Deciding on the borning room, a secluded space in which to exorcise their demon, Cindy brought along a white tapered candle wedged inside a shallow pewter base, a hook for a handle, snagged from the sideboard. Matches came from there as well, discreetly pilfered the previous day. Plan in place, Lori arrived, literally shaking in her boots. Two ladies on a mission went upstairs. Reviewing the covert scheme, it was best to know what one was doing prior to blindly embarking on such a treacherous spiritual journey. Courageously, Cindy asserted her intention, declaring victory before they’d even begun.
“They’ll all be gone in no time!” Her demeanor exuding pure confidence, certain to complete the task at hand, it did not occur to her that she might not be successful, thereby endangering a friend and herself in the process. Boldly going where no Perron had gone before, to infinity and beyond, Cindy would soon learn that matches are not toys. This play she was staging was not some science fiction film real. It was real. Off they went into the belly of the beast.
The spot chosen couldn’t have been spookier, a part of the farmhouse she deemed perfect for engaging the spirit world. Bright afternoon light filtered through the windows at the far end of the borning room, requiring cover. As Cindy proceeded to darken the space even further by hanging a thick tartan blanket from her bed, she declared them ready. Her slender fingers trembling as she lit the candle and closed the door, they crouched down into the golden glow of a candle’s flame, clasping hands, encircling its light. With breathless anticipation, Cynthia began summoning the spirits. Conjuring a demon takes guts. Suddenly hers twisted in place. She pulled away, inclined to break that connection with Lori. This visceral reaction was the reflexive response to an intense coldness overtaking her by the moment. Frightened, she reconsidered their stunt. Suddenly stoic, Lori convinced her to continue; reminding Cindy of the reason why they began, to free them, ALL of them; to rid the house of whatever was present. They did not distinguish between the benign, harmless spirits and the one who brought evil into the farmhouse. Perhaps they should have been more conscientious. Cindy should have listened to her intuition instead of a friend’s folly. Of course, neither of them knew if anything would actually happen. Lori persuaded her, recounting several incidents shared with her in the past, reminding her of the holy-hellish existence for all concerned, including the holy spirits. Many lives had been disrupted by death. Instilling the sense of righteous indignation brought them back to the point where they were at in the perilous process. Lori’s message fretfully reinforced a need for spiritual cleansing. Cynthia was urged to recall some of the worst moments, ones she’d prefer to forget. A reluctant child settled on the floor, listening in darkness to the ill wind advice from a friend. Their delicate features awash in candlelight, they were the absolute picture of innocence. Grappling with an evil spirit, both girls were wondering what to do… or not to do. That was the question. Cindy’s intuition told her to abandon the mission straightaway and her sense of urgency was based on ancient instincts: fight or flight. Retreat!
The borning room was long and narrow with a severely pitched A-framed appearance, rusty nails protruding from the unfinished wood between large, exposed beams. Crouching down, Cindy knew precisely what to say, how to proceed—with caution. As curious as frightened by the daunting prospect of encountering another ghost, wanting to dispel all spirits from the premises, her participation was essential to their banishment. The morbid pep talk Lori had given Cindy was charged with negative energy, accusations sparking the air. It served to re-ignite passion in the scared and somber child, inspiring the youngster to dismiss an initial reticence in pursuit of an invisible enemy, one much closer than either suspected. “Is there anybody here?” Intention clearly resolute, together in the trench Cindy firmly grasped Lori’s quivering hands.
“Close your eyes…” Lori did as instructed. “Spirits of this house, whoever you are, come to us now.” A terse, rather belligerent inflection infiltrated the youngster’s voice. Cindy was confrontational; the words issued more as a command than as a polite request. “Ghosts of this house I am calling to you. Come.” In spite of ongoing silence, this terse, demanding message delivered was not well-received. “If you are here, give us a sign.” Nothing. “We want you to stop coming and scaring us. It is our house now!” Sincere as she was candid: “I mean it! I want you all to leave us alone! You do not belong here anymore. Go away. Go be with God.” SWOOSH! Lights out. A mad rush of supernatural wind suddenly swept through the room, encircling the children, snuffing out a flame. Gusting ferociously, girls began screaming hysterically. Though not pitch black, strobe light from the window illuminated occupied space… Hell on Earth. What was beckoned from beyond had come to call.
