This week, be careful about who you choose to marry.
Narrated by GP Mckenzie.
Produced by Jen Zink.
Executive Producer and Host: Tonia Ransom
All episodes are brought to you by the NIGHTLIGHT Legion. Join us at patreon.com/nightlightpod for as little as $1 per month to help us produce more stories for you to enjoy.
Hi. I’m Tonia Ransom, creator and executive producer of NIGHTLIGHT, a horror podcast featuring creepy tales written and performed by Black creatives from all over the world.
This week we have a story that reminds us to be careful about who we choose to marry.
But before we get to possession, just a reminder that all episodes are brought to you by the NIGHTLIGHT Legion. Thanks to our newest patrons Kylie, Alexandra, Isaac, Michele, Molly, Ari, Eric, and Ayesha. Thanks also to Patrice for increasing your monthly donation, and to Mahogany and Danesha for donating via PayPal. We’re working toward our goal of bringing you new episodes every week, but we need your help. Just go to patreon.com/nightlightpod to join the NIGHTLIGHT Legion and get a shoutout on the podcast.
Now sit back, turn out the lights, and enjoy “Possession”, by Jarred Thompson, narrated by GP Mckenzie.
I watch them with a solemn eye, the women who come to shake my husband’s hand.
“Thank you Pastor for the great anointing I received today.”
“Bless you Pastor, I feel so blessed. Thank you.”
“It’s so good to be visiting your church today.”
It’s the same snippets of speech they spew out every Sunday. I pretend to busy myself, ordering the flower women around, but these other women know I watch them. I have to.
“Roses over there, Judith, and tulips for next month’s service, remember that.” I say while looking over the flower budget for the month. White is the color for next month’s Purity Service.
The women who greet my husband know that I’m his wife. I sit next to him on the stage each week. And I never miss a service. Not even if I am sick in bed with a temperature from hell. I see them shaking his hand, fluttering their eyelashes, smiling all gawkish and wide. They’re disgusting, each and every one of them. I sense the holy lust in their prayer-book hands and bended knees. I can smell the seductive power in their pursed lips and submissive bosoms.
I tell my Jacob to watch out for these single “angels”, these women without men. But he laughs and shrugs it off. He says God is in a friendly smile and warm embrace.
“Bullshit.” I don’t say this word to him. He doesn’t approve of such profanity.
When I first met Jacob I was convinced he was possessed by a devil. It was the gleam in his dark eyes that made me think that way. He never met anyone he couldn’t sweet talk. My mother always told me to be wary of men with forked tongues. I never truly understood what she meant by that. I met Jacob when I was only eighteen. A young, newly confirmed Catholic girl with a vision of being a nun one day. I always hoped that I could be a priest, but mother said the Vatican would never change its policy on such matters.
“Why not come start a church with me?” Jacob said to me one day, whispering in my ear as we lay together on the couch watching movies.
“Start a church with you?”
“Yeah, why not? We could be great together.”
“But I’m Catholic and you’re, well…”
“Happy Clappy?” he smiled, showing his sharp incisors.
“That’s not what I was going to say. You’re Pentecostal.”
“We both serve the same living God, no?”
I was speechless. He had slipped his hand up my leg and sent shivers into my abdomen. His eyes shone like a candle in a dark glass, reflecting the images of the television screen. I could see the man on the TV running away from a pack of wolves in his eyes. Something in that moment frightened me, but I was powerless to pinpoint it.
I never got a chance to preach on the pulpit. Even after we got married and opened the doors to the first Church of the Living God Ministry. Jacob always told me that a woman’s place was beside her husband: to support him, to be his backbone and his comfort.
“Why else would God have made a woman from Adam’s ribs?” he would say, opening the bible and placing it squarely on the table in front of my bacon and eggs.
“But you promised that I would have the chance to preach and have my own service once I left the Catholic Church and started this ministry with you.”
“But love, the people here come for me, for my sermon. We’re a brand now, don’t you see? We can’t go changing a winning formula.”
Again I was speechless. I read over the passage in Genesis where God took Adam’s rib and formed Eve. It frustrated me that He would do such a thing. Why not just make a woman from clay just as he made Man? Why did He have to complicate matters? But I knew better than to question God’s motives, especially in front of Jacob. So I kept quiet.
16th April 2016.
