Deliver Us from Evil by Ralph Sarchie Page A

he’d find nothing.
    Understandably, he didn’t get much rest that night—or the next, when he was treated to thunderous poundings that practically made him jump out of his skin. This time he had to see what was going on, so he got his bat, turned on all the lights, and searched every inch of his apartment. What did he find? Absolutely nothing, of course.
    About a week after Angelo moved into his apartment, other tenants arrived. A single guy took the second-floor apartment, and a few days later a young couple with a four-year-old son and new baby set up house on the first floor. At the risk of being thought crazy, Angelo felt he just had to ask his new neighbors if they’d noticed anything at all odd about the house. Yes, they said, there’s something very wrong here! And when he told them he’d called a spiritual investigator, all agreed they wanted our help—right away, if possible.
    The streets were covered with black ice, and a winter storm warning was in effect when Joe and I parked by the graveyard and headed for the house, with a bitterly cold wind at our backs, to wait for the rest of our team. Originally it was just the two of us handling cases, but we now had other investigators working with us. A year or so earlier the Warrens had come to New York to give a seminar. As always when they spoke, there was a big turnout and several people expressed interest in learning more. So with Ed and Lorraine’s blessing, the New York City chapter of the New England Society for Psychic Research was born, with Joe and me as founders.
    We held classes once a month in the basement of my home in Glendale, much to the consternation of my wife, Jen. She grew to dread those nights because scary things sometimes happened. Lights in our apartment would go on and off on their own. We were constantly buying new light bulbs because they burned out so fast. One night she had the same eerie experience Angelo did: She’d heard heavy footsteps coming up the creaky basement stairs. Thinking it was me bringing my video equipment upstairs after the class, she opened the door—and found no one there.
    Understandably, she was very upset. “I don’t like what these classes are drawing here,” she said after I’d finished teaching—and she didn’t calm down until I’d blessed our entire apartment with prayer and holy water. It troubled me also to have my wife harassed this way, but I felt God had provided this group of people for a reason. Not only could Joe and I teach others about the Work, but we also learned from our students, since they brought faith and fresh ideas to our cases. There are no handbooks on demonology, so we developed our techniques through trial and error. The students came from all walks of life—Millie was a school crossing guard, Dennis had a 7-Up delivery route, David was a bodyguard, and Fred was a doorman. Antonio and Vicki were a married couple who’d met while they were in the Army and now worked for a Manhattan lawyer. They both dressed in military-style camouflage clothing. These people came from all faiths; belief in God was our common bond.
    We never forced anyone to get more involved than he or she wanted to. Some members of our group just came to the classes; and others assisted on our cases. Those who preferred to remain students rather than investigators were still an important part of our team because they supported us with their prayers. Some contributed in other ways too: Kathy, who worked for the Catholic Church, was too shy to go out on cases, but turned out to have unexpected psychic talent. Before we left for the graveyard case, she gave me a warning. “Be very careful,” she said. “Somebody’s going to get hit.”
    I run my cases like a police operation and enforce strict discipline. First, each investigator is expected to be in a state of grace when he or she accompanies Joe and me on cases. For a Catholic, that