“Ouch!” Lori was first to feel the hand of the law of cause and effect.
“OW! My hair! Something’s got a hold of my hair!” Yanked flat to the floorboards, Cindy squirmed, gasping for air, grasping at her painful scalp. “Oh, my God! It’s got me! Lori! Something’s got me!”
“Me too! I can’t move!” Though still sitting upright, her head pulled back, Lori had no more mobility than Cynthia did, pinned and wriggling, fighting for freedom… not a fair fight. “Help me! I can’t move!” Out came the white flag of unconditional surrender… like they had a choice.
Snagged from behind, pinned into position, Lori and Cindy were frantic; long hair pulled so tightly, both were yelping in pain. Flailing then kicking, struggling with this invisible assailant, their unknown captor had the upper hand. No visible means of escape, hair twisted into knots, surrounded by a twister of wind, it was as if they’d been trapped in the core of a tornado. That tartan throw secured over the window was flipping up with the brisk breeze, allowing just enough light for these children to see what they’d conjured up in the darkness, enough light to witness an untenable predicament, one born of arrogance, by provocative design.
The borning room was primarily used for storage, loaded with a variety of items scattered about the space. In those moments, inanimate objects came to life. Everything was flying around the room at light speed. A wicker bodice hovered overhead, spinning in place as a swirl of air suspended it. Pieces of a mannequin bounced off the slanted walls. Its legs were dancing around them, hopping around as a pair, in tandem. Neither of the youngsters was amused. Nothing funny about it. Petrified as the twin mattresses began flip-flopping, side-to-side, the kids were being taunted by a supernatural being of unknown origin, punished for their impudence, shown what this power was capable of unleashing as it overpowered them, body and mind. Humbled, begging for respite, both were repeatedly struck; body blows by an unidentified assailant, flying objects coming from virtually every direction, as debris caught up in a storm, an ill whirlwind. Light cast from exposed windowpanes revealed the dilemma. Panic prevailed. Terrified children pleaded for mercy… for release. A force to be reckoned with, the reckoning had arrived with a vengeance.
“Oh God! We’re sorry! Please let us go! We didn’t mean it! We’ll never do it again! Please! God!”
Lori was released. She instantly leapt onto her feet. Cindy’s face was still pressed into the wooden floorboards. Overcome by paralyzing cold, she was barely able to speak. The vile stench in the room was enough to gag them.
“Get the door! Go! Get help!” Cindy’s voice moved her cohort to action.
Sprinting to the door, Lori grabbed the latch and began pulling on it with all of her strength. It would not budge. She banged on it then shook the latch, doing anything in her power to dislodge it from position. The door would not open, as if it were frozen shut. Lori began to hyperventilate. Cynthia sobbed. They were being held captive. They’d been targeted… under a direct assault.
“Bang on it! Harder! Lori!” The little girl did as she was told, to no avail. Suddenly, Cindy was released from the iron clad grasp of her tormentor and bounced from the floor up to the door in a single step. No use. It would not open. Her hands trembling uncontrollably, she ran back to the doused candle, fumbling for the
book of matches in her pocket. After several failed strikes, one match finally ignited. The candle glowed again. Cindy hovered over it, closed her tear-drenched eyes and bowed her aching head in prayer.
“Dear God, please help us. Please come to help us. My sweet Lord, please come to me now.” Though her words were whispered, they had been heard. It stopped. Ghastly gusty wind abruptly ceased. Objects suspended in midair instantly fell onto the floor with a crash. No time to rejoice. Cindy bolted for the door. Click. It opened with ease. Nancy had arrived from the other side, wearing a panic-stricken expression which rivaled that of children being held in captivity. Cindy’s fear instantly exploded into rage, an outburst of Biblical proportion: casting aspersions instead of a spell… blaming her sister.
