“Peace demands the most heroic labor and
the most difficult sacrifice.
It demands greater heroism than war.
It demands greater fidelity to
the truth and a much more perfect purity of conscience.”
Thomas Merton
twilight
“In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary.”
Aaron Rose
The daily transformation was astounding. As ethereal light it was airy and tenuous, delicate and refined. Sunset was spectacular, even when an ominous cloud cover hovered over the despondent landscape. Yet, this was something more than sunset. It was something sacred. During a transition when ethereal and corporeal merged and intermingled, when celestial bodies came closest to Earth, all was one. Winter twilight were the most outstanding; a feast for the eyes and a blanket for the heart. The children learned about gratitude and spirituality from their mother but also through a constant exposure to Nature, of which they availed themselves. No matter the weather they battled a wide variety of elemental offerings to become a part of the property as little pieces of the place. Stimulating the senses, they were most drawn to and defined by the light as it attracted the eyes of each beholder. Hues at sunrise and sunset fascinated the children. They were mesmerized, struck by tone and texture of a sky above casting its holiest light on the valley below.
There was something about this event: the morning and evening transition to and from darkness. It was the time when the house became most active. At least it was that time when the children could see the other side most clearly. Perhaps it was the essence of this light which allowed their eyes to focus on the entities, not that they weren’t always there. This was the time when they became most visible to the eyes of mortals. Cynthia insists this was the time when their worlds would collide as one in a cross-dimensional convergence, what she describes as “both sides now”. In those few precious moments, in a state of semi-light, reaching out was possible. Touching each other became a tangible reality. Sharing space in time seemed entirely plausible, as natural as their supernatural essence. They were revealed to those with eyes capable of seeing their light. Emerson wrote: “The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.” It was a virtual feast, a cornucopia at the farm, equally spooky and beautiful.
Enlightenment is a process which, in most, occurs incrementally. It is not a peaceful evolution, but rather, is painful and disruptive to any mortal mind. Courage must be equivalent to curiosity or fear will get the upper hand in the struggle to focus on what is real and what is illusion. However, at twilight it was different. Everything shifted. Everything changed. This was when Cindy often saw the poor little girl passing through her room. It was when creatures would stand at attention then cower for no apparent reason. It was the time of day and night when it was both, when everything attained an enhanced level of clarity amidst vague and nondescript transition known to open a passage; a portal to the past and the future, so to reach across dimensions with relative ease. To acknowledge and to touch them with eyes that could hardly believe what they saw, as spirits were much more than meets the eye of the beholder, there was always a sense of needing to know more, of there being something else to learn. Even moments of horror provided an equivalent fascination for children who still viewed the world with wide-eyed wonder. They were lost, finding their way in the dark, navigating between dimensions or traveling at light speed across the Universe, just like the spirits, finding their way home.
“When you get to the end of all the light you know and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.”
Edward Teller
~ let there be twilight ~
“For one moment, our lives met, our souls touched.”
Oscar Wilde
hippies, freaks and misfits
“Praised be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! O praise and praise,
For the sure-enwinding arms of cold-enfolding Death.”
Walt Whitman
Word was out and about. At the time, nobody knew how it had happened, though Carolyn would soon discover the truth. Suddenly it seemed as if there were sightseers everywhere, omnipresent, like God. As mere mortals would simply show up at their door hoping to catch a glimpse of the other side of existence, Carolyn was tolerant and kind. Most just wanted to see the place; those who happened to be in the area confessing the heartfelt desire to meet those who were known to dwell among the dead. A theme began to emerge. Suspicions became a way of life as those appearing at their threshold, (under the guise of inquiring further), made their presence known. As this became an uncommonly frequent occurrence, the Perron family felt imposed upon, scrutinized, haunted from every direction. With her patience wearing thinner by the day, a protective mother couldn’t help but be concerned as the curious onlookers encroached on what peace remained at her place in the country. So she began asking some questions of her own. It turned out that many of those driven to find their farmhouse learned about it while attending one of a series of seminars conducted at institutions of higher learning around the state. The lectures regarding paranormal activity investigation featured two preeminent speakers: Ed and Lorraine Warren. Devastated by the newsflash, Carolyn felt utterly betrayed. A confidence shattered as a promise made and broken.
