Blessed Are the Wicked

by Steven A. LaChance

  “Well, then let’s go see what we can get done,” she said with a sense of resolve, almost like a surgeon getting ready to go into a difficult procedure––except in this case our patient was already dead.

  Carol and Marie were waiting for us when we entered the room. Lady Light gathered us into a circle; we sat on the floor and she lit the candle. Bill stuck his head into the doorway to say something, and immediately took in the scene and was gone. This was something Bill just could not handle. The Screaming House had been enough for him. His beliefs were shaken to the core when he was thrown across his bedroom by a black mass one night after a Screaming House investigation. His beliefs had already taken a huge blow from that case, but for an agnostic to take part in a cross over was asking way too much. I laughed at his reaction. I couldn’t help it and it helped to relieve some of the tension, but soon we returned back to the task at hand.

  The room seemed to spin as Lady Light had us hold hands and concentrate on the candle flame in the center of the circle. The flame itself seemed to grow as the outside world seemed to close in around us. In a very short time, we found ourselves in existence with nothing but our circle, the flame of the candle, and the sound of Lady Light’s voice. No particular words. Nothing I could write would let you know exactly what was said. The one thing I can tell you is that I know the child was with us because she was standing right outside our circle. I could see her. She was wearing a simple white dress, but what struck me about her more than anything, and what I will carry with me for the rest of my life, is that she had the most beautiful blond hair I have ever seen on a child. It seemed to be a gentle and beautiful moment, but all of a sudden something went wrong.

  Lady Light began to become agitated. Outside the circle, it started to grow dark. You could feel fear enter the room. Something had changed and we all knew it. Lady Light clutched my hand tighter and tighter. And then she spoke quietly; the only word I remember her speaking during the whole experience was “Run.” She wasn’t screaming or yelling. It was whispered and stern. “Run.” She was looking straight ahead and she was speaking to where I had seen the image of the child, and I knew she must be communicating with the child now. “Run.” Then the candle in front of us went out. Marie immediately turned on a flashlight, which she had sitting in her lap. We all sat there looking at each other for a moment. Not really saying anything. Not really knowing what to say. Finally Carol spoke, “Did it work?” Lady Light raised her head and looked at Carol, “I really don’t know. There is a male presence here that I think is keeping her captive. I know that sounds crazy, but I think it could be something to do with her life on this side. Like maybe he is still trying to hide a secret, maybe sexual abuse? I really don’t know.”

  When you think about the situations and the things that can hold us in place in the afterlife, it is really disturbing. I know I have written about this before, but it always seems to come back to haunt me, time and time again. The evil of humanity is a constant theme that is found in the evidence of most of these situations. Sometimes I feel like standing on the rooftops and shouting this lesson I have learned. You need to be careful what you do to others in this lifetime, because it can and will affect you in the afterlife, and not only will it affect you, but the people you damage as well. It really is that simple. Again, a lesson on the connectivity of everything and everyone involved, and how it all works in unison in the grand design. We have a world where you can see hate, violence, and degradation consuming every moment and around every turn. Why do you suppose that is? Why is the innocence of a child always the first thing to be damaged in the wake of almost everything? This was another damaged soul, trapped within a labyrinth of horror because of the evil of someone who could not control their inhumane urges. This was an attempt to hide their sin against this innocent child, and to try to keep her under their influence for eternity. I could only pray we were able to set this innocent child free.

  Sadly, later that night our question was answered. One thing we always did as a team was set up our equipment and then leave the location, locking the doors for a period of time. This way, there was nothing but the equipment inside to record any activity, without any human interaction. Shortly after the attempted cross over, we did one of these lockdowns. I am now going to share something with you that has never been shared with anyone, including the team, until now. There was certain evidence Carol never shared with the team because she felt it should not be shared publicly. (There are also pieces of Screaming House evidence that are still under lock and key that have never been shown because we agreed not to share it, for personal reasons.) Part of this secured evidence is a video clip that Carol had caught during the lockdown of the little girl laughing and playing with newspapers on the floor in the upstairs level of the house. We were unsuccessful crossing her over.

  Part of me feels like I failed this child much in the same way I failed a baby’s spirit, hanging in the tree at the Screaming House. How could I not feel this way? Even though I try to tell myself I did everything in my power, I still feel like I failed. She is still there. Whatever evil specter is keeping her there still has its hold on her. I don’t want to imagine what that hell is like for her. She will be there long after I am gone. I failed a child, and it is a burden I carry with me. This is one memory I can’t bury, and sometimes I wish I had never stepped foot into that house. I can’t erase the past. It happened. I did my part to try to change things, and I continue to do my part today. It doesn’t change the fact that a little girl ghost roams the halls of a house in an undisclosed location somewhere in Missouri. I can still feel her cold little arms as they wrapped around my legs to hold on to me like she would her daddy.

