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Out of the Devil’s Cauldron 8 page

“Listen,” I said. “I gotta go. We’ll meet some other

 

time.”

 

She begged me to stay, but despite her sweet pleading, I left in a hurry and went straight home. Sometime later I checked my phone for voice mail, and when I did the strange message blared through: “You’d better stay away from Rachael. You hear? I’m the father of her daughter.”

 

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea she and the baby’s father were still together. Rachael had told me she was a single mother who had put off dating. I had to hear her side of the story before making a judgment call.

 

Her father, Robert, was the one who picked up the phone. I told him who I was and he put Rachael on.


“Hi, John. What a surprise.”

 

“Rachael, I got to tell you about something that happened.” I told her the story about the message left by her charming boyfriend.

 

“Right after you left the cosmetic store that day, he came in,” she said, apologizing. No wonder the demon told me to leave. He knew there was trouble coming. I listened to the rest of what Rachael had to say. “As soon as my ex-boyfriend entered the store and saw the roses, he went ballistic. He ripped the petals off the flowers, grabbed the card out of my hands, and blistered about some important business he had to take care of. That’s how he got your number. He also threatened me.”

 

“What’d he say?” I asked.

 

“That if I continued seeing you, he would make hell out of my life.”

I had to know the truth. “Do you still love him?”

 

“No,” she responded. “I don’t want to see him anymore. It’s all over between us.”

I could tell by Rachael’s tone that she was telling the truth. I sighed out my relief. “Listen, would you like to go out for dinner sometime soon? I know this great restaurant downtown you’d really like.”

 

She accepted. But before we went out on our first date, I needed to get more information on her ex-boyfriend. But not from Rachael. At that time I knew I could summon a demon and he would tell me everything I wanted to know. I took a


coconut, smashed it, and got the broken pieces ready for the reading into Rachael’s ex. I threw the fragmented coconut shells into the air, and the way they landed on the floor—the number of curved pieces facing up versus those facing down —would determine the kind of questions I was allowed to ask. I stood in front of the cauldron to get my answers. I blew cigar smoke, sprayed white rum, and took the coconut shells to get my questions answered. The demons told me everything I needed to know about Rachael’s ex-boyfriend. I knew he was dangerous and diabolical, and I knew I had to destroy him—kill him with witchcraft.

 

It was the day of my first date with Rachael. I waited in front of her parents’ building, and when she came out she was as lovely as the day I saw her on the train.

The trip from the Bronx to Manhattan was smooth. Traffic on the FDR was moderate and the weather was just right. Romance was in the air; Rachael fell in love with my new car at first sight.



 

We walked into a quiet Italian restaurant on 83rd on the west side of Manhattan, and right away she loved the rustic ambiance of another culture. She told me stories that made me laugh; I told ones that almost made her cry.

 

With the evening still young, Rachael and I decided to go for a stroll. The night was crisp, the moon was out, and as we passed trendy dress shops and boutiques, we held hands. Rachael and I were off to a flying start, and we both knew it.

 

On the way back to the car, the silence we shared was better than anything said. Now it was back to the Bronx. I let


salsa music pulsate through the stereo speakers while listening to Rachael’s voice. She was such a great gabber. I loved the way she laughed, and she loved the way I drove. With each moment that passed I got to know her better, and she became more acquainted with me—but only what I chose to reveal to her.

The drive home came to an end and I pulled up to her building. What would a gentleman do in this situation, I asked myself. We were alone in the car and she seemed not to mind one bit. I decided to forgo kissing her, knowing the real romance would come later. I was learning not to rush things the way I had with other women.

 

We said our goodnights, and she left the car a happy woman. I took off, bathed in something I could not describe. But the smile on my face said it all.

 

Alone in my bedroom, I contacted my demon spirits and asked them why Rachael was so special, so different from the other women I had dated.

