When all the adults arrived back in the kitchen Nancy told them there was still much more to tell. It seemed she was the one who wanted to share, to be interviewed. April remained upstairs in the closet. Lorraine asked someone to go fetch her. Once all five of the girls were together again, Lorraine asked them to repeat a phrase she taught them to protect against spirits who might wish them harm when manifestations occurred. They did so to perfection. As if in one voice, with good reason, united in purpose, they said: “In the name of Jesus Christ, go back to where you came from. Leave us in peace.” Done.
“Very good, girls. Now, with your mother’s permission I’d like to suggest that you all go outside while there is still enough light left for some sledding. I need to speak with her privately.”
“That’s fine. Your clothes should’ve dried out by now. Go on.” Relieved their interview process was apparently finished, at least for that day, Carolyn sent them off to play as twilight encroached. Nancy, beyond disappointed by a unilateral strategic decision made without her consultation, began to pout.
“But we have more to tell you!” A familiar steel-saw whine had returned to her melodious voice, vibrating with barely restrained emotion. Nancy’s feelings were hurt. She felt dismissed, as an insignificant other child ignored.
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk but I need to speak with your mother right now.” Lorraine Warren’s words were kind but firm; that school teacher thing again, hitting a granite wall at light speed. No tolerance for arguments. No dissent in the ranks. Coats. Hats. Gloves. Class dismissed.
Once all the children went back outside, Ed and Lorraine got right down to business. Carolyn began to brew another pot of coffee for her house guests. Always persistent, Lorraine began to ask some rather probing questions of an anxious mistress of the house. She had her pen and paper at the ready.
“By the way, where’s Roger today?” Ed’s inquiring mind, always curious.
“He went into Providence to do some buying for the business. Not much. It slows down a lot after Christmas. He should be home in time for dinner.”
“Good. We’d like to talk with him again before we go, if possible.”
“He doesn’t know that you’re here. I hope he’ll be willing to cooperate.” She had her doubts. He would likely be tired, perhaps a bit irritable, as usual.
“Carolyn, please listen to me. You have a serious problem. Somebody has invited a demon into your house. Either it has been here for a very long time or someone has allowed it in, possibly by playing with that Ouija board. You must forbid the children from using such a dangerous thing. It is not a toy.”
“I didn’t know they were doing it. A big secret, I guess. And I thought the sleds were dangerous! I’ll be sure to…”
“You must be more than sure. There can be no exception. The house must be free of that object. It is imperative. The dark, morbid energy I felt upstairs was overwhelming. It was ominous and threatening. They’re exposed to it on a daily and a nightly basis. We must cleanse your home immediately.”
“What happened to you upstairs? What did you sense in their bedrooms?” As alarmed as she was curious, it was Carolyn asking the questions, afraid of the answers. She listened intently.
“I intuit. I pick up on psychic vibrations around me and I have never felt so much energy in a house before. There are so many of them. Most of them are Earth-bound spirits who failed to make their proper transition but there is evil here as well and all of you are vulnerable to it. Nancy says they have just begun to tell us their stories. That is a horrifying bit of information. They are highly susceptible to the hazards here. April is the one hiding something… or someone. She will not tell us about it but the child almost ran into that closet when anybody else would have run in the opposite direction when that latch lifted. This is important. I need you to find out why she is so drawn there. If April has a secret I want to know what it is and why she’s keeping it. As the youngest, she’s the one most easily manipulated… most at risk.”
“I will… but what happened to you? Where did you go? You seemed very far away from all of us for a few minutes while we were upstairs.”
“I suppose so. It’s really a form of self-hypnosis. I’m sensitive to spirit. I open my mind to the Universe so I may fully sense spiritual energy around me. I open my mind to God and request His divine presence as intervention.”
“I heard you saying a prayer.” She paused. “Was it for us… or for them?”
