The Dark Sacrament Read online

  One wonders where it went afterward, if it had indeed obeyed the command of the exorcist and returned to its “own place.” Or if, once loose again, it felt free to roam. If perhaps, at some later date, another poor, unsuspecting individual, whether by chance or design, placed a planchette on a Ouija board—or a finger on an upturned glass—and in so doing gave refuge to the demon that called itself Dubois.

  THE BOY WHO COMMUNES WITH DEMONS

  When Gary Lyttle was ten years old, he met the Devil. To be sure, the Devil did not introduce himself as such, and the boy was too young to recognize him for what he was. Satan, the fallen angel of Revelation, is believed to come in many guises, assuming many names. Most churchmen hold that the Devil, the Adversary, presides over a host of lesser demons, and that each demon has its own diabolical attributes, its own means of corrupting souls. Whatever the truth, the following is an account of how an evil entity appears to have gained a foothold in a young boy’s life.

  Gary lives in a sleepy town in County Donegal. Not much happens there, which is no bad thing. There are no murders, rapes, or random acts of cruelty and mayhem. Senior citizens do not feel threatened, and the police are rarely called upon to investigate serious crime. The other side of the coin is that the town has little to offer an adolescent boy who craves excitement in his life.

  In the spring of 2004, Gary was making his way home from school. As usual, he took a shortcut that follows an unpaved footpath, cutting under a bridge and leading along a small river, before joining another road. The path is in frequent use—by schoolchildren, young lovers, and the occasional angler trying his luck at the bream and carp that can still be found in the river, despite the light pollution generated by a chemical plant some four miles upstream.

  Gary does not know why he chose to venture away from his customary route homeward, but had the distinct impression that something was “telling” him to leave the track and inspect a sandy patch of earth and undergrowth. There were objects strewn there, many unfamiliar. The fifth-grader thought at once of “treasure.” Not treasure in the sense of booty, though—more the sort that enriches a boy’s imagination. But a quick examination told him that he had chanced upon an illicit waste dump. It was not unlike the rubbish to be found in much of rural Ireland: broken household appliances, old shoes, items of clothing, and other detritus dumped by the inconsiderate. Somebody had buried the lot, but it seemed that another had tried to dig it all up again. It might also have been a scavenging dog, lured by an odor still clinging to a cooking utensil. Gary was disappointed.

  Until, that is, his eye was drawn to what appeared to be a large rectangle of wood—a slim panel—half buried in the ground. He shrugged off his schoolbag and hunkered down to inspect his find. He frowned. It resembled some kind of household ornament, a picture done on wood. But it might equally well be a board game, he thought—one of the old-fashioned kind he had seen in a friend’s house. He tugged at the panel and it came loose.

  Gary was thrilled. It was a Ouija board. This he knew because he had seen them in movies. He recognized it by the arrangement of numerals and letters, the words yes and no. It seemed to be very old and was decorated with engravings. There was a sun and a moon, both drawn “with funny faces.” At the bottom of the board, to the left and right of the word goodbye, were “dark ladies.” “There were two black babies floating behind them,” Gary says, “and angels with wings.”

  The boy is unclear as to what happened when he pulled the board free of the earth. He claims that something “flew up in the air.” But the object refused to obey the laws of physics; instead of falling to earth at once like a tossed stone, it remained suspended in the air for a few moments before floating gently down and settling on the board.

  The object turned out to be the planchette, or pointer, belonging to the Ouija. It was made of the same wood as the board and shaped like a triangle with rounded apexes. There was a circle of clear glass in the center. Gary picked it up and wiped away the soil.

  He returned his attention to the Ouija board, laying it flat on the ground. Carefully, he cleaned it of all traces of dirt, intending to bring it home with him in his schoolbag—if it would fit, that is. He glanced about him. He was alone by the river. By this time, all the other stragglers from school had disappeared; there was no sign even of a hopeful angler.

