by Ed
Lorraine leaned forward and patted Carmen's knee. "We're gonna do what we can, honey, believe me." Then she set the recorder on the coffee table and hit the button marked REC.
Ed leaned forward, locked his hands together, elbows on his knees, and said, "Now, why don't you tell us, from the beginning, in any way you'd like, exactly what's been going on in your house. Both of you."
Slowly, steadily and with great care, Al and Carmen gave the Warrens every detail, right from the beginning.
When they were finished, there was a long silence.
Neither of the Warrens had interrupted them to make comments or ask questions. Carmen and Al had simply told their story in their own words, taking turns and sometimes speaking together. Ed and Lorraine watched them carefully and listened with great intent.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Ed said finally. But he said it with a smile. "Uh, if you don't mind...does anyone in the family drink alcohol to excess?"
Al and Carmen looked at one another.
"Al has his beers in the evening," Carmen said, without taking her eyes from his.
Al gave her a tiny, minuscule shake of the head.
She said, "But not...not like you're saying. No. No, of course not."
"Anyone in the house take drugs?" Ed asked. "And I mean any kind of drugs, illegal drugs, prescription drugs, anything that might be...mind altering?"
There was another glance between them, but this one was brief and disbelieving. Al began to shake his head as Carmen said, "No, no, no! I mean, we don't—well, we, uh, certainly haven't—"
"What about the boy?" Ed asked. "Stephen, I mean. What about him?"
The next look between Al and Carmen was long.
"We were never sure," Al said. "I mean, we didn't know. He was acting strangely, yeah, but...we never knew if it was because of that."
Ed nodded and said, "Okay, okay. How about supernatural interests? Has anyone in your family ever dealt, in any way or at any time, with a Ouija board?"
Al and Carmen shook their heads simultaneously.
"No, no, not at all,” Carmen said.
"Attended a seance? Consulted a medium of some sort?"
"No, absolutely not."
"Okay, okay," Ed said, "that's fine."
"Would you mind if I walked through your house?" Lorraine asked. "Alone, I mean. By myself."
"No, we wouldn't mind," Al said.
Carmen shook her head. "Of course not." Then she smiled and said, "It might be a mess, but—"
"Oh, that's okay, believe me," Lorraine laughed, waving Carmen's remark away with a hand as she stood. "That's not what I'm looking for."
"Lorraine is a light-trance medium," Ed said. "That means she can walk through a house and feel things that other people can't feel. In other words, if she goes through this house, she might get some idea as to what's wrong. She might get a lead on the source of our problem."
"Go right ahead," Al said.
"Please," Carmen said, "go anywhere you want."
Lorraine smiled at them both and nodded pleasantly. "Thank you. I'll be back in a little while."
They watched her turn and leave the room, watched her lift her right hand slightly and move it back and forth a bit, as if she were feeling her way through the dark.
Once Lorraine rounded the corner into the hall, Carmen perked up, turned to Ed and asked, "I'm sorry, I completely forgot—would you like coffee or tea?"
"That's very nice," Ed replied with a smile, "but why don't we wait till Lorraine gets back."
Lorraine's every nerve was alive and waiting. Her mind was open to anything, to whatever might be in the air, in this hallway or the next room or downstairs—to whatever might be waiting to tell her something.
She walked slowly through the dining room, deaf to the sounds of voices talking quietly in the living room. She went through the kitchen, pausing between each step, then into the hall, up and down the hall a couple times then, pausing at the top of the stairs for a moment—was that a tingle she felt, the slightest hum of...something not far ahead?—and then she went down into the basement.
It was darker down there—even then, before noon—and cooler, too, with an ever so slight dampness in the air. But the cold and damp were deeper than normal; they curled around Lorraine's ready mind, telling her that it was a psychic cold, and that whatever was wrong with the house was most likely in the basement.
She walked through Michael's room, hand still held out and moving slowly back and forth, a few inches in each direction. There were posters on the wall of sports figures, books on the nightstand, including a Bible, and baseball cards and car magazines on the dresser. She saw nothing harmful, nothing dangerous—nothing that might invite the kind of activity Al and Carmen had described.
She went through the French doors and into the next room.
Something changed.
She felt different.
A familiar nausea began to twist through her stomach.
But, whatever it was, she hadn't reached it yet.
She passed through the room that had once been Stephen's, wincing at the feelings she got, the dark, threatening, helpless feelings. But they weren't telling her anything, only making her hurt, so she moved on.
Across the concrete runway—the bad feelings darkening— into the next room, where the chain hoist waited for boxed-up bodies that would never be lifted again, and the blood pit waited for bodily fluids that would never again be spilled down its sloped sides; then into the next room, the room in which, unknown to Lorraine, bodies had once been embalmed. It was there, in that small, dark, concrete-floored room, that it finally hit her, the thing she'd been looking for, embraced her with icy arms and held her, stiff and frozen, in a blurry and bone-cold vision:
...dead bodies, some burned to black, stiff figures of charred flesh...boys and girls, men and women, laid out as if after a horrible fire or explosion, some kind of terrible catastrophe...but something worse, much worse, something much more horrible...
