this was going to be a harrowing experience for them. Only the thought of them being put in harm’s way without protection kept me from challenging the priest’s edict that they remain with us throughout.
Cornell began chanting, again in Latin, and invoked the monster’s name. He demanded the demon leave Ike and our home and he invoked the name of Jesus so many times it was a mantra. He swayed and sweated and I worried he was too old and too weak for this, but he had explained that it was God’s strength he leaned on, not his own. Ike woke up after awhile, but the voice I heard come from him wasn’t his own. I always thought that Hollywood added that little detail to movies to make possession seem even scarier, but it is a real thing. Also, he spoke Latin, which my twelve year old did NOT speak. “Vitam non erit!” Ike screamed. ‘There will be no life eternal’. It would give me nightmares for years to come to hear my baby saying that. Was the demon planning to kill Ike? Was he referring to my son’s soul? Could he damn him somehow? Quivering and almost coming apart, I grabbed Harold’s hand and we both began to pray. I kept my eyes on Ike the whole time and prayed harder than I ever had.
“Dear Lord, I have always believed in You, and I know You’re in control. Please save my baby. Please get the evil out of him so he can be all right. Please God, please, God.”
I continued begging, devoid of pride, doubt, or fear. I knew God could do this. If ever I had needed physical proof that God exists it was right here, proven by the existence of a demon. Father Cornell shot me a glance of approval and continued to chant. I have no idea how much time passed, or what was said by either the demon or the priest. All I could do was hold on to Harold’s hand and beg for intercession from Jesus. My legs trembled and my free hand shook, but I kept praying, alternating between praising Jesus and asking for His help. Finally, there was blessed silence.
I looked over at Cornell and he nodded to us. Ike had gone quiet and his eyes were closed. His breathing began to slow and he stopped perspiring. Eventually, he slowly opened his eyes.
“Baby,” I sobbed. “Are you OK?” I couldn’t stop the tears and they ran freely even as I tried to be quiet to hear his voice.
He opened his mouth and, for a terrible moment I thought I’d hear a deeper, more sinister voice coming from his mouth. “Mom,” he croaked. “I’m so thirsty.” I giggled with hysterical joy. “I’ll get you some water, sweetie.” I spun around to go to the kitchen.
“NO!” shouted Father Cornell. Startled, I froze. “You must not leave this room. Not yet. I have water for the boy.” He took a bottle of water from his bag. “We can’t be certain that the demon is truly gone. If you leave, it will give it the opportunity to leave with you. When I bound your son, I also put in place some precautions. It may leave, but only in its spirit form. If it takes you, we might not know for months, and you could harm your family.” He carefully gave Ike a long pull from the bottle. Terrified of what I had nearly done, I sat on the end of the bed. It was going to be a long night.
The younger kids had fared better than I would have expected, and now were sleeping in the floor. I was grateful they had held up so well. I had been so preoccupied with Ike that I had barely even looked their direction. Guilt plagued me but there was nothing I could do about it now.
Father Cornell was leaning over Ike when I realized we were in serious trouble.
The priest’s eyes were closed and he was applying more oil to Ike’s head, praying softly. I saw Ike’s eyes open and glance up at the Father slyly. I’d just opened my mouth to shout a warning when Ike craned his head up farther than I would have thought he could reach and bit Cornell right on the chin. Cornell cried out in pain and surprise, and Harold and I both rushed to the bedside. Harold grabbed the priest by the shoulders and tried in vain to pull him back, and I put my hands on either side of Ike’s face, begging him to let go. Ike’s eyes were not his own. There was an evil that I couldn’t fathom and I had to look away. I kept begging and there was enough blood running down Ike’s chin that I feared he would actually come away with part of Cornell’s flesh in his mouth. Finally, Ike began to laugh; a deep, rolling belly laugh that opened his mouth enough that Harold and Cornell jerked back, away from the bed. Terrified of my own child, I backed up several paces, and then turned away. I became aware of Isabelle and Hunter in the corner of the room, crying, and went to them. They wrapped around me and we just held each other as Harold tended to the priest’s face. My worry for Ike was a living, breathing creature of its own, eating away at my gut like a voracious parasite. I wanted my child safe and felt powerless to make it happen.