  I know I took this so hard because of the baby hanging in the tree at the Screaming House, who I never was able to help. That is true, and is true every time I feel like I fail a child. It just seemed to me that every time I turned around, I was faced with another ghost of a child, and all I seemed to be able to do was fail where they were concerned. This was way before I shot the film, Children of the Grave, and it is still a fear of mine today.

  [contents]

  Chapter 10

  Flashback, 1988

  I stood before the mirror, looking at myself. I didn’t look half bad, dressed head to toe in the latest Christian Dior. I should have been nervous. My older brother was pacing back and forth. “You know you don’t have to do this,” he whispered to me, right before it was time to go out.

  “I know,” I replied, with a smile on my face.

  “A plane ticket and spending cash anywhere you want to go. Let’s go right now. Just tell me where you want to go.”

  Unfortunately, he was serious. He was actually making me an offer, just like in the show, Let’s Make A Deal. Actually, I should have waited around to see if I was going to be offered Door Number 3. But I took Door Number 1. “I am right here where I want to be and this is the person that I am going to marry.” I was serious, and he knew I was no longer joking around.

  “Okay, then let’s get this done,” he said, and we headed into the chapel.

  The church was full, with nearly 400 people. This was no small affair. The aisles were lined with candles, and everywhere you looked there were white roses and lilies. The soloist was singing a song from Ice Castles as we entered. Could you get more eighties than that? The soloist was a former Miss Missouri, whom I had dated years before. As a matter of fact, there were more than just a few ex-girlfriends in the church that evening. I often wonder if they had showed up just to see if I would actually go through with it. They had to be surprised at the fact that someone had actually gotten me this far, and even more surprised in the simplicity of my selection of a mate; they obviously lacked the insight to see the elegance and the wisdom of my choice. They didn’t understand that my bride was the complete opposite of them and represented something “real” to me, something pure and untouched in its beauty––something they would never be able t
o understand.

  The organ pounded out the processional as the crowd stood. The doors at the back of the church opened, and for the first time in my life, the sight of someone took my breath away. I felt my knees buckle. My brother steadied me by grabbing my arm. She was a vision. The light hit the crystals on her gown, sending shards of light throughout the chapel, which seemed to make her glow as she made her way down the aisle toward me. The train of her gown was following her halfway up the aisle. Her choice was beyond words or description. The gown was old-fashioned and simple, but fit her completely. The crowd let out an audible gasp at first glance. She was magnificent. This was her moment, and she took full advantage of it. Those in the church that night, who might have been there to criticize, were silenced. The beauty queens never could have pulled off such natural beauty. She reached me at the altar, and I took her hand. She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to sparkle in the moment, and whispered to me, “I love you.” I could not reply. I was breathless. I was speechless. I was head over heels, completely and absolutely in love.

  March 2006

  The damn divorce papers came. I knew at some point I would have to deal with them, but nothing prepares you for the coldness of it all. I was expecting a simple divorce, but what I got when I opened the papers was the shock of my life. The woman who wanted to divorce her children was asking for joint custody. It seemed to me this was an obvious financial ploy. She had no genuine interest in the children, but she must have convinced herself that by gaining joint custody the child support would be reduced or even eliminated.

  This meant the kids were now dragged into the middle of this mess. My ex-wife couldn’t be civil enough to leave the divorce between us. I needed to hire a good attorney. I needed an awesome attorney. No, I needed a barracuda of an attorney who would not let go until we got what we needed to make everyone (me, the kids, my mom and dad, aunts and uncles, and anyone else involved with the kids) happy with the end result. And since no one knows who the anti-Christ is, or if they are practicing family law, I had to settle for the next best thing, Cheryl Mark Roberts. She was the champion of family law and family rights, and a straight barracuda when it came to deadbeat parents of either sex. Finally, after I had the attorney problem solved and an appointment was made, I decided it was time to speak with the children.

  I have never been the type of parent who tells my children which parent to choose. I have never really had to ask the children which parent they would want to choose, either. My ex-wife always made those choices for us. But I was pretty sure with her “Mommie Dearest” track record, this was not going to go well for her, and the score card was going to go heavily in my favor against joint custody. Sure enough, I spoke to each child individually and proposed the idea of joint custody. Their mother was quickly voted down. As a matter of fact, Lydia wanted to come with me to see my attorney to voice her opinion and concerns in person, which I agreed she should be able to do. Also, I had a signed separation agreement that stated that my ex-wife signed her parental rights away to me when she left. Come to find out, her attorney had no clue it existed. Well, when Lydia arrived at my attorney’s office, she let loose and gave numerous reasons why her mother was not a fit mother. She also informed us there was no way on God’s green earth her mother was ever coming near her or her brothers anytime soon.