I loathe those sluts. The way they bow their heads for anointing when Jacob touches them. The way they smear themselves in expensive perfume just so that he can notice them. Every time he sits down after a sermon, I grab hold of his arm, even though he doesn’t like it. I make sure to grab his arm in every service. Make these devil women know that I am his angel, his holy one. The one he chose to build the church with on this rock.
Is it blasphemous to speak like this? It’s only to myself though. It doesn’t hurt anyone. If anything, writing it down makes it more bearable. I can say whatever I want without any retribution.
It’s funny: I remember when I thought he was possessed by a devil. Ludicrous! Maybe it’s not his forked tongue that’s a problem. Maybe his tongue is actually quite angelic. Maybe the problem is my own pride. Maybe I should humble myself more.
I don’t know.
“Love, do you think I could say a few words at the purity service next month?” I say to Jacob while standing in the doorway of his study. He sits behind his oak desk going through his emails as if he hasn’t heard me.
He sighs and looks up from the computer screen. “When would you like to say these ‘few words’? At the start or at the end of the service?” I can tell he’s annoyed by my constant nagging.
“Well if you’re going to act that disinterested in making a little dream of mine come true then never mind!” I swing the door open and bang it against the wall storming down the hallway.
“Tania…come here.” He calls to me as I’m halfway down the hall. His arms are open and his chest bulges out. I can smell the fragrance he uses drift into my nostrils. Armani Light Blue. He’s never changed his scent since the first day I met him.
“Come here,” he says again, this time gesturing towards his heart. I feel this pull inside me, like some external force tugging at me from my gut. It scares me.
“What have you made me into Jacob?” I give into the external force and walk back down the hallway toward him. He embraces me, sniffs my hair and sighs again.
“Whatever you want to say, my love, let me say it. Let me be your eyes, your ears, your mouth. That is what God’s love is like.” I close my eyes and feel a warmth take over my body. It’s as if I am held in a type of spiritual ecstasy. He has me and I cannot escape.
25th April, 2016.
My husband scares me. He has done nothing in the way of actually frightening me but it’s the way he controls me. Just with his eyes and his movements and his words. They seep into me and I am intoxicated by them. A few days ago, I felt the most unnatural thing happen to me. A force, something external, pulled me toward him as I was walking away.
I couldn’t understand it. I watched my own body walk toward him even though my mind wanted to run away. The scary thing is that I know he knew. He knew I wanted to run but couldn’t. The way he smiled as I embraced him. It was a different smile, a cunning one. The smile of the devil.
Jacob and I only had sex once and that was on our wedding night. After the ceremony and festivities he took me away to a resort at the Kruger National Park. It was the most romantic night of my life. The moon was luminous with a red glow around it. It always gave me an eerie feeling when the moon had that red hue to it, but tonight it was a symbol of romance.
Jacob was extra romantic that night. He picked me up and carried me over the threshold into our luxury cabin. There was warm lighting throughout the cabin with a sweltering fireplace that kept everything cozy. I remember the thick fur rug on the floor because that was where he made love to me.
My skin began to surrender to him the moment he placed my body on the fur rug in front of the fire. The moonlight was coming through the kitchen window and it shone a white, cold light onto his chest. He towered over my body, as he spread open my legs and kissed the inner parts of my thighs. I had never felt such smoldering elation before. During the act, I remember gazing over into the fireplace for a moment. Jacob was inside of me, moaning in my ears and whispering soft words down my neck and into the moist parts of me. For a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of a face in the fire. It was not a human face. It was a mixture of a goat and a human and it was laughing at me. I remember shoving him off me, my nails scratching his forearms.
“Are you alright?,” he said, panting like a dog. The sweat from his body shone in the moonlight.
“I just feel weird, that’s all. You know this is my first time.” He pulled me close to him and kissed my neck.
“I know love, it’s my first time, too, remember. Trust me. I will take control of everything.”
I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying as much as staring into the fireplace, looking for the face that had been laughing at me. But the face had disappeared. Later that night we moved to the bedroom where it was more comfortable. It was there where I reached my first orgasm. At the moment of orgasm, I swear I heard the cackle of a hyena. It was so distinct and so close by, it could have been coming from underneath the bed. Delirious from pleasure I didn’t care to look. But now, looking back on that moment, I wish I had.
1st May 2016.
