Four Nights With The Devil

by Peter Hockley

  TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT

  IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TONIGHT!

  A whole new terror paralysed me instantly. The demon had me pinned and we both knew it.

  THE MOMENT YOU WALK OUT OF THAT GATE YOU’RE GOING TO BE STRUCK BY LIGHTNING!

  I was really panicking now and took a step backwards. I made frightened excuses to myself, rethinking my plan on the spot. Maybe it was more sensible to go back inside the house, call Debbie and get her to come back in the car and pick me up. That was the original plan anyway, wasn’t it? For her to come and get me.

  REMEMBER THE LIGHTNING? HOW IT STRUCK YOU DOWN?

  I felt it all over again: the electricity tearing its way through my body, from head to toe, killing me instantly.

  TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT, PETER. THAT DREAM WAS A PROPHECY

  I had read somewhere once – not long after having the dream and while the memory of it still haunted me – that before a lightning strike the victim feels the electrical field building around them; their skin tingles and their hair crackles and stands on end. Now, immobilised at the gate, I was sure I could feel the hair on my forearms fizzle and become upright.

  YOU ARE MINE!

  YOU’RE GOING TO HELL TONIGHT.

  YOU REMEMBER THOSE FLAMES, DON’T YOU?

  And now I saw myself for the thousandth time lying motionless in a chasm of deep darkness, as a red-hot cloud of fire swelled to consume me.

  Hell.

  Forever.

  I looked straight up. Only the thinnest wisps of cloud were spread across the sky. Stars were visible and nothing at all indicated thunder, but reason and sense had abandoned me yet again; only the devil’s threats came back, menacing as always and enough to convince me that any movement outside the gate would be the last action of my life, before lightning struck and hellfire devoured me.

  He’s a liar, Peter. You’ve got to move

  I answered that voice with my own, petrified and no more than a whisper. “I want to, but I’m scared.”

  He’s a liar. He tells lies - it’s all he does.

  Remember, he told you that he would kill you if you phoned Debbie - he didn’t. He said he would kill your mother with that fire - he didn’t

  I looked over my shoulder at Mum, who still stood by the front door, watching to ensure that I got away safely.

  He also told you in your bedroom that you were dead and in hell already. How can that be true if he now tells you that you are going to die here and go to hell?

  I made a move for the gate.

  REMEMBER THOSE FLAMES!

  HELL! HELL!

  It was just a dream, Peter. A dream.

  You have to move. Now go - GO!

  It took an enormous amount of courage, but I was suddenly out of the garden and hurrying – at exactly the same spot outside of my house as in the dream, right where the lightning bolt struck. No thunder sounded and no lightning flashed. Quickly, I went on my way, looking back only to give a half wave to my mother. I only moved from the gate because of that voice. The voice of an angel—maybe God Himself—literally drove me to move, urging me to take one step after another.

  Keep going. Don’t stop

  If my friends had lived any further distance than they did I would never have made it. My head jerked and my body thrashed the whole journey. I staggered and stumbled along the pavement, more than once almost falling into the road. As I got ever closer to the Christian family’s home, I heard satan crisp and clear. His words pounded in my head with every footstep and echoed so loudly it drowned out all other noise. It was as though satan walked beside me – the devil and his captive, alone in the universe. Evil threats and murderous suggestions rang in my ears all the way.

  WHEN YOU GET TO THE HOUSE, GO STRAIGHT TO THE KITCHEN.

  PICK UP THE BIGGEST KNIFE YOU CAN FIND AND KILL THEM.

  KILL THEM ALL!

  It hurt to have such words inside me. I was still scared of what was going to happen next—not only frightened by what satan could possibly do when I reached Debbie’s house, but I also wavered between confidence and uncertainty over how much the Christians who waited for me there could really help. Battling demon spirits and my own fear, I put up the best fight I could against both foes. “I won’t do it. I won’t!”

