Deliver us from evil_forLit

Home > Other > Deliver us from evil_forLit > Page 9
Deliver us from evil_forLit Page 9

by AndyAfro


  "Why did you ma­ke a pri­so­ner out of me? Ma­ke me suf­fer the way you did? Deny me all of the di­vi­ne things which God ga­ve me? You to­ok away all of my po­ten­ti­als, even the man I was sup­po­sed to marry. You to­ok my go­od for­tu­ne and suc­cess away. The­re is not­hing I can do… all the do­ors are loc­ked on me. Why did you do this? Do­es it ma­ke you happy? Is it be­ca­use of yo­ur je­alo­usy? Yo­ur va­nity? Yo­ur ego­tism? Ne­it­her you nor the de­mons ha­ve any di­vi­ne po­wer over God to ta­ke, to iso­la­te, to imp­ri­son me and my fa­mily, to ta­ke all our rights, our ta­lents, our gifts. You dest­ro­yed them. Do­es that ma­ke you fe­el go­od?"

  A. spi­rit gu­ide steps in to spe­ak for Pe­ter.

  "May I spe­ak, Ma­ria? 1 of­fer this to you for the edi­fi­ca­ti­on of yo­ur so­ul. That which has be­en bro­ught be­fo­re you is truly tor­men­ted in spi­rit. We ask that you grant him yo­ur cha­rity. For, in­de­ed, that so­ul shall suf­fer far mo­re than from anyt­hing that you co­uld inf­lict upon him. In­de­ed, it is wrong­ful for any spi­rit, just as it is wrong­ful for any man, to as­su­me cont­rol over any ot­her en­ti­ti­es which God has cre­ated and put on Earth. If we are to be un­li­ke tho­se de­mo­nic things which tre­ad the Earth in va­ri­o­us forms, we must call upon the bit of go­od that is in all of us. We ask you, Ma­ria, do so­met­hing that is, na­tu­ral­ly, most dif­fi­cult for you. Grant him for­gi­ve­ness."

  Maria ans­we­red te­ar­ful­ly, "God ha­ve mercy on yo­ur so­ul."

  "Thank you, Ma­ria. We will now ta­ke this spi­rit and we will show him the way that he can ma­ke ret­ri­bu­ti­on for all the wrong that he has do­ne.

  Many hu­mans born on this Earth are su­bj­ect to be­ing open chan­nels. They can­not cont­rol it. Many do not know that they are open chan­nels and can­not un­ders­tand how they can be un­der such an af­flic­ti­on. It do­es not me­an that the per­son who is an open chan­nel and is used by the spi­rits is ne­ces­sa­rily evil in he­art. It do­es not ne­ces­sa­rily hap­pen to ever­yo­ne who do­es not be­li­eve in God or who do­es not con­sec­ra­te him­self to God. Even tho­se clo­sest to God are very sus­cep­tib­le to be­ing pre­yed upon. We must cons­tantly ke­ep our gu­ard up. We must al­ways be le­ar­ning. Ma­ria, do you know how much ot­hers shall le­arn be­ca­use of yo­ur tro­ub­les? You must know this: gre­at mercy and bles­sings will be shed upon you if you can ac­cept the tri­als that ha­ve co­me to you in this man­ner. You ha­ve bro­ught be­fo­re the eyes of many, the ter­rib­le de­vas­ta­ti­on that is bro­ught upon one by an in­hu­man so­ur­ce. Only you can de­ci­de now whet­her you will al­low this to un­set­tle you for the rest of yo­ur li­fe or you will use it for yo­ur en­ligh­ten­ment.

  Remember, not all spi­rits are evil. You are not awa­re of how many ti­mes you ha­ve had gifts from go­od spi­rits in yo­ur li­fe. Be­ca­use go­od spi­rits le­ad you to do go­od de­eds, for which you can be joy­ful, you ha­ve not ack­now­led­ged that the go­od de­eds ha­ve co­me from an out­si­de inf­lu­en­ce. Tho­se spi­rits which are de­mo­nic and help to dest­roy yo­ur li­fe are of­ten very easy to iden­tify. Go­od spi­rits can­not lo­ok for re­cog­ni­ti­on be­ca­use then you wo­uld not be­li­eve that the things we do are of a go­od na­tu­re. Ho­we­ver, be­ca­use hu­man na­tu­re is as we­ak as it is, it is very much imp­res­sed by the­se fan­tas­tic things which you wit­ness.

