The Hitchhiking Demon
Around the middle of February 2001, I took Brittany and McCartney to see a play. The kids and I were walking back to the car from the show. Britt and McCartney got into an argument, and she was really being more than a bit hard on him. I pointed that out to her. Then she and I got into an argument, with her saying “you always take his side.” In fact, I was much more likely to be calling him down. Although he’s grown up to be a Navy vet, graduating from Northern Arizona University, he was a very rambunctious youngster and a bit prone to getting into trouble. Britt and I argued extensively in the car on the way to take Mac home.
First, we had to travel to Britt’s friend Jeane’s home to return some clothes Jeane had left at our house. This is the neighborhood where Brittany’s ex-boyfriend lived, and she had told me before that she didn’t want to drive through it, saying it stirred up too many old memories. I understood this and took a much longer route to get to and from Jeane’s house.
However, this time I accidentally got very near Chase’s house. It was dark, and I missed my street and got a bit lost. Brittany absolutely freaked out when she realized where we were. She started screaming and crying and accusing me of bringing her there on purpose. This upset me, because it was a total accident—so I started yelling back. The atmosphere in the car got pretty tense for several minutes. Poor McCartney just sat quietly in the backseat, hoping not to get caught in the crossfire.
Eventually we arrived at Jeane’s house and dropped off the clothes; however, Britt and I were still arguing. Finally, things became more peaceful and we just sat in silence till we arrived at McCartney’s mother’s home. Nothing had been resolved—we just called a truce. We dropped Mac off and began the trip back to our house, about a forty-minute journey.
Before we were even out of Mac’s subdivision, Britt allowed Spence to take over. He began by telling me he was “not here to be friends” and admonished me for reprimanding Brittany, blaming me for the whole argument.
Later I told Laurel about this incident, because it would eventually involve a demonic presence. Her taped comments follow:
“This is an example of where Spence is playing the alter ego role and negotiating,” Laurel said. “Brittany doesn’t feel strong enough to negotiate this for herself. Believe me, Spence was better than some of the other alternatives.”
I replied to Spence that Brittany was my daughter and I couldn’t allow her to talk to me in the manner she’d used. I admitted that perhaps I’d been a bit harsh on her, but she had to learn that she simply had to show me a bit of respect and refrain from launching into these verbal tirades.
Then Spence replied that, “It wasn’t her. It was a demon trying to come through.”
I continued talking to Spence for maybe ten minutes, trying to make my point. I had become quite fond of Spence and enjoyed talking to him, but I felt he was wrong this time. I told him, “Britt is my daughter and I need to be able to correct her if she gets out of line. I shouldn’t feel like demons are going to come after me every time I correct her.”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to change my mind, eventually Spence said, “I can’t talk to you, I’m leaving now, and I’ll let you deal with whatever’s in there. I’m gone.”
Spence vacated the building, so to speak, and Britt was very quiet for about a minute. Then she started growling, rolling her eyes into the back of her head, and lolling her head from side to side. I knew that one of the entities or demons had taken back over, so I reached my hand over as I continued to drive in an effort to restrain her. But then she (or it) just said in a low growl, “Just drive.”
I was sure I couldn’t trust a demon and was wondering if it would try to assault me or cause me to wreck the car. However, I knew that if I tried to drive and hold Brittany down at the same time, I’d probably cause an accident. I returned both hands to the wheel and focused on driving. We were on a lonely two-lane highway out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The idea of sitting in the dark alone with a demon didn’t sound too inviting.
I heard a tiny, childlike voice singing “Jesus Loves Me.” I looked over at her, and she had this insane, evil look on her face. Unable to come up with a better plan, I began singing “Jesus Loves Me” too. I guess I thought if I sang it in earnest, I could counteract her mocking rendition by calling down a deity for help. So there we were, both singing at the top of our lungs trying to drown each other out. Then it stopped, so I thought maybe everything would be quiet for a while.
Then it said in that tiny, little voice, “Are you scared yet?” That was unsettling. Knowing your daughter is again being possessed by the kind of demon we had gone through an exorcism to get rid of, driving down a secluded road late at night—it was just almost more than I could handle. Did it scare me? Oh yes, it did. I was cooped up in a little car with a demon in the dark of night, probably miles from any other human being. By that point, both shoulders of the road sharply dropped off fifty or sixty feet. We were on a land bridge going across a lake with deep water on both sides. If I had lost control of the car, it could have quickly been the end of both of us. Briefly, Aphrodite’s prediction did cross my mind. I was on my own and totally unsure whether I was up to the task.
