Deliver us from evil_forLit

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Deliver us from evil_forLit Page 5

by AndyAfro


  Joyce was re­li­eved that the con­fu­sing epi­so­de had fi­nal­ly co­me to an end and she qu­ickly tri­ed to put it out of her mind. The de­mon was not to be de­ni­ed tho­ugh. A few we­eks la­ter Joy­ce was on­ce aga­in conf­ron­ted with the unk­nown.

  One mor­ning whi­le sit­ting at the kitc­hen tab­le, she felt com­pel­led to turn aro­und and lo­ok at the wall be­hind her. She saw a tri­an­gu­lar sha­ped light, abo­ut two and a half fe­et in he­ight, and ap­pe­aring on the wall with it, the na­me - Gre­gory Car­ter-Smith. She was no lon­ger awa­re of anyt­hing ex­cept that light and a vo­ice she se­emed to he­ar in­si­de her he­ad. She as­ked the vo­ice what it was do­ing in her ho­use. The vo­ice ans­we­red, "I've li­ved he­re for thirty-fi­ve ye­ars!" She then as­ked the vo­ice if it li­ked her. It ans­we­red, "In my he­art I do, not yo­ur hus­band, only you." The en­tity, who for the ti­me be­ing had ta­ken the na­me of Gre­gory, was get­ting bol­der!

  From that mo­ment on it se­emed that John and Joy­ce we­re ne­ver to­tal­ly alo­ne in the ho­use. When John was not the­re, Joy­ce wo­uld he­ar whis­pe­ring be­hind her. When she tur­ned aro­und, it wo­uld still be be­hind her. The ma­gic whis­pe­ring was al­ways mumb­led, it co­uld ne­ver be un­ders­to­od. One sum­mer every night at pre­ci­sely 11 o'clock they he­ard so­me­one run­ning down the back sta­irs, but no one was ever se­en!

  It was la­te one par­ti­cu­larly dark night, Joy­ce had just fal­len as­le­ep. John was in bed next to her just abo­ut to drop off to sle­ep when he he­ard so­met­hing that ca­used him to lo­ok up. The­re, just off to one si­de, he saw a flo­ating, bur­ning, bright oran­ge ball of fi­re! It was the si­ze of a bas­ket­ball with two slan­ted slots whe­re eyes sho­uld ha­ve be­en. He was fro­zen with fe­ar! He wan­ted to re­ach out to his wi­fe, but he co­uldn't mo­ve. John knew it had to be so­me kind of de­mon. As it mo­ved clo­ser it se­emed to sap all of his strength and wil­lpo­wer. It pas­sed over him and mo­ved to the ot­her si­de of the ro­om and as it did, he felt that he was abo­ut to die. With the re­ali­za­ti­on of his pro­bab­le de­ath ca­me his last sur­ge of strength. John used this new po­wer to con­cent­ra­te, to re­ason and to fight a men­tal bat­tle with this ma­le­vo­lent de­mon. As he fo­ught his will inc­re­ased-until fi­nal­ly, with the gre­atest of ef­fort, he won and the fi­re­ball fa­ded away. John held his wi­fe in his arms for the rest of the night. In the mor­ning he told her abo­ut the de­mon he had fa­ced the pre­vi­o­us night.

  A few months la­ter John and Joy­ce had the­ir se­cond child, they na­med him Den­nis. The­ir first child, The­re­sa, so far hadn't be­en bot­he­red by any of the su­per­na­tu­ral oc­cur­ren­ces. With Den­nis, things we­re to be dif­fe­rent.

  In the mid­dle of win­ter on a fro­zen, che­er­less night, John and Joy­ce ex­pe­ri­en­ced the­ir next en­co­un­ter with the unk­nown. They had just go­ne to bed when they he­ard a lo­ud exp­lo­si­on and saw a blin­ding flash of light just out­si­de the­ir bed­ro­om win­dow. Joy­ce jum­ped out of bed and ran over to lo­ok out. She no­ti­ced that the win­dow was open at the top abo­ut an inch… yet the win­dow was still loc­ked! When they se­arc­hed the ho­use, they fo­und that the win­dows in the li­ving ro­om and in Den­nis' ro­om we­re in the sa­me con­di­ti­on. It was al­most as if the win­dows had shrunk.