I know that Jacob wants us to sleep in separate beds because it helps him focus on his spiritual mission and not his bodily desires, but I can’t help it. I am a full-blooded woman. I have desires, I have needs. We can be spiritual and still have sex goddamnit!
No, calm down, this isn’t the way the Lord wants you to think.
I found something strange the other day. It was on Jacob’s left shoulder. He was sleeping and I had forgotten my daily planner in his bedroom. So I went in to get it, around 11:30pm. He was fast asleep so I didn’t want to bother him.
It was a strange mark, almost like a tattoo. I had never seen it before and I am pretty sure I’ve seen every inch of my husband. But this was weird. It’s as if someone had taken a small knife, like a scalpel, and carved out this image in his skin. My husband’s skin.
I can’t describe it adequately enough but it looked like a deformed cross, with the edges spiraling off in different directions. I wanted to look at it more closely but I was too scared he might wake up.
I tried to research the mark I found on Jacob’s shoulder but I came up with nothing. It didn’t look like a Swastika or even like an upside down cross. The lines of the cross were curvy, like a snake’s body and they seemed to curl around each other before spiraling off, seemingly to no end.
What could it mean?
There was a knock at the door and I opened it onto Mrs. Mbatha, from St Jude’s Old Age Home down the road.
“Good Morning Mrs. Mbatha. Here to see Jacob?”
“Yes actually, I wanted to discuss this singles service your husband came up with?”
“Yes, didn’t he tell you? He suggested we have a special service for all the single women out there. People can pay a special price to gain entrance and he’ll pray for them and anoint them with holy oil so that the Almighty may produce good Christian men for all of them.
“Jacob didn’t tell me anything about that. And he wants people to pay for it?”
“Well he thought it would be a good fundraiser you know.”
“Yes I’m sure.” I let her in and showed her into Jacob’s office.
I walked down the hall into my bedroom and locked the door. How could he be charging people just to come to a church service? That was against everything we stood for when we started this church. Praying for women to get husbands? Who on earth takes advantage of people like that? Who was this man that I was married to? A scream rang out suddenly. I could tell it was Mrs. Mbatha. I rushed to Jacob’s office, but as I got there she was nowhere to be found.
“What happened to Mrs. Mbatha? I heard her scream.” I said to Jacob as he typed away on his computer.
“Oh…the old hag wasn’t happy with the way I was doing things, I guess. Said she wanted to leave the church community. So I said, ‘be my guest.’” He typed away nonchalantly without even looking up into my eyes.
“But Mrs. Mbatha has been a regular of this church for years. She was one of our first patrons. Is there anything we can do to get her back?” He sniggered a little, got up and walked over to where I was standing.
“Now now, Tania. Don’t you trust me? I am the shepherd leading this flock. And sometimes we will get some black sheep in the family. And those black sheep need to be taken care of.”
“Taken care of?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No I don’t.”
He smiled maniacally and held me by the shoulders.
Again I felt that pull, that magnetic allure that I could not resist. The next moment I was kissing him. A few moments later he had me bent over his desk, skirt hiked up above my hips, submitting to every thrust of his desire. I was his trained animal, caged and helpless.
“What are you trying to tell me, Tania?” Jean sips her cappuccino with that distinct frown surfacing on her forehead. Jean has always had my back since high school and all the way through confirmation class. Even when she had a divorce and the community shunned her like the plague. I was there for her. Now I needed her to be there for me.
“My husband isn’t who he says he is.”
“Oh darling, that’s men for you. They show the best sides of themselves just to lure you into their trap and then, boom, out comes the monster after five years of marriage and all the while you’re like, ‘what the hell?’”
“Please Jean, stop.”
“What’s the matter?”
I look outside at the people walking past Café Gerard’s: everyone’s in their own little bubble, minding their business, oblivious to the evil residing below the surface.
“Tania, speak to me,” she says, grabbing my hand.
“I think my husband is…possessed.”
“Keep your voice down, will you? I know how crazy this sounds.”
“It does sound crazy. Tania, your husband is one of the most popular pastors in this city. How could he be…you know.”
“I’m not sure. But things are not what they used to be. He’s different. I mean, he’s the same, but there are things about him, things about me when I am with him. I can’t control my body sometimes. Sometimes I feel like he has this power over me.”
“Honey, that’s just marriage for you.”
“It’s not.” My nails dig into Jean’s forearm.
