I’m a little surprised that I’m writing this since I was never that much into the supernatural. I say “not that much” because my older sister, Rita, was mesmerized by it. She was six years older than me so most of what she did with her friends in the attic of our garage was a mystery. The garage attic was strictly off limits – they guarded it like an inner sanctum. It wasn’t until my mother discovered a Ouija board that I began to understand that something was amiss.
We weren’t particularly religious, but we did attend church on the holidays. And my mother went on a tirade when my father got home from work insisting that my sister was inviting evil spirits into our home. My dad threw out the Ouija board and later I picked it out of the trash and used it for target practice with my brother’s bb gun.
None of that would have been particularly memorable, except the following night my sister was babysitting me. Normally as soon as my parents left, they would call Brenda down the street to come down and split their babysitting money with her and then leave.
I didn’t complain since Brenda was much more interested in my stories than my sister and her friends, but this night my sister stayed home and invited her friend Angie over.
They told me to stay in my parents’ room and they disappeared into the basement. I grew up in the Midwest and we had one of those old, deep basements. The house was over a hundred years old, and the basement was a place I could only remember visiting one time when I dropped some toys into the heating vent and my dad had to go into the basement and disconnect some ductwork. There were only two small windows that were barely large enough for a small child to fit through, but way too small for an adult.
I remember there was a cold draft too. There was a brick wall that abutted the stairs leading down to the basement that had partially collapsed. I remember looking into that darkness and asking my dad where it led, and he said it led beneath the house.
My parents never had to tell me not to go into the basement. I was petrified of it.
I think I was playing with toy soldiers in my parents’ room when I heard their blood curdling screams. I don’t remember being afraid, but they both came running up the basement stairs and ran straight past me out of the house, slamming the basement door behind them.
I was seven years old at the time. I have no idea why I didn’t follow them. I just sat there on the floor with my toy soldiers.
And then I heard the footsteps. I thought maybe it was my older brother Joey who was down the street playing guitar with his friend Steve. They were always playing pranks.
The door to the basement was locked. I could hear the door being pushed. The lock was just a wooden disc my dad had made. When they slammed the door, it must have fallen down and locked. I heard it hit the floor when the door burst open.
And that’s all I remembered.
I woke up the next day in the hospital. Later I was told that my sister had run down the street to get my brother and they said they found me unconscious on the floor. The doctor said I had a convulsion.
And that’s what I believed for thirty years. Until last night.
My sister Rita went on to become a flight attendant and my brother Joey (I still call him that) became a DNR officer. We love each other dearly, but because I live on the other side of the country we don’t stay in touch as much as we used to when I was still living in Michigan.
I’d flown back for my father’s funeral. And we were all reminiscing on my parents’ porch. And that’s when my brother Joey brought up the night I had the convulsion.
“He made us swear to never tell you the truth.” Joey said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “But now that he’s gone I guess we can tell you the truth.”
I looked over at Rita thinking this might be a joke, but the look of dread on her face told me that whatever Joey was about to say was not for my amusement.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Rita asked nervously.
Joey crushed his cigarette out on the wooden bench. “You didn’t have a convulsion.”
Joey leaned in, the flicker of the porch light casting shadows across his face, making him look more solemn than usual. “What happened to you that night, it wasn’t anything medical.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to tell me what happened.
“When Rita and I got back into the house, we found… something with you.” Joey glanced at Rita, and as if on cue she said. “It wasn’t human.”
My mind went to the rational explanation of a rabid dog or maybe a feral racoon. They both laughed when I asked if it was an animal.
“So what was it?” I asked.
“It was like… a shadow, and it was floating above you.” Rita said, her voice barely audible.
I laughed and got up to go back inside the house.
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” I said.
“This was no fuckin’ ghost.” Joey said, unbuttoning his shirt and showing me a scar on his chest.
“You got that when you fell out of the tree.” I replied. “I remember you telling me.”
“No, that’s the story we made up.” Joey said, tapping out another cigarette. “You did that to me.”
Nothing in their demeanor suggested it was a prank, but perhaps I had underestimated their acting skills.
“I was seven years old, there is no way-“
“It went inside of you,” Joey said. “It….”
He looked over to Rita who finished his sentence, “It possessed you. I know that sounds horrible, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“This better be a hidden camera prank.” I said, looking around.
“You picked me up in the air like I was a twig and threw me across the room and started speaking in some crazy language.” Joey said.
“It was my fault.” Rita said, her eyes filled with tears. “Me and Angie asked the spirits to reveal themselves.”
None of this sparked any memories. “How do you know you weren’t imagining things?”