  Then, without warning, as Gary sat innocently gazing at the board, something incredible occurred. He experienced what can only be called “a vision.” In the earth beneath his feet he felt a violent tremor. When it ceased, he heard voices: men and women’s voices moaning and shrieking under the ground. Some were crying out. “They were all shouting something like ‘bim eye ah,’” Gary says. “Or it could have been ‘bam eye ah.’ I didn’t know what it meant.”

  The boy was terrified and attempted to get up but instead was thrown back into a sitting position. He was being held captive for a reason. Slowly, the ground in front of him began to open up, and Gary found himself on the rim of an enormous cavernlike space. Down in its depths he saw a throne. There was a figure seated upon it, but Gary insists that “it wasn’t the Devil,” that it was an entity that would make itself known to him by and by.

  But his attention at that moment was not on the enthroned figure, for from all parts of that great cavern, beings with wings began to rise. He identifies them as “demons.” They were flying up toward him, hundreds of them. Even at that great distance, the boy could make out their eyes; all seemed to be focused on him, as though a signal had been given and all were launching themselves simultaneously into the attack.

  It was an apocalyptic vision such as those experienced by mystics throughout history. In 1550, St. Teresa of Ávila (1515–82) recorded a scene displaying many similarities. No one can say with certainty where such visions emanate from—whether they are a by-product of our upbringing or memories of illustrations seen in sacred books, stained-glass windows, and the like. Or even, in Gary’s case, images recalled from straight-to-video horror movies.

  The last explanation would be perhaps the most obvious and plausible, were it not rendered null and void by what was to happen later that day. Gary tells how he recovered from his “trance,” seeming to reawaken many minutes later in the same spot. There was no longer a fissure in the earth, no more moans and shrieks from souls in torment. There was only the Ouija board, lying where he had dropped it, amid the illegally dumped household garbage. He picked up his schoolbag and took to his heels, running home as fast as he could.

  This is Gary’s version of events. He is supposed to have fled the scene, leaving the board behind. But, as his account progresses, so also does the likelihood increase that he either took the Ouija board with him or concealed it by the river.

  Gary arrived home in great distress, according to his mother, Jessica. He went upstairs to his room, and when he came down again a half hour later, he was still nervous.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s nothing, Gary. You’re white as a sheet.”

  She had a thought. “Were you fighting with somebody? Is that it?” She inspected his face for bruises. It would not be the first time he had come home from school bearing the scars of “battle.” Nothing serious; simply boyish exuberance. “Did somebody pick on you?”

  “No. I’m going to do my homework.”

  He left the kitchen and she heard him climbing the stairs again. She was shaking her head in resignation when she heard a scream. It was so shrill and so unexpected that she hardly recognized it as having come from her own son.

  She found Gary halfway up the stairs. He was gripping the rail as if his fingers were welded to it and staring open-mouthed. She had never before seen him look so terrified. Kelly, her eight-year-old daughter, was immediately at her side.

  “Gary?” she called out.

  But Gary seemed unaware of her presence. His eyes were directed at something at the top of the stairs. Whatever it was he
was seeing, it was frightening him to such an extent that he could not move.

  “What is it, Gary?” she asked again.

  But he shook his head, refusing to answer.

  His young sister giggled. Gary turned at the sound and fixed the girl with a look that Jessica had never seen before—at least, not in Gary. It was a look that took her back to the bad old days of her failed marriage, when her “differences” with her husband had become truly irreconcilable. It was a look of hatred and contempt, and it had no place on the features of a ten-year-old boy. She hardly recognized her own son.

  Jessica is quick to point out that, in the past, Gary never gave her cause for concern. She was forever thankful that he had turned out so well, so “normal.” To meet him is to confirm this seeming normality.

