Memoirs of the Shadow Men

 

Introduction

Some people see life and death as the ultimate end, not as something that exists in the present. Because of this, we try to avoid addictions and major life-altering decisions, walking a tight line to stay away from potential dangers. I believe that both life and death exist in the present. I think that the negative forces of death sometimes come too close and need to be pushed away. Similarly, the positive forces of life sometimes help guide us. The stories I'm about to share are true to me, but to others who don't believe, they may just be seen as fiction. However, it's hard to deny that for some reason, the darker aspects of life draw us in more than we'd like to admit. What darkness do you feel the need to push away?

I was raised in the church. My great-grandfather was the pastor of our little country chapel. He was old, white-haired, and wide-eyed. His sermons drew my attention because he was not a normal country preacher. If you are an old-time Pentecostal, then you know hellfire and brimstone often spew forth from the pulpit like an erupting volcano, burning holes of conviction in the hearts of all within earshot. This wasn’t my grandfather’s style at all. He was the storyteller who had a knack for spinning tales of pet pigeons and blind racehorses - into stories with a deep spiritual meaning. He weaved his lessons with love humor and a great amount of skill. More than that, he was my storyteller. As a small child, I would see the world through fantasy from the vantage point of his lap. Our back-and-forth narrative lasted hours, days, and summers as elephants paraded down the old gravel road past the small farm. Don’t stand too long in this outbuilding, I keep the bears underneath it!

I grew into a boy and was ever at his house. After my parents left for work, I would ride my fifteen-dollar BMX to his house and spend the day picking vegetables and tending to the ponies and chickens with him.  I avoided the angry black bull in the bottom of the barn. It must’ve been something he caught in one of those Pentecostal services, no doubt a demon that had been cast out of someone. He was a man of many strengths.

I became a young man, and my great-grandfather told fewer stories. However, he still spouted the Bible like he had written it and argued with my mom over whether the Christmas tree was Christian or Pagan. As my feet grew larger, he would tell me I was a man of great understanding… get it? One day I found out Grandma was sick. I visited her in the hospital but before we knew it, she was gone. She did not suffer long; God was kind to her.

My grandfather struggled alone. I wasn’t there for him, I didn’t soothe him with comforting tales of Heaven, and I regret that greatly. The woman he spent much of his long life with was now gone and that took a great toll on his aging body and mind. Often, he would ask my cousin who lived next door to turn down the music but there was never any music being played. I believe the great corridors between this life and the next were slowly beginning to open and welcome him home. Two years passed and one day he walked through those gates, and I saw him no more.

Eventually, with some struggle, the church found another man to take his place behind the pulpit. A great man with a slow Alabama drawl who, yes you guessed it, preached hellfire and brimstone. As time moved forward, I would be thankful for him because whether demons are big black bulls or bulls are big black demons, the darkness was very real, and I was about to find out.

Childhood Encounters

Eyes in the Shadows

I remember things from when I was very young—things that are hard to forget and terrifying enough to leave a lasting impression.

We lived in a little trailer without any close neighbors. Our small plot of land was home to mosquitoes and mucky fields. In the forest at the back edge of our property, ravenous wild dogs lived, and I did encounter them in my early youth a time or two. The wild morels there grew as big as my 4-year-old leg. Anything willing to dwell in the always-wet landscape lived there—big snakes and little snakes, mice, bats, and my family.

We were adventurous children with wild imaginations. We pulled tall weeds and used them as spears, pretending we were wild aborigines battling each other to the death. We crossed streams on fallen logs and played in the woods where all the wild things were.

At night when it was time to settle down, I was the first to go to bed as I was the youngest. I couldn't fall asleep until my older brother entered the room. It wasn't because I was stubborn; it was because of their presence. As soon as the shadows crept across the walls and furniture, I could see them - their eyes glinting and staring at me. They didn't move as I looked at them, but their unnerving gaze never wavered. I couldn't describe what they were, all I saw were cold, lifeless eyes, unblinking and countless in number. They would dart across the room like lightning when a car drove by and appeared or disappeared with the flick of the hallway light. Every night, they seemed to weigh heavily on my soul until my big brother finally came to bed.

What could this possibly be? It was long before I had heard of the reality of the supernatural or the intent of the darkness in this world toward humanity. Were they tiny people coming to steal the trinkets my grandfather would give me from the tray under his lamp? Were they fairies from the forest coming to watch over me at night, lest something more horrible than they carry me away? As a child, my young spirit told me not to embrace their presence but to be afraid, very afraid.

Something Called My Name

As a child with much older siblings, I spent a lot of time alone, mostly in the forest. Times have changed, and I think parents these days would never let their young children leave the house in the morning and return four or six hours later. I used to spend all day in those woods, exploring, climbing the highest trees, and waiting silently for the deer and other creatures to emerge. I felt at home there; it was like a sanctuary to me. Outside of the woods, I felt open, seen, and vulnerable, but inside, I felt safe. I suppose I felt the animals and trees would protect me from any threat.

One day I was playing in the forest. Often, my mom would call for me from the back door. If I was nearby, I could hear her, but if not, she would walk to the edge of the woods and call me. On this particular day, even though I was far away, I heard her call my name. I thought it must be lunchtime as the sun was too high for it to be dinner. I hurried out of the forest, past the pond, through the field, and over the hill to the house. When I got there, my mom was occupied with various things and I didn't smell any food being cooked or prepared.

"Hey Mom, what did you want?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied, "I didn't call you."

I was quite confused and a little irritated by the interruption to my playtime. I went back outside and didn't think about it again until much later in life.

A colleague at work with an unusual belief system asked me, "What are you looking at?" I wasn't paying attention to his flat earth theory, and as he rambled on, something outside caught my eye. "Oh, sorry. I thought I saw something out in the trees. It looked like a person swaying back and forth behind that tree," I pointed to a large black walnut tree behind the parking lot.

