The Circle of Darkness

A Story by Spectral Dust

A true story of the occult

A true story of the occult

For fifteen years I loved God. I believed wholeheartedly that God had touched my life with a miraculous healing, physical and emotional. I did not become overtly religious because of this experience, but it did infuse my psyche and soul with a new spiritual awareness and faith in a Creator. I worked hard, stayed out of trouble, and prayed regularly. A saint I am not, but like most everyone, caught somewhere between heaven and hell.

Sometime in 2003, however, I'd reached a stage where life began to seem pointless to me, filled with senseless struggle and empty days. Unhappy memories from my youth began to creep into my consciousness, causing anger and bitterness within. Why had I suffered so much? Why had I been treated so unfairly? Why did God abandon me?

Drowning in angry self-pity, I soon hated God; so much, that I began calling God filthy names out loud, every chance I got. My dislike for the creator I'd once loved was so virulent that my body would turn numb with rage while spewing my vulgarities; spit would fly out of my mouth like saliva from a rabid dog. The conclusion for me was inescapable: God does not love me, but instead is a sadistic torturer, an evil being, sugar-coated with a flimsy reputation of goodness.

Rejecting God created a void in my life that needed filling. I've always been interested in the paranormal, so I turned to the occult. After reading a dozen books on spiritualism and the occult in general I bought a Ouija board and some candles. Around me on the floor I would arrange the candles in a circle, with the Ouija board before me. It became a weekend ritual for me to sit in the eerie glow, surrounded by a circle of darkness, and talk to the spirit world. With my hands on the planchette, I would try to coax the "other side" into a response:

If you want to communicate with me, please move the planchette...

If you can hear me Uncle Don, please knock on the wall...

If you know the winning lottery numbers...

In my early attempts to raise the dead I was enthusiastic and determined to know--once and for all--if it was really possible to communicate with the spirit world. It didn't take long, however, before boredom set in, with the whole endeavor seeming very foolish. After about a month of talking to myself I realized I was no medium. I stuffed the Ouija board and candles in the closet, and embraced more fully a spirit I knew would not let me down: Rum.

The months went by with me drinking more and more, becoming basically a weekend drunk. I was still working and enjoyed my job, but I was strung out and needed a break. The more I drank the more I struggled with my past and single-guy loneliness. With God out of my life there seemed no need to keep the crucifixes on the wall. I smashed them to pieces in an angry fit one day and threw them in the garbage. God is just a false hope and a lie, I now knew, so why go on deceiving myself with superstitious trinkets. One crucifix had been a gift from my uncle for my confirmation in the Catholic faith when I was thirteen.

About six months later, in early 2004, something strange began to occur. Late at night and usually while in bed, I began to experience what can best be described as spiritual encounters. These "encounters" came during sleep--but not quite, for I was conscious and fully aware of all that transpired around me, very much like lying awake with ones eyes closed. The psychological term that might best explain what I was experiencing is the Hypnogogic state. This was all new to me, never having had such an experience before, as far as I could remember.

This new conscious condition was always accompanied with a sure knowledge that there was a human-like spirit entity in my presence. I know this from the nature of the encounters, with spirits touching me, tickling, pouncing on my chest, much like a human in the physical realm might do. It was not my impression that these entities were trying to hurt me, but clearly they were a raucous bunch who seemed to find great delight in disturbing my peaceful sleep with mischievous pranks.

There were sexual attacks by spirits too, both male and female. These "assaults" were aggressive, and not in any way a show of love or genuine affection. One male spirit stuck its tongue in my mouth, causing me to recoil in disgust, while the others enjoyed an uninhibited exploitation of my body. I also heard--clearly and without doubt--disembodied voices in which was related to me personal information that could only have been available to one who knew me intimately. Telepathic communications too came to me, and were no less "real" than the spoken voice; and again, the information conveyed was highly relevant to my personal life, unknown to even my family and closest associates.

Other spiritual encounters were experienced which can only be described as demonic. On one occasion, in the early morning hours, a small entity came up through the floor and slithered up my back while clicking its teeth, like a hungry beast. Another time, I sensed a large entity in the form of a cloud above me, from which emerged four hands that held me down at the wrists and ankles. I squirmed, causing the entity to give out a low, gravelly laugh. It was playing with me.

