The Amityville Horror (14 page)

"How can you fight what you can't see?" Kathy asked. "This-this thing can do anything it wants."

"No honey," George said. "There's no way you can convince me a lot of this isn't just our imagination. I just don't believe in spooks! No way, no how, no time!" Finally he talked Kathy into going up to bed with a promise that if he couldn't get help by the next day, they would get out of the house for a while.

They both were completely drained. Kathy fell asleep out of slicer exhaustion. George dozed off, waking every once in a while to listen groggily for any unnatural noises in the house. He says that he has no idea how long he had lain there before he heard the marching music downstairs! His head was keeping time to the drumbeats before he realized he was listening to music. Glancing at Kathy to see if she had been awakened, he heard her breathe deeply. She was fast asleep.

George ran out of the room into the hall and heard the stomp of marching feet get louder. There must be at least fifty musicians parading around on the first floor, he thought. But the moment he hit the bottom step and turned on the hall light, the sounds ceased.

George froze on the staircase, his eyes and head swiveling frantically to catch any sign of movement. There was absolutely no one there. It was as though he had walked into an echo chamber. After the cacophony of sound, the sudden silence sent chills up his back.

Then George heard heavy breathing and thought someone was right behind him. He spun about. No one was there, and he then realized he was listening to Kathy from all the way upstairs.

Fear of her being alone in the bedroom galvanized George. He raced back up the steps two at a time and into his room, turning on the light. There, floating two feet above the bed, was Kathy. She was slowly drifting away from him toward the windows!

"Kathy!" George yelled, jumping up on the bed to grab his wife. She was as stiff as a board in his hands, but her drifting stopped. George felt a resistance to his pull, then a sudden release of pressure, and he and Kathy fell heavily off the bed onto the floor. The fall awakened her.

When she saw where she was, Kathy was incoherent for a moment. "Where am I?" she cried. "What's happened?"

George started to help her up. She could hardly stand. "It's nothing," he reassured her. "You were having a dream and fell out of bed. That's all."

Kathy was still too dazed to question George any further. She said, "Oh!" meekly got back into bed, and immediately fell back into a deep sleep. George turned out the light in the room but did not return to his wife's side. He sat on a chair beside the windows, watching Kathy and looking out at the lightening sky of early morning.

Father Mancuso was also watching the new day break -from his mother's house in Nassau, where he had gone shortly after the altercation with his Pastor. Not that he was afraid of a continued outburst, but it had been impossible to sleep in his stench-filled, incense smoked apartment. Also, be now truly believed that he was the target of the demonic phenomenon and thought that the odor would go if he left the Rectory for a while. At first Father Mancuso had misgivings about being in his mother's home because he didn't want to involve her in his problem. But then he had begun to feel feverish and decided that if he was to be sick again, he'd rather be under her care.

He hadn't had much sleep and awakened a few minutes before dawn. He felt his palms itching and looked at his hands to examine both sides. He considered talking to his mother, but he didn't want to upset her further; she was already deeply concerned about his illness.

The skies were laced with long streaks of white clouds. He noted they were low and moving fast. With the cold spell still holding in the low teens, that could mean more snow. Father Mancuso turned away from the window and looked at the clock on the night stand. It was only 7: 00 A.M. I'd like to call George Lutz, he thought, to find out if the Mass caused any similar reaction at his house. But no, seven might be too early. Father Mancuso decided to wait a while and got back into bed.

It was nice and warm under the covers. Sleepily he heard his mother stirring in the kitchen and suddenly he was ten years old, waiting for her to call him to get up for school. The recent pains, aches, and humiliations fled from his mind and body. Father Mancuso was sleeping safely in his old bed in his mother's house.

By ten in the morning, Kathy was still in a deep sleep. George had become worried about her condition after the past night's terrifying experience. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to call Father Mancuso again.

Danny and Chris had told their father that they heard on their radio that the Amityville schools were closed because of a heating problem. They were somewhat disappointed, because it would have been their first day at their new school after the Christmas holidays and a chance to meet some new friends.

