Blessed Are the Wicked

by Steven A. LaChance

  Late May 2006

  Kelly was pregnant. Kelly was pregnant with Tommy’s baby and Tommy was dead. How does a teenager even begin to comprehend or deal with those feelings? Kelly was carrying his legacy and if you were to ask her, she would tell you, “I am going to have Tommy’s son.” It made you want to cry, the way she would cradle her arms around her stomach when she would say it. This was her way of holding on to Tommy and trying desperately not to let him go. She was trying to be brave, but you could tell she was scared. Tommy had left her all alone in a cruel, judgmental world. Kelly was in a world that shunned pregnant teenage girls and was especially forbidding of pregnant black teenage girls who were already on probation. You just had a feeling that things were going to end up wicked for this girl. Absolutely wicked.

  The bleeding started early one morning and Kelly knew she was not only losing the baby, she was losing the only part of Tommy she had left. I was there to take her to the hospital with Helen, and I never saw a girl grow up so fast in one day. I saw her age before my eyes. I saw her lose her baby in the back seat of a car on the way to the hospital, along with her innocence and the remainder of her connection to her dead first love. How do you deal with that? There are no words that can comfort a mother who loses a child. There is no sound more sorrowful than the sound of a mother when she hears her baby is gone, and in this case it was combined with another loss as well.

  I heard her cries, and I knew at that moment she wanted to die as well. She said it without words. She said with her every breath and the look in her eyes. The look in her eyes was the look of sheer terror. She must have felt that she let Tommy down in some way. She must have felt as if she failed to keep him alive, with the miscarriage of the baby. She must have felt that she had let him go, and she couldn’t stop it. The depression that followed was massive. Kelly became extremely self-destructive, and there was a time when we all thought we were going to lose her.

  I could not help but think that this plethora of bad luck was caused by some unworldly force. The wheels of catastrophe that were once set in motion by the agony of my family still turn and are present in the lives of people who have been involved with the Screaming House, in some shape or form. People were dying now. The stakes were rising and if this is what the demon had in mind, it was getting more horrific than any of us could have imagined. The game was still being played and we were still the pawns on the board. Tommy and the baby were added to the casualty list, and the game of our lives went on.

  [contents]

  Chapter 13

  June 2006

  The old woman sitting in front of me was a town historian, of sorts. She was giving me the history of the Captain Cromwell addition of the town. I had never stopped trying to piece together the history of the haunting. I still hoped, if I could make sense of the haunting, I could stop the proverbial freight train we had all found ourselves on. The old woman rocked in her chair as she spoke to me. What she was telling me sounded more like a story from a romance novel than a historical account. She was in her late eighties, and she seemed to have a sense of satisfaction on her face as she told me the story:

  “The troubles and problems with the Cromwell addition in this town go all the way back to the 1800s. Minerva Cromwell was a lady of stature and society. She had been born into wealth, to a prominent Kentucky family that moved to Missouri for better days and better times. She was beautiful, and it was often said she moved with the grace of angels’ wings. However dramatic that statement may have been, her beauty helped her to marry a well-established captain from a well-established family. They built a life together in Union, Missouri, that everyone admired and envied. The captain loved his bride with the deepest of loves. He worshiped her deeply, and she adored him just the same.

  “They built their homestead in the grandest of fashions. The town of Union had never seen such a grand display of wealth and elegance. The home had the finest of all things within it, and it shone bright white with black trim. The land had horses and stables upon it. Barns and outbuildings were built and servants’ quarters were erected. The property was a constant bustle of activity, just to keep the place going and happy. Just for Minerva and her captain.

  “At first, things were perfect and times were good. However, the captain would be sent away to fight battles and do things that captains must do. Minerva would get lonely when he was gone. The captain, seeing her loneliness, gave her a large woman named Ivy to care for her while he was away. It was said that Ivy had a way with the black arts—a talent she would use to her benefit and that she did not mind sharing. Now Minerva and Ivy became very close. At least, that is what Minerva thought. Ivy was not stupid. She knew that pleasing the captain’s wife was the easiest way to make her life tranquil, and she set about doing just that.

  “During one of his long absences, Minerva became taken with one of the young, teenage servant boys. Ivy knew that it was easy to get Minerva to play during the captain’s absence. Some say Ivy conjured up a spell to help move things along, and one night Minerva brought the teenage boy to her bed. Shortly after that, the captain returned and before long, Minerva became pregnant.” The old woman paused for a moment, looking at my face for a reaction. I gave her none, but continued to listen.

  “Well, I think you are a smart enough man to figure out where this is headed for yourself. I think you can figure out why no one talks about the good old captain and his wife. They are an embarrassment to this community. You see, son, when the captain figured out that baby was not his, there was hell to pay, and I am talking hell on earth. The kind of hell this town had never seen before, and has never seen since. It has stuck with it, and it has been passed down through generations. Not the kind of thing they can just get over. You see, the good old captain loved Minerva so much that he loved her to death, and that is all I am going to say about it. There are just some things that are better left alone, and my advice to you is to leave this alone.”

