Battling Demons of Darkness, by Brandon Boston

Photo Š Kristy Ferguson

About the Author Brandon Boston is a twenty-seven-year-old who has faced a lifetime of difficulties. Relying entirely on his Christian faith and values, he has overcome every obstacle placed in his way.

Being haunted by demonic spirits most of his life, he now fights the forces of darkness he ran from in the past.

To Write to the Author If you wish to contact the author or would like more information about this book, please write to the author in care of Llewellyn Worldwide, and we will forward your request. Both the author and publisher appreciate hearing from you and learning of your enjoyment of this book and how it has helped you. Llewellyn Worldwide cannot guarantee that every letter written to the author can be answered, but all will be forwarded. Please write to: Brandon Boston â „ Llewellyn Worldwide 2143 Wooddale Drive Woodbury, MN 55125-2989 c o

Please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope for reply, or $1.00 to cover costs. If outside the USA, enclose an international postal reply coupon.

Battling

Demons of

Darkness

One Man’s Fight Against Evil Spirits

Brandon Boston

Llewellyn Publications Woodbury, Minnesota

Battling Demons of Darkness: One Man’s Fight Against Evil Spirits © 2013 by Brandon Boston. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Llewellyn Publications, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition First Printing, 2013 Book design by Bob Gaul Cover art: Background © iStockphoto.com/Hlinkazsolt

Zombie © Ivan Bliznetsov/Vetta/Getty Images, Inc. Cover design by Adrienne Zimiga Llewellyn Publications is a registered trademark of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (Pending) 978-0-7387-3680-8 Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business transactions between our authors and the public.

All mail addressed to the author is forwarded, but the publisher cannot, unless specifically instructed by the author, give out an address or phone number.

Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific location will continue to be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to authors’ websites and other sources.

Llewellyn Publications A Division of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. 2143 Wooddale Drive Woodbury, MN 55125-2989 www.llewellyn.com Printed in the United States of America

Nanny December 20, 2011, was the day I lost you and the angels gained you. As I set off on this journey to the ends of the earth to fight against the darkness, I will remember you.

It is kind of crazy to think that I am an author now. I know how much you loved to read, so don’t worry, Sadie May, I already sent you the first copy—overnight delivery straight to heaven— I hope you enjoy it. As I walk out the door this last time, I look back at you and say, “Nanny, I love you too. I will be careful.”

Contents

Introduction 1

One – No Ordinary Sunday 3 Two – Regretful Words 13 Three – We Are Not Alone 23 Four – Uncovering the Truth 35 Five – Living in Hell 47 Six – The Normal Life 69 Seven – Defeating Fear 81

x Contents

Eight – Be Careful What You Wish For 95 Nine – The Struggle 113 Ten – Missed Opportunities 125 Eleven – Deeper into the Darkness 139 Twelve – Lost in the Dark 159 Thirteen – The Beginning of an Exorcist 171 Fourteen – Facing My Demons 219 Fifteen – The Fight Continues 229

Introduction

Darkness hides the secrets of this world. The questions we wish to answer never seem to be solved. One of the most debated topics since the beginning of time is this simple question: Do spirits exist? My answer to that question is a definite yes! I might still be a skeptic like some of you if I had never come in contact with the other side. Unfortunately for me, the other side always seemed to be something very unpleasant.

In the stories you are about to read, you will not encounter stories about friendly ghosts or kind spirits. For reasons unknown to me, my encounters are always with the sinister spirits that live inside the darkness. They are a living, breathing nightmare, waiting for the opportunity to enter through

1

2 Introduction

a doorway into your life where your worst fear becomes a haunting reality.

At one time I was normal, like you—until I came face to face with the world’s darkest force. Evil is a word that is not fully understood until you are within sight of it. The moment you see it, you realize its existence. And the fact that it is no longer a myth can haunt you for eternity.

One in every three Americans believe in the paranormal—that the existence of some unexplainable presence can lead us to travel into a realm about which we know nothing. The curiosity each of us has can expose a truth of another dimension we wish we never knew existed.

What happens when you come face to face with something you don’t understand? What you are about to read is one hundred percent true, and is my answer to that question.

I was confronted by something I did not believe in, and it changed my life forever. What follows is more than a story; it is the personal documentation of my life from my childhood to present day. Even as you are reading this, my very real battle continues. There is no Hollywood drama added to spice things up. Remember just because you don’t believe in something does not mean it is not true—and this, my friends, is nothing but the truth.

