Deliver us from evil_forLit

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Deliver us from evil_forLit Page 3

by AndyAfro


  She be­gan to re­de­co­ra­te one of the ro­oms in the ell, strip­ping off la­yer af­ter la­yer of old wal­lpa­per, un­til she fo­und be­a­uti­ful, wi­de wo­od pa­nels un­der­ne­ath.

  She tho­ught how ni­ce the pa­ne­ling wo­uld lo­ok un­til she no­ti­ced a lar­ge, splat­te­red sta­in on one of the newly un­co­ve­red walls. She tri­ed to wash it off, but it tur­ned bright red, and then re­tur­ned to the ori­gi­nal dark brown co­lor when it dri­ed.

  She be­li­eved that the sta­in was dri­ed blo­od that had be­en the­re for ye­ars and was pro­bably the ba­sis be­hind the ha­un­tings. This dis­co­very ca­used Flo­ren­ce to tra­ce back the his­tory of the ho­use. She dis­co­ve­red that abo­ut 200 ye­ars ago, two men had a fight over one of the ser­ving girls that had wor­ked at the inn. The two men kil­led each ot­her in that ro­om! May­be they we­re the fo­ots­teps that Mrs. V. he­ard!

  In 1962, af­ter Flo­ren­ce and Char­les had li­ved in the ho­use for twel­ve ye­ars, they de­ci­ded that they had had eno­ugh and they sold it. A num­ber of te­nants and ow­ners ha­ve sin­ce co­me and go­ne but the oc­cur­ren­ces con­ti­nue.

  Ed and Lor­ra­ine War­ren we­re as­ked to vi­sit the ho­use by Mrs. V. and the pre­sent te­nants. As Lor­ra­ine wal­ked abo­ut the ho­use, she be­gan to fe­el as if the­re was a fi­re in the back­yard. She co­uld smell the smo­ke and fe­el the he­at fa­intly as it be­gan to drift aro­und the si­de of the ho­use. When she re­ali­zed that what she sen­sed was not a fi­re that was cur­rently bur­ning, she as­ked if the­re had ever be­en a lar­ge fi­re in the past. No one knew. Then, lo­oking out of a bed­ro­om win­dow, she en­vi­si­oned the fi­elds be­fo­re the ho­use was bu­ilt. She saw a night il­lu­mi­na­ted by the many fi­res bur­ning on the fi­elds. In her vi­si­on she saw lar­ge sto­nes sur­ro­un­ding each fi­re, and how each of the sto­nes was scar­red from the many bur­nings. Dan­cing aro­und the fi­res we­re fi­gu­res with the­ir fa­ces sme­ared with black sac­ri­fi­ci­al ani­mal fat, ob­vi­o­usly per­for­ming so­me sort of ce­re­mo­ni­al ma­gic. Next she saw, how tho­se very sa­me evil sto­nes we­re used to la­ter bu­ild the Sto­ne­ham Ta­vern. She then un­ders­to­od why the ho­use was cur­sed. When Ed and Lor­ra­ine ins­pec­ted the cel­lar, they saw the lar­ge, fi­re-scar­red sto­nes that ma­de up the fo­un­da­ti­on.

  Later du­ring the eve­ning Lor­ra­ine had anot­her vi­si­on. A sol­di­er ca­me to the front do­or of the ta­vern. He sig­ned in, then sent his gro­om, a yo­ung orp­han boy, out to stab­le his hor­se. In the barn, Lor­ra­ine co­uld see a lar­ge black mass ap­pe­ar, and the boy just di­sap­pe­ared.

  Lorraine next vi­si­ted the ro­om in which the do­or had exp­lo­ded open. Lo­oking out a win­dow, she saw her­self as yo­ung La­ura D. watc­hing her brot­hers and sis­ters go off to scho­ol in a car­ri­age. As she sta­red down the long stra­ight ro­ad she felt the ro­om be­co­ming ext­re­mely cold. She tur­ned, wal­ked over to the fi­rep­la­ce and sto­od the­re trying to warm her­self. The fi­rep­la­ce had be­en dis­mant­led and sold a num­ber of ye­ars ear­li­er to a ne­arby his­to­ric as­so­ci­ati­on. Thus Lor­ra­ine had no way of kno­wing that the­re had ever be­en a fi­rep­la­ce in the ro­om, but she was stan­ding di­rectly in front of whe­re it had be­en. Sud­denly she saw a hu­ge black clo­ud for­ming in the cor­ner of the ro­om. Ter­ri­fi­ed, La­ura ran in­to the clo­set to hi­de, ne­ver to be se­en aga­in. Just one mo­re stran­ge di­sap­pe­aran­ce con­nec­ted with the old Sto­ne­ham Ta­vern.

