I saw someone post something on Facebook today that
got me going (my fault for going on Facebook), but then I started talking to a
co-worker about something and a topic that I’ve had experiences with came up in
a joking manner. It was one of those times where I’ve had real world
experiences in something strange, but
didn’t want to say anything because it could make me sound like a crazy person.
The topic was on exorcisms. Her son keeps waking up
in the middle of the night, so I jokingly said she should call an exorcist in,
and said that I knew how to perform them. Again, this was all said in a joking
manner. We had a good laugh, and continued on with our day.
Thing is, I’ve seen exorcisms performed. I’ve seen
people possessed by what I would’ve called demons at the time. Hell, I’d still
call them demons because I can’t think of another explanation. “But, Zak,” you
say, “you’re a somewhat educated fellow, how could you ever believe in
something as ridiculous as demonic possession?” And you’re asking a good
question. I have studied psychology, and I work, tangentially, in the mental
health field, I should be able to think up a rational explanation that doesn’t
involve the supernatural. But I can’t. For one, I knew the guy; and two, I’ve
experience too much to not believe in…something.
I wasn’t friends with this guy, but we had classes
together and had worked on a few projects in the months leading up to the
EVENT. He was weird, but not in a “he’s clinically insane” way. His mental
health was fine, is what I’m basically trying to say. I went to a Christian
school, and we had chapel every morning. My dorm always sat together and we sat
near the front, in the same area every day. The student body president was
giving the sermon that morning, and it was a good one. He was a good public
speaker, he should’ve kept going but now he’s a pilot instead. In the middle of
the sermon there was an animalistic roar from the back of the chapel—a sound
that shouldn’t have come from a person’s throat. All the movement in the room
stopped, and the student body turned as one towards the source of this noise.
The guy was standing at the back of the chapel, anger
radiating off of his body. He began to make his way forward, his movements spastic
and alien. He shouted in a voice that was not his, “they are not your children.
They belong to me.” He repeated this over and over as he made his way forward, punctuated
by the occasional unearthly scream.
It was right by our little section of pews that four
of the profs, all fit men who worked out regularly, met this guy. I should
mention that this guy was not exactly an athlete, but it took all four of these
men to restrain him and drag him to the floor. A fifth prof stood nearby reciting
scripture authoritatively, as the others struggled to carry the guy out of the
chapel. The guy continued to scream, “they’re not yours!” and began to thrash
around as he was carried out.
Once they got him out of the room, the student body
president led us all in prayer for around half an hour.
I had never, and have never since, experienced such
pure fear as I did at that moment. I was in the presence of pure, unadulterated
evil, and I could feel that in my bones.
To this day, I am haunted by the voice screaming out:
“They belong to me.”
