Deliver Us from Evil (10 page)

When I spoke to the lieutenant at the Three-Six precinct, I could tell he was a real hard-ass. As soon as I said I was calling about the case and identified myself as Sergeant Sarchie of the Four-Six, he got sarcastic. “I didn't know you guys in the South Bronx could read,” he jeered.

Well, I hadn't been a cop all these years without learning how to talk to guys like this, so I joked back, “I was just transferred here, so maybe the illiteracy hasn't rubbed off yet.” I explained that I'd been involved in investigating the supernatural for many years and wanted to offer my help if any of the cops who'd been in the apartment experienced any problems afterward.

“Are you jerking me around?” he asked. “I've been getting prank calls about this case all day.”
Great,
I thought,
this guy thinks I'm off my rocker!

“I'm very serious,” I emphasized. “I don't want cops to get hurt by something they don't understand.”

There are guys on the New York City police force who have heard about what I do and think I'm nuts. I just tell them, “Think what you like, but if you're home and objects start flying around the room, the first call you'll make is to me!” Once these people get to know me, however, they realize I'm
not
a nut job, and start asking questions like “What is this stuff you do? How did you get into that Work?” Other cops will say “I believe in the Devil, but you're crazy to get involved with that shit. It's dangerous!”

Hearing the sincerity in my voice, the lieutenant changed his tone. I could tell he was starting to wonder, just a little bit, if there
was
some danger. He thanked me for calling and took down my number, saying he'd like to have it on hand, “just in case.”

*   *   *

My other investigation took place in a beautiful two-family house right next to Machpelah cemetery. It had been vacant for some time before Angelo, the owner of an Italian delicatessen in my old neighborhood, rented the basement apartment. A couple of weeks later I ran into Angelo's dad, Sal, who told me in a low voice that his son was scared in his new home. “He thinks it's haunted,” the old man whispered, looking around anxiously to make sure no gossipy neighbors had overheard this. I asked what had been going on. “I don't like to talk about that spirit stuff you're involved in,” Sal said, quickly making the sign of the cross over himself. “But Angelo believes it might be something like that.”

Yeah, right,
I thought.
This guy moves into a house by the graveyard, and now he thinks he has a ghost. Sounds like he's been watching a few too many horror movies!
Still, I was curious, and told the old man that if Angelo continued having trouble, he should give me a call. No sooner did I get home than the phone was ringing. Sure enough, it was Angelo, sounding really spooked.

“Can you come right away?” Much as I wanted to help, I had to disappoint him, at least temporarily, because I never go off on a case without getting all the facts first, then praying on the matter. I did a quick interview over the phone to get a feel for the problem, if there was one.

Angelo said it had all begun very subtly: “The night I moved in, I was woken up by scratching noises. It sounded like it was coming from the ceiling over my bed. I figured it was mice, maybe even rats. I didn't think it was a big deal until I saw how my kitten, Snowball, was reacting. All the hair on her back and tail stood straight on end, and she started hissing,” he explained. “Next, she began to move sideways, in an eerie-looking, unnatural dance. It was the damnedest thing I've ever seen. I've owned cats all my life, and none of them ever did anything like that before!”

He grabbed his baseball bat and went upstairs to check for rodents, but found nothing out of the ordinary. This went on for several nights, always at the same time: 3:00
A.M.
When I heard that, the hairs on the back of my neck also began to prickle, since that's the “witching hour,” a prime time for demonic activity. Not only do satanic powers often do things in threes, to show contempt for the Holy Trinity, but their terrorist strikes frequently occur at 3:00
A.M.
This is another insult to God, whose son Jesus Christ died on the cross at 3:00
P.M.
The demonic will do the opposite of anything holy, so they like to attack at exactly the opposite hour—with supernatural phenomena you might call miracles in reverse.

I was also intrigued by the kitten's behavior, since I've found that pets have a sixth sense for demonic activity, just as they do for impending earthquakes and other natural disasters. I've seen cases where diabolical phenomena will get all the dogs in the neighborhood howling. Evil spirits can also attack pets—animals are God's creatures—so I always make sure to put a St. Benedict medal around the neck of each pet in the house before an exorcism begins, to keep them safe from evil forces.