  There are many ot­her myste­ri­es still con­nec­ted with the old ho­use, the evil still lurks the­re. Sto­ne­ham Ta­vern is aga­in ne­ar ru­ins, and oc­cu­pants co­me and go qu­ickly as each ex­pe­ri­en­ces his own brush with the ma­cab­re. It se­ems that the une­arthly te­nants of the old inn ha­ve ad­ded a new mem­ber to the­ir eerie cast la­tely. In re­cent months the gent­le, sad sob­bing of a baby has al­so be­en he­ard waf­ting thro­ugh the de­ca­ying cor­ri­dors and ro­oms of the an­ci­ent ho­use on the old Bos­ton to Hart­ford sta­ge co­ach ro­ad. The spi­rits of the past re­fu­se to gi­ve up the­ir cla­ims on the world of the pre­sent.

  CHAPTER II

  Possessed

  Life is fil­led with a we­alth of stran­ge oc­cur­ren­ces, many of which can­not be exp­la­ined in 'nor­mal' terms. We can eit­her ma­ke be­li­eve that such oc­cur­ren­ces ne­ver hap­pe­ned, or we can ac­cept them and lo­ok for the­ir ca­use in the re­alm of the su­per­nor­mal. The fol­lo­wing is an ac­co­unt of one of tho­se in­ci­dents for which the ca­use was fo­und in the world of the su­per­na­tu­ral, for this was a ca­se of pos­ses­si­on!

  The story con­cerns two yo­ung co­usins who, surp­ri­singly, we­re to­tal op­po­si­tes. An­na, a shy, cu­te, softs­po­ken girl, was very hap­pily mar­ri­ed and lo­ved her hus­band and three child­ren very much. Di­ane was a pro­mis­co­u­o­us, pro­fa­ne, vi­ci­o­us wo­man who was in­ten­sely je­alo­us of An­na's happy li­fe. Whe­re­as An­na lo­ved her child­ren Di­ane, se­pa­ra­ted from her hus­band, ha­ted all child­ren, es­pe­ci­al­ly her own da­ugh­ter, whom she of­ten tor­men­ted ter­ribly.

  There is an old sa­ying that as a man li­ves, so shall he die. On a bright, warm day in May, 1969, Di­ane, hor­rid in li­fe, di­ed a hor­rib­le de­ath. The po­li­ce cal­led her de­ath an ac­ci­dent; but the­re are tho­se who be­li­eve, owing to the sus­pi­ci­o­us cir­cums­tan­ces in­vol­ved, that it was mur­der. Ac­ci­dent or mur­der, Di­ane's vi­olent end was the be­gin­ning of a li­ving night­ma­re for An­na.

  One eve­ning in July of 1969 An­na and her aunt, we­re using the ou­i­ja bo­ard. It be­gan as a typi­cal sit­ting - the bo­ard ga­ve no re­al ans­wers to the­ir qu­es­ti­ons. Then sud­denly the po­in­ter be­gan mo­ving qu­ickly, spel­ling out a string of pro­fa­ni­ti­es and then, "Di­ane… Di­ane… mur­de­red… I… was… mur­de­red!" In start­ling suc­ces­si­on fol­lo­wed re­asons why, and na­mes of tho­se in­vol­ved. To­tal­ly sha­ken, they put the bo­ard away for the night, and An­na went ho­me. Thin­king abo­ut what had hap­pe­ned, tho­ugh, she be­ca­me so int­ri­gu­ed with the idea of pos­sibly com­mu­ni­ca­ting with her co­usin's spi­rit that the next day she bor­ro­wed a ou­i­ja bo­ard from her ne­igh­bor. In her ho­me, alo­ne ex­cept for her child­ren, she be­gan using the bo­ard for a few mi­nu­tes each day. The ans­wers to her qu­es­ti­ons at first me­ant not­hing to her, but lit­tle by lit­tle mo­re of what se­emed to be Di­ane ca­me thro­ugh, thro­wing cur­ses at An­na along with sup­po­sed in­for­ma­ti­on. As the con­tact with Di­ane's spi­rit inc­re­ased, the ti­me that An­na spent in trying to con­tact her al­so inc­re­ased un­til she has­tily rus­hed thro­ugh her da­ily cho­res, an­xi­o­us to get back to the ou­i­ja. By this ti­me, as she exp­la­ined it, she had be­gun to fe­el as if she didn't be­long to her­self, as if so­met­hing we­re ma­king her use the ou­i­ja cons­tantly. She was right.

