Prologue
In October of 2021, my husband and I purchased a home which had a demonic infestation. Only a handful of people know the details I am about to share, including our priest, close family and a couple of friends. I’ve referenced the final clearing and rebuke of the demon in a previous post, but have never gone into detail or shared the photographic evidence of the attacks until now. To be clear, this is a very heavy and terrifying story. It took almost three years to summon the will to relive the trauma we endured for many months, and this is the first time I’ve actually sat down and looked at the photos I’ve included in this writing. But this story must be told.
Demons are real.
But so is the power of God, the Holy Trinity, angels and archangels. I know this because I have witnessed all of them, and the deliverance that God brought our family during a battle with evil that lasted four months after we bought a house in an unincorporated area of Washington. Although the details and evidence of this story will frighten, I cannot stress enough that God will always triumph over evil, and that demons are no match for the power of Christ and the archangels. That is the message I need to relay up front: even in the darkest moments, there is hope in faith. We are proof of that.
Ian and I met in 2019, two years after my first husband’s death. We married after a brief courtship, and lived in a lovely split level ranch style home I owned in eastern Washington. I never thought I would find love again after Jeep’s death, but Ian found me and we hit it off immediately. He brought so much joy into my life, and I suddenly had purpose, happiness and someone to care for. I cannot express in words how much the presence of this bright, compassionate and loving man had changed my world. I am truly blessed.
Our first encounter with the demonic came in early 2021, months before we moved to the house we live in now. Ian was working at a cannabis factory, while I was running my video production business, Jevin Studios. Ian would text me periodically from work, telling me about strange things that were happening at the factory. On one occasion, when he was alone during a break in the lunch room, he saw a piece of paper lift off of one table and float across the room, to be laid down on another table about twenty feet away. A second text from him, days later, described a black ball of mist floating through the same room, again when he was alone. Although unnerving, the true nature of this haunting was not evident until he learned from a co-worker that the Halloween prior, the factory owners and some of the staff brought in a Ouija board and did a session in the break room. According to Ian’s associate, who was part of the seance, there was a loud thunder and disruption that exploded through the room, followed by chaos. They had opened up a spiritual doorway and let something in. This entity followed that associate home and attacked his daughter, choking her against a wall and lifted her up, her feet dangling helplessly above the floor.
After Ian experienced the phenomena at his workplace, this entity put its sights on him. Like it did with his co-worker, it followed Ian to our house one night. He was kicking back after a long day’s factory production, feet up on the foot rest of the black leather recliner sofa while watching TV. Suddenly, he exclaimed, “Ouch!”. It startled me from the next room where I was working. I got up and came to him to offer assistance, and saw him with blood on his hands from where he was trying to stem the flow from a deep gash on his calf. I was speechless and shocked. What had just happened?
My husband told me that the gash just opened up on his leg with a blast of pain and burning. I asked if it was the dogs that had done this—maybe one of their claws scratched him trying to get off of the sofa? “No,” he replied. The dogs weren’t near him at the time. This just happened out of nowhere.
As I have been researching the paranormal for close to twenty-five years at this point, I do know that there have been many documented cases of scratches being inflicted on people by unseen forces: human spirits, poltergeists and the demonic. But our house was clean. Other than my late husband, Jeep, being present many nights when I lived in the house alone prior to meeting Ian, I’ve never had any sort of negative haunting at that property until this night. What had changed? The only explanation we could think of was what was happening around Ian at the cannabis factory, and the assault on his associate’s family member. I triaged my husband’s leg and bandaged the wound, trying to wrap my head around what had been brought into our home.
A couple evenings later, while I was up in my studio on the main floor working, I heard (and felt) a loud BANG! that vibrated through the floor, coming from downstairs. My heart leaped in my chest with the sudden disruption of the tranquility in our home, and I heard Ian yell, “Oh, hell NO!“, followed by him running up the stairs from the basement. He was shaking.
“What happened?” I asked, heart still thumping like a hammer in my chest and ears.
Ian told me that while he was downstairs doing laundry, he felt like someone was watching him from behind. With pins and needles coursing down his spine, he turned to look at the heavy, sliding barn door separating the laundry room area from the toilet and shower alcove. The door was open just a few inches from the wall, and in the blackness of the space revealed, a single eyeball was floating in the darkness, staring at him. As soon as the entity knew it had been seen, it flung the barn door open along its track so hard that it made the entire house shake when it slammed against the stopper.
I leaped into action at that moment, knowing we had something unholy in our home. Together, Ian and I went down to the basement and began to pray and command the unclean spirit to leave. We started in the laundry room and went through the entire basement living space, then up the stairs to the side door in the stairwell. As we opened the door and told the entity to leave, Ian saw a black, misty hand shoot by us and out the door, disappearing in the night.
Many paranormal researchers believe that demons operate in a network. When one knows you, they all know you. I believe this to be true, and both Ian and I had become known to this entity, which was brought into our dimension by unscrupulous and careless employees at his work—and to the rest of the demon network by proxy. I have always known Ouija boards to be inherently dangerous, and have never touched one in my life. Nor have they been allowed in my home. Even so, we had just become innocent victims of careless Ouija negligence first hand, and were lucky to have rid ourselves of the attachment before it did further damage.
Tormented
Seven months later, we sold the split-level rancher and moved to the coast, where we purchased a fixer-upper and began to start a new chapter in our lives. We were closer to Ian’s mother and his little brothers now, which was a wonderful and welcome change. We were so excited at this new opportunity, and ready to land on our feet running. We booked flooring contractors to replace the dilapidated 1950’s era linoleum and decades-old carpet before moving in all of our belongings, then lined up plumbing and electrical work to begin immediately thereafter. Our side-by-side recliners were delivered to the house the afternoon the flooring was finished, marking our initiation as official new residents. We were ready to spend our first night in our bungalow!
Within the first twenty-four hours in the house, we knew that something was very wrong. The house was perpetually cold, with all the thermostats turned down to zero. We turned the thermostat dials up to a comfortable seventy degrees, then began moving our stuff in from the POD situated in the driveway, using one of the two bedrooms (which shared a wall with the living room) to house the floor-to-ceiling stacks of cardboard boxes. The second bedroom across the hall was designated as my studio, and that’s where my desk, shelving and equipment were placed.
By the time darkness set in, we were exhausted and ready to shower and relax for the night, before getting up early the next morning for the plumbers’ arrival. The house was still freezing! I walked to the baseboard heating units along the wall and placed my hand on the housing. Ice cold metal. We had tested them when doing our pre-purchase inspection, so we knew they worked. Puzzled, I looked at the thermostats. All of the thermostats were set back to zero. Curious, I asked Ian if he had turned them off, and he said he hadn’t touched them. The circular dials had to be manually turned in order to adjust the temperature, so I couldn’t figure out how they all had managed to be adjusted without us physically touching them. The only thing I could even try to rationalize was that we had brushed against them while moving boxes into the rooms; I manually set each dial back to 70 degrees, then ordered dinner to be delivered and settled in for the night. Exhaustion took hold once our stomachs were full, and we fell asleep—two men and our dog Bruce, all huddled near each other in this house which was so dirty and unfamiliar.
We woke early the next morning, with the house freezing cold again. Our breath was visible in the icy living room. A quick check of the thermostats showed all three units set back to zero. What the hell was going on? We adjusted them once more, then a knock at the door signaled then arrival of the plumbers and another day of chaotic activity, contractors and foot travel in and out for the next ten hours. All of the plumbing beneath the house needed to be replaced, as did the toilet and the vanity sink in the bathroom (the vanity was clogged, with filthy water standing tepid in the basin). In addition, we needed a new garbage disposal installed, along with a water heater and new faucet in the kitchen. This was going to be a three day job.
After the plumbers left for the day, we unpacked a few boxes in the bedroom and studio before purchasing some takeout for dinner. One of the items which came out of the first round of boxes was a large wooden wall cross, which we placed respectfully on a small stack of books. Out came more items, some secured in bubble wrap and others without, until we had gone through several boxes; the empty cardboard was collapsed and removed, freeing up a small amount of space in the cluttered room.