So to reply to its question as to whether I was scared or not, I naturally replied, “Hell, no!”
Then it started quoting me some scripture from the book of Jeremiah. I learned later the quote was accurate—and Brittany had no knowledge whatsoever of Jeremiah.
When I heard that creepy voice (which didn’t remotely sound like Brittany’s) quoting the Bible, something clicked in my brain, and I started singing Three Dog Night’s song about a bullfrog named Jeremiah, “Joy to the World.”
It was a song Brittany loved when she was a small child. I used to sing it to her, and she always got a great kick out of it. So I’m singing at the top of my lungs, going down this isolated lane not much wider than a driveway with a demon in the car. Yes, I was honestly very scared, but what was I going to do?
Then it began saying things like, “I’m going to take her soul where you’ll never find her.” Punctuated with growling and hysterical laughter, this was a pretty terrifying situation. Then somewhere along the way, it started singing “Jesus Loves Me” again. So I’m singing “Joy to the World”; it’s singing “Jesus Loves Me”; and we’re both getting louder and louder. Finally my stronger voice drowned it out, and it gave that up. It decided instead to argue with me, telling me how it had “come to get Brittany.”
Then I remembered things I’d heard Laurel say about how this whole demon thing had simply been like a play, a game to the dark angels. I began repeating the things I’d heard Laurel telling the demons on the night of the release/exorcism: “You’ve done a good job. You’ve acted your part well. God appreciates your good work. No one’s going to punish you. No one’s going to send you to hell. You won’t burn forever and ever. God wants you to return to him, and it’s time to return. It’s time for you to return to God and be rewarded.”
This went on for twenty minutes or so. I was essentially giving a sermon to the demon. Using Spence as a reference, I mentioned him, saying: “Spence is angry with me right now, but I love him anyway. He was a dark angel like you at one time. He saw the light, and this kind of transformation will work for you. I’m trying to help you here, and I want you to be smart enough to accept this help. Spence was smart enough to see the advantages of accepting this help, and I’m sure you’re as smart a man as Spence is.”
Then it said, “I’m not a man; I’m a girl.”
So I just replied: “Okay then, I’m sure you’re just as smart a lady.”
Eventually, I must have gotten to it on some level. It started crying and didn’t say anything. It just cried. That went on for a few minutes, and then Britt slumped over onto my shoulder. After a moment, she came up and was Brittany again. Of course, she was still mad at me. She turned toward the window and wouldn’t even look at me.
Finally we arrived home. It had been a grueling ordeal. I told Brittany how much I loved her. Curiously, she replied: “I didn’t think you did.” I finally convinced her everything was okay with us and we went upstairs after she told Mima hello.
I have had a number of encounters with the paranormal since first being introduced to the Patience Worth entity back in the seventies. However, I’d have to say that my ride on a lonely road with the hitchhiking demon has to rank at the top of the list for pure fear factor.
Isabella
After we got upstairs, Britt began playing with her hamster (which I had bought for her just a week earlier, partially at Spence’s insistence). Then she put the hamster (which she’d named Angel Mouse) back in its cage, sat on the bed, fell into a trance, and came out channeling a little girl named Isabella who said she’d died in 1895. It turned out that Isabella was the little girl in the yellow dress that had been released the night of the exorcism. Even though her spirit had been released, she had been with Brittany for a long time and Britt had the ability to call Isabella back, whom it turns out had a bit of a dark side.
Isabella’s visit was somewhat of a relief after my encounter that night with the hitchhiking demon. She wanted to play with the hamster, saying she had had one in her lifetime. Then she walked all about the upstairs, exploring, and marveling at the electrical gadgets. She played with the light switch and said they had electric lights in her day, but they weren’t very reliable. I finally had to ask her not to fiddle with the lights, or mine wouldn’t be much more reliable than the ones she was used to. She then went into the bathroom and gazed at herself in the mirror (like most teenagers do).
“She’s not very pretty,” she said, referring to Brittany.
“Well, I think she is.”
“You would. You’re her father. I killed my father,” she said matter-of-factly. “I murdered both my parents.”
