The Demonologist: The Extraordinary Career of Ed and Lorraine Warren

by Brittle, Gerald

  Pete waited until after the breakfast hour and then walked up the road to the retreat house, where a kindly, middle-aged monk ushered him into the foyer. Pete quickly did his best to explain the problem and asked desperately, “Would you please come to my house and see what I’m talking about?” The monk agreed. Together they walked back down the road to the Beckfords’ ranch house.

  Inside, the monk surveyed the damage done to the furniture and walls. He listened to the random poundings and read the obscenities scribbled about the place. Yet despite it all, he was distinctly unperturbed by what he saw. Instead, he sat Pete down.

  “Let me explain what I believe is happening here. There are things that go on in this world that are deliberately kept secret—things that one learns about only through experience. In my opinion—and of such things I have only limited knowledge—this terrible problem you are suffering is being caused by spirits. Do you believe in such things, Pete?”

  “These days, Father, I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Very well, then,” resumed the monk. “This kind of spirit, which delights in tormenting people, is not a ghost, but a spirit of a special order. We know almost nothing about them except that they are truly mean spirits; judging from the intent of their actions, it would seem there is something wrong with them. I myself cannot challenge the type of spirit that appears to have entered your home, though there are other priests who can. But be reminded,” the monk stressed, “there are other mysteries in the world. The mysteries of science unfold before our eyes every day. Not every strange question has a strange answer. The mind plays tricks on us, nature plays tricks on us. Before the Church will assign clergy to a case such as yours, the matter must first be proven genuinely spiritual in nature. What is your opinion?”

  “I think you might possibly have hit upon the matter, Father. I would like to pursue it,” Pete concluded.

  “Then let me give you the name of someone who may be able to help you sort this thing out His name is Ed Warren.”

  This was the second time someone had referred Pete Beckford to the Warrens. When the two men walked back to the retreat house, the monk made a phone call and got Ed and Lorraine’s telephone number. “You’d better get in touch with these people as soon as possible.”

  “That’s precisely what I’m going to do,” Pete assured him.

  At work later that morning, Pete telephoned the Warrens and spoke with Judy Penney, a young woman who works as a liaison when Ed and Lorraine are out of town. Judy has heard some hair-raising tales over the phone, but this one particularly scared her. “The Warrens are out West,” she told Pete Beckford, “but I’ll relay the message to them. I suggest you call back Saturday; by then they’ll have returned home.”

  Saturday, however, was a long five days away: it was Holy Week, the most notorious time of the year for demoniacal activity. The next morning at daybreak the Beckfords awoke to the sound of objects pelting the roof. Going out to investigate, they once again saw stones falling onto their house out of thin air. All week long, stones began falling on the Beckford house at dawn—and stopped at dusk. Their number and velocity varied. Some fell slowly, as though sinking through water. Others came down in erratic zigzags. Every so often there’d be a violent deluge of rocks and stones, some falling hard enough to imbed themselves in the roof. When they hit the ground, about half the stones would vanish, the others remained for the family to clean up later. Inside the house, the antireligious activity had become as violent as the stones falling outside. Crucifixes were turned upside down. Pictures of saints were torn up—the minute shreds left defiantly in a pile. The statue of Saint Anne, which the Beckfords now kept in the living room, was constantly being hidden, as though something could not bear to see it

  Indeed, the antireligious activity reached a ridiculous extreme. One night the Beckfords heard a tremendous commotion in Eric’s bedroom. When it died down, they went in to find one of the twin beds torn apart. The mattress was under the bed frame; the box spring, however, was propped up against the wall, covering a framed picture of Jesus.

  On another occasion, while sitting in the living room, the Beckfords heard a hellish, woeful moan resonate out of the kitchen. Ever so cautiously, Pete walked down the hallway. Sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor was their big double-doored refrigerator: it had been moved away from the wall the exact limit of its power cord. The next night they heard the same lingering moan; again the refrigerator was found sitting in the center of the room.