  YOU ARE GOING TO PICK UP A KNIFE AND KILL THEM!

  “No, I won’t. They’re my friends. I’d never hurt them!”

  I MADE YOU DRAW ON YOUR OWN FACE!

  WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I CAN’T MAKE YOU STAB THOSE ------- PEOPLE?

  The horror of the fact that the devil had already used my own body against me struck me hard. My stomach churned and my pace slowed almost to a stop. Back at home, straightening my appearance had not even crossed my mind, so the black biro pen marks were still visible on my cheeks and forehead. The house was close and, in my mind’s eye, images of the slaughter of Debbie’s whole family replayed continuously. My hands twitched and shook as I walked, much slower now. I stared down at the ground and could have sworn that blood already covered my shoes.

  Keep going. You must not stop now

  Your friends will help you

  I walked through the front gate of the small semi-detached house, genuinely afraid that, against my will, I was about to stab five people to death. It was Debbie who opened the door and welcomed me in, just seconds after I rang the bell. I entered, wearily, my body shattered by fatigue. Deb backed up and filled the pathway to the right that lead to the kitchen. Laying a surprisingly firm hand on my shoulder, she guided me in the direction of the living room, where the rest of the family was gathered. There was such power in her touch, I surrendered to it and all thoughts of violence evaporated. Every vision of murder disappeared immediately.

  As an atheist, growing up without any belief in God and having no care to understand Christian faith, the only pictures of Christianity that formed in my mind came from what I saw on TV. The Hollywood version of God. When I stepped through Debbie’s house I imagined I would find Auntie Margaret and her daughters on their knees in a room glowing with candle light, their hands together in whispered prayer, with a giant wooden cross suspended on the wall; perhaps even a huge statue of Jesus or the Virgin Mary weeping tears of blood (I had seen that in a movie before).

  What I found instead were my friends sat around the brightly lit living room as normal, relaxed and watching the television. I couldn’t believe it. No one asked how I was feeling, questioned me about the nature of my devilish experience, how it began and the details of events back at home, or even whether I was still suffering the satanic oppression at all. None of them showed the slightest hint of fear or trepidation – they only greeted me quietly and went back to the TV. It looked like every other day I had ever been there.

  Don’t they know what I’m going through? I thought, as Debbie ushered me into an armchair next to Auntie Margaret. Can’t they see the biro pen on my face?

  My friends knew what I had been through and they could clearly see the demonic graffiti on my face. However, they also believed that victory over satan was already achieved. They had prayed long and earnest prayers before my arrival. As far as they were concerned the battle was over and now it was merely a question of waiting for my deliverance to manifest. There was no mention of what had happened or what, if anything, I would need to do next. They all just sat quietly and watched the TV. It was all that was needed. I knew none of this as I took my seat beside Auntie, but their calm was effective in easing my own nerves. Debbie brought me a blanket to warm my shivering body and also something to drink, before she settled into another armchair on my opposite side. The only sound in the room was from the television.

  Some kind of Christian preaching show was on. A middle-aged, snow-white haired American, dressed in a suit and tie and not any kind of religious robes, delivered a sermon in a very animated and passionate fashion. As I sat and listened to my first ever Christian message, the man’s joyous character chimed with me. It wasn’t what he was preaching that made such an im
pression, but the way he preached it. He was smiling and laughing, filled with a liveliness and jubilance I had never connected with Christianity before. I grew up witnessing only the stoical face of organized religion and had never seen the heart of pure Christian faith. My impression of Christianity was one of standing ramrod straight in a pew inside a cold and damp church. I thought that everyone in attendance had to be oh-so-serious, pious and austere—never smiling and never laughing, instead worshipping God dutifully and silently. I thought that you were only allowed inside a church if you checked your emotions at the door first.