 

An answer came fast: She’s just a nice girl. You have nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about, they said. But a message inthe back of my mind kept playing over and over. It was the warning to be careful about her ex-boyfriend. That was when I began planning my battle strategy.

Rachael and I had many memorable dates together, inseparable times, even nights when I just parked in front of her home for hours—we didn’t know how to say goodbye to each other.


A Mysterious Night

 

One night Rachael called and asked what I was doing. What I was doing was resting from the previous night of wild partying with another woman I’d been dating. As soon as I told her I was staying home, she invited herself over. She lived in my neighborhood, so I knew there would be a knock on my door soon.

Five minutes later, I opened the door and there was Rachael and a little girl, her two-year-old daughter, Sarah. I led my two guests to the living room where they made themselves comfortable on the couch.

 

After flicking on the TV, I went to the kitchen to fetch some sodas and munchies, returning with a small plastic bowl for Sarah to eat out of so she wouldn’t drop crumbs onto her nice clothes.

 

Sarah started eating the munchies but turned away from me to her mother.

“Mommy, let’s go home.” “Now?” said her mother.

Rachael didn’t understand what was wrong, but I knew. The young child had picked up the bad vibes from the unclean spirits in the apartment.

 

Rachael spotted some of my religious paraphernalia lying around that spoke of espiritismo, Santeria, and Palo and asked what I was into. I told her she had nothing to worry about. All I did was burn candles. Thirty minutes later, I walked


her home. That was when she revealed to me that her parents, Robert and Anna, were born-again Christians and that she at one time had gone to church with them. Now she was a backslider, seeking that which she had left, she said: the love and power of Jesus Christ.

 

“How deep are you involved?” she asked, her dark eyes filled with concern.

“In what?” “Witchcraft.”

She had me. I turned to her with a reassuring smile. “Look, you don’t have to worry. All I’m doing is burning candles to Catholic saints. No harm in that, right?”

That was when the backslider started to preach to me. “The Bible says you shouldn’t worship anything or anyone except Jesus Christ. What you’re doing is called idolatry.”

I let out a loud, defensive laugh. “You’re so old-fashioned and funny. If you want to know the truth, the Bible was put together by forty losers who had nothing better to do than to create a money-laundering religion.”

 

Rachael looked at me strangely and without a word walked away. It would be days before we saw each other again or even talked on the phone. I decided to break the long silence with one call. The line rang and rang, and finally someone picked it up. It was her. A sincere hello from me was all it took to start a string of restaurant dinners and movie matinees over the course of several weekends. We were spending more time together than ever.


Back into My Own World

 

After weeks of dating, I dropped out of sight again, and some time went by when I didn’t see Rachael at all. The reason was because the other women in my life kept me busy. I was in and out of bars and caught up with the things of the religion: attending demonic parties, doing spiritual ceremonies, and casting spells on anyone I wanted. One day out of the blue Rachael called just to chat.

 

“What are you doing this evening?” she asked. “Staying home to take care of personal matters.”

Again she invited herself over, and I couldn’t tell her no. I liked her so much, yet didn’t know why. “Come over around nine o’clock,” I told her. By then I would be finished with what I was doing.

 

When Rachael arrived, I grabbed the phone and ordered takeout. I fed a rented movie into my VCR as soon as she set up our food so we could eat. During the flick, I saw in her eyes that she had something important to say.

 

“John, I know that both of us have been dating others. However, you are always on my mind, and I know that you feel the same way.”

 

What could I say? I couldn’t fool her anymore. I didn’t want to. What I wanted was her. But I loved the dark side, the power it brought, and the beautiful women it attracted. She had made a stabbing confession, and her declaration for us to solely focus on each other was a bold move. I respected her for


that, so I told her yes. But could I really do it? Could I commit myself to a woman whose parents were “born-again” Christians without a high priest from the religion taking me out in one swift act of vengeance? I told her there were going to be a lot of disappointed women wishing they could have me back.