  Perhaps even more intimidating was the observation that even physical matter presented no great obstacle to the oppressing entities. Pete had the only key to the deep freezer located in the basement. Incredibly, when he opened the freezer one afternoon to take out provisions, he found inside the big iron blacksmith’s anvil he kept in the garage. Later, Pete also discovered that his huge steel tool box had mysteriously been teleported to the attic.

  Worst of all, there now seemed to be a physical presence in the house. When alone, members of the family had the unshakeable feeling that someone was in the room staring at them from behind. The terror was enhanced by footsteps, the rustle of clothes, and heavy breathing. Once when Sharon Beckford quickly turned around, she saw a black form standing in the room behind her.

  For the Beckfords that year, Good Friday—April 12—was a day of abject fear. A forbidding atmosphere enveloped the house. Indeed, it seemed as though the whole place might suddenly explode as the berserk rampage continued unabated. Stones mysteriously pummeled the house outside, while unrestricted bedlam went on within, all of which was now compounded by an evil presence so increasingly real and physical that no one dared be alone in the house for even one moment. The Beckfords, frightened and tormented, now had only one hope left—the Warrens, whoever they were.

  X

  Deliverance

  April 12.

  Inside, the LaGuardia Airport terminal, enough people to fill a small town milled around, waiting for planes. Outside, on the observation deck, the air was thick with diesel fumes and the screaming whine of fan-jet engines. Off to the left, the Manhattan skyline was silhouetted against the setting sun. Above, in the twilight sky, incoming jets approached from the west, turned right over the Whitestone Bridge, then, one by one, drifted slowly back down to earth.

  On board the big tri-jet touching down just after six that evening were Ed and Lorraine Warren, coming home after a ten-day speaking tour. They’d delivered six lectures in four states, appeared twice on television, answered three hours of questions on a radio call-in show, visited a not-very-haunted house, and granted four separate interviews to student newspaper reporters. They were glad to return; the Warrens looked forward to spending Easter Sunday with relatives. On Monday they’d be off again, this time to Maine.

  Around noon on Saturday, the following day, Lorraine received a call from a man beside himself with fear and anguish. In her pleasant way, Lorraine calmed him down. “Could you explain your problem as specifically as possible?”

  For a quarter of an hour, Pete Beckford unfolded a tale almost too incredible to be believed. He told her of the slashed tires and the vandalized engines that had cost him over five hundred dollars to repair. He told her of the ketchup, salad oils, bleaches, and perfumes that floated down the hallway and dumped their contents on the rugs and expensive furnishings. He told her that a statue, an anvil, and a refrigerator had moved on their own accord; that heavy furniture had levitated; that stones had fallen on his house, and that water flowed from the walls. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pleaded for help and offered to pay anything for it

  At first, it struck Lorraine that Pete Beckford’s imagination had run wild. But by the time he finished, it was evident to her that this man’s home was under diabolical siege. “Ed is involved with another case this Saturday,” she had to tell him. “However, we would be able to come to your home tomorrow, Sunday.”

  Pete agreed immediately. After the anguish of the past six weeks surely, he reasoned, one
more day would be inconsequential

  Demonology is not just a matter of chasing down spates of weird activity. Wherever they go, and despite their often busy schedule, the Warrens’ first priority is to assist those who are being oppressed, assaulted, or even possessed by the forces of darkness. That night, Lorraine repacked their traveling bags, and early Easter morning, they were on their way to Vermont via the home of one Pete Beckford. They arrived at the Beckfords’ house on Easter afternoon. “The place looked fairly placid,” says Ed, “except for those stones littering the lawn.” Inside, however, things were just the opposite. Evidently expensive furniture stood chipped and stained. Marks covered the walls, and a foul odor permeated the air. Lorraine said nothing, although at the time she sensed in the home the presence of entities so numerous and threatening that she had to fight with herself to keep from going back outside. It seemed to her that a wild fury was building; that, indeed, the worst was yet to come.