He looked for a moment and said, "Sasquatches do that. They also mimic sounds or voices they hear in the forest. They can sound like people talking, babies crying, women, and children; they can even call people's names."

At that last part, my heart dropped. What? A Bigfoot! I told him the story I hadn't thought of in forever. What if there was a Sasquatch in the woods with me? It didn't harm me; instead, it watched me and maybe even protected me. That would explain the distinct feeling of safety, even in a place where I was not always safe. It wasn't uncommon for bears to wander down from the north, and even wolves and mountain lions were seen occasionally. At one point, our little trailer was surrounded by a pack of wild dogs when my parents were gone. That was scary, so you see, I wasn't especially safe being alone in the forest for those reasons, let alone any other reasons.

I strongly believe that the creature may have been watching over me. On that day, it may have wanted me out of the woods for some reason, so it mimicked my mother’s voice because it knew that when she called, I would run. In that case, I can assume two things:

First, the Sasquatch was likely a female, as I don’t think a male could accurately mimic the high pitch of my mother’s call.

Second, it knew my name.

In summary, a supposedly non-existent cryptid had been following me around, acting as my guardian against who knows what, and it bellowed my name, pretending to be my mother, to keep me safe!

I wish I could have seen it or even gotten to know it. If I had, how would that have changed my life? What if there is still a family of them living near that area? Would I have been allowed to know all of them, even among the next generation of Sasquatch?

I remembered another incident as I thought about all this. My mother mentioned to me later, when I was older, that in the same house where I heard her call my name, she had woken up to her name being called. It startled her in the middle of the night. Her bedroom was on the first floor and mine was on the second. I never woke up to a loud voice calling my name as she did.

The Bigfoot account also aligns with this experience. It's common for them to come to people's windows at night and watch them sleep. It's possible that these creatures knew all of our names. I'm not sure how that makes me feel after all.

Out of Body

I remember a time when I used to sleep alone upstairs in my childhood. My older brother had moved out, and I no longer had him to comfort me when I was scared. By then, I had mostly outgrown my fears and wild imagination. My nightly routine was just like any other kid's: I'd brush my teeth, get a drink of water, say goodnight to everyone, and head to bed.

On this particular night, nothing out of the ordinary happened, except for the fact that I had slept elsewhere for a week. It was summer, and since I didn't have to get up early for school, my mom had said it was okay for a few nights. I knew that my "few nights" would end soon, but I tried to make the most of them. I wasn't scared of sleeping in my regular bed; I just felt indifferent and more comfortable sleeping downstairs.

The last night of sleeping downstairs was just like the rest of the nights. Everyone was asleep, the house was quiet and peaceful. I soon lost myself in strange dreams. Sometime in the night, I awakened and found myself with quite a unique perspective. I looked down on my body. I don’t know if it was lifeless or not; I was very much alive and very high - against the ceiling, as a matter of fact. I could see perfectly, though all the lights were off.

I remember vividly seeing myself in detail. I clutched the knitted brown and orange blanket, a gift from my grandmother, tightly against my neck. That night, it seems I must have forgotten my usual blanket, the one I had belonged on the back of the couch. Instead of a proper pillow, I had only a throw pillow under my head. It must have been a tiring day.

I was on the ceiling for only half an instant before I took a deep breath that began in the air and ended back on the couch. My heart was racing as I tried to understand what had just happened. After a few minutes, I was able to fall back asleep peacefully, and from that night on, I slept in my own bed. The uncomfortable and indifferent feeling that had filled my mind was gone, and I was happy. If God had wanted to take me to Heaven that night, He would have done so. Sometimes I think I wish He had, but then I wouldn't be here to share all my ghostly tales with you.

The First Devil

I want to make it clear that I do not intend for this reading to be primarily Christian, but that is the background I come from, so those are the words I must use. There is no Pentecostal, Baptist, Catholic, Christian, Hindu, or Muslim. There is just the truth, believe it or not. Forgive me or don't, but please read on.

Somebody was praying for me. It could have been my great-grandfather in heaven, or it could have been my mother, who is a great prayer warrior, as we call them. But somebody was praying for me. How do I know? Because there was a time when I was carefree and unbothered. Then, one day, I was afraid. I didn't know any of the terms the medical industry now uses, like GAD, SAD, PTSD, or OCD. I just knew fear. It wasn't the house that we lived in, although I suppose that house is worth mentioning - at least that one night.

Ghostly Moving Crew

The first night of our arrival, when I was six years old, it was just my two sisters and me on the main level. Upstairs, my brother and my cousin slept - all young teens aside from me. It was the first night we legally could sleep there, but nothing had moved in yet. We spent the day packing. That evening we ordered takeout, which was a very uncommon occurrence, almost supernatural! My parents had set up a little camper out back by the woods and left us kids alone with each other in that old house.

It was a centennial home that had been left uninhabited for who knows how many years. There was pressure in the water lines but the kitchen faucet only spewed mud. No electric hook-up yet so no lights as the sun began its descent. If we had needed to use the bathroom we would have to venture outside into the unfamiliar darkness and be subject to the creatures of the night. That may have been a better choice. So, we rolled out our sleeping bags on the floor and goofed off for a while as kids will do. It was an era with no video games, smartphones, or internet so all we had to do in the waning light was talk. There were no ghost stories or any stories of any type I lament, mostly just teasing each other to sleep. I cozied up between my two sisters and drifted off.

As the hardwood door at the bottom of the stairs boomed open, slamming against the wall of the living room where we were sleeping, my sister and I were jolted awake. We heard footsteps going back up the stairs and walking across the floor above our heads. My heart raced as I heard the noises but saw no one.