  With that, she became quiet and would not tell me anything more. I wanted to know why I should leave this alone, and she just changed the subject on me. I knew the problem had never been the Screaming House itself. I knew the land was bad, but I could never really get anyone to tell me why.

  Now I knew I was on the right track, and I had someone sitting in front of me who had the whole story, but she would not tell me anymore than that. I almost felt like she was threatening me somehow, and I had to wonder if she had been put up to deliver the message to me to leave it alone. You know––give me enough information to keep me happy, and then tell me to leave it the fuck alone. You have to laugh when you think about it. That night, I lay in bed trying to go to sleep with these thoughts rolling through my mind.

  “She moved with the grace of angels’ wings.” There was something creepy about that statement, and I kept thinking about it, over and over. Then, I remembered the last e-mail I got from the landlord of the Screaming House, in November 2005, and the statement he made: “I can hear their little angel screams.” Angel again. Then I remembered the angels that surrounded the living room in the Screaming House. Maybe it was nothing, but I have to tell you, in the middle of the night it sure did creep me the hell out. Why angels? What if I was dealing with some sort of strange sect of people who worshiped fallen angels? The Book of Enoch talks about them. And it is clear in Revelations that when Lucifer was cast out of heaven, he had an army of angels who were cast out with him.

  “And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.” —Revelation 12:7–10

  Was it possible that I had stumbled upon some type of strange sect of people who believed in and worshiped fallen angels, in a literal sense? When you start to
kick around the idea in your mind and you actually take the leap, it begins to make sense and fits the situation. It also explains the hold that this haunting was having upon everyone involved. I don’t know how many times I had talked to priests, demonologists, and others who deal with this sort of thing, and they all have agreed that this particular haunting behaved very differently than those before it. It fit all of the characteristics of a severe demonic haunting. It came with everything a haunting like this had to offer, but it also had many new things as well.

  The strange thing is, I remember the landlord once claiming to me that he belonged to a sect of spiritualism and religion I had never heard of before. It is one thing to deal with simple demons, but we were climbing way up the hierarchy here, way up the hierarchy. When I was growing up, there had always been strange rumors of cultlike activity coming from this town. You didn’t hear about it coming from anywhere else in the county––just this town. What if I had managed to stumble upon this strange cult of people, and I was digging into something I shouldn’t be digging into?

  You know, the Voodoo religions believe in fallen angels. Maybe I was dealing with some sort of Voodoo-driven cult, which was a thought that gave me chills. Follow my thinking here. What if it all started with Ivy? What if that was the warning I had been given?

  The religion of the slaves was based upon African beliefs and practices, such as ceremonial spirit possession, spiritual healing, sorcery, and drumming and dance. These were also used as a form of worship. An ancestor cult called Kumina and the belief in obeah (sorcery) are living survivals of the African heritage. They believed strongly in supernatural influences. African religions believed there was a supreme and distant Creator who was generally uninvolved in human life, but that a group of angels actually protected and guided us. It is also believed that certain people or sorcerers could use ghosts or evil spirits for malicious purposes. Christians seek power and inspiration from the Holy Ghost, but the sorcerer would seek power and inspiration from Satan, demons, or the “fallen angels.”

  Catholic teachings believe that the fallen are demons, but somehow I would think it is a case of semantics in the course of beliefs. Seems to me the fallen would rank right below Lucifer and would be a hard opponent to deal with. Many religions place the fallen as a separate entity, which in this case I believe is what we were dealing with. These people practiced Voodoo mixed with Catholicism, and the main source of their beliefs was based upon the exaltation of the fallen angels. Instead of praying to God, these people would pray to the fallen, much in the same way as the African sorcerers would in the Voodoo religions. Would they also offer the fallen sacrifices in exchange for power or whatever they needed? The thought sent a chill through my body because I knew I was on to something. Why was the house always rented to families with children? Who was feeding what to whom for power? The perfect sacrifice would be children. Let’s face it, biblically this would not be the first time children were sacrificed in some form or another. Remember Abraham almost sacrificed his own son to God. Remember the unholy always attempts to be a mirror reflection of the holy. Even if it is sometimes in a bastardized form. Sometimes this bastardized form is even more powerful because of its pure mockery of God and the scripture.

  I kept going over and over the conversation in my head. It became clear to me, at that moment, that everything that had been said to me was said for a purpose, and that purpose was twofold: to give me information and to scare me enough to get me to stop. I have to be honest with you––in the middle of the night, it was doing a damn good job of scaring me. So good, that I began to pray my protection prayers, and I am glad I did because nothing could prepare me for the case that was going to land in my lap the next day. Another case of possession in Union, Missouri. I fell asleep thinking of angels and the nightmare began.