George thought he was lucky not to have to drive the boys to school. It was clear across town, and he hadn't really wanted to leave Kathy and Missy alone in the house. He fed the children their breakfast and sent them up to play in their bedroom. Then he looked in on Kathy.

Her face was pale, drawn, with deep lines around her mouth. He didn't want to waken her and went back down to the kitchen. When he saw that it was 11:00 A.M., George decided to call the priest.

When he dialed Father Mancuso's private number, there was no answer. George called the Rectory itself and was informed that Father Mancuso was visiting his mother. No, they couldn't give out her number, but would give Father Mancuso the message that George had called.

George sat in the kitchen the rest of the morning, waiting for the return call. He thought he had been a fool to mouth off about "not believing in spooks." Kathy was right-how the hell can you fight something that can lift you clear off the bed like a stick of wood? George Lutz, ex-Marine, admitted he was scared.

Kathy came downstairs just as the telephone rang. It was George's office, calling to ask when he was coming in. The Internal Revenue agent was due back and they did not know how George wanted to handle the situation. George squirmed. Finally he told his bookkeeper to call their accountant and postpone the appointment until the following week. As for his coming in, he said Kathy didn't feel well and they were waiting for the doctor. Kathy sat next to George at the kitchen table and looked strangely at her husband. She mouthed the word "doctor?" to him. George shook his head at her and ended the call by telling his office he'd get back to them later.

"Boy!" he said to Kathy, "are they ever getting fed up with me! I'll just have to go in tomorrow."

Kathy yawned at George and shrugged her shoulders in an effort to ease the stiffness in her body. "God," she said, "look at the time. Why'd you let me sleep so long? Have the kids eaten? Are the boys in school?"

George started counting on his fingers. "First," he answered, "you haven't slept so good in weeks, so I left you alone." He held up two fingers. "Yes, they ate breakfast." Three fingers: "There was no school today. I sent them upstairs to play with Missy."

Good, he thought to himself, Kathy hadn't remembered anything about what happened last night. And I'm not going to tell her. "I've been trying to get hold of Father Mancuso again," George continued. "They say he's at his mother's, but he'll call me as soon as they hear from him."

Father Mancuso's mother didn't disturb his needed rest until almost three in the afternoon. He knew his fever had dropped because he no longer had a lightheaded feeling. The priest was doubly pleased when he finally checked in with the Rectory. The priest who answered the phone said that the incense had driven out the horrible smells and that Father could return to his rooms. "Father, also George Lutz called you."

Oh yes, fie reminded himself, I meant to call him, but it completely slipped my mind. Father Mancuso said he'd return by evening. He then called George.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. "George? This is Father Mancuso."

"Father, am I glad you called. We must talk to you right away. Can you please come over here now?"

"But I've already blessed your house again," Father Mancuso answered. "I said a votive Mass for you at the church the other day. And by the way, did any ..."

"It's not to bless the house," George interrupted. "It's more than that now." For the next several minutes George recounted what had happened at 112 Ocean Avenue since he had moved in. He sent Kathy upstairs under the pretext of getting him her cigarettes, and then told the priest about her levitating. "That's why we need you, Father," George concluded. "I'm scared of what's going to happen to Kathy and the kids!"

All through George's recitation, Father Mancuso had feared a debilitating attack. Now he was ashamed to realize that he'd been avoiding the inevitable. Come on, man, he thought to himself, you're a priest. If I don't want to wear the collar and accept its responsibilities why, by God, I'm not worthy!

Father Mancuso took a deep breath. "All right, George. I'll try and get there to ..."

George didn't hear what Father Mancuso said next. Suddenly there were several loud moans on the line and then a crackling that almost shattered his eardrum. "Father! I can't hear you!" A continued moaning was the only answer George got.

On the other end, Father Mancuso felt as if he had been physically slapped in the face. He put down the telephone, put his hand to his cheek, and began to cry. "I'm afraid to go back there!" He looked at his sore palms and then buried his face within them. "Oh, God! Help me! Help me!"