I didn’t ask how. This really wasn’t a road I wanted to go down. I was also taken aback just a bit by her lack of remorse. But I plunged on with:
“You know they would forgive you now,” I told Isabella. “All that’s behind you. Maybe you were possessed by some kind of demon like Brittany.” I repeated that I was sure her parents had forgiven her.
“Oh yes, I know,” she said nonchalantly. “We ironed all that out.”
Standing in the upstairs bathroom, she decided to play with the light switch again. I told her it was getting pretty late and maybe she should let Brittany come back so she could go to bed. She was very reluctant to leave, but finally gave in. I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. Brittany came back very tired and eager to go to bed and call it a day.
This had been a very strange little evening.
Laurel’s perspective was that Brittany needed to get to the bottom of using surrogates to express her fears, anger, uncertainties, and frustrations. She suggested I explain to Britt that I still loved her even if she’d done something wrong and I had to correct her. She said there was “an awful lot of anger there that’s genuinely Brittany’s.” She was using these surrogates to process it. She said Britt needed to be able to express herself, even including saying things I’d otherwise find unacceptable. Laurel suggested that though the entities were genuine, Brittany wasn’t always as out of it as she and the entity might lead me to believe—at least on her subconscious level.
The Supposed “Good” Demon
Since Brittany was staying at my house after she came home from the hospital, she asked Sheila to let her come by her place and pick up some of her things. Sheila put us off for several weeks, unhappy, I suppose that the hospital had claimed she and Britt had issues they needed to work out. She even had the locks changed on her house, so we couldn’t get in during the day and get the things Brittany wanted.
Finally, the counselor at Agape told Sheila she was making things worse by not letting Brittany have her things. So we went to Sheila’s one night and picked up a carload of stuff. Sheila was extremely pleasant, showing Britt the new puppies her dog had had and talking a long time. Britt and I were also quite civil, and I thought everything had gone very well.
We got back to my house and brought in the stash of goodies. Mima was sitting on the sofa. Brittany said: “That was the acting job of my life. I am just exhausted”—insinuating that her friendliness to her mother was all an act. I had asked Britt to help me put some of her things up, but now it seemed that she was just too tired from her Oscar-winning performance.
“Well, I’m exhausted too,” I replied, “but we’ve got to get this stuff put up.” She bristled at my lack of concern as to the degree of her fatigue. So then she appeared to want to get into an argument about who was the most tired.
So as a seeming reaction to me telling her that she was no more exhausted than I, Brittany went into convulsions—shaking all over uncontrollably, eyes rolled back and head lulled over. Then she fell into the floor. I rushed to her, thinking one of the demons was coming back.
She began growling and hissing, so I go into my newly acquired minister mode and repeated the Unity benediction: “May the spirit of God surround us; may the love of God enfold us; may the power of God protect us; may the presence of God watch over us; wherever we are God is, and all is well.” I repeated this over and over, sometimes substituting “us” with “you,” so as to direct my chant more toward the demon.
The demon began speaking in some indecipherable language and looking at me like I was supposed to be able to respond to this. Naturally, I had no idea what it was saying.
After much wrangling, eventually Spence came through and said: “Get off of me, you big lummox.” He paused as I got up. “I just want you to know I’m still mad at you. And you also made a mistake here. That was a good demon, not a bad one.”
I asked how that could be. I’d never heard of a good demon; however, he pretty much ignored that particular entreaty. Then I said that it seemed to want to communicate, but I couldn’t understand the language it was speaking in.
“You need to learn more languages,” he responded.
So I’m thinking, How am I supposed to learn Demon Talk? I saw that as a very unrealistic suggestion.
I asked Laurel about the existence of so-called good demons.
“By definition, we don’t use the term demon to refer to someone who is good,” Laurel replied in a taped conversation. “So if this happens again, you might ask Spence, ‘Are you saying that it’s a good entity?’ And encourage him to take a neutral tone. Then talk about what makes this a good entity, and what message does this one seek to bring? If there’s helpfulness in it, certainly you want to hear it.
“Remember that powerful entities can seem scary simply because of the power factor. This may have been a powerful but not negative entity trying to speak as a new voice through her. Sometimes when a new voice comes through, it takes them a while to get the drill. Voices have come through me making sounds I wouldn’t have thought my throat could make.”
“It was hissing like a cat,” I said. “I told Spence this and asked him how I was supposed to react to something hissing at me.”
