Testimony of “W”
During the middle 80’s, not long after I came back from college, I had an interesting experience. I was mowing grass for the church I was attending at the time. I think the church was between pastors that summer. The parsonage basement was left open on mowing days by the church deacon so I could get water and use the bathroom. Once when I went into the basement this thing like a large ugly baby with leathery light gray skin and long ivory claws jumped onto my back. I could only see a shadowy impression, as if looking through smoke or murky water, but I could feel it. Where its claws dug in, even though they didn’t physically puncture my skin or draw blood, it was quite painful. The imp kept up a constant chatter of profanity and mad giggles. I couldn’t get it to go away, so I went back to mowing lawn. After I’d finished mowing, I went home and put up with it for the week, too proud and embarrassed to ask for help. When I went to mow the church lawn the next week, my mentor in Jesus, Ernie, drove up. He was an elderly Christian who had been given the left foot of fellowship, a year or so before that, from my church, for being too Pentecostal, drove up in his truck. I usually visited him and his wife once per week to fellowship, but had skipped the prior week. Ernie tooted his horn, so I shut down the mower and walked to his truck. Ernie rolled down the window and excitedly exclaimed, “The Lord sent me over! He said you were in trouble! Get in, I’ll take you for a ride and you can tell me what’s going on.” I started feeling kind of dazed and didn’t say anything. Finally Ernie asked me if I was mad at him. After a few seconds I had replied that I wasn’t angry with him. Ernie then asked, “What’s going on then?” I told him about the imp on my back and we prayed together. We released it from its assignment, and ordered it to leave. I think Ernie told it to go to the Abyss and not come back. It left. [Later, it did come back a few times, when I was alone, but it wasn’t resistant like the first time. Ernie had said that if it did come back, I’d have to order it to leave in Jesus name, believing that even if it resisted, it would, because of the blood and Jesus name, only be able to resist for a short time. I think Ernie had also said to make sure to send it somewhere like the Abyss so that it wouldn’t just hang around the area and torment someone else.] About thirty minutes following our ride in Ernie’s truck, we returned to the church property. Ernie and I then went into the parsonage basement, anointed it with oil and prayed. Ernie had shared with me that, according to local legend, a former pastor had killed his wife in the parsonage basement and had made it look like a suicide. I am not going to name the pastor, but I remember him well, even though I had only attended one of his services with my step-grandmother. His assistant pastor, who left when that pastor had been asked to leave the church, was a local masonic leader.