My sister also sat up, exclaiming, "Ugh, stupid boys! I was asleep!"

I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it must be our brothers trying to scare us. But they denied it, saying, "Whatever, that wasn't us. What are you doing down there?"

My other sister chimed in, "Trying to sleep, what do you think?"

As my siblings argued, the thuds, sliding, and footsteps began again, silencing the conversation. Fear overwhelmed me as I sank back under the covers.

We were all lying silently, as still as hunted animals, listening to the invisible commotion. Up until this point, none of us truly believed it was anything supernatural. However, now we gave up our hesitations and lay awake frozen in fear all night, unwilling to move from our places to find help from our parents. The noises resembled men wearing heavy boots walking on a hollow floor. There was sliding, scraping, and walking from upstairs to downstairs, from one side of the house to the other. We listened until the sun began to rise.

At the break of day, my mom and dad walked in holding hot cups of coffee. It felt as if they had entered our nightmare, and we, a tired group of kids, were finally able to cling to something solid and safe. The sunlight flowing into the old picture window lit all the rooms downstairs, and the haunted commotion was gone forever.

Excitedly, my sisters and I quickly told our parents about what had transpired during the night. I'm not sure how much they believed. Suddenly, I heard those familiar hollow footsteps on the wooden staircase. I turned and looked...

My brother and cousin, looking sheepish and tired, cautiously peeked around the corner at the bottom of the stairs where the door had burst open the evening before. They had finally mustered the courage, more petrified than we were, to follow the steps of the mysterious figures and come downstairs. I felt a wave of relief as I exhaled, realizing it was only them. They joined our conversation, confirming our experiences.

While my mom listened silently, having grown up in a house with a history of similar occurrences, my dad dismissed it all, attributing the strange happenings to holes in the walls where blackbirds had been living. However, having lived in that house until I was 18, I knew the birds and their sounds quite well, and this was definitely not them.

As we moved couches, tables, and chairs into a truck to begin our move, I couldn't help but draw comparisons to the commotion of the previous night. I believed that spirits had been dwelling in that old house, and when we arrived, they made a dramatic exit by shaking things up.

That was the first time I truly experienced fear. The fear I had felt before, the kind that makes your childhood eyes stare and glare, was scary, but it wasn't as intense as what was to come. A second event, which I'll call the first devil, was an even deeper kind of fear.  I place it here because I was not yet a teenager, and I can't say for sure if it was true. However, it was extremely devilish. Here's what happened:

Alien or Demon?

I was about seven or eight years old, and we were living in an old farmhouse with blackbirds in the walls. Every morning, the scraping of the blackbirds behind the drywall and insulation woke me up early.

"Shut up!" I banged the wall and yelled.

This usually made them stop or move elsewhere. I got up and found out that my parents were leaving with my sister for the day. It was just my brother and me, and Mom never let us have a day off without giving us a list of chores to keep us out of trouble. Today's chore was to clean our room from top to bottom and put all unnecessary items in the attic. This meant moving both beds and both dressers and cleaning under everything.

It was midday and the room had become very hot. There was only one small window allowing some air in, but it didn't do much.

"I'm going to the store to get us a pop, stay here," my brother announced.

"Alright, love ya. Get me a Mountain Dew!" I called after him.

He sped off down the road in his new little red Chevy truck, making use of his freshly earned driver's license. I was grateful for his departure as I really needed a break and a drink. I settled down against the wall, facing the far side of the room where the attic door stood open. The 3x3 wooden door had been completely removed and was leaning against the wall. Peering into the dark and long attic, I could see the vent at the far end. Lost in my thoughts as I waited for my brother, something peeked around the side of the attic door at me.

My heart didn't race, it just stopped. With all the speed my short legs could muster, I bolted downstairs, but it wasn't enough. There was no way I was staying in that house. Outside, I paced, trying to make sense of what I had just seen. I struggled to recall what that thing was. It had looked at me from about halfway up the door, so it was small, maybe a foot and a half or possibly, because it was leaning, two feet tall. It had light-colored skin and large black oval eyes. Its head was triangular, the top much wider than the bottom. I didn't see any more of it; I didn't give it a chance to come out any farther, and I didn't investigate.

After about 15 minutes, my brother pulled into the driveway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There’s something in the attic, it looked at me.”

“Grab your flashlight, let’s go. You’re coming with me.” Without a second thought, he walked into the house and up the possibly still haunted stairs.

He went into the attic first, being the protective big brother that he is, and I followed him. Balancing on a single plank tossed loosely over the framework, we meticulously searched the full length of the attic. We found nothing, not even a lingering sense of demonic activity.

“Whatever it was, you certainly scared the bejeezus out of it,” he said with a chuckle.

We then climbed back out and finished cleaning our room. Finally, we were free to do whatever we wanted for the rest of the day. For me, that meant swimming, fishing, or playing with the goats. But instead, I decided to venture into the forest to see if I could find out what the mysterious thing in the attic was. Maybe it was just a possum?

My great-grandmother was quite the storyteller. She often spoke of large white orbs and claimed to have seen three of them simultaneously, positioned over the three oldest houses in the neighborhood – hers, ours, and the one across the street from us.

My parents also had a mysterious story to share. One summer night, my father drove the family down a lonely country road when suddenly, something brighter than anything he had ever seen illuminated the darkness. Thinking it might be a helicopter signaling a vehicle, he pulled over, but there was no sound, no sign of the light, and no other vehicles in sight. It just vanished in an instant.

Whatever this thing was in the attic, I’ll call it a devil for it was rather devilish. It was the first devil that I had ever seen and could say was real. It was fearful, but like I said, nothing compared to the second devil and the rest following. Maybe this thing was an alien, and it was afraid of me just as much as I was of it. 