Laurel told me this episode might have arisen because I have “a strong reincarnational connection to the cat god, Baast,” and it may have been trying to communicate.
“You have an energy and a collection of past life experiences that is strong without being aggressive,” Laurel said. “This may have been a cat trying to come through and speak to you. If this happens again, just say, ‘In our language, hissing is considered a symbol of conflict. Is that what you mean? If that’s what you mean, let’s find a way to mutually communicate and express this.’”
Blood on the Floor
The last example of out-and-out demonic activity being channeled through Brittany during this early period happened one Sunday evening while I was sitting at the computer writing my weekly theatre review for the newspaper. Brittany was sitting on the floor watching television, and Mima was sitting on the sofa working one of her crossword puzzles.
I would write my reviews and then email them to the newspaper. I finished this one up and put it (I thought) in the “Mail Waiting to be Sent” file. Then I got up to do something else, came back, and got positioned to call the review up and send it off. But it was nowhere to be found. It hadn’t been saved. I freaked out! These reviews usually take about three hours to write, so I could see all that hard work going down the drain. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure there were a few profane expletives. I got up, did a bit of pacing, and tried to decide what to do. I hadn’t made a hard copy of the review, so it was just gone. I didn’t know how I could have been so stupid.
I was very angry with myself, but Brittany is such a hypersensitive person she seemed to perceive my anger as being directed at her. So I went into the kitchen to do a bit more yelling at myself. I rarely get mad, but when I do—my wailing and gnashing of teeth can be regretfully excessive. And, of course, it was obvious to Mima and Britt that I was going overboard.
As is true with most kids, Brittany knows a lot more about computers than I do. I felt like the review was perhaps in there somewhere, I just didn’t know how to find it. I asked her if she’d take a look and see if she could find it and was more than a bit dismayed by her lack of concern.
Brittany said to “calm down” and that she’d find it. I stopped baying at the moon and thanked her for her help.
But sure enough, she was no more successful than I was at finding it. I announced I’d “rewrite it tomorrow” and turned the computer off. Brittany got up and went into the kitchen.
As I got up from the computer, she came into the living room and sat on the arm of an easy chair. She had that glassy look on her face—the look I had come to dread. I told her I was sorry I had yelled and hugged her. She still had this glazed look. I asked if everything was alright.
“I’m not going to clean it up,” she said.
“Clean what up?” I asked.
“Just go in the kitchen and look,” she answered. “See for yourself. I’m not cleaning it up.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. I just thought maybe she had spilled something in the kitchen and for some reason was refusing to clean it up. But that vacant look was bothering me more than anything else. So I went into the kitchen to see what she was talking about. I looked all around and saw nothing. I then returned to the living room where Brittany was still sitting on the arm of the chair.
“There’s nothing in there. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I don’t see anything to clean up.”
“The blood,” she replied. “It’s all over the floor, all over the walls. I’m not cleaning it up.” I became alarmed at the mention of blood and was beginning to anticipate another episode.
“Okay, come with me,” I said. “Show me what you’re talking about.” We both returned to the kitchen.
“There, the blood. It’s everywhere,” she gestured. “I’m not cleaning it up.” She turned to go back into the living room. I stopped her, took her arm, and turned her to face me.
“Brittany, there is no blood anywhere,” I replied. “You’re seeing things. You need to snap out of this.” She just stared at me blankly. I was beginning to get a little scared. “Now come on back to me. You don’t need to go there. Let’s come back to reality.”
She cocked her head to one side and gave me that evil smirk of a grin I’d seen from demons on previous occasions. “Brittany’s not here,” it said.
“Hello, Sally!” I exclaimed. Now I have no idea where that Sally came from. I felt like I recognized this entity, and Sally is just the first thing that flew out of my mouth. Maybe it was just a sign of my exasperation at having to go through yet another episode. Brittany began making inarticulate growling noises, and her head started rolling back and forth as if it were in danger of becoming disengaged from her shoulders. I took her firmly by the shoulders as she began falling to the floor. She began writhing and rolling in the floor in a sort of exaggerated convulsion. I shouted for Mima to come and help me restrain her. My eighty-year-old mother had come to recognize what was going on and immediately got down on the floor with us to help hold Brittany down.