  One night la­te in July, An­na awo­ke to the so­und of he­avy pi­eces of fur­ni­tu­re be­ing pus­hed abo­ut so­mew­he­re in the ho­use. Her hus­band lay so­und as­le­ep next to her. She sat up, lis­te­ning to the so­unds for a mo­ment, then got up and went from ro­om to ro­om, but the do­ors and win­dows we­re loc­ked and not­hing was out of pla­ce. She clim­bed back in­to bed, thin­king that she must ha­ve be­en dre­aming, and went to sle­ep aga­in. The next mor­ning, her com­pact was mis­sing from her bu­re­au. In­fes­ta­ti­on had be­gun!

  Infestation is the be­gin­ning of a ha­un­ting so­unds are he­ard and obj­ects di­sap­pe­ar. In this ca­se, only An­na ex­pe­ri­en­ced any of this. She was to en­co­un­ter much mo­re.

  Anna's sle­ep be­gan to be fil­led with hor­rib­le dre­ams. In one which re­cur­red, An­na was a spec­ta­tor
watc­hing her body be­ing cont­rol­led by Di­ane! She wo­uld fight to get her body back, but still she wo­uld he­ar her vo­ice chan­ge to Di­ane's, see her own body be­co­me Di­ane in every way ex­cept ap­pe­aran­ce! An­na wo­uld al­ways lo­se to Di­ane, no mat­ter how hard she fo­ught. And she wo­uld al­ways wa­ke up ex­ha­us­ted from the­se dre­ams, for the figh­ting that she did was re­al! Anot­her re­cur­rent the­me in her night­ma­res was sex. She wo­uld dre­am se­xu­al­ly of things that she had ne­ver dre­amed be­fo­re, whi­le her body wo­uld wildly enact them. She was frigh­te­ned. It felt as if it wasn't her. She had ne­ver felt as sexy as that be­fo­re! It was as if she we­re so­me­one el­se! And her body!…She just co­uldn't stop it!

  The dre­ams con­ti­nu­ed, get­ting much wor­se. So did the no­ises and di­sap­pe­aran­ces. And so did the sex ur­ges, for they we­re be­co­ming un­cont­rol­lab­le even du­ring the day.

  One glo­omy day la­te in the win­ter so­met­hing slight went wrong for An­na. She went in­to a ten mi­nu­te tant­rum, cur­sing at the top of her vo­ice, using words that she had hardly even he­ard be­fo­re, and had ne­ver used! A few days la­ter, as her ol­dest child was sit­ting re­ading, An­na sud­denly felt a tre­men­do­us ha­te for him and a de­si­re to pick him up and smash him thro­ugh the pic­tu­re win­dow. She for­ced the fe­eling to stop be­fo­re she ac­tu­al­ly did anyt­hing. An­na's ob­ses­si­on was gro­wing. Di­ane was be­gin­ning to co­me thro­ugh.

  Obsession is the next step in a pos­ses­si­on ca­se. First An­na had be­co­me ob­ses­sed with the ou­i­ja bo­ard, fol­lo­wed la­ter by an ob­ses­si­on with de­si­res to harm her child­ren. She ex­pe­ri­en­ced ra­ge aga­inst the child­ren and cons­tantly swo­re at them and felt hat­red for them. This be­ha­vi­or was unac cus­to­med for An­na and very ap­prop­ri­ate for Di­ane. Fe­elings li­ke wan­ting to rip open the­ir sto­machs and se­e­ing the­ir guts spill all over we­re fin­ding the­ir way in­to An­na's mind, and when they ca­me, she was comp­le­tely en­ve­lo­ped by them; she was pre­ven­ted from do­ing what they com­man­ded only by her own gre­at lo­ve for her child­ren, which so far had be­en strong eno­ugh to re­sist comp­le­te pos­ses­si­on.

