by Mark Romang
Father Grady placed the altar cloth back down and moved the candles back into their places. He looked up at Maddix with frosty-blue eyes. “Let’s go sit down. My feet are killing me.”
Maddix followed the priest over to the front pew and sat down beside him. Father Grady touched Maddix’s knee. “You have my curiosity piqued, Andrew. What is this urgent matter that we need to discuss?”
Maddix let out a shallow breath. He felt like he was back at Walter Reed, back inside Major Triplett’s office. And just like those painful sessions, he was about to confess to another person that he’d had an altercation with a demon. “I’m here to request an exorcism,” he finally blurted out.
“Is the exorcism for one of your congregants?”
Maddix shook his head. “No, I need it for the church building.”
The priest’s eyes narrowed. His mouth puckered sharply. “Exorcisms are not to be trifled with, Andrew. They can be dangerous to all parties involved. I’ll need a specific example as to why you are requesting one.”
Without delay, Maddix relayed to Father Grady every example of supernatural activity that had occurred in the building since he had become pastor of the church. He then told the priest what the ghost hunters had told him only hours ago, that the church was haunted by demons and not ghosts or spirits.
After hearing what he had to say, Father Grady’s countenance darkened. Worry lines cropped up around his eyes and mouth. He looked much older than he had only minutes ago. “Do you know if this sort of activity was occurring before you arrived at the church?” he asked solemnly.
“I talked with all the regular attendees. They all said the strange happenings began occurring a month before I arrived.”
Father Grady nodded his head. “I will talk with the bishop as soon as possible. All requests for an exorcism must go through the diocese bishop. He will have the final say. But I don’t foresee him turning down your request.”
“I just don’t know what else to do, Father. I fear the church building is becoming unsafe for services. And I know the Catholic Church has experience dealing with demonic possession.”
Grady nodded sympathetically. “I’m not an exorcist, but I’ve attended a few exorcisms. They’re very disturbing. And like I’ve stated previously, the end results aren’t always favorable. But maybe in your case it will,” the priest said, absently smoothing a wrinkle in his chasuble. “However, there is one thing that I can’t stress strongly enough, Andrew. Be sure only witnesses with strong faith attend the exorcism. And before the exorcism takes place, all participants must fast and spend much time in prayer and scripture reading. Otherwise, a possession could take place.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Father Grady stood up. “I will contact the bishop at once. With luck an exorcism can take place at your church in a few days or less.”
“Thank-you, Father,” Maddix said as he turned to leave the church. Just before he walked out the entrance he dipped his fingers into the holy water font. Even though he suspected the holy water was only tap water, he needed all the help he could get. The pending exorcism weighed like a bag of rocks on his shoulders.
During his BUD/S training, Maddix had been tempted to ring the bell several times, especially during Hell Week. During that crucible of gut-busting training, he’d been stretched to his physical and mental limits. Somehow he found enough strength, rustled up enough resolve to resist the temptation to give up. But if the bell was available to him right now, he would reach up and ring it. He’d ring it loud and clear.
Chapter 5
Felicity, Utah—two days later
Using his left hand, Kyle Miller gently lowered the collective, causing his McDonnell Douglas 500 helicopter to descend deeper into Zion Canyon. The eye-pleasing view outside his cockpit window brought a contented smile to the former Marine warrant officer.
The spectacular panorama was a sight he never grew tired of, even though he’d flown the fifteen-mile-long canyon several hundred times. And judging by the excited chatter coming from his four passengers, they were just as impressed with the scenery as him.
Miller owned and operated his own helicopter touring company, and for the past five years he’d been flying tourists into Zion National Park on one-hour rides through the eight-thousand-foot deep canyon.
Miller worked his anti-torque pedals, causing the MD-500 to turn toward the eastern side of Angels Landing. The landing skids of his helicopter parted the low-hanging clouds surrounding the narrow rock jutting out from Cathedral Mountain. Brave hikers climbing the dizzying trail looked up and waved.
“Can you believe we climbed all the way to the top of Angels Landing yesterday, kids?” John Larson said into the small microphone connected to his headphones. Every passenger in the helicopter wore the same identical headphones, allowing them to communicate with each other and the pilot.
“I thought I was going to die,” Katy Larson said. “The drop-offs to either side spooked me.”
“They scared me too. But I’m glad we didn’t wimp out,” Caroline Larson said into her microphone.
“Kyle, how did all the landmarks in Zion National Park get their religious names?” John Larson asked Miller. Larson couldn’t tear his eyes away from the nearby Great White Throne, a 2400 foot monolith whose summit wore a crown of white Navajo sandstone.
“The story goes that a Methodist preacher named Frederick Fisher was so awestruck by Zion Canyon that he began naming them. He also named the three peaks you see to the south. Those are the Three Patriarchs, and refer to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Don’t ask me which one is which,” Miller said as he guided his helicopter deeper toward the canyon floor, where the Virgin River slithered like a sidewinder in its relentless excavation of rock layers.
On the return flight back to the Hurricane airstrip, Miller always liked to fly his clients as close as possible to the canyon floor. Unlike the talus slopes, where only shrubs and scraggly junipers struggle to grow in the sun-scorched soil, the canyon floor benefits from streams and springs. A lush oasis beckons humans and animals alike.
