Our haunted house 2

Fear

This is part 2 of the story that began in the last post

One night, both of us had our own terrifying dreams at the same time. Louise was dreaming that someone had put something in my coffee that gave them power to control my every action. I had become a walking zombie!  Meanwhile, in my dream I was being chased by the Mafia. They had their guns in their hands and they were close on my heels. I ran into a hospital. They followed. I ran downstairs to the morgue. They were close behind, but didn’t see where I went. A number of corpses were lying beneath sheets on tables. I found an empty table, complete with sheet, and covered myself up. Just in time! In my dream I could see the Mafia men come into the room, guns in hand, pulling back each sheet and looking at each body. I would be discovered and killed! My only hope was to wait until they looked under my sheet, and then suddenly sit up and say, "Aaahhh!" in as frightening a voice as I could muster. Hopefully, the men would be so unnerved that I would be able to get away. Such is the brilliant reasoning that one uses in dreams.

Unfortunately for Louise, I carried out my plan with enthusiasm. I suddenly sat up in bed and said "Aaahhh!" in as frightening a voice as I could muster. This, of course, confirmed her worst fears about her new husband: he had become a zombie! Wide and unpleasantly awake, she screamed, while I in terror shouted, "It’s OK!" We exchanged noisy, wild-eyed screams and reassurances for some time before we both calmed down. I often have wondered what our neighbor to the north (the one who pounded the wall during the loud orchestral outburst) must have heard and what he thought, because our bedroom wall adjoined his house.  

Although Louise and I later could laugh about this ridiculous exchange, her dreams were no joke. They came at close enough intervals, and were so terrifyingly intense that I became concerned. This could not continue, and I prayed for wisdom. Suddenly one night after one of Louise’s particularly frightening dreams, as I lay awake thinking and praying, the pieces all fell into place. You’ve probably seen it all along, but it took me a long time to figure it out. Nasty, spiteful little spirits haunted the apartment. Perhaps the previous tenant had ushered them in, no doubt inadvertently, with some kind of spiritual activity, seances, or whatever. Our charismatic friends from across the way had sensed that something was wrong with our house. Louise and I, being Christians, were irritants to the little spirits, and hence the crackling sounds in the hutch. The dreams of being chased and hounded by ill-intentioned beings now all made sense.

Once the problem was identified, the solution followed quickly. That night, as I prayed for wisdom to deal with the situation, two scriptures popped vividly into my mind. The first was John’s observation that "perfect love casts out all fear." (1 John 4:18) The second was the story of Jesus and the Gerasene demoniac (Luke 8:26-38). "Don’t send us into the abyss," the demons pleaded with Jesus. While I have no idea what the abyss is, the demons were terrified of going there, and Jesus granted their request. He sent them into a herd of pigs, which ran off of a cliff into the water and drowned. Pretty hard on the pigs, not to say the pig herders. Still, this story showed that Jesus had compassion even on demons. I went to sleep determined about what to do the next day.

While Louise was at work the following day, I came back to the apartment for lunch. While there, I went to each place in the apartment I believed might house a nasty little spirit. Pointing my finger, I said simply, "In the name of Jesus, come out." I went into the closet and the bedroom, and stood by the hutch. I didn’t feel particularly virtuous—it was the name of Jesus that was powerful, not me. Still, it seems that I needed to learn to be a clear enough vessel for his power—perfect love casts out all fear. This took place, as I recall in April of 1976. I said nothing about any of this—my perception that our apartment was haunted by demons nor my attempt to get them to leave—to Louise.

About three months later, I believe it was July or August, I asked Louise how she was doing with those terrifying dreams. "Oh, I haven’t had any of those dreams for a long time, now," she replied. How long, I asked. "About three months."

While one can think of naturalistic explanations for our experience, to my mind they seem convoluted and contrived. I don’t think Occam would be pleased with such circuitous thinking.

The simplest explanation is that Louise and I moved into an apartment haunted by little demons who, when directly confronted with Jesus Christ, left. As far as I can tell, they never came back.