The struggle was similar to others we had experienced in the last two months but of shorter duration. I went into my ritual of reciting the Unity benediction, inviting the entity to return to the light and its rightful place with God. After ten to fifteen minutes of this, Spence popped in and told us he had everything under control.
“Where did that one come from and what caused all that?” I asked. He just said he didn’t know but that everything was alright now.
As was typical with Spence, he was hungry and thirsty. Claiming he’d been a baker in his life in Ireland, Spence/Brittany proceeded to make a concoction of corn flakes, melted butter, and sugar—which he hungrily wolfed down.
After Spence had satisfied his hunger, I suggested he let Brittany return since it was getting late. He volunteered to “walk her up the stairs,” since she’d be pretty exhausted from our little battle with the demon. He got her dressed for bed, crawled in, and finally, Britt returned. She asked what had happened, and I explained about the entire incident. By now she had come to accept these things as just a part of life, so she smiled, kissed me goodnight and went to sleep.
The Play, Spence, and Other Changes
The channeling was just a regular part of our lives, five or six times a day, for about two months. It abruptly ended about the middle of March.
I had written a play, which my theatre company was set to produce in May. I wasn’t supposed to direct the show, but as playwright and producer I’d need to be at auditions and nearly every rehearsal. So I asked Britt to be my personal assistant.
With her having all these unannounced channeling episodes, I couldn’t leave her alone with my mother at night. I was more than a bit worried that Britt would have one of her spells right in the middle of rehearsals, but there was just nothing I could do about that. So she was just going to have to be there with me where I could keep an eye on her.
At first she was very enthused about helping me and seemed grateful to be able to take part in the show, looking forward to it. During our two weekends of auditions, everything went great. Brittany did a terrific job in her position of playwright’s assistant and seemed to be having a really good time. I watched her closely, but she never seemed even close to a channeling bout.
Like the driving, I suppose her new position kept her too focused on the here and now to slip into other dimensions.
Then just about the time we got ready to begin rehearsals, Brittany lost interest in being my assistant. She had been despondent about not having a boyfriend, and it didn’t do any good for me to tell her that liking yourself was more important than having someone else like you—or that loving yourself is a necessity if any relationship is going to work out. At times, she almost seemed obsessed with talk of finding a new boyfriend.
Then she discovered this boy, Dave, who lived in the same condo complex we did. They seemed to really hit it off and started spending lots of time together after school was out. I was happy for Britt because this seemed to make her happy.
Of course now that she had someone to keep her occupied, she wasn’t so eager to go with me to rehearsals every night. She begged to be able to stay at home with her grandmother, but Mima just wouldn’t go along with that. It had only been a very short time since Brittany was frequently channeling—and it hadn’t been that long since we’d even been visited by the occasional demon. So like it or not, Britt was stuck with going to rehearsals with me. Her thoughts were elsewhere, though, and she abandoned my rehearsals for a friend’s play that was rehearsing down the hall from us. So much for my valuable assistant.
As time wore on for the next six to eight weeks, the new boyfriend became the most important thing in her universe. And except for an occasional visit from Spence, channeling and demonic possession faded into history.
During the first few weeks of rehearsals for my show, we were driving to the theatre one evening, and Brittany got that distant look in her eyes like she was about to go into a trance. I asked her how she felt and what was going on, and she said Spence wanted to come through. But she consciously seemed to be making an effort to remain in the here and now. I commented that that was probably wise at that particular time, since we were almost at the theatre. It might be difficult to explain Spence to the cast.
I didn’t hear any more from Spence until a few days after my play had closed. Then one night we were getting ready for bed. I sat on Britt’s bed to kiss her goodnight when I heard that familiar Irish brogue.
“It’s me you’d be kissin’, so I’d just as soon you didn’t,” Spence said.
“Hello, my friend. Listen, it’s bedtime,” I replied. “Could you possibly come back tomorrow during the day when we’d have more time?”
“I’ll take but a moment of your precious time,” he said a bit sarcastically.
But it turned out he really didn’t have anything earthshaking to say—only that we hadn’t talked in a long while, and he just wanted to see how I was doing and tell me he was keeping his eyes on Brittany. He also seemed very fond of the new boyfriend, Dave, and thought this was a wonderful thing for Britt. Of course, in his position as her advocate, I’d hardly have expected him to say anything else. Then he left, promising to come back in the next few days for a more extended visit. However, I didn’t hear from him again for over two months.