Joey laughed and looked down at his scar as he rebuttoned his shirt, “I had trouble sleeping with you in my room for years after that. Do you have any idea what it was like keeping that secret?”
A part of me wondered why they decided to break the news to me now. I looked over at Rita hoping she would start laughing, but she was crying.
“Okay, so you two saved me from an evil spirit?” I asked sarcastically.
Joey shook his head, “No. Mom and dad came home.”
My father was not a man prone to superstition, so I was surprised that Joey decided to bring him into the story.
“And when he walked in you started talking that crazy language shit and then you started slinging dad around the room like a wet noodle.” Joey said, lighting a second cigarette.
Joey laughed at the thought. “I thought you were going to kill him, and that’s when Mr. Payne walked in.”
I remembered Mr. Payne well. He always walked with a limp and was gardening in his back yard. We used to think it was funny anyone had the last name Payne and that it would be perfect for a dentist, but he was a foreman in the factory.
“He’d heard the screams from across the street and came over to see what was wrong, boy did he ever get a surprise.” Joey said.
“He was good man.” Rita said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “That thing started talking to him and Mr. Payne started talking back to it in the same language.”
Joey was looking off in the distance now, “There is a lot you don’t know about Mr. Payne.”
I couldn’t help but think my siblings had watched The Exorcist one too many times. “This is all unbelievable. I’m sorry.”
“Did you know he studied to be a priest for five years and then gave it up when he met Mrs. Payne?” Joey said, sitting on the porch rail. “And that’s how he could speak to it. He studied those old languages.”
“He started praying over you. And he asked mom and dad to get the priest.” Rita added.
I tried to envision Mr. Payne standing over me in prayer, but I couldn’t hold the thought. It all sounded too fantastical.
“There was a whole room full of them praying for you. All night long.” Joey said. “Every once in awhile we’d hear a ruckus and Mr. Payne and it would start talking to each other.”
“I’m so sorry.” Rita said, reaching out and grabbing my hand. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that for so long.”
It was strange hearing a story about myself that sounded like a fairytale. I knew the only way to find out if this was true was to ask Mr. Payne myself, but I wasn’t even sure if he was alive.
“Is Mr. Payne still alive?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Joey said. “He’s over at the old folks home. I saw him there when I went to dad’s birthday party a couple years ago.”
I told my brother and sister it was hard to believe, but if it did happen I had no memory of it and I forgave them for whatever it was worth. It seemed like it was important for them to hear that I forgave them – but it didn’t sound like they had done anything wrong.
What I didn’t tell them was that I planned to visit Mr. Payne tomorrow before my flight for California left. I had a few hours in the morning and given the circumstances it seemed like the most rational thing to do.
In retrospect it was obviously not the wisest thing to do.
That night I sat in my hotel room trying to figure out why my siblings had come up with such a ridiculous story. They were both teenagers and maybe they had misunderstood the situation. I might have lost my mind temporarily and then had a convulsion.
Except the people praying over me all night long didn’t seem to fit the story, but it was a small town with plenty of superstitious people. It wouldn’t be the first time a group of well-meaning religious people misdiagnosed a medical condition for a supernatural event.
I woke up early the next morning and headed over to the nursing home.
The last time I’d been to Hazel Buck Nursing Home was during my childhood, I would visit with my mom when my cousin was living there. My cousin had multiple sclerosis and I remember the place smelling bad, like Clorox. My cousin was always in good spirits and smiling, but I could never get over the smell of the place.
To my surprise the place had been completely renovated and it even smelled good. There was a young lady at the front who greeted me. I asked if Mr. Payne was still a resident and she asked me to sign in and pointed me to Room 144.
I stood outside of room 144 for a few moments. I still had time to turn around and head back to my normal, boring life in Los Angeles.
The radio was on and I could hear Ernie Harwell doing the play-by-play announcing for the Tigers baseball game. Against my better judgment, I knocked on the door and I heard a gruff voice say, “Doors open, come in.”
I walked in and saw Mr. Payne sitting in a recliner. He didn’t look much different than I remembered him, but I could tell he was having trouble placing me.
“It’s Rich Thelen, but you knew me as Ritche.” I said smiling.
Mr. Payne’s demeanor changed immediately, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“I can- I can come back at another time if…” I mumbled.
“No, no… it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone today.” He pushed out a footrest. “Have a seat.”
I was suddenly uncomfortable. I guess I had half-expected Mr. Payne to tell me it was all just over-active imaginations, but judging from his reaction I knew I wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell me.
