The Other Side of Darkness (33 page)

“They are not freaks. If you’d come to church, you’d see that they are simply committed Christians with hearts to serve the Lord.”

“Seriously, Ruth, I think you need to get your head examined. Something is wrong with you, or maybe it’s the influence of that crazy church of yours. If I weren’t so busy with these extra holiday hours, I’d haul you to a shrink myself. But—”

“The only thing wrong with me is that you have failed as a spiritual leader and—”

“No! You have taken over as the leader, Ruth! But you are trying to lead the girls straight to the nuthouse. And I am going to put my foot down!”

“How are you going to do that?” My voice was calm, but my heart was pounding.

“I’m going to forbid you to take the girls to the crazy church
again. All Glenn Pratt does is fill people with fear. All that extreme focus on evil and demons is nonsense. I’m not a theologian, but the Jesus I know is about love and forgiveness. Your church gives more glory to Satan than it does to God.”

It got ugly as I argued back, and it soon turned into a shouting match. Me shouting scriptures at him, and him finally sinking down to Satan’s level as he swore at me.

“Don’t use that kind of language in my home!” I glanced over to where Mary and Sarah were lurking in the hallway. “And don’t ever speak like that in front of my daughters.”

Rick seemed to be caught off guard by the shocked faces of the girls. But instead of apologizing, he just grabbed his lunchbox and stormed out the door. I wanted to yell, “Good riddance,” but instead I bit my tongue.

“I’m sorry about that,” I told the girls in a soothing voice, pulling them toward me and hugging them both. “Your dad knows better than to talk like that. But he’s under a lot of stress these days. And I’m guessing he’s also having some satanic attack. Your dad really needs our prayers right now, girls.”

And they took this very seriously as we all got down on our knees and fervently prayed for their dad. We also prayed for Matthew and for the Lord to heal our family and to bring us back together. We were all crying by the time we finished praying.

“That’s what I want, Mommy,” Sarah told me as I handed her a tissue. “I want our family to be happy again.”

“Me too,” admitted Mary. “I don’t like this.”

“I know. But only the Lord can heal these wounds. We need to keep asking him to help us. And we need to keep fighting off the demonic forces too. Satan is really attacking our family, and we’re the
only ones who can bind him and keep him out. We have to be strong, girls.”

So the girls and I have been doing regular spiritual warfare all week long. Also, we’ve been staying out of Rick’s way. And he seems to be avoiding us too. Despite his “putting his foot down,” I have taken the girls to church. I think it’s more important to obey God than man. And after the midweek worship service, where hundreds of demons were bound and cast out, we have been taking this battle more seriously than ever. What really got our attention was when Mary allowed Sister Bronte to pray for her, and consequently, the demon of rebellion (which Bronte explained to Mary is as bad as witchcraft) was cast out of my older daughter. I was so thankful and relieved!

“I saw a demon in the hallway,” Sarah tells me shortly before bedtime tonight. “I told him to get out of our house in the name of Jesus, but I’m afraid he’s still there.”

“I think you just imagined it,” Mary says as she comes out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

“I did not. I really saw it.”

“Yes,” I assure Sarah as I push her overly long bangs out of her eyes. “I’m sure that you did.”

“What did it look like, then?” demands Mary. “Describe it.”

“It was kind of weird since it was smiling at me,” says Sarah. “But not a happy kind of smile. And it was funny color for a demon, kind of a light pink.”

Mary laughs. “Yeah, sure, that doesn’t sound like much of a demon to me.”

“Wait a minute,” I tell her. “You girls know that Satan can disguise himself. He was supposed to have been the most beautiful
angel in heaven before he was thrown out. There’s no reason that all demons have to be scary and ugly looking. You should know that much by now.”

“But the ones in my dreams are scary,” Sarah admits.

“Yes. But you said yourself that you knew the one you just saw was a demon,” I remind her. “How did you know that?”

“I felt it.”

I nod. “See, Mary. Sarah is probably right. We need to pray right now, all three of us together. We need to cast that demon out.” So we all join hands right there in the hallway, and we bind and cast out the “pink demon” as Sarah now calls it.

“A pink demon.” Mary shakes her head after we’re done. “That’s so crazy.”

“It was real,” Sarah insists.