While Angelo's story sounded suspiciously satanic, I wasn't ready to call in the troops yet, and urged him to continue. In a gravelly baritone he added, “A few nights later I heard the scratching again. That wasn't all—this time I also heard footsteps, heavy steps like a man's. First they were in the driveway, crunching on the ice. Then I heard them coming closer and closer, until it sounded like somebody was right outside. Then they stopped right outside my window,” which was level with the ground, since his apartment was in the basement. Again he grabbed his bat, ready to do battle with whatever was out there, but he found no one. His deep voice broke a little as he added, “There were
no
tracks in the fresh snow! Absolutely none!”

Perplexed, he went back inside—and heard the noise again. “That's when I really got nervous. Now the footsteps were
inside
the house, like somebody was walking upstairs. But those apartments were empty, and I was the only one living here! The ghost—or whatever it was—paced slowly from the rear of the apartment overhead to the front of the house, then it started running back and forth.”

“How many times?” I asked, although I was already pretty sure I knew the answer.

“Three times, faster and faster,” he said. “My heart was really pounding, I'll tell you.” Double-locking every door and window, the deli owner finally went back to sleep. The eerie events didn't end there—the next night he heard a loud tapping coming from the hallway in his own apartment. He lay in bed listening to the sound but didn't bother to get his Louisville Slugger, knowing that even if he did get up, he'd find nothing.

Understandably, he didn't get much rest that night—or the next, when he was treated to thunderous poundings that practically made him jump out of his skin. This time he had to see what was going on, so he got his bat, turned on all the lights, and searched every inch of his apartment. What did he find? Absolutely nothing, of course.

About a week after Angelo moved into his apartment, other tenants arrived. A single guy took the second-floor apartment, and a few days later a young couple with a four-year-old son and new baby set up house on the first floor. At the risk of being thought crazy, Angelo felt he just had to ask his new neighbors if they'd noticed anything at all odd about the house.
Yes,
they said,
there's something very wrong here!
And when he told them he'd called a spiritual investigator, all agreed they wanted our help—right away, if possible.

The streets were covered with black ice, and a winter storm warning was in effect when Joe and I parked by the graveyard and headed for the house, with a bitterly cold wind at our backs, to wait for the rest of our team. Originally it was just the two of us handling cases, but we now had other investigators working with us. A year or so earlier the Warrens had come to New York to give a seminar. As always when they spoke, there was a big turnout and several people expressed interest in learning more. So with Ed and Lorraine's blessing, the New York City chapter of the New England Society for Psychic Research was born, with Joe and me as founders.

We held classes once a month in the basement of my home in Glendale, much to the consternation of my wife, Jen. She grew to dread those nights because scary things sometimes happened. Lights in our apartment would go on and off on their own. We were constantly buying new light bulbs because they burned out so fast. One night she had the same eerie experience Angelo did: She'd heard heavy footsteps coming up the creaky basement stairs. Thinking it was me bringing my video equipment upstairs after the class, she opened the door—and found no one there.

Understandably, she was very upset. “I don't like what these classes are drawing here,” she said after I'd finished teaching—and she didn't calm down until I'd blessed our entire apartment with prayer and holy water. It troubled me also to have my wife harassed this way, but I felt God had provided this group of people for a reason. Not only could Joe and I teach others about the Work, but we also learned from our students, since they brought faith and fresh ideas to our cases. There are no handbooks on demonology, so we developed our techniques through trial and error. The students came from all walks of life—Millie was a school crossing guard, Dennis had a 7-Up delivery route, David was a bodyguard, and Fred was a doorman. Antonio and Vicki were a married couple who'd met while they were in the Army and now worked for a Manhattan lawyer. They both dressed in military-style camouflage clothing. These people came from all faiths; belief in God was our common bond.