  There is very little about Gary’s appearance or demeanor that marks him as unorthodox, or even unusual; one could pass him in the street without a second glance. He is of average height, with green eyes and tightly cropped black hair. Already there is the promise of his growing into a handsome and athletic young man. He shares the interests of most seventh-graders. He enjoys football, is developing a liking for rock music, plays computer games, and watches DVDs whenever he can. Of the last, his tastes lean toward science fiction, as well as the gory and macabre—in his own words: “scary movies.” Also in this respect he is no different from so many preteen boys.

  For these reasons, Jessica had never considered her elder child “a worry.” She was grateful that he had avoided bad company, had never been in trouble with his teachers; and there had likewise been no visits by police to report a misdemeanor—as was often the case with young boys in their housing development. Gary was turning out to be a model son; Jessica was proud of him, and not a little proud of herself too, for having done such a fine job in rearing him.

  Now he seemed so different; she felt she no longer knew him. She glanced from one child to the other. Without knowing why, she took little Kelly roughly by the hand and rushed her back to the kitchen. Gary had frightened her, filled her with an inexplicable and nameless fear.

  The little household fell back into its everyday routine. One week following the incident, Jessica had forgotten it, and Gary seemed to be his old self again. It was with great surprise, then, when Jessica heard the commotion from upstairs.

  “Get the f*** out of here, Kelly! Get out or you’re dead!”

  She hurried up the stairs. On the landing, her younger child stood with tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She was nursing her left arm.

  “What on earth…?”

  “Gary twisted my arm,” Kelly wailed. “He hurt me.”

  She found Gary in his room, sitting on his bed with his headphones on. He looked at her without interest. She raised her voice. He seemed to be defying her. She went to the bed. Gary must have sensed her fury because he snatched off the headphones. She could hear faintly the upper registers of a heavy-metal power solo.

  “Did you hurt your sister? Did you twist Kelly’s arm?”

  “No.” More defiance.

  “She says you did.” Jessica was unaccustomed to lies from her children. “What’s going on, Gary?”

  “Nothing.”

  She hauled him from the bed and marched him to the landing where Kelly still stood, tearful and nervous.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “She was annoying me.”

  “How, annoying you? She’s never annoyed you before.”

  This was true. The two got on exceptionally well. The incident was a new development and Jessica did not like it one bit.

  “Tell her you’re sorry.”

  “I’m…er, sorry, Kelly.”

  Kelly did not seem convinced. She was looking at her brother with something close to fear.

  “Tell her it’ll never happen again.”

  “It’ll-never-happen-again.”

  But it did. Two days later Jessica heard another commotion from upstairs, and more wailing from Kelly. This time, Gary had punched her, almost dislodging the last of her baby teeth. It was about to come out anyway, and Kelly was expecting a bigger reward than ever from the tooth fairy. Instead she got this.

  “What has gotten into you?!” Jessica screamed at her son.

  As before, he glared at her in defiance. She lost her temper and did something which she seldom had to resort to. She slapped him hard across the face.

  What next occurred astonished Jessica. Gary pulled back his fist and made as if to hit her. His face was dark with anger. She was genuinely frightened of him.

  But the moment passed quickly. Gary relaxed and seemed to revert to his usual affable self.

  It was a false dawn. The next morning at breakfast, Gary suddenly convulsed. In front of his startled mother and sister, he fell from his stool and onto the hard kitchen tiles. His limbs began to jerk violently, writhing and twisting like those of an upturned bug seeking to right itself. Within moments, the fit subsided and the boy went rigid, as though paralyzed; his eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling. He looked terrified.

  “Gary!”

  Jessica bent over him, cradling his head in the crook of an arm. His eyes were still open and staring; they seemed to be glazed over. She gently slapped his cheek. There was no response.

  “Is he dead, Mommy?”

  “Run next door to Mrs. Sharkey, will you, Kelly? Ask her to come quick.”

  The neighbor was there within seconds and was startled to see Jessica attempting to bring Gary around. There was no change in him.

  “Has he fainted?”