“Well, it’s gone now,” I point out. “Now where is
Pilgrim’s Progress?
” That’s the book we’ve been reading before bedtime lately.

“I’ll get it,” offers Mary.

“Finish brushing your teeth first,” I tell her as Sarah and I head into the living room.

Lately we’ve felt safer in the living room. We leave the lights on all day and night, but something about the central location within our house and the light-colored walls makes us feel safer. And that’s where we spend our evenings, reading or doing music or coloring. Of course, it’s looking less and less like a living room, but that doesn’t matter since I don’t plan to do any entertaining. I don’t want anyone uninvited coming into our home.

“Mom!” Mary screams just as Sarah and I have gotten comfortable on the couch. Certain that Mary has been seriously injured, I leap up and run to see what’s wrong. Sarah is right on my heels. We
find Mary still in the bathroom, but her face is pale, and she’s staring into the mirror and pointing as if she’s horrified.

“What is it?” I demand, relieved to see that she’s not bleeding or hurt.

“Can’t you see it in the mirror?” she says in a tiny voice.

“What?” I step closer to her and look into the large mirror above the sink, but all I see is her frightened reflection.

“The demon!”

“Is it the pink demon?” asks Sarah. And suddenly I wonder if my older daughter might be pulling our legs. Although her pale face is pretty convincing.

“No!” Mary steps back from the mirror and then clings to me, burying her head into my shoulder. I can feel her shaking, and I know she’s not making this up.

“Let’s pray,” I tell them both. And for the second time tonight, we bind and cast out a demon.

Then Mary, still holding on to me, opens her eyes and gives the mirror a cautious sideways glance. “It’s gone now.”

“What did it look like?” asks Sarah as we return to the living room.

“It was ugly.” Mary shudders. “Black and snarling and really, really scary.” She hands me the book and sits down on the couch. “Mom, it was really horrible.”

I put my arm around her, pulling her close. “You’re safe now, Mary.”

“But it was so awful. I’ve never seen anything so awful. His eyes—” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Ugh! It was like looking at Satan.”

“Why do the demons keep bugging us, Mommy?” Sarah snuggles
closer to me, pulling the afghan up to her chin. “Why doesn’t the Lord make them stay away and leave us alone?”

I consider this. “It’s like Sister Bronte says: we’re a threat to Satan’s kingdom. The devil doesn’t like it when Christians really try to follow the Lord. He wants to destroy us so we can’t serve the Lord.”

“Maybe we should pretend not to serve the Lord,” suggests Sarah.

I kind of laugh. “I think the devil would figure that out.”

Mary turns to her sister. “I’m sorry I make fun of you sometimes, Sarah.”

“Huh?” Sarah looks confused.

“When you talk about seeing demons and stuff. I never really believed you. I thought you were just making it up.”

“But now you know?” asks Sarah.

“Yeah.” Mary nods solemnly. “Now I really know. I won’t make fun of you again.”

“Satan is real,” I remind them. “And even though the Lord is stronger, we need to keep on our toes. We need to be spiritually armed and strong to win the battle.”

“Maybe we should pray again,” suggests Mary as she glances around the living room, almost as if she expects to see a demon in here. “Just to be safe, you know.”

So we pray again. And then I read a chapter from the book. And finally I tell the girls it’s time for bed. But I can tell as I walk them into their room that they’re still afraid.

“Mom, will you stay with us in here?” asks Mary. “Just for a while?”

“I don’t want to sleep in here,” says Sarah. “I think that pink demon is still here. I think he hides in the rug and comes out at night.”

I look down at the ballerina-pink carpet and remember that Sarah said the demon was light pink. “But we cast him out.”

“I can still feel him,” she insists.

“I think I can feel him too,” says Mary.

Now I don’t know what to do. Where do you go when you don’t even feel safe in your own bedroom? Your own home?

“Can we sleep in your bedroom, Mommy?” asks Sarah.

Rick would probably throw a fit to find the girls in bed with me. And so far we’ve done fairly well in avoiding each other as well as additional conflict. “I don’t think so …”

“How about the living room?” suggests Mary.

“Yes!” agrees Sarah. “The living room. I don’t think demons are in there.”

“But there’s only one couch,” I point out. “I don’t think you’d both fit.”

“We could sleep on the floor,” says Mary. “Like a slumber party.”

