In a Dark Place: The Story of a True Haunting

by Ed

  In a Dark Place

  In a

  Dark

  Place

  Ed and Lorraine Warren

  and Al and Carmen Snedeker

  with Ray Garton

  BOOKS BY ED & LORRAINE WARREN

  GRAVEYARD

  GHOST HUNTERS

  THE HAUNTED

  IN A DARK PLACE

  WEREWOLF

  SATAN’S HARVEST

  To my wife, Dawn,

  who remained

  patient through every page

  —Ray Garton

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Preface: Demonic Possession

  1. Moving In

  2. What Stephen Heard

  3. Settling In

  4. More Voices

  5. Summer into Fall I

  6. Sleeping Downstairs

  7. More Visitors

  8. School’s In

  9. Sleepless Thoughts

  10. Making a Deal

  11. Changes

  12. Ghosts of Christmas Present

  13. The New Year Begins

  14. Winter into Spring

  15. House Guests

  16. Laura

  17. Summer into Fall II

  18. The Ghost Hunters

  19. The Darkness Closes In

  20. A Skeptical Blessing

  21. Physical Attacks

  22. A Prison Without Bars

  23. The Investigation Begins

  24. The Researchers

  25. Demons Under Scrutiny

  26. Attention from the Church

  27. Father Nolan

  28. The Exorcism

  29. A Few Months Later

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  A lot of people were generous with their editorial talents and moral support during the writing of this book, and I would like to thank them here:

  My agent and friend, Lori Perkins; my wonderful editor, Emily Bestler, and her assistants, Tom Fiffer and Amelia Sheldon, who were patient and helpful throughout; my friends Scott Sandin, Paul Meredith, and Stephanie Terrazas; my parents, Ray and Pat Garton; Joe Citro and Jerry Sawyer, two fine writers who tell the truth; Dean R. Koontz, from whom all good advice flows; Rev. Cheri Scotch, High Priestess of the Temple of Diana, whose good sense—and sense of humor—are always a big help; and, of course, Dawn, without whom this book would not have been written.

  —Ray Garton

  Preface:

  Demonic Possession

  The study of demonic possession never has been, is not now, and very likely never will be, a science.

  There are, however, many who have devoted their lives to that study, who have tried to determine the point at which possession begins so that it might be avoided.

  Possession goes back to the time of Christ, who cast demons from a number of people, according to the New Testament. Today, it is little more than a subject for Hollywood horror films. But many Christian churches and sects still practice the rite of exorcism, fore-most among them being the Catholic church.

  There are two different kinds of possession: that of a person and that of a place, such as a house or other kind of building. It is believed by many in the Catholic church, however, that both come about in much the same way.

  First there is the point at which the demon(s) enters the person or the occupied building or house. There are a number of different theories as to what brings about the initial entry. In one well-documented case of demon possession, the demon claimed to have chosen its victim before the victim's own birth. Some believe that even a passing interest in the occult can be an invitation to possession. Still others think it will remain a mystery, that it is not for us to know until we face our Creator and hear the explanation first-hand.

  One thing is almost unanimously agreed upon, however: The initial entry is only made after the victim, or the resident of the targeted building, has made a choice—however subconscious, however tenuous—to allow it.

  For example, the Snedekers did nothing to bring on the possession of their house—that had begun long before. As Lorraine was able to sense clairvoyantly, something awful had taken place in that house sometime during its years as a funeral home. Someone had been using the dead bodies for their own sick pleasure, and it was that person's acts of necrophilia that opened the door to possession; it was that person who made a choice—by indulging in such perverse activities—to give the forces of evil entry to that house long before the Snedekers ever moved in.

  Once the initial entry has taken place, the possessing entity gradually begins to break down its host or the occupants of the building it has entered. This is usually accomplished with fear. Not only does the possessing entity feed on fear, but it knows that fear will weaken its victim, thus bringing the entity closer to total control, closer to complete possession.

  In the case of the Snedekers, the forces in the house, determined to gain entry to the Snedekers themselves, used fear to weaken them, to try to turn them against one another, all the while waiting for the third stage of demonic possession: Weakened and vulnerable, confused and terrified, the victim inevitably reaches a turning point and surrenders voluntarily to the forces of darkness.

  An official exorcism cannot be held without proper investigation to determine whether or not the reported demonic activity is real. Sometimes, a person with mental problems or a substance addiction, or even a whole family suffering through domestic crises, can take the smallest of coincidences and turn them into a series of frightening events that lead to the conclusion that the house is possessed by demons. Mental illnesses have been mistaken for possession throughout history—illnesses such as schizophrenia, Tourette's syndrome, Huntington's chorea, Parkinson's disease, and even dyslexia— and even though medicine has advanced considerably over the years, such conditions must be ruled out by a priest before an exorcism is considered.

  A priest with a medical or psychiatric background— sometimes both—begins the investigation by first trying to rule out all other possibilities; then, when satisfied, continues by testing the possibility of a demonic presence. Once he is able to prove demonic activity to his satisfaction, the priest then approaches the church. After the case has been reviewed and found to be thorough, the decision is made to go through with an exorcism.

