All of you know by now that I served two years as a missionary in Brazil. I studied Portuguese for two months in the MTC (Missionary Training Center) before flying to São Paulo. During my stay, I bunked in the Pratt Building, North-West corner room on the second floor. From my previous post, you will know that Steve also slept here. It should be pointed out that I did not know Steve at the time nor heard of his adventures.

I also have said that my interest in the occult waxes and wanes. Before my mission, I had surpressed all previous memories involving spirits and the like.

A few days after I forsaw my grandparents' deaths, the mood of my district started to change. Everyone got depressed. One of our teachers lost his cool, threw a chair across the classroom, yelled that we'd never be ready. He then stormed out the room never to return. We took "Nao somos prontos" ("We're not ready") as our district motto. No one could study in our room either; it just didn't feel right. We started to goof off and joke about sacred things. My district was almost sent home because of the practical jokes being pulled.

That Friday, my roomates were getting ready for bed, when someone had the great idea of telling ghost stories from our respective neighborhoods. We had turned off the bedroom light, but the sunset still provided too much light to sleep. Someone requested the story of the Night Marchers. I looked down from my bunk then jumped. The others enquired about my reaction.

I looked at Elder Palmer once more. Memories came flooding back. Elder Palmer's features, in that light, reminded me of my shadow-man. I stammerred: "The way your face looks right now - the features, the shadows, even your smile - reminds me of someone." "who?" "Forgive me, but you look like _him_." "him who?" "the devil"

The room went hush. One elder asked how I knew. As I told of the shadow-man and adventures in seeking his identity, something happened. Elder Palmer's face started to glow a faint red. Then a body of darkness came out of him. The personage was shadow (it swallowed all light), but tinges of light fringed its form. It stood up and pointed at me.

I leapt out of my bed and turned on the lights. The shadow remained, but its outer glow glow softened. The body stayed as dark as ever. I raised my arm to the square and commanded him to depart. Then he faded and disappeared.

I asked what the others had seen. Everyone in that room, except Elder Palmer saw the shadow. They asked why it pointed at _me_. I said I didn't know. By now, Elder Palmer was pale as a ghost and couldn't believe his ears.

I was the only one out of bed; most of the others were hiding under their covers. We didn't dare turn off the lights for fear of a repeat. I especially didn't want to know its message.

To calm us and dispell the gloom, we sang five hymns. I, having the most experience, was asked what to do. I suggested that we each say a prayer in order to invite the Holy Spirit back. Next we did a group exorcism, based off of some old instructions my dad had passed down to me. Finally, I rededicated that room as a place where the Holy Spirit would always be welcome and a place of study and prayer.

Nothing else has happened in that room since.