  It is a mi­xed bles­sing which co­mes to you, Ma­ria. In a short ti­me she (the me­di­um) will awa­ken from her sle­ep and will dis­cuss va­ri­o­us ways for you to set up bu­il­ding blocks aro­und you. You see, you we­re born with a big chink in yo­ur aura; one who­le part is mis­sing. So­me­ti­mes, when we are born, the­se things hap­pen. They can­not be bla­med upon any par­ti­cu­lar ma­ni­fes­ta­ti­ons. Tho­se things which hap­pen to you in physi­cal li­fe, yes, tho­se are cont­rol­led by mor­tal men. Ha­ve gre­ater un­ders­tan­ding of what has hap­pe­ned to you from the spi­rit si­de. I be­gin to fe­el anot­her evil spi­rit co­ming…"

  The vo­ice chan­ged on­ce aga­in from de­ep and pe­ace­ful, to co­ar­se and gut­tu­ral:

  "Despicable! They are vi­ci­o­us and scan­da­lo­us! If I we­re you, I wo­uld not be­li­eve one word. Do you he­ar? Not one word wo­uld I be­li­eve from the lips of tho­se pe­op­le. They are slan­de­ro­us! I am pu­re. Do you un­ders­tand? I can gi­ve you everyt­hing that you de­si­re. I can gi­ve you be­a­uty, all the things that are ple­asant, everyt­hing that is ni­ce. I wo­uldn't do anyt­hing bad to you. Spe­ak to me!"

  Ed War­ren ans­we­red, "What is yo­ur na­me?"

  "I will not ans­wer!"

  "Can you desc­ri­be yo­ur­self?"

  "I am ugly-lo­oking. I ha­ve a hor­rib­le fa­ce. My eyes are de­ep sunk. I ha­ve gross ha­ir all over my body. I am black all over. My skin is co­ar­se. What el­se do you want to know?"

  "What do you call yo­ur­self?"

  "I am re­sent­ful of this.. I am re­sent­ful of this!"

  Once aga­in, Ed crept up be­hind the me­di­um with a cru­ci­fix in his hand and sent the en­tity in­to a how­ling ra­ge of pa­in, for­cing it from the me­di­um.

  Since that ti­me, Ma­ria has set up bu­il­ding blocks aro­und her­self for pro­tec­ti­on and has re­ma­ined free of de­mo­nic at­tacks.

  After ne­arly half a cen­tury of con­ti­nu­o­us tor­ment, Ma­ria has won her war aga­inst the ne­ga­ti­ve for­ces, and Pe­ter has fi­nal­ly be­en put to rest.

  CHAPTER XI

  The Ghosts Of West Point

  When Ed and Lor­ra­ine War­ren re­ce­ived a call from the com­man­ding Ge­ne­ral of West Po­int, they we­re flat­te­red. Ima­gi­ne the­ir surp­ri­se when they we­re as­ked to in­ves­ti­ga­te a ha­un­ting. West Po­int, that for­mi­dab­le bas­ti­on of lo­gi­cal thin­king. The al­ma ma­ter of Ro­bert E. Lee, Do­ug­las Ma­cArt­hur and many ot­hers. Ha­un­ted? The Ge­ne­ral, him­self, as­king to se­arch for a ghost?

  Needless to say, they we­re qu­ick to ac­cept and get in­vol­ved in one of the most comp­li­ca­ted in­ves­ti­ga­ti­ons ever.

  It was a cle­ar Oc­to­ber day and the aca­demy had sent a hu­ge Army li­mo­usi­ne to Con­nec­ti­cut for Ed and Lor­ra­ine and the­ir en­to­ura­ge for the dri­ve to West Po­int. Cindy, an in­ves­ti­ga­tor who works with Ed and Lor­ra­ine, and yo­ur aut­hor we­re for­tu­na­te to be inc­lu­ded in the in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on. Af­ter a long ri­de thro­ugh the be­a­uti­ful hills and val­leys of New York sta­te, we ar­ri­ved at the ga­tes of the fa­mo­us ins­ti­tu­ti­on. Our ad­ven­tu­re be­gan.

  After a bri­ef to­ur of the gro­unds, we we­re ta­ken to vi­sit a ma­j­or who was our con­tact for this ad­ven­tu­re. From his of­fi­ce, we we­re ta­ken to the si­te of the ha­un­ting, the Co­lo­nel Sylva­nus Tha­yer ho­use, which was the Su­pe­rin­ten­dent's qu­ar­ters.

  The bu­il­ding was a whi­te-pa­in­ted brick struc­tu­re in the Fe­de­ral style with two sto­ri­es, a gar­ret and an iron la­ce-work porch all aro­und. It was na­med af­ter the first of­fi­cer to oc­cupy it, the fo­urth Su­pe­rin­ten­dent of West Po­int.