When the daylight turned to night, the temperature in the house plummeted again: every thermostat was turned down to zero. “How is this possible?” I asked Ian with frustration. “Is there a default settling programmed in? This doesn’t make sense!” Ian pointed out that these were strictly manual, and there was no way for the temperature to change unless it was intentionally manipulated. I was still trying to rationalize and debunk this weird phenomena, albeit not very convincingly.
“Where’s the cross?” Ian asked. He was standing by the stack of books where we had placed it just a short while ago, while I was in the other room re-setting the thermostat dials. I came back into the studio and responded that I hadn’t touched it. I turned my focus to organizing some of the belongings we’d unpacked, taking an arm full into the living room. Then Ian shouted, “Trey…come here!”
I immediately came back into the studio and found Ian standing in the closet. Above him in the ceiling was a rectangular attic opening. When we had done our walk-through, there was a piece of pine covering the hole. Now, the wood cover was gone, and the large cross was in the attic, balanced halfway over the edge. Neither one of us could reach that opening without standing on a small ladder, so it was a mystery as to how the cross came to be found in this position. I found the step ladder in the other bedroom and brought it into the studio, then climbed the three steps up and carefully grasped the cross. As soon as I moved it from the attic entrance, three loud bangs blasted the silence right next to our heads.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I jumped down from the ladder, fear gripping my body. Every hair on my body stood on end. “Did you hear that?” I asked Ian, voice cracking. He nodded his head, eyes wide.
“Who’s there?” I managed to get out, trying to be firm, but instead the tremor in my words betraying my fear.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
There was no doubt whatsoever at this moment that something paranormal was happening. The loud banging sound was coming from right next to us, manifesting out of thin air. Without hesitation, I decided to confront whatever was haunting us. “This is our house! You cannot stay here!” I commanded to the unseen spirit. “You must leave no—”
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The pounding interrupted my speech mid-word, and was even louder than before. Whatever we were dealing with, it was pissed…and strong. Not only could it move heavy objects, but also manipulate its environment. Suddenly it occurred me: it was taking energy from the thermostats! That explained the constant chill in the air and the refusal it was demonstrating in allowing us to get comfortable; it was pulling the electricity from the dials and powering itself. And another thing became crystal clear…it did not want us in this house. I was not going to leave, however. This was our house, and we had poured every penny we had into it. We were not going to let this thing drive us out. I was going to re-claim this house, beginning now.
I had some Florida Water in one of the boxes, and we dug it out and I told Ian to stand behind me as I was going to bless this house and command this entity to leave. As I went room to room, the banging followed us everywhere. As soon as I would begin to command, the banging would intensify, drowning out my words. “Only peace, love and light are welcome here. All negativity must go!” I announced, repeating myself over and over as we made our way through the house.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
When we made it to the front door, the banging happened on the wood surface the second my hand grasped the handle. I could feel the vibration ripple down into my palm through the freezing brass knob. I opened the door, and commanded it to leave. Then the incessant banging ceased.
Shaking with adrenaline, I closed the door and looked at Ian. “Did we do it? Do you think it’s gone?” I asked, exhausted from the surge of fear and primal energy. Ian shrugged, speechless. The only thing we could do was go on with our evening, although we were both seriously freaked out by the events which had just occurred.
As Ian was in the bathroom preparing to take a shower, I heard him scream, “Ouch!” sharply. He called to me to come in and look at his back, as he felt something sharp and burning in the area over his spine and above his shoulder blades. I gasped at the sight of three scratches, drops of fresh blood beginning to bead from the broken skin.
I cleaned the blood from the scratches and tried to remain positive for Ian’s sake. We were definitely dealing with an angry and powerful spirit. The infliction of scratches is common in the world of the paranormal, and in itself does not necessarily identify a demonic entity—a fact that I was clinging to, as the alternative was too horrifying to imagine. Very angry determined human spirits have been documented to target individuals in this way. But even so, the idea that whatever we were dealing with, human or otherwise, could physically hurt us was deeply troubling.
We had a restless sleep that night. I couldn’t get the events of the evening out of my mind. I tossed and turned, reacting to every creak and sound in the house, no matter how minor and natural they were. I am a very protective person, and I felt the need to be vigilant to ensure my husband was safe. That meant I may need to leap out of bed and into action at any moment. My stress level was piqued, and I could not relax enough to rest comfortably.
The next morning, we got up at 6:00am to prepare for the plumbers’ arrival before eight. I drove to a nearby coffee stand and picked up large coffees for Ian and myself, then we got busy around the house, me in my studio, and Ian in the bedroom with the floor-to-ceiling stacks of boxes. The plumbers were here just minutes ahead of schedule, and the house was suddenly filled with activity and the sounds of renovations.
At about 11:00am, one of the plumbers came into my studio, looking a bit irritated and confused. “Are you trying to mess with us?” he asked, somewhat half confrontational and half jokingly. I had no idea what he was talking about, and told him so. I had been in my studio the entire time he was working in the bathroom; he had stepped out for a few moments, then returned before coming in to address me from the doorway. “Tell me you didn’t do this,” he said, motioning for me to follow.
When we stepped into the bathroom, he pointed to the tub. Along the bottom of the bathtub, all of the faucets had been removed from the wall and were laying in a row; even the screws were on their heads, pointed ends facing upwards. I was stumped.
“I swear to you I didn’t touch anything,” I told him. We both stood in silence for a moment and stared at the scene before us, trying to figure out what was happening. I then offered the only explanation I could think of, which was that our house appears to be haunted. I explained that we’ve seen something moved and heard noises at night, but didn’t go into too much detail. The last thing I wanted was for our plumbers to bug out and leave us with an unfinished mess, and then having to try to hire new contractors to finish the work. He laughed nervously, then shrugged his shoulders and began the task of putting the fixtures back together and continuing with the day’s scheduled repairs.
When they left for the night, darkness—and the cold—settled upon the house. And yes, the thermostats were all once again set back to zero. This time, there was a stench of urine throughout the house. Trying to debunk the odor, I went outside to the back yard and shined a flashlight into the crawlspace beneath the house. My reasoning was that there must be a feral cal under the house, spraying and using the powdery dirt as a litter box. Nothing. I then smelled the juniper out front, which I’ve heard called a “cat pee bush” by others since the shrub can emit a smell not too unlike cat urine when wet. But the bush was dry, and barely had the odor I was looking for. With no explanation for the stench, I came back inside. Other than the persistent battle over the thermostats (the dials would mysteriously turn off within minutes of being adjusted), and the urine odor, the house was quiet that night.
The next day, while the plumbers were working, Ian and I researched local spiritual shops nearby, and found one several miles away. We loaded the dog into our jeep and left while the plumbers were working on the third and final day, and went to go check this place out and see if we could get some supplies for paranormal warfare. The owner of the shop was amazing, and helped us put together an arsenal of items to purify the home: selenite, white sage, incense, abalone shell and a feather to do a cleansing ritual in the hopes of removing the negative haunting. We also picked up a book from a local author, psychic medium and healer, Mari Beckman, to research, as well as a business card for another psychic from the wall of cards advertising various spiritual services.
I was eager to get started in clearing our house of the haunting, and began the process as soon as the contractors left for the day. The entity knew exactly what we were planning to do, however, and responded accordingly. While I was in the carport smashing selenite into a powder to add to paint I was planning on applying to all the corners of the home, the banging began along the outside of the house right next to where I was sitting. It didn’t stop. The more I crushed the mineral, the more intently the banging progressed. The noise then followed me back into the home; it was letting me know it was keenly aware of everything I was doing.