 

After the movie, I walked Rachael home. Her boldness had impressed me so much that along the way I decided to do some gut-spilling myself.

 

“Rachael, I need to tell you the truth about myself.” I had her attention. “I’m a Santero and a Palero Tata —a devil worshipper.” I went on to tell her about the supernatural ceremonies, the animal sacrifices, the witchcraft parties, and the powers I possessed. “If people could see the evil that’s veiled from their eyes, what tarot reading does to a person, and the danger parents put upon their children by getting them involved in Halloween, they would shriek in horror.” I also added that the only way for me to get out of what I was doing was to have a death curse placed upon me.

“John, I don’t care how deeply you are involved in this witchcraft. I love you and want us to be together.”

Rachael and I continued going out, weekend after weekend, doing what everyone else did. But when we weren’t together, I went to my witchcraft parties and other dark events, sacrificing animals to the demon gods in ceremony rituals for new recruits. I was proud of what I did. Satan was my father. I loved smelling liquor, cigars, and rotten animal blood. It was my life and my destiny.


History Repeats Itself

 

With my ex-wife Mari moving up the ranks in Santeria, Amanda followed, and in a ceremony involving the reading of shells—caracoles—a bid was placed over her head in the religion. Now history was repeating itself. My daughter was being dedicated to the gods just as I was when I was ten years old. What had been done to me as a little boy was now being done to her. I wasn’t given a choice or an opportunity to think it over, and the same thing was happening to her. How often things repeat themselves in life. Snatched out of the hands of my mother, now Amanda was being snatched out of my hands to be given over to Santeria and espiritismo. Shortly afterward, Amanda was crowned the sole possession of Ochun and Obatala: a pair of evil spirits. From here on the spirits of espiritismo and Santeria would have control of her life, offeringher a purpose and a destiny.

 

As the days and weeks went by, I prepared myself for a gathering with the spirits that took place every six months to see where I stood in the religion. I was summoned to stand before a clan of spirits. That night as I stood in the basement for my ritual, I could feel the presence of every demon entering the room for the ceremony. As the ritual began, it was like a parent looking over a child’s report card. If everything went well, it meant the powers vested in me were still flowing and any outsider who threatened me would easily be brought down. I preferred the term “taken out.” It commanded respect.


If I didn’t stand well in the reading, a restoration cleansing was in order, followed by a demonic feast. But if I were a complete reprobate to the religion, I could be punished with either a broken arm or leg, depending on how obstinate I was. Or a demon would punish me and I would end up in the hospital with a long-term illness. And if a greater punishment was warranted, something else would happen, leading to death.

 

That night I sat in the center of the basement. Behind my chair was placed a glass of water with a flower in it and a white candle. As the reading took place, every demon showed up to give a report of my spiritual contract with them, my responsibility to the contract, and what other levels I needed to reach.

 

The medium performing the ritual said, “Siete Rayos is here, and he said he’s happy with you. Zarabanda is here, and he said he is happy to have you as a son. Candelo, the spirit father of Haiti is also here, and he said how much he loves you. El Indio also just came in, and he said how proud he is of youand the rank that you hold in espiritismo. They’re asking me right now if you have any questions for them.”

 

“I don’t have any questions,” I said with a big smile on my face.

As for my “report card” that night, I got an A. Aunt Maria was so proud of me. She had been serving the religion for fifty years. But a good report didn’t mean I was safe. I had enemies in the religion who would always try to take me out no matter how good I stood with the demonic spirits. The reason? Jealousy, due to the powers I possessed.


Betwixt Two Worlds

 

Something began happening to me that no one knew about. I was depressed, angry, and bitter, and the emptiness that churned within me like a storm-ravaged sea was driving me crazy. Where had I deviated? I was still sacrificing animals to my demon gods and still casting spells. The answer to the problem came to me when I was called to attend a witchcraft ceremony one night. Mari and I had discussed a few days earlier that I would pick up Amanda that night and spend time with her because she had been asking for me.

