MadameBovary
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- Aug 9, 2011
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I am 93 years old, and this is a terrifying story for me. My father had a fight with the devil back in 1926 in Worcester, Massachusetts. My father, who claimed to be a devout Catholic, and man of God, was also a very strict, bordering on abusive husband and father of five chidren.
One night he was so angry with all of us that he began heating a poker in the coal stove, and said he was going to use it on the backside of the next one that opened their mouth. Needless to say, none of us opened our mouth.
Later, my father said he was going into his bedroom to say his rosary, and told us all to keep quiet. We did, but 10 minutes into my father saying his rosary, he let out a piercing scream for help. My mother tried to get into the bedroom, but the door was tightly locked. My father never locked the bedroom door.
I shudder to think about the next sounds we heard. The six of us in the other room heard a deep animal-like growl, and then my father's voice in a loud arguement with what sounded like another man with a very deep voice. They argued back and forth, then my father let out a piercing scream. Now we could hear the sounds of items being thrown, mirrors smashing, and what sounded like someone being thrown against the walls and the door, with loud sickening thuds. Then we heard my father begging, pleading, moaning and weeping. My father sounded like a man reduced to someone we never knew at all, and the words "weeping and gnashing of teeth" (which I had just learned in CCD class), kept going through my mind.
My father cried pitifully behind the locked bedroom door for about 20 minutes before emerging. When he came out, we saw my father as a shriveled, sniveling man with welts, cuts, bruises, and every part of his body reddened by an apparent fight for his life. He opened his shirt and we gasped by what we saw: a deep red cross burned into his chest.
My father said that he had tried to fend off the devil with his rosary. He thought he could burn the devil with a religious cross. Instead, he said the devil grabbed his arm, told my father that he was just as evil as he, and then proved it by pushing my father's hand with the cross into my father's chest. My father said the devil then squealed with delight when my father's skin began to sizzle and burn, leaving the imprint of the cross in my father's chest. Oddly, my father smelled of burning sulfur when he emerged from the bedroom, and the smell of sulfur eminated from the bedroom as well.
The bedroom itself was destroyed with broken furniture, holes in walls, and smashed mirrors. Over the next few days, my father's wounds healed very quickly, but not so his emotional wounds. My father lived the remainder of his life as a quiet and broken man, a much more pious man than he had ever pretended to be before.
Me, my mother, my three sisters, and my brother never spoke of this terrifying incident until long after my father had passed away, and we don't know why. Maybe we feared that my father's very unwelcome visitor would return to him again or -- God forbid! -- come to see one of us. My father wasn't the only one who learned a very important lesson that day. My whole family did and we lived our lives accordingly with much love and kindness, for that was what the devil's visit taught us
One night he was so angry with all of us that he began heating a poker in the coal stove, and said he was going to use it on the backside of the next one that opened their mouth. Needless to say, none of us opened our mouth.
Later, my father said he was going into his bedroom to say his rosary, and told us all to keep quiet. We did, but 10 minutes into my father saying his rosary, he let out a piercing scream for help. My mother tried to get into the bedroom, but the door was tightly locked. My father never locked the bedroom door.
I shudder to think about the next sounds we heard. The six of us in the other room heard a deep animal-like growl, and then my father's voice in a loud arguement with what sounded like another man with a very deep voice. They argued back and forth, then my father let out a piercing scream. Now we could hear the sounds of items being thrown, mirrors smashing, and what sounded like someone being thrown against the walls and the door, with loud sickening thuds. Then we heard my father begging, pleading, moaning and weeping. My father sounded like a man reduced to someone we never knew at all, and the words "weeping and gnashing of teeth" (which I had just learned in CCD class), kept going through my mind.
My father cried pitifully behind the locked bedroom door for about 20 minutes before emerging. When he came out, we saw my father as a shriveled, sniveling man with welts, cuts, bruises, and every part of his body reddened by an apparent fight for his life. He opened his shirt and we gasped by what we saw: a deep red cross burned into his chest.
My father said that he had tried to fend off the devil with his rosary. He thought he could burn the devil with a religious cross. Instead, he said the devil grabbed his arm, told my father that he was just as evil as he, and then proved it by pushing my father's hand with the cross into my father's chest. My father said the devil then squealed with delight when my father's skin began to sizzle and burn, leaving the imprint of the cross in my father's chest. Oddly, my father smelled of burning sulfur when he emerged from the bedroom, and the smell of sulfur eminated from the bedroom as well.
The bedroom itself was destroyed with broken furniture, holes in walls, and smashed mirrors. Over the next few days, my father's wounds healed very quickly, but not so his emotional wounds. My father lived the remainder of his life as a quiet and broken man, a much more pious man than he had ever pretended to be before.
Me, my mother, my three sisters, and my brother never spoke of this terrifying incident until long after my father had passed away, and we don't know why. Maybe we feared that my father's very unwelcome visitor would return to him again or -- God forbid! -- come to see one of us. My father wasn't the only one who learned a very important lesson that day. My whole family did and we lived our lives accordingly with much love and kindness, for that was what the devil's visit taught us