***
In August of 1973, about six weeks prior to their arrival, a small group of students preceded the Warrens, having been informed of the supernatural shenanigans by a friend of the family, deeply concerned about their welfare. Carolyn’s reaction was always nothing less than gracious, having received so many visitors at the farm over the years. Roger, not so much. When their van pulled into the yard she first assumed they were friends of her daughters. She was wrong. As Roger loaded his suitcase into the car to depart on yet another extended trip, his wife gazed at him pleadingly, a “Could you do something about this?” expression on her face. “If you don’t want them here tell them to get the hell out!” With that, he slammed the door then promptly drove away. Abandoned again. Standing alone on the porch, awaiting their approach, she was stilled by a striking vision as they emerged from the vehicle. An optical illusion? A study in darkness and light. Among the group she glimpsed two young men, identical twins as opposing forces. One appeared to be the living embodiment of Jesus Christ Himself, the other, an ominous figure, as the devil incarnate. Polite, as always, she wondered what this was about. They introduced themselves as Keith and Carl Johnson. Her heart sank with the claim they were affiliated with a paranormal group from Rhode Island College: P.I.R.O. Para-psychological Investigations & Research Organization. Donna was identified as the founder. Michael, Billy and Jay rounded out a cluster of ghost hunters, inquiring minds, all quite eager to know more and ready to help in any way they could. Keith Johnson came with only one tool-of-the-trade in hand: his Holy Bible.
Keeping her wits, Carolyn decided to investigate the investigators. Keith ingratiated himself immediately with an erudite intellect and seeming awareness of the supernatural which belied his youth and inexperience. His twin brother, Carl was another matter entirely. She ignored him, based on a negative first impression, causing the blood to chill in her veins. There was something about him… something wicked she sensed and did not allow him into her home. Keith was welcome. Her sense of him was purity, an incredible lightness of being. Carolyn had much to gain by speaking with Keith. His brother was relegated to the yard as Keith gained entrance to the porch. Explaining he was a deeply devout man who felt nothing but compassion for those who dwelled within the farmhouse, his demeanor was disarming. He gained Carolyn’s confidence as they spoke. She invited him into the kitchen. His other half? No way.
The girls were transfixed by the same vision which had quickly put their moth
er at ease. There was an ethereal glow about Keith, an aura so pure, she was certain he would do no harm. Carolyn was taken by his soft presence. It appeared godly. Nancy could not take her eyes off him. Truth be told, he was beautiful. In fact, drop dead gorgeous. She began to flit around him like the schoolgirl she was, hormones raging like wildfire. Cindy stared into his eyes, searching his soul. Christine listened intently to every word he said. Andrea kept watch on the rest of their group from the parlor windows, alerting her mother when Carl asserted himself presumptuously. He defied her orders by stepping up on the porch. His girlfriend came with him. She was beautiful but equally dark. Her bruised body was covered with bite marks, sending a shudder through an observant eldest daughter, a sensation she could not shake. He was evil. She knew it. Carolyn expelled them again while Cindy slipped onto the porch to get a closer look. She too sensed a maleficent air about him and saw the scars on the girl in his lap. It was offensive and distasteful. The way they were sitting together, touching each other was prurient, overtly lascivious and quite frankly, totally inappropriate. Staring at what appeared to be one fresh wound on the neck of the young woman in his company, Cynthia gasped. No question in her mind. He was the culprit, the voracious one who had attempted to eat her alive and she had obviously allowed it. There was something villainous about him. He left the porch, as directed, but kept on skulking around the house… investigating, no doubt.