  According to those who have witnessed them, no two exorcisms are alike, although they all have two things in common, one of which is unforgettable to all those involved, whether it is an exorcism of a person or a building: the presence.

  It is invisible, ethereal, and yet felt so deeply by everyone involved that it seems almost tangible. It is a presence neither male nor female...neither human being nor animal...neither a single entity nor a crowd of them...but it is distinct and, as the exorcism continues, usually becomes stronger. If and when it speaks, it sometimes refers to itself as "I," sometimes as "we." It moves around those present like an ice-cold breeze, a draft from the depths of the deepest cave in the earth, until the exorcism is over...until the possessing entity has been cast out in the name of God.

  The second thing all exorcisms have in common is the most threatening: danger.

  Those participating in an exorcism are in constant danger, and must anticipate hearing the foulest insults and seeing the most frightening things they are likely to experience in their lives. Their faith must remain rock solid in the face of horrible, supernatural abuse. Demons will not uproot themselves without a powerful fight, and their chief weapon, as always, is fear. They feed on it, and will do anything they can to wring it out of those involved in the
attempt to cast them out.

  Not all such attempts are successful.

  Demons wait for an invitation before their entry, but they don't always leave when told....

  In a Dark Place

  1

  Moving In

  “Mom, we have to leave this house. There's something evil here."

  Carmen Snedeker stood at the kitchen sink with foamy suds clinging to her forearms and hands as she washed a plate. Wadded clumps of newspaper and empty cardboard boxes were scattered on the floor around her and Willy, the Snedekers' pet ferret, played among them. The dishes that, shortly before, had been wrapped in newspapers and packed in boxes were on the counter to Carmen's right, grimy with newsprint and dusty from travel.

  The laughing voices of the other children clattered off the bare walls as they ran in and out, breaking in their new home.

  She heard the thunking and shifting of heavy furniture being moved in by Al and his brother.

  Stephen, her fourteen-year-old son, had been wandering around the kitchen behind her, silent and restless, nudging boxes and papers with the toes of his sneakers as if he had something to say but didn't have the nerve. So she'd decided to wait until he was ready to speak.

  "What'd you say, Stephen?" Carmen asked as she rinsed a plate.

  He repeated himself: "I said there's something evil here, Mom, and we have to leave this house."

  Putting the plate on the drainer to her left, Carmen turned to Stephen slowly, frowning. "Leave? We just got here, honey."

  "I know, but we've gotta leave now."

  "But where would we go?"

  "Back to New York, back to our apartment. We have to, Mom. There's something..." He stopped a moment and squinted slightly, as if he were selecting his next word from a list of choices, then: "...wrong, there's something wrong with this house."

  Carmen's frown deepened as she rinsed the suds off her hands and arms and dried them on a towel. She turned, leaned back against the edge of the counter, and folded her arms, facing her son.

  He was so gaunt, so pale, with such dark gray half-moons beneath his eyes. She tried to get used to it—and, of course, she acted as if it were unnoticeable—but every time she looked at him, the physical changes in him clutched at her heart. It was as if the cobalt treatments he'd been receiving had sucked half of him away, had drained him down to a spindly porcelain doll that merely resembled her son. With those treatments had come a great deal of stress, and it was that stress to which Carmen attributed his claim about the house. That had to be it. He certainly couldn't know the truth about the house. Only Carmen and her husband, Al, knew about the house's past.

  "What do you think's wrong with the house, Stephen?" she asked quietly.

  His smooth forehead creased and he averted his eyes for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder and said, almost in a whisper, "I...don't know. It's just...bad. It's"—he gave a jerky shake of his head, at once agitated and frustrated—"hard to explain. But it's bad. Evil. And if we don't leave here...something bad's gonna happen to us. Something really bad."

  "Sweetheart, houses aren't evil. Only people are evil. Evil lives in their hearts, in the things they sometimes do and say to each other. But this house...well, it's just an old house. If it could talk, it could probably tell us some great stories, maybe even some scary stories. But it's not evil. It's just new to you, that's all," she added with a half-smile. "You'll get used to it after a while and you'll feel better about it, more comfortable with it. Did you see your room downstairs?"

  Stephen bowed his head and stared at the floor, then nodded slightly. He said something, but it was too quiet for her to understand.

  Carmen tucked a knuckle under his chin and tipped his head up slightly. "What?"

  "That was the room that felt so bad. It felt...evil, Mom. I don't wanna sleep down there. It just doesn't feel...right."

  Carmen tried to let nothing show on her face. Again, she reminded herself that Stephen knew nothing about the house, that he knew nothing about what kinds of things used to go on there. She took a deep breath and some of the tension in her chest relaxed.

  "But that's your room," she said. "You've always wanted a room of your own."

  He shook his head. "Well, I won't sleep down there alone."