The most terrifying incident, however, occurred in the early morning hours while in a deep sleep. It came upon me suddenly, an entity that entered and shook my body violently, waking me up as I yelled in horror. This thing--whatever it might be--was beast like, in that, I could hear it growl viciously, and could feel its large lips curling, like an enraged animal baring its teeth. Badly shaken by the experience, I shaped my forearms into a cross and prayed out loud to God the "Our Father," even though I had vowed to never again offer a prayer to the God that I knew hated me.

Coincidently I had a strange encounter one day with my physical therapist, who is a self-professed psychic. I had never told her or even hinted about my paranormal experiences. She shocked me by telling me, "You have a spirit living with you." This was a chilling confirmation of what I suspected all along: I'd opened a door to the other side, and was being visited at night by spiritual entities, human and demonic.

These paranormal experiences occurred over a period of about three months. It was during this time I had a falling out with my boss at work, so I quit in anger. It was the best job I'd ever had, and now it was gone. There was plenty of money in the bank, so I wasn't overly concerned, just disappointed in myself for not acting more sensibly. With no job to go to, and plenty of cash in the bank, it seemed like a good time to enjoy life a little. I increased my booze intake, and acquired something I'd always wanted.

I bought a gun.

It was a sporty-looking Ruger, 38 special. I fell in love with it, constantly shooting at the local range, sometimes firing 500 rounds in one visit. It was easy to justify buying the thing because I was living in a dangerous neighborhood at the time, and also considered it a fun source of entertainment to go target shooting. I've always been a responsible person and had no doubt about my ability to act sensibly with my new "friend."

As my drinking increased so did my violent outbursts, punching holes in the walls with my fist, and throwing glassware, resulting in a lot of smashed glass to clean up the next morning. It was also hard explaining the holey walls to my landlord, who couldn't understand why there were three half-repaired holes in the living room. I never did come up with a good explanation, only a promise to repair them to a new-like condition. These violent rages were clearly an attempt--I realize now--to come to terms with my painful past. As the weeks went by, I digressed to the point where I did not want to live.

I wanted to kill myself.

It was usually after a fair share of rum or wine I would raise the loaded gun to my temple and half-pull the trigger, wishing to have the courage to go all the way. I would vacillate between sobbing and violent cursing at God. Since I was alone in an old house in the city there was no fear of anyone else being disturbed by my tormented encounters with the past. Without God in my life it seemed I'd lost my anchor, spiraling downward into a cesspool of self-pity, violent outbursts, and boozing, with bizarre spiritual encounters that were completely new to my reality and that I could not control.

Finally things came to a head one hot July night, 2004. It was a restless Friday, and I was quite depressed, still unemployed and feeling apprehensive about my future. Earlier in the day I'd had a bad encounter with some neighbors who were causing trouble, making noise and racing up and down the street with their motorcycles. I threatened to call the police, and they threatened to hurt me. The encounter went no further than words, but it was fuel to my raging fire within.

By six o'clock I'd already slammed three beers and a half a bottle of wine. The more I drank, the angrier I got. My hatred for God and life was in full bloom, and I just wanted to die, and "how dare those neighbors talk to me that way!" Through my house I paced, with my loaded "friend" in hand. It was so damn hot in that house. I had to get some air. From the second floor I descended to the stoop, with my loaded 38 in my back pocket.

The air felt good, but I didn't.

After a few minutes I stepped off the stoop and started pacing the dark yard. It was about nine o'clock and the only light was coming from the back-alley light pole. The more I paced the more enraged my thoughts became: God is a sadist. Life is a punishment. Nobody ever loved me. Nobody ever will love me. Life is unfair. I've suffered too much. I wish I was dead.

In a confused rage, I pulled the 38 from my back pocket, aimed it high and yelled out, "Go to hell!" and then pulled the trigger. My right ear deafened, and I was instantly shocked sober, realizing I'd just made a big mistake. I calmly entered the house and stumbled up the stairs to my main abode and dropped the gun on the kitchen table. And then I waited...

It didn't take long for the consequence to come calling. After about four minutes I heard a strange noise outside, like a voice through a megaphone might sound. I turned down the television to listen, but heard nothing, so I turned up the TV again. A minute later the noise came again. I walked to the front window and looked out to see my house surrounded by a slew of squad cars. Officers in bullet proof vests were positioned swat-team fashion, guns drawn, in my yard and the street.