  Time pas­sed and mo­re and mo­re of the myste­ri­o­us hap­pe­nings se­emed to sur­ro­und Den­nis. Many ti­mes, in the eve­ning af­ter Den­nis had be­en put to bed, John and Joy­ce wo­uld he­ar the so­unds of ban­ging and jum­ping aro­und or crying ac­com­pa­ni­ed by the high pitc­hed vo­ice of a wo­man. When they re­ac­hed his bed­ro­om they wo­uld find him sta­ring blankly out the win­dow, sha­king with fe­ar and pers­pi­ring pro­fu­sely. When he was qu­es­ti­oned he co­uldn't ans­wer co­he­rently, and ne­ver re­mem­be­red the next mor­ning what had hap­pe­ned to him the night be­fo­re.

  Joyce's sis­ter-in-law, Betty, baby­sat for her one night and she, too, he­ard the wo­man's vo­ice ups­ta­irs, this ti­me it se­emed to be ar­gu­ing with Den­nis. Each ti­me she went ups­ta­irs to in­ves­ti­ga­te, the vo­ice wo­uld stop. Betty's rest­les­sness ca­used the fa­mily dog, who­se na­me was Lady, to be­co­me rest­less too, so she let her out. Betty tri­ed to set­tle back to her re­ading. Sud­denly she he­ard a man's vo­ice be­hind her say, "Hey, Lady!" When she tur­ned aro­und, no one was the­re. Betty didn't know whet­her the vo­ice was ad­dres­sing her or the dog, but she knew she had he­ard the de­mon!

  Joyce's most frigh­te­ning me­eting with the de­mon oc­cur­red, on­ce aga­in, just af­ter she had go­ne to bed one night. She co­uld fe­el the co­vers be­ing pul­led from her, and the­re from the very pla­ce whe­re she lay, the ap­pa­ri­ti­on of a wo­man aro­se! She sto­od up and fra­med by the mo­on­light shi­ning thro­ugh the win­dow, Joy­ce co­uld see her in crystal cla­rity dres­sed in a ho­use­co­at, the mo­on ref­lec­ting on her long brown ha­ir. She tri­ed to cry out to John, but fe­ar had ta­ken her vo­ice. She watc­hed the wo­man walk out of the ro­om, and a mo­ment la­ter she he­ard Den­nis scre­am. By the ti­me she got to Den­nis' ro­om, the wo­man had go­ne. Joy­ce knew that she had se­en the wo­man who­se vo­ice had tor­men­ted her for so long; she wo­uld ne­ver for­get her!

  During the ti­mes that they we­ren't be­ing pla­gu­ed by the de­mon, John and Joy­ce tri­ed to le­ad nor­mal li­ves. The­ir en­co­un­ters with him se­emed much mo­re fre­qu­ent.

  While John was cle­aning out the at­tic, he felt so­me­one grab on­to his ank­les and pull his legs out from un­der him. This ca­used him to lo­se his ba­lan­ce and he was easily pus­hed out the win­dow. For­tu­na­tely for him, he ma­na­ged to hang on­to the in­si­de ca­sing and climb back in­si­de. The at­tic win­dow was abo­ut thirty-fi­ve fe­et abo­ve the gro­und. A few we­eks la­ter Den­nis had a si­mi­lar ex­pe­ri­en­ce, luc­kily John was the­re to catch him.

  On anot­her oc­ca­si­on Joy­ce's mot­her ag­re­ed to baby­sit for her. She had he­ard abo­ut the stran­ge vo­ices in the ho­use and ho­ped that she co­uld he­ar them for her­self. As the eve­ning wo­re on she be­gan to re­lax. The fa­mily dog, Lady, slept at her fe­et. Sud­denly she he­ard what se­emed to be a low, me­na­cing growl. It was as if a mad dog was in the ro­om, right be­hind her! Lady didn't mo­ve, she was so­und as­le­ep. Joy­ce's mot­her knew it co­uldn't ha­ve be­en Lady that ma­de that so­und. As if she was def­ying the de­mon, she sho­uted at it that she was not af­ra­id, she told it to get out and le­ave her alo­ne! She was not bot­he­red by the de­mon aga­in that night.