“You’re hurting me, let go!” She pulls her arm away from me and rubs the marks I’ve left in her forearm.
“Can you help me? I’m really scared.” She rubs her arm over and over again, licks her lips, then writes something down on a white napkin.
“Go see this man. He is…experienced in these kinds of things.” I take the piece of paper from across the table. “Tendai? Who’s this?”
“A sangoma I met once. Don’t ask me how. When Themba was hitting me, I sought out different avenues for a way to get out. This man…he helped me.”
“I’d rather not say. Just go to him. If you really think there is some supernatural entity in your husband, he can help.”
“Thank you, Jean. You don’t know what this means to me.”
“Be careful. Once you enter this world, there is no telling what will come out looking for you.”
I had never seen Jean this scared. I always had the impression that she was a super-realist, who didn’t believe in this kind of mumbo-jumbo crap. I guess I was wrong.
It was an ordinary house by all standards: white walls, red roof, and a front garden that screamed mundane. When I walked inside there was no furniture, no pictures on the walls and no ornaments hanging anywhere. A strong incense permeated throughout the house.
“Come into the lounge please.”
A deep voice resonated off the grey walls. I followed the hallway down and turned right into a large circular room. There was barely any sunlight getting through on account of the windows being painted black.
A man was sitting in the center of the room beside two burning incense sticks.
“Hello, Jean sent….”
“Please sit down.”
He was dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt. Pretty ordinary I thought. Not what I expected a sangoma to look like. But then again, I had never been to a sangoma’s place before. He had dreads that ran the entire length of his back, but they were neatly plaited into intricate patterns.
“What seems to be the matter?,” he said, taking out a small pouch from behind his back and pouring the contents of it into a bowl. It was black sand. The sound of the sand falling allowed a strange peacefulness to descend upon me. I felt as if the man was my friend, as if I had always known him.
“It’s my husband?”
“See, my husband is the pastor of a very popular church. Church of the Living God Ministry. Don’t know if you know it. Anyway, I think he may have succumbed to spiritual deception.”
“Yes?” This was all he said. I could feel his ‘yes’ probing me, wanting me to come out with it.
“I think he’s possessed.”
At that very moment, the pouch of black sand had been emptied and the bowl in front of the sangoma was filled exactly to the brim.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, there are times when something unnatural takes a hold of me. And it’s when I am most angry or most disagreeable with him. He does something to me and I submit to him. To whatever he wants me to do.”
He scratched his beard and remained silent.
“Please I don’t know where else to go. I, myself, am a very devout Christian, but prayer doesn’t seem to be helping the situation.” He got up and headed towards a chest of drawers standing against the wall behind him.
“See, preachers are people of God. And being people of God, they’re naturally more open to the light but also to the dark.”
“Is there anything you can do about it? Like an exorcism or something?” He laughed so hard that he put his hands on his stomach and hunched over.
“My dear, did you grow up Catholic?”
“Yes I did.”
“That explains it. No. Possession isn’t anything like you see in the movies, I’m afraid. I’m not gonna tie your husband to a bedframe and say magical words to free him of an entity.”
“Then what? What can you do for me?” I felt tears rising into my eyes, but I made a conscious effort to bury that compulsion.
“Possession is an idea. A construction that the mind falls into. It comes in many disguises and forms. Lust. Power. Money. Jealousy. Greed. Bigotry. These constructions, these ideas possess people. Now you could say that each construction has its own hierarchy of demons, that may be true, yes, but it’s the host that invites it. It’s the host that chooses it, for whatever purpose. Your job is not to exorcise him. Your job is to get away from him.”
“Run as far as you can.”
“But I don’t understand. What about the power that draws me to him? What about the control he has over me?”
“You’d be surprised how powerful an idea can be. How it slithers round our ankles and searches for every orifice where it can slip in and lay its children.”
“There’s a mark!”
“Yes, a deformed cross that I saw on his left shoulder. I’m sure it’s from some Satanic ritual or cult or something.”
“Mmmm.” He walked back to where I sat on the floor with another small bag in his hands.
“Are you sure of what you saw?”
“Yes. I’m not crazy.”
“Take this. And when you feel that strong pull toward him that you speak about I want you to swallow it.” He opened the bag and produced a small crucifix.
“You want me to eat this?”
“Yes, it will protect you.”