This memory resurfaced last year when I visited a nature preserve and saw a barn owl that reminded me of that peculiar entity from my childhood.  I shook my head. All these years! What an explorer I would have made. I'm glad I didn't go into the sciences for an occupation. Sometimes our fear can get the better of us and make us believe in something that doesn't exist. Sometimes, though, it does exist, and it comes after us. We think all we can do is fear because there is nowhere to run.

It Stood at the end of my Bed

It might seem counterintuitive, but I was afraid when someone prayed for me. It wasn't because of the prayer itself, but because I saw the possibility of death everywhere. When I got into a car, I feared an accident. When I was in public, I worried about being murdered. Even while swimming, I was afraid of drowning. I realized that this was most likely paranoia and it was absurd to live in constant fear of the worst happening, especially since it probably wouldn't happen.

You see, it was not an unfounded fear because it could happen. What if it did? I didn't fear dying; I feared death. Death is what comes after dying and is eternal. Getting into a car wreck and smashing your skull all over the hood is only momentary. What awaited me was Hell - a genuine place full of demons that take the shapes of the most terrifying creatures imaginable. All they want to do is chase you, eat you piece by piece, part by part, digest you, and then you come back alive to be eaten again. Then there is the fire - Hellfire that burns you forever with a heat that melts your eyeballs but never kills you. In Hell, there are worms that eat your flesh, and crawl out of your nose and into your mouth, and there is nothing you can do to get rid of them. You cannot eat, drink, or sleep though you are hungry, thirsty, and tired. You will call for God, but He won’t hear you. It will never end.

"You might ask, 'What did I do to deserve this?'

The answer is nothing. It was designed for Satan and his demons, not for human beings, who are all God’s children. But the thing is, if you do nothing as I did, then when the end comes, death will without a doubt follow. I was thirteen, at the end of my age of innocence. If I did not choose to follow God, then I had every reason to be paranoid."

After several weeks of suppressing my emotions and fears, I finally did what I had been avoiding. As a churchgoer, it made sense for me to surrender my life to Jesus Christ. I was too scared to respond to the invitation at the end of church services by walking to the front of the congregation and kneeling while others prayed over me. Instead, I followed my heart's conviction and prayed to Jesus to save me in the peaceful solitude of my room one night. After that, my fear vanished, and I felt at peace knowing that if I died, I would live on in Heaven. I began learning as much as I could about God's ways, and this is where my story truly begins.

It was late summer, and nightly prayer and reading of the Bible had become a routine. The sun had set, and all the creatures of the night were singing their chorus. My family had drifted off to sleep, and I was the last one to switch off the light and retire to bed. Moonglow illuminated the corner of my pillow as the soft breeze gently opened the curtains. That was always especially comforting. I believed that the moon's light not only brought serenity but also had the power to heal. I drifted off to sleep under its blue glow. In those days I slept hard, but this night something stirred.

Seemingly, dark and heavy clouds formed, darkening the night sky, and blackness pervaded my room. It was like a storm, yet ever so still. I was alone but not alone. I opened my eyes, and there, standing at the end of my bed, was a tall figure with wide shoulders. It had a human form but was much larger than any human I had ever seen. I could not see any clothing or features; it was blacker than the blackness in my room. I wasn't sure if I was seeing it with my physical eyes or sensing it very acutely with my spirit. Fear filled me like an ocean. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't open my mouth. I wanted to run, but I was frozen in place. I was completely at its mercy.

In later years, I had heard about phenomena such as sleep paralysis. At the time, I didn't think that it was the case for me, but now as I write about it, I realize that it might have been exactly that. Perhaps it was instinctual to freeze in place when one is in the grip of danger, like prey in the claws of a predator, but maybe this was something more than just that. I didn't fear death because I now knew Heaven came after, but this entity didn't want to kill me outright. It wanted to slowly and meticulously torture me, to tear me apart one bite at a time, with the ultimate goal of dragging me into Hell. I was utterly horrified.

It stared at me, and I quivered back for what seemed like hours. It was more fearsome than anything I've described to you before. Finally, exhausted, I drifted to sleep. When I awoke, it was gone. The sun was already high in the sky, and nothing was out of the ordinary except for the dread in my gut. Had this been a dream? No, no dream I have ever had.

They Came at Night

They followed, watched, and tormented me. I knew what these things were. Those who study the paranormal world call them shadow men or shadow beings. It was clear to me that they were demons. The Bible talks about them in depth; it calls them tormenting spirits. They come to vex our souls. "Vexed" was an understatement. They polluted the air around me, filling it with a spiritual, suffocating stench laced with undeniable, all-encompassing fear.

In my life, I felt safe in two places - at church and with other people. Demons wouldn't show up when others were around, so I found peace with my family and friends. However, due to having older siblings and working parents, I was often alone.

Based on my experiences, I have come to learn that malevolent entities typically avoid church services and anything associated with God or Jesus. However, there are exceptions to this. I once witnessed a man who was possessed by a demon during a church service. Although I don’t remember all the details, I recall that he was brought forward for prayer and my great-grandfather laid hands on him, successfully casting out the demon. Many Christians in my life have had similar experiences. It's important to note that exorcism is not exclusive to Catholicism; it is a part of Bible-based faith.

They came at night. Whenever the setting sun left me alone in that big farmhouse, far from anyone to hear me, I would start to feel their slimy presence. It would begin with a sense of unease and then intensify; this night was no exception.

In the kitchen, I added the finishing touches to my plate of nachos. They were my sister's specialty, but she wasn't available to assist. My brother had gone on a fishing trip with his friend for a weekend vacation, leaving me to do whatever I wanted. I noticed the frying pan topping off the sink full of dishes. "I'll get them in the morning." Balancing my heavy plate and a glass of soda, I walked through the dining room, past the big wood stove, and into the living room. I set my dinner on the end stand and settled into my dad's recliner.