If you’ve ever watched the TV reality show “Cops” you know how this ended. I was taken into custody, stuffed into a squad car and interrogated. I apologized profusely for firing the gun, and explained that I hadn’t been feeling well lately. The police were very sympathetic--all the way to the police station; they booked me and tossed me into a cell to sober up. Surprisingly, I was never arrested; they were only holding me, I guess.

It was a fun night in jail, sick with remorse, and trapped with a bunch of Friday night drunks and assorted criminals, including an accused teenage murderer. The closest I'd ever been to a jail cell was via the TV screen, and I didn't have so much as a speeding ticket to be embarrassed about. All night long I kept asking myself, "How in the hell did I get here?" I was lucky, my parents bailed me out the next day; some of the other “jail-birds” had been trying for months to get out.

This horrible incident made it clear to me it was time for some changes. The first thing I did was to lay off the booze: A good first step. Then it was time to deal with the spiritual dimension I’d opened, which seemed to be a bad influence that needed to be expunged from my life. From my physical therapist I was given some advice as to how to rid myself of the problem: burn sage throughout the house, pray, and command the spirits to get out! It seemed like foolish superstition to me; then again, spirits and demons used to seem like superstition, but the reality of everything I'd experienced was too strong to ignore. I did as she said, to no avail: The spiritual encounters continued.

The following months were extremely rough. Not surprisingly, I had to attend court so the city could extract their pound of flesh for my idiotic transgression. At this point I would like to relate a specific example of an audible communication I received from a spirit entity. It took place while in bed sleeping. I was disturbed awake and heard from near the top of my head a low but kindly voice speak the following words:

"You...will...be...free."

There was no doubt in my mind what those words referred to: I would not have to go to jail for my stupid stunt with the gun. This contradicted all expectations because the judge at my first court date had told my attorney I would have to do thirty days in jail. "No way," I told my attorney; so she arranged a new court date with a different judge. Fortunately the new judge was very compassionate, and seemed to understand my plight. I was fined fifty dollars and ordered to serve seven days community service only; in-other-words, I would not have to be incarcerated in any fashion. Another break came when my offense was reduced to a misdemeanor, meaning I would not be saddled with the stigma of being a felon. I was lucky, it could have been far worse.

This unexpected outcome seemed to validate for me the mysterious voice I'd heard not long before. I don't know who the spirit was that consoled me with that happy news, but I am certainly grateful.

It's all so intriguing, don't you think?

Not long after this bizarre chapter in my life I moved out of the old house. That was nearly three years ago at the time of this writing, and I have not had any encounters with the spiritual realm. Could the house have been haunted? Perhaps, but I think there's a better explanation. It wasn't the Ouija board, the candles, or the house that attracted the spirit world. It was my degenerate state of mind, the emotional turmoil, screaming, and the desperation that brought spirits into my home. I had excluded divine protection from my life and turned to the spirit world for solace, and they came--in spades.

That's my story, strange but true. I offer no moralistic admonition or warning against dabbling in the occult. Nor is this a testimony declaring the “Devil made me do it,” in an attempt to exonerate myself from responsibility for my actions. My sole purpose here was to relate to any who care to know what I discovered in my so-called circle of darkness. I cannot prove with logic or science that what I experienced was truly the product of spiritual intervention. It is my contention, however, that spiritual beings invaded my home, and that they communicated with me and physically touched me, on many occasions. They heard my call, and each responded according to their own nature. I harbor no ill-feeling toward anyone, in the physical or spiritual realm. I just want to be happy and do the right thing, if at all possible.

Still, I'll be honest and say that there's a small part of me that pines for that mysterious circle of darkness, to seek what is hidden from view--a knowledge, or a wisdom that cannot be found in books or the world of material reality. Like iron to a magnet, I am drawn to the world of occult mystery. And who knows, perhaps some day I will venture forth into that realm again. But not with a hateful heart toward God, and never without the comfort and protection that God can provide.

© 2012 Spectral Dust

Author's Note

I've been tossing this story around the internet for a couple of years now. Yes it's true, even though I don't fully understand it myself. It is what it is.