Chapter Twelve
In biblical times there were people who were considered “possessed.” In the New Testament, 
you can read about J.C. exorcising several of them. Many are familiar with the story of 
his kicking demons called “legion” out of this guy and getting them all to jump into a 
herd of pigs. Which then of course all jumped over a cliff. In reading this story, the 
author thought, well, that doesn’t solve anything. ‘Cause the demons will just come out 
of the dead pigs and bebop around and look for some other human to jump into and  possess,
 so what is achieved here? There must be some way to take these things out permanently…anyhow,
 the idea of demonic possession persisted for a long time,  used to explain mental illness 
of all sorts. And the bottom line was, these genuinely mentally ill folks were treated really
 badly, if not killed. Then Freud came along and everybody got psychoanalyzed and instead of 
jail, criminals go to Anger Management classes and get better.  With the exception of the poor
 schmucks who happen to stand before a Texas judge who get Life or the Chair.
Now, modern science does not accept the existence of demons and possession.
  But there are some folks in mental wards who still do not react to psychoanalysis…
You know that shrinks will no way, if they fail to cure someone’s mental illness, refer them
 to a minister or priest. Too bad medical doctors, when faced with an obscure illness don’t 
stick with it and solve it, but in their great need to get to a golf course, instead, refer 
the patient to a shrink…
I remember one job in which a fellow coworker came to me and showed me a newspaper article 
about how some girl in some foreign country died because her parents thought she was possessed.
 They had her tied to a bed, and ministers came and prayed over her, for hours and days and weeks
 and somehow her health declined and she died. My friend was an atheist, and she knew I had a 
passing interest in religion, and she showed me the article, to prove to me once again how 
stupid religious people are. That they could actually believe in the existence of demons and 
possession. Hm.

After Tom’s conversion to the dark side, at times Tom would awake in the darkness and 
see standing in his room the Prince of Darkness. Tom didn’t like the Prince. True, he 
looked cool. But he just couldn’t behave himself. They would get to talking, and the 
Prince would act elegant and reserved, befitting the number one angel and then suddenly, 
out of nowhere, the Prince would morph into the slimiest creature, like
 he couldn't control himself or something.

Once Tom had a dream that two dudes came to him and said: "Read the Torah." And also, 
"God likes regular prayer." Huh, thought Tom. What is a Torah? Tom never followed up on this advice. 
  
One thing the Prince wanted was to possess Tom. It wasn’t clear if it would be temporary 
or permanent, but Tom wanted no part of it. The Prince kept trying, and Tom kept kicking
 him out of his person. One thing the Prince hated was light, and one way to make Mr. Tall 
Dark and Handsome leave was for Tom to turn on the bedside lamp. The Prince, annoyed, 
would rattle the cupboards and move the furniture around. Which took some getting used to.
 And if the Prince threw a book across the room, Tom would go over, pick it up and throw 
it right back. Back atcha. So after awhile, the Prince just resorted to news reports. Tom
 would hear a voice in his head: “ Turn the TV on. There’s a neat story on tonight.” And
 Tom would turn the TV on and see the carnage. And Tom knew who had been responsible.
Once Tom had a dream in which the Prince of Darkness told him that if Tom 
would worship him, then the Prince would make Tom very powerful. In Tom's dream he knelt to 
worship the Dark Prince and indeed, he discovered that he had inherited great powers. 
 Then Tom woke up. The dream gave Tom a sort of feeling of wellbeing. True, it was 
an alliance with the wrong side of the tracks but at least Somebody cared. Tom thought
about the dream, about the invitation, and then he thought better of it. He knew George
was still a big troublemaker.  "I'm not 
worshipping him or God or anybody!" thought Tom. And then Tom felt alone. But he 
was used to feeling alone.   
But one fine afternoon, Tom discovered that one vampire had not been so forceful with the
 problem. Maybe the demoness had promised her something, like a closet full of designer 
shoes or a Gucci handbag. 

The local  library had called the agency psychologist, asking for the return of an overdue 
book. Tom had mentioned to him that he was planning on dropping by the library to check out
 a DVD and the psychologist, who was snowed with paperwork, asked Tom to stop by his house 
and pick up the book from his coffee table and bring it to the library. That his sister 
would probably be there to let him in. And the sister had seen Tom before at a lawyer’s 
luncheon, so she knew Tom.  Indeed, when Tom arrived at the psychologist’s house, he first
 knocked on the door and his sister opened the door. She had loads of makeup on, a racy 
dress, hair all teased, bizarre shoes and tons of perfume on. And this crazy smile. He 
looked around to see if she were entertaining someone. 
“I’m here to pick up a library book,” Tom began. 
“And to pick up anything else, maybe?” She replied, joking. 
“Not really,” Tom said, although flattered. 
“It’s over there,” she replied, pointing to a long, low table 
in front of the sofa. “Can I offer you anything to drink?” 
Tom thought. He was thirsty.
 For soda. “You got ginger ale?” 
She shut the front door. “Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll bring it right out.” 
 So Tom sat down and picked up the book. It was by Freud. 
The title was: The Future of an Illusion. Tom flicked through it. She came out, carrying
 two glasses, both with ice in them. One was green with a slice of lime in it, one was 
red with a cherry in it. She handed him the green one. He thanked her and tasted it. It 
tasted good. Lemony-limey. He drank it all, so that only the ice cubes were left.
 “Well, thanks for the drink,” Tom said, and picked up the book and got up from the sofa. He 
felt dizzy. She had drugged the drink. Perhaps with Ecstasy, perhaps it was a Mickey Finn.
 Who knows. He sat back down on the sofa. “ The heat has really gotten to me,” he said to 
her. She sat her drink down on the coffee table and went over and locked the front door. 
Then she came back over and pulled the coffee table away from the sofa. 
“Perhaps it is heat stroke. Perhaps you should lay down for a bit.” 
“I can’t, replied Tom in the increasing fog. "The library will be closing soon.” 
Tom saw her smile at him and saw her vampire teeth plainly. As a vampire, she would have 
great strength. She could toss a mortal man across the room. Tom thought about the 
strange and sudden onset of his 
symptoms of fatigue and fogginess.  
“Gal, did you put something in my drink?”
 “Maybe I did,” she smiled, coming closer. 
“Gal, you must know that I’m a vampire, myself. You can’t possibly have the idea of biting me,” said Tom. 
“I have no intention of biting you,” she replied. She reached for his shirt and pulled at the top buttons.
 “What’s this?” mumbled Tom. She was on her knees beside the sofa, and she leaned over and kissed his neck.
 He could feel her sharp teeth grazing across the top of his skin. Now he no longer had the strength to sit
 upright, and he slumped over. 
“That drug is taking forever to knock you out,” she laughed. 
“It’s illegal to drug people, don’t you know,” Tom mumbled. It’s a felony, I’m sure.” 
 “So sue me,” she laughed. She put a pillow under his head and arranged his person on