ONE

No Ordinary Sunday

Everyone has memories from childhood, some good and some bad. Memories where we laughed and cried. I find it strange how the things we remember the most are the most traumatizing. You are left in complete shock, so much so that it leaves an indelible imprint on your mind. No matter how hard you try, it is stuck in the back of your memory forever. You might not remember certain details, but you will always remember the incident. And these incidents are almost always tragic—maybe you witnessed a bad wreck, natural disaster, or even someone’s death. Memories such as these seem to stick with us more than happy ones.

3

4 One

As kids, most of us were afraid of monsters. We didn’t know what they were or what they wanted, we just knew they were very scary. Most parents will have to go check in the closet and look under the bed more than once in their lifetime. Others might even install a night light, they will do anything to ease their child’s mind, to reassure them that there’s no such thing as monsters.

Though there are skeptics, when you have been confronted by the other side, there is no denying what you have seen. It is difficult for someone who has never had a paranormal experience to believe in such a thing. After all, there are a lot of fakes out there looking to profit off some made-up story. I am not referring to them; I am talking about the people who have really been haunted. The people who see things that are not normal or explainable are experiencing the true paranormal. Millions more have witnessed something from the other side, yet doubt its existence. Despite all the photos, video, and audio evidence collected over the years which have proven to be authentic, some still choose to doubt. While not all the evidence is paranormal—photographed dust particles from old houses (called orbs) are not paranormal—one cannot deny that some of the other evidence collected is real. Yet many still refuse to accept it.

Some skeptics drive me absolutely insane—they ask for proof and when they get it, it is not good enough. After really thinking about it, I believe I have the answer to why

  No Ordinary Sunday  5

they choose not to believe. It is fear! It scares them deep down inside to think such things exist.

So, what do we do in response? Some turn to religion, some choose to live in fear, others decide to ignore the evidence, thinking that doing so protects them from these monsters. Whatever the case, just because you have not seen it yet does not mean it does not exist. Just because you have never seen a poisonous snake does not mean its venom will have no effect on you. Believing that the snake is harmless will not keep the poison from running throughout your body, traveling into your bloodstream, causing unbearable pain, and eventually claiming your life. If you have that sort mindset, you will likely find yourself in an early grave.

I am not saying there is a demon under every rock or that every monster your kids see is anything more than the product of an active imagination. Just keep in mind they are out there, they are real, and their number is limitless.

Remember this the next time you are home alone and suddenly you feel like you are not. Maybe you hear footsteps down the hall, but no one is there. Perhaps your child’s imagination has created a friend only they can see. Do not forget these words, because the unexplainable might happen in your own home.

Some of us got into a lot of trouble as children. We were drawn to things we should not have messed with. We have many experiences that mold us into the person we become later in life. As we grow older, we seem to remember the life

6窶グne

lessons we learned in the earlier days of our adolescence. That overall message is etched in our minds for eternity, but somehow we forget most of the details, and it looks like one big blur. One of the first memories I can recall is no different, and it would haunt me for years to come. My first memory was not playing catch with my dad, because he was never there; I never met him. It was not a birthday party thrown by my mother, because she was a heavy drug user and never home. It was not even spending time with my grandparents who raised me. My first memory was church. Church. You might say that is a good memory, there is nothing terrifying about church. Normally I would agree, but let me assure you, this was no ordinary Sunday.

I grew up and currently reside in Dunlap, Tennessee, a small country town in the southeastern part of the state. It is a beautiful area where the mountains stand tall surrounding the valley. Even though times have changed, you still see the history all around the town. The thing that sticks out for most people is the hospitality of the community.

Farmers, preachers, veterans, and coal miners call this place home. You see why it is called the Bible Belt, and this town is in the heart of it: churches occupy every corner. For such a small town, Sunday mornings bring out a lot of traffic.

Families often fill the pews, mother and father along with their children. Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to build a relationship with my parents. My father, whose identity still remains unknown, only paid one brief

No Ordinary Sunday 7

visit to me shortly after I was born. My mother never left my side the first year of my life, but that was all short-lived because my love alone could not replace the high of the drugs that would ultimately take her away from me. Instead, my grandparents stepped in and gave me the unconditional love I needed. My grandmother was a woman of true faith who would read her Bible for hours every day. My grandfather was a former Baptist minister who gave new meaning to the phrase “fire and brimstone preaching.” I was extremely close to my grandparents; they were all I had.