...hands—rough, male hands that reached down to fondle the dead bodies, to touch their most private parts in horrible ways...fingers closing over limp, dead male genitalia...entering the cold, dead private places of the women...roughly pulling and probing... and worse still...
...laughter...harsh, throaty laughter...the laughter of depraved enjoyment and excitement...the grunting of sick, malignant passion...
It filled her mind, blinded her eyes so she could see nothing else but that horrible, sickening vision: those frightening images of perversion, things she'd never even imagined, things she never dreamed she'd ever see in her lifetime.
But they were taking place before her wide, distant eyes which, to anyone else, would appear to be staring at a blank wall.
Her right hand was outstretched, fingers trembling. Her left hand was pressed to her chest as she struggled to breathe, taking her breaths in tiny, panicky gasps.
And then it left her, pulled away from her like hands that had been closed tightly on her throat.
It pulled away and—
It was gone.
Lorraine found herself standing with her back pressed hard against the wall, her entire body tensed, every muscle in every part of her taut as piano wire. She forced herself to relax, lowered her right arm, felt the burning ache of relaxation course through those tensed muscles. She closed her eyes, took some slow, deep breaths, and leaned weakly against the wall behind her.
Her eyes rang with the sound of blood rushing through her veins. Her heart thundered in her chest, pushed on by the rush of adrenaline that was still flooding through her body.
Something crawled over her feet.
She sucked in a deep and ragged gasp, her nails clawing over the wall.
Something pawed at her leg just below her knee.
Lorraine looked down.
It was a ferret, thin and wiggly, trying hard to get her attention.
It looked up at her, made a quiet smacking noise with its black lips, and rapidly
swiped a paw over its face a couple of times.
Relief swept through Lorraine. She smiled at the animal, then laughed at herself, at her fear. When she reached down to pet the ferret, it scurried out of the room.
Her eyes were watery, her vision blurry, and she reached up with both hands to wipe the unspent tears from her eyes. Then she headed upstairs.
Al and Carmen were still talking with Ed when Lorraine returned and Michael, still groggy with sleep, had joined them. He had been sleeping in his parents' bed and had not slept long enough, but he was up.
Carmen stood as soon as Lorraine entered and asked nervously, "Would you like some tea? Or maybe coffee?"
Lorraine nodded rather absently and said, in a hoarse voice, "Tea would be nice."
"Yeah, I'll have some tea, too," Ed said, standing. He went to Lorraine and said quietly, "So, what happened?"
She just shook her head slightly.
He took her arm. "You wanna talk alone?"
She nodded.
Ed turned to Al. "Is there someplace we can talk alone for a minute?"
Al directed them to the master bedroom, where they closed the door as he walked away.
"What do you think is wrong?" Carmen whispered in the kitchen.
Al shrugged. "I don't know. They just wanted to talk alone a minute."
"Well, that can't be too good...can it?" Carmen asked.
Al shrugged again as he left to go into the living room and keep Michael busy, just in case he, like Carmen, was beginning to worry about what was happening.
By the time the Warrens came out of the bedroom, their tea was ready and waiting for them in the living room. They sat on the sofa together and leaned forward as if they had something to say. And they did.
After Al and Carmen were seated—Michael was lying on the floor, sleepy-eyed, but listening—Ed Warren spoke.
"The news isn't good," he said quietly. "I think it's pretty clear what we're dealing with here. It is demonic in nature. It's very old, very cunning and absolutely, without a doubt, very, very evil."
Lorraine spoke up then, her voice reassuring. "But we can fight it. And we can win." Suddenly, she held up her index finger and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. That's not quite accurate. We can fight it all we want. But only with the help of God will we win."
Ed sipped his tea, and set down his cup. "Let me explain to you exactly how this works," he said. "Manifestations like this always occur in a five-step progression. First there's encroachment. Then infestation, oppression, possession, and finally—if it's allowed to go that far—death." Obviously uncomfortable, he took another sip of tea, then leaned back on the sofa.
He continued: "First, there's the encroachment—or permission—stage. That is when a demon somehow gains access to a person or persons—a family, perhaps. Usually, it's voluntary. A person invites the demon in somehow, maybe by dabbling in the supernatural—such as by attending or holding a séance or using a Ouija board—or by delving into satanic ritualism. Maybe even by doing something as apparently innocent as playing with tarot cards. Then again, sometimes the person doesn't invite it. Sometimes, someone else does something that draws demonic attention to that person. We think that might be the case with you. We think something might have happened in this house before you moved in—perhaps long before you moved in—that could be causing this activity."
Ed gave them a moment to absorb that information, shifted his position on the sofa, had another sip of tea, then went on.
"During the next stage, infestation, the demons will try, literally, to drive you crazy. They'll wreak havoc with your physical environment. They'll move things, break things, they'll pound walls and make frightening sounds. They'll show you things—visions, you might call them—or make you hear things that aren't really there, things that are absolutely terrifying. They'll try to make you feel like you're all alone in the world, that no one will believe you. They'll make you think you're losing your mind."
