Wednesday, April 9, 2014

The Exorcism of William Moresly, Prologue Part Two

“Euthanasia! What in the hell are you thinking Thomas, we don’t condone such behavior!” Hennessy had all but yelled through the phone.
“But nothing seems to help! We’ve tried several exorcisms, therapy, various rounds of medication… while the young man is himself they seem to help, but when it takes over they have no effect on it.”

“You keep saying it, tell me what you mean by it,” Hennessy remembered demanding.
“We only say it because we don’t think it has a gender,” Thomas had said over the phone, his voice trembling slightly. “It can sound male or female all it likes while within William, and often switches mid-sentence. Sometimes it speaks in both.”
“Impossible… and you say you’ve performed exorcisms on the man?” Hennessy had asked.
“Yes, a total of five so far, one every year on All Hallows Eve.” Thomas had replied, sounding more confident. “The exorcisms… they seem to cause the beast within him great discomfort, but no actual pain or fear.”
“And he shows all signs of possession?” Hennessy had to be sure before he made the trip to Malone, to see this for himself.
To contact an Exorcist.
“We have to keep him bound in iron manacles, chained to the wall, because of his strength. Those have to be regularly replaced as he, while possessed, performs fits of rage where he tries to pull the chains free. He speaks in multiple languages, some dead, and has even foretold the future on a few occasions.”
“And he was accurate?” Hennessy had asked, startled from such a fact.
“He predicted this conversation,” Thomas had replied.
The line had fallen silent as both men had contemplated what was just said. “When… when did he make this prediction. And what were his words?”
“He writes them on the walls of his cell, using his own blood. One of the nuns who cares for him said he’d written about the man with a spiritual name of France in glass would reach me via a seat amongst the chess board, only to claim the King as his savior, the Queen the mother, and the cross his own instrument of torment.”
Hennessy hadn’t known what to say to that. “He said I would use the cross as my own instrument of torture?”
“That’s what he wrote. During the day he’s fine, so long as we don’t provoke him. But at night, the demon surfaces and takes over.”
“Tell me of the exorcisms. Did you lead them yourself?” Hennessy had asked, having gone to his filing cabinet to root out the file on this Parish.
“We tried getting help from the Vatican, but were denied. Twice.”
“On what grounds?” Hennessey had indeed found the formal letters requesting an exorcist to come to their Parish, to cleanse a young man of an otherworldly evil.
“Well… the young man isn’t Catholic. He isn’t even Christian, truth be told. He just came to us seeking aid and shelter, saying he’d done terrible things in his possessed state, and didn’t know where he could turn to.”
“He’s not a practicing Catholic?”
“He reads scripture daily, and meditates on the morals and philosophies of the church, but we have not been able to get him to take Communion or be baptized. The thing within him surfaces every time we try and mocks us, making the attempt a waste of time.”
“How many times have you tried this?”
“Ten times, every Easter Sunday and every Christmas. We believed at first that these days would grant us an extra bit of sway over the demon.”
“And they haven’t,” Hennessy had said, finishing the statement.
“No… all they’ve done is brought the Beast within him out; the first time we tried it we were in the middle of Mass, and he caused quite a stir. It took five men to subdue him long enough for us to corral him back into his cell.”
“His cell?”
“I know, it sounds horrible, but it is for the best. He lives in the cellar, in a modified storage room that acts as his home and sanctuary.”
“And how does he feel about this?”
“He feels perfectly fine with it all,” Thomas had sounded relieved about that. “He likes that we are holding him, and that we are trying to cleanse him of this spirit. He’s been very patient with us and very open to all of our suggestions.”
Hennessy had leaned back in his chair at that point, swiveling it around to stare outside his window, down into the courtyard where the statue of St. Ignatius stood, a small stone cistern surrounding him.
“Do you believe he has committed a crime during his possession?” Hennessy had finally asked, closing his eyes.
Thomas had been silent on the other end, just for the briefest of moments. “We don’t know. And the young man, William, doesn’t remember what happens to him while he’s possessed.”
“So he could have harmed people, innocent people, and now we would be harboring a criminal?”
“I’ve thought of that as well, oh so many times… but I can’t find it in my heart to turn this boy loose to the police, not without ridding him of his ailment. Isn’t that what we do as Priests, Bishop? Help those who are spiritually in danger?” 

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