Baby Needs an Exorcism

by Lucy Eller

Illustration by Katherine Fitzhugh

Your youngest daughter is possessed by a demon.

You call the rabbi and ask him what you should do. Even in a world where demonology is a field of legitimate study, people still go to religious leaders first, and not without valid reason. You don’t trust the demonologists to not treat her like a science experiment, rather than a patient in need of help. But you’ve known the rabbi for years.

Rabbi Levinsky thinks for a moment, then says, “Try having her say the Shema three times a day for a couple weeks or so, and if that doesn’t work, call me and I’ll give you the number of a Catholic priest who can do an exorcism.”

You thank him, and it takes her father’s help to wrestle your youngest daughter off of the wall and into an armchair; she spits on you and curses the entire time, possessing too much strength for a short, skinny eleven-year-old. Her father (your husband) switches off with you in looking after her. Neither of you want her to lose even one birthday to a demon.

Before long, she tires out, and you get her to recite the Shema. At first, her tongue bursts into flames. Then it’s just nosebleeds and stammering at the name of G-d. Then she chants it successfully three days in a row. When she smiles, it is her own, and you once again call her firefly.

The demon is gone, and your youngest daughter is back. ***

Your youngest daughter is possessed by a demon.

You tried calling the rabbi. His advice wasn’t bad, but it unfortunately didn’t work, which shouldn’t surprise you. Judaism doesn’t exactly prepare you for demonic possessions. Fortunately, Rabbi Levinsky was ready for his advice to fail, because he gives you the number of the Reverend Father Jordan at the Church of St. Anthony. You call Father Jordan, and he is shocked to find that your daughter has been possessed for the past nine months.

“Nine months?” he repeats. “Are you sure she’s—are you sure she’s still . . . alive?”

“Yes, she’s definitely alive,” you say, “and I know she’s still in there.”

Father Jordan agrees to perform an exorcism. He goes to your house that Thursday, and you haven’t had time to clean up the broken lamp your firefly hurled at her two sisters, both teenagers. There was only time for your oldest daughter to clean the vomit off of the walls and floor. But more importantly, you’ve managed to wrangle your youngest into a chair and made sure she’s restrained. Your oldest apologizes to Father Jordan about the broken lamp for you, and he says that it’s not the worst thing he’s seen when called to do an exorcism. To stay out of the priest’s way, your unpossessed daughters go to the movies with their father. You remain at home, waiting in the next room in case there’s an emergency.

No exorcism ever goes pleasantly; there is a lot more screaming than you would like, and afterwards your little girl is exhausted. You wipe away the blood around her nose and mouth, thanking Father Jordan, and you put her to bed. In the morning, she wakes up, just as she always did before.

The demon is gone, and your youngest daughter is back.

Your youngest daughter is possessed by a demon.

Your first instinct was to call Rabbi Levinsky, but his advice didn’t work, so he gave you the number of the Catholic priest Father Jordan, who performed an exorcism that was supposed to work, but you have a feeling it didn’t. Your little girl isn’t acting like herself. She behaves robotically—she barely speaks, she sits very still, she moves like she is on autopilot. She always behaved larger than she was, but now she is smaller than ever. Where is your firefly? Where is your spirited girl who speaks too loudly and overflows with so much joy that she laughs at everything? The exorcism should have brought her back. Where is she? Where is your baby?

You and your husband have multiple conversations about it, and you both suspect— though you don’t want to say it—that perhaps the demon is merely dormant.

The demon reawakens one day, and you find out when your second-born rushes to your room to tell you that her little sister is crawling around on her ceiling, smearing red paint and muttering in dead tongues again. Her father takes care of her while you search for other options.

You find a place—the Littlerock, an energy commune in Oregon that specializes in an experimental method of exorcizing demons. It’s affordable, it has credible references, and calling the demonologists is a last resort. You reach out to Dagmar, the woman in charge, and she responds to you that same day, saying that of course they’ll help your youngest.

You and your husband take your little girl and fly to Oregon, leaving your other two daughters with your sister-in-law. You stay in Oregon for all three weeks while your husband flies back home.

You aren’t allowed to visit your third-born at the Littlerock, but you receive updates every other day; halfway through the second week, they include her signature. You try not to dwell on it too much—the Littlerock has given you no reason to distrust them—but you can’t help thinking about their methods. You read about some on their website, such as milk baths, harp music, breathing exercises, and the burning of various herbs and incense, but you know nothing beyond that.

Most of your nights are plagued with nightmares: your little girl is dragged through the woods by a rope around her neck, locusts flying past her lips and the occasional snake slithering out when she opens her mouth; she is tied to a bed while faceless men throw salt in her face and threaten to burn her alive; blood gushes from her nose and the scratch marks on her arms, legs, back, and torso as she begs for help, screams for you, and wails the question of why her family has abandoned her. But these are only dreams.

Her father returns to Oregon the day before you’re going to pick up your daughter. He knows about your nightmares; he has had plenty of his own. You both go to retrieve her, making anxious conversation about whether or not this method has finally worked, how you will make up for both of her missed birthdays, and your shared relief that the rabbi said she can still have a bat mitzvah.

When your firefly appears, her face lights up. She races towards you, calling in her belllike voice, “Mom! Dad!” and she leaps into your arms, more herself than ever.

The demon is gone, and your youngest daughter is back. ttt