  The preacher’s exuberance and cheer was transferred to his audience. The camera showed the congregation; not sour, depressed and drawn like I remembered from churches in the past, but their faces seemed to glow with light, displaying all happiness and joyous contentment. Young and old alike, they were all radiating a deep and genuine peace, in possession of an otherworldly power that calmed them, removed all troubles and satisfied them to the core of their heart and soul. The treasure I had sought all my life was there, I could see it at last, among the people on the screen in front of me.

  At times, the wide-grinning preacher was very funny. He shared different experiences from his own life, which related to faith and connected to the Bible and told it all with a humour that made my friends in the room laugh out loud along with the man’s on-screen audience. Though I didn’t fully understand what he was talking about, ignorant of real Christianity, I even found a thin smile appearing on my own face.

  The programme ended and another show began, with a different preacher, smiling and just as happy as the first. For more than half an hour I was glued to the TV, when I realized I could barely hear the devil speaking anymore. Yes, his voice was still there, I could hear it, but it was little more than a faint whisper. Rather than coming in a constant bombardment, there were long moments of silence when I couldn’t hear demons at all. I felt relaxed and untroubled; my heart was filled with a soothing tranquillity. It was as if peace itself had materialised in the room and descended upon me the way a feather floats gently down to earth, or like snowflakes falling on the ground. I wasn’t afraid anymore. The devil, when I did recognise his voice in my mind, still said all the same things as before:

  I hate you!

  You’re mine!

  But it didn’t worry me at all. satan’s threats no longer carried any fear and I felt no danger whatsoever. I didn’t care what he said to me. The calm and serenity I felt sitting in Debbie’s living room was such a shield around me that nothing the devil launched at me could penetrate it.

  The effervescent ministers on the television helped, not only in assuring me of safety from the devil but, at the same time, those charismatic preachers made me much more at ease with what I knew I had to do next—become a Christian and surrender my life to Jesus Christ.

  We sat watching one Christian television programme after another. Two hours passed in a breath. Demonic voices were barely perceptible. Finally, Auntie Margaret switched the TV set off, while Becky, Sharon and Esther stood up together, bade us good night and went single-file up to bed. With the television off, a hush expanded to fill the room. All attention was on me and I felt as if I was standing on the edge of the Great Unknown. The sound of Auntie’s voice broke the silence, jarring me.

  “So, Pete.” The lady paused and I looked, seeing a warm smile directed at me. There was no preamble when Auntie Margaret spoke again. She didn’t beat around the bush, coming right out with a pointed question: “Do you feel ready to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?”

  I could have fallen out of the chair with shock. Surely that was a rhetorical question. After this hellish night I was hardly likely to say no. After the horror of demonic possession, enduring the torment of evil spirits, the fear of death and eternal damnation, having had the devil himself speak through me, attack my face, scratch and claw my body, lash out at walls with my fists, and after suffering innumerable threats to kill me, my mother and my friends, ready or not ready, whatever it took, there was only one answer and I gave it without hesitation: “Yes, Auntie. I think now is the right time.”

  Auntie Margaret leaned closer and explained that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, Who became a man and died on a cross for my sins and those of the whole world. By calling on Him, she said, in repentance and by accepting what He had accomplished for me through His death and resurrection, I would be forgiven of all sins and enter an unbreakable, everlasting relationship with God, through Christ. His Holy Spirit would enter and renew my own spirit, transforming the rottenness of my deep, spiritual darkness to bright and joyous life. It sounded wonderful. After years travelling a barren, fruitless road, searching for fulfilment and enduring contentment of soul, the prize was at last, mercifully, in sight. Every part of my being groaned in aching anticipation of finally finding rest.

  Auntie was still smiling. “OK, shall we pray? I’ll help you, Pete, just repeat after me.” Across the room, I saw Debbie bow her head and the gravity of the moment really hit me. Many times I had heard my friend talk about her Christianity, her Bible and her faith, but it was another thing entirely to witness her about to pray; the same Debbie with whom I had laughed and joked and shared many happy memories was preparing to commune with God. It was both encouraging and immensely humbling at the same time. I closed my eyes and bowed my own head. Then, from my heart and out through my lips, I prayed an honest and sincere prayer to God in heaven; to the Father, in the Name of His Son, Jesus Christ.