In my gut, I was beginning to suspect that this was no ordinary haunting, but indeed something more sinister. I hoped it was just an angry ghost, while bracing myself for the possibility of a poltergeist, or worse. I’ve lived in haunted houses before, and the ghosts I encountered didn’t act the way this spirit did. This entity seemed to read my thoughts and anticipate my actions. Could this thing be just a very powerful spirit trying to drive us out, so that it could keep the house for itself? Possibly, if it was a very evolved ghost that had been part of this home for generations and knew how to manipulate its environment. The previous owner was a recluse, I learned from neighbors, and title documents showed he was here since the mid 1980’s. Maybe this spirit was just furious that the home had changed hands, and the familiar person it had spent decades alongside was gone. I didn’t know for sure, as all of this was happening so quickly and we had only been here for a few days. It was kind of like buying a property with a nasty tenant who refuses to leave. I just wanted it gone so that my husband and I could enjoy our new home in peace, without unknown forces working against us.
The banging stopped when I began to apply the selenite-laced paint. I even put wet paint on top of the housing shielding the thermostats, and sprinkled a generous portion of the crushed mineral on top, hoping to create a barrier which would repel the spirit. We followed by burning sage in the abalone shell and walked through the house, fanning the embers with the feather and filling the environment with smoke. We spoke reaffirming, positive words repeatedly: Only peace, love and light are welcome here. All negativity must go. We opened every closet, cabinet and cupboard to ensure the sage permeated even the most hidden corners as we made our way from room to room. When the interior was finished, we began on the outside of the property, walking the entire perimeter with the sage and affirming words.
As nightfall set in, the haunting continued unabated. The thermostat dials turned off on an alternating basis, and the smell of urine permeated the house. If we tried anything to address the spirit directly, the banging started. The noises became significantly more aggressive when we began talking about bringing in a third party. We remembered the business card we picked up for a local psychic, and dialed her number. The second we did so—BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!—the pounding became deafening. The call went to voice mail and we left a message, trying to speak and concentrate above the incessant banging. As soon as the call was ended, the noises ceased.
The next day, a broadband cable installer arrived at our home to connect us to the internet. Up to this point, all of our web access was being done via our smart phones. Strangely, the house was void of any modern connectivity: no cable wiring, and no modern appliances other than an old stove and refrigerator from the 1960’s. (All the light fixtures and doorknobs throughout the home were original, dating back even earlier to the mid 1950’s. It was like living in a time warp—even our kitchen wallpaper was identical to that in the old TV series Bewitched!)
Ian made himself comfortable in the bedroom with our dog Bruce, while I was at my workstation in the studio where the installer would be setting up the cabling and modem. As the contractor was working, I heard Ian calling to me from the bedroom.
“Trey! The ghost won’t leave me alone!” he shouted through the closed door. “It keeps banging above my head…”
I went to the bedroom and cracked open the door, and could hear the rhythmic pounding coming from the ceiling above where my husband sat. It was coming from the attic. I told him not to worry, and that I was in the next room if he needed me—I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. When I returned, the installer was visibly shaken. He could hear it too, but up to this point, I figured he thought it was hammering, as if my husband was hanging artwork on the walls. He tried to remain unaffected, but the subtle tremor in his hands betrayed his unease. “Our house is haunted,” I said, matter-of-fact. The installer didn’t comment, but flashed a brief look my way that spoke volumes. He wanted to get the hell out of this house as soon as possible. When everything was up and running, the gentleman left with barely a word, and we were alone once more.
The pounding above Ian, and the scratches on his back signaled a new phase in the haunting as the spirit had found its target: the most vulnerable person in the house. The frequency of the noises, and the sense of underlying terror we felt, increased whenever Ian was present. During the day, while he was at work, the only persistent manifestation was the thermostat issue. I just couldn’t for the life of me keep the house warm. The bedroom was especially cold, constantly. I would just do my video work in the studio and try to stay focused, checking and then adjusting the thermostat dial every time I went into another room. But electrical issues began to happen now, too. I would sometimes hear a crackling noise in the air near me before events would occur. This was unusual, to say the least, and I believe was from the entity pulling energy out of the air to charge itself…powering itself up before it would strike, like a battery refueling itself when plugged in to a socket. I began to make a mental note about the sound, and then anything which would happen thereafter. And the pattern was definitely there.
Ian and I next did a web search to locate a paranormal team in the area, with the hope that someone would be able to identify what we were dealing with. Curiously, there was no pounding during this call. The team answered the phone, and instead of securing more information or setting up a follow-up, they told us there would be a $1500 consulting fee to spend any time with us at all, even if just to collect background information, prior to making any investigative decisions or strategies. This repulsed us on every level. Why the hell would we pay an exorbitant amount of money for an initial consultation with people we could not verify, and who were supposed to be dedicated to helping those impacted by the paranormal? We felt, and I believe rightly so, that they were an amateur group, only interested in monetary gain—and quite possibly could do more harm than good by stirring up the activity, collecting whatever evidence they wanted, then just leave us to deal with the aftermath. Any prospective trust with these people was destroyed in that brief conversation. We ended the call, and vowed to never deal with “investigators” of this type again. (I was part of an investigative team for a short while when I lived in Texas, and conduct such as that we received this evening was strictly prohibited; we were there to help, not pad our wallets, as we all did this out of an evidence-based passion for researching the paranormal.)
A couple days later, we received a call back from the psychic who’s business card we pocketed. I asked her if she could hear the sound of the pounding on the voice mail I left her. “Yes,” she answered. She heard it! I thought to myself, feeling validated.
“There’s no need to worry, though,” she informed us. The psychic made us feel as if this was a run-of-the-mill haunting, and that there was no danger. She could not have been more wrong.
After speaking to the psychic that evening, we actually felt better. Maybe this really is just an angry ghost. For our own sanity, clinging to the slim hope she provided was a balm to ease the terror we were experiencing. So we decided to try a different approach: maybe we can live together in peace, and reassure the spirit we mean them no harm, and are willing to share our house as long as there is mutual respect and boundaries. Kind of like renting out a room in a house to a stranger…as long as rules are followed and the individual respects your home and each other, and vice versa, it can be a win-win for everyone involved. If this spirit was human and just frightened, possessive or not receptive to change, maybe we can show it consideration and receive the same in return.
Ian and I stood in the living room together and tried to open a dialog with the ghost (keep in mind that Ian was not an open physical medium at this juncture; his gift comes at the end of this story…). We told the spirit that we do not mean it harm, and will respect its presence, but it needed to respect us as well. As long as there was a mutual understanding, we were willing to let it be in peace. Only time would tell if this strategy would prove fruitful. The house was quiet that night, so we felt that this may have been the breakthrough we needed.
The next contract job we scheduled was a replacement of the circuit panel in the home, and the installation of new lighting throughout the house. This should solve the electrical issues, I thought to myself, ready to debunk the glitches I was noticing as related to a severely outdated and malfunctioning circuit breaker system (which was discontinued in the 1970’s, due to numerous house fires nationwide resulting from substandard breaking algorithms). The contractors arrived on time, and began a project that would take a few days. When one of the men needed access to the attic, I made a request.
“Can you take a look up there for a piece of wood, cut to fit over the attic access?” I asked. “When we inspected the house, it was there. But it was gone as soon as we moved in. I think maybe the inspector forgot to put it back over the entrance. I peeked around up there on a ladder, but couldn’t see it anywhere.”
The electrician agreed, and hoisted himself up into the attic to work on connecting the existing wiring to a newly installed panel which was being configured on the outside of the house, in the carport. A couple hours later, when he came back down to consult with his team on the connectivity in progress, he told me he found the piece of pine and showed me the now covered attic access. Sure enough, it was the same piece of wood; I recognized the patterns in the burl along the surface. “Where did you find it?” I queried.
“It was all the way on the opposite side of the attic,” he said. “Looked like someone threw it by the way it was positioned.” I didn’t like that new revelation at all. It would take a lot of force to throw this rectangular piece of wood about fifty to sixty feet. I felt a knot in my stomach thinking about it.
The house was relatively quiet throughout the electrical reconstruction process, much to our relief. When it was finished, we could start to see the dingy, neglected interior beginning to transform into the modern era. Brighter light, industrial steel ceiling fans, new flooring…all it needed now was paint and window treatments to remove the decades of grunge which had accumulated on the walls and ceilings.
The peace in the house didn’t last long.
