The D Word

Demon is the new black. Just when the proliferation of paranormal reality shows made it cool to buy a flashlight, a recorder, and a K2 meter and call yourself a ghost hunter, the bar has been raised. The viewing public is familiar with the basic reality show fodder: paranormal team goes to haunted location, walks around in the dark hearing voices and footsteps, feels cold spots, and shows us what a dark room looks like through a night vision camera. Ho hum.

To boost ratings, shows now focus on the darker side of the paranormal: negative entities terrorizing families, haunted sites where danger abounds, and of course the demon in the basement. And as surely as a good burp follows a cold bottle of beer, now it’s no longer enough to go poking around looking for ghosts. Why stop at ghosts when it’s obvious that demons are everywhere? And why call yourself just another paranormal investigator when you can, presto chango, call yourself a demonologist? You haven’t had any real training in either, so why not?

Reality check here: Demons definitely are increasingly highlighted on TV, in books, and even in film these days (witness the latest blockbuster, “The Conjuring”). It’s called entertainment, folks! Most of it is as far from reality as the media can get without looking downright foolish. Do I believe in demons?
I’ve read enough about this topic from credible sources and met with several respected demonologists to keep an open mind on the subject. What these experts describe is dangerous, even deadly, and something I never want to encounter.

Why am I on this rant? Because I’m seeing more and more serious damage being done, not by demons, but by amateurs in the paranormal field. More and more, investigators (and I use this term loosely) forego formal investigative methodology in favor of sharing their psychic impressions, which of course only they can feel. And more and more, these people are feeling demons. Not just negative spirits, which would be bad enough, but actual demons.

So what’s the harm in that? I see great harm being done because these same folks take it upon themselves to offer their services to homeowners. I’ve heard of a number of cases recently where a team has gone into a home at the request of homeowners who have had some incidents that they think might be paranormal in nature, only to be told that their home is infested by demons, or that their child is in danger of becoming possessed, or some other equally frightening scenario–all based on the unfounded psychic impressions of an amateur ghost hunter/demonologist. No thought is given to how such information will affect the residents of the house, and typically no help is offered other than “Sorry, you have a big problem, good luck with it.” This is irresponsible behavior at best; I’ve seen it devistate entire families, whose home has become a place to be feared and whose mental and emotional wellbeing is being undermined. Careless, callous, and unconcerned with the repercussions of their “investigations,” such irresponsible people in any other field would be facing charges. And a few such people are now facing lawsuits, a trent I fervently hope will gain momentum as victems of such treatment fight back.

Back to “The Conjuring.” While it may be Hollywood, it’s a damn good scary movie. Based on the case files of Ed and Lorraine Warren, the story is both a cautionary tale to anyone who thinks about investigating the paranormal just for the fun of it, and a nod to the hard and often dangerous work that an experienced demonolist like Ed Warren committed himself to in order to help people in real danger from negative entities. To the true demonologists out there who continue to risk themselves to help others, I say thank you. To those unprincipled amateurs who are hurting people with their unfounded claims and tarnishing the reputation of the entire paranormal community in the process, I say shame on you. Stop inflating your egos at the expense of others and spend some time learning to tell the difference between imagination and reality. Plenty of us in the paranormal community are professions, and we’re sick of cleaning up your mess.

P.S. If you are interested in reading about real-life exorcisms, there’s no better book available than “Hostage to the Devil: The Possession and Excorcism of Five Contemporary Americans,” by Malachai Martin. Father Martin is a Catholic exorcist, and his detailed account of the harsh reality of conducting a real exorcism is considered a definitive work on the subject.

I Blame Nana

People occasionally ask me why I became a paranormal investigator.  I’ve done some thinking about it, and I blame my nana. My father’s mother raised me (no easy task I’m sure), but it was my mother’s mother, Nana Marshall, who delighted me. She spoiled me rotten–not with toys or money, but with laughter and imagination, so unlike my hardworking but reserved grandma MacLeod.

From Nana Marshall I got my love of books, which has never left me. I also got my love of all kinds of gambling from her. All the women on my mother’s side liked the slots or a good game of cards. In fact, we’d hold reunions at Foxwoods for as long as anybody could still get around without a wheelchair (and even after).   And through Nana Marshall, I came to love the idea of ghosts.

Some of my earliest memories of nana are of sittling on her lap while she told me stories. Not just any stories, either. She had a purpose: to scare me witless. She took her material from stories of haunted houses, the undead rising from their graves in the local cemetery, and from those nasty creatures who lived in closets and liked to eat little girls. The more she tried to scare me, the more I loved it. Unspoken between us was the knowledge that what frightens us is also a catalyst for what fires our imagination and keeps us wanting to know more: why was that creature in the closet? Who was he? What did he want (besides the obvious kiddie meal). And what would I do if he ever left that closet and came for me?

Ghost stories were my favorite, and nana kept me well-supplied. As I grew older, and nana could no longer get around very well, our visits became rarer. I was an avid reader by that time, so I started reading about ghosts. What I read didn’t frighten me. Nana had long since banished any fears I might have about things that go bump in the night. But reading about the paranormal made me more and more curious, until at some point I left off reading about others’ theories and started trying to gather answers on my own.

Nana’s now in the perfect place to give me the answers I’ve been seeking, having passed on years ago, but it doesn’t work that way, does it? So I keep asking questions. Every investigation gives me new information because every investigation is in its own way unique. But for every question that gets answered, more questions emerge. The paranormal is like that: tantalizing, mysterious, unknowable, forever just beyond our reach.

From time to time I feel my nana’s presence. She’ll stay with me for a day or two or three, then off again. She has a lot of grandchildren and great-grandchildren now to watch over, so I guess she’s stays busy. I know she’s there, and she knows I know, and she’s probably having a good laugh at my attempts to figure things out. But the connection is real, and comforting, and nana is still there, firing my imagination and, I hope, approving my attempts to understand her reality.