* * *
After the call from Father Hayes, Joe and I arranged to visit the Villanova family on November 2, All Souls’ Day on the Catholic calendar, where priests recite the Office of the Dead and the faithful pray that the suffering of souls in Purgatory will be eased. Because we had no idea of what we would be up against, we made some dangerous mistakes. First, since we’d only been asked to videotape an interview for the exorcist to evaluate—and were told that the parish priest would join us afterward—Joe and I went to the house alone, without our usual team of investigators. Not expecting to perform any religious rituals ourselves, we packed a minimal supply of holy water and other sacramentals. In retrospect, this was a lot like patrolling a high-crime area with a gun loaded with only one bullet. Fortunately, as it turned out, I also armed myself with my most potent relic, a splinter of the True Cross.
As we parked outside Dominick Villanova’s modest two-family house in Yonkers, I noticed a Catholic chapel down the street. Ed Warren, a well-known demonologist I’ve worked with, always says that the Devil likes to operate in the shadow of a church, and I’ve found that he’s right. It’s amazing how many of my cases take place within sight of a house of worship. Don’t get me wrong: Having a church close by doesn’t automatically make you a target for the demonic. Lots of people live near religious centers and never have a problem. But if something else, like a curse or satanic rituals, happens to draw an evil power your way, having a holy place nearby can heighten the spirit’s hatred and fury.
Although I have a firm rule against getting emotionally involved with the people I help, I nearly lost it as soon as Dominick answered the door with his five-year-old son at his side. The first thing I noticed was how frightened the little guy looked. He had that blank, bewildered stare kids get right after they scream themselves awake from a nightmare—except this child had no soothing reality to wake up to and no escape from fear could be found in his mother or father’s arms. Looking at his skinny body and unexpectedly big feet, I thought, This kid should be out kicking a soccer ball around, not feeling scared out his mind in his own home!
His father also wore a shell-shocked expression. He was a tall, bald man of about forty-five and wore thick glasses. With his slumped shoulders and air of defeat, he reminded me of a dazed prizefighter stumbling around the ring, waiting for the next blow to land. Seeing how confused and upset he was, I immediately sympathized. As a man, I could only guess at how utterly impotent he must have felt having to stand by and watch his family being assaulted by some nameless horror.
He led us to a living room that looked like a refugee camp. Not only was it packed with sad, somber people who all appeared ill and exhausted, but along each wall were haphazard piles of clothing and rolled-up bedding. Was the entire family sleeping in here? I’d seen that in other cases, where people became so unnerved by supernatural events that they ceased to exist as individuals and refused to go anywhere in their house alone, even to the bathroom. A home is supposed to be a safe haven where you relax at the end of the day, a place of peace and comfort, but that clearly wasn’t true in any room of this house. And as I was soon to discover, the basement held a special kind of fear.
“Sorry about the mess,” Dominick said. Struggling for the right words to explain the inexplicable, he added, “There’s been a lot of, uh, trouble here.”
Knowing how important it is to establish rapport and get people to confide in us when we go into their homes as complete strangers, Joe took control of the interview in a friendly but businesslike manner instead of letting the father ramble on. From his long experience as a polygraph examiner, he’s become very skillful at reading people, defusing volatile emotions, and getting to the truth. “Mr. Villanova, I’m Joe Forrester and this is my partner, Ralph Sarchie. As you know, we’re here at Father Hayes’s request to investigate the problems you’re having. You have agreed to have us here, and know we don’t charge anything for our services.”
“Call me Dominick,” the father replied, sounding steadier, then introduced us to his wife, Gabby, a striking woman in her early forties. She had thick black hair with streaks of pure white on each side of her face and such strongly defined features that she resembled a figurehead engraved on a coin. Although overweight, she had a flamboyant style: Her dress was a vivid red, printed with colorful birds, and several large, silver bracelets jangled on each of her wrists. In younger, happier days, she was probably the life of the party, but right now, despite the exuberance of her clothing, she seemed very nervous, lighting cigarette after cigarette with trembling hands. Before asking this couple, their four children, and three friends who were gathered here to relate their stories, we gave each of them a St. Benedict medal to wear around their neck. This saint performed many miracles and had great power against demons.
After I put a medal on DJ (Dominick Junior), the little boy, something very peculiar happened. Just seconds later, the medal tumbled to the ground, even though the string it was on hadn’t broken. I carefully checked the string and replaced the medal—only to find it on the floor a second time, and then a third. This was one bold demon to fling around a saint’s medal that had been personally blessed by the Bishop right in front of our eyes! Most evil spirits are cowardly and hide from holy water, religious medals, and relics. Only the most powerful satanic forces, the true devils, can manipulate sacred objects.
During the interview, we gradually discovered just how dangerous this devil really was. Initially, it attacked with stealth, appearing in Gabby and Dominick’s bedroom one autumn evening in its own hellishly inspired Halloween disguise. “My room got very cold, but it wasn’t a cold night,” Gabby said, gesturing so emphatically that her bracelets clanked. “In the corner of the room I saw white smoke, and out of this smoke came a woman. I could see her from the waist up. I was staring and screamed for my friend, who came running in with my husband. ‘Do you see her?’ I asked, and they said no, they didn’t. She said her name was Virginia Taylor. That’s all I remember.”