Groves of ash, aspen and willows thrive along the water tables. And this time of year the red and brown sandstone cliffs provide a canvas for red, yellow, orange and bluish-green deciduous leaves.
“This makes New England’s fall foliage look bland,” Caroline Larson gushed. “Don’t you think so, honey?”
John Larson nodded. “It’s almost a chromatic overload,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s like a whole new world exists here in the canyon,” Katy added softly.
Jacob Larson pressed his nose to his window. “I think it looks like a backdrop for the Avatar movie.”
Kyle Miller silently took in their comments. He could tell that his passengers were happy with their flight. Happy customers meant referrals to friends and relatives. His business continued a mostly positive rise, and Miller wanted to keep it that way.
He often considered buying another helicopter and hiring another pilot. But so far he’d resisted the urge. He didn’t want greed to sabotage what he’d built so far. There was plenty enough food on his table. And flying had helped bring him out of his depression. A little more than a year ago his wife lost her battle with cancer.
When she wasn’t sick, she flew on every flight with him into Zion Canyon and served as his co-pilot. Some days he still felt Laura’s presence in the seat next to him. He could still hear her laugh and feel her hand stroke his arm. But mostly he only felt her conspicuous absence on flights. At home it was even worse. The silence of her absence echoed in the small house.
Miller didn’t know if he would ever get over Laura’s death. She meant everything to him, and he still raged at God for taking her away from him. But even though he was furious with God, he still found himself attending Zion Baptist Church every Sunday.
But that could all change very soon. Pastor Maddix had invited him to attend tonight’s exorcism. He didn’t want to go, but Maddix persisted until he said yes.
I don’t know why he asked me to attend. I’m no one special.
A few months ago the church had been a vibrant pillar of the community. But then the pastor left his wife for the organist. And since then the church had been on a downward spiral of ever increasing discord.
And now the current pastor thinks the church is haunted by demons.
Miller thought about leaving the church on several occasions, but never did. He had so much invested in the church, personally and financially, that he was reluctant to say goodbye. He also enjoyed and admired Pastor Maddix. The former Special Forces maven didn’t mince words when preaching the gospel. Miller liked that.
I’ll go to the exorcism tonight, but if it turns into a freak show…I’m gone, Miller told himself as he pulled up on the collective, causing his helicopter to climb back to a safer cruising altitude.
“Dad, this helicopter ride is pretty cool. I’m glad Jacob was able to con you into taking it,” Katy said as she continued to admire the scenery.
“Are you saying I did something right, sis?” Jacob asked incredulously.
“Every so often even a knucklehead can have a good idea.”
John Larson smiled. “So this vacation hasn’t been so bad after all, has it, Katy?”
“I guess not. But you still owe me a new cell phone.”
“You’ll get your new phone, I promise.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Miller chuckled inwardly at the family banter. The Larsons seemed like a nice family, and he was glad he could have a part in making their vacation memorable. But he couldn’t take all the credit. Zion National Park has a way of bringing bickering families closer together. A few steps into the canyon makes the stresses of everyday living melt away.
He’d seen it happen time after time.
Chapter 6
They assembled inside the church at a quarter to midnight. Counting the exorcist, there were six people standing in the sanctuary. Sara Kendall stood next to Maddix, while Kyle Miller and two deacons flanked his other side.
Maddix pegged the priest at around eighty-years-old. Bent over from arthritis and as frail as a war prisoner, he wore a white surplice and purple stole that nearly swallowed him up. The priest had traveled all the way from Oregon to perform the rite, one of only twelve remaining exorcists in the United States.
They all stood below the pulpit and near the altar. No one said anything, and yet the palpable silence deafened them. The priest dipped his aspergillum into a pail-like vessel and sprinkled them one by one with holy water. He shook the aspergillum like a baby rattle, the motion of his hand rhythmical like the motion of an orchestra conductor.
Maddix blinked when the water droplets peppered his face. Like Father Grady had instructed him, he’d prayed and fasted for the past two days. But in hindsight, this spiritual cleansing did little to prepare him for an exorcism’s sacred intensity. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth was as dry as the weather in Felicity.
Maddix wondered if the others in the room felt as unsettled as him. Are their nerves quaking like mine? He looked around at them. They all wore solemn faces. Dread hung heavy in the air like the scent of rain on a cloudy day.
His roving eyes settled on Sara Kendall. Her long chestnut hair fell below her shoulders. She smiled reassuringly at him. He suddenly realized how beautiful she was. Maddix smiled back, trying his best to appear strong, but knew anxiety sculpted his face, belying his fear.
While in the SEALS he had taken part on many hair-raising missions in Afghanistan and other hotspots around the world. During most of those clandestine missions he had experienced fear. But fear never overtook him. He couldn’t say that now. Something otherworldly grasped at his mind; its cold fingers scratched at his brain and begged to come in.
The priest left them and walked slowly around the sanctuary’s perimeter. He ambled alongside the pews, shaking his aspergillum. He recited a lengthy exorcism prayer as he moved. Maddix strained to hear.
