Transference of Spirit …a Modern Case of Demonic Possession Part 1

“Will you look into it, Martin? It’s a bad business—that’s all I can tell you.”

Bishop Weirton was clearly agitated and flustered that the arch-diocesan team wouldn’t touch a matter he was convinced came straight from the pit of hell.

Apparently, a local priest met with the bishop regarding one of his parishioners—a retired plumber.

The man had been trying with no success to shake his nicotine habit, so his wife suggested hypnotherapy.

The man attended several sessions.

His tobacco addiction was totally cured, but his identity affected. He underwent such a radical change that his wife was terrified.

The family doctor was mystified and suggested there was a possible spiritual cause.

That’s as much as I knew.

I knew the Bishop suspected it was the devil’s playground.

I believe in demonization—but, I also believe it’s a rare occurrence. The devil isn’t hiding behind every lamppost ready to leap out on the unaware.

But denying a gun is loaded also doesn’t make it so.

In my practice, I have encountered malevolent entities and rather than endure their stare, I’d prefer taking my chances with that loaded gun.

The Malone’s lived on a quiet, tree-shaded crescent in Burlington—a small city just west of Toronto.

Hardly the setting for an exorcism, I mused, as I drove into the long, narrow drive.

Bernadette Malone, a curly haired, attractive woman in her mid-fifties, greeted me at the door.

"Good morning, Dr. Wallace. I'm so glad you've come. Hopefully you can throw some light on this troubling situation."

The family dog, Trig, a tri-colored Australian Shepherd, licked my hand and followed us into the cozy front room.

It was as perfect a scene of domestic bliss as I could possibly encounter. Bernadette served tea and chatted amiably.

When I asked after her husband, her mood abruptly changed—even the dog got restless and began panting and pacing.

“He’s not Frank—he’s a stranger in his shape.”

“What makes you say that, Mrs. Malone?”

“For one thing, Trig bristles whenever he comes near—and he was totally devoted to Frank—used to sit at his feet for hours.”

“What else?”

“He doesn’t respond to his name. I thought at first his hearing was going—then, I thought dementia—but, Dr. Willett, our family doctor, has ruled out that. He says, Frank’s mentally competent.”

“What’s the doctor’s diagnosis?”

“He’s known Frank for twenty years. He knows he’s not himself, but whatever Frank said to him, he’s convinced that there’s a spiritual root to the problem.”

“Did he mention the possibility of spiritual delusions?”

She shook her head, “he didn’t quite go that far—but he was troubled and suggested I speak to Father Stock, our local parish priest. The poor priest was baffled and contacted the Bishop.”

It was at that moment I felt a familiar chill pass through me and I knew a shadow had fallen across this couple’s lives.

I had been in similar situations before and I recognized the telltale signs. It’s almost impossible to convey in words, especially to the uninitiated, except to say that spiritual things are spiritually discerned.

It wasn’t enough merely to be a trained psychiatrist—these types of cases required the ability to discern spirits and the ability to bind and cast out—quaint notions to some of my colleagues, but they would be the very ones to jest at scars that never felt a wound.

I had seen therapists panic and flee from a room when the darkness began gathering.

I sensed the presence of alien entities within the very walls of the house. They had come to occupy and would not easily be displaced.

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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