Once Father Cornell’s face was cleaned and bandaged, he resumed his prayers and meditation. The three of us were still fasting, as per the Father’s request. The only food that had been brought in was in the form of a few apples for the younger kids. They had gone back to sleep; it was now 4 AM.
Ike was staring silently upward, not even blinking. He had strands of saliva dribbling down the corners of his mouth, and his face was flushed. Father Cornell had made a decision. “I’m calling for reinforcement,” he announced. “With more help, we will have the strength needed to allow you and the kids to stay in another room safely, and I won’t have to stretch my own resources to keep going without a break. I’ll call in a couple of priests and a few nuns to assist. We aren’t done yet.” His determination gave me comfort. He wasn’t giving up on Ike. Cornell made his calls and Harold and I lied down on the floor near Hunter and Isabelle and tried to rest.
I awoke with a start and immediately became of aware of two things. Harold, Hunter, and Isabelle were no longer in the room, but several new faces were. Help had arrived. “Forgive me, Mrs. Preston,” murmured Cornell. “I had thought to let you rest and sent everyone else to the bedroom next door. They are waiting for you there.” I peered around and made eye contact with each of the priests and nuns in Ike’s bedroom. Gratitude is too weak a word to describe what I felt toward them. I slowly got up, stretching stiff muscles, and padded from the room without speaking.
When I went to Isabelle’s room, I found both kids on the bed sleeping and Harold was standing near the window, staring into the dawn. He looked at me as I came in and held his hand out to me. I went to him and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I shuddered and clung to him. “It’ll be okay now, baby. It’ll be okay.” I wondered if he believed that. I tried to. I turned to watch the sun rise with him, hoping that a new day would hold my son’s salvation.
An hour later, the screams began. Nuns and priests alike chanted at the top of their lungs, praying and demanding the demon exit my son. The screams from Ike, however, were far more disturbing. He would, in a deep baritone, yell profanities in English, switch to Latin, and then finally, in Ike’s own little boy voice, beg me to come save him. My heart broke at that and I wanted to go to him, but I knew it was a trick. I held my hands over my ears and rocked back and forth, sitting in the floor. Harold held Hunter and Isabelle, and crooned a song to them to soothe their fears. It went on and on and I thought I would die from grief and stress. I would have willingly died right then and there if it could’ve saved my son from this torment. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I drew my hands away from my head. There was nothing, No screams. No chants. I looked up at Harold. He looked relieved and my heart soared with hope. I shot to my feet when I heard a soft knock at the door. Harold got there first and opened the door to see the exhausted but triumphant face of Father Cornell.
“Ike is fine,” he assured us. At his words I broke down. Sobbing, I asked to see my son and he stepped aside, letting us pass. I rushed to Ike’s room and froze in the doorway. Ike was sitting up in bed, no longer restrained. His hair was mussed and sweaty and he looked beautiful. A nun was fussing over him, giving him water and wiping his face with a towel. He smiled at me and it was like seeing heaven. I fell to my knees and praised God, thanking Him for this precious gift. This was not only Ike’s salvation, but that of our entire family. I went to him then and Harold and I held our son, crying and laughing. Father Cornell led the others out of the room and gave us some time alone.
After his ordeal, Ike was exhausted. I had Harold carry him to our room to sleep. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being in that room for another second. In my mind and heart, it was tainted. Father Cornell assured us that this was not the case, the demon was purged, but my home no longer felt safe.
Father Cornell was waiting for us in the living room. He had already sent the others back to the churches they had come from. “No thanks are necessary, Mrs. Preston,” he insisted. “I am called upon by God to fight His battles and help whomever I can. This is what I was born to do, and I expect nothing from you. Be well, and be blessed.” He walked out to his car, and we followed, watching him leave. Harold and I turned to one another, joined our hands, and went back into the house. I made a mental note to call a realtor. We were going to get a fresh start.
THE END