I took the crucifix and rubbed it between my fingers. It was silver and smooth, with the body of Jesus nailed to it.
“Remember. An idea, as beautiful as it can be, can also destroy you.”
I left the house soon afterwards. The smell of the incense made me hungry. I drove over to the McDonald’s down the road and ate five Big Macs. I was afraid to go back to that house again. But I knew I had to.
I snuck into Jacob’s room again. This time I was determined to make sure that the mark I had seen was real. Jacob was asleep, snoring away. I crept up to his bedside and leaned over, making sure my hair or breath couldn’t be felt by him. Luckily for me, Jacob never slept with a shirt on. I moved the blanket in a slow and stealthy manner, careful not to raise any suspicion. Finally the blanket was low enough for me to get a good view of his left shoulder. But there was nothing there. No deformed cross. No etchings in his arm. Nothing. I couldn’t understand it. I was sure I had seen the mark on him that night. I returned the blanket to its original position and left the room. I had begun to distrust myself, my senses, my world. I knew that I wouldn’t get any sleep that night so I took four sleeping pills and opened a bottle of the communion wine that we kept for special church celebrations. It knocked me out. For once, I appreciated the existence of drugs.
It was her. The bloody evil snake of a woman. She must have been the one to lead Jacob down this dark path. How could I have not seen it?
Jessica. She came to him a few weeks ago, seeking counsel because her marriage was in shambles. She must have been the one who suggested the singles service. Maybe she even suggested that Jacob should charge an entrance fee for it. The devil works in mysterious ways. That’s what they say, right?
The way she said ‘hello’ to me the first time I opened the front door to let her in. I could feel the air change. It became electric, as if the atoms themselves were boiling. Why did I ever let her in? She’s been coming around every week now and helping him prepare for the singles service and the purity service. He doesn’t even ask me to help him with anything. I’m just the flower woman, I suppose. That’s all he sees me as. A flower: pretty but quite useless.
“See, what we need to do is find the right way to market this event.” I hear her say from the other side of the door of Jacob’s office. So what if I spy on my husband from time to time? The Lord said us women must keep our men secure. Listen to her laugh, more like a cackle if you ask me.
“Yes I think you’re right. This service could bring many more of the faithful into our fold.” I hear him say.
Our fold? What does he mean by that? I can’t stomach listening anymore so I leave and head toward my bedroom. My hands are clenched tight and I can feel the skin breaking under the pressure of my nails digging into my palms. I can feel a rush, a swelling lightness filling my head and then tiny drops of blood emerge, dripping all along the hallway down to my bedroom.
20th May 2016
I’ve invited Jessica for some cake and tea in the garden tomorrow. It’s a week before the purity service and I want her to be very clear on what her role is in Jacob’s life. Possessed or not, he’s my husband. Mine!
And I will find a way to exorcise him. If it’s the last thing I do.
“These scones are absolutely divine, Tania. How do you get them so light and fluffy?” Jessica says, munching down on my golden scones.
“Aaaahh that’s a secret I’m afraid.” She smiles at me and takes another bite.
“Tell me, how long have you known Jacob?”
“Oh, just since I started living in the area, which is about four months ago.”
“Four months, hey.” I repeat, sipping my tea and keeping my composure. She’s a pretty little thing. Small ankles, wrists made of twigs with a bosom that looks surely artificial. Her skin is absolutely enviable. No pigmentation, no scars, no marks, like sheer alabaster. The bitch.
“Yes, well you know how my marriage fell apart. And really Jacob was there for me at a time where I really needed spiritual guidance for me and my two little boys.”
“As long as it’s only spiritual guidance he’s giving you.” This slips out involuntarily and I am caught unaware by my sudden caustic remark.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” She looks at me confused.
“You know what I mean.” I retort, standing my ground despite the unease I feel rumbling beneath my skin.
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I am a saved woman. I would never do such a thing.”
“Saved or not saved. Keep your distance from my husband.”
She looks at me, amazed at what I’ve just said. Then something in her changes. She assumes an air of superiority, politely places her cup and saucer down and begins to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You’re being rude, Tania. I don’t need to take this from you.” She picks up her handbag. I can see she is going to make a quick exit through the side gate of the garden.