  Now here is where it gets interesting. My attorney sent my ex-wife’s attorney a counteroffer stating the children’s disapproval and reminding them of the separation agreement. She also stated that it was highly unlikely joint custody would be granted. Eventually, I discovered that the reasoning behind the motion for joint custody was, in fact, my ex-wife’s scheme to get out of paying child support. At this point, my attorney called “bullshit” and stated that my ex-wife was going to pay child support, as well as provide the children’s health care. It turns out that my ex-wife made a huge mistake early on when filing the disclosure papers. She listed that she had smoked pot within the last six months when she completed the forms. Can you imagine? And how her attorney did not catch that mistake, we will never know. Because of this blunder, my attorney suggested I request that my ex-wife be drug tested. Guess what? Within 48 hours, my ex-wife was no longer asking for custody and she agreed to be responsible for all of the financial stipulations of the divorce. You’ve got to love Cheryl Mark Johnson.

  Flashback, October 1988

  There were nights that I would find my wife up, sitting in the dark. Alone. Quiet.

  “What are you doing?” I would ask.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she would say.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Just sitting here,” she would answer.

  There were nights when I would catch her in a restless sleep. Murmuring. Mumbling. Nightmares, I would suppose, but she would never mention them. I wonder now if she ever remembered them. I would always calm her and she would go deeper into sleep.

  “Steven, it is just not right.” It was Zoe, on the phone with me. “She is not acting like a mother should. Listen to me, dear heart. This is her first baby. She should be all over it, but instead she is acting like Lydia hardly even exists. Come on, isn’t there something wrong with this picture? Did you talk to the doctor about postpartum depression?”

  “Yes, and he said that he thought she was just fine,” I said.

  “Well, I think I would be finding another fucking doctor, if I were you. Look, she is not doing anything for this baby that she should be. A mother does not act like that. I am telling you, there is something wrong here. You don’t think she is suicidal or anything like that, do you?”

  “Oh come on, Zoe, of course I don’t.” Was I reassuring her or was I reassuring myself ? At the moment, thinking about it gave me a chill because I was not sure what I was doing.

  “You hear about this kind of thing all of the time. I just do not want to see you on the ten o’clock news, crying your guts out because the bitch decided to flip her ‘Sybil’ switch.”

  “Oh come on, Zoe!” I said, sounding aggravated.

  “Well, if I were you, I would keep one eye on Miss Christmas and one very close eye on your daughter, ’cause something is not fucking right.” She always had this way of driving a point home with a big old mallet and a spike.

  Even though I hated to admit it, this time Zoe was right. Something was not right. How should a new mother behave? Hell, I had no clue. I had never been through this before. Granted, we were not under the best of circumstances. Maybe it would just take some time? Maybe once things got a little better, so would she? Just maybe?

  Shortly after that is when the crying spells started. It seemed that for the slightest reason, she would begin to cry. She would not tell me why. There would be no reason for it. She would just start crying. One night I found her sitting in the dark, crying.

  “What is wrong with you?” I demanded.

  “Nothing. Just leave me alone,” she replied through her tears.

  “No, I am not going to leave you alone. You are going to tell me what the hell is going on!” I was clearly pushing now.

  “I said NOTHING!” she screamed in return.

  “You need to tell me what is happening with you.”

  “I’m just sad, okay? I am sad with everything. I am defective. I am not a good mother. I can’t do anything right. Everything I try to do I mess up. Everything.”

  “What are you talking about?” I lowered my voice.

  “You are just better at everything than I am. You are a much better parent than I am. You take much better care of Lydia than I could ever do,” she said.

  “This is not a competition. This is something that we are supposed to do together,” I said, trying to understand where she was coming from.

  “Then why do you have to be so damn good at it? I mean, Jesus Christ, can’t you fuck up something once in a while?” she asked.

  “I am trying to do
what is right by both you and Lydia.”

  “I get jealous of the time that you two spend together,” she said.

  “Jealous?” I was more than a little shocked.

  “Yeah, jealous. Everything revolves around her. Everything.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing. “This is getting fucking weird,” I said as I started to head down the hall toward the bedroom, with her on my heels.

  “Well, you asked me. You wanted to know what I was feeling. Well, sometimes I am jealous. I’m jealous of the time that you spend with her and not me!”

  “Are you listening to yourself ? Are you really listening to yourself and what you are saying? You are the one that comes home and I can hardly get two fucking words out of you. Hell, maybe I’m the one who is jealous! Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think that I might need to talk to you every once in a while? Did you ever consider the fact that I might be lonely?” I was getting angrier by the second.

  “I can’t talk to you!” she said, storming out of the bedroom, with me running after her.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me! You wanted to talk! Then let’s fucking talk, sister!”

  “I am not going to talk to you when you are like this!” she said, throwing herself onto the couch.

  “Why are you so self-centered all of the time?! Why does everything have to revolve around you?! Well, you are a mother now and it CAN’T!” The veins were clearly popping out of my neck now.

  She let out a scream, “STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!” She was pulling out her own hair and beating herself in the head. I stood there, watching. I stood there watching the scene in horror, not knowing what to do. “STOP IT! Stop it! Stop it … stop it . . .” She broke down crying. I went down the hall into Lydia’s room and got her ready to leave. I headed for the door with her in my arms. We were leaving. I did not know what else to do. “Where are you going? Where are you going?” She came running, screaming and crying.