“All of you. I know that makes you angry, Carolyn. I felt the tension rise upstairs and I feel it now. Though you claim to understand it, I know you are confused by my compassion for the spirits. Please remember, the anger feeds them. I cannot be more serious about this. It empowers them in ways you do not want, giving them the strength they require, energy to manifest in form.”
“I resent the living hell out of them!” As her face became contorted with fury, in that moment of rage Carolyn no longer resembled the woman they’d come to know. “We need to send them back to hell… where they came from. Is Cindy right? What if they are where they came from? They’ll never go.”
“They’ll go. In the meantime, there are rooms that should be sealed off.” A sobering assessment was also entirely unrealistic. They bought that house to live in, after all. Carolyn had no desire to be confined like a prisoner in her own home. The specter of death seemed to be closing in all around her, to be closing one door after another in her face. Everything seemed to be based on the fear of something. It was too much for her mind to absorb so the excess angst flew from her quivering lips, sentiments escaping like bats out of hell.
“Close this room! Close that room! How much house will we have left to live in? I cannot just seal the place shut like some kind of supernatural vault! You cannot trap what is loose in here. You said so yourself. They’re already trapped. So you want them, or us, to be sequestered like a jury of our peers? This place is gloomy enough… a tomb out of the Dark Ages. You’re asking me to shut out all the light. What judgment calls do we get to make about it? Don’t I get to decide how my family lives in our own home? Don’t you think we’ve sacrificed enough?” Beyond the average rant, Carolyn was on a tirade.
“Calm down. Don’t give them your power. Don’t provide them with the strength to manifest.” Lorraine whispered these words as if sharing a secret.
Carolyn’s frustration was brewing faster than the pot of coffee percolating in the pantry. Ed studied her features intently; her reaction. Then he spoke:
“This outburst… what just happened to you is a transformational episode, indicative of oppression. I know these remarks are out of character. Carolyn, there are three stages to a process which could cause you grave harm. I think you’re in the second phase.” Blunt and to the point. “We will need to spend more time with you, very soon. We need to expel the demonic presence from this house before it can do anymore damage to anyone.”
“I’m very tired.” Carolyn was overwhelmed. She had begun to shut down. Waves of exhaustion crashed over her. Leaning back in her chair, resting her head on the wooden knob, staring up at the ceiling, she suddenly appeared to be in a trance-like stupor, lost in thought. As if elsewhere, she spoke quietly. “I have to start dinner. The kids are getting hungry. Roger’s coming home.”
“Carolyn?” Lorraine coaxed her back with a nudge, reaching across their table, tenderly touching her hand. The woman slowly returned to her guests. She resumed her eye contact with them, smiling again, regaining the pleasant demeanor with which they’d become accustomed. It was shocking how rapid the transition had been, how quickly she changed. In that instant she seemed unburdened, free of what had previously troubled her thoughts.
“Would you care to join us for dinner? Roger should be home soon.”
“No, thank you dear. Ed and I have a great deal of work to do. We should head on home. If you don’t mind, we’d like to visit again soon. We’ll need to speak with Roger, too. It’s important that he participate as we move forward
with our investigation. He will be an integral part of the process.”
“Stop by again when you are in the area. We’d all be happy to see you.” Carolyn’s good humor had returned, in the form of her original personality. She seemed so lighthearted, almost carefree. Eager to please her houseguests, she extended an open invitation the Warrens intended to take her up on with some frequency. “It isn’t necessary to call ahead. Somebody is always home. God knows, the girls will keep you company if I’ve had to run an errand. But beware! They’ll talk your ears bloody, especially Nancy. They trust you now and I do, too. You are welcome in our home anytime. It is your job to deliver us from evil… as our divine intervention… right?”