  “Yes. Can you call Dr. Flynn, Carmel?” Jessica pleaded. “Say it’s urgent.”

  When the doctor arrived some thirty minutes later, there was still no change in Gary. He was reluctant to move the boy, fearing that any sudden motion might trigger a fresh seizure. At last he removed his stethoscope and turned to Jessica.

  “I’ll have to send him in for tests, Mrs. Lyttle.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. It could be a mild form of epilepsy, but it’s too early to say. We’ll know when we get him to the hospital.” He looked at his watch. “My brother-in-law is the neurologist there. I’ll call him now and make sure he’s there to take the lad as soon as he arrives.”

  That day, Gary was subjected to a series of tests. They included a blood test to search for low blood sugar or even diabetes. The neurologist ruled out both. He considered the possibility that the boy might have a weak heart, but a cardiogram showed otherwise. Gary had a robust constitution.

  There remained the final possibility: epilepsy. Jessica was truly alarmed by the prospect. Even though she knew very little about the affliction, she understood the dreadful implications. He was just a child; what sort of a future would he have? It was too hard to even think about.

  There are two principal factors that can trigger epilepsy: it can be inherited or can result from brain dysfunction, commonly called a seizure. As far as Jessica knew, there was no history of epilepsy in her family; and it was likewise unknown in her ex-husband’s line.

  The neurologist ordered an electroencephalogram (EEG). If there were patterns of abnormal electrical activity in the brain—epileptiform abnormalities and the like—then epilepsy was a distinct possibility. The scan, however, revealed no such irregularities; the boy’s brain was completely sound. An epileptic fit is usually of short duration, on average five minutes. Gary’s lasted almost an hour. Epilepsy was therefore ruled out.

  When he was discharged the following day, no one was any the wiser as to what had happened to him in the kitchen. He himself had very little memory of the seizure. All he could call to mind was being seized by a great fear. Then he blacked out, to regain consciousness in the hospital. He thought of it as a great adventure—especially the brain scan. He had likened the huge machine to something he had seen in an episode of Star Trek.

  “Like the Borg were experimenting on me,” he told his mother excitedly.


  “If you say so, darling. You just try to rest now.”

  Understandably, Jessica was beside herself with worry. She suspected that something was terribly amiss with her son but could not even guess at the cause. Her thoughts returned to that day, two weeks earlier, when she found him seemingly in a trance, halfway up the stairs. She was not satisfied with the explanations he had given; she wished to learn the truth.

  She waited until Gary had recovered from his ordeal and was back to normal—insofar as she could ascertain. School was out of the question; he would not return for another two weeks, on Dr. Flynn’s orders.

  “Gary,” she began, “we have to talk, you and me.”

  She switched off the television, much to Kelly’s annoyance. The little girl slunk off to her room.

  “Gary, I want to know what happened that day—the day you saw something on the stairs. Would you like to tell me now?”

  “It wasn’t anything.”

  “Yes, it was. And I want to know what it was. When they were treating you at the hospital, Dr. Flynn asked me if you’d had this sort of thing before, and I told him about that day. He says the two things must have something to do with each other. Now, have they?”

  Gary shrugged, unable to meet his mother’s eye. She pressed on.

  “Kelly says you have a new friend. Is that true?”

  “Yes. And it’s none of her business.”

  “Is that why you were fighting with her? That wasn’t nice. You never used to fight with Kelly.” She sat down next to him. “Who is this boy? Do I know him?”

  “What boy?” Gary asked, in seeming innocence.

  “Your new friend!”

  “He’s not a boy. He’s a man.”

  Jessica swallowed hard. This was the last thing she wished to hear. Only that week there had been extensive media coverage of a child-abuse scandal in England. Thoughts of how an adult could manipulate a child—she remembered they called it “grooming”—were still strong in her mind. The reports had alerted her to the vulnerability of children; that it could happen to anybody’s kids. Even hers.