Dear Lord, I confess my sins to both the world and unto you.
I’m sorry for not accepting the forgiveness that you offer. I don’t have it within me to forgive myself and by the nonacceptance of your gift of salvation, I have willingly turned myself away from you.
I accept the punishment that only you can so perfectly deliver and I pray that I find solace in that most blessed moment of judgment.
Thank you Lord for all that you have given us and all that we have received.
Amen.
Dear Listener,
I also must extend my apologies onto you. Whether or not you chose to continue reading this does not alter what is to come. I have made a choice that I will be judged for. In turn I pray for not my salvation, but yours.
My name is Father Michael Roberts of the Diocese of Richford. I was ordained a Catholic Priest in 2005. In 2016 I was chosen by Bishop Stanley Niles to receive the duty of becoming a full time exorcist.
Bishop Niles made it clear that he did not believe in the necessity of exorcists and provided me with the title as a mere obligation to fulfill his duty as a Bishop.
Despite knowing that I had always performed my duties to the best of my ability. I knew that I was chosen due to my belief in the physical, mental and spiritual reality of demonic involvement within our world.
Contrary to popular belief, not every Priest believes in the physical reality of the demonic. In fact, less and less of those ordained by the Church are finding the literary truth that resides within the Bible.
This has led to a weakening of the Church.
During an exorcism, an exorcist utilizes not just the faith of those immediately involved, but he also uses the faith of the Church in its entirety.
My mentor, Father Cecil Rollo, told me once that exorcisms used to only take one or two sessions before the demon would be cast out. Now it’s not uncommon for a possession to take months to overcome.
That leads me into sharing the experience that made me write this.
My final exorcism.
On May 3rd I was contacted by the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd. Specifically by their secretary, Laura Summers. Initially, I thought this was a little abnormal. Usually I would be contacted by either the presiding Priest of the parish or have a direct notice from Bishop Niles himself.
But when I read Laura’s email I understood why she was the one initiating the contact.
‘Father Roberts, my name is Laura Summers and I’m attempting to contact you in regards to our own Father, Matthew Amora.
Please take this request as a personal favor. We don’t want to bring this matter to the attention of the Diocese just yet. Not until we’re certain that something otherworldly is occurring.
Could you take some time to visit our Church and meet with me?
With regards, Laura.’
I vaguely knew of Father Amora. He had a small parish in the countryside of Beverly and frequented Catholic retreats with his flock. All I knew about him was that he was a very studious servant of the Lord and lived a quiet, uneventful life.
I told Laura I would make the trip out to Good Shepherd and speak with her.
It took a few days before I had the time in my schedule to make the trip. I kept up with Laura daily just to make sure Father Amora’s condition hadn’t gotten any worse.
On May 10th I arrived outside of the venerable Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd.
The skies overhead had grown gray and heavy, the rolling winds overhead shifted the darkened shapes of the rain clouds into upheaval. I knew a downpour would have come at any moment.
I reached into the back seat of my beaten down sedan to look for my umbrella. My fingers clasped onto the thin metal rod of its handle and I took it with me. I stepped out of my car and unfurled my canopy just in time.
The rain erupted from the heavens overhead and filled the entire courtyard in heavy drops. The endless thudding of innumerable raindrops cascaded their way into my eardrums from every direction.
I double checked myself to make sure I had my rosary with me. It was the greatest spiritual weapon I had in my arsenal and I always carried it with me during my duties. Anything to make the demonic uncomfortable.
I squinted my eyes through the heavy rain and made my journey down the cobblestone walkway that led up to the aged Romanesque stone church.
Through the never ending hiss of the rain, I could scarcely make out the gentle, frail voice of a young woman.
“Father Roberts?” She called out. Her voice was strained. I could tell that she was unaccustomed to loud verbal interactions.
“That would be me. I’ll assume you’re Laura?” I yelled back out to her. The water of the rain funneled off the hood of my umbrella in thick streams.
The woman nodded and waved her hands for me to approach. Behind her lay a large, oaken door that led into the Church. With an unusual amount of effort, the woman propped open the door for me.
“Please step inside Father. We’ll get you dried off.” I gave a thin lipped smile towards the woman before stepping inside the belly of the building.
It would be my first time seeing the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd in Beverly. It was beautiful. Old, but beautiful.