  On our to­ur of the ho­use, we we­re ta­ken to the cel­lar whe­re two va­ri­ati­ons of psychic phe­no­me­na con­ti­nu­o­usly oc­cur. The cel­lar at one ti­me had ho­used Co­lo­nel Tha­yer's of­fi­ce and the downs­ta­irs kitc­hen. It al­so con­ta­ined a small bunk ro­om whe­re he co­uld sle­ep nights when he wor­ked ext­re­mely la­te. This ro­om, which still ho­used a small bed, was the sce­ne of a re­cur­rent bit of psycho­ke­ne­sis (the mo­ve­ment of obj­ects thro­ugh mind over mat­ter). The ne­atly ma­de bed was cons­tantly be­ing un­ma­de by an in­vi­sib­le en­tity. The bed wo­uld be fi­xed and a short whi­le la­ter, even tho­ugh it was im­pos­sib­le for an­yo­ne to ha­ve got­ten down the­re,
the co­vers wo­uld aga­in be tos­sed abo­ut. In the downs­ta­irs kitc­hen the­re is a bre­ad­bo­ard with a lar­ge wet spot in the mid­dle, the spot ne­ver dri­es. It has re­ma­ined wet for ye­ars and, se­emingly, not­hing can be do­ne to dry it.

  In many ot­her ro­oms in the ho­use, ap­pa­ri­ti­ons ha­ve be­en se­en flit­ting abo­ut, only to be go­ne a few se­conds la­ter. Fo­ots­teps and knocks on the do­ors and walls ha­ve be­en he­ard. Many ti­mes do­ors ha­ve myste­ri­o­usly ope­ned and clo­sed by them­sel­ves.

  Lorraine wan­de­red thro­ugh the ho­use. She pa­used to me­di­ta­te in each ro­om, trying to pick up imp­res­si­ons of ghostly in­ha­bi­tants, if any. In one of the ups­ta­irs ro­oms she co­uld fe­el the pre­sen­ce of an el­derly, strong-wil­led wo­man. In anot­her ro­om she sen­sed a ple­asant, hap­pily-mar­ri­ed co­up­le.

  We exa­mi­ned the ups­ta­irs ro­oms ex­ten­si­vely (we we­re pro­vi­ded a pho­tog­rap­her by West Po­int of­fi­ci­als) and pro­ce­eded to mo­ve downs­ta­irs. Whi­le wal­king down the so­mew­hat ste­ep sta­irs I felt as if I we­re be­ing pus­hed, but no one was di­rectly be­hind me. Now, I was flying thro­ugh the air in what se­emed to be slow mo­ti­on. I co­uld see the Ge­ne­ral's aide co­ming to­ward rne, abo­ut to catch me. He too, se­emed to be mo­ving in slow mo­ti­on. I won­de­red if I co­uld ha­ve pos­sibly of­fen­ded the strong-wil­led wo­man who­se pre­sen­ce Lor­ra­ine felt.

  Lorraine and Ed had be­en as­ked to lec­tu­re at the audi­to­ri­um that eve­ning. The lec­tu­re went well. The su­bj­ect held the in­te­rest of the many ca­dets and of­fi­cers who we­re pre­sent. In fact, du­ring the cus­to­mary qu­es­ti­on and ans­wer pe­ri­od that fol­lo­wed, we we­re told abo­ut an in­ci­dent that had be­en wit­nes­sed many ti­mes by a num­ber of ca­dets. A ghost had be­en se­en in one par­ti­cu­lar ro­om of the dorm by over twenty men, inc­lu­ding six of­fi­cers. Mo­re abo­ut that la­ter.

  When the prog­ram was over that night we we­re as­ked by two Ma­j­or's and the­ir wi­ves to hold a se­an­ce at the Co­lo­nel Sylva­nus Tha­yer ho­use. In ret­ros­pect it al­most se­ems un­re­al. Ed and Lor­ra­ine War­ren at con­ser­va­ti­ve, old West Po­int by in­vi­ta­ti­on. Se­ated on the flo­or, hands jo­ined and for­ming a circ­le, two very se­ri­o­us, very lo­gi­cal Army Ma­j­ors and the­ir wi­ves.

  An at­tempt was ma­de to con­tact an earth­bo­und spi­rit du­ring the se­an­ce, but no­ne wo­uld jo­in our gro­up that night. (An earth­bo­und spi­rit is a per­son who, be­ca­use of gre­at emo­ti­onal shock at the ti­me of his de­ath, do­es not pass over cor­rectly and re­ma­ins at­tac­hed to this pla­ne.) The­re we­re, ho­we­ver, many imp­res­si­ons pic­ked up.