By early July, Britt had reconciled with her mother and had moved back in with her pretty much full time. This was a bit hard for me to handle at first, since Britt had told me she wanted to live with me full time. From mid-January till mid-April, Britt had been very antagonistic toward her mother. But then, around Easter time, things started thawing. I suppose I had become very protective of Brittany after the possession, exorcism, and subsequent channeling—and it was difficult to let her go. But I knew deep inside this was for the best. I knew she loved her mother and missed her, and I hoped they would be able to mend fences, because Britt needed her mother.
Also, by this time Britt and I hadn’t been getting along nearly as well—essentially since about the time Dave came onto the scene. Brittany had become quite rebellious concerning all things Dave. I had always been a very lenient-type parent (probably much too much so), but I did have a few rules. These were rules that Britt chose to not follow very well. So we ended up at cross-swords for really the first major time in her life. This is probably pretty common during the transition from childhood to adolescence, but it was hard on me—especially since we had been so close during those months following the possession.
After Britt returned to live at her mother’s, she also began attending church with Sheila. The congregation was a nondenominational, rather fundamentalist group—closer to the style of worship Sheila had grown up with before becoming an Episcopalian when she married me. The church was having a kind of summer revival, with a nationally recognized speaker or “prophet,” as they called him, leading the nightly services. Brittany was expected to attend these with her mother. As fate would have it, Spence also heard the prophet.
Britt had spent the day with me because Sheila had to work on Saturdays, and I was supposed to take her to the church at 6:30 p.m. to meet her mom. I had been invited, but respectfully declined.
Back at my house, Brittany had gone upstairs to take a shower. I could hear her up there playing her music and singing. Time for the service was fast approaching, so I called up to hurry her along. She came down the steps with an Irish twinkle in her eye.
“Don’t you be rushin’ me, now.”
“Spence?”
“I don’t know why I’m here, but I am,” he said shaking his head.
It seems Brittany had summoned him to be her surrogate at the church service. We chatted for a bit, then I said we’d better be going. Naturally, he headed for the kitchen saying he was hungry, as he always did. I had to steer him out the door or we’d be late. We arrived at the church, but Sheila wasn’t there yet. So we just sat in the car and talked while we waited.
He seemed to be unaware of what had been going on in Britt’s and my relationship. So I filled him in and expressed my concerns with her recent rejection of me, and her dramatic turn-around in embracing her mom. I was sincerely happy she had let her mom back into her life. She needed us both, but I found it confusing that she couldn’t seem to embrace both of us at the same time.
I think I was actually more comfortable dealing with demons.
Spence seemed to have no control over his being summoned to stand in as Brittany’s proxy at the revival. I asked him if he wasn’t supposed to be the one in charge, since he was the angel. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He just knew this was something he had to do to help Brittany. Still, he was in one of his grand moods, so we sat in the car making jokes. I remember one of his witticisms concerned returning to heaven after the service to report back to Jesus about how humans were handling his message down here now.
“I don’t think he’d like it much, the way they’ve turned his words around,” he said seriously. “He has a great sense of humor, you know, but I don’t think he’d find this too funny.”
Finally Sheila arrived. I let Britt/Spence out, and they went into the church. I asked her later if she remembered any of the service, and she said no. I also asked if her mother ever caught on that it was Spence sitting next to her and not Brittany. She replied that Spence could “do her accent” so that no one would be the wiser.
I had seen that happen once at my house. Spence was pulling the control switches for Britt, when the phone rang. I answered, and it was one of Brittany’s friends. Spence took the phone.
“I can handle it,” the Irishman said. “Watch this.”
So he began talking to Britt’s friend in her voice and accent. He kept giving me looks like he didn’t have a clue as to what the little girl on the other end was talking about, but he was very polite to her, using only very short answers and responses. He seemed to be trying to get off the phone as quickly as possible. So I suppose that’s the way it went that night in church. Short answers and lots of smiles.
Werewolves at the Campsite
Britt did return to stay with me for a few nights to go on a brief camping trip with McCartney to Montgomery Bell State Park near Dickson, Tennessee.
As Brittany, McCartney, and I were erecting our tent and other campsite paraphernalia about three p.m., Britt got this panicky look on her face and dropped the box she was carrying from the car. She said she’d seen an ominous dark shadow approaching us but wouldn’t really elaborate.