 

As I was on my way out the door, the phone rang. It was Aunt Maria. “John, what are you doing?”

“I’m on my way to pick up Amanda,” I told her.

 

“Stop what you’re doing and come straight to the house. We have an emergency mesa blanca meeting, and it needs to be done tonight. I was told by the spirits that you must be here at this meeting.”

 

“But, Aunt Maria, I promised Amanda I would spend time with her. I don’t want to break my promise.”

“Well, you can see her later, or maybe you can see her sometime tomorrow, but you need to get here now.”

 

So that night I went straight to the meeting of the mesa blanca.

 

My heart was sorrowful because I was betwixt two worlds, the world of being a father to my daughter and the commitment that drove me, contract after contract, to be part of


a world that many only dreamed of. I was too busy to visit the only person in the world who resembled me and whom I truly loved. Many times I felt like I was incarcerated behind invisible prison bars like the people I had entrapped into the religion.


Chapter 11

 

The Son of the Devil Exposed

 

Rachael and I continued seeing each other, but the nightclubs and drinking had stopped—at least for her. I was allowed to visit Rachael, but on her parents’ terms. We had dinners at their home and watched movies with her younger brother. That’s all we did.

 

Robert and Anna were, and still are, hardcore, hallelujah Christians. Each time I called on Rachael, I was subjected to their ranting sermons on the Bible and Jesus. So in order to keep them happy, I said yes to them, nodding at everything they told me with secret disdain. But this is what helped cover up who I was. Rachael had not yet told her parents about my devilish ways. They only knew me, John Ramirez, the young man interested in their daughter. I could see the truth would come out one day, and when it did, I wondered how they would receive me then.

Plenty of family dinners and home-dates with Rachael eventually did something good—it brought us all closer. Gone was the unfamiliar face I wore each time I visited and the


uneasiness of waiting for someone to say something first at the dinner table.

Even though we were all more comfortable with each other, every time they talked to me about this Jesus person, my blood went cold and I cringed. I felt like jumping across the table and choking them to death. If they only knew that the world I lived in was a lot stronger than theirs.

 

One night at the dinner table, Anna looked at me and said, “John, do you know how much Jesus loves you?”

I looked over at her and grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I heard that before.”

“Well, I just want to share with you the love of Jesus.” “You already told me, so I think I already know.”

She smiled. “You know that Jesus died for you, right

 

John.”

 

“This Jesus thing you’re talking to me about, He’s nothing but a bully. I don’t know what kind of God He is, or what kind of love you’re talking about.”

 

“Why would you say something like that, John?” Anna

 

asked.

 

“You think you’re the only one that really knows the Bible. What about what He did to that man called Job? What kind of God is that, giving the devil permission to destroy his family, giving the devil permission to destroy his home? You call that love? If you call that love, I don’t need that kind of love, so keep it to yourself. That’s not love at all. That’s just pure evil.”


“But, John, He was just testing Job.”

 

“That’s not a test,” I said, disgusted. “That’s just being brutal. So keep this Jesus to yourself.”

 

With the summer and fall months leading to winter, my relationship with Rachael deepened, and Anna and Robert got to like me even more, despite our differences regarding God. But that was because they didn’t know who I was. What I stood for. The talk of an upcoming banquet sponsored by the church they attended got everyone excited. Everyone but me, because now I understood where Rachael’s strength lay. It came from her praying parents. That was the reason my powers couldn’t affect her, and why I had failed to convert her to the religion.

 

As soon as I got invited to the banquet, I felt a warning shot go through me like a bolt of lightning. So I decided to go summon the demons through my godmother Aunt Maria to ask permission to attend this church banquet.

 

“Go, there’s nothing to worry about. You are well protected by espiritismo, Santeria, and Palo,” she said. “No one can do anything to you because you are more powerful than they are.” My aunt’s response relaxed me so much that now I felt better about going. In fact, I was looking forward to it.


