I
was about five years old. We had not been long in the new house, well,
the house was actually old, but it was new to us. I was the oldest child
of what would later be a home for seven children, five boys and two girls.
My imagination would prove vivid throughout the years; however, I will
suggest that the story I am going to relate is more than simply a child's
fantasy.
There I am, little Joe Jenkins, Jr, on the far left eating a peppermint paddy. This is about the time of the visitations. Notice something peculiar in the picture?
I had a best friend who always played with me in the evenings. We would spend time on the kitchen floor. Often he would sit atop a large sack of potatoes my mother placed near the kitchen door, just below the table. It was a lot of fun playing with him. Despite my age, he always seemed to understand my speech. He was a funny sort of fellow. I saw nothing strange about him, not for a long time, anyway.
We generally got along. Although sometimes he would mess the kitchen up and my mother would blame me. I must admit, that angered me somewhat, but what was I to do. He was physically smaller than myself, but seemed infinitely smarter. Mother never seemed to take any interest in him. Indeed, everybody seemed to ignore him but me. I just sort of accepted that as a matter of course.
As time went on, he began to confide secrets to me. They seemed disturbing, even though my child's mind had trouble grasping them. However, the tidings of one evening in particular still linger with me. Maybe it was a sign that I was growing up? But one night, he did not seem like quite the friend I really wanted. He would not go into the other rooms to play, only the kitchen. A circus program with Don Ameche was on the television in the living room and I wanted to watch it with my mother and father. He refused to budge. Mother walked in and out of the kitchen, and still he remained frozen. She virtually walked through him. I looked at my friend more closely. That was it, I thought in a moment of insight, no one besides myself could see him. Years later I would read that such a phenomenon is often categorized as an imaginary friend. However, would contend that in this case, he was something real. Again, remember I was only slightly removed from diapers. My cognitive abilities at this point of my life were just awakening. Nevertheless, what awakened in me that evening was an element of fear.
The light of the kitchen seemed almost too bright. Every line and feature of my so-called friend was clearly defined. He was only a couple of feet tall. He seemed to float when he jumped off the potato sack. He always wore a neat black suit. He was quite the proper little man. His hair was cut in pointed bangs across the front of his forehead. And his smile-- that I shall never forget-- was like that of Alice's cat in Wonderland-- a large grin from ear to ear. That night he was annoyed with me and suggested that I do something to the detriment of my parents. What it was, I can no longer remember, for the fright stole the idea from my mind. He was no friend at all. He was a liar. His smile was pasted on his face like a hideous disguise. I raced from the room as he laughed at me. I jumped upon the sofa-bed and clung close to my mother. She held me as I cried.
As I reflected upon this creature in later years, I wondered why he refused to leave the kitchen. The answer was literally staring me in the face. My parents were very devout Roman Catholics. Almost every room had crucifixes and religious pictures. The living room had both the Immaculate Heart of Mary and the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the wall. It is my supposition that this thing, no less than demonic, could not enter the rooms because of these sacramentals. The kitchen was the only room without them. This omission has long since been remedied.
Sometimes at night, as the years went by, I thought I could hear it whispering to me in the darkness. I would close my eyes and say my prayers until I fell asleep. My asthma could be quite bad, and sometimes when I had nocturnal attacks I would awaken with a start, unable to breathe, and catch just a hint of his laughter-- coming from the attic, or a closet, or from the inside of the walls.
However, there were no major incidents again until my teenaged years. I was taking an art correspondence course. I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, using the seat of a chair for a table. My assignment was to draw birds. It was darkening outside, but there was still some light. The corner of my eye caught a glimmer of movement from the window on my right. I tried to make it out without looking directly at it. Oh my goodness. It was him-- after all these years-- peering inside my room from outside, his head right up to the screen. I pretended not to see him, got up by turning to the opposite wall, and went to the living room. My father was watching the television. "Dad, there's something, ah someone, outside, looking into window. Come and see."
My Dad was alerted that someone was trespassing on our property. He got up and moved to the front door. Then he saw it. The living room windows consisted of multiple panes covering the side and front wall of the house. "What the hell is that!" my father exclaimed. There it was, that same face from my early childhood. His face had no aged a day. The hair, the staring eyes, the strangely cut hair, and the plastered grin-- it was all there. But this time, my father also saw him. His face and upper body seemed to float before the window, along the side and then the front. There was no up and down motion as one makes when walking. My father raced to the door to confront it. I backed off. He opened the door, but nothing was there.
My father was the first to impress upon me that this thing was a demon from hell. He was certain that it had come in an attempt to upset certain plans that God must have for me. I laughed this part of his explanation away. However, the resurgence of bizarre happenings which accompanied my decision to enter the seminary would collaborate his opinion.
My father told me that if it should come back, I should laugh at it. He considered the demonic to be pathetic. According to tradition, while the devil might make fun of us, he himself, cannot stand to be mocked. We need to consecrate our homes and our hearts to God. This is the sure way to ward off the presence of evil.