I want her to stay. I need her to stay. If she stays, then maybe my husband isn’t possessed after all. I frantically look for something to say to make her stay. But nothing comes to mind. So I pick up a rock too heavy for me to hold in one hand and I smash it onto her head. She collapses. “What…are… you…”
I hit her again and again. Bits of blood, bone, and hair scatter everywhere. I can feel tiny rivulets of sweat mix with the drops of her blood. I carry on hitting her until the demon inside of her is unleashed. I hit her until my husband isn’t possessed anymore.
27th May 2016
It was a joyous purity service. Jacob finally gave in to my request to say a few words right after the entrance hymn. I was so excited, nervous of course, but more excited than anything.
Jacob spoke with such eloquence. And yes, those holy sluts were all staring at him again. Probably wondering what he looked like naked. Well, only I know that.
Something in me feels so rejuvenated now. It’s as if they all know that he is my man and no one will ever take him from me. I can’t really say what happened to Jessica. I mean, after she visited me for cake and tea, she simply disappeared. I do pray for her every day, that at the very least she’s not in some brothel somewhere blowing off some Nigerian for scraps. But even Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, I suppose. So let me not throw stones.
PS: My rose garden is looking really luscious these days. It must be the new compost I am using. I must remember to cut some for the singles service coming up next month. I know I said I didn’t approve of it before, but Jacob reasoned with me and I saw the light. The red ones will go so well with the mood of love and devotion.
“Tania…come here.” Jacob shouts from the other side of the house. I’m busy in my room, writing in my diary. He doesn’t know I have this, but I need it. A private space just for me. A room for my mind, however cluttered it may be.
“Tania!” He calls again. I can feel the tug again in my abdomen. It’s something familiar, almost homely, but still there is this need inside of me to be free of it. Then I remember the crucifix. I rush over to my cupboard and dig out the handbag I had that day I went to see the sangoma.
“Tania darling. Where are you? I have some exciting news about that singles event. I’m thinking of having a VIP option where people can pay extra for special prayers and extra anointing.”
More single women for him to feast his eyes upon. Men really should be fitted with blinders. Here it is. The crucifix is stashed in the corner of my handbag under a roll of Kleenex. Jesus’s silver body shines in the Tuesday afternoon sun. My heart smiles to see his body hanging so serenely on the cross. He came to save me. I put the tiny thing in my mouth and swallow it.
“Tania? Where are you, woman?”
The sangoma was right. That external force, that supernatural magnetic pull is finally gone. I sigh and lay down on my bed, letting the sunlight cast its rays all along my body.
“Tania, here you are. I’ve been yelling your name. What’s the matter with you?” He walks into the room, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his chest hair. At the sight of him I feel something rise from my belly. It’s rancid and acidic and wants nothing more than to leave my body. I vomit. A flood of orange and green spews out onto the wooden floor. Some of it splatters up against Jacob’s pants.
“What the…,” he says as he peers down and picks up the tiny silver crucifix drenched in vomit.
I watch as he observes the crucifix in his big hands. I feel the evil pull toward him again. It rushes into my system and fills my groin with the most demonic of spirits.
Then I see it. The black in his eye: the curious evil that wants me forever. A deep, foreign voice erupts from deep inside me.
I hike up my blue skirt, pull down my underwear and lay down, staring blankly into the afternoon sun.
Thanks again to our patrons for supporting this podcast. Because of your support, listeners around the world get creepy tales in their ears every other week. If you want new stories every week, the only way for that to happen is to join the NIGHTLIGHT Legion by going to patreon.com/nightlightpod and supporting this podcast. You can also make a one-time donation via PayPal at PayPal.me/NightlightPodcast. If you’re unable to support us financially, word of mouth is the next best way to help. Give us a shoutout online on Twitter or Instagram @nightlightpod, or like us on Facebook @nightlightpod. Reviews are also a huge help, so be sure to leave a few kind words on your podcast platform of choice.
Audio production for this week’s episode by Jen Zink.
And to thank you for listening until the very end, we have a creepy fact for you.
Did you know that the movie and book The Exorcist was inspired by a real story of possession? An anonymous 14-year-old boy named Roland Doe was apparently possessed after playing with a Ouija board in the late 1940s. Although it’s now widely agreed that the boy faked his symptoms, there is documentation that an exorcism was actually performed in February of 1949. Many of the details of Reagan’s possession in The Exorcist come from this tale, including names scratched on his body.
We’ll be back in August with a brand new story.