Carolyn confronted Keith about his brother, making it clear that he was not welcome in her home. Divulging that Carl was a practicing devil worshipper, his virtual polar opposite, like the negative plate of a photograph, he told her all she needed to hear. Instructing her eldest as a scout, Andrea’s keen eyes remained focused on Carl for the duration of the visit as Carl’s rapacious eyes remained fixated on his girlfriend. Red flags waving all over the place in the country, Carolyn suggested the impromptu visit come to an end. Keith was persuasive; reassuring her he would do no harm and only wanted a tour. Nancy instantly obliged his request, volunteering to lead a walk-through. Consenting, Carolyn assumed sentry duty. Andrea left her post as lookout! She then escorted their haunted house guest down the hatch.
For some reason she could not explain, Andrea felt safe and secure in his presence so she offered to show Keith the dreaded cellar, a spooky area of the farmhouse she normally avoided like The Black Plague. Warning him in advance about the ramshackle staircase, it occurred to her that his presence was enough to keep one evil spirit at bay. She guided him all through the cavernous depths, showing him anterooms while describing the purpose for each: a root cellar, candle room, etc. As the two of them were about to ascend the stairs, Keith took her hand and said a prayer which stuck with the youngster for life. His blessing was beautiful. They shared a moment which forged a lifelong bond.
Maybe it was his long flowing hair or a white tunic which charmed her or maybe it was a true sincerity in his voice. Either way, Nancy was smitten. She dragged Katy along (visiting on that day as well) and the other girls went for what proved to be a wild ride. Carolyn had instructed them to leave the doors open and she’d catch up with them. They went into Nancy’s bedroom. Keith could not help but notice how hot and stuffy it was then asked why the windows were closed. It was a warm summer day. Nancy told him both were swollen shut. She wasn’t strong enough to open them. He offered to do it for her then forced them open, wedging a stick lying in each sill into an upright position, to prop them. Ah, that old farmhouse. A good job done, just as he’d turned around to face them Keith glanced around the room again. Nancy was practically in a state of delirium, sucking up all of his attention. Keith asked her, with all the problems they’d encountered in the house, why there was no crucifix hanging on the wall… for protection. The second those words left his lips, the pallor came upon them as an abrupt change of light occurred. Nancy shrugged her shoulders. He asked if she had a piece of chalk or a bar of soap. Scrounging around, she found the sidewalk chalk. Everybody conducting the tour gathered to sit in a circle on the floor. Keith went back to the windows, etching the sign of the cross onto each rusty screen. Somebody present took exception to the gesture. That was the moment all hell broke loose.
Instantly, as soon as he turned his back, both sticks went flying out across the bedroom. Both windows slammed closed so hard, it was an impossibility they did not shatter. A split second later both doors to the bedroom slammed with a mighty force so furious it shook all of them to the core. At this precise moment something hit Nancy in the head from behind, knocking her hard to the floor. Carolyn flew up the stairs, anxious to discover what just caused the entire house to shudder and shake. Keith was as white as his pristine tunic. Cindy made the only comment as she whispered in Nancy’s aching ear:
“Oh, great! Now he’s really pissed them off!” Cindy was suddenly afraid. They were all scared, including Keith, who’d already seen more than his fair share of supernatural activity in his young life. Everyone present remembers well but Cindy specifically recalls being instantly worried, quite concerned about retribution they would certainly receive as punishment for the flagrant transgression. Nancy already got her due but what was to come for the rest to suffer? Nobody waited around long enough to find out, as the mass exodus occurred. Keith was mortified. His wide eyes spoke of the terror in his heart. He felt the force he’d reckoned with, sensed a maleficent presence in a room vacated quickly. Quarters becoming more crowded by the moment, the hasty retreat was in order. Nearly tripping over each other as they all hustled down the stairs, it was obvious Keith and his escorts had bitten off more than they could chew and it came back to bite them. Be careful what you wish for… as surely you will get it. Their group left shortly thereafter but the Johnson brothers would return again, the next time in the company of Ed and Lorraine Warren. Carolyn considered them a study in Darkness and Light.