“That’s right.” The Warrens were spellbound by a stark, transformational change they’d just witnessed, occurring over so few minutes. Lingering only to be sure Carolyn was all right, then to be certain it was her extending that invitation, they waved goodbye to the kids from the top of the hill, departing at sunset. The glorious winter sky streaked by haze and hue escorted a muted sunlight to the horizon. What a brilliant day it had been; so much excitement and so much more to come. The Warrens intended to intervene on behalf of all of them, all lost souls, dead and living alike… on a mission they wanted to accomplish successfully. Both knew it could be a difficult task.
***
“It would be advisable to remove this from the premises.”
“But I use it all the time. It’s where I split my kindling for the fireplace.”
“Carolyn. Get that thing out of your house.”
Needing to splinter some wood for kindling, so to rekindle their evening fire, Carolyn went out to the summer kitchen to retrieve a hatchet she had hidden from Mrs. Warren. When she’d finished with the task, she plunged the blade into the log, something she did naturally… force of habit, reflexive in nature.
Standing at attention on the hearthstone, directly beside the object of earlier interest protruding from a log, the anxious mother glanced down at a hatchet, buried in the center of a solid slab of oak, holding this tool securely in place, where it remained when not in use. The humble implement served a purpose. There must’ve been a reason why she was adamantly opposed to its presence in the farmhouse, insisting upon its prompt and permanent removal from the premises. Her cryptic statement was neither suggestion nor request. Carolyn complied with a direct order. Hatchet in hand, out to the woodshed she went. Better safe than sorry? Suppose so. They wanted to cleanse the farmhouse, to open up a line of communication with the spirits then send them on their way across the Universe at light speed. In retrospect, divine intervention occurred that fateful day, manifesting in form and substance as Mrs. Lorraine Warren.
“Sometimes your only available transportation is
a leap of faith.”
Margaret Shepard
promises… promises
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
Robert Frost
Some were explicit, others implicit but assurances were made as promises uttered by two people who undoubtedly believed their own words. Likewise, Ed and Lorraine Warren were truly confident in their abilities to successfully perform a cleansing of a farmhouse riddled with spirits and demons dwelling among the living, usurping the family in their own home. Carolyn was not so certain. Roger, far less enthusiastic about the prospect of attempting the feat. The mistress of the house had grown cautious, wary and withdrawn. She was certainly not skeptical to the extent her husband remained. Her dismay was a different kind of apprehension; a deep-seeded fear of what the effort would entail or, God forbid, provoke. She was too weak and weary to indulge even the thought of it. A séance? The woman felt nothing but dread in her heart.
While digging for bottles with Fran out beside the barn one unseasonably warm afternoon toward the end of a particularly punishing winter, a hint and a promise of spring in the air had been matched by the spring in their steps to the dump site. It had lightened and brightened their spirits. Deciding to brave the permafrost, they took out their trusty, rusty tools then plunged them into an undulating bulge of earth slowly shedding its icy skin. The mound, sure to yield as much history as treasure, was the most enticing find consuming their attention. Each woman, working in from the opposite end of the pile so not to encroach on the other’s space, there was a logical method to the madness. Ah! The incredible lightness of being them, friends out on a dig together!
It was a welcome distraction for both. Mrs. Warren had called again, just moments prior to Fran’s arrival, encouraging Carolyn to allow them to come and perform a spiritual intervention. It was all quite disconcerting, disruptive to her consciousness. While settling into their biggest dig yet in silence, their focused work became an escape from such troubling notions, if only briefly. It wasn’t long before like-minded souls shared the same thoughts.
“Have you heard from the Warrens lately?” Uncanny how Franny could read her mind, she always seemed to know what Carolyn was thinking.
“Today. But then you probably knew that, too.”
“So?” Fran grinned coyly. “What’s going on?”
“The same… Lorraine wants to have a divine intervention, to cleanse the house of the spirits. She wants to include a priest and a medium.”
“What kind of intervention?” Fran spoke quietly, almost breathlessly.
Carolyn detected a trembling note of trepidation in her voice. It was fear.
“Well, she wants to bring a few experts in… bring them along.”