“We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirit, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects…”
The overhead chandeliers blinked off and on. Maddix looked up at the flickering lights. Wind chimes still hung from three of them. The ghost hunters left them behind in their haste to leave. The chimes began to swing now, producing a jangled melody that sent a chill crawling up his back.
The priest lifted a crucifix, holding it out in front of his undersized body. “In the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from this Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb…”
An icy wind suddenly entered the sanctuary. The straight line wind deviated when it reached the sanctuary’s center and curled into a whipping vortex.
Hymnals lifted up from their pew holders and hurtled about the room. Maddix ducked as a songbook struck the wall just above his head.
He looked toward the baptistery. The ferocious wind seemed to have originated from there. Maddix felt his mouth gape open. Once again the heavy oak cross hung upside down over the baptistery.
He stared unblinking at the blasphemous sight, wondering how the cross could be vandalized in such a short time. From somewhere close he heard his name being called.
“Andrew!”
It was Sara. Her long hair whipped around her face. Maddix’s stomach dropped when he witnessed her chestnut locks strand into a noose around her throat. A chalky-gray pall spread across her face. Her lips took on a purplish shade of blue, and her jade eyes bulged from their sockets.
Maddix made his way toward her. But his legs wouldn’t move correctly. Something dynamic pushed against them, retarding his progress.
He dropped to all fours and crawled like a toddler over to Sara. She lay unmoving on her back, and her hair still squeezed fiendishly at her throat, crushing her windpipe. Maddix tried pulling at Sara’s flowing locks. But they had fused together to form an unbreakable band. She looked at him pleadingly. Her quivering mouth puckered and formed the words, “Help me!”
Maddix reached into his pocket and pulled out his folding knife. He never went anywhere without some form of knife—a habit he acquired from his military service.
He flipped open his SOG Aegis folding knife and cut at the hair garroting Sara’s throat. The razor-sharp 3.5 inch blade sliced through the noose of hair, restoring her airway. The gray rash faded from her face almost immediately. She collapsed into his arms.
Maddix gripped Sara tightly and trained an eye toward the center of the sanctuary. The elderly priest shuffled toward the wind’s vortex. He bravely held up his crucifix, unfazed by the paranormal activity taking place all around him.
The wind velocity increased tenfold and sheared off the nuts and bolts holding the heavy wooden pews in place. The pews lifted off the floor and became battering rams. They slammed into walls in all directions, gashing big holes into the plaster.
Maddix looked to his left, over at Kyle Miller. One of the pews pinned him against a wall. Blood trickled from his mouth onto his shirt. Miller caught Maddix’s gaze. He lifted up a hand and flashed him the okay sign. What have I done? Maddix thought. I put everyone in danger by arranging this exorcism. All at once the wind left the room’s center and began racing around the sanctuary’s perimeter. The wind picked up even more speed. Stained-glass windows shattered from the pressure. An awful keening sound resonated from the wind as it circled the sanctuary. The whole room spun like a carousel. Maddix could discern numerous voices—otherworldly voices—screaming and wailing from within the wind. But over all the commotion and noise he could still hear the priest chastising the spirits.
“Most cunning serpent, you shall no more deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God’s elect and sift them as wheat…”
Maddix lost his grip on Sara. The wind sucked him up onto the wall. He hung there, unable to move, suspended by centripetal forc
e generated by the supernatural wind. He heard Sara scream. The angst in her desperate scream pierced his heart like a bayonet.
He managed to lift his head an inch or two. With great effort he cast a sidelong glance to his right and saw Sara sticking to the wall not far from him. Her lips moved fast like an auctioneer. He could tell she was praying. He could sense the petitions lifting up through the chaos. Maddix blurted out his own silent prayer. Please, Lord, make the spirits leave this building. They have to answer to you.
Many times during the last few years he had almost convinced himself that what he saw in a cave in Afghanistan was merely a hallucination. For a while he even embraced Dr. Triplett’s theory of lucid dreaming bringing about the visions he saw during his near-death experience.
But now he knew better. The spirit realm was just as real as planet Earth. And something more powerful than he could ever imagine was pulling him ever deeper into the unseen world.
It was as if a master angler was skillfully reeling him into shore, and no matter how hard he fought against the line, he couldn’t prevent it from happening. Maddix just hoped it was God reeling him in and not…Lucifer.
Maddix saw movement in the foyer. A bug-eyed teenager stood in a doorway just outside the sanctuary. “Get back, Cody! Don’t come in the sanctuary!” Maddix screamed.
The boy regularly attended the church. But his home life was a travesty. His parents were hooked on methamphetamine and booze and left Cody to fend for himself most days. He stayed with friends mostly, and Maddix allowed Cody to crash at his apartment as often as he needed to.
From underneath a mop of wavy brown hair, the lanky youth gazed at the carnage: the trashed sanctuary, the elderly priest reciting prayers, Sara and Maddix stuck to the wall, Kyle Miller pinned against the wall by a pew, two more deacons curled up into the fetal position, their hands protecting their heads. The deacons were lying on the floor, far enough away from the walls to not get sucked up by the centripetal force.