***
Oh, my God! The Warrens had told their story. They named the town and described their farmhouse. Anyone curious enough needed only to drive into Harrisville and ask around. If they wanted explicit directions, they could just drop their family name. Ed and Lorraine had, according to several visitors. It was revealed during a lecture divulging details about their own investigation, thus exposing all seven members of the family to a kind of scrutiny they had never known before. Carolyn was too stunned by their infraction to be angry. They claimed to be bona fide friends of the family who would do everything in their power to help… to protect them and preserve their privacy.
Why, she wondered, was it necessary to disclose sordid details, imparting confidential information that would ultimately expose them all to inspections from a variety of hippies, freaks and misfits? The result of their indiscretions would be an influx of stranger-than-strange souls seeking out their family on a rural farm. Apparently these seminars drew many from an extensive area, including the professors, staff and students from URI, Brown University, Providence College and Rhode Island College, in particular. For a tiny little state, its institutions of higher learning remain numerous and interconnected. This was a lecture series and the Warrens were famous, much more so than Carolyn previously understood. They each had much to share regarding their investigations; a supernatural odyssey upon which they’d built a joint career. In their exuberance, while discussing a great discovery in the backwoods of Rhode Island, they had given away too much information. She had just made a remarkable discovery of her own. Carolyn was disenchanted, to be sure.
Though she did not believe it to be an intentional gaff at the time, the ramifications of it were identical to publishing their name and home address in The Providence Journal. Cars slowed to a crawl on Round Top Road as thrill-seekers tried to identify a specific house in the lush landscape. Curious onlookers came for weeks after the seminars. Individuals would simply show up at the door, sometimes in small groups, wanting to meet the family, to ask questions and see the house. Carolyn did not find such notoriety appealing in any way. In fact, she resented the living hell out of it. Though always polit
e but brief with visitors, explaining that she valued privacy for her family, she could not tolerate anymore intrusion. Most accepted her point of view as valid and respected her wishes, leaving disappointed but appreciative that it was an opportunity to meet the mistress of the house. Carolyn was becoming quite the celebrity herself, famous for being the oppressed one, according to the Warrens. It was a label she shunned, scrutiny she loathed. In the midst of all she had to deal with, this was the last thing she needed. After a few weeks of incessant interruptions Carolyn confronted Lorraine. Openly admitting the Perron Investigation had become a topic for discussion, Lorraine seemed surprised anyone had taken the initiative to investigate it further; to actually seek out their family, especially in such a remote location. She claimed to be unaware she’d mentioned the town or names involved. Carolyn finally grew perturbed as anxiety bubbled up to the surface in her cauldron of discontent. Lorraine expressed regret, challenged for breaking the presumed confidence. Carolyn asked that she not continue the practice. Confessing she had spoken about the farmhouse and its numerous inhabitants during a recent trip, she’d assured Carolyn nobody from a distant seminar would ever travel the length of the continent to find a house in New England for the sake of idle curiosity. Promises… promises. All they would need is a map! Describing these people, her followers as utterly harmless, Lorraine dismissed the legitimate concerns of her client. Carolyn took exception to her rather nonchalant approach to the problem but said nothing more. No reason to argue about it. She’d made her point, emphatically. The genie was out of the bottle, though it was beginning to feel more like Pandora’s Box. The Warrens were famous and making the Perron family infamous. The seminars were well-attended by people from all over the country or beyond. Known worldwide, the preeminent pair of supernatural sleuths had quite a reputation as paranormal researchers before there was such a thing. By founding a movement they became the founding Godfather and mother of ghost hunting, far ahead of their time, or any other time, for that matter. They’d found the Perron saga compelling enough to make its presence known as the centerpiece of their presentations… no more secrets to be kept. It was too late… out of the bottle and up in smoke. Listen only to the advice of those who’ve walked the same path to bloody, holy hell and back.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 35