Dominick, however, remembered a little more. “For about three minutes, my wife was in a trance and Virginia spoke through her. ‘No harm, no fear,’ she said—in other words, we shouldn’t be scared. ‘I just want your help,’ she said, but she didn’t say why she wanted help. I shook my wife awake, and the last thing she said before she came to herself was ‘help, parents.’”
Despite “Virginia’s” reassuring remark, Joe and I already recognized her for what she was—a demon operating under an alias. But there was one mistake in this masquerade that revealed the supposed human spirit was literally blowing smoke: It took the form of a woman only from the waist up. That’s typical of the demonic; they always give themselves away with some abnormality of appearance when they try to manifest themselves as human beings.
Also characteristic of an infernal force was the demon’s divide-and-conquer strategy. By showing itself to only one person, it sowed the seeds of panic, confusion, and self-doubt. Is this really happening—or am I just imagining it? victims in such cases will ask themselves. Often they are reluctant to tell their friends or family what’s happening to them, fearing that people will think they’ve lost their mind. Instead, they withdraw into themselves, feeling more and more alone in their bizarre ordeal. This, of course, is the goal of the demonic, since self-doubt and emotional turmoil eat away at their prey’s will, paving the way for possession.
So far, this is all standard operating procedure for the demonic—but there was an unusual twist in this case. Rather than wear at Gabby’s nerves with the unsettling ploys of infestation—the first stage of diabolical activity in most cases, marked by such unnerving events as midnight knockings, peculiar phone calls, or tormented animal cries—the satanic spirit was hell-bent on full-blown oppression from the start. Oppression is the second stage of diabolical activity, and involves terrifying mental and physical attacks on the victim. The way it behaved in Gabby’s bedroom reminded me a little of police calls I’ve responded to where people are a
ctually held prisoner in their own home, because they invited someone to stay with them for a short time, then had their guest take over their house.
This “guest” was quite charming at first. The next day, according to Gabby, the spirit returned in broad daylight, while she was down in the basement. “My attention was directed to a large mirror we have hanging there, and in it I saw Virginia,” she reported. “Again she said, ‘Parents, help,’ then told me she’d been in finishing school abroad and had followed her parents here. In quaint, old-fashioned speech, she said, ‘What manner of place is this?’ Upon looking around the room and at me, she asked, ‘What manner of dress is this?’ I answered that this is how we dress in the 1990s, but she insisted that the year was 1901. I felt no fear of her, and we had a lengthy conversation.”
Joe and I were impressed by how cleverly the spirit slowly unfolded its intricate tale, like a spider spinning a web to catch unwary prey. Ever so smoothly it was drawing Gabby in, plying this suburban housewife with girl talk about fashions and finishing school—a sly tactic to suggest that this was a ghost of great refinement. I also noticed the subtle bid for a mother’s sympathy: The so-called ghost had somehow lost her parents and wanted to be reunited with them.
Gabby was enthralled and couldn’t wait to hear the next installment of the spirit’s intriguing soap opera. Yet her intuition was already warning her about Virginia’s true nature. “The third time she came to me was also in the basement. I felt her presence and said, ‘If you wish to speak, do not enter me. I’ll relate whatever you say.’ She paid no attention and immediately entered me. When she came into me, her voice was stuttering, and she kept saying ‘Parents, help.’”
Although Gabby didn’t fully grasp what was happening to her—and her suspicions were blunted by the spirit’s lies about “no harm, no fear”—on some level she knew her mind and body were under siege. Instinctively she resisted having the spirit invade her body—but not forcefully enough. A demon has no respect for human pleas, requests, or even orders for it to depart unless the command is made in the name of Jesus Christ.
Despite her misgivings about the bullying spirit that had forced itself on her against her wishes, she found its voice so seductive that she couldn’t stop listening. Apparently sensing that it was time to turn up the drama, the alleged ghost returned with theatrical flair when Gabby was talking to another resident of the house, Ruth. This middle-aged woman and her twenty-five-year-old son, Carl, had recently moved in, after Carl became engaged to the Villanovas’ oldest daughter, Luciana. As the two women sat in the future bride’s bedroom, chatting about the upcoming marriage, the spirit offered a tearjerking tale of woe.
This time she didn’t bother with smoke or mirrors or any physical manifestation. Instead, the spirit seized control of the housewife’s mind and communicated telepathically, while Gabby answered out loud. “Virginia was crying hysterically, and I kept asking what was the matter. She told me she’d been murdered on her wedding day! Her fiancé was falsely accused of the murder—and was so grief-stricken that he committed suicide in prison. Only after his death did they find out that they had the wrong man. I asked who had murdered her. Her reply was ‘Must not say.’”
