Durand Sarah - Sister of darkness: the chronicles of a modern exorcist

I hate answering my phone after midnight. Like, I really cant stand it, and its not because Im worried someone I love has just died. I know a late-night call means Ive got to go to work, and the job is going to be a tough one. Im an exorcist, so I know very intimately what comes out at night, after most people go to bed. Trust me, a lot of it is pretty scary, and if youre calling me in the wee hours, youre probably face-to-face with something infinitely more terrible than youve ever seen before.

Thats why, when my cell started ringing one night last year, waking me from a deep sleep, I didnt even think about letting the call go to voicemail. Somebody needed me, and they couldnt wait. When I answered, the woman on the other end of the line introduced herself as a friend of a friend, and as she continued, I could hear how scared she was.

Somethings wrong with my daughter, she whispered frantically, and I think youre my last hope. My girls not eating. Shes always been such a happy child, so friendly to everyone, but now shes withdrawn. Weve always been so close, but now she wont even tell me whats wrong. She wont tell me anything. She paused to take a breath, and when she next spoke I could hear her voice crack. Shes like a different child than the one I gave birth to.

I was half-asleep, but I knew what I needed to do next.

Im sure I can help. How old is your daughter?

Shes only ten. Shes still so young. But Im sure shes possessed. Somethings taken her over.

Im used to calls like this, though they usually dont come after midnight (thank God). People contact me and tell me theyve started binge drinking after years of being sober, and they cant figure out why or summon the willpower to stop. Or their marriage has turned toxic and abusive, yet they cant work up the nerve to leave. Women call me, sobbing, and say that theyve been trying for years to get pregnant, and their doctors have told them to just give up and move on. Or musicians come to me complaining that theyve frozen up, lost their inspiration, and are terrified to get on the stage for a huge performance. Each of these people feels fundamentally altered, like theyre being pulled down by 100-pound weights or have the worlds worst case of the flu. They may even look differentolder and exhausted, with bags under their eyes and joints that have begun to ache and crack. Theyve spent thousands of dollars seeing therapists, whove listened to them patiently but come up with no workable solutions. Or theyve gone to doctor after doctor, and all have sent them away, saying, You dont have a disease or infection. Theres nothing actually wrong with you. They may have visited an energy healer, or gone to confession to try to find some peace. But when these outlets inevitably fail, my clients start to worry that theyre losing their minds. They imagine something sinister and awful has invaded the deepest part of their being. Yet how could that possibly be? People dont get invaded. Voodoo dolls and evils spells arent real, are they?

The truth is that something has taken over these totally normal, sane individuals. What I call an entityand what people throughout history have called a demonhas attached itself or burrowed into their bodies, and now its feeding off of them. Its living off their fears, depressions, anxieties, and a host of other negative energies and emotions. They may have had this entity with them for ten years or ten days, but its interfering with their lives, and until its gone things arent going to get better. Until they find me, they dont know that Im probably the only person in the world who can identify their problem and make it disappear.

No, Im not the Queen of the Damned or a Goddess in Black Leather Pants. (I save the leather pants for special occasions.) Im just Rachel Stavis, the exorcist next door.

I normally dont ask clients to come over at night. Im not lazy; its just that battling entities is hard, exhausting work, and if Im not well rested, it can be tough to summon enough mental and spiritual energy to fight the way I need to. But I consider a child in peril a true emergency, so I push myself to get to work no matter how late it is.

Please, I said to the mother on the phone, drive here as soon as you can. Not tomorrow. Get over here right now.

About an hour later, I watched a blue minivan pull up to my house in the Valley. For those of you not familiar with Southern California, the Valley is shorthand for the San Fernando Valley, the sprawling patch of former orange groves just north of Los Angeles thats home to everything from the Warner Bros. lot to 99 percent of the U.S. porn industry. I could see a middle-aged woman lifting a sleeping girl out of the vans back seat, so I rushed out and met them, then walked with them to the guest cottage in my backyard.

Im glad you made it so quickly, I said. Please, come inside.

The little girl opened her eyes, looked at me, then burrowed her head into the crook of her moms shoulder. Even though Id just barely caught a glimpse of her face, I could see how vacant her big, brown eyes were. The child who I was sure had gone to school and played happily with her friends for ten years wasnt quite there; her expression looked cloudy, almost blurry. Worse, she had something around her that only I could see: a dark puff of smoke encircling her face and head, so close it was as if it were part of her.

With her child still in her arms, the mom sat down on the big, plush couch Id situated near the French doors that divided the front of my cottage from the room in the back. That space is my Spirit Room, where I perform all my exorcisms and do all my spiritual work. When the mom finally pulled her daughter away from her own body and shifted her just to her left, my concern for the girl doubled. Part of me even worried whether Id be able to help her. Shes so terrified and closed off, I thought. Is she going to be willing enough for this exorcism to work? The little girl still couldnt look me in the eyes, and as her mom reached toward her, she pulled away and clasped her hands between her knees.

The mom started speaking slowly, her voice shaky and soft. This isnt all that unusual; people often think they have to whisper near my Spirit Room, perhaps because its such a calming place, with the lights low and candles flickering. Or maybe theyre just worried about who might be listening, telling themselves, If Im quiet enough, the entities wont hear what Im about to say.

When my daughter first stopped eating, we saw a few doctors and a psychiatrist. They didnt help. She started to choke up. Then she showed me cuts and bruises on her body and swore up and down she had no idea where theyd come from. Made-up words and symbolsthings that didnt make any senseappeared on her arms and legs, and then she started talking about seeing demons. The woman was crying at this point, and I reached for a box of tissues as she continued. Here, Ill have her show you.

The mother gently coaxed her daughter to stand up, whispering softly to her as the little girl raised up her shirt and turned around. Good God, this breaks my heart, I thought, eyeing the red Xs that were carved into her back. The wounds werent deepthey looked like cat scratches rather than gashesbut they were unmistakable to me. An entity did that. To an innocent child.

Were religious, the mom said when her daughter returned to her side. So when we suspected something was wrong, we talked to our priest. It started just as a friendly meeting, for counsel and prayer, like I had before I got married or after my father died. But pretty soon it turned into something different.