The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely

the other side. It was turning back all by itself. The door could not be shut; a countering force was pushing it open again.
    â€œI fear no evil; for you are with me… God, please! ” Julie cried out. The opposing force was winning; she could not shut the door. Her strength was failing.
    â€œFor you are with me, please, dear God, please! ”
    The Bible fell from her hand. The door flew open, its impetus sending her reeling across the floor and sprawling into an armchair. She struggled to her feet again.
    The horrid stench and the coldness were back. “It” was in the room. The thought terrified her. “It” could attack her anywhere. Where could she run to? It was two in the morning. The children were asleep; she could not leave the house. Nor could she go outside to await the daylight; it was unthinkable. Julie felt crushed. She climbed the stairs again to her bedroom, Bible in hand. With great deliberation, she placed it on her night table.
    It cannot have been easy for Julie to draw back the covers, return to bed, and face the darkness. Yet she did, and she lay there, praying and sobbing and waiting…simply waiting.
    â€œI had the mad idea that if he saw me crying, he’d take pity on me and leave me alone,” she recalls. “How innocent I was! I know now that these things feed on your fear. The longer it went on, the more fearful I became, and the worse it got.”
    Through her quiet weeping, Julie heard what she was dreading. The door began to ease slowly open.
    One might wonder why she did not run screaming from the room at that moment, but Julie states that, with the opening of the door, a peculiar numbness crept over her, rendering movement impossible. She describes the feeling as similar to being conscious under anesthetic; her mind was alert but her body seemed paralyzed. The entity appeared to have the power to immobilize her from a distance.
    Again she was aware of the vile odor suffusing the room. She heard the dull footfalls crossing the carpet. Moments later, the crushing weight was upon her; the stubbled cheek bore down on hers. She thought she would go insane. Her ordeal began anew, and the hours dragged past. At some stage, through terror-induced exhaustion, she blacked out.
    She awoke in a worse state than on the previous morning. She was shattered, could barely speak. She made other arrangements for the children and went to see the family doctor. Although his practice was two streets from her home, Julie arrived there on the verge of collapse. She recalls that she had to stop twice on the way and lean against a wall for support.
    As it was, the general practitioner confessed bafflement. He could find nothing physically wrong with her, though he was dismayed by her appearance; her two nights of terror and insomnia showed. She seemed to be teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
    She told him as much as she dared. To her surprise and relief, the doctor did not dismiss her story out of hand. On the contrary: he asked if she had ever had a brush with the paranormal. He wonderedaloud if perhaps she might be “acting as a medium.” She had been doing nothing of the sort—nor had she any wish to—she told him in no uncertain terms. In the end, he prescribed a course of Diazepam, and suggested that she keep up her prayers. There was, as yet, no talk of exorcism.
    Julie returned home that day, invigorated by the doctor’s support and sympathy. She commenced the course of antianxiety medication at once. She had hoped that they would help. In fact, things grew worse.
    â€œMy life and my home were never the same after that day,” she says. “I felt uncomfortable, especially when I was alone. I began singing French songs and the French national anthem, even though I had never learned French. Every night I’d sit up as late as possible because I was so terrified of what was going to happen. Even when I tried sleeping in another room,