“Yes,” says Sarah. “We could all sleep on the floor.”

“Come on, Mom,” Mary urges me. “It’ll be fun.”

So it is that we dig out sleeping bags, and we all sleep on the living-room floor. And I’m surprised that we all sleep soundly, and for a pleasant change, no one wakes up with nightmares. I’m not too surprised when Rick questions our unusual sleeping arrangements the following day, but I simply explain that it was the girls’ idea and that we thought it would be fun.

He just nods in a tired way, but then he gives me
that look
—the one that tells me he still questions my judgment and perhaps even my sanity but just doesn’t have the energy to take me on right now. I get a sense that he’s picking his battles more carefully these days. But at least I managed to smooth things over with him regarding the
homeschool decision. This was accomplished by assuring him that I felt certain VBF would refund the girl’s tuition by the start of the new year. I guess it’s true what they say—money talks. I just wish my husband would listen to the Lord’s voice as well.

By the following week, sleeping in the living room has become a regular thing. We’ve even moved the girls’ twin mattresses in there and pushed them next to each other, and all three of us sleep together on them. Of course, Rick questions this too, but Mary convinces him it’s the only way we feel safe at night.

“Maybe if you didn’t have to work all night, leaving us girls here all by ourselves,” she says to him, “maybe we wouldn’t be so scared then, Daddy.”

“But what do you have to be afraid of?”

“Lots of things.” She glances nervously at me. “Noises and things. Last night we thought we heard someone trying to break into our house.”

“That’s right,” I say quickly. “Don’t forget that since we lost Sadie, our faithful watchdog, we’ve felt more vulnerable than ever.”

He brightens at this. “Hey, why don’t you get another dog, Ruth?”

“Yes, Mommy!” exclaims Sarah. “Let’s get another dog.”

“We could get a watchdog like my friend Katy has,” says Mary. “Their dog is specially trained to keep strangers away from the kids.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say. “We’ll look into it.”

“Good.” Rick glances around our living/sleeping room. “Anything to get back to normal in this house.”

So as the girls do their schoolwork, I search the classified section
of the newspaper for watchdogs. And after a few calls, I think I’ve found the perfect dog for us. The woman tells me she’s a Christian and assures me that Rottweilers are the best watchdogs around. And as soon as the girls are done with their schoolwork, we drive into the country in search of the house.

It’s just getting dusky when I turn down a graveled driveway that leads to a double-wide manufactured home. We can hear dogs barking frantically before we even get out of the car. I can tell by the sign on the gate and by the large dark-colored dogs that keep lunging toward the tall chain-link fence that I’m at the right address, but I feel uneasy as we walk toward the house.

“Hello,” calls a stout older woman from the tacked-on front porch. “Are you the lady who just called about getting a dog?”

“Yes.” I introduce myself and the girls.

“And I’m Barb.” She waves us inside. “Why don’t you come into the house so you can meet Buddy?”

The dogs outside continue to bark wildly as we go onto the porch, then follow this woman into a house that smells distinctly of dogs. One glance tells me that the dogs have made themselves quite comfortable in here.

“I put the other dogs outside to quiet things down. Some of the rowdier ones can get a little wound up over company.” She nods to a large black dog calmly sitting by a wood stove. “This is Buddy. I wanted you to see what kind of a dog you’ll be getting.” She eases herself down on a kitchen chair and slaps her knee. “Come here, Buddy.”

The dog obediently comes over, then goes through a set of commands, including “sit” and “lay down” and “shake.” Then she has Buddy shake hands with both girls. It’s obvious this dog has a sweet disposition, and the girls seem to really like him.

“So you’re selling Buddy?” I ask hopefully.

She laughs. “No, of course not. He’s the sire. We need him to have more dogs. But I wanted you to meet him so you would see the fine quality of dogs we breed here, so you could decide whether or not a Rottweiler is the sort of dog you’re looking for. These dogs are smart and loyal, and as you see, they’re great with kids.”

“Can we get one?” Mary asks as she strokes Buddy’s silky ear.

“Yeah, Mom,” Sarah pleads as she runs her hand down his smooth back. “Can we bring one home with us tonight?”

“Well, I don’t know …” I glance over at Barb. “I’m in a car, you see, and it’s rather new. I hadn’t really figured how to—”