George knew it was useless to wait for Father Mancuso to call back. Even if he did, they would have been prevented from talking to one another about the house. But George had one hope. He was sure he had heard the priest say he'd come, but he didn't know when. He'd just have to sit there and wait.

Father Mancuso returned to the Rectory after eight in the evening. Now it was almost ten o'clock, and the priest sat and stared at the telephone. The smell of excrement had gone from his quarters as he'd been told, but the acrid sting of incense still hung in the air. That he could tolerate. What he couldn't stand was his inability to go to the Lutzes. Even the thought of the children being in danger from the demonic behavior couldn't overcome his fear of what might await him at 112 Ocean Avenue.

Finally Father Mancuso decided he would call the Chancellor's office in the diocese. He picked up the telephone, but thought he would go see them in the morning instead. He then prepared to go to bed. He had had enough sleep that morning at his mother's, but he was exhausted again. Before putting on his pajamas, he went into the bathroom to remove the white gloves. The Burow's Solution had helped soothe the affliction and he wanted to soak his palms once more that night.

When he peeled off the gloves, he was stunned. He turned his hands over and examined the palms. There were no more ugly splotches or open sores. There was no sign of bleeding. The blisters were gone!

Kathy had never really come to herself all that day and night. She sat by the fireplace in the livingroom. George fed the children and eventually sent them off to bed. The boys didn't complain that it was too early because they knew they'd have to get up for school. Evidently the heating problem bad been solved, because the local Amityville radio station had announced that the schools would be open the next morning.

George had even helped Missy take her bath. He read his daughter a story before she let him turn off her light. The last words Missy said before he closed her door were: "Good night Daddy. Good night Jodie."

When be saw it was almost eleven, George realized that Father Mancuso wasn't coming that night. Kathy bad been drooping in her chair for the past hour, her eyes closing with the warmth of the fire. Finally, she announced to George she was going up to bed.

George looked at his wife. Not once had she mentioned getting away from the house. It was as though none of the frightening incidents bad ever occurred and it was just natural for her to want to go to sleep. They went up to their bedroom together.

Kathy mumbled that she was too sleepy to take a bath and would do it in the morning. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. George sat on the edge of the bed for a while watching Kathy breathe deeply. Then he went out to check on Harry. The dog was asleep again, his food untouched.

George was about to reach down and shake the animal when he heard the marching band strike up in his house. He ran back in through the kitchen. The drums and horns were blasting away in the livingroom. George 174 heard the stomping of many feet as he tore through the hallway.

The lights were still on, but he could see there was no one in the room. The very instant he could see into the livingroom, the music had cut off. George looked about wildly. "You sonsofbitches, where are you?" he screamed.

George took in great gulps of air. Then he realized there was something strange about the livingroom. Every piece of furniture had been moved. The rug had been rolled back. Chairs, couch, and tables had been pushed against the walls as if to make room for a lot of dancers-or a marching band!

17 January 6 - "Your story is very interesting, Frank, but if I didn't know your background as a pro, I'd honestly think you were a little nuts to believe in it." Chancellor Ryan got up from behind his desk and went to the new coffee machine across the room. Father Mancuso shook his head at Father Ryan's offer. Ryan then poured one black cup for Father Nuncio-the other Chancellor-and one for himself.

The Chancellor sat back down at his desk, sipped some of the coffee, then looked at his notes. "In your capacity as a psychotherapist, how many times have people come to you with stories like this? Hundreds, I'll bet."

Chancellor Ryan was an extremely tall man, even while sitting. He was six feet five, with a shock of white hair crowning a ruddy Irish face. The priest was well known in the diocese for his open manner in speaking to the other clerics, be they young parish priests or the Bishop himself. Chancellor Nuncio, on the other hand, was the exact opposite; short, stumpy, black-haired, young at forty two, while Father Ryan was well in his sixties, and with a seriousness to his approach that perfectly complemented the other Chancellor's softer touch.