Ed took a deep breath, taking a good look at Al and Carmen to see how they were taking it. Then:
"And then, at some point, the oppression begins. This is when the demonic force shifts its attention from disrupting the environment to the people themselves. It will cause you great pain. It's been known to cause paralysis, blindness, mental or physical illness. It humiliates you. It can make you the victim of sick and disgusting sexual games.
"Then, when it's worn you down enough...when you're weak enough and sick enough...when you're constantly in terror and you've lost all hope...that's when it finally moves in. That's when possession begins."
Lorraine leaned forward and held up a hand. "But we can thank the good Lord that it hasn't gone that far in this case." She smiled. "And the power of our God is going to see to it that it doesn't."
"You could say that, from this moment on," Ed said, "we're going to be like prosecuting attorneys, Lorraine and I. Then we'll take our findings to someone in the church and hope that they decide in our favor, that they decide to do something about it."
"We'd like to come back this evening," Lorraine said. "If it's all right with you, we'll bring some of our researchers with us and assign at least one of them to a twenty-four-hour vigil here at the house."
"Maybe one or two of them," Ed added. "We'd like someone to be here at all times to record the activity that goes on. I know that sounds difficult: you know, invading your privacy, and all. But it's a part of the process. And...well, honestly, I know all this sounds like an episode of Twilight Zone or something, but it's not. Apparently, at the moment, it's your life. We want to help you. But you're gonna have to let us."
Al and Carmen exchanged a long, silent look. Then Al said, "We need help. We need it bad. And we want you to do whatever you have to do."
24
The Researchers
When the Warrens returned that evening, the family was together in the living room. Michael and Stephanie had stayed home from school that day, much too tired and worried even to go in late.
The station wagon pulled into the driveway again and, behind it, a white hatchback. Ed and Lorraine got out of the wagon and were followed by four others, three men and a woman. Four more people got out of the hatchback and brought with them video cameras and recording equipment.
"Oh boy,” Carmen whispered to Al as they watched through the window. "What're the neighbors gonna think?"
They met the Warrens at the door and Lorraine said jovially, "I'm really sorry, but we told you it was gonna be an invasion of privacy." Once inside, she said, "We've brought our researchers with us and some people to videotape every room in the house so we can have a record of the layout. We'll need to interview you again, on video, and get a complete record of your story."
"Well, then," Carmen said hesitantly, "I guess we should get started...."
The house came alive with the sound of voices moving in and out of every room, men and women with video cameras perched on their shoulders, others holding up lights, some speaking quietly into small tape recorders, describing the house, giving their impressions.
While all this was going on, Ed and Lorraine interviewed Al and Carmen before a video camera, having them go over the entire story again, but slower this time and in more detail. When they had something to add, Stephanie, Michael, or Laura would speak up.
It seemed to take forever, but by the time the sun disappeared and the crickets were chirping outside, they were done. Those who had come from the hatchback with their video and recording equipment agreed to meet with the Warrens the next day, thanked Al and Carmen for their patience and wished them well, then left, leaving them with the Warrens and the three male researchers whom they'd hardly had a chance to meet in all the confusion.
First, there was Chris McKenna, Ed and Lorraine's grandson. He was a pleasant, soft, gentle-looking man with blond hair and somewhat sad eyes. He'd been fascinated by his grandparents' work since he was a child.
John Zaffis was Ed and Lorraine's nephew, a tall, lean man with energy to spa
re; as they spoke, he seemed to find it difficult to sit still.
The last researcher was a man named Sal Valenti. He had attended a number of Ed and Lorraine's lectures and gone to their classes. Like John and Chris, he was a member of the New England Society for Psychic Research, the organization founded by the Warrens.
It was the researchers' job to maintain round-the-clock surveillance of the Snedeker household, to keep records of everything that happened, of their impressions, their feelings, and the feelings of others around them.
John asked politely if they could have some coffee and went to the kitchen to fix it.
They all sat in the living room and talked quietly for a while.
"I think it's important that you get to know one another," Ed said, "because, like it or not, this is the only way we can do this. The only other way would be to do nothing. I think it's best if everyone meets first, and tries to get to know one another."
It wasn't easy, of course, to become acquainted in such a short period of time. But Laura and Chris hit it off right away. It wasn't long before they had one another laughing as if they'd been friends for a while.
Al and Carmen talked with the three men, too, and found them friendly and even apologetic about the situation. They told the Snedekers that whatever sleeping arrangements they wanted to make would be just fine.
"Well, as a matter of fact," Al said, "we were thinking of moving mattresses in here, on the living room floor, so we could all be together. Mr. Warren told us not to split up."
"That's a good idea," Lorraine added. "And I think it would be especially wise if no one went downstairs. That's...not a good place to be."
"That's why we thought we'd bring everyone up here," Carmen said, turning to the three men. "So if you don't mind potluck when it comes to sleeping arrangements—"
"Not at all," Chris said.
John shook his head and smiled. "Whatever you want to do is fine with us."
Sal nodded silently with a smile to let them know he agreed. He was clearly new at this and a little nervous.