I relaxed and tried to get into the movie. It was probably an action film with some questionable content that my parents wouldn't approve of. However, it wasn't doing a good job of holding my attention. I placed my half-eaten nachos on the coffee table and peered into the darkness of the dining room and kitchen. The sun had set, and there were no streetlights to provide even a small amount of warmth through the gloomy windows. The only sources of light were the old 26-inch box television and a dim table lamp next to me.

My gaze lingered on the darkness, which seemed to stare back at me ominously. The urgent need to use the bathroom was causing discomfort, but to relieve myself, I would have to venture into that darkness. I settled back and refocused on the movie.

Do you remember times when you sat alone and looked around the school cafeteria only to spot a couple of kids glancing at you, and then laughing with each other? You knew beyond all doubt that you were the subject of their jesting. It was infuriating yet you couldn’t confront them. I mean, you didn’t really know they were talking about you, couldn’t prove it anyway. That is the feeling coming from that darkness. There were eyes. Entities were staring back at me, talking about what they would do to me if given the opportunity. Maybe they were plotting their evil plan to destroy me from the inside out. Maybe their whispers would have enough power to persuade me to hang myself from the ceiling and suffocate. Then they would drag my soul into the depths of Hell. Or maybe they would manifest into something physical and pull my entrails out and decorate the house with them. What a surprise that would be for my family when they returned.

As distressing thoughts occupied my mind, I decided to leave the room and go upstairs to bed. The dim lamp flickered subtly as I made my way up the seemingly endless stairs. It felt like climbing Everest in my swimming trunks without any oxygen. I could now see the shadowy figures more clearly than I could a few months ago. Instead of two, there were now three of them, and they seemed to be following me. I had hoped to leave the dark presence behind on the lower floor, but it persisted, almost breathing down my neck. I felt as though the figures could easily grab me and pull me into an abyss, but they didn't. Despite feeling their presence, I continued putting one foot in front of the other.

Finally, I reached the top and I thought there would be some relief, that the entities would magically disappear, but they didn't. Instead, they had ushered me into what could only be described as a cacophony of devils. There were many of them, large and small, of different shapes and levels of excitement. I knew they wanted me, but I didn't understand why there were so many assigned to just me. I had not been that bad to deserve this, nor had I been that good to merit such a legion dedicated to my downfall. They stamped their feet and crowded every wall, but they didn't advance toward me or overtake me.

A distant memory re-played in my mind -

"I'm too exhausted, I can't go on," she lamented.

We encouraged our friend, "Yes you can Laura, the goal isn't the top of the mountain, it's the next 20 steps."

We counted together - one, two, three... we rested, then began again.

My bedroom door was only a few feet in front of me. That was my goal. I didn’t know what would happen or what worse thing there would be waiting in my room, but I had to focus on that door. One, two, three…

I opened the door and immediately peace in the form of Heavenly warmth overcame me. I slammed the door closed behind me and flipped on the light. I fell onto my bed, crawled under the soft covers, and digested the experience.

In the realm of the spirit, everything is more alive, and some say, more real. I believe that is because, in the spirit, we can use more dimensions of thought and feeling. The fear I had was both fear and cold. It was cold to the point of seeing my breath through the darkness of that night, but the temperature never really changed. The demons were very present and exhibited a tangible substance of fear that was like ice and darkness, affecting me to the core. Conversely, when I walked through that door, God met me. There was a barrier, or a portal, that He called me to walk through. The demons could not follow, as the darkness that was their being would be scattered, or rather transformed into nothing by the power of His light. This light was also felt as warmth and peace, and yes, affected me to the core.

This night would be one of the last that I was powerless to do anything about my situation. I began to see through the fear that enveloped these moments, and I had a realization. The demons weren’t allowed to touch me.

The Name of Jesus

My great-grandfather had now passed on and his replacement was a matter-of-fact, in-your-face kind of guy and, like I said before, with a slow Alabama drawl.

I only know what he told me about his life. As a child, he plowed fields with a horse and plow, with leather straps thrown over his shoulders under the hot southern sun. As he grew older, his love of horsepower translated into CCs – 1200 of them riding between his legs on two wheels. He rode a Harley Davidson and joined an outlaw biker gang. He didn’t tell me how many times he hurt someone or how badly he had been beaten down into a bloody pulp, but he did fear others so much that he slept with a .45 under his pillow at night.

He stood at least 6 foot 3 inches tall and had thick, wavy hair and a long gray beard. Despite his intimidating stature, he was as gentle as a kitten by the time I met him. His biker days were behind him, but he never relinquished his strength. He still associated with the gangs and continued to ride his Harley, albeit with the pistol now secured in a gun safe. This was because he no longer lived in fear; he had discovered authentic power, which he shared with me one day.

I was sitting at the end of my church pew, listening to him preach. He was walking up and down the rows, emphasizing the points of his sermon and making them personally relevant to each of us. I have no idea what the lesson was about, but I’m sure it’s somewhere in the recesses of my mind, waiting to be applied in real life. The Pastor paused his preaching for a few seconds. Standing right next to me, he turned and looked into my eyes, and with a scrunched-up expression, he said, “You need to learn how to use the name of Jesus.”

He then resumed the lesson exactly where he had left off. His interlude seemed unrelated to the topic he was teaching, but it felt like an absolute truth. I understood what he was talking about. By then, I already knew the power in the name of Jesus. The Bible teaches that everything was created by that name and nothing can withstand it. How did I not think to use it against the darkness encroaching on my life?

I finally broke down and told my mom what was happening. She believed me because she was raised in a house that was full of paranormal activity. My mother was the prayer warrior in the family, and as I mentioned earlier, she might have been the reason that I felt the fear of death. She's who led me to repentance and inspired me to dedicate my life to Jesus.