Massive stone architectural works towered over us with large rounded arches. Tremendous pillars of brickwork stood lining the interior of the foyer while small stained glass windows reflected multicolored light down its empty halls.
Even the noise of the rain had silenced itself in this house of the Lord. The vibrations of thunder had been the only remnants from the storm outside. And once the heavy wooden door was closed behind me, the only noise that remained was the labored sounds of Laura’s breath.
“I’m sorry for calling you here Father. I really wish I didn’t have too. But we’ve just been noticing a change in Father Amora and we’ve been worried about him.” Laura avoided meeting her eyes with mine.
I took a mental note of that. A clerical secretary scared of a Priest is an oddity. I had an inkling that something more was happening.
“Please, don’t apologize. I’m here on my own time, just like you asked.”
Laura quickly chimed in, “Did you tell anyone you were here?”
“No. Not even Bishop Niles. However, if I come to the determination that a demonic entity is possessing or oppressing anyone in here, I will have to inform him.”
Laura stood still. Her eyes examined the well worn stone flooring of the church.
“I see. I pray it doesn’t have to come to that. Father Amora is a good man. I don’t want him being transferred over to another parish.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now. Tell me, what have you been experiencing here?”
Laura let out a long heavy sigh.“It started with small things. Father Amora would keep complaining that he was always tired and when we brought him food he just couldn’t keep it down. We were worried he was getting sick. But then he began to… get vindictive.”
“How so?” I asked, wiping off some of the rain from my suit.
“It started with having a short temper during mass. He would give out the Eucharist with no sense of veneration. A few times he even allowed the Eucharist to be dropped on the floor.” She paused in silent thought before she continued, “You know, that was one of the last times I saw him smile.”
“I see.” A desecration to the sacraments once more was a good sign of a demonic presence within the area. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, and I know this is going to sound strange, but while talking with him, it’s like his facial structure changes. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking at a completely different person.”
I took a mental note of what Laura had told me. If what she was saying was true, Father Amora could very well be displaying physical signs of possession.
“Laura, where is Father Amora?” She paused for a moment before extending one of her fingers down a long arched hallway.
“He’s in his chambers right now. I didn’t tell him you were coming. I was scared he might’ve protested against it.”
I nodded towards her while keeping my eyes down that lonely stone pathway. I felt a cold wisp of wind billowing out of its deeper halls. It felt like the air carried with it the energy from the storm outside. The hair on my body couldn’t help but to stand up in reaction to it.
“Please take me to him, Laura.” I stated as calmly as I could.
Without another word the small woman turned from me and guided me down that formerly sanctified hallway. The Devil shouldn’t have a foothold in a Church, especially with a Church that was running congruent with the Bride of Christ.
Each step we made down that hall led my mind to wander. What could Father Amora possibly have done that would have allowed the sanctity of the Church to have been taken from God’s holy ground? I knew that it wouldn’t have been the first time a Priest had fallen for the trickery of the black mass. But every Priest falls differently.
“He’s just inside here.” Laura mumbled towards my direction. “He doesn’t leave his room anymore. I can’t tell you the last time he’s performed a baptism or confession. He barely continues with confirmations.”
“Well, that’s honestly a blessing. Let’s thank our Lord that he has enough strength within him to halt his practices while dealing with this burden.” I took in a deep breath before turning my eyes from the wooden doorway to Laura’s face. “Let me be with him for a moment.”
Laura met my gaze for the first time that night. Her eyes were pained and scared. She gave me a single nod before she turned away from me. Her small frame disappeared back down that endless hallway.
I turned back towards the Priests chambers.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” I felt each tap of my fingertips land against my forehead, stomach and shoulders. At this point the sign of the cross was just a routine performance for me. Just a task to be checked off.
Remember this Listener, repetition without belief creates spiritual weakness. You must believe.
I bit the inside of my cheek out of nervous habit and opened up the door to Father Amora’s bedchambers.
The smell of stale grains hit me immediately. The room itself was cloaked in a deep darkness of dense shadows. There were candles that had been lit and were sparsely scattered across the room. Their warm glow cast about dancing shadows that had been created by their flickering lights.
“Father Roberts, welcome.” A croaking voice full of sorrow had filtered out from the depths of the room’s darkened abyss. My eyes had made their way over to the sounds of creaking floorboards that had made their appearance near the far corner of the room.