Upon completion of the electrical work and the installation of new appliances in the kitchen, the haunting resumed, this time more aggressively. I don’t know if the stronger current in the house was feeding whatever was living with us, or if all the construction had stirred up the spirit’s wrath (renovations are common triggers for increased ghostly activity; many ghosts do not like change, and can react adversely when significant disruptions are made to their environment), but things were about to get darker for us. The pounding bangs which tormented us subsided, only to give way to a more insidious terror. And everything seemed to focused on Ian.
While I was unpacking more boxes and organizing their contents, I heard Ian shout in pain from the shower. As I was always on edge and alert in the house, I immediately ran to his aid, dread making my heart pound like a hammer in my chest. Ian pulled the shower curtain aside, and he had numerous scratches on his body. A whole row of ten scratches spanned his forearm, two on his other arm, two on his left pectoral, and abrasions around his throat where something had grabbed him by the neck. The attacks were escalating in severity and viciousness. I was horrified.
Things began to move in the house. One night, while we were relaxing and cuddling together, a TV tray next to Ian’s recliner slid about eight inches and turned fifteen degrees. Simultaneously, we heard an unfamiliar noise coming from the kitchen. Ian got up and walked around the partial wall to the semi-open kitchen and froze. “Oh, my God!” he exclaimed. I could see him staring at something, and got up to join him. What I saw made my blood run cold. Every drawer, cabinet and appliance door was flung completely open. I began to suspect a poltergeist was at play in our home. Whatever was haunting us was no longer satisfied with noises and making sure we knew it was there; it was now showing its power in highly visible and physical ways. We needed help, and we needed it now.
I thoroughly researched everything I could about our property, hoping to find something that would give us solid validation about the home’s past…a suicide within its walls? A homicide? Nothing checked out in any archive articles or documents. I then contacted the Realtor we worked with to purchase the property, in the hopes we would be able to arrange a conversation with the previous owner. He reached out to the seller’s agent, but whether the previous owner was afraid we were going to sue or take some adverse action against him (we weren’t—we just wanted a solid lead and some answers, or at the very least, a point in the right direction…), he refused. Our last resort on the research side of things was to contact the title company the seller hired to process the transfer. Maybe there was a lead we could follow up that was missed during the title search. Again, another dead end.
As I was browsing through a book by Mari Beckman we had purchased from the spiritual shop, The Art of Your Energy, I decided to do a search and see if there was a way we could contact her. That search proved fruitful, and within minutes, we had her on the phone. We were ecstatic! We put her on speaker, and as I tried to explain all that was going on, she stopped us. “I don’t want you to tell me anything,” she said. “I prefer to not know going in.” This was the hallmark of a true professional, I thought. She doesn’t want to be influenced by us in any way—instead, she wants to tap the universe and learn about what’s happening from a higher source, untainted by our stories or relayed experiences.
Using her psychic medium abilities, Mari confirmed that yes, we are experiencing something real. It was such a relief to have someone believe us! She agreed to come visit us at our home to perform a clearing ritual to release the negative energy and free us from this haunting. We booked the appointment, and eagerly awaited her arrival.
When Mari and her husband and spiritual partner Thom arrived, they greeted us with such love and compassion. She psychically tapped the house to get a feel for what we were dealing with. Both Mari and Thom could feel a cloud of heaviness in our home immediately upon crossing the threshold. There were negative energies at work here, but not immediately identifiable as demonic. Mari did, however, pick up an angry and oppressive human spirit who did not want to leave the home. She performed a clearing ritual, drawing upon positive universal energies and the power of the archangel Metatron (from writings in the Jewish Kabbalah; also referred to as Michael the Archangel in Christianity). The ritual was beautiful, and we could feel an immediate lightening of our home. Even the sun coming in through the large picture window in the living room shone brighter, warmth surrounding us for the first time since we set foot in the house. Before departing, Mari provided us with affirming liturgies to recite whenever we felt negative forces closing in, calling upon archangel and universal love and strength, which were empowering and gave us a sense of hope and courage.
The house was peaceful that night. The thermostat dials remained unmoved, and a sense of peace enveloped Ian and me. We slept deep and comfortably, waking the next morning to a home that was still light and full of love.
Assaulted
Gradually, the haunting began to resume—first with the thermostats again, then with electrical surges and interruptions. We continued to recite the liturgies Mari gave us when we felt the oppression set in, usually after nightfall. The urine odor returned, and a deep sense of foreboding began to permeate every corner around us. Although weakened and wounded, the entity began to reassert itself. When it reached full strength again, its wrath for bringing a healer into our house began to manifest with a vengeance.
The level of oppression asserted upon us was creating a constant level of fear, stress and anxiety. This was a terror campaign in all aspects: physical and psychological abuse, combined with sleep deprivation and a constant threat of escalating harm. I could see my husband’s hope and security in life being stripped away, and his morale destroyed. Everything was being affected, from our relationship to our overall mental health. We were descending into a life of despair and torment, and for me, a constant state of alertness and flooding adrenaline at even the slightest sound in the house. And it was going to get much, much worse.
One night, while Ian and I were going through boxes in the bedroom, a prescription bottle sitting on one of the stacks of unopened cardboard towers lifted and flew with incredible force across the room and hallway beyond, landing in the studio about 30 feet away. We both stood in awe. I was keenly aware at this point that it could throw anything to harm us, including knives and heavy objects. This was moving from torment into psychological torture. We had no peace, just fear.
I became convinced that we were no longer dealing with a human spirit, but either a demon or a poltergeist. Human spirits cannot read thoughts of the living, and this thing was using our thoughts and fears to gradually increase the level of terror each day, turning the screw of hyper anxiety and stress tighter and tighter. The question which nagged at me most, though, was why couldn’t anyone with psychic abilities see it and identify what we were dealing with? I figured that it was hiding somehow when Mari tapped the house remotely and during her clearing ritual, and when the other psychic who returned our call earlier used her gift to discern our situation before calling us back. This demonstrated that it was highly intelligent and could anticipate our actions, as well as shield itself from discovery. We were no longer dealing with a haunting, but some kind of paranormal infestation, or “possession” of the house.
Thanksgiving came around, thirty-eight days since we closed on the property. Ian and I spent a wonderful evening at his mother’s home. For the first time in over a month, we had an evening of joy and a retreat from the darkness which had taken hold of our lives. We ate, relaxed, laughed and relished in love and fun. We definitely needed that!
When we got home, the entity was waiting for us. No sooner had we put leftovers in the refrigerator and prepared to take our showers and relax for the night, a slash appeared on Ian’s leg, and more scratches across this throat in a perverse shape of the cross. I became convinced that we were dealing with a demon. Fear took hold of my mind at the realization, creating a knot in my stomach. There was to be no joy or laughter in our home—this unclean spirit was exerting its power as soon as we crossed the threshold. This was its house, and it was going to do whatever it wanted to shatter any peace and security we had.
Demons destroy. That is their goal. They destroy everything that makes us human: our bodies, spirits, relationships and lives. They are fallen angelic beings with significant power over this earthly domain. They divide and conquer, abuse and torture. They create fear and oppression, possess and eat away at their hosts. We were beginning to see these affects on our lives, and were being worn down and traumatized, day by day.
Things were getting more chaotic in our environment, as well. Constant power surges; electrical equipment in my studio stopping and starting; printer and scanner turning off and on and rebooting; crackling of electricity next to my head before an attack; thermostats turning off; persistent stench of urine after dark…and now it was beginning to be seen by Ian.
One evening while we were watching TV in the living room, Ian got up to get a snack from the kitchen and when he returned to his recliner, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring down the hall and into my studio. “There’s something in the studio,” he said nervously, almost in a whisper. I got out of my chair to look, but couldn’t see anything.
“What do you see?” I asked, a sense of dread surging through my body.
“It’s gone now, but something black was crawling behind your desk,” my husband replied. “It was hiding behind the equipment, but I could see it moving.”
It had been watching us. I braced for something to happen, but everything was silent. I couldn’t let my guard down. Adrenaline was pumping, heart beating rapidly. I was glancing around at every corner, behind every piece of furniture.