My mother taught me how to command a demon using the name of Jesus. She also taught me how to use scripture to expel evil, as well as how to use anointing oil to create supernatural boundaries that demons cannot pass through.

I found myself in a situation where I believed that God was teaching me how to fight supernatural beings. It was not something I had asked for, but it was happening, and both I and others believed it. So, with God and my mom supporting me, I went back into the dark world of demons and loneliness. With new boundaries set up, the visitations from supernatural beings calmed down for a while, but eventually, they began to happen again.

In the middle of the night, on numerous occasions, dark spirits would come through my door and stand at the center of my room. I would awake to find one or several of them staring at me. I would then turn toward them and say, "Get out in the name of Jesus."

My words were quiet at first, mere whispers. I’m sure the demons thought my attempts were laughable as they persisted, keeping their dwelling place in my room very much alive with their evil stares. But as a holy rage overflowed within me, I burst out in authority, “Get out of my room in the NAME OF JESUS!”

At long last, they left, and I finally had peace.

Still, night after night they returned to wake me. My fear grew smaller as I would drive them out of my room, out of my house. I would threaten to command them into the abyss, and they would leave as my righteous anger ignited.

There were nights when I would wake up with intense fear, almost paralyzing. I would lie under my covers, back turned, not wanting to even open my mouth or face in that direction. I prayed and read the Bible every day, and I knew the soft voice of God. You would think He would thunder, being a power greater than all power, but He never did. We are His little children. I heard His voice that night, speaking gently to me a word of wisdom: "Praise Me, my son."

I softly began singing a church song that praised God. I went through the words and then sang them again, this time louder. I grew more confident as I welcomed the Holy Spirit of God into my room. Of course, where there is light, no darkness can be. I knew this, but it became real this night. The Bible says God inhabits the praises of His people. (Psalm 22:3) The demons hated it and, most certainly, with disgust and great fear, they left.

Once, I had an unsettling experience while driving in the dark.

Another time, I woke up in the middle of the night to a strange sight. There was a small, squat, ogre-like creature sitting on the pillow next to my head, making a chomping noise that resembled a dog licking itself. It seemed to be intentionally trying to annoy me, as it knew that the sound was a pet peeve of mine. I detest the sound of people chewing with their mouths open, so this creature seemed to have appeared just to bother me.

I raised my arm and tried to knock the thing off the bed in frustration. At this point, the demon didn't seem like much of a threat to me. My fist landed on the pillow next to me, but the little devil was still there. I felt foolish; you can't punch a demon or harm it with physical means like a gun or a fist. They are unaffected by physical force.

“I rebuke you demon, in the name of Jesus, get lost!”

One time, while I was at home, I had an eerie experience. I was with my wife, whom I met in church, and we were sitting and listening to the pastor. However, something outside the building caught my attention. I noticed movement in the parking lot. It appeared to be white, but whenever I tried to focus on it directly, it seemed to disappear. It kept moving back and forth between the cars for a considerable amount of time, but strangely, no one else seemed to notice it, even though the parking lot was visible through the large windows. From the corner of my eye, I could make out its shape - it was white and had four legs, resembling a bald coyote or a dog. I had a strong feeling that it was some kind of demon, deliberately trying to distract me. Finally, it vanished. It was one of the few times I saw something so tangible yet supernatural.

When Pinterest became popular, I started pinning away, all types of pins. I found one that resembled this demon, it was created very accurately, however, it was only fantasy art and not real at all. This is one reason I believe that some people can tap into the world of the spirit through their art without even knowing it.

After some time, the demonic intrusions subsided and I could finally sleep peacefully through the night. I was no longer entertaining for the evil creatures. They could not thrive on my fear because I trusted in God and no longer feared them. They grew weary of me casting them out, and the numerous visitations decreased to only occasional encounters, which I believe were for instructional purposes as desired by God. This is one such instance:

I had grown up, moved out, and was living with my wife in a new house. Life was wonderful; we were happy, having children, and working. Just living life. One night, I awoke to find an entity sitting next to my bed. My wife was sleeping next to me. The demon didn’t seem to be aware that I was awake. Perhaps my body was still sleeping as God awakened my spirit to allow me to see what was happening.

The figure was sitting on a chair. It was large and fat, about the size of a heavy man. It was wearing an apron and sewing with a thread and large hooks. It was leaning over my body and working on my bare back. I couldn't see God, but I knew He was present.

"Father, what is it doing?" I asked without much emotion, not feeling fearful or overly concerned, just curious.

The immediate response came, "It's sewing flesh hooks into you."

I fell back asleep before I could even cast off the demon. It felt like a dream to me. After that, I worked hard to not be swayed by the sins of my body, and to resist various temptations. I prayed for God to remove the flesh hooks. I didn't want to be controlled by bodily desires, and I rebuked the flesh hook demon.

 The Supernatural God

I have mainly discussed the supernatural aspects of the dark side, or demons, so far. We tend to focus on that side of things, especially around October. I want to direct your attention to the other side, which is far more personal and powerful. These are simply my experiences on the matter.

The Holy Spirit

The Holy Spirit is the third member of the Holy Trinity, which consists of God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is described as the power of God. A simple way to understand the roles within the Trinity is that if God wants to turn on a light, He would say, "Let there be light." Jesus would then physically flip the switch, but the power that makes the light come on, the electricity, is represented by the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit serves as our teacher, leader, comforter, and spirit guide. Even though I have mainly experienced the work of the Holy Spirit in my life, it's important to remember that all three members of the Trinity are one entity. God is the Father, Son, and Spirit in one. They are all one and one is all.