“I thought they were the experts.” Shooting her a skeptical look.
“They are, but she also wants to include a medium and a priest along with a technical crew… she wants to perform a séance. If Lorraine expects Roger to agree to this, she will have to convince him herself. I already know what his answer will be… HELL NO!”
“You can’t blame him.” Fran completely understood Roger’s reticence.
“I don’t. And I don’t blame Ed and Lorraine for wanting to try, either. They only want to help us. Lorraine suggested this as a potential solution to the problem, a remedy for what ails me… for all of us, really. No guarantee it would work but she says, at this point it’s certainly worth attempting to expel what keeps me up at night.” Their excavation continued unabated.
Fran struck gold. She’d slipped her delicate fingers into the thick leather gloves then sunk her arm to the elbow into frigid dirt, retrieving the treasure. Slowly extracting the object from sweet, aromatic ground, delight danced in her eyes, as if revisiting the wonder of childhood. Eureka! What a strike!
“Well, what do you know?” Sitting back on her legs, Fran began to scrape off the crusty dirt from the fat brown bottle, carefully unearthing a gift from God, enjoying the precious moments. Carolyn watched on, equally excited. Fran looked like a child, wide-eyed anticipation growing with every brush of her thumb across the surface of glass. COD LIVER OIL Embossed, raised lettering on the face, the original cork, still intact. A pontil bottom. Labeled. Two hundred years old or more, harbinger of things to come up from a hole in the ground, Mother Earth shall provide! It was a truly magnificent trophy, inspiring them to dig a little deeper. Indeed, it was a big dig!
“This’ll cure what ails ya!” Fran found the timing of a discovery amusing, giggling as she handed the bottle over to Carolyn.
“Never touch the stuff myself!” Laughter erupted in remembrance of that day in a country store where they met over a six-dollar COCAINE bottle.
“Can you believe they used to sell that stuff at the local apothecary?”
“Guess that’s why they call it a drug store now, as cheap as the dirt it was buried in. I wonder who dug that one up.” Carolyn’s memory of the meeting between them had been well-preserved for posterity. She loved Fran.
“Here’s a scary thought. We’re not the only people who do this, for fun!”
<
br /> “You dig?” Carolyn felt the joy of the moment. “I dig deep!” Handing the most recent find over to Fran again, she said: “You found it. You keep it.”
“No. It’s a prize… you keep it. This comes from your land and most likely from your house… you should hang onto it. This one’s a real treasure.”
“And so are you, Fran. Consider it a gift.” Smiling, Carolyn continued to delve even deeper. “It obviously didn’t help whoever drank it. They’re dead! Almost everyone around here seems to be dead… at least mostly dead.” It is always best to make light of the darkness.
Inspecting the glass jar closely, Fran found it flawless; its cork intact, not a single scratch or chip on it. It was in perfect condition. “Amazing how fragile yet so sturdy. Thank you, Carolyn. A keepsake of our day spent together.”
Both women worked diligently for two hours, silently considering shared information. Friends often give advice to each other but uncommon advice is required when a subject so unusual surfaces, exhumed like the bottle in hand. Scraping off moist dirt, revealing the face of yet another artifact, hundreds of years old, Carolyn rejoiced. It was her lucky day. As a satisfaction settled in, the ladies let their bodies relax, sliding down along the steep mound of earth, unconcerned about becoming just a little bit filthier than they were after such toil: a self-imposed sentence to hard labor. Thick black dirt wedged beneath what remained of fingernails, chipped and split, their hands were often the casualties of a tedious painstaking process they both loved. A very good day. No major wounds and four bottles found as a successful outing in the woods, it was how they measured the madness of their task at hand. Delighted and a bit tired, after an extended absence of conversation, Fran finally gave a voice to her formerly private thoughts, as a gift of her own to a friend. Both of the women were thinking about the same thing and both of them knew it.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 33