Ian called to our dog Bruce to take him outside to go potty. While he was gone, I just couldn’t focus my attention on anything completely, I was so wired with anxiety. Within seconds, Ian and Bruce bounded back inside, and Ian shut the kitchen door to the carport as quickly as possible. “It was on top of the shed!” he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath.
The entity had followed Ian outside and hid on the roof of the shed at the rear of the carport, just below the slanted roof which tilted upwards to connect with the house. As our security light filled the carport with halogen brilliance, Ian could clearly see the shape skulking behind a stack of ladders and garden equipment, black as coal. When it had been seen, the demon darted off the roof and disappeared into the darkness of the back yard beyond.
The next month between Thanksgiving and Christmas was one of constantly building tension and stress. Ian had landed a job at an ice production factory, and we tried to find some joy in our lives by putting up the Christmas tree and celebrating the holiday season. It was a nice distraction from the physical and mental torment we had been enduring. The sparkle of multi-colored lights on the tree and stockings hanging along the industrial shelving which supported our TV were a welcome relief. We bought toys and treats for our dog, and stocking stuffers for each other. It was the first time we’d actually smiled since Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law’s. On December 23, the ice factory implemented a nearly complete staff layoff without notice, and we were suddenly faced with unemployment. Our hopes were dashed the day before Christmas—we just felt as if we couldn’t catch a break!
On Christmas Day, we spent a lovely evening with Ian’s mother, stepdad, brothers and extended family, eating, laughing and exchanging gifts. It was a refuge from the stress of our home and employment disruption. I didn’t want the evening to end, but when Ian’s brothers needed to go to bed, and after we had helped with the dishes and cleanup of the torn wrapping paper and toys strewn excitedly about, we had to head home. As soon as we pulled into our driveway, it was as if we pulled our car into a cloak of gloom and depression. The entire property felt heavy and oppressive. There was no joy as soon as we stepped into the home.
The following morning, the entity began a more brutal assault on Ian. I was sitting in my studio working on the computer, when I felt a sense of impending dread. I knew something was happening at that moment to Ian in the bathroom. I heard the electrical crackling in the air, and went immediately to the closed door and asked Ian through the wood separating us if he was okay. He opened the door, and I gasped in horror. There were three scratches down the right side of Ian’s cheek, and beads of blood appearing where gashes were inflicted in his eyebrow above.
It’s attacking his face! I thought desperately to myself. The entity was no longer doing things just to intimidate and torment, it was now beginning a phase of physical and highly visual assault. This was an escalation in violence on all levels: physical, emotional, mental and spiritual. Ian was being attacked and abused, and the frequency between events was increasing. Every time we had a moment of peace or joy, the demon would exert its power and crush our spirits. Ian stopped smiling altogether. He was looking beaten down and oppressed. I was constantly struggling to try to protect him, and failed every time, because I could not control what was happening. The entity always struck when Ian was alone. Divide and conquer.
I called Mari Beckman again and explained that we needed an exorcism of the house. I told her that I believed we were dealing with a demonic entity, and that we were in fear for our safety—and possibly even our lives. She believed us, and began to work on getting another psychic medium lined up who assisted with this type of issue. But this wasn’t something that was going to happen over night…this would take about a week. It wasn’t helping matters either that this was happening right between Christmas and News Years. But she was not going to abandon us. She urged us to stay positive, summon strength and courage, as well as continue our affirmations while she reached out to her colleagues.
On January 3rd, I had the dreaded premonition that something was happening to Ian. The electric crackling sounded, and I could envision the scratching happening in real time. No! I screamed in my thoughts. No! No! No! The words pounded through my mind as ran to the bathroom door. I was beginning to feel terror and anguish every time Ian had to use the bathroom—a constant state of apprehension and impending doom. Every minute he was away from my sight, I felt palpable trauma grip my body. Ian opened the door, a blank and confused expression on his face. Bleeding slashes stretched across the right side of his forehead.
I triaged my husband, summoning every bit of calm and courage I could muster. Ian needed my strength and love more than ever, and although I was powerless to stop the attacks, I was damned if I was going to let this unholy entity destroy us. Failure was not an option! Our very lives and souls were on the line. I pressed bandages against his skin to stem the flow of blood, then held him close to me, soothing him as best I could.
Three nights later, after we had finished dinner and I was in the kitchen cleaning up, the demon attacked once more. And again, I knew it was happening as the slashes began to slice across my husband’s face and torso. I could see it in my mind—scratch…scratch…scratch. One after the other. I ran into the living room and saw my husband standing there, blood trickling from wounds randomly inflicted across his face and torso. This entity was assaulting my husband with increasing violence. As soon as we would begin to emotionally wind down from one attack, the spirit would launch another.
And again, three nights later, the worst attack so far was unleashed upon my husband. This time, the demon showed itself.
Ian was in the bathroom preparing for a shower, and saw a black mist pull together out of the air. It coalesced into the shape of a man, but devoid of bodily features. It was just a writhing, seething black mass. Out of the blackness, a face appeared where a shape of a head had taken form. The face was pale white, and was the face of Ian’s abuser when he was a child. The eyes were jet black.
When Ian was three years old, his mother moved in with a man who was a devil in the flesh. Unbeknownst to Ian’s mother, when she would leave to go to work and school, the man would unleash horrific abuse upon Ian for hours on end. When the door would close behind her, the man would turn and look at Ian. The irises of his eyes would instantly turn black, and the assaults would begin. For several years, Ian suffered unimaginable atrocities at the hands of this monster, until his mother found out what was happening and left him for good. Now, the demon took on the face of Ian’s childhood boogeyman. As I mentioned earlier in this story, demons work in a network. This demon took on the form of the devil who tortured Ian when he was so young and vulnerable.
“If you let me hit you, I will stop tormenting you,” it said to Ian, as he froze, speechless, staring at the demonic vision before him. Had I known what was happening, I would have intervened immediately and put myself between my husband and this unholy being. But this time, I didn’t see the assault in my mind. Ian nodded and the demonic entity formed a fist out of the mist and it slammed into Ian’s left cheek with the force of a weightlifter. I heard the sound of my husband hitting the wall and ran to the bathroom, flinging the door open. Ian was trying to compose himself; I could see the entire side of his face beginning to redden and swell. I could also see blood beginning to cling to scratches on his face in the swollen mass of his cheek, and another scratch appearing on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. I watched these scratches happen right in front of me. This was a brutal assault, and now my husband was being beaten up, not just clawed and scratched.
Ian told me about the bargain he had struck with the entity, and I was instantly horrified and angry, not at Ian, but at this thing which was manipulating and abusing him. By taking on the face of his abuser from so long ago, the demon was pulling upon the terror of his childhood and re-abusing him as an adult. This unclean spirit’s assaults were escalating toward murder, and the feeling of urgency for an exorcism became overwhelming.
“Ian, listen to me,” I said as calmly as I could. “You cannot trust this demon. Demons lie. They manipulate. You cannot bargain with it. Please, baby, never talk to this thing again. Promise me!” I held his chin in my hands and looked into his eyes. There was so much sadness and despair in his eyes. These were the eyes of a small, abused child. My heart broke seeing such an expression of oppression and vulnerability in a face I loved with all my heart. And yet I felt powerless. Ian didn’t say anything back, but just nodded. I comforted him and held him. He was stoic and accepting the abuse like he did so many years ago; I, on the other hand, was furious at this entity. This thing was violating Ian’s body and spirit, our home, and everything we were as a family.
I am going to kick this fucker’s ass right back into hell. That thought of waging warfare against this unholy creature was the strength I needed to keep going until the cavalry arrived.
I contacted Mari Beckman and told her about what happened, and that the situation was beginning to spiral into full-on assault. She was working as quick as she could—it would only be a matter of days before she would have all the ducks in a row. As terrified as we were, we needed to hold on. Help was on the way. There was hope, now…but would it come too late?
Another three days passed, and then the demon struck again. As I predicted, this entity was not to be trusted. It appeared when he was alone, not visually but in brute force, and unleashed an assault on Ian’s face again. Three scratches, one slashed across the bridge of his nose, another on his forehead, and a third above his right eyebrow.