 

Hanging with the Hallelujah People


Arriving at the hall on the night of the banquet, we pushed past thick, glass doors as Robert and Anna led the way through a carpeted foyer with elegant chandeliers overhead. I followed with Rachael, her arm threaded through mine. At a check-in place, a hostess took our coats and on we went, weaving our way through crowds of people, hundreds of them, until we entered a spacious dining area where dozens of banquet tables were covered in fine cloth, as white as the glittering lights overhead.

 

Standing in a sea of churchgoers, I was introduced to people on my right and people on my left, all sincere-looking folks.

 

Rachael turned to a couple and said, “Mike and Maria, this is my boyfriend John.”

They smiled. “Nice to meet you, John. Welcome to the banquet.”

I gave them a mysterious smile and just said, “Thank

 

you.”

 

No one seemed to notice how I was dressed, and if they did they didn’t show it. I had come in solid dark clothes—black as a crow—so that the power of demons could protect me from anything that was there.

 

Once inside the grand ballroom, we were led to our assigned table. Around us, people who had not seen each other in awhile hugged, kissed, and smiled. It was the craziest thing I ever saw. What a bunch of nuts! I couldn’t understand why people were God-blessing each other. No one was sneezing.


Near our table, Rachael turned to a young lady. “Hi, Marisa, this is John.”

When I went to shake hands with her, the girl said, “I know you from somewhere. I’ve seen you before. I know I know you.”

 

“Well, I don’t know you,” I said, trying to be polite. She was stunned and amazed, and she kept repeating,

 

“No, I know you . . . I know you,” as I walked away and took my seat.

 

At the head of the ballroom, a live band played. They were all skilled musicians with great voices, but their lyrics had to do with holy living, loving thy neighbor, and the Bible— things that made me uncomfortable.

 

One of the men on the platform, a tall, nice-looking guy wearing a cream-colored suit, appeared to be the leader of the group. And when he lifted his voice to the instruments playing behind him, some people rose from their seats, marched to the front, and danced like fools. It was so stupid I wanted to laugh. They must be drunk , I thought. But there was no liquoranywhere in sight.

 

With every guitar strum, tambourine rattle, and hum of the synthesizer, something began happening to me. I was being subdued by something greater than all the demons I had ever known. How could this be? I was one of the highest-ranked warlocks in voodoo, possessed by unspeakable powers. Nothing could shake me. But there I was, little by little, moment by moment, being drawn to the music’s message. Responding to wholesome, rhythmic beats.


When the singing paused for a break, dozens of large, aluminum containers were placed over flaming canisters on a train of tables against the wall opposite the stage. I had never seen so much food in all my life. This was truly a banquet. Tables were called out by number, and soon I was in a long line of people with Rachael ahead of me and Anna and Robert behind me. That was when I panicked.

 

Standing before us in line was a woman I hadn’t seen in a long time. She was from the same occult inner-circle I was in. Only now, she was no longer part of the occult. Where had she been, and why hadn’t I seen her anymore at the cult meetings? She had been missing for five years. She was one of my enemies for having left the religion. As soon as this woman turned my way, I hid behind Rachael. But my six-foot-two frame was difficult to conceal no matter what crowd I was in.

 

She greeted me. “Hello, John. How are you?”

 

I greeted her back. “I’m fine.” I sensed the confrontation between good and evil on the line.

I turned to Rachael and whispered, “This woman knows I’m a devil worshipper because she came out of the same religious inner-circle that I’m involved in. I’m afraid she’s going to blow my cover by telling your parents.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Rachael said. “She won’t say anything. I know her, and she’s a good woman.”

We got our food and walked back to our table. With everyone eating, I relaxed some. I had just dodged a bullet. But for how long would I be able to play hide-and-seek and get away with it? How long would my luck last? It didn’t last very


long, because unknown to me, in the distance of the ballroom, another set of eyes fell upon me. This time it was a man, someone else who had departed from the religion five years ago as well.