  "But Michael won't be back from Alabama for weeks. Where are you going to sleep till then?"

  He shrugged as he leaned down to pet Willy. "I'll sleep on the couch. Or maybe on the living room floor, I don't know. But"—he began shaking his head again as he turned and headed back out to the kitchen, stepping around and over the empty boxes—"I won't sleep down there by myself."

  Carmen remained with her back to the sink, arms folded, the towel dangling from one hand. She watched him walk away, then listened to his footsteps on the wood floor after he was out of sight, listening until she could no longer hear them.

  Turning back to the sink, Carmen took another dish from the stack and began to wash it as she released a slow, quiet sigh.

  In a short time, the Snedekers had traveled what seemed a very long and treacherous road. That road began in April of 1986.

  Al and Carmen had met in 1977 in Plainville, Connecticut, in a bowling alley where Carmen was waitressing. Al had wholesome good looks, with a neatly trimmed mustache and short, dark brown hair. He stood a little over six feet in his socks and had a solid, muscular build from years of hard work. Carmen, on the other hand, was petite, with a broad, glowing smile and full, wavy blond hair. The two were immediately attracted to each other but Carmen preferred to take her time when making big changes in her life.

  The middle of five children, Carmen was the daughter of a staff sergeant in the air force. Six weeks after her birth at Harris Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi, Carmen, her two older sisters, and two younger brothers, were moved by their parents to another town. And another, and another...and they kept moving to wherever their father's work led them for five years, until he was disabled and subsequently discharged from service. Then they moved to Carmen's parents' hometown of Decatur, Alabama. But those years of constant uprooting, of never being able to settle, of always being on the move to someplace new and unfamiliar— even though she was very small at the time—had somehow stayed with Carmen, giving her a gnawing suspicion of changes in life, even the natural ones.

  Later, when she was grown, Carmen made a drastic change in her life: marriage. With it came two more changes, her sons Stephen and Michael. But they were good changes, happy ones, changes that enriched her life rather than destabilizing it. Then came the worst change: divorce. Once again, Carmen found herself in unfamiliar territory, single with two sons. Carmen and the boys moved to Connecticut to stay with Carmen's parents, where, with little education and no work experience, Carmen went about the business of getting a job and making life as stable as possible for her children.

  Al, on the other hand, had lived with his two brothers and three sisters in the same wood-frame house on the border of Plainville and New Britain, Connecticut, until he was grown. With no other children around but his brother and sisters, Al spent a lot of time with them playing in the woods around the house, and came to love the outdoors.

  When he was grown, Al married in 1975, but the marriage lasted only nineteen months. Having led a life that was relatively smooth—except, of course, for the usual ups and downs, hurts and disappointments that everyone faces while growing up—Al was rocked by the bitter divorce and took his time getting into another relationship.

  Then Al met Carmen in that bowling alley where she worked as a cocktail waitress, and everything changed. They were married in 1979, and began their new life full of hope.

  In 1986, they were living in Hurleyville, New York, in the Catskill Mountains. During the summer months, New Yorkers came to the Catskills to spend their vacations. The Snedekers were never quite sure why because these big-city travelers seemed to have no appreciation at all for the beautiful green surroundings or the wildlife. During the summer months, in any store or s
hopping center, one could hear the vacationers complaining about the wild animals in the area that simply would not get out of the way of their cars. The number of dead animals on the roadside increased during the summer, too.

  During that time, Al Snedeker worked in a stone quarry and Carmen babysat four children throughout the day, enabling her to stay home for her own. They were devout Catholics and went to church every Sunday. Carmen was involved in a number of church activities to which she devoted a good portion of what free time she had.

  It was in April of that year that Stephen developed a dry, hacking cough. Al was the first to notice it and became concerned. But Carmen had seen the children come down with any number of combinations of coughs, sore throats, rashes, runny noses, and stuffed-up heads, so she was confident it would go away soon enough.

  But the cough stayed.

  "Mom, what's this?" Stephen asked one day, coming to Carmen frowning, with his fingertips pressed to the left side of his neck.

  Carmen nudged his fingers away gently and replaced them with her own. Just beneath his jaw she found a pebble-sized lump.

  Hormones, she thought with the slightest pinprick of worry piercing her chest, that's all it is, just his hormones kicking in.

  Stephen pulled away as he broke into another fit of hoarse raspy coughs. Did the cough sound worse...or was it just her imagination?

  Carmen thought, It might just be hormones, but—

  "I think I’ll make an appointment for you with Dr. Elliott," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

  Dr. Bruce Elliott was warm, pleasant, and usually smiling. None of the Snedeker children were ever afraid of seeing him. They trusted him; so did Al and Carmen. So when Dr. Elliott said he wanted Stephen to spend a little time in the hospital for some tests, no one saw any reason to be overly concerned.

  Carmen took the boy in to be admitted early the following Monday morning. It seemed odd to be hospitalizing Stephen when he seemed his usual healthy, upbeat self. Except for that cough. Except for that lump.