I thought about standing up and leaving. I’m sure he’d probably wonder why I showed up, but there was some doors you just want to leave closed. This felt like one of them.
“I heard about your dad.” Mr. Payne said. “You just never know how long you got until the bell tolls.”
It took a moment for me to reorient myself, I’d completely forgotten that I’d been at my own father’s funeral yesterday. “Yeah. He always said that he’d probably die of a heart attack. My grandpa was forty-five when he died the same way.”
“You mean Bill.” Mr. Payne said smiling. “I knew your grandpa. We used to hunt pheasants together.”
I didn’t remember my grandpa. He died before I was born so I didn’t have anything to add.
“I am really surprised to see you.” Mr. Payne said, slapping me on my knee. “You look good.”
“Thank you.” I said, realizing I could just have small talk and leave. I didn’t need to open any locked doors. I could just shoot the breeze.
“So what brings you here?” My. Payne asked.
“I came because I heard a crazy story and I wanted to see if it was true.” I asked.
Mr. Payne ran his fingers through what was left of his gray hair. “I figured that was why you were here.”
Mr. Payne looked over his shoulder, “Can you get me a water? There’s a cup next to the sink.”
I didn’t know if that was a stall tactic or if he was preparing to give me a long speech, but I was happy to stand up and create some space between us.
A few moments later I turned around with his water and that’s when I noticed that he was holding a rosary. I handed him the water and rather than sitting back down took a couple steps backward and leaned against the counter.
“I’ve tried to forget that night.” Mr. Payne said, sipping from the Styrofoam cup.
“Are you sure this wasn’t just overly active imaginations?” I asked.
Mr. Payne lifted an eyebrow, “Did they tell you what happened?”
“What they could remember.” I answered.
Mr. Payne took a few more sips of water and thought for a long time. “Well, they were just kids so they probably didn’t tell you everything.”
I waited for him to say something, but he just sat in silence. I don’t think he wanted to discuss it.
“Mr. Payne. My brother said you dropped out of the priesthood?”
“I did. Mrs. Payne was a nun back then and I was going to be a priest, but nature decided otherwise.”
I laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. Again, I contemplated abruptly walking out of the room.
“What you had in you was an old spirit.” Mr. Payne said seriously. “Very old. It had come across the ocean from old world, Europe.”
“The language it spoke was Latin.” Mr. Payne added.
None of this made any sense. Our house was old by standards of the United States, but there was nothing ancient about it by European standards.
“Why would an old spirit live in our basement?” I asked.
Mr. Payne laughed. “Is that what they told you? That it was in your basement?”
I nodded, surprised that there appeared to be a disagreement in their memories. A part of me hoped that the version I was about to hear was more tethered to reality.
“It visited your basement, because your sister and her friend called out to it.” Mr. Payne said, his hand holding the rosary starting to shake.
I thought back to my brother telling me there were a lot of things I didn’t know about Mr. Payne. That was suddenly starting to sound like an understatement.
“Then where did it come from?” I asked.
Mr. Payne’s gaze went blank and he started to mumble in a foreign tongue. And that’s when his eyes rolled back into his head and a smile crossed his face and the following words rolled out of his mouth in a thick Italian accent, “Venit ex me.”
A moment later his whole body began to shake. I pushed the nurse button next to his bed. Still grounded in reality I thought he was having a stroke. He was talking much clearer now and I tried to remember it, “”Sponsionem cum Satana feci.”
And then I saw it with my own eyes – black smoke like tentacles lifting out his body and taking the shape of a human. I was no longer in the nursing home… I was a petrified seven-year-old boy on the floor holding a toy soldier. Everything I had repressed came back in a terrifying torrent.
The cries, the prayers, and eventually being freed.
With the last of his strength Mr. Payne whispered, “Serva te ipsum. Serva te ipsum.” And a moment later the shadow enveloped him and vanished.
A caregiver eventually arrived and a few minutes later the nurse. They said he was having one of his episodes and asked if I could come back on another day.
I walked out of the nursing home and realized I’d re-opened a door that Mr. Payne had locked with great difficulty and sacrifice 30 years ago. I didn’t know the specifics of what Mr. Payne had done that night or what had happened in Rome that caused Mr. Payne to leave the priesthood, but something told me it was more than simply meeting Mrs. Payne.
A few months later I looked up the meaning of those words. Mr. Payne was telling me he’d made a pact with the darkness. And then he told me to save myself.
I so pray every night to be spared the fate of Mr. Payne. And I also pray for his soul to be released.
And perhaps most importantly, I make sure I keep the basement door locked.