  Lorraine saw a man in the uni­form of the 1800's, his na­me be­gan with G, she sa­id it was so­met­hing li­ke Gre­en or Gre­er. She told tho­se pre­sent that he was very sad.. that he wan­ted to be left alo­ne. She sa­id that he de­fi­ni­tely had a gre­at gu­ilt fe­eling, that he was a Ge­ne­ral's aide and he was black. The Ma­j­or pro­tes­ted that it co­uldn't ha­ve be­en. The­re was ne­ver a black aide at the Po­int at that ti­me. On that no­te the se­an­ce en­ded.

  Approximately a we­ek af­ter our re­turn ho­me, Lor­ra­ine re­ce­ived a call from the com­man­ding Ge­ne­ral of West Po­int. He sa­id that he had per­so­nal­ly re­se­arc­hed the his­tory of West Po­int and had fo­und that, in­de­ed, the­re had be­en a black man na­med Gre­er who was an aide du­ring the 1800's. He went on to say that Gre­er was ar­res­ted for mur­de­ring a man on the gro­unds of the aca­demy. He was la­ter gran­ted cle­mency. Gre­er is not at rest.

  The next day an of­fi­cer from West Po­int cal­led and told Lor­ra­ine that each night sin­ce the­ir vi­sit a ghost had ap­pe­ared in a ro­om of one of the dorms. It was the sa­me ghost that had be­en se­en by the of­fi­cers and ca­dets many ti­mes be­fo­re the War­ren's vi­sit. The en­tity's fre­qu­ency has inc­re­ased la­tely be­ca­use of the gre­ater re­cog­ni­ti­on it has be­en get­ting. This is a na­tu­ral phe­no­me­non among ghost hun­ters.

  The ghost wo­re a ni­ne­te­enth cen­tury uni­form and car­ri­ed a rif­le. He wal­ked thro­ugh a wall in­to the cen­ter of the ro­om and then exi­ted aga­in by wal­king thro­ugh anot­her wall. The wall thro­ugh which he en­te­red was al­ways qu­ite hot from the ra­di­ator which was aga­inst it. Whe­ne­ver the en­tity ca­me thro­ugh, the ra­di­ator tur­ned icy cold. Co­uld this en­tity be in any way con­nec­ted with Gre­er? Co­uld this be Gre­er's vic­tim?

  We had be­en bo­und to strict sec­recy by of­fi­ci­als of West Po­int, to pro­tect it from pos­sib­le ri­di­cu­le. An unk­nown ca­det (West Po­int as­su­mes) de­ci­ded that he was not a part of that ag­re­ement. Wit­hin a few days, every ma­j­or news­pa­per, ra­dio sta­ti­on and te­le­vi­si­on net­work was tal­king abo­ut the West Po­int Ghost and our in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on. We we­re told by the Army that any furt­her in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on by us was out of the qu­es­ti­on un­til the culp­rit who had cal­led the press was fo­und.

  A yo­ung mids­hip­man from An­na­po­lis, an­xi­o­us to grab so­me pub­li­city and at the sa­me ti­me ca­use gri­ef for West Po­int, cla­imed that the who­le ghost story was a ho­ax which he had cre­ated. He sa­id that he had clim­bed on­to the ro­of of the dorm and lo­we­red him­self over the si­de just abo­ve the se­cond flo­or win­dows. The­re, with a flash­light and a foggy sli­de, he pro­j­ec­ted the ima­ge in­to the ro­om, the­reby cre­ating the ghost. He sa­id that he had do­ne this for a full we­ek, be­gin­ning Hal­lo­we­en night. West Po­int was qu­ick to po­int out, ho­we­ver, so­me disc­re­pan­ci­es in his story.

  They po­in­ted out that the ha­un­ting to­ok pla­ce on the first, not the se­cond flo­or. Over twenty pe­op­le wit­nes­sed the ap­pa­ri­ti­on. They saw it very cle­arly walk thro­ugh the wall and in­to the cen­ter of the ro­om. The ra­di­ator had tur­ned cold as the en­tity ap­pe­ared. Fi­nal­ly they no­ted that the ha­un­ting had be­en se­en each night for a full we­ek be­fo­re Hal­lo­we­en.

  When we as­ked of­fi­ci­als of West Po­int for per mis­si­on to use pho­tog­raphs ma­de for us by the pho­tog­rap­her that they pro­vi­ded, they emp­ha­ti­cal­ly sa­id, "NO!" The day af­ter we ma­de the re­qu­est the F.B.I, pa­id us a vi­sit. We we­re told that we co­uld ke­ep the pho­tog­raphs pro­vi­ded that we ne­ver use them in pub­lic. We we­re as­ked to sign a cont­ract that pro­vi­ded pe­nal­ti­es for vi­ola­ti­on.