  In the­se past few months, po­or An­na had be­co­me ena­mo­ured of her vi­si­ons of de­ath. In the mid­dle of ho­use­work, she wo­uld ab­ruptly stop to en­vi­si­on how lo­vely her child­ren wo­uld lo­ok in the­ir cof­fins, dres­sed so be­a­uti­ful­ly. She co­uld see her­self stan­ding along­si­de of her child­ren, smi­ling, fe­eling such gre­at lo­ve for her de­ad child­ren, and yet she wo­uld still fe­el ha­te for them and want to grab them and hurt them and te­ar at them! She tho­ught, "How be­a­uti­ful I wo­uld lo­ok in my cof­fin, dres­sed in my most en­ti­cing gown. My hus­band and all of my fri­ends wo­uld lo­ok down at me and say, 'Oh, how much we lo­ve you, An­na, and how at­trac­ti­ve you are!' They wo­uld all miss me ter­ribly."

  Then An­na for­gets abo­ut her ho­use­work and puts on a gown, thin­king of her pre­pa­ra­ti­ons for the gra­ve, and dan­ces her own men­tal Dan­se Ma­cab­re with her de­ad co­usin, Di­ane.

  Anna is in the thro­es of ob­ses­si­on and so­me ti­mes, pos­ses­si­on. She is pre­oc­cu­pi­ed with de­ath and how she wo­uld dress for it (just li­ke Di­ane, who was bu­ri­ed in her wed­ding gown). She is ra­pidly be­co­ming Di­ane fe­eling pro­mis­cu­o­us, very pro­fa­ne and vi­ci­o­us, ha­ting and wan­ting to hurt her child­ren. So­on, Di­ane will comp­le­tely pos­sess An­na. Di­ane, ever je­alo­us of An­na in li­fe, car­ri­ed her je­alo­usy with her to the gra­ve. Earth­bo­und by her vi­olent end, yet de­si­ring still her earthly li­fe, what bet­ter way to co­me back than to ta­ke over her won­der­ful and we­ak co­usin?

  CHAPTER III

  Unknown Visitor On A Winter's Night

  It was Christ­mas night, 1971, in a so­ut­hern Con­nec­ti­cut city and ce­leb­ra­ti­ons we­re in full swing. At one par­ti­cu­lar gat­he­ring, ho­we­ver, the party to­ok a stran­ge turn, which in­vol­ved a twenty-two ye­ar old girl whom I shall call Julia. She was a be­a­uti­ful and very sen­si­ti­ve ar­tist, in­tel­li­gent and sin­ce­re, who li­ved alo­ne in a stu­dio-apart­ment. She was al­so an oc­ca­si­onal stu­dent of the oc­cult, who­se in­te­rest was in­he­ri­ted from her cla­ir­vo­yant mot­her. On this par­ti­cu­lar night Julia and her girlf­ri­end we­re pla­ying with the ou­i­ja bo­ard trying to con­tact the spi­rit of the fri­end's fat­her. Only sta­te­ments that we­re garb­led and me­aning­less ca­me thro­ugh. Using the ou­i­ja in this man­ner tho­ugh, al­lo­wed so­met­hing el­se to co­me thro­ugh, so­met­hing that Julia wo­uld not dis­co­ver un­til two we­eks la­ter. She wo­uld re­ali­ze that the ou­i­ja bo­ard must be ta­ken se­ri­o­usly!

  It was a ble­ak, icy, over­cast Sa­tur­day night in Janu­ary. Julia's boyf­ri­end John, left her apart­ment at 1 o'clock. They had spent most of the eve­ning watc­hing te­le­vi­si­on prog­rams on the oc­cult and la­ter dis­cus­sing what they had se­en. It was such a cold night that Julia de­ci­ded to sle­ep on the so­fa-bed in the li­ving ro­om next to the he­ater. Ex­cept for the so­und of the wind, her apart­ment was in si­len­ce.