  Having introduced his family to Ed and Lorraine, Pete then showed them the rest of the house. In every room, he stopped to recount at least a dozen incidents, to which the Warrens listened attentively—taking mental notes of the activity he described, while keeping an ear cocked for any exaggeration or salesmanship in the man’s rendition of events.

  When the tour was over, Ed and Lorraine conducted an investigative interview with the four Beckfords. First, they asked Pete to speak for the family and give a chronology of events that had occurred in the house since the siege began. For over an hour, Pete provided meticulous details of events that were—in the Warrens’ estimation—potentially spirit-induced.

  “Do any of you know what may have caused this problem in your house?” Ed asked.

  “No,” they answered.

  “When did you notice the first occurrence of unusual activity?”

  “We figure it was on March 3, when Vicky’s car tire went flat at the drugstore. Though that may have been a coincidence, it seems to have been the first incident,” Pete replied.

  “Has anyone in the neighborhood, or your immediate family, recently passed away—perhaps someone you didn’t get along with very well?”

  “No.”

  “Is anyone in the family seeing a psychiatrist?”

  “No.”

  “Did you purchase an antique or secondhand piece of furniture—from a tag-sale, say—before the ruckus began?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone in the family bought or received an unusual gift or figurine from abroad? Carved statues? A Haitian voodoo doll? A picture of a deity from another religion?”

  “No.”

  As Ed and Lorraine interviewed the Beckfords, intermittent knockings began to occur. The sounds could be heard in the walls for a few minutes, then they’d stop. The noises started up again a few minutes later, this time erupting from various points on the floor. The sounds were audible enough to be picked up on the tape recorder.

  The Warrens pressed forward with the questioning, giving no recognition to the activity. Ed then began to ask specific questions which would hopefully pin down the origin of the problem.

  “Are you people interested in the occult as a pastime? Have you been attending sessions with consciousness-raising groups?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone bought or withdrawn from the library books on Satanism or witchcraft rituals?”

  “No.”

  “To your knowledge has a séance ever been held in this house—even years ago?”

  “Never,” was the firm reply.

  “Eric, Vicky, are any of your friends interested in the occult, who maybe perform rituals, or ceremonial magic?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone here used a Ouija board or automatic writing device?”

  “Oh,” Vicky said, just above a whisper.

  “Have you used a Ouija board, Vicky?” Lorraine asked pointedly.

  “Yes,” the young girl admitted, to her family’s amazement.

  “All right, dear, you’d better tell us all about it then.” Lorraine said “Start right from the beginning, please.”

  With that, Vicky Beckford told how she’d been using the Ouija board to communicate with the spirit of a “teenage boy” who supposedly died in the area some ten years earlier. Vicky admitted that she never actually saw the spirit, though she once asked it to manifest. She also defended the spirit as real, citing how it accurately predicted future events days before they happened. She denied her spirit friend could have caused the gruesome activity in the house. He was “kind and understanding,” not cruel and destructive.

  “Did this spirit tell you its name?” Lorraine asked the girl when she’d finished talking.

  “No, he told me he wasn’t allowed to.” Vicky replied.

  “I presume you are still communicating with this spirit?” Lorraine said.

  “No,” Vicky admitted somewhat dejectedly. “I must have done something wrong. I’ve never been able to talk to him again after I asked if he’d show himself to me that night.”

  “When was that night?” Lorraine pressed her.

  “Just a minute,” said Vicky, who got up and went into her bedroom. “March 2,” she called out, then returned to the table.

  “And the activity began...?”

  “On March 3!” Pete Beckford said, looking at Ed.

  Pete, Sharon, and Eric had listened in astonishment to Vicky’s bizarre tale. How could something so trivial as a Ouija board cause so much calamity? Accordingly, amidst the knockings, Ed had no other choice but to spend the next half hour explaining the gruesome reality of demoniacal phenomena to them.