The human con artists I’ve arrested weren’t half as good bullshitters as that, which is probably why they’re in jail now. I remember one guy who had the gall to impersonate a police officer in an effort to swindle a woman out of thousands of dollars, only to have the scam go sour when the woman suddenly changed her mind just as she was about to hand over the cash. Then this perp’s luck got even worse when he decided to punch her in the mouth and grab the loot—just as I was driving by on my way to work. After a little persuasion from my 9-millimeter semi-automatic, he stopped the assault, surrendered the cash, and let me snap the cuffs on his wrists. I only wish busting the demonic was that simple.
Incredibly, however, Gabby didn’t question the astonishing coincidences between the spirit’s story and her own life. I often marvel at how adept evil powers are at exploiting people’s good natures. You’d think people would be a lot more skeptical about the claims of a supernatural being that shows up in a puff of smoke as they’re planning their daughter’s wedding and announces that, lo and behold, it just so happens to be the ghost of a murdered bride-to-be! But the demonic have an uncanny knowledge of human psychology—as well as of real events—and therefore know exactly which emotional buttons to press to win people’s hearts and minds.
Clearly, a cover story that revolved around a wedding gone wrong was the right strategy here: As the mothers of a future bride and groom, Gabby and Ruth actually wept over this tragic tale. Ruth was particularly touched by the supposed suicide of the wrongfully accused fiancé. One of her relatives had also been arrested and briefly jailed for a crime he didn’t commit. Soon almost everyone in the house was completely captivated by the fascinating ghost story and dying to know more. Only Dominick saw a sinister side to these events. A pragmatic man who worked in an accounting firm, he felt that a lot of what he was hearing simply didn’t add up to the truth. “Even though my wife didn’t seem scared, I was. I didn’t like what was going on at all! Virginia was coming to my wife more and more, and I felt the ghost was starting to, well, possess her, if that’s the right word.”
He looked at us with the timid expression of a schoolboy who suspects that he has just given a ridiculously wrong answer and is about to be laughed at by the whole class.
“Tell us what you mean by ‘possessed,’” Joe replied in a deliberately neutral tone. Since both of us have a law enforcement background, we’ve been trained not to lead witnesses or suggest explanations during the fact-finding stage of our investigation.
“Well, this spirit would actually go into my wife and try to talk though her lips,” he explained. “Often she’d stammer—which isn’t the way Gabby normally talks—or we couldn’t understand her words at all. During these trances, or whatever you want to call them, she’d get stiff as a board. She’d be completely out of it, but when I’d put the light on or shout her name, Virginia would usually leave. Sometimes I had to shake her or even smack her to wake her up. The ghost said ‘no harm, no fear,’ but when I saw my wife like that—stiff, stuttering, and not knowing what was going on—I felt it was doing harm, and there was plenty to fear.”
Here was further proof of oppression, an intense terror campaign by the demonic that paves the way for their ultimate goal: possession. Although transient possession was already taking place, Gabby’s will wasn’t broken down enough for full possession. Not suspecting what terrible danger she was in, Gabby and her large, extended family ignored Dominick’s doubts. Predictably, that provoked arguments and hostility between husband and wife, just as the demon intended. Night after night, the bookkeeper would come home from work to find the house a mess, or no dinner on the table because his wife and Ruth were off at the library trying to solve intriguing mysteries the ghost had described. Joe and I could also feel the tension between the couple during our visit and noticed that they’d often interrupt each other or dispute petty details about how certain events unfolded.
The two mothers, however, relished the opportunity to escape the humdrum world of housework and play detective. Virginia eagerly egged them on, claiming that her parents, Nathaniel and Sarah Taylor, had mysteriously disappeared shortly after her fiancé’s suicide. “I fear they may have been murdered,” she tearfully lamented. “If only I knew their fate, perhaps I could rest easy, at last.” Almost every day the ghost offered new clues to help the women trace her purported parents: They came to the United States around the turn of the century, from an unspecified European country, and moved in with their cousins, the Clarkes, while Virginia stayed behind to graduate from finishing school.
To pique their curiosity and heighten the sympathy factor, Virginia tearfully volunteered new details that any mother could relate to. It seemed that the Clarkes were also touched by family tragedy: Their only son was stillborn. Unable to have any mor
e children, they adopted a son, Oliver, who later fell in love with Virginia and asked her to marry him.
A bit impatient with this intricate satanic scam, Joe cut to the chase. “So, did this story check out?”
Not exactly, Gabby replied. “We went through old newspapers, phone books, and public records. There was nothing about Virginia or her parents, just some stuff about the family she lived with. Apparently, the Clarkes were landowners around here at one time, but we didn’t see anything about them having a son named Oliver.”
Although diabolic forces have knowledge of the past and can view the lives of departed humans as if they were watching a videotape, these lying spirits will mix just enough fact with their disingenuous fictions to keep their victims hooked. All Gabby and Ruth had proven was that someone with the very common name of Clarke had once lived in Westchester. No doubt if they’d spent even more time at the library, they would have found some Taylors too.
The utter lack of any newspaper coverage of a dramatic story that definitely would have made headlines—a bride murdered on her wedding day and the arrest of the groom—didn’t lessen the family’s faith in Virginia, who soon asked them to tackle another mystery. “She wanted us to find the grave of her fiancé,” Gabby said. “After his suicide, there was a big cover-up and no one knew where he was buried. Virginia—”
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