It was more than I can say about the rest of my family.

My mother was the only girl in her family, having six brothers to pick on her throughout her childhood. You would think with that many uncles, aunts, and cousins that I would never be alone. Sadly, the opposite was true. Although they are all kind-hearted people, it seemed as though I inherited my mother’s reputation and was labeled the black sheep of my family. There are only a few relatives I could honestly consider family, and even then, they had their own lives, leaving me an only child with way too much time on his hands.

I woke up early one Sunday morning to attend church with my cousin and my aunt. I cannot recall my exact age, but I was old enough to speak clearly, but still young enough to spend most of the time in the arms of my older cousin.

I assume it was like any other Sunday—a beautiful morning with people arriving in front of the church greeting each

8 One

other before the service. As people began to fill up the pews, everything would change in the blink of an eye. Many of the details escape me, but what I witnessed in the following moments, I will never forget. After we picked our seats and gave our attention to the preacher who was about to start his lesson, someone began walking toward the front of the church directly at him. A scream rang out from the crowd, and everyone got up from their seats, acting frantic. There was a rush for the door. As we headed toward the exit, someone screamed “get the children out of here.” The same voice shouted “get them outside now.” I knew then something was very wrong. I turned to look back at the parishioner who caused such a stir, but he was no longer on his feet. He was on the ground shaking, screaming as members of the church began to form a circle around him. The church members began speaking in different languages, and when they did so, the man on the ground started to shake in a violent way. At first I thought he was having a seizure, but I soon discovered this was no medical condition.

My cousin had me in her arms as she desperately raced toward the door. Now outside with the rest of the kids from church, we seemed to be out of harm’s way. Everyone was clearly shaken up, not really sure what was going on—even some of the adults were clueless. They shut the doors behind us, and I got the feeling it was not about keeping us out as much as it was keeping whatever was inside away from us.

No Ordinary Sunday 9

One of the adults outside took charge in the parking lot, instructing all the children to look toward her as she walked away from the church. She didn’t want the children to see what was happening inside, and looking toward her meant everyone was looking away from the church—except me! As my cousin did what she was asked to do, I soon realized this moment was meant for me to see. As my cousin, who was carrying me over her shoulder turned to face the adult, I was now facing the church. I had no idea what I was witnessing at the time. I never knew I was not supposed to look, I did not understand what was happening. I had this feeling I should turn away, but I didn’t. I continued to watch through the small glass window in the front of the church.

The same guy I saw before was still on the ground, convulsing and screaming worse than ever. Members of the church had now formed a complete circle around the victim.

I say victim because to me it seemed he was being tortured.

As the screams grew louder, so did the church members’ prayers. Different languages began to pour out of the people.

The louder they prayed, the louder he would scream. I can remember thinking that this person was in an extreme amount of pain. It felt like I watched the event for hours, when in all reality it only lasted a few minutes. I was so focused on what I was seeing nothing, else around me seemed to exist. My cousin walked away from the building so I could no longer see through this window, but the damage had been done.

10 One

I have no idea what happened to the person that seemed to be dying right in front of my eyes. I drive past that church four to five times a day. I often catch myself looking at the holy structure frozen in time, remembering the events that took place that day. That Sunday, I learned that something else is out there—something not of this world. I witnessed something no other kid did that day: an exorcism. For years, I tried to block out the terrifying experience. I soon realized I would be coming home to the same type of environment; the same feeling from that day. I know something was inside that person’s body, and it did not want to leave. When you see something like that face to face, you know you are in the presence of pure evil. I never spoke of what I witnessed that day to anyone, or at least so I thought.

I was twenty-four-years old when I began writing this book.

As the years pass by, I often find myself being reminded of that day. The events that would take place from the time I witnessed the exorcism until I finished high school traumatized me. I was not able to talk about ghost or demons or be in the same room where a conversation on the subject was taking place. However, I finally conquered my fear in my early twenties. One day, since I was no longer afraid to talk about the past, I started a conversation about demons with my grandmother. We began trading stories about the

No Ordinary Sunday 11

haunting we survived just years before (when a demon took residence in the place we called home). She brought up the day everything began, a day I thought I had erased from my memory. She told me how she remembered the day I came home from church and told her about what I had seen— the exorcism. I was blown away. The event was no longer in the past; I was reliving it all over again. It was a relief to know what I witnessed was not my imagination, and I now know part of my destiny was to witness the exorcism that day. Along with everything else I am about to tell you, it took years for me to understand that, but I am finally at peace with it.