We never forced anyone to get more involved than he or she wanted to. Some members of our group just came to the classes; and others assisted on our cases. Those who preferred to remain students rather than investigators were still an important part of our team because they supported us with their prayers. Some contributed in other ways too: Kathy, who worked for the Catholic Church, was too shy to go out on cases, but turned out to have unexpected psychic talent. Before we left for the graveyard case, she gave me a warning. “Be very careful,” she said. “Somebody's going to get hit.”

I run my cases like a police operation and enforce strict discipline. First, each investigator is expected to be in a state of grace when he or she accompanies Joe and me on cases. For a Catholic, that means having gone to confession. While our church only suggests monthly confession, I didn't feel that was enough and made a rule that investigators also go to weekly confession, if possible, before going up against the demonic. People of other faiths were to perform whatever rituals their religion prescribes to be in the best possible relationship with God. I also instructed people to perform a “black fast” before cases, where they spent three days eating very little and praying a lot.

“Basically, your job is to watch each other's back and do exactly what Joe and I tell you,” I instructed the three student investigators who had volunteered to help with this case. Phil and Chris were father and son—and had joined the group along with Phil's wife, Rose—but the two men didn't look at all alike. The dad, the computer professional in our group, was heavyset with dark hair, while his teenaged son was very thin and fair, like his mother. Both had similar temperaments, however: They were enthusiastic, outgoing guys who made friends very quickly. I was impressed with how close they were: There was none of the tension you'd expect between a father and his adolescent son. Chris was a very good kid any man would be proud of.

Phil and Chris had been on cases before, but it was the first time for Tommy, a cop I worked with in East New York. We shared a passion for the martial arts and became friendly while training together. He was a wiry little guy who could move with astonishing speed. Although I'd never been on patrol with him, since we worked on different shifts, I'd heard he was very quick-witted and knew how to handle himself on the street. Since any cop who works in the ghetto has to be aggressive, I cautioned him that he wasn't to mix it up with anybody. “We may be met with force on this case,” I told him. “If that happens, take the person down if you have to, but don't hurt him.”

The final member of our group, who arrived a few minutes later, was Brother Andrew, an extremely gifted psychic who belongs to the St. Paul Society, a religious order in Staten Island. A tall, thin man with flowing dirty blond hair and a scraggly mustache that makes him look like an Old Testament prophet, he sensed as soon as we walked into the house that there
was
a malevolent presence—and it was scared of us! That told me we were dealing with a low-level demon, since it was frightened before we even began our exorcism of the house.

There is a hierarchy in Hell, just as in Heaven, where there are nine orders of celestial spirits: seraphim are the most exalted, followed by cherubim, thrones, dominations, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels, and finally angels. From the Bible, we know that Lucifer was once supreme among the seraphim, but he committed the deadly sin of pride, by imagining himself the equal of the Almighty. In his arrogance and envy, he refused to give glory and thanks to God, and became God's adversary.

Like humans, the angels were given free will, so they could
choose
to love God. He created humans with a soul and directed the angels to care for us. Then God allowed His only son to become a man. Although the virtuous angels adored Jesus Christ, Lucifer said he would not worship a mere human. Many angels joined his rebellion, then a challenge rose from one of the lowest orders, as the Archangel Michael called each angel who “was like unto God” to join the metaphysical battle. As punishment, Lucifer and one-third of the angels were cast out of Heaven, forever banished from seeing the beatific face of God.

These fallen angels, now the demons that inhabit Hell, lost their supernatural graces but not their inhuman powers. It's been said that their leader, Lucifer, is represented by the scorpion and that Satan, the ruler of Hell, is represented by the snake. Father Martin went so far as to say that Lucifer and Satan were two distinct and separate beings. Not much is known about this subject, but since there is the Holy Trinity of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, why can't there be an
unholy
trinity as well? I can see a correlation between God, the Father, and Lucifer, father of lies, who tries to bring us into eternal damnation. The Son, Jesus, gave us salvation, while His antagonist, the Antichrist, will appear on Earth during the last days as a false messiah. And the Holy Ghost, who helps us understand God and become more holy, is opposed by Satan, the destroyer who seeks the ruin of souls by turning us away from God.