“Why would you do that to us? Why didn’t you open the door?” Clinging onto Nancy’s arms, jerking her ever closer, Cynthia shrieked like a banshee, screeching furiously into her sister’s flushed face. As frantic as her sibling, Nancy didn’t know how to respond to the anger or hateful conclusion drawn, an accusation leveled with disdain. “How could you do this? How could you hold the door when we needed to get out of there?”
“I did what? I just got here! I was in my room! I heard someone yelling so I came running… I was trying to open the door, not hold it closed!”
“Swear it!” Violently shaking Nancy’s shoulders, it was scaring her more than the wild-eyed look on Cindy’s face, a frightfully intense interlude from every vantage point. Lori stood there, too shocked to breathe, or to run.
“I swear it! Why would I do that? What happened to you guys in there?” Nancy embraced Cindy then held her while Lori, equally traumatized, darted around her friend and ran out of the house, never to return. Cindy let her go. This was no time to discuss lessons learned. It was time to get the hell out of there! Quickly retrieving the candle, Cindy blew out the flame then slammed the door shut. The borning room was officially off-limits, as it was clearly an unholy portal to the outer-limits. Scampering off into Nancy’s bedroom at the other end of the house, a comfort zone, Nancy provided her freaked out sister with a box of tissues and a shoulder to cry on… and on. Truth be told, Nancy had come when called. Something intervened, allowing her to hear a little sister’s desperate pleas for help. She was the conduit… the closest thing to an angel on Earth at the moment… a foot soldier doing God’s good work.
It took time for the children to come to the conclusion that they were all at a beckon call, there to help each other when summoned. What Cindy and Lori conjured up was something evil. They had deliberately entered a portal, leaving them vulnerable to attack. Because Nancy had her close encounters in the borning room, she knew it was unsafe to go inside there. As Cynthia chastised the spirits for their perceived intrusion, so Nancy admonished her little sister for doing something equally intrusive, so foolish—ill-advised, at the very least. Pressing her for an explanation, Nancy agreed to keep a secret divulged. She did… for thirty years. Their emotionally charged conversation progressed. Nancy heard about a Margie Bailey influence which eventually guided them to the bitterroot of the matter: a purely good intention behind an ill-conceived action. Cindy wanted to spare a friend her fright and to help her family be freed of the supernatural influences on their lives. Her heart was in the right place, as always.
Cindy realized Nancy had done no harm and had come to help, perhaps as the answer to her heartfelt prayer. She had not caused objects to fly about the borning room and she did not hold the door closed as they tried to escape the harrowing ordeal and any suggestion otherwise would be cruel. Apologizing to her sister-savior for the harsh accusation, Cindy decided it best to keep all of it close to the vest. Mom would surely disapprove of their efforts made, no matter how altruistic in nature. Lori was another issue. She might well tell her mother, who would then phone their own. This could prove problematic. Carolyn would not appreciate hearing about any episode occurring inside her home from someone outside her home. Adding insult to injury, the quandary was growing complex. It only took one bad idea to manifest upheaval. Cindy had no choice but to go to Lori’s house, to assess the collateral damage done.
No doubt about it. The child was traumatized. Lori was still quivering when Cindy found her, huddling in the corner of her bedroom. Curling up on the floor beside her, the girls discussed what had happened to them. Both agreed it was not something they should share with anyone. Cindy assured Lori that Nancy would keep mum. Given every indication to believe Lori’s emotional state was fragile, Cindy swabbed the constant flow of tears from her cheeks. For Lori, the ordeal was not yet over. Well aware she had been an instigator in a hair-raising episode, it was in her best interest to guard her involvement, to shield herself from the inevitable results of any confessions: punishment. Considering her mother had expressly forewarned her to avoid that house, Lori knew better, but she did it anyway. Cindy was so relieved; returning home to inform Nancy their secret was safe. Pact: a code of silence between the three of them. To Cindy’s knowledge, Lori never told anybody about their horrific childhood experience, about lighting a candle and playing with fire! Cynthia asked that the identity of her friend be protected, which is why hers was one of few names changed in telling this tale. She deserved her anonymity. Once lost, it can never be retrieved. According to Cindy, she had suffered enough and wanted her privacy preserved. Though she and Cindy have not seen each other in decades, it mattered not; her secret was still safe, after all these years, as words of honor were exchanged between friends.