Britt started rushing around, making crosses and pentagrams in the dirt around out campsite. She never really explained this action, but after a few minutes everything seemed fine and we got back to the business of setting up camp and enjoying our vacation. Then that night, after returning from a bit of fishing and dinner at the park’s inn/restaurant, we turned in early and called it a day.
It’s common for me to awaken four to seven times during the night due to chronic insomnia. I go to the bathroom; I go back to sleep. Although I was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the ground in a tent, my nightly ritual would not be deterred.
But this night there was an unexpected twist. Every time I awakened, I’d get out of the sleeping bag, go to the camp restroom, and come back—but I thought I kept hearing a dog growling. It sounded like he was about ten feet away, following me to the restroom, then back to the tent. Then the mutt seemed to lurk outside the tent as I curled back into the sleeping bag. I could hear it rustling the leaves on the other side of the canvas wall.
But I never saw anything. Now I just assumed that one of the other campers had brought their dog, and he was wandering the campgrounds.
I was a bit unnerved by being growled at, but it didn’t scare me. Dogs growl. Leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone. I didn’t even think it was worth mentioning to the kids the next morning.
The next day was filled with fishing and swimming, and the kids seemed to be having a great time. We built a fire that night, cooked out, and then got ready to turn in. The campsite had been put in order, and the three of us were just about to enter the tent when Britt stopped in her tracks.
“Don’t move,” she said.
“What is it?” I asked. She had that panicky look on her face I’d grown all too familiar with. Mac was tense.
“There are wolves all around us. Can’t you see them? Can’t you hear them?” Well of course we couldn’t. This was obviously one of those psychic things that Mac and I weren’t privy to.
But Brittany insisted that there was a pack of wolves encircling us. They were all growling and snarling except for the leader of the pack. Brittany said the leader was a white wolf and a female. It came up to her wanting to be petted. Britt leaned over and stroked the thin air at about the height where a very large dog might have been.
“It’s okay,” Britt said. “She likes me. She won’t let the others bother us.” So not really knowing what else to do, I reached over to pet the wolf too. However, Brittany told me I was standing on her tail. Ah, well.
The next morning we found a notice tacked to the bulletin board in the washhouse saying there would be a film and lecture in the park that week about the legend of “werewolves” in Montgomery Bell State Park. None of us had ever heard about such a legend before.
We all jumped into the car and rushed down to the park office to find out about the werewolf legend. The lady at the information desk seemed to know very little about it, and the person who did was on vacation. However, if we’d just attend the film on Thursday evening, we’d learn all about it. Naturally we had to leave on Tuesday to get Britt back to her summer job. However, Mac and I drove all the way back to Montgomery Bell that Thursday night to learn about the werewolf.
Turned out “werewolf” is just a term the locals used for the creatures many people swear they’ve seen in the area of the park—including wealthy nineteenth-century industrialist Montgomery Bell himself. Actually, the animal appears to be more along the lines of a Sasquatch or Bigfoot. An apelike, hairy humanoid. However, unlike the sightings of the meek vegetarian Sasquatch in other areas, this version seems to be carnivorous. The pack or tribe had often attacked livestock. Many cows and sheep had disappeared. Montgomery Bell himself claimed to have witnessed a man killed by the beast.
Whether there is any connection between Brittany’s ghostly pack of wolves and the area’s legendary werewolf, I cannot say.
Laurel’s Final Take on Britt’s Situation
“I don’t sense a continued demonic presence in Brittany,” Laurel surmised about eight months after the exorcism. “She may be calling other entities when she needs them—times when she feels she doesn’t know what to say or how to deal with things and feels some other being would do the job that she wants done better than her: such as making you afraid to argue with her.
“This is on the unconscious level, not the conscious Brittany. Now she must allow this on some level. They can’t operate through her unless she allows it on some level, even to the extent that she might be just too afraid not to allow it. People can be so scared that they’re sometimes afraid to claim their strength, and they just let things happen.
“I take responsibility for deciding who speaks through me,” Laurel continued. “Sometimes they do just ‘bop in’ as they do for Brittany. But if I say, ‘Everybody out!’ then they all have to get out. I’m hoping Brittany will embrace that concept and use it.”
Laurel volunteered to teach Britt the ins and outs of psychic management, and I was looking forward to their first lesson.