Relinquemus Sub Aeternam

6th June 1966

Dr. Dee Kelly M.D. Ph.D. Psy.D.

Chief Psychologist

Our Lady of the Lachrymose

93 Bogmyrtle Way

Crookneck Pass GL56

Dearest Dr. Kelly,

You’ve made it clear in the past that you don’t approve of my research. ‘Profoundly irresponsible, profane, and plain wicked’, were your exact words if memory serves. I write to you now, not to plead my case, but to warn yourself, the scientific community, and humanity at large. You are the most objective, incisive, and yet, imaginative and lateral thinking human being I’ve ever encountered. If anyone is to make anything of what I am about to divulge, then I beg the gods that it be you.

Much to the chagrin of my peers, I’ve been experimenting with the spiritual world for some years now. I have seen things that have chilled my blood and done things that would turn your stomach. My most recent exploits have involved the art of exorcism (and yes, I do believe it to be an art). Allow me to relate to you three cases of demonic infestation that have served as less of a beacon on the hill and more a canary in the mineshaft.

Case 1:

A young woman of some 22 years came to my attention when I heard tell of her apparent disregard for the laws of physics. Her name was Bisa, and she’d arrived in the U.K. under harrowing circumstances. Bouts of convulsion, profuse sweating, and babbling had her put into medical quarantine once dobbed in by her neighbours.

I arrived with my books, instruments, and ego as quickly as my clapped-out Cortina could deliver me. I questioned the subject, conducted a physical exam, and Bisa spat, cursed, and threw me across the room for my trouble. It was when she climbed up the wall and crouched on the ceiling like an insect, that I knew the situation was beyond me.

Case 2:

Jacques was well into his 40’s, reasonably fit, and by all accounts ‘a happy, personable man, good husband, and devout Catholic’. The man I met was none of those things. I entered his home on a Sunday night at the urgent invitation of his wife, Aline. Jacques was crawling about the living room floor on all fours like a beast; foam at his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his skull. When Aline approached him, the crucifix around her neck extended, he suggested she do something utterly disgusting with it. On the southern wall were sacrilegious passages that I soon came to understand had been scribed in fecal matter.

That’s when I called in an expert.

Father Creely was quick to set to work. During the exorcism, Jacques had to be pinned down, such was the violence of his thrashing. When Creely stated his intention to remove the demonic forces that accosted the subject, the man fell eerily still. He then uttered these words in a hoarse voice that I shall never forget:

Nos non aliena.

Hic fuimus semper.

Case 3:

My case studies were many and varied, and word of mouth soon spread so that I had to carefully sort through the hundreds of letters I received on a weekly basis to isolate the genuine from the frivolous. I opened Greta’s letter one evening after a day’s vigorous soul searching in which I argued the for and against of my chosen area of study. It was written more simply than the others; there was no desperation, no bargaining, no offer of financial reward. Just these words:

Please come if you can.

My mother is infected by evil.

I visited Greta and her mother Sofia the very next day. They lived in a nice house on a nice quiet street in what seemed a nice neighbourhood. By this stage, I had become something of an amateur exorcist in my own right, and I sat my bag of sanctified items on the kitchen floor. Greta was clearly a strong woman, but there was a look of exhaustion about her. Sofia sat at the table, a handsome woman of 65 years in a tattered, stained house dress. One hand lay lank at her side, the other gripped a bloody, uncooked steak. Crimson stained her mouth and chin.

I set up my sound recording equipment, produced my holy books, and repeated the words as always. I then waited for the whole hideous scene to unfurl. Minutes passed and I saw no reaction from Sofia. Instead, she stood, let the meat drop to the floor, and approached me, her body trembling as though it took tremendous effort. I first thought that the exertion was due to the creature’s manipulation of her limbs, but the look in her eyes said otherwise.

She said things then, distorted things that were repugnant in their animus. I slammed the Medal of St. Benedict to her forehead and compelled the hellion to leave her in the name of The Nazarene Himself. Her cries shook my core and I fancied that for an instant I could see a foul, twisted face shrinking away in the darkness of her throat.

And then it dawned on me.

I went home and listened to the tapes of my sessions. I soon came to the sickening realisation that I’d had it all wrong, that all practitioners of demonic expulsion had had it all wrong. I’d always thought that a malevolent spirit entered a human body and used it as a meat puppet. When I revisited the words spoken by the entity inside Jacques, it became clear that this was not just the cajoling of a villainous specter.

Nos non aliena: we are not visitors.

Hic fuimus semper: we’ve always been here.

When I compelled the creature to leave Sofia, I wasn’t forcing it out of her—I was mashing it back down into her.

My dear Dr. Kelly, the demons aren’t all around us trying to get in; they’re inside of us trying to act out. They’ve always been inside of us. Slumbering. Waiting for an opportunity, be it ill physical or mental health, or spiritual distress, or any other bloody thing you care to think of. When we speak of someone trapped in a Personal Hell, it’s literal not figurative. They live in us. Always.

Each

and

every

one.



Warmest wishes,

Dr. Eli Garden (forget the post-nominals, I henceforth relinquish my role as a physician).

Heaven help us.