Many people have experienced or will experience something paranormal in their lifetime. I believe we all will have an experience at some point, but most of us just choose to ignore it. We try to come up with some type of explanation to keep our minds at ease. Some might only have one experience, while others will not be as fortunate.

This book is my way of reaching out and letting people know they are not alone. No matter what people say, you are not crazy. These things do happen, and more often than you think. The exorcism was only the first of my many encounters with the demonic—something you cannot always see but can feel; a sinister presence entering the room. I will now tell you how tragedy, depression, and dabbling with black magic can open doors you will wish you never knew existed. When these doors are opened, real monsters

12窶グne

can come through. These creatures surpass all expectations, traveling far beyond your worst fears. Once they enter through a doorway, it is often too late by the time you realize it. And at that very moment, your worst nightmare just became your reality.

Two

Regretful Words

No matter what happens in the course of our lives, life still moves on, even if we don’t. Aside from that Sunday, I grew up as a normal kid for the most part—as normal as I could be without parents. My Nanny and Pa Pa raised me the best that they could. I spent my time watching professional wrestling and dreaming big. I was extremely outgoing, very energetic, and I made good grades in school. Everything seemed to be normal, until halfway through my fourth-grade year when my world would be rocked. I’d never experienced death before, so I did not understand anything about it. The man I admired the most, the one I thought was invincible, would be taken away right before my eyes.

13

14 Two

The relationship with my grandparents was not normal; they had raised me since my birth. I considered them my parents. At that time in my life, my grandfather was my hero. I did everything with him. I always admired how everyone looked up to my grandfather and respected him. He had an impressive work ethic. Aside from being a preacher, he spent many years working as a coal miner.

My grandmother said all the time, “I don’t know how we got by sometimes.” They would go long stretches without money and food, and they had no way to pay their bills. She said God would provide through people in the church helping them by paying their bills and buying food. My grandfather never asked for help. He just prayed for God to provide a way, and it always worked.

I remember the night everything in my life changed.

One of my uncles was in town visiting. I was very excited, bouncing off the walls as I often did. I never saw him much, so I was looking for attention, as usual. I asked my grandfather if I could do something, and he said no. Being the little brat I was, I started crying because I did not get my way. I told him, “I hate you. I wish you were dead.” I never thought he would grant my wish.

I stormed off to my room, eventually falling asleep, only to wake up to my mother, who’d stayed home for once, running through my room screaming and crying. I asked her what was wrong, as my attention was drawn toward the door. I could see through my doorway, into the hall, and

Regretful Words 15

into my grandfather’s room. I knew something was not right.

My Nanny was standing in the room with him as my mother ran outside screaming. My grandfather was lying on his bed, with his feet still placed on the floor. He was lifting his head up trying to breathe, but he could not. My Nanny did not know what to do. The ambulance was on the way, and my uncles had been notified. There was nothing more that could be done.

I then witnessed the most difficult-to-see thing in my entire life, but it was also the most peaceful. Nanny grabbed my grandfather’s Bible and placed it on the center of his chest. The moment his Bible touched his chest, he slowly laid his head against the mattress, instantly moving on to a better place. No matter what any medical reports say, I know my grandfather died at the very moment. I was in shock after the medics finally arrived to wheel him away.

It would be the last time I ever saw him, or so I thought.

My family went to the hospital while I stayed behind with my cousin and a family friend. I ended up drifting off to sleep, drained due to all the commotion. I woke up the following morning knowing this was all a bad dream. I went in search of my grandfather. I had to ease my mind from the night before, regretting the last words I had said to him. I frantically searched room after room but never found him.

The members of our family filled my home instead. The look on all of their faces painted the picture I was forced to view. Everyone had tears in their eyes, the atmosphere was

16 Two

very dark and depressing, and that was the moment I realized this was no dream.