  John and Joy­ce con­ti­nue to no­ti­ce many mo­re "lit­tle" things. Not too long ago they no­ti­ced the ban­nis­ter se­emed to sway back and forth when they wal­ked down the sta­irs. They ha­ve both se­en the fi­re­ball aga­in. It even se­ems that they ha­ve be­co­me ill mo­re of­ten and ha­ve mo­re lit­tle ac­ci­dents aro­und the ho­use. Joy­ce sa­id that twi­ce un­se­en fin­gers tri­ed to cho­ke her. She is ter­ri­fi­ed of the ho­use and re­fu­ses to be left alo­ne in it.

  In the spring of 1972, Joy­ce he­ard the wo­man's vo­ice aga­in co­ming from Den­nis' ro­om. In an at­tempt to re­ach the ro­om whi­le the wo­man was still the­re, she rus­hed up the sta­irs wit­ho­ut cal­ling for John. The wo­man was go­ne, but Den­nis was lying the­re, his arms outst­retc­hed, as if re­ac­hing for so­me­one to pick him up. He se­emed to be in shock sta­ring blankly, sha­king and pers­pi­ring pro­fu­sely. Joy­ce ran to the he­ad of the sta­irs and cal­led to John for help. When they re­tur­ned to the bed­ro­om, they no­ti­ced a dep­res­si­on on the mat­tress as if so­me­one was sit­ting next to Den­nis.

  John and Joy­ce de­ci­ded that the only way to fight the de­mon was thro­ugh pra­yer. Be­ing Cat­ho­lic they bo­ugh
t a cru­ci­fix for each bed­ro­om. When they had fi­nis­hed han­ging the cross on the wall in Den­nis' ro­om, he be­gan to jump up and down and twist abo­ut, tremb­ling and sob­bing as if he we­re in ago­ni­zing pa­in. Sud­denly the cross jum­ped from the wall and fell to the flo­or. Three ti­mes it was hung up, three ti­mes it flew from the wall and lan­ded on the flo­or. The fo­urth ti­me John na­iled it se­cu­rely to the wall, this ti­me the de­mon ga­ve in.. for now!

  At ti­mes it se­emed that Den­nis was pos­ses­sed. Many ti­mes he had know­led­ge of de­aths that oc­cur­red many ye­ars ago, de­aths of pe­op­le even John and Joy­ce had not known. What co­uld they do? Wo­uld the de­mon ever le­ave the­ir ho­me?

  John and Joy­ce con­si­de­red many exp­la­na­ti­ons for the events hap­pe­ning to them and the­ir fa­mily. They even lo­oked in­to the­ir past for the ans­wer. Be­fo­re they had mo­ved in­to this ho­use, Joy­ce had ma­de ex­ten­si­ve use of the ou­i­ja bo­ard. Co­uld that be the ca­use of the­ir en­co­un­ters with the de­mon? Wha­te­ver the ca­use, the he­artb­re­ak they suf­fe­red was not abo­ut to end. The­ir ho­use is ha­un­ted by a de­mon. How long it has exis­ted in that ho­use is unk­nown, but John and Joy­ce ho­pe that it will end so­on. La­tely, in­ten­se psychic cold spots ha­ve be­en co­ming and go­ing in va­ri­o­us pla­ces in the ho­use, and a hu­ge black mass has be­en se­en se­ve­ral ti­mes lur­king in the cor­ners of the bed­ro­oms. It se­ems as if the de­mon is tel­ling them that what they ha­ve se­en up to now is only the be­gin­ning, the­ir mi­sery has just be­gun!

  CHAPTER VI

  You See, He Put A Curse On You

  Ruth is an at­trac­ti­ve 20 ye­ar old who, sin­ce her di­vor­ce has li­ved with her pa­rents. She had li­ved a fa­irly simp­le li­fe con­sis­ting ma­inly of ta­king ca­re of her yo­ung da­ugh­ter and do­ing er part of the ho­use­hold cho­res. Her li­fe chang 1 re­cently be­ca­use of a cha­in of unexp­la­ined, : comp­re­hen­sib­le events. Ruth had ne­ver be­li­eved in the su­per­na­tu­ral but so­on had mo­re pro­of of it than she co­uld ever ho­pe for. Ruth had be­li­eved, at first, that it was her pa­rents ho­use that was ha­un­ted. She so­on had hor­rif­ying pro­of that it was not the ho­use, it was she.

