Authors: Ralph Sarchie
Doing an exorcism alone isn’t my idea of fun, but Ed and Lorraine decided to stay in the basement with the family. I didn’t want to ask Ted, the student from Connecticut, to help. I’d never met this well-dressed blond man before, so I had no way of knowing how powerful his belief in God was—or if he even believed at all. Nor did I know if he was in a state of grace. If he wasn’t, I’d just be putting him and myself at risk. I always try to discourage people from getting involved in the Work unless their motives are pure and their faith is very strong. Mere curiosity won’t cut it. It’s human nature to wonder about the spirit world and the occult, but if that were your only reason for trying the Work, you’d endanger yourself and others. And if that were your attitude, I certainly wouldn’t want you watching
my
back!
I told everyone to remain seated throughout the ritual, no matter what they heard or saw. I didn’t want anyone wandering around during the exorcism. I went upstairs to prepare, while Ed told the family what I would be doing. My senses were ablaze as I went from room to room, burning blessed incense. Not only was I conducting the ritual all by myself, but I knew an extremely powerful demon had been entrenched in this house for years, terrorizing the family whenever the whim struck. I was ready for anything: I fully expected to meet the demon face-to-face, not as the anonymous black shape I’d already seen but in some ghastly manifestation drawn from my worst nightmares or the horrifying visions I’ve sometimes had during exorcisms.
My sight became unnaturally keen—I was hypervigilant for any tiny movement, any disturbance that might signal the approach of the diabolical force. I’ve always had excellent eyesight, but everything looked even sharper than usual. More profound still was my hearing as I strained for any sound indicating that the evil spirit was reacting to the incense. Just bringing blessed objects, whether incense, holy water, or relics, into a house like this can be a form of religious provocation—and you should take extreme care doing it. That’s why I like to have a partner present, in case I get attacked.
As I listened intently, I was reminded of the time when I was a rookie on Manhattan’s notoriously crime-ridden Lower East Side. Part of my patrol assignment was checking roof landings and rooftops for the many junkies, robbers, and rapists who were attracted to these deserted locations like moths to a flame. On that particular night, it was 4:00
A.M
. and I was on solo patrol, much as I was in this house, checking a rooftop that had been the scene of many violent crimes. I was vigilant for any sound that might warn of danger as I circled the outside of the elevator room, searching for intruders. All of a sudden, there was a loud
click.
Not realizing that one of the tenants had pressed the button that activates the elevator, I jumped out of my boots in fright because in my alert state, the sound was magnified ten times louder than normal.
I’m no superman. I do get scared, like anyone else. The day I
stop
being scared will be the day when I retire from the police force—and the Work. Apparently, this wasn’t that day, because a few minutes later I got the fright of my life. I was standing by the doorway to the kitchen, getting ready to start the Pope Leo XIII prayer, when the refrigerator abruptly decided it was time to chill the food inside. It turned on with a loud
click
that just about scared the pants off me! I think I aged ten years in a single moment. If the Devil could enjoy a good laugh, he would be laughing his ass off at that very moment—at least until I started the prayer.
I went from room to room reading the Pope Leo prayer with my relic of the True Cross in my hand. I was concentrating on the holy words and at the same time making sure that the Devil didn’t go on the attack. Going up against an enemy that is both incredibly powerful and invisible is nerve-wracking, to say the least, but I took great comfort in knowing that my faith would see me through.
I got through the entire exorcism and showered everything with plenty of holy water. Although I couldn’t tell if the evil spirit had left or not, I wasn’t frustrated. I’ve learned to accept that not all cases end with an outward sign of success. I’d done all I possibly could to evict the demon, but ultimately it was God’s choice whether the ritual would work. When I went downstairs to check on the family, they were still very nervous. They’d been afraid so long that they didn’t know what to expect after the exorcism. After wishing them the best, I said my good-byes and left Ed and Lorraine to wrap things up with the family.