My family explained to me that my grandpa had passed away and would not be coming back. Realizing I would never see him again took me to a place from which I would never recover. I would never be the same again. I remember the day my grandfather was in the funeral home, storms filled the Tennessee sky. I stayed home because I could not take the pain of seeing him in that casket, so a couple of my cousins stayed as well. We were outside trying to distract ourselves from our trouble by playing baseball. I can remember staring at the sky in such a daze, time felt like it stopped and nothing else existed except me and the sky. I was captivated by the dark clouds; they were traveling at a speed I had never seen before. Any other time I would have been terrified by the ferocity of these storms; lightning consistently lit up the sky as the ground shook, thunder rumbled, and trees were bent by the power of the wind. At that moment I did not care if I was in danger; for the first time in my life I was numb from the inside out. Fear was nothing to me at that point, and I thought that nothing could bring more harm to me than what I was facing that day. As strange as it might sound, it seemed like the weather was also mourning the loss of my grandfather. A record number of tornadoes touched down in Tennessee that day.

I decided to skip my grandfather’s funeral as well, but would hear of what so many saw. A single dove took to the

Regretful Words 17

sky directly above where my grandfather was being laid to rest. No one knew how it got there—it seemed to appear out of thin air—but they took it as a positive sign that he was in a better place. The way it soared through the sky seemed to command the attention of everyone in attendance. The dove brought joy and peace to a lot of people, but I was not one of them.

Everyone moved on with their lives the best they could, but unfortunately I was never able to move past that night.

I was trapped in a zombie-like state. I felt no happiness. Joy was nothing more than a memory. I lost all focus—even in school. I had to be pulled out and homeschooled the last half of the year. I completely shut down, could hardly talk to anyone, and even distanced myself from my grandmother.

Most will never understand how hard it is to live with something like that—thinking it was your fault, blaming yourself every moment, wishing you could take it all back.

But I couldn’t, I had to deal with it every single day, alone, and in my own way. As I tried moving on with my life, something very strange began to happen.

My only way of escaping the pain was to be someone else; to dream big and get into character. I did that by watching professional wrestling and all the sports I could handle. I soon noticed that every time I tuned in to any sporting event, I would see someone I knew. As the camera would take a break from the action, momentarily scanning the crowd, I saw a familiar face. It was my grandfather on TV staring right

18 Two

back at me. It was him; his clothes, his glasses, his face. It was his smile. I began to see him on a regular basis. Every time I did I told my Nanny “There he is. It’s Pa Pa. Do you see him?” She never did, of course. I told myself I wanted to see him so badly that I was making myself see him. All that would change one morning, when I experienced something that words could never describe.

One night, like many before, I went to sleep in the living room on the couch opposite the one my grandmother slept on. I suddenly awoke with a purpose—instantly opening my eyes, I threw the covers off, my feet hit the floor, I began walking with a destination in mind. I was no longer asleep, and it was as if I was meant to walk somewhere, like answering the phone, or as if someone was at the door. But no one was there. I was now wide awake, heading straight for the kitchen. I walked past the stove, stopping directly in front of the sink. I was looking through my kitchen window into the morning sky. I could not stop looking, taken by its beauty.

The sun was coming up, and the clouds were filled with different shades of orange and pink. It looked like the sky was being torn apart by something. An extremely bright light was shining through an opening in the clouds. I could not stop looking at this light; it was breathtaking. As I continued to gaze at the sky, in the blink of an eye I was outside

Regretful Words 19

the window in my neighbor’s yard. I was awestruck by this light, when I noticed something coming out of the opening. What seemed to be an escalator began poking through the clouds, making its way to the ground. At the top of the escalator, a cloudy shape of a man made itself known. The light was blinding, so I could not make out who he was at first, but once he started down the rotating stairs, it became very clear. As I saw his face, I realized who I was looking at—it was my grandfather. In an instant, my eyes were overflowing with tears, and as he came closer, the tears became more intense. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs and walked right up to me, I noticed something was different about him. He was smiling the whole time and had this glow about him I had never seen before—it was almost like it was coming from the inside radiating outward. I could tell that for once, he felt no pain and was not suffering anymore.

He was finally at peace.

He continued to come closer, and I completely lost control of all my emotions, breaking down at that moment. I was so ashamed of the final words I’d said to him, carrying that burden every day since his passing. I always felt I was the one who caused it. I was the reason he was gone, and it was my fault. He walked directly in front of me with such a pleasant look on his face. He stretched his arms out wide and pulled me to him. Tears poured out harder than ever. I was hugging him … actually hugging him! I started telling him how sorry I was and how much I loved him when he made

20 Two

me stop talking and look at him. He said these words to me: “Everything is going to be okay. I love you, son.” The second he spoke those words, I felt a heavy weight being lifted off my shoulders.

He began walking back toward the rotating stairs and ascended into the sky from which he came. I did not want him to go, but I had this odd, peaceful feeling come over me.