When I was a very small child, my family lived in a little trailer out on the backroads. One night, we were getting ready to eat dinner. As my mom was still setting the table, we were waiting to sit down. I looked down the hallway and saw a figure standing there. He looked like Jesus but had light brown hair, shoulder length, and a flowing robe. He was as tall as the ceiling; however tall a single-wide trailer ceiling was in probably a mid-70s model. I tried to get somebody’s attention, but they wouldn't listen to me. At the time, I was about four years old.

Another time I experienced Him in a dream, but my dreams were vivid and in full color and full length. I remember this so clearly. It was a house in Heaven, maybe mine, maybe not. The houses were huge like big old plantation homes with massive covered front porches. There was more than one here. There were many old mansions like this, separated not with a road or pathways, but with large, lush green lawns. I was standing on the porch having a conversation with the Holy Spirit. He was so personal and easy to talk to. He was laid back and we were completely comfortable with each other like age-old friends. He sat comfortably on the railing of the porch leaning against a big white pillar. His feet stretched out in front of Him, and He wore a loose white shirt tucked into loose-fitting black pants. He had no shoes on. Even though His hair was short this time, I knew He was the Spirit.

This next experience was intimate, and I’d rather not share it openly. Sometimes experiences should be kept private, as a good person would not divulge such intimate details to anyone other than their partner. However, I feel like this writing would be incomplete without including this night. So, I hope you can find beauty and inspiration in this story.

It was midweek, and there were only a few of us in the church. The revival had been ongoing since Sunday. We were praising God when my sister began to have another seizure. Her seizures were a weekly, if not daily, occurrence and almost always happened on church nights. My mom took my sister to a back room while she could still walk.

I tried to move forward with praise, intentionally setting aside thoughts of her in the background, so I kept on singing. After a few moments of worship, a quietness descended upon the congregation.

Spring rain gently fell outside, calming and embracing me. A single, radiant voice softly serenaded. Her language was not of Earth; it was of the tongues of angels. It was melodic, otherworldly, and heavenly.

I bowed my head and closed my eyes in reverence. With closed eyes, I could see. Behind me, the Holy Spirit moved closer and closer. His holy attire stirred like desert sand moved by the wind. The waves of His hair brushed His shoulders as He walked toward me.

As I turned my head, whether in the spirit or out, I don't know, He morphed into a cloud and evaporated into my belly, filling me to the uttermost. When He entered my spirit, I had an overwhelming feeling of love. It was love and beauty at a level that was indescribable and immediate. It was simply love and beauty but at many hundreds or even thousands of dimensions deep.

I spent the rest of the night lost in praise and worship to my creator. All I wanted to do was share what happened to me with my loved ones. Unfortunately, my sister was in no condition to listen, and my mother was overwhelmed with deep sadness. So once again, I was alone in my experience, which made me feel even closer to God and the Holy Spirit. He truly feels like my best friend. How can I not believe it? If you went through the same experience, could you still deny that He is real?

Jesus

I have experienced the supernatural presence of God many times. Whenever I call upon the name of Jesus, I feel His presence. I believe that Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and God are one and the same, so there's no need to differentiate between them. When I was a child, while traveling, I saw a door open in the clouds, and a man dressed in a white robe with a red sash appeared. I was certain it was Jesus because I could see Him clearly. I remember seeing the color blue during that encounter, though I believe He embodies all colors. Everything originates from Him, so He encompasses all things, and His beauty is beyond description.

I believe that the church serves as a gateway to Heaven, but that gateway exists within our hearts. When we sing praises to Him, He makes His presence known to us. Sometimes, He communicates through a small voice or a thought in our minds. Other times, He speaks through people, conveying messages that they wouldn't know otherwise. Occasionally, His presence is felt in a powerful, supernatural manner, filling the atmosphere with electricity or causing a sensation of weight and love.

I want everyone, not just Christians, to understand that the true Christian life is a supernatural experience, filled with mystery, awe, danger, love, and adventure.

Director of the Angels

There was a man. He was a quiet, little, white-haired man named Fred. He and his wife visited our church quite often. He wore an oversized suit, probably all he could afford. I never really talked to him, but I heard the stories.

Every Sunday morning at his home church, he could be found walking around the stage, talking and giving directions, even though no one was with him. He appeared to be very authoritative about his business, pointing here and there. When asked who he was talking to, he simply answered, "The angels." It seemed as though the angels were very active in that church, and he would tell them where to go and what they needed to do that day.

I believe that he received divine instructions to pass on to the angels. It could be directives like "This person will have a gun, that person will be troubled by a demon, and this one will require healing." Maybe it was simply practical matters such as "Place the batteries here because the Pastor's microphone is about to die."

I wish I had the chance to talk to him more. He shook my hand once, and I will never forget it. Our church hosted a 'unity service,' where many local congregations came together for worship. Brother Fred was there and, after the service, he came to say goodbye to our family. His wife had already passed away, so he probably spent a lot of time seeking God's presence, learning, and growing spiritually.

He shook our hands, and lastly mine. He looked into my eyes and squeezed my hand. More than 20 seconds passed, and it was getting extremely uncomfortable. I pulled back, but he wouldn’t let me go. Tears welled up in his old eyes, and finally, he released my hand and walked away. That was the last time I ever saw him before he passed. Again, I would love to talk to him. What did he see? What did he know about my life that I didn't?

Devil fighter

I once had a friend who was part of my life for a very short time. I needed a friend to talk to, and God brought him to me. We talked all the time, and he gave me a lot of material to learn from. He helped me to grow spiritually. He taught me things like how to use my senses as an “antenna” to spiritual things. It was similar to what I had learned as a youth from my mom about fighting the attacks of demons. He had a ministry casting out demons and helping people to rehabilitate. It was common practice for him to park his car by what I call the satanic store and pray against the demons. I fought the demons that came to me, but he fought them in their domain.