  The sound of wings was over my head, as I was running up a very steep hill. I could hear them, but they were just out of sight. I was running as fast as I could and I was falling. And as I fell, I could feel something swoop down at me like a large bird attacking. I scrambled to my feet and began to run again. The sound of the wings was all around me as I ran. There was a strange, low voice, which was filling my head as I tried to escape the flapping of the wings.

  A low, guttural female voice cackled, “Run, boy, run.”

  I was hurting. My legs were hurting. I was on the verge of total exhaustion and total physical collapse, but I knew if I stopped, they would converge on me and tear me apart.

  “Run, boy, run.”

  The hill became even steeper in front of me. The sound of the wings became louder and more massive. They were gaining in numbers!

  “Run, boy, run.”

  I fell and began to claw my way up the hill as the deafening sound dove in closer. I heard a screeching above me. That was when the voice inside my head began to laugh. I was completely and totally exhausted when the sounds and darkness began to consume me.

  That was when I felt the sharp pain of something pierce through my heart and I heard the laughing voice growl, “It is finished.”

  “GOD!” I came awake with my hands reaching straight up into the air as if reaching toward heaven. I fell into a heap upon the bed and began to weep. I knew instantly what I had just experienced. There was no thought process needed to calculate, no need to reason it all out. I had just been attacked by the fallen.

  “God, save me from this evil.” I sat there praying because I did the only thing I knew how to do at that moment. It came easy, and when you think about it, what else was there left for me to do? I was defenseless in the eye of the storm, but this wasn’t something new. Like I said many times before, I had been there all along. It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. You know that false sense of security you might feel in the eye of the hurricane, and then all of a sudden the shit hits the fan all over again? I had been living in a false sense of security for far too long. Hell, I had even told the world how strong and how resilient I was. I was just deceiving myself within the eye of the storm. I had no idea––resilient my ass. Say a few prayers over him, give him Communion, and his life is forever changed. Was I living in some sort of fairy tale? Wasn’t it me who told you that fairy tales didn’t exist? That what seemed like perfect lives and solutions, would always turn out tarnished in some way? Well, this wasn’t just tarnished, this was damn well broken.

  I got out of the bed and I stormed down the hallway to get a drink of water. I was standing at the sink, drinking my water, when I heard a noise coming from the living room. I hurried to see what was going on just in time to see a shadow figure fleeing out of the open front door. I raced to the door and looked out into the night. There was nothing and no one there. It was what I call a calling card. It meant a case was coming. It meant a bad case was coming. I sat down on the front steps in the night and smoked a cigarette as I watched the sun rise.

  I sat there considering everything I knew already about angels and religion, and as I watched the sun coming up, I saw the morning star. “Lucifer,” I whispered to myself. A cold chill ran through my body, because I knew the meaning of his name. Lucifer means “light-bearer” (from the Latin words, lucem ferre). It was the name given to the morning star.

  “What a contradiction of terms,” I continued to think as I lit another cigarette. I was raised a Christian and I knew what Christianity taught. I knew Christianity taught that the fallen angels were the original demons. I knew that somewhere in my own beliefs I held this to be true. But the question of the fallen seemed to keep coming up, whenever my life was concerned now. Angels in general kept coming up where this house and land was concerned.

  From the first day I moved into the house, I had dealt with the fallen. I tried to hang a picture of angels on the living room wall. It kept falling onto the floor, hitting me in the back of the legs. Was it just a coincidence the one picture I had trouble getting to hang on the wall just happened to be picture of angels in God’s
good favor? The angels that bordered the ceiling were part of the cherubim. This choir of angels was one of the fallen choirs. Makes sense once you think about it. The picture of angels in God’s favor would not stay on the wall, but the cherubim who bordered the ceiling in the living room could, because they were part of exactly what the problem of the land was.

  Then there was the warning, the carving on the front porch post when Helen lived in the house. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before. It was an up-and-down arrow shape, with things coming on and off of the arrow. I sent a copy of it to my good friend, Madame Star, who lived in California. She was a Wiccan, who was born to a Santeria high priestess. Her grandmother was also a high priestess in the art of Voodoo. I had a hunch it might be related to something along those lines, and I knew she would know. And sure enough, it was. She explained to me that it was a curse someone had tried to put on the house. She explained that you read this symbolism from top to bottom. She read it to me and this was the meaning: “Like Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, and Lucifer and his angels were cast out of heaven into the fiery pits of hell, so should those who cross this threshold.”

  She told us to get rid of it and we did. We really did not even consider there to be anything to worry about. We actually thought that most likely some teenager found a book and was trying something they thought was cool at the town’s haunted house, but even now I have to wonder. I think it was much more than just a kid playing around. Once again, it was the falling of the angels. My thoughts had to go back to the Tower card Zoe pulled so many years ago. The fall from grace also came to mind again.