The Day Before
My best friend went to Portugal for a month during the summer we were in tenth grade. Her health had been slightly off and I was surprised her family was taking her on such a long trip. When she came home she had on a new gold necklace with a locket and a bracelet with some charms on it. I asked her if anything was in the locket and she told me she would rather not talk about it.
Eventually she talked.
She told me a priest in Portugal gave them to her after her exorcism to keep away the devils. He told her she had been possessed by several demons, and she should wear the charms at all times, and never open the locket. She told me her relatives kept her in her room for several days and nights, and through the walls she could hear chanting in a language she could not understand.
She said the night before the exorcism she could understand.
The next day her family brought her to a cave, and the priest began a prayer. That was the last thing she remembered.
They told her she fell as if she fainted with her head bent so far back they thought her neck would break. Her stomach began to rise and fall, and when her eyes fluttered like she might be waking, all four people tried but could not lift her. They told her the priest said one of the spirits haunting her was someone her own father had harmed in a business transaction, and this was its way of doing him harm.
On a rainy, boring Saturday we sat in her room and she decided to open the locket. Inside was a tiny ladder, a lightning bolt, some white cloth, dust or dirt, a cross, and several other items I cannot remember. She poured them out in her palm, and as she was examining them she shook her hand and remarked they had burned her. She told me they left red marks on her hand but would not show me. I was scared and went home.
I remember her thinking the devil was after her, and her boyfriend and I would tease her and try and scare her. She got sicker and sicker from an ailment that was never quite figured out, and eventually passed away from what the doctors said was Wilson’s disease.
A few years after that her boyfriend fell off of a second story balcony and broke his neck. He has been in a wheelchair ever since. I called her in the hospital in NYC a few days before she died and her mother would not let me speak to her on the phone, but I heard her voice in the background. Her once friendly, happy voice sounded like knives being dragged down a chalkboard, and I will never forget it.
Part of me feels I should not be writing this, that I should leave it alone. I don’t want to believe in the devil, but I may have to say that I do… Protection from St. Michael—you may need it: Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
Amen.
Day 1
The pain behind my eye reminds me I have worms in my brain. Not a few, but millions. They have no room to multiply and are either dying or boring their way through to another part of my head. If a doctor asked me what my symptoms were I could say that there is pressure in my skull from an overpopulation of spirochetes. Sometimes I can’t think straight—and I get nervous.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night because my dreams go wrong. Like last night’s dream. I was having a delightful breakfast…steaming hot tea poured from an English service, light muffins with sweet butter, thin Swedish pancakes dusted with sugar and currants all situated on perfectly ironed linen on a balcony overlooking a garden. And then my teacup cracked. The linen looked worn and greasy. Small crawling insects found my food and fell onto my lap. The pancakes turned black and curled in at the edges yet I still wanted to eat them—but if I ate them the man at the train
My best friend went to Portugal for a month during the summer we were in tenth grade. Her health had been slightly off and I was surprised her family was taking her on such a long trip. When she came home she had on a new gold necklace with a locket and a bracelet with some charms on it. I asked her if anything was in the locket and she told me she would rather not talk about it.
Eventually she talked.
She told me a priest in Portugal gave them to her after her exorcism to keep away the devils. He told her she had been possessed by several demons, and she should wear the charms at all times, and never open the locket. She told me her relatives kept her in her room for several days and nights, and through the walls she could hear chanting in a language she could not understand.
She said the night before the exorcism she could understand.
The next day her family brought her to a cave, and the priest began a prayer. That was the last thing she remembered.
They told her she fell as if she fainted with her head bent so far back they thought her neck would break. Her stomach began to rise and fall, and when her eyes fluttered like she might be waking, all four people tried but could not lift her. They told her the priest said one of the spirits haunting her was someone her own father had harmed in a business transaction, and this was its way of doing him harm.
On a rainy, boring Saturday we sat in her room and she decided to open the locket. Inside was a tiny ladder, a lightning bolt, some white cloth, dust or dirt, a cross, and several other items I cannot remember. She poured them out in her palm, and as she was examining them she shook her hand and remarked they had burned her. She told me they left red marks on her hand but would not show me. I was scared and went home.
I remember her thinking the devil was after her, and her boyfriend and I would tease her and try and scare her. She got sicker and sicker from an ailment that was never quite figured out, and eventually passed away from what the doctors said was Wilson’s disease.
A few years after that her boyfriend fell off of a second story balcony and broke his neck. He has been in a wheelchair ever since. I called her in the hospital in NYC a few days before she died and her mother would not let me speak to her on the phone, but I heard her voice in the background. Her once friendly, happy voice sounded like knives being dragged down a chalkboard, and I will never forget it.
Part of me feels I should not be writing this, that I should leave it alone. I don’t want to believe in the devil, but I may have to say that I do… Protection from St. Michael—you may need it: Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
Amen.
Day 1
The pain behind my eye reminds me I have worms in my brain. Not a few, but millions. They have no room to multiply and are either dying or boring their way through to another part of my head. If a doctor asked me what my symptoms were I could say that there is pressure in my skull from an overpopulation of spirochetes. Sometimes I can’t think straight—and I get nervous.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night because my dreams go wrong. Like last night’s dream. I was having a delightful breakfast…steaming hot tea poured from an English service, light muffins with sweet butter, thin Swedish pancakes dusted with sugar and currants all situated on perfectly ironed linen on a balcony overlooking a garden. And then my teacup cracked. The linen looked worn and greasy. Small crawling insects found my food and fell onto my lap. The pancakes turned black and curled in at the edges yet I still wanted to eat them—but if I ate them the man at the train
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