He was almost at the top when he looked back at me one last time with that heavenly smile. I knew he was going home.

Once he reached the top, he disappeared into the blinding light. The escalator soon followed him as the clouds formed back together.

In the blink of an eye I was back in my kitchen, looking out the window. Tears covered my face, as I looked around frantically trying to find an explanation for what had just happened. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming, but this was no dream. I ran straight into the living room, right up to where my grandmother was sleeping. I wanted to wake her up so badly, but I was afraid she would be upset and would not believe me. I fought the urge and climbed back into bed, falling asleep. I remember how happy I was at that moment, I knew my Pa Pa was okay, and I had the closure I needed to move on. I knew he forgave me, so that was the day the burden had been lifted. Unlike seeing him

 Regretful Words 21

on TV, I knew this experience was a gift from God. That was the last time I saw my grandfather, but it was not the last time I would be awakened in such a strange way.

The next time I would be woken from my sleep in this way would not be to something pleasant, and it would not be to anyone I knew. The morning I stood before that creature would be the only time I would ever do so. The second I laid eyes on it was the beginning of many years of living in fear and going through a literal hell.

Three

We Are Not Alone

I believe there were a few key events that took place before my encounter with this dark force. Of course the death of my grandfather played a huge role because it set the tone for a depressing environment. It hit our family hard, especially my grandmother and me. The negativity that surrounded my home turned out to be a breeding ground for evil. My mother’s lifestyle also took a turn for the worst after my grandfather’s passing.

My mother began to dabble with black magic. No one really knows if she ever took part in any dark spells or rituals, but it instantly threw up a red flag in my mind about the haunting. Shortly after experimenting with a force she 23

24 Three

was unfamiliar with, my mother came home one night an emotional train wreck. She was crying, terrified about something. It took my grandmother a few moments to calm her down. Finally, my mother began to describe what she had experienced on her ride home. She was leaving the bar, and just as she got in her car she felt something right beside her.

The terror she felt at that moment was indescribable—completely frozen in fear, she did not want to look at what was looking at her. She altered her plans and headed straight for our house. My mother said, “The devil rode home with me in the car.” Those were the exact words my grandmother did not want to hear.

Most people would attribute the whole evening to alcohol, since my mother had been drinking that night, but my grandmother knew better than that. She had seen my mother hundreds of times under the influence of drugs and alcohol, but this time was different. This time she was completely sober and was scared to death of something—what, we didn’t know, though we would soon find out.

I know the dark force that entered our home attached itself to my mother.

Recently, I asked my mother about the details of what happened with this so-called devil that rode home with her that night. Instantly, chill bumps covered her from head to toe, and she shrugged her shoulders trying to shake off the fear. I could tell she did not want to relive that terrifying night. She began telling me her side of the story. I could tell

We Are Not Alone 25

she was being honest—she was exposed to something evil and it shook her to the core. She described how the presence felt and how darkness seemed to consume the space around her before this presence began talking to her. She would not repeat the words the spirit spoke, almost as if she blocked it out. She did tell me how helpless she felt at that moment, alone with the darkest spirit our world knows. This darkness was inches from her, sitting in the passenger seat of her car.

She was too afraid to look, fearing what she might see. Tears streamed down her face as she was racing to her mother for help. That car ride home had to feel like an eternity, alone, terrified, and helpless. It took everything inside her to keep it together. Once she got to the house, my grandmother prayed for her, and that seemed to be the end of this nightmare.

Needless to say, it wasn’t.

These two events led up to one night, the night where the evil presence entered our home. It was a very pleasant evening. My aunt, uncle, and some family friends were at our house enjoying an entertaining conversation. Among the guests were a former preacher and his wife. We were all trading some stories, having a nice time for the first time since my grandfather’s passing. My grandmother and the former preacher were having a biblical discussion as I sat back just enjoying the evening. For once, my home was filled with joy instead of depression, but that all changed in the blink of an eye. Suddenly the door swung open, my mother burst in to the room, stopping in embarrassment.

26 Three

She had no idea we had company, and once again she was under the influence of something. She smiled and quickly marched to her room, retrieved some clothes, and left as quickly as she had arrived. From the moment she entered our home, silence filled the room—no one spoke a word.

Once she left, the old preacher said something I did not understand at that moment, but later turned out to be true.