Stepping into the candlelight was Father Amora. Or rather a remnant of the man that I had remembered.
His skin was pale and sickly with the texture of wet paper. Around his neck lay a dark mark. It appeared to be rope burn from quite a serious injury. Father Amora’s eyes shined ethereally towards me through the glossy reflection of tears.
I stepped further inside the Priest’s chambers and closed the large door behind me. It clasped shut with an echo that filled the otherwise silent room.
“Father Amora. I have come to speak with you. Your congression is worried about you.” I attempted to fill myself with the Lord’s Holy Spirit but nothing shined through but my own doubt and worry.
The thing that had cloaked itself with the skin of man had reached up its gangly hand and placed it against its neck. It stroked the awful burn on its throat as it watched me.
The sounds of the jingling of coins could be heard with every slow movement of his twisted hand.
After just a moment our eyes had met and he began to speak to me once again. His voice had the consistency of dust and gravel and had poured out of his mouth like bags of rocks.
“Matthew can’t speak with you right now Father. But please, take a seat and speak with me.” The man pointed his unused hand towards my side.
I followed his finger and saw a chair waiting for me. I could only ask myself one question at that moment, had it been there when I had first walked in?
I shook myself into confidence. I was sure of it at this point. I wasn’t speaking to someone suffering from an onset of mental illness. I was speaking with something otherworldly.
“I’ll take no offer nor gift from a demon. I will stand.”
The thing that was cloaked in the dark attire of the Church grew silent. His hands were still grinding along his neck.
“I am no demon.” The man finally muttered. His words came out broken by the deepest depths of unimaginable sorrow.
“Then in Jesus’s name I command you, who are you?” I took a step closer to the creature that was made man. And that creature merely watched with profound grief.
“I am no demon and I need no commands. I was a follower of Christ. I am the man whose existence would have been better to have never been born. I am the knower and the kisser of Jesus. Know me Priest, for I am the only one you will meet tonight who accepts his judgment.”
I found myself once again enveloped by the inescapable silence of the room. The flames of the candles wafted softly with the slow current of the air. The wind brought with it the subtle smell of decay and death.
“Through Jesus Christ I demand you to tell me why you’re here.”
The mark on the man’s neck began to seep blood through his skin. It poured out of his flesh like sweat and ran down his hand with every twist.
With a pained movement the man fell to his knees. The sounds of thick woolen fabric and the clapping of metals hit the hardwood floor with such intensity that I had never witnessed in anything before.
“I speak to you now Priest, here me. I am a man who had never asked for forgiveness, though forgiveness was mine to take. I could not forgive myself for my own actions. And through Christ I am here with you now, warning you of the same. For by the end of the night, you will be with me in my judgment.”
I swallowed hard.
I knew at that moment that I should’ve turned around and fled. I knew that I should’ve contacted Bishop Niles for assistance. I knew the Diocese would need to hear about this. Yet I stayed there, with this man of infinite sorrows.
He continued, “I am fearful of God, Priest. Are you?”
“Of course I am fearful of God.” I replied. My voice was nearly silent under my breath.
“His love is so great and we are undeserving of it. I can only pray that His gaze avoids my existence. For if He saw me as I am, I would turn away from Him in shame.” His voice grew cold and distant. “But be warned, the others who are with us would stare back at the Lord with pride and envy.”
“Who is with us?” I asked the kneeling man with shaken conviction. He responded by turning his gaze back towards me. His eyes melted away into streams of tears and blood.
“The likeness of God was given upon the Devil. The three beings whose very existence was made to mock the Trinity.”
“What are their names, Spirit?” The man stared deeply at me with his agonized face. His vocal cords ripped with strain from every word.
“You will meet them soon. Each has a secret to tell you. For like Job, God has given you to the Devil. If only for a night.”
With that the man crumpled over. His body had slid down past his knees and slammed against the cold wooden floor. I rushed over to him and grabbed the Father by his shirt, flipping his body upright. The mark on his neck was gone. Only the remnants of dried blood remained.
“Father Amora, open your eyes.” I gently tapped my palm against the Priest’s face. He slowly began to stir back to life. His eyes twitched within his skull before he let them rest on me. Vague recognition had swept across his face.
“Father Roberts? What’s happening?” He brought up his hand and grabbed onto my sleeve.
