it around my neck. I hung my crucifix in plain sight of whatever was lurking in that smoky room of blighted hopes. I began timidly, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Ideally a private confession followed by holy absolution precedes the rite. In this case, there was no point. Debby was not all there. This was the devil’s jurisdiction, and he knew it. Like a beast before it pounces upon its prey lays still and surreptitious, yet ready and conscientious, the demon did not appear perturbed by my presence. Even though I prayed to be filled with courage in fighting this dragon laying waste to God’s vineyard and that he, instead of me, would be struck with terror, this reprobate beast seemed to burst with a raging glee—without any observable motion. It was in control, and did not appear at all alarmed or deterred by me. With a mixture of scornful indignation tempered by a cool appreciation that a Christian was present, the demon appeared unshaken—until I started to speak some more, and with confidence.
As I professed the Apostles’ Creed and spoke the Lord’s Prayer, her head was raised a tad, and the moans changed their pitch. After all, the Our Father is the paragon of prayers, and the Creeds are, predominantly, an explanation of the name of our Trinitarian Lord. Debby’s head began waving from side to side in an apparent effort to avoid the sound of my voice while expressing its disapproval. The tables had turned. I read aloud various texts from the Holy Scriptures concerning Jesus and the apostles casting out demons. The bodily thrusts intensified with more exaggerated jerks of her head. Indiscernible words were lazily offered by a beastly tongue. At first they sounded annoyed. Then, mad. Without warning, a series of embittered low-pitched voices ejaculated short phrases of anguish such as “No,” “Go away,” “Shut up,” and “Leave me alone.” Yet they no longer conveyed a threatening tone. Instead, they were pathetic cries, like a whiney kid in the playground who is irritated that he hadn’t gotten his way. An eerily hostile feeling of a contentious and inimical nimbus penetrated the relatively stable ambiance when I finally built up the courage to speak directly to the dreadful thing. Reading from my book I stated sternly: “Depart from Debby, you unclean spirit, and make way for the Holy Spirit, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The entity became angry. It was fierce, militant. A glass of juice was whipped at me. I continued with vehemence, “In the name of the Lord Jesus, I command you to leave Debby.” For the first time, the boisterous thing looked up at me and stared me straight in the eyes. It was the same empty dark eyes that I had witnessed in the other demoniac, Lisa, 12 years earlier. It was all hate. I preferred to circumvent any further eye contact. In the months that followed, I would dread those rare, but unforgettable glances by those penetrating and bewitching eyes. I emphatically repeated the rebuke in the name of the Holy One. She pushed at me and began throwing arbitrary items across the room, screeching clamorously. This went on for a while.
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