  After Ed finished his explanation, the Beckfords sat dumbfounded and silent “Mr. Warren,” Pete finally felt compelled to ask, “how do you know all this?”

  “Mr. Beckford,” Ed replied, “this is my work. I have done it all my life. I am a demonologist.”

  “My God,” was all Pete was able to utter.

  Completing the interview with the Beckford family, Ed and Lorraine excused themselves and held a private conversation outside on the front lawn. The case, they agreed, was far more serious than they’d first imagined. Certainly the siege would never stop of its own accord. In fact, the activity was now reaching a dangerous stage. And as the family had already learned, they could not avoid the problem by running—it would follow them wherever they went. The Warrens decided the quickest solution was to get the Church involved immediately—so the phenomena could be verified and then acted upon.

  Somewhere along the line, Ed knew a clergyman would have to bear witness to what was happening, and he specifically wanted Father Daniel to be that witness. With the Beckfords’ permission, he telephoned the same priest singled out as an enemy by the spirit associated with the rag doll, Annabelle. Father Daniel, a learned young priest in his early thirties, had recently studied demonology and over the past year Ed had been tutoring him on the practical aspects of the discipline.

  A few hours later, just after sunset, the priest arrived at the Beckford house. By that time, activity had already begun afresh, with scratchings and poundings, and the levitation of small objects. To test whether the pounding was being caused deliberately, Ed pounded twice on the wall. There came two poundings in reply! He then pounded four times in quick succession. Four quick raps sounded on the floor, then on a table. Obviously there was an intelligence behind the activity.

  Ed asked Father Daniel to perform a blessing in each room which, when accomplished, reduced the power and frequency of the poundings—the most annoying aspect of the disturbance. When that was done, Ed and Lorraine sat in the living room and briefed the priest. The Warrens had to leave for Maine that night, but Father Daniel would be staying on with the family in their absence.

  “You will now be the object of hatred,” Ed told the young priest in no uncertain terms. “Under no circumstances must you challenge the undiscerned spirits that are here. You are in both physical and mental danger in this house. If you’re not careful, you can be h
urt seriously. So don’t try to resolve the problems yourself. Just be strong, and don’t let your emotions get the best of you. Use the rosary, not your temper.” Ed handed him a card, “Now, here’s the phone number where we’ll be. Don’t take anything for granted. If there’s something you don’t know, or can’t handle, call us day or night.” Writing down another phone number, Ed added, “Father Shawn McKeegan will be your immediate superior in this case. I have already contacted him. Call Father McKeegan every day and give him an update on the activity occurring here.

  “In the meantime,” Ed told Sharon Beckford, “we know you’re in the best of hands, and there’s always the possibility the presence of a priest will cause the phenomena to stop.”

  After doing everything they could that night, Ed and Lorraine left for the airport. They would remain in constant phone contact and return from Vermont immediately if Father Daniel needed them.

  After the Warrens left, Father Daniel was offered the spare bedroom. That night, after turning out the lights, the priest lay in bed and listened to all the terrifying sounds the Beckfords had been hearing over the past month.

  During the next few days, activity went on as usual. Father Daniel continued to witness the noises and strange movements of objects. Yet by Wednesday of Easter week, it was apparent the activity was occurring in defiance of the priest, if not in contempt of him. Whenever Father Daniel asked for a pencil, a glass of water, or a book, that object would either rise up and float over to him; or, more often, would simply be there the next time he looked. On a few occasions, the object would already be on its way to him before the priest even asked for it. Such actions seemed amusing, but Ed warned Father Daniel not to take them personally. These sarcastic challenges were intended to try his patience, if not lure him into an emotional involvement he might not be able to control.

  When they all went to bed that Wednesday night, the atmosphere in the house was anything but playful. The fury of the noises made it impossible to sleep. But beyond the havoc, an appalling evil presence was quite evident in the house. All night long Father Daniel could feel its violent, passionate enmity.