It was close to midnight when I got all my gear packed up in my car. I was physically and spiritually drained. I’d spent ten hours in that house, which was the longest investigation I’d ever done. Four hours is the average. The most exhausting aspect was the exorcism itself. In order for the prayers to be effective, they must be said with energy. That’s one of the reasons why you must be in a state of grace. Not only do you need the spiritual protection of a strong, healthy aura, but being in a good relationship with God gives your prayers the positive power that’s essential for defeating evil.
I’d put everything I had into helping these people, and now it was time to make the long trip home. My wife had asked me to promise one thing when I began the Work: that I’d never spend the night in a demonically infested home. The very thought of me being in this house overnight terrified her, so I honored her wishes, well aware that she had made enough sacrifices by marrying a demonologist. So, even though I was exhausted and would be driving until dawn, I sat in my car and prayed for a few minutes, thanking God for a safe conclusion to the case. It was time to head for home—and Jen.
As I do with all my cases, I put this one out of my mind. I knew that if I was not successful the family would contact the Warrens and we’d return with a whole team of investigators. I heard nothing more about the McKenzies for an entire year, then learned that they’d called the Warrens to say that all was well, and the incubus was gone. I was delighted that they could finally live in peace but knew that somewhere out there is an extremely angry demon who hates love and loves to hate.
Chapter Seven
Caught by the Occult
T
HE BUSY SEASON
in the Work starts around Halloween and intensifies until after Christmas, when the celebration of the miracle of Jesus’ virgin birth seems to inflame the demonic. It was near the end of October 1994 when I got a call from an extremely soft-spoken young man named Tony Petri, who had a problem. At that time, I was no longer working with Joe Forrester because of an argument we’d had the month before, in September—a month that has been an ongoing source of trouble for me. Tension built up between us because he wanted to leave the Warrens and start his own group, the St. Joseph Society (named after Jesus’ father, described in the Catholic Litany of Saints as the “terror of demons”), while I wanted to keep on working with Ed and Lorraine.
At first, we continued doing investigations together and didn’t let this issue get in the way. We’d always worked well together, complementing each other’s knowledge of the demonic—and we never had any disagreements about how to handle cases. We were very open to each other’s ideas and had developed mutual respect. But our conflicting views about the Warrens were fraying our friendship more than we realized. It just took one more difficulty to snap the bond, though, thank God, not for good. The problem occurred when we were driving to a case Ed and Lorraine had asked us to handle. Since we had several investigators, some from Connecticut and some from our New York chapter, we went in two cars. Joe took Scott, Phil, and my equipment in his car, while the rest of us went with Ritchie, a very thin Jewish man from the Connecticut group.
Joe was following Ritchie, but somewhere along the way we became separated. I assumed there was no problem, since each car had written directions and Scott had been to this house at least three times before. A half hour after I arrived at the residence, Joe called, sounding very agitated. He’d gotten lost and was at a diner. I knew where the diner was and gave him detailed directions to the house. In an annoyed tone, he insisted I come to the diner and lead him to the house. Since we were already way behind schedule, I was reluctant but did as he asked. When I arrived, Joe was pissed off, to say the least. We had a big argument right there in the parking lot.
“Get your equipment out of my car,” he shouted. As soon as I did, he and Phil drove off, leaving Scott behind with me. I can tell you I was very hot under the collar at being treated this way. I don’t like to handle cases when I’m pissed off, but we’d come all this way and people were counting on us, so I went back to the house and did the investigation.
Joe and I didn’t speak for months, which led to the disbanding of the group we’d started, the New York City chapter of the New England Society for Psychic Research. A few of our investigators, including Phil, joined Joe’s society. Young Chris, however, stuck with me for a while, then got married and went on to other interests. Other people left the Work entirely. I could understand that: When you’re battling the Devil, you can get hammered in all kinds of scary and disturbing ways. Yet I was determined to continue the fight against evil, even if I had to do it alone.
