Father gathered the family together to inform us of a serious problem. ‘The demons have been bothering your mother again. She gets visions and keeps hearing voices. We can only think that there are still items in the house that are demonised.’
‘Yeah, I keep hearing voices too. Every time the neighbours argue I hear them through the wall,’ I commented.
Nigel sniggered.
‘Don’t be sarcastic! This is a very important matter.’ Father cleared his throat and continued. ‘The table is second-hand and the previous owners may have sat around it contacting demons. It could be one of the items that the demons are getting into the house through.’
The table was a central point in our house. It would be a shame to sacrifice it and we had no money for a replacement.
Father looked at me again. ‘That walking stick that you keep in your bed may also be demonised because mother has been getting visions of a man threatening to beat her with a walking stick. These things will have to be thrown away along with anything else that may be demonised.’
It seemed a shame to lose the walking stick but if the demons left the house, it would no longer be needed.
‘Can’t we sell the table?’ I asked.
‘No. If we do that the demons may get at the people we sell it to, through the table. We would be playing into the Devils hands.’ father informed me.
After much sawing through the tough seasoned oak and hammering, the table was broken up into manageable pieces and loaded into our old van-shaped car. I agreed to go with father to the rubbish dump, some five miles away. As we pulled away, I turned around to look at our dangerous cargo, expecting to see evil creatures lurking in the car but all looked normal.
I began to wonder if the demons, upset at being ejected from the house, would try to cause us to crash. Not wanting to distract father, I concealed my fear as my eyes scanned the road ahead. Without closing my eyes, I silently prayed to Jehovah, asking him to protect us. Each mile seemed to take much longer than normal and I barely dared to breathe. Father remained silent, no doubt realizing the risk we were taking. At last, we arrived at the rubbish dump unharmed. I helped father unload the pieces of what had been his only decent piece of furniture. Finally, I angrily threw the walking stick high into the air and watched it fall out of sight.
