The people of his parish had given Father Tyson the crucifix. He momentarily flashed back and wondered what they would think if they knew how it was about to be used. It was a gift commemorating his recent trip to Rome in celebration of his tenth year in the priesthood. Upon his arrival in Rome, Tyson received a rare privilege and gained an audience with the Pope, an audience during which the Pontiff blessed the sacred object.
Father Tyson held his crucifix firmly in both hands. He inched toward Karen and reached out to her. The Lord’s Prayer flowed from his lips, this time much louder and clearer than before. Karen recoiled as if the crucifix were a firebrand! She began to squirm and protectively bury her face in her hands. The voice from within was a fearful whimper, “Why do you bother me? Why do you try to torment me so? What do you want of me? Who are you?”
Rogers ignored the pleadings. He again went on the offensive. “On the blood of Jesus Christ, I order you to write!” There was no response. “Obey my command!” ordered Rogers, “In Jesus’ name!” The spirit remained silent.
“Can’t you write? What’s the matter? Can’t you write?” taunted Rogers. He was changing his tack at this point and began making fun of the spirit. “You can’t even write, can you? Are you too stupid to write anything for me!”
“Oh, yes, I certainly can write if I wish to. I am a genius,” responded the entity. His voice was now confident. “I am a scientific genius! Even Albert Einstein was a dimwit compared to me! I could have taught him much more than he ever knew! But poor old Albert, he wouldn’t cooperate with me. Damn him anyway!”
“Prove to me that you’re a genius,” Rogers challenged. “I don’t believe you!”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you, you bastard,” sneered the spirit. “You are an undeserving bastard–and you are full of shit, besides!”
“You really can’t write, can you?” replied Rogers as he calmly ignored the spirit’s insults. His voice was derisive. “You are much too stupid to write!”
There was no comment from the evil entity. Karen grabbed for one of the ballpoint pens and began to push it smoothly across the paper. She was actually writing! She continued for a full three minutes. The room was silent. We were all aware of the fact that little Karen had apparently been incapable of writing! Yet, letters and words were being clearly formed on the paper. Rogers waited patiently until the pen stopped moving.
“There, you bastard!” The masculine voice was now a harsh shout as Karen threw the pen back down on the table. “So I can’t write, huh! Just what do think this is?”
Reverend Rogers disregarded the spirit’s ire. He calmly picked up the sheet of paper and glanced at it, showing no surprise. Rogers immediately handed the handwriting specimen to me. Drs. Fromme, Emery, and Pershing, and the rest of the people in the room gathered around to look. There were gasps of amazement. No vocal comment was necessary. Their facial expressions told the entire story. Everyone was astounded! Poor little retarded Karen Kingston could not write! Yet …
Reverend Rogers didn’t want to lose his momentum. He promptly began conversing with the spirit again. He explained the Scriptures to it, emphasizing that he had God’s power and blessing to overcome the Devil. Rogers told the demon that he had the full authority of Jesus, and that he would eventually be successful in casting him out of Karen.
“Okay, okay,” snarled the evil entity, “so you’ve got the power. So what! What have I done to you?”
“You don’t even know your own name,” shouted Rogers. “You can’t tell me your name!”