  Furious clo­uds tumb­led end­les­sly over­he­ad whi­le thun­der exp­lo­ded amidst gre­at bolts of ligh­te­ning. The earsp­lit­ting din of the storm ma­de that night in March 1972, even mo­re dre­ad­ful, and Ruth's baby da­ugh­ter Lin­da, fo­und it dif­fi­cult to sle­ep. So­me­ti­me af­ter mid­night Lin­da cri­ed for her mot­her to ta­ke her downs­ta­irs to the bath­ro­om. Stumb­ling thro­ugh the thick dark­ness, they ma­de it down and back aga­in wit­ho­ut ma­j­or mis­hap but so­met­hing ma­de Ruth une­asy. She al­most con­vin­ced her­self tho­ugh, that the storm had gi­ven her the stran­ge fe­eling. Af­ter she had tuc­ked Lin­da sa­fely in bed, she bent over to kiss her. Lin­da was sta­ring, wi­de-eyed, right past her mot­her. Ruth sud­denly fro­ze. She felt a ting­ling, warm subs­tan­ce num­bing her fe­et, then her legs, oozing hig­her and hig­her. It felt li­ke tho­usands of tiny fin­gers scratc­hing, pus­hing, prod­ding her back, her si­des and squ­e­ezing aga­inst her.

  This gro­ping mass slip­ped furt­her aro­und Ruth, al­most en­ve­lo­ping her, it re­ac­hed over her sho­ul­ders and ca­res­sed her che­eks. She ma­na­ged to turn aro­und in the ho­pes of se­e­ing who, or what, was trying to suf­fo­ca­te her. The­re was a sing­le bril­li­ant flash of ligh­te­ning… and then, not­hing. The ro­om was now as empty as it had be­en ear­li­er that night. Ruth ran from the ro­om, it was dawn be­fo­re her mot­her co­uld calm her down. With the slow, pa­in­ful pas­sing of each day, the event re­pe­ated it­self. Not only did she en­co­un­ter the en­tity at night, but now she ex­pe­ri­en­ced its pre­sen­ce in bro­ad day­light. She so­on no­ti­ced that each at­tack was pre­ce­eded by abo­ut fi­ve mi­nu­tes of war­ning so­unds - whis­pe­ring and tap­ping. She still co­uld not do anyt­hing to stop the at­tacks but at le­ast she knew when they we­re co­ming and she co­uld try to be with so­me­one. The en­tity wo­uld gli­de up be­hind her and even­tu­al­ly to­wer over her, thre­ate­ning to en­gulf her. Alt­ho­ugh its di­men­si­ons we­re ne­ver exactly the sa­me, she co­uld fe­el that it was much tal­ler and wi­der than she. It was sha­ped li­ke a small clo­ud. She felt that the en­tity was ma­le, an inc­re­dibly evil ma­le. She knew that if she ever al­lo­wed it to comp­le­tely sur­ro­und her, so­met­hing ter­rib­le wo­uld hap­pen to her, per­haps she wo­uld even die.

  It so­on be­ca­me al­most un­be­arab­le. She fe­ared go­ing to bed at night, she fe­ared get­ting up in the mor­ning. Ruth be­ca­me des­pe­ra­te, her mind was in a tur­mo­il. In an ef­fort to pro­tect her sa­nity she went to a psychi­at­rist for help.

  The psychi­at­rist wasn't much help. He told Ruth that the events that she desc­ri­bed just co­uldn't ha­ve hap­pe­ned to her. He sa­id that she had an over-acti­ve ima­gi­na­ti­on and on­ce she re­ali­zed that, the­se things wo­uld stop hap­pe­ning to her. She left his of­fi­ce with a presc­rip­ti­on for tran­qu­ili­zers, in the ho­pes that they wo­uld calm her down and al­low her to ta­ke cont­rol of her mind aga­in.

  That night she to­ok even mo­re than the re­com­men­ded do­sa­ge. She did go to sle­ep, but not for long. So­on she felt the all too fa­mi­li­ar clo­ud on­ce aga­in over­ta­king her, sur­ro­un­ding her body. The pills didn't work.