  In less than one minute, around half-past-midnight on Tuesday 10th December 2002, Peter Hockley—who swore that he would never do it—became a Christian. I died and was resurrected.

  I was born again.

  I sat in the armchair afterward with a feeling of unimaginable bliss. Euphoria beyond comprehension filled me. My heart and spirit had been cleansed. It was as if pure, divine water had flushed away every base and corrupt thing within me. I was completely free from the sins of my past, all regrets were gone, and that miserable anguish I had carried for years had been instantly cut away; the echoing chasm in my soul was quieted, made complete and whole. I felt like a different person – a brand new man. My entire outlook on life had suddenly and irreversibly shifted. It was like discovering that black was really white and white, in fact, was black. It wasn’t a case of things turning upside down – they had always been so – now they were turned right-side-up.

  The greatest part of all was the revelation that God loved me. It was so strong, I didn’t merely know it was true, the reality of it penetrated and permeated me. Love flowed inside of me like a waterfall. Happiness and security was mine. I had peace with God, abundant peace, which rang out like the bells of heaven.

  There was another thing, too: Silence. satan’s voice was completely gone. I no longer heard anything from him; it was as if someone had simply shut the door in his unholy face. The sensations of misery and hopelessness were replaced by a feeling of utter soundness and sufficiency.

  I didn’t think it was possible for things to get any better than they were at that moment. And then Auntie Margaret said she wanted to pray for me and when she did, things got better.

  Laying a hand on my arm, Auntie prayed and thanked God for my salvation. I had never heard anything like it. Whenever I had seen praying on TV, in the movies, it always seemed very formal and ritualistic, words spoken in a slow and monotonous voice. Auntie prayed with a passion and zeal that I had never imagined before. Her voice was strong and packed with emotion. As she spoke, commanding all demons to leave me and asking God to fill me to overflowing – to baptise me – with His Holy Spirit, amazingly, I began to feel warmth in my arm where her fingers lay. I first supposed it was nothing more than body heat, however, inexplicably, the warmth increased, like that generated by the friction of rubbing palms together; although it couldn’t have been, because Auntie’s hand never moved – it just rested on my forearm. Even through the fabric of my sweatshirt the level of heat rose incredibly fa
st and spread. Within seconds my whole arm glowed with the same heat, running down to my fingertips and upwards to my shoulder. It was lovely and made my body tremble with delight.

  Auntie prayed. The fire moved across my chest, reaching every area and intensifying with a peculiar, yet lovely, tingling sensation. I was an empty vessel and the glory of divinity, the power of life itself, was being poured into me. It was the most exhilarating feeling I have ever known. No drug or earthly pleasure could compare to what I experienced. My whole being was aflame with pleasant pins and needles; like ten thousand volts of electricity - only it was harmless and invigorating. Wave after incredible wave of ecstasy coursed through me; love gushed up, brimming till it overflowed. Twenty-one years without knowing God’s holy presence and now He was giving me such a loving embrace that all those years of empty loneliness were swallowed up and forgotten. It wasn’t long before tears came and, once they did, like the dam that burst, they issued forth in an unending cascade.

  I felt no humiliation in front of my friend and her mother, as I had done shedding a trickle of tears in Debbie’s presence at St Anne’s. To be the recipient of God’s absolute acceptance was too great a joy for me to be embarrassed. Now, I happily cried a river and more. Unashamed, my head rocked back and I wailed and wept. From the depths of my heart, coming up as a sweet spring, I heard a soft, comforting voice that seemed to ripple and echo right through my spirit, soul and body – ending as a beautiful melody in my ears.

  You’re forgiven, Peter! You’re free!