  We ho­pe so­me­day we will be al­lo­wed by West Po­int of­fi­ci­als to conc­lu­de our in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on. Un­til then, so­me of the dor­mi­tory ro­oms will con­ti­nue to be se­aled off, a mystery will re­ma­in un­sol­ved and a ghost will con­ti­nue its nightly walks in the halls of West Po­int.

  CHAPTER XII

  Deliver Us From Evil

  Where evil lurks and wors­hip­pers of its mad­ness dwell, the be­a­uty of na­tu­re be­co­mes a gro­tes­que pa­rody. So it is in one par­ti­cu­lar val­ley in New Eng­land. The­re, the an­ci­ent ro­ad nar­rowly winds bet­we­en twis­ted, stun­ted tre­es which claw the air abo­ve omi­no­usly. Low led­ges of lic­hen-co­ve­red rocks jut out oc­ca­si­onal­ly and cre­vi­ces se­ep wa­ter that un­der­mi­nes the la­ne. The few dark ho­uses which exist in that area sel­dom ap­pe­ar to see the light of day. Even the sun se­ems to shun tho­se ma­lig­nant wo­ods. At the bot­tom of the val­ley, ex­ten­ding for ac­res in gre­at de­so­la­ti­on, is an aban­do­ned sand pit with hu­ge mo­unds of earth erup­ting out of a pla­in of ponds and pud­dles, fo­ul mars­hes and in­sa­nely mis­sha­pen oaks. The­re li­es hid­den the very he­art of the evil.

  The cold light of the full mo­on cre­ates we­ird sha­dows aro­und the gre­at du­nes in the sand pit. Be­hind one of tho­se mo­unds, flic
­ke­ring cand­le­light plays over the black-clad co­ven, whi­le at the al­tar (a sto­len gra­ves­to­ne) the high pri­es­tess drinks blo­od from a cha­li­ce. The co­ven chants, spel­lbo­und, as the­ir mist­ress ra­ises her dag­ger over the strug­gling ro­os­ter. The chan­ting dro­nes on, get­ting lo­uder un­til it re­ac­hes a pe­ak and the pri­es­tess shri­eks, "Ha­il, Sa­tan!" Then she dri­ves her kni­fe down for­ce­ful­ly in­to the help­less, scre­aming bird. The si­len­ce in that val­ley of sha­dows is shat­te­red by the ec­ho­es of the tra­gedy car­ri­ed on the mur­mu­ring winds.

  Laura was only eigh­te­en ye­ars old, yet she was on the brink of dest­ruc­ti­on when she first so­ught help from Ed and Lor­ra­ine in 1971. Pat­he­ti­cal­ly des­pe­ra­te, she re­la­ted her bi­zar­re story to them. A ye­ar la­ter she vi­si­ted them aga­in, beg­ging for help, but unab­le to ac­cept it, for by then she was al­re­ady in the grasp of the evil upon which she had cal­led.

  Laura had al­ways be­en at­trac­ted to the oc­cult, par­ti­cu­larly the dark si­de. In Ap­ril 1971, she be­li­eved that if she re­al­ly tri­ed, she co­uld "co­nj­ure" so­met­hing up. Her boyf­ri­end had just told her that he no lon­ger wan­ted to see her, per­haps the spi­rit world co­uld help. She cal­led upon sa­tan, but not­hing hap­pe­ned. Di­sap­po­in­ted, she de­ci­ded to go to bed. When she wal­ked over to her mir­ror she saw, in the depths of it, a mist for­ming. It se­emed to be ta­king on the fe­atu­res of a ha­iry, par­ti­al­ly de­ca­yed be­ing, half hu­man, half wolf! It had lar­ge pe­net­ra­ting, lu­mi­no­us eyes that fi­xed her hor­ri­fi­ed ga­ze to them. It was im­pos­sib­le to turn away. Af­ter she sta­red at it for what se­emed li­ke an eter­nity, the fa­ce tur­ned whi­te as if it we­re a ne­ga­ti­ve. Then it fa­ded away and as it re­le­ased La­ura from its sta­re, she co­uld fe­el a shoc­king chan­ge of mo­od. She felt tha.t she co­uld ac­tu­al­ly kill so­me­one. She al­so felt mor­bidly at­trac­ted to that fa­ce and she wan­ted to see it on­ce mo­re. On­ce aga­in La­ura tri­ed to sum­mon the cre­atu­re, but to no ava­il.

 

‹ Prev