In his battles, he achieved success as the store put up a real estate sign and moved out of town. With the help of God, my friend had won control over the territory.

However, the store simply relocated to a new location, which happened to be right next door to my friend's house. It was an old white church with a tall steeple and a cemetery in the yard next to it, which was very fitting for the business.

The same year, he was hit by a car and killed while helping his brother, who had broken down on the road. I don't think it was a coincidence. I believe the occultists who owned the store became desperate and needed to get rid of this man of God at all costs.

The (un)Common Spiritual Life

Now as one having had all these experiences, I was educated enough to navigate this big world and many dimensions within it. There are experiences that I occasionally have; they are just commonalities that I’m sure all whose eyes have been opened share. I’ll tell you these last tales and maybe, if you’ve still walked with me through this writing from the start, you’ll find an inspiration or a little scare from them.

Dreams

I have always been an avid dreamer. I've even had to verify certain childhood experiences to see if they were real or just figments of my imagination. I remember being surrounded by a pack of wild dogs and being chased by an angry bull. I used to journal my dreams, but after filling more than one notebook with horrible tales of being hunted by strange creatures, I stopped writing. It was too depressing and time-consuming. However, I want to share this particular dream with you with a small preface. My wonderful sister, later in life, had passed away. She was a beautiful young woman who wanted nothing more than to live, and now she is.

I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing, and as I tried to turn off the alarm, I saw that it was my mother calling at three in the morning. Confused, I answered the call.

"Hello?"

"She didn't make it," she cried.

"Mom, what are you talking about?"

"Your sister, they told me she's in Hell," she sobbed, her drawn-out words telling me she had been crying for a while, believing their deceptions. She cried like a little girl who had her best friend taken from her.

“Who told you that Mom?”

“They did. They’ve been there where she is. They saw her!”

I knew who ‘they’ were. The ones I have dealt with all my life. One day I’ll lay my hands on them. I’ll make them suffer for all the wrong they’ve done to humanity.

“We don’t listen to them, Mom. You know that. They’re liars and she isn’t there. She is in Heaven. Don’t believe them,” I repeated.

“What do I do then?”

“You know Mom. Believe God and believe what He said in His word. I’ll deal with the demons, just have faith and rest in Him.”

She hung up the phone sniffling, a bit calmer than when she had first called me.

Immediately, I went into prayer, calling out the demon liars where they were. I went into battle for my mother and my sister. I was now the warrior who represented his family.

Booming anger-filled words toward the evil entities, they finally, after all these years did what I feared they would. The hoard wrapped their ugly dirty arms around me and dragged me into the pits of Hell.

I found myself falling into some sort of underworld and landing in a concrete structure. Surprisingly, it wasn't a burning building, nor was I in a volcanic cave filled with screaming people. It was a dark, windowless building that seemed to be a parking garage with dim, flickering orange lights. I could hear the sound of approaching demons on both sides rushing toward me, seemingly ready to deliver me to Lucifer. They were everywhere - in every direction I looked, not hindered by God or any form of saving grace. In that moment, a bible verse (Isaiah 41:10) came to mind. As I spoke it, a sword extended from my right arm, with the hilt in hand.

I swung the mighty sword like a barbarian, disemboweling a hundred evil spirits at a time. More verses came to me, and I spoke each one aloud. I was not operating by my mind, willing my body to act, but by faith in God’s spoken word.

There were too many, I could not defeat them all and they were hemmed in around me. I blasted one last verse into the atmosphere. The inner walls of the structure crumbled, closing off every exit. The beasts were trapped. I lifted off my feet with still another spoken verse and moved backward, dissolving through the walls.

As I landed outside of the prison-like building, my boots hit the dirt. I lowered the sword to my side, demon blood still dripping from its unsparing edges. Throwing back the hood of my heavy cloak, I took in my surroundings. This was truly an evil place with an ominous post-war atmosphere. Suddenly, I found myself back in bed. I suppose that meant I had won the victory in this battle and had again learned some things.

One – in the spirit realm we do not operate by any means other than God’s word.

And two – my sister was not in Hell!

Aside from the dreams that awaken me at night, there are also times when the demons don’t bother me but instead dare to come into my house. Subconsciously, my spirit will stir my body and I will go to use the bathroom or get a drink of water and encounter their evil presence. They seem to always lurk outside my bedroom door. Cold chills, like waves, cover my body and if I am not in tune with God or where I should be spiritually, I could easily be overcome by fear. As a husband and father, I cannot let that happen.

Astral Projector

I wrestled awake once again, that familiar stare burning into my back. I turned to face a dark figure but saw something very much the same as what I expected, yet different. The shadow stood by the door. It seemed reluctant to come any closer and fearfully vanished upon realizing that I could see it. It was there only a few seconds and in that small window of time, I could sense that it was a human being. The spirit of a man, middle-aged with hair feathered over his ears, standing in my room as I slept. He had clothes on, jeans maybe, and a thicker jacket.

This had to have been a remote viewer or an astral projector. How did he know me, what did I do to invite him? Why was he here?

The reassuring thoughts of God filled my mind again. “Anything in the realm of the spirit is subject to the laws of the spirit. If the name of Jesus and the sword of the Word work against demons, they will surely work against this man.                                                                                                                                                  

My kids tell me they have seen things from time to time. Black humanoid figures lurking in the doorway of their rooms in the middle of the night.

These things don’t know when to quit. My eldest child told me of a time when something sat on the edge of his bed, pressing it down, waking him, but when he looked, nothing was there.

So, it's time to train the next generation in spiritual self-defense. These things are here to stay on Earth, at least until God says the time is up. I have a feeling they have more tricks up their sleeves, more ways of appearing that I haven't seen yet. We will see, and we will be ready.

Jeremy D Kirby