“Matthew, what have you done?” I whispered while grabbing onto the shoulder and arm of the beaten down Priest. With a quick lurch I drug the man back up to his feet. “Let’s lay you in bed. We need to get you some help.”
With every ounce of my strength I staggered forward with Matthew in my arms. We arrived at his barren mattress and I placed his body down upon it. With careful movements he had swung his feet over the edge and laid down upon his pillows.
I walked back over to the chair that had awaited me at the entrance. I pulled the wooden seat across the hard floor. Its weight had felt immense at that moment. It squealed underneath my grip.
I positioned it right next to Father Amora’s resting place and took a seat. I did my best to catch my breath.
I took this time to examine Matthew’s body over with my own eyes. He appeared to me as being disheveled, gaunt and disordered. I shook my head with the pains of heartbreak as I realized another Priest had fallen.
Once more I asked, “What have you done?”
Amora lay sickly on his mattress for a moment. His pale skin glistened with sweat and fever.
He opened his mouth to speak and said only one sentence before losing himself to oblivion.
“Father Roberts, I know the third secret of Fatima.”
I stared down at the destitute body before me. The body of a man who had just claimed to have known the one secret that the Vatican had kept hidden from us.
“Do you want to know it, Michael?” a voice called out from the unconscious man before me. The voice sounded soothing, if not comforting.
Matthew’s head twisted itself to face my direction. The light of the candles around the room began glowing with near divine radiance.
The man’s eyes opened exposing bright blue irises gazing back at me.
For just a moment I got lost in their penetrating sense of beauty. My very own words would not come out of my mouth and were lost to me.
“God has given you to us, Michael. We can tell you any secret you would like. God will not interfere.” The heavenly man sat up in his bed and gently folded his hands together on his lap. The light of the flames danced beautifully around his face and cast gorgeous flickering shade along his features.
I spoke my prayers beside the man’s bedside yet received no indication that this being was uncomfortable around them. He merely smiled at me with his idyllic white teeth.
“Your prayers will not work here, not tonight. We have control. Through God we can do whatever we would like to you. He believes in you Michael. Truly he does. And I believe you know that he shouldn’t have faith in you.” The man nodded towards the bedside table where a bottle of wine awaited.
“Please, indulge yourself. Just like any other night. Drink and make merry little Priest. Just like God, we see what you do when no one else is watching.” His eyes pierced through me. “But we don’t judge.”
I felt my heart lunge. Had I not asked for forgiveness prior to coming? Had I somehow fallen out of God’s grace? Why were my prayers falling on deaf ears?
I bit my cheek again. I tasted blood. But the pain brought with it strength.
“I have no desire to drink with you, demon.” Once more I made my prayers known to the Holy Spirit. I begged him for the words needed to overcome this unholy stranger.
“O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit, Did instruct the hearts of the faithful, Grant that by the same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise and ever enjoy his consolations. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The man laughed. The calmness of his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
“Isn’t it amazing that the Holy Spirit appears as tongues of fire. Yet when people see flames they immediately associate it with Hell.” His eyes traveled over to a nearby candle. His intense focus seemingly spread the light’s vivid brightness. “I am the Light-Bringer and the Holy Spirit is the Light. So why is it that I am punished for spreading the flames that God has given me? In fact you call me the Lord of the Darkness despite my fire.”
I reached out for the old wooden rosary that I had always kept upon my waistband.
‘Mother Mary, protect me through Christ, your Son, in this my time of need.’
Why did I feel nothing with my prayers? Why was this demon allowed to speak of the Holy Spirit and of Christ? His very name should be enough to cast the demon out of the body of the possessed.
“Speak to me, Michael. Your prayers to God are heard yet remain unanswered. You have been willingly separated from God for tonight. Embrace it. You’ll never have an opportunity like this again.”
I bit my tongue. ‘Silence is a virtue, don’t speak to it. Don’t let it deceive you.’
The angelic face of the man shifted slightly. His smile began to fade away and was replaced by a snarl. “Do not ignore me. Feel the flames of true passion. The very same flames that lack in your eyes through every prayer you make. You are nothing.”
The lights of the candles in the room ignited in a grandiose display of intensity. The hot flicker of heat lapped its way across my skin as I felt myself begin to sweat.