The Warrens continued to refer New York cases to me, which is how Tony Petri got my phone number. In such a quiet voice that I kept having to ask him to speak up, he explained that he’d been dabbling in the occult for years but also believed in God and attended church. Somewhere along the way he said, “My life became hellish. I didn’t feel like myself anymore: My mind was bombarded with alien thoughts. I know I need help, because something is terribly wrong.” While it was too soon to say if the demonic was involved, I was impressed by the young man’s obvious sincerity and made an appointment to meet him in his Bronx home.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not infallible by any means and have occasionally been deceived by people who concoct a seemingly convincing story on the phone yet turn out to be liars or lunatics when I meet them in person. Since I don’t charge money for my services, people have nothing to lose by wasting my time, for whatever reason. A few years ago, for example, I got a call from a middle-aged man in the Bronx, who sounded normal enough on the phone, at least to me, since I hear about strange stuff all the time. He described a creepy sensation of being watched in his condo and followed by something he couldn’t see. He was also hearing voices but couldn’t make out their words—a phenomenon we call “magical whisperings.”
All of this could have a supernatural explanation, so Joe and I went to check it out. It was a beautiful autumn evening when we arrived at the condo and rang the bell, with no idea what might await us on the other side of the door. No one answered. Joe was puzzled and told me he’d confirmed the appointment earlier that day. He pressed the buzzer again, and after several long rings, the door finally opened to reveal a man wearing a tattered terry-cloth bathrobe. Joe and I looked at each other, knowing something was definitely off. We introduced ourselves and asked if he was Stuart Butterman, figuring we must have the wrong apartment. “Yes,” he said, sounding a bit annoyed when we said we’d wait outside until he was properly dressed.
Five minutes later we were finally ushered into an exquisitely decorated living room. Not a thing was out of place, except Stuart, who was oddly dressed and repeated the same story he’d told on the phone, much less believably this time. With a wild flourish of his hands, he added that he had angelic powers and could communicate with spirits. “Is there anyone dead you’d like to speak to?” he asked. I glanced at Joe and could see his bullshit detector was on red alert. Although neither of us is psychic, I knew what my partner was thinking:
This guy isn’t just eccentric—he’s a nut job!
“No, thank you,” Joe replied politely. I cautioned Mr. Butterman that if he really was in touch with the dead, he should give it up immediately as this practice is extremely dangerous. He gave a demented laugh, and we left.
* * *
Now I was about to walk through the door of a new case. As always, I felt an indescribable mix of excitement and apprehension as I parked outside Tony’s home.
What would go on inside?
I tried not to think of the possibilities, because I like to start an investigation with an open mind. As I got out of my car, I felt a little jolt at the back of my head. Thinking it might be a bug, I felt to see if anything was in my hair. Finding nothing, I didn’t give it a second thought and continued up the walk. Once I got inside, I felt it again, a subtle poke. Tucking what had just happened away, I introduced myself and set up my videocamera, anxious to get on with the interview, since I was due at my police job by midnight.
Tony looked just like his voice: small and so delicately built that a strong breeze might blow him away. He was in his twenties, with a full head of brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His large brown eyes were soft and soulful, just what you’d expect for a blues musician. Although he didn’t appear to be rich, I got the impression that this young pianist wasn’t hurting for money. He was neatly dressed in a flannel shirt, slim-fitting black jeans, and well-worn black sneakers. From the nervous way he plucked at his clothes and what he’d told me so far, I sensed he was in deep trouble. I also felt he was a good-hearted, honest person, and liked him right away.
He lived in a basement apartment in his mother’s house. Though small, it was a perfect bachelor pad. The place was very neat and clean with starkly modern furniture I suspected had been selected more for the elegance of its design than for comfort. Several framed posters of jazz and blues musicians hung on the walls.
After offering me a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Tony explained that his difficulties had begun, quite innocently, when he was a high school senior. “I had a girlfriend who said she was at a party where they’d played a most interesting game. ‘So what was it?’ I asked, and she went to her room and got a Ouija board. I’d never seen one before, and thought it was a toy. We played, and that thing in the middle just zoomed around on its own accord.”