The George family has been in close contact with the Perron family since, with release of the first volume of this story. They remember what transpired in their presence at the farm, things they heard about at the bus stop on frosty mornings. They remember it well. Robin has been a wholehearted supporter. The family has graciously granted permission for use of their rightful names. Bless them, one and all. It is, after all, a part of their life story, too.
Nancy and Cindy told this chapter of their lives some thirty years hence, with the assistance of a cell phone and the benefit of a speaker feature; an object which did not exist when this manifestation occurred. While reminiscing about their experiences at the farm, they suddenly became very serious, admitting it was what happened on the fateful day which could have proved disastrous. An exposed flame: open fire so near to the floor of a tinderbox house was beyond dangerous. It was stupid. It qualified as tempting fate. That candle could have been easily dislodged by the explosive flurry of activity, kicked asunder at a critical moment during the turbulent entanglement. It could have meant the death of them. Nancy recalled painful memories, the desperation she had heard in Cindy’s voice: a wildly distorted, indistinguishable cry she could not identify as she’d raced to the rescue. Boo! Who cries there? Tears were shed once again as Nancy began describing that terrible scene, what she discovered on the other side of a door. Revelations were forthcoming.
According to Cynthia, the onslaught lasted for at least a couple of minutes (though she says it felt like eternity) and she believes something intervened, allowing Nancy to hear the distress call from afar. Maintaining her position, Cynthia insists and Nancy concurs: a ferocious battle between good and evil ensued within the borning room that bright, sunny summer afternoon. Cindy described the vapor lock as inescapable, the sound barrier as breached by a force for good. “Something holy kept that candle upright. It made me a firm believer in the awesome powers of God. Mannequin pieces flying all around us, dancing toward us like puppets… we were being abused and taunted! We were being punished. Lori was absolutely hysterical and I was screaming my lungs raw! It took a few minutes but something allowed Nancy to hear us, to come to that door… she fought to open it as much as we did. Whatever held it in place was not of this world. Nance was so brave… she didn’t even know who was on the other side of it! When that latch released and it finally let us go, I screamed at her for holding it closed and accused her of blocking us in when she was there to rescue us instead. I have made that up
to her about a thousand times… so far. All I know for certain is some great power helped us escape, a force more powerful than what had us trapped inside the borning room. Good told Evil to go back to hell. It might sound simple but it’s true and it took too damn long! Maybe that was our lesson to learn, for calling it up in the first place.”
Of course, Nancy insists they brought it on themselves. Be careful what you wish for as surely you will get it! Cynthia’s séance was a disaster in the making right from the inception. These children were basing their actions on flawed and faulty information from one well-meaning but unreliable source. Super/naturally, it went wrong! Nancy knows of what she speaks. She had made the exact same error in judgment, having listened far too closely to another encouraging friend. Katy: Bad advice from all over town. Though they both vividly recall this event, remains of the day from different perspectives, alternate vantage points offer a slight variation on the theme. From opposite sides of a door with a mind of its own, they each agree, this was an entirely avoidable altercation. There is such a thing as begging for trouble. Having been forbidden to play on the dark side of the moon, one provocative gesture antagonized the spirits, picking a fight, essentially calling them on.
The outcome instilled a deeper, more abiding sense of faith in Cindy. As young as she was, she understood. Message received… help was on the way. Nancy will never forget that awful day, a shocking outcry, the sound of pure, unadulterated fear, the desperation she heard coming from within the borning room walls as captive souls fought to escape something wicked. Her memory will never be absolved of the image, the panic in Cindy’s eyes when the door flew open, revealing the gruesome scene… the coldness and the smell. Nancy forgave the transgression long ago, the unfair accusation issued by a sister in crisis. Convinced that the brats got off easy, with a warning, Nancy knew the calling forth of spirits was risky business. Closing the book on this particular chapter, Cindy referenced the phrase: Pray the devil back to hell. According to her, it is precisely what she did that fateful, frightful day. Pray. Just pray.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 4