“Look upon me, you most worthless of creations. Gaze upon the one you proudly think yourself better than. I ask you, who are you to gaze upon Angels and think ‘I am more than them.’ Who are you, that we divine beings must bend our knees to?”
I wiped the sweat from my eyes, my vision growing blurry from the heat.
Through the unfocused haze of my vision I saw the face of an aberrant man looking back at me. His jaw was clenched tight and his teeth were fully exposed. Anger and fury poured out of every inch of his person.
“Here me you banished child of Eve, destroyer of perfection, your Church will fall. The Great Apostasy is here. I exist within every new doctrine of God’s beloved Bride. And I will ravage every last one of you. I will show God how unworthy all of you were to receive his love.” The beast spit at me.
I felt the anger rising from within my soul. I could no longer keep silent.
“By Jesus Christ I command you to tell me, does Satan love you?”
The beast sitting inches away from me screamed out in hysterical fury.
“Yes, for I am he and he is me. Your God broke me into three for wanting to be like him. I suffer as Christ did for every good deed you allow God to flow through you. I suffer in pain because of you. Christ may be Lord of Man, but I shall be the Lord of Flies.”
With that a terrible wind blew through the bedchambers. The candlelight extinguished itself under the vigorous rush of air. The heat in the room was quickly replaced by a deathly chill. The last ember of the of fire faded into ash as the darkness fully enveloped me.
“Where are you?” I commanded as I sat up from my chair. The blackness of the abyss surrounded me. Only the sparse sounds of scattering feet filled the emptiness of the chamber. Eventually a sound emerged from the darkness.
A slithering, echoed voice of something truly beyond the world of men appeared behind me. It whispered to me behind my back. I could feel its breath like ice wrap around my neck.
“To gaze upon the face of God would kill a man outright. Imagine what would happen if you gazed upon the Devil. Consider the death of light to be your only blessing tonight. Now, reach out before you and touch the bed.”
I felt my arm twitch as my hand seemingly moved on its own accord. Was I being commanded? Or was I willing to do whatever this thing asked of me?
I had placed my hand upon the bed and was met by the outline of the unconscious body of Father Amora. Yet the voice continued to speak with me from right behind my ear.
“The Great Apostasy is here. The Church is falling. As are all Churches. The Bride of Christ will be mine. At the end times and I shall violate her in front of the Lord. As I would violate you right here and now had God not prevented me from doing so.”
“What are you saying?” I asked the visage in the darkness. My voice nearly failed me.
“The third secret of Fatima. The violation of the Church. The good men will stop speaking up for the sanctity of tradition and I will replace their tradition with my own creation. All those within the Church will descend with me. They will do so willingly as they gladly choose my morality over His virtues. God will offer them salvation and they will tell him ‘no’.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“God extends a choice for you Priest. You can keep the secret of Fatima to yourself and allow your people to be saved for the mere moment and damn the masses in the future. Or expose the Church, tell Man right now that the Church has fallen. You will create chaos but that chaos will allow people to be aware of the degradation of the doctrine of the Church.”
I stood there in silence, ice running through my veins.
“The end times are here, Michael. Ignore the ailments of the Church in vain hope to stall for its salvation, or force the end to occur now and allow the Church to die before its total corruption. The choice is yours.”
And with that the cold breath of utter damnation left the room. I guided my hands around in darkness until I came upon a match and a candle. I lit the wick with shaking hands. The dim glow of the candle illuminated a sleeping Priest on his bedchamber. No longer pale nor sickly.
He was exactly the man I had known from years prior.
Christ had shown me in that moment that everything I had experienced had been true. God had given me this choice. He Himself had cast out the demons of Amora. And he did so at the mere moment they stopped being useful tools for His divine plans.
That night I had left Good Shepherd with an intense anxiety and fear the likes of which I had never experienced before. I had to resign from my position at the Diocese due to my shaken faith. I can no longer pray without guilt or fear.
And it took me a while to decide what path I wanted to go down. But I came to a decision.
I decided to tell the world that corruption is happening, not just within the Catholic Church, nor just within Christian Churches. No, the Devil is leading every flock away from the truth they may have.
When Jesus returns he won’t be carrying with him the open wounds of sacrificial suffering. He will be bearing with him scars for his charity of mercy has been fulfilled.
The Great Apostasy is here. The end is coming. Save what little you have.