I will never forget his words: “She was not alone; something came in with her.” Although I could not grasp exactly what he was talking about, I knew something was different, and not in a good way. No one responded verbally to what the preacher said, but we all felt the change in the atmosphere the second my mother entered the room. Like the flip of a switch, my home went from being filled with laughter and happiness to an atmosphere of depression and heaviness you would expect to feel at a funeral.

That was the first time I had ever experienced such an evil presence, but it would not be the last. Unlike the exorcism I witnessed in church, this was an attack on a personal level— this time in my home. Shortly after that night, I would be awakened once again by something not of this world. I sat straight up out of a dead sleep, instantly wide awake. I tossed the covers to the side, and my feet hit the floor. I made my way to the door, and my hand twisted the knob. I slowly opened the door as if someone had knocked, but no one was there—at least no human. As I looked down the three steps into our laundry room, I saw something directly in front

We Are Not Alone 27

of me. At the bottom of the steps was a screen door made of glass that led outside onto the porch. The sunlight was beginning to shine down on the small town, but my eyes were fixed on something much darker. A black mass stood only a few feet from me. Although it resembled a person, it was not human. It was around five feet tall, with no visible features to describe, only darkness. The best way to envision this figure is to picture someone wearing a sheet that covered them from head to toe. You could see the outline of the head and shoulders, but the rest of its body just flowed. This was no person; the color of this creature was solid black. If you were in a room of total darkness—so dark you could not see your own hand a few inches in front of your face—you would still be able to see this creature because it was darker than dark. The darkness did not consume it … it consumed the darkness. I fell under some sort of trance and could not look away from the mass; it had some type of hold on me.

My eyes were locked on the blackness where the creature’s eyes should have been. There was no life in them, and there was no heartbeat, breath, or soul. I was face to face with a real-life monster, but for some reason I was not afraid. I felt like I was brainwashed, unable to blink or control my own actions. I was frozen, staring stiffly at this impenetrable darkness.

I seemed to be lost in time once again. Everything around me seemed to stop, just so I could experience this moment. Standing feet away from this dark entity, fear

28 Three

was not an emotion I could express. For some strange reason, I mistook it for something I was a fan of, a ninja. I then communicated with the spirit, saying, “Hi, Shinobi,” not knowing with what I was truly speaking. I labeled this spirit with a name, an act that sends shivers down my spine when I look back at the incident now. I could not tear my eyes away from this creature for what seemed to be a lifetime, but finally I shut the door. I calmly climbed back on the couch and was fast asleep the second my head hit the pillow. I was not worried or concerned about Shinobi. He was only a friend, or at least I thought. Oh, how as children we often do not understand the consequences of the decisions we make. I never spoke of what I’d seen that morning, because I had no clue I was in any danger.

Even if I did tell someone, who was going to believe me when I told them what I’d seen? Conveniently enough, I did not have to say a word about what I’d witnessed. Everyone would soon find out for themselves.

Not long after my mother brought something evil inside our home, and after my confrontation with the spirit, things began to happen. At first, it started out small; odd noises coming from my grandfather’s room. It soon became tapping on the walls, which turned into scratching, and objects being shifted around. Footsteps followed shortly after that.

The noises moved around the house, but the main activity revolved around my grandfather’s room. As the footsteps became clearer, so did the feeling like we were not alone. It often

  We Are Not Alone  29

sounded like someone was walking through the hall, but the second you looked, no one was there. My home seemed to come alive at night, which was when all this activity took place. As the noises became more frequent and grew louder every day, it was becoming very difficult to ignore. To keep our minds at ease, we tried telling ourselves it was just the popping and creaking of an old house. But as more things happened, the more uncomfortable my grandmother became. It was like she knew something I did not. She seemed to sense what was taking place. At the time, she kept certain past details to herself, trying to protect me from the truth.

My grandmother made the mistake of questioning where she stood in her faith. I found out that years before I was born, my grandmother had gone through some experiences she never wanted to relive. The bad news for her was she would have no choice but to live her nightmare all over again. Only this time, it was far worse than she could have ever imagined.

I never knew ghosts or demons existed. I thought they were just inspiration for costumes you wore once a year to get candy. I did not know I was supposed to be afraid of them, much less fear them in my own home. As time passed, I started to notice I could feel someone watching me when I was alone in my room playing. Even though

30 Three

I knew I was alone, it felt like someone was burning a hole right through me with their eyes. I constantly thought someone was directly behind me, but the moment I looked, no one was there. I never experienced anything like this aside from my grandfather’s visit after his death. As the “watching” happened more often, the feeling became more frightening.