  Julia qu­ickly fell as­le­ep. In her dre­ams she he­ard John co­ming up the sta­irs to her apart­ment and ope­ning the latch on the out­si­de do­or. She cal­led to him and told him that she was co­ming. Then she awo­ke! Stran­gely eno­ugh, she he­ard the so­und aga­in. It wasn't a dre­am at all! So­me­one was ope­ning the latch to the out­si­de do­or. Then the do­or it­self cras­hed open. She tho­ught it must ha­ve be­en the wind, per­haps she hadn't clo­sed the do­or pro­perly. Then every musc­le in her body sud­denly stif­fe­ned as she he­ard the cre­aking so­und of the in­si­de do­or ope­ning. She tho­ught that it must be a burg­lar. Then the­re was si­len­ce. May­be it was only her ima­gi­na­ti­on, or per­haps the ho­use was cre­aking be­ca­use of the cold night. Then she did he­ar a so­und, fa­int at first but it kept get­ting lo­uder, she co­uld al­most fe­el it co­ming clo­ser. So­met­hing was on her bed! It to­uc­hed her ank­le ever so lightly, then to­uc­hed her aga­in, this ti­me at the knee. It was craw­ling up­ward to­ward her he­ad. What was it? Was it go­ing to strang­le Julia? The pres­su­re inc­re­ased, the who­le we­ight of the cre­atu­re was on top of her now, its hot bre­ath in her fa­ce! Tremb­ling, Julia ope­ned her eyes and the­re, sta­ring down at her we­re the gre­at, slan­ted, yel­low eyes of a hu­ge black cat. Julia was ter­ri­fi­ed, she scre­amed at the top of her lungs. Very slowly, al­most ar­ro­gantly, the cat tur­ned and sa­un­te­red to the fo­ot of the bed. Fi­nal­ly, with one last con­temp­tu­o­us lo­ok at Julia, it jum­ped off the bed and lan­ded rat­her no­isily on the wo­oden flo­or.

  Julia sat up, her mo­uth open ye; spe­ech­less, for at the fo­ot of the bed, be­hind the cat, sto­od a girl. She was abo­ut fo­ur­te­en ye­ars old and had long, stra­ight blond ha­ir, we­aring what se­emed to be a works­hirt and fa­ded blue de­nim je­ans. Her cold, blue eyes sta­red at Julia. She be­gan to walk to­ward her stiffly, mi­li­ta­ris­ti­ca­liy aro­und the bed, the cat at her fe­et, un­til she was only inc­hes away from Julia. Her e.j?es se­emed to hypno­ti­ze Julia in that open-mo­ut­hed po­si­ti­on, ke­eping her from even the sligh­test mo­ve­ment. Then wit­ho­ut a word, the ghost tur­ned her back and si­lently gli­ded out thro­ugh the di­ning ro­om, the cat in front of her, its ta­il arc­hed to its back. Julia slam­med her leg aga­inst the bed fra­me as she le­aped out and ran im­me­di­ately af­ter the girl in­to the kitc­hen. The­re was no one'the­re. The girl and the cat had simply va­nis­hed. She tur­ned on the light and was sud­denly struck by the re­ali­za­ti­on that it had be­en so dark that she co­uld hardly ha­ve se­en her hand in front of her fa­ce, and yet she had se­en both the cat and
the girl in crystal cla­rity. The kitc­hen was empty, the do­ors and win­dows we­re all loc­ked, and the­re was no sign at all of what had just oc­cur­red. Julia was puz­zled but she was no lon­ger frigh­te­ned. She tur­ned off the lights and went back to bed, trying to con­vin­ce her­self that tho­se past few mi­nu­tes we­re just a night­ma­re. She even­tu­al­ly fell back to sle­ep and awo­ke the next mor­ning with only a bru­ise on her leg as a re­min­der of the pre­vi­o­us night's ex­pe­ri­en­ce.

  (Ed War­ren exp­la­ins that Julia cal­led in this en­tity on Christ­mas night when she and her fri­end to­yed with the ou­i­ja bo­ard. The­re ha­ve be­en many ins­tan­ces whe­re so­me­one has used the ou­i­ja bo­ard and then suf­fe­red, so­me­ti­mes qu­ite ter­ribly, at the hands of an unk­nown en­tity which he had sum­mo­ned. On that Sa­tur­day in Janu­ary, Julia had her mind on the oc­cult all eve­ning; this ma­de her es­pe­ci­al­ly open and sus­cep­tib­le to an oc­cur­ren­ce such as the one which hap­pe­ned.)

  Julia so­on dis­mis­sed this in­ci­dent as a bad dre­am and wo­uld ha­ve even­tu­al­ly for­got­ten it if it we­re not for so­met­hing el­se that hap­pe­ned to her, so­met­hing so comp­le­tely hor­rif­ying that it sent her run­ning to get in to­uch with the War­rens for the­ir help.

 

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