  Ruth was now de­eply wor­ri­ed, what co­uld she do? She didn't re­al­ly be­li­eve in the su­per­na­tu­ral but she tho­ught if it was, just by chan­ce, per­haps she co­uld over­po­wer it with the help of re­li­gi­on.

  Ruth hadn't be­en go­ing to church la­tely, sin­ce her di­vor­ce. She was a Cat­ho­lic tho­ugh, so she simply went to the Cat­ho­lic Church ne­arest her ho­use. She as­ked the pri­est to lis­ten to her story. She told him of the en­tity, how it se­emed to co­me from be­hind her and al­most en­ve­lo­pe her. She spo­ke of her vi­sit to the psychi­at­rist and his re­com­men­da­ti­on of the pills. She sa­id that she might be pos­ses­sed by the de­vil and only a re­li­gi­o­us bles­sing wo­uld send him away. The pri­est wan­ted no part of this kind of talk and told Ruth to go ho­me, ta­ke the pills and stop ac­ting li­ke a child. Ruth was not sa­tis­fi­ed so she went to anot­her church, ho­ping that she might re­ce­ive a bles­sing the­re. The Mon­sig­nor se­emed very fri­endly to her, he lis­te­ned clo­sely to everyt­hing that she sa­id. He told her that she had ex­pe­ri­en­ced a "light exor­cism". He bles­sed her, sa­id that it wo­uld ne­ver hap­pen aga­in and sent her on her way. He told her that any ti­me that she wan­ted to talk to him, he wo­uld be the­re.

  That night the en­tity ca­me aga­in. The bles­sing that she had re­ce­ived from the Mon­sig­nor had not hel­ped, but Ruth felt that she wo­uld li­ke to talk with him on­ce aga­in. When she re­tur­ned to the church, the Mon­sig­nor was not the­re but she was al­lo­wed to talk with anot­her pri­est of the pa­rish. She felt that this pri­est tre­ated her in the sa­me way the first pri­est tre­ated her. He told her the­re was not­hing wrong with her, he tho­ught per­haps a few trips to a psychi­at­rist wo­uld help. He sa­id the re­ason she was ex­pe­ri­en­cing the­se things was that she had a gu­ilty cons­ci­en­ce. She felt gu­ilty be­ca­use she hadn't be­en at­ten­ding church la­tely, and she knew this was wrong. He told her that if she wo­uld start go­ing to mass aga­in, her prob­lem wo­uld so­on go away. Ruth just co­uldn't ac­cept that ad­vi­ce.

  The at­tacks on her con­ti­nu­ed. Each ti­me Ruth be­li­eved that the en­tity wo­uld suf­fo­ca­te her, and she wo­uld die. She tho­ught that the only so­lu­ti­on for her wo­uld be to le­ave that ho­use. She pac­ked her be­lon­gings and she and her lit­tle da­ugh­ter mo­ved in with her sis­ter-in-law. The en­tity at­tac
­ked aga­in. It was then she re­ali­zed that she was do­omed, so­me­how she had be­co­me in­vol­ved with the su­per­na­tu­ral, it was af­ter her.

  Why was this hap­pe­ning to her? What had she do­ne in her li­fe to war­rant this? She be­gan to lo­ok back on her li­fe, trying to de­ter­mi­ne exactly when the­se en­co­un­ters with this thing be­gan. Then she saw it, a con­nec­ti­on that was so cont­rary to all her be­li­efs that even then, af­ter all she had ex­pe­ri­en­ced, she fo­und it hard to ac­cept.

  Early in March, Ruth had be­en as­ked to go out on a da­te by a man whom she re­al­ly didn't know very well. She did know, ho­we­ver, that what she had he­ard abo­ut him, she didn't li­ke. She had he­ard that he prac­ti­ced sa­ta­nism. She didn't be­li­eve in the oc­cult, but it was eno­ugh to ma­ke her won­der abo­ut his re­pu­ta­ti­on. When Ruth re­fu­sed to ac­cept his in­vi­ta­ti­on, he went in­to an un­be­li­evab­le ra­ge. In fact, he thre­ate­ned her and told her that she wo­uldn't be sle­eping at night any mo­re. Ruth co­uldn't be­li­eve that an­yo­ne co­uld get that ex­ci­ted at a re­fu­sal of a da­te. That was the last ti­me she he­ard from him, she era­sed the in­ci­dent from her mind.

 

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