 

This person dragged Rachael’s dad straight to the men’s room.

“Do you have any idea who your daughter is dating?” “Yeah, that’s John,” Robert said. “He’s a nice guy.” “No, he’s not!” the man said. “He is one of the biggest

devil worshippers in New York City. He’s into espiritismo, Santeria, and Palo. The reason I know that is because my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ set me free from that occult, which they call the religion. John was my buddy at one time, but not anymore. Now he’s crazy and dangerous. Everyone knows about him. I’m surprised you don’t. If I were you, I’d keep Rachael away from him.”

 

Robert was shocked and didn’t know what to say, but he came back to the table as if nothing had happened.

The day after the banquet, Rachael and her parents got into it at their home. “Your relationship with John ends now!” her mother demanded.

 

“But why?” Rachael asked.

 

“Because he’s involved in witchcraft.” “John isn’t going to hurt me.”

“What if he hurts Sarah?” Robert said. “He loves Sarah.”

“How can you be sure?” Anna asked with anguish.


“Everyone who knows him says he’s crazy.”

 

And it was true. No one from my neighborhood wanted problems with me. They had heard what Santeros could do when crossed. Casting spells was only the beginning.

Rachael stormed out of the house, ignoring her parents’ warning, went to a pay phone, and called me frantically. “My parents know all about you and asked me not to see you anymore! But I refused to stop seeing you.”

 

“Rachael, everything will be okay,” I said, trying to soothe her.

We continued to date. I took her to restaurants, art shows, and plays. But not to bars or nightclubs. I had stopped doing that with her. But what I didn’t stop doing was practicing the religious duties in espiritismo, because if I did the same demons I worshipped would turn against me.

 

The Devil Has No Respect

 

Rachael’s strained relationship with her parents began to affect us. And the more she reminded me, the more I started to despise her.

 

“What you’re doing is evil in the eyes of God,” she

 

said.

 

“What do you know? You’re a backslider.”

 

“Stop it, John. I can’t keep seeing someone my parents disapprove of.”

“So, we’ll stop seeing each other. It’ll give me more time


to do what I want.”

 

“Your religion,” she said. “That’s all you care about.” “That’s right. I’ve got to please my demons. I met them

 

before meeting you. The only person who’s taking up space in my life is you.”

 

Rachael turned away in anger. But she would never get rid of me. She needed me to protect her from the lunatic idiot she called her ex-lover, even though at the moment I was not in good standing with Robert and Anna.

 

One evening, Rachael and I went to her parents’ house to pick up Sarah and bring her home. Sarah was acting strange in Anna and Robert’s house, and I knew right away something was wrong with her spiritually. As we headed to Rachael’s apartment, walking down the street, the street was cold and lonely.

As every streetlamp illuminated the street, I kept looking at Sarah in the stroller, knowing that it wasn’t her anymore. The child kept staring at me with a very demonic look, so much that Rachael caught on. She knew Sarah was no longer in the carriage. Something evil had taken over, and she was only three years old.

When we got to Rachael’s place, I tried entertaining Sarah, stalling for time to see what was going to happen. I got on my hands and knees to give her a pony ride, but Sarah stood at a distance, staring at me with a sharp, evil look. I knew this was a demonic attack. A witchcraft spell, sent to harm Rachael or myself. But because I was powerful, it couldn’t do anything to me. Sad to say, because Sarah was the weakest


link, it took over her little body, including her mind and thoughts. Now I had a fight on my hands. Rachael was very alarmed but quiet. What had gotten in her daughter was an old, demonic spirit. And all this was happening because Sarah’s dad, Mr. Ex, was trying to put a spell on my relationship with Rachael. I finally left Rachael’s place and headed home, but afterwards all hell broke loose.

 


Date: 2016-04-22; view: 589


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