The number three is important in demonic symbolism. Three represents the Holy Trinity: God the Father, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. By inflicting abominations in three’s, demons are mocking the Holy Trinity. It is an act of desecration to God. This unclean spirit was assaulting my husband every third day, and unleashing terror, fear and helplessness into our home. With almost every attack, it was also an act of direct disrespect and desecration to Christ by slashing Ian’s flesh in threes. Hatred, evil and destruction were its weapons. And it was powerful.
The night of the exorcism had arrived. The tension in the house could be felt increasing by the hour. Something was building. This demon knew what was going to happen, and it was pissed.
BANG!
It was the sound of something hitting the closed bathroom door with the force of a battering ram. Vibrations from the impact went through me as I leaped to my feet from where I was sitting at my computer and ran to the bathroom. I grabbed the brass knob and tried to open the door. I couldn’t. “Honey, are you okay?” I called out in a panic. I was afraid that his body may be blocking the door, and I wanted to make sure he was responsive. “Try to move away from the door!”
“I’m not near the door,” he shouted back, terrified.
This thing was pushing back against the door with the pressure of a four hundred pound man. “It won’t let me in,” I screamed, panicked. I braced my body against the door and pushed with all of my strength. With every quarter inch I gained, it shoved back and the door slammed closed. I used my shoulder once more and dug in my heels, pushing as hard as I could. And the door began to open, slowly, with powerful resistance. I had to get this door open! I thought frantically, or it’ll kill him!
With one adrenaline-fueled push, giving it everything I could, I forced the door open halfway. The demon was still exerting its power against the wood on the other side, but I could see Ian standing about five feet away against the shower curtain, a look of fear and terror in his eyes. I could not see anything in the space between the door and my husband, but I could feel the entity pushing back. It was strong and deliberate. The spirit was trying to isolate Ian so that it could do whatever it wanted to him. I was not going to let that happen!
One last heave with a scream from me and the door flew open. I ran in and grabbed Ian and pulled him out. This was the most terrifying experience of my life! The entity was doing whatever it could to stop us from banishing it, and it was dangerous.
I called Mari right away, still out of breath and in a state of shock and panic. “The demon knows what we’re going to do, and it attacked to try and prevent us from getting rid of it,” I got out between heaving gulps of air. “It’s pissed!”
Mari told us to stay together and not be separated, even for a moment. The entity would take advantage of any opportunity to get us apart and continue its assault. We agreed that this was the wisest course of action, and remained close together for the next couple of hours until the exorcism was to take place. We were both in a state of utter terror, and it took all of our strength to keep our composure as we counted the minutes.
7:00pm arrived, and my phone rang. Unlike what one may envision, this ritual was all done remotely and via video chat. Because psychic abilities transcend our physical dimension, it wasn’t required to all be present in one place to combine our energies in order to confront the demon. Like prayer, psychic energy can be applied from any location. When two or more people join together via a spiritual connection, there is great power generated by our combined faith and concentration.
Mari introduced us to Kass Huff, a local psychic medium who is well known and respected. Kass told us that she comes from a long line of exorcists, and this is part of the talent she has been given. Although choosing to no longer practice exorcisms as a rule, Kass agreed to come to our aid because of the danger we were in (exorcisms can be very perilous for all parties involved: for the exorcist, as well as the recipient). We were grateful that both Mari and Kass cared enough for our well being to place themselves in potential jeopardy, and we will always be thankful to God for bringing these two amazing healers into our lives!
The exorcism began. Due to the intensely spiritual and personal nature of this ritual, I will not share the intimate details of what was performed that night. But I will say that it involved the Holy Trinity (God the Father, Jesus Christ the Son, and the Holy Spirit), as well as calling upon the power of Saint Michael the Archangel to assist us in waging battle. The Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, was also called upon to intercede on our behalf.
My job was to help psychically open the front door, with the assistance of the Blessed Virgin, while Ian worked with Kass to draw out and identify the entities we were battling. God touched Ian’s eyes and he was able to see multiple entities in the house—black, shadowy unclean beings—as well as the spirits of some dead who were trapped by these demons. One by one, the dead were released, their spirits guided from our home and crossed over through the psychic opening at the front door. The compassion and intercession from the Blessed Virgin Mary helped reunite these lost souls with their loved ones, and they were welcomed into Heaven.
In addition to the legion of demonic beings in the house, there was also a succubus tormenting us, which is a female unclean entity that attaches to men, usually sexually. These entities were rebuked and bound by the power of Christ and the archangels, and driven from our home. The attachments these unholy beings formed on us were removed, released and dissolved, freeing us from their influence and allowing Jesus and Michael the Archangel to force these beings to the foot of the cross, where they would come under the dominion of God.
During the exorcism, we also learned why it was so difficult to identify the entities involved in our oppression over the last three months. There was a portal in our living room where these demons and the dead would come and go. Kass assisted me in closing this portal, effectively cutting off their access to our home. In addition, the entity which was causing the brutal assaults on Ian had attached itself to the spirit of a man who had committed suicide by hanging in our bathroom, and had enslaved this soul to do its bidding. This entity was able to hide inside this lost spirit, while manipulating it and using it to channel its power toward us.
This controlling demon was the most difficult to release, and refused to leave. It had to be separated from the suicide victim and its attachment broken. There was a great struggle during this process, where Kass and the entity waged battle. Eventually, the suicide spirit was released and crossed over, ending its torment, and the demon was forced out of the house.
We felt peace and light in this house for the first time since we moved in, and although exhausted, were elated with joy. Only time would tell if we were fully free of the demonic entity which was trying to destroy us, but at least for now, we had a ray of hope. We thanked Kass and Mari for everything they did, and slept soundly that night. No temperature issues, no electrical crackling, and no assaults.
The Final Battle
The following day, Ian and I were in good spirits and tried to get our lives back on track and enjoy a day free from terror. When evening came around, we decided it was long overdue to do some more unpacking and begin the process of decorating, which had been put on hold for so long. We were out in the carport collapsing empty cardboard boxes and reorganizing some of the items in the shed, when I turned to talk to Ian. Suddenly, I saw three scratches slash down his face, beads of blood appearing. He had just been attacked! The assaulting demon was still here, although banished to the property around the house and not the house itself.
My heart sank at that moment, and I felt a return of the despair which had oppressed my mind for so long. All of the trauma returned, and I found myself losing hope. I began to cry. “I can’t deal with this any more,” I sobbed to Ian, as he held me close and comforted me. “I give up. We can’t win this fight!”
Our roles were reversed for the first time in months, and now my husband pulled together the strength and courage to help support me, as my faith was beginning to die. He knew that once we gave up hope, then we would surely be lost. He held my face in his hands, and told me to look into his eyes. I did, and he told me firmly, “You cannot give up! Not after all we’ve been through. We will beat this! But you have to be strong. We both have to be strong. We cannot lose this fight.“
He was right. As long as we didn’t give up hope, we could still win this battle. We had to have faith. I stifled my tears and we both went inside the house.
We contacted Mari and Kass and told them that the demon was back, and asked what the next steps would be and set a plan in motion. During this reading, we received some concerning news: the powerful entity had already created an internal attachment to Ian, meaning that it was also operating from within him to inflict the assaults and torture. This wasn’t a possession, but was heading in that direction if he was not freed from this unholy spirit.
Kass outlined a series of recommendations which needed to be taken to help free us from the unclean spirit, which included: getting Ian baptized with Holy Water (by me in the short term, then by a priest when we are able to find one who will help us), and if possible, to secure a blessing upon Ian by a priest while in the church after I performed the baptism; sage the house every day; find a priest to perform a house blessing; perform three more clearings (exorcisms) to finally release the demon—this could include a shamanic ritual to dig a hole on the property and command the entity to go into it, then bury it. Our fight was far from over, but Ian and I were determined to see it through to the end, and rid ourselves of this malevolent being.