The eyes began to come closer. Each time I felt them, I knew they were closing the distance. Every move I made, they were watching, waiting for something—for what, I did not know, but it was the beginning of a grim reality.

These events started to happen every other day. Whatever it was continued to become stronger. I began to feel a very strong presence fill the room. The feeling it gave off was too much for me to handle, and too often I would have to get up and leave the room. When the presence entered I could never look—something inside me said, “Get out!”

So I did. It got to the point where it no longer felt safe to be alone in my own home. Under pressure to constantly kept my guard up because I was too nervous, I was never able to relax. I could not focus due to the fear that had taken over me. It consumed me. I knew it was something sinister— and it was in our home.

This presence was pure evil. I felt like prey being stalked by an unseen predator. I honestly thought that the second I let my guard down this force was going to rip me apart. Everyone in the house began to notice dark shadows out of the corners of our eyes. Naturally, we told ourselves that it was

We Are Not Alone 31

our eyes playing tricks on us, because every time you tried to focus on the shadow, it was gone. My grandmother began seeing more things and sensing this presence more each day.

She finally admitted something was wrong. I remember the terror I felt the first time she said there was “something evil” in the house. Fear engulfed my mind when I heard her say that. I began to stay outside more often and hung out at my friend’s house often than at my own. My grandmother, who was in her sixties, was not as fortunate as me; she could not get around like she used to. She was practically confined to this house and sat in her recliner most of the time. When she finally could not take it anymore, she would go for walks up and down the driveway just to get out of that house.

When we tried to explain the events taking place in our home to the rest of our family, it did not go over very well.

They just thought Nanny was going crazy and that I was so young I believed whatever she said. You can’t really blame them—honestly, I would not have believed it myself unless I was forced to live it. Finally, one day while my aunt was visiting, she witnessed a shadow walk through the hall and disappear into a room. She’d seen me leave a few minutes earlier; she and my grandmother were the only two people in the house. They both got up and searched the house, hoping that I had somehow come back inside. To their dislike, that would not be the case. I was not there. No one was. My aunt was greatly disturbed by what she had seen.

But it was also a relief to have someone else finally know

32 Three

exactly what we were talking about. It was proof my grandmother and I were not going crazy. My aunt witnessed these events repeatedly, and while my uncle tried to play it off as nothing, we all knew something was going on.

Other members of the family suddenly stopped coming down as much. The thought of getting the church involved was a little premature at this point, but it was clear the atmosphere in my home had changed. Whatever it was seemed like it was affecting everyone in some way. Some would see shadows but decide to ignore them, never choosing to discuss what we all were seeing.

After a while, we got used to the feeling of being watched.

Although it still bothered us, it was something we could more or less live with. Then one night when my grandmother and I were watching TV in the living room, we suddenly heard a loud shuffling coming through the wall leading into my grandfather’s room. It was so loud we thought someone broke in. We immediately called my uncle and told him to come down right away. The noise was loud the whole time until he arrived, when it quit. My uncle opened the door and entered my grandfather’s room, my grandmother and I right behind him. As he turned the light on, my heart was racing in anticipation of what we were about to see. We searched for an intruder, but found nothing. The windows in my grandfather’s room were not broken, and they were locked.

We knew what we’d heard—this was not our imagination.

Still, everything seemed to be okay. A scream filled the air. It

We Are Not Alone 33

was my grandmother. “The shelves!” she said, her voice filled with shock and terror. “Look at the shelves,” she said. Naturally, my uncle and I looked in that direction. My grandfather had built these shelves. They covered the whole wall from the floor to the ceiling. This is where my grandmother kept all of her figurines over the years. Whenever any of her children or grandchildren bought or made her anything, one of these shelves would be its final resting place. As I noticed what caused her to scream, I was at a loss for words. We all were. Every single figurine she owned had been moved over a couple inches. My uncle couldn’t even find the right words to explain this occurrence either. The amazing thing was that the figurines had not just been moved, they had been picked up and placed back down, exposing the dust ring where each item used to be. Any slight movement would have disturbed the loose dust therefore breaking the ring. That was not the case. None of the rings had been broken, hundreds of items have been picked up and moved. All the commotion we were hearing through the wall was this “something” trying to get our attention—and it worked. My uncle said it was time to go, trying to play it off like nothing happened. No matter what he said, there is no way you could ever forget something like that.