After we had spoken to our mediums, Ian took charge and lit sage and walked the exterior of the property, fanning the smoke with a feather while commanding all negative energies to leave. It was the strength and courage I needed to witness, as up until this point, I was shouldering all of the protection weight for months on end. I felt energized and a surge of hope. I watched and prayed as my husband confronted the evil which was refusing to let go. When he finished the ritual, he returned to the carport.
“When I finished saging the property, I felt a rush of wind come up from behind me. It flowed through me and away from our house, ” he said with excitement. Something had definitely been released. This was the first of the three remaining clearings.
The next day, I found a Catholic church near our home which was open for afternoon confessions and an evening service. We were going to waste no time in doing everything Kass advised. We hopped into our car and I put my key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Our Jeep wouldn’t start. This was the first time I’d ever experienced engine issues with the vehicle. Although this seems like a formula twist taken from a suspense novel or horror movie, here we were—desperate to get on the road and to the safety of a church to protect my husband’s soul, and unable to move an inch. For twenty minutes, I turned the engine over and over. No sound, no clicking, no struggling…the motor was dead cold. Beginning to feel panic set in, I prayed to God for divine intervention. The next turn of the key started the engine. I have no doubt whatsoever that the demon was trying to keep us from baptizing Ian. It failed.
When we pulled up into the parking lot, I lit the sage and smudged the interior and exterior of the car, as well as Ian. I ordered the attachment upon him to be removed and released, then led him into the sanctuary to a basin of Holy Water near the entrance. I baptized Ian in the name of God the Father, Jesus Christ the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I sprinkled Holy Water on his head, then made the sign of the cross with the sacrament on his forehead. I placed my hand upon his head and prayed for God to save his soul, while Ian accepted Christ that day. When we were finished, we sat in a pew in the church and prayed. I asked God to remove the demon from our lives, and for the strength and courage to fight this unclean entity.
Several days passed with very little interruption in our lives. No assaults or odors, and although we were continuously on guard in a state of persistent acuity, no noises or paranormal events at all that I can remember.
I had given Ian a set of art supplies for Christmas a year back, and on this night, he relaxed prone on the living room floor drawing on a large sketch pad with pens and colored pencils, while I was in my studio working. YouTube videos streamed across the screen above Ian’s head, while I was applying some edits to a video project I had been awarded. About two hours went by, both of us absorbed in creativity. It was the first time I had been able to immerse myself wholly in my craft without fear overwhelming my thoughts.
I took a break and went into the kitchen to grab a beverage and a snack, and as I passed the open living room, called out to Ian to see how he was doing. Silence. He was coloring paper intently. “Hey, babe,” I repeated again, “what are you working on?” No response.
I walked over to him and caught a glimpse of the drawing on the sketch pad. It was a demonic face, scribbled in black and blood red. He was pressing the black pencil into the paper, filling every corner around the horrific portrait with darkness. I did not like this at all. “Babe!” I said, shaking his shoulder. No response except for the scratchy sound of the wax tip back and forth in the inky blackness of the paper. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up to face me.
Ian was not there behind his eyes. He was in a trance, staring blankly ahead. I shook him gently, calling to him, but he would not snap out of whatever had taken hold. I knew that the demon was beginning to possess him. These last two hours it was doing the drawing, not Ian. Ian was staring at the unholy eyes which had been drawn on the paper, as it guided his hands and exerted control over his mind and spirit.
“Ian!” I yelled, shaking him a bit harder, desperate to free him from the entity’s possession. He began to respond to me, his fingers relaxing and dropping the pencil. He was groggy and didn’t know where he was, or what was happening around him. His stare was still vacant and unfocused.
I snatched the pad of paper from the floor and tore the demonic portrait from the spiral ring, then ran into my studio and to the altar, grabbing a Bic lighter I used to light candles; I sped back to my husband and took his hand, pulling him to the kitchen door and into the carport beyond. Thinking about Kass’ recommendation of the shamanic burial ritual, I then told Ian to dig a hole in the dirt near the edge of our property. He was weak and wobbly, still unsure of what was going on. “You need to focus, Ian. The demon is controlling you!” I commanded, grabbing his hand, and then guiding him down to his knees on the damp grass. “You need to listen to me!”
Upon my urging, Ian began to dig. His actions were still being hampered by the entity, his hands unsteady and weak.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“You have to!” I exclaimed, adrenaline and heart pumping. Ian raked his fingers through the dirt, his strength barely improving.
As my husband struggled to dig the hole, I continued to support his shoulders with my hands, encouraging him with positive affirmations. A few minutes passed, and soon there was an indentation in the grass about five inches deep. I tore the demonic portrait in two and lit the paper with the green Bic in my trembling hand. The flames consumed the portrait as I dropped the burning paper into the hole.
“You need to tell the demon to leave you and go into the hole!” I said firmly. “Do it now.”
Ian closed his eyes and in an uneven voice, told the entity it had to leave his body and go into the hole. He repeated the command, his voice beginning to strengthen slightly. As the flames dimmed and the paper curled into blackened ash, I instructed my husband to bury the entity and cover the hole. “Tell it that it is banished into the earth and cannot come back…” Ian did so, and when the shamanic ritual was completed, I wrapped my arm around him and supported him, his body heavy and wobbly, up the trio of wooden steps in the carport and back into the house. I settled him into his leather recliner and collapsed into my own, breath heavy and heart still pounding. The second clearing had just been performed.
It took twenty-four hours before Ian had regained all of his strength. During that time, I cared for him with love and devoted attention. I also reached out to Mari, and asked if she knew another exorcist who could assist us with the final clearing—whenever that was going to need to happen. Time was of the essence to keep this demon from regaining all of its power and taking over the spirit and body of my husband. Mari got to work on this request right away, then contacted me to let me know she had reached out to a reverend she had worked with who was also an exorcist. His name was Reverend Shawn. Mari explained our situation to him, and he agreed to assist us. Shortly thereafter, I received a gracious introduction and his offer of help. I replied immediately and shared our story, detailing all of the steps we had taken thus far.
Reverend Shawn sent me instructions that day on what needed to be done to bind and rebuke the unclean spirit. The “blueprint” contained several steps, with the uncomfortable truth that we “could be in the fight of our life, for the rest of our lives”; there is no quick fix to these situations. That I understood, and was ready to take however long it took to clear our lives of this evil. These words the Reverend shared gave me incredible hope and strength: you two DO HAVE THE POWER to stop this and get your lives back. Knowing he was also praying for us throughout this process gave me courage.
And so, the final battle began. Some of the weapons we needed to combat the evil were: Holy Water, Holy Oil, blessed salt, and blessed Saint Benedict and Saint Michael medals. I had none of these in my possession, and began a web search to locate and purchase them. I ordered exorcised salt from the Cukierski Family, and found websites dedicated to Catholic items, sacraments and blessed medals. Purchasing these items, blessed by Pope Francis and shipped from the Vatican, were going to take time to arrive in the mail, so I wasn’t going to be able to do everything at once as I had hoped. I was just going to have to do the final banishment piece by piece as my spiritual weapons arrived.
At Reverend Shawn’s recommendation, I began watching live streams of Catholic mass every day (I loved the traditional Latin Mass—there was something beautiful and healing in the liturgies and rituals) to bring the word of God into our lives and house. I studied the liturgical texts, and proudly learned the Latin responses within about a week. Each day, I prayed and participated in mass, while making inquiries to local churches with the hopes of finding one where we would be accepted.
Another of the key steps Reverend Shawn prescribed was finding a priest to come to our home and perform a blessing. I contacted every Catholic church within a five mile radius of our home. Every one of them refused when it was apparent we were a married gay couple, or did not respond at all. I feared we would have the same roadblocks with other denominations as well, but I had to keep trying.
I then made a call to an Episcopal church just a couple miles from our home. In my searches, I kept reading that the Episcopal church welcomes everyone, from all walks of life. I guess I’ll find out, I thought with apprehension. A day later, I was on the phone with the priest’s wife, Kresha, and the welcome I received brought tears to my eyes. We were invited to join the congregation on Sunday morning.
As I was waiting for Sunday to come, I received the first package from Italy. It contained a bottle of Holy Water, and two small glass vials of Holy Oil, all blessed at a public mass by His Holiness, Pope Francis. The timing was perfect, for unbeknownst to me, the third and final exorcism was to happen just twenty-four hours later.
Late in the afternoon the following day, we made a shopping run to a local Mexican grocery store. As I mentioned prior in this story, the demonic attachment upon Ian was an internal one, which meant that the demon was hiding inside him and able to influence his thoughts and behavior. Its direction of his thoughts came during this outing. As I was filling a basket with produce, I asked if Ian could go to a shelf of glassed religious candles along the wall at the back of the store and pick out some candles to place around the house. I mentioned the Virgin de Guadalupe, Sacred Heart of Jesus, and Michael the Archangel candles in particular, as they were highly relevant to our need for protection. Ian went to the register and paid for the candles while I was still shopping. I didn’t think about it at the time, but this was odd, since I was going to include them with the basket of goods I had selected. I paid for the groceries, then came straight home. On the way, Ian told me that he found a beautiful candle with sparkling gold wax, which left me intrigued.
As I was chopping up vegetables and meat for the evening’s meal preparation, I asked Ian if he could put the candle he mentioned in the living room, so that we could watch the glow behind the image of a saint or angel while we ate. He happily did so. I continued to get things ready to fry in the kitchen, and took a short break to feed our dog, Bruce. When I placed the bowl in his kennel, I stopped to look at the candle. What I saw terrified me.
Ian had purchased a candle dedicated to Holy Death. The sparkling gold wax seemed a stark contrast to the image of a grim reaper, and a prayer honoring and conjuring the spirit of death on the back. I immediately grabbed the candle and blew it out, throwing it into the trash. “What did you do?” I exclaimed with a mixture of anger and horror.
“I bought a candle like you asked me to do,” he replied, innocently. “I recited the prayer on the back, too. It was cool. Why did you throw it away?” His voice became accusatory as he defended his candle selection.
I didn’t know what to say at that moment. I felt a palpable fear swell in my gut. This is not good! I thought, trying to stay calm and de-escalate. I was truly scared of what he had done, and felt a wave of dread come over me. I reached out and touched Ian’s arm and he recoiled from me, his irises turning black and an expression of hate distorting his face.
“Don’t touch me!” he shouted. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
I knew that this was not my husband at that moment. I was looking into the face of the demon inside of him exerting control. This was rapidly spiraling into a possession, and I had to act quickly.
I ran into the studio and grabbed the sage off of the altar, as well as the bottle of Holy Water. I had printed out the demonic rebuke that Reverend Shawn had given me and brought the three items back into the living room, where Ian waited impatiently. I lit the sage and blew smoke from the embers onto his face and body, making the sign of the cross with the herb, the trails of smoke lingering in the shape of the cross for a couple seconds before dissipating. As the smoke touched Ian’s face, his body convulsed and recoiled. He began to tense up, his facial features wrinkling in discomfort. This is it, I thought to myself, and continued to motion the smoke over and around his body. Still standing, he grimaced and twisted in pain.
I grabbed the bottle of Holy Water and splashed it on him, making the sign of the cross with the stream of liquid. The second it touched his skin, his discomfort worsened. Ian groaned and writhed in place, gasping for breath. I picked up the paper with the rebuke I had printed and read the words with authority.
“I rebuke your presence unclean spirit and I COMMAND you in The Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to go to The Foot of The Cross NOW, for Jesus to do with you what his Holy will shall be!”
As I repeated the rebuke, I continued splashing Ian with the Holy Water, then made the sign of the cross with the sacrament on his forehead, never stopping the recitation. With each repeat of the words, my voice became louder and louder. I could feel a cold wave of power completely cover my back from the top of my head and down to my shoes. It felt as if there was a divine being pressing its body against mine. I knew that this was the Holy Spirit and Saint Michael the Archangel, and with every word and motion of my hands the power of God intensified. I could feel it moving from my back and through my arms, then out of my hands as I splashed the sacrament upon my husband, screaming the rebuke as loud as my voice would handle.
“I rebuke your presence unclean spirit and I COMMAND you in The Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to go to The Foot of The Cross NOW, for Jesus to do with you what his Holy will shall be!”
As Ian’s discomfort grew, I knew that the demon was struggling to keep a hold on him. This was a battle of good and evil, and the unclean spirit was wreaking its desperation and power upon the flesh of my husband before me. The more I allowed the power of God and the archangel to work through me, the more Ian writhed and gasped.
A warning from Kass in the last reading we had with her came to the forefront of my mind. If Ian struggles to breathe, stop what you are doing. This was because the spirit of the suicide being manipulated by the unholy entity died from suffocation—maybe even forced into such an act by this entity of death I was confronting now. I began to pause as I considered this, then felt the word of God in my mind: Do not stop! Have faith. Leave Ian to me.
And so I continued, splashing the sacrament and repeating the rebuke, over and over. Each recitation more forceful and commanding. “I rebuke your presence unclean spirit and I COMMAND you in The Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to go to The Foot of The Cross NOW, for Jesus to do with you what his Holy will shall be!”
Suddenly, Ian collapsed on the floor. I felt his chest, and there was no breathing. The words of the Lord echoed in my thoughts: Have faith and continue to rebuke the spirit. Leave Ian to me.
I recited the rebuke again while making the sign of the cross on my husband’s forehead with Holy Water. As I did so, Ian suddenly heaved in a gasp of air, then began to move slowly as he was brought back from the dead. I did not stop the recitation, as now I needed to banish the entity from the house. I moved from room to room, splashing every wall, crevice and corner with Holy Water, never stopping the holy words of rebuke. When I finally made it to the front door, I flung it open and did one last forceful command. Ian was beginning to prop himself up on his elbow, groggy and unaware of anything that was happening.
I next took the Holy Oil, and proceeded to make the sign of the cross on every wall, window, door, closet and cabinet throughout the home, continuing to recite the rebuke. When I was finished, I felt the power of God dissipate from my body, and the cold wave of the Holy Spirit disappear from my back. I knew that it was finished, and that the demon was gone. The house was bright and warm. Every shadow and corner seemed alive with light. God had delivered us.
I returned to my husband’s side, exhausted yet filled with energy at the same time. My hands began to tremble slightly as I helped him up and to his recliner. “What happened?” he asked, confused.
“The demon is gone, babe,” I said, almost in a whisper. “God saved us.”
After Ian regained his strength and composure, he said, “All I can remember is glowing hands coming down from the ceiling. They touched me. I was not in my body until that moment, then I came back inside.” He looked at me with awe. “I was dead. God brought me back.”
The events of that night cemented my faith in God. It was the power of the Holy Trinity that worked through me to banish the demon from our lives, and it was the power of the Holy Spirit that resurrected my husband. This was solid evidence to me that God will always triumph over evil, and as long as we have faith in Him, he will never leave us or forsake us.
When the final elements of protection arrived in the mail, I was able to complete the consecration and spiritual sealing of our property. I buried blessed Saint Benedict and Saint Michael medals at the four corners of our land, combining them with exorcised salt and Holy Water. I placed drops of Holy Water in a row all along the property boundaries. And I took the exorcised salt and blessed each room, window and doorway in our home, as well as the land around our house, consecrating the house and land to the Lord. This is now HIS property, given to him. We have angels here now, and they guard our home every minute of every hour.
Ian and I joined the Episcopal church, and our priest, Father Jim, came and blessed our home and all of the life within it. Ian was soon baptized, and together we live a life free of demonic influence or attachments. Every day, we bless our home with sage, frankincense and myrrh, reciting prayers and affirmations of peace, love and light. And we will continue to do this every day as long as we live. Just as we ourselves needed healing and a recovery from the trauma, so does the house.
One last mention I would like to make as I end this story: Ian now has one foot in the world of the living, and the other in the realm of the dead. With the miracle of his resurrection, he was given the gift of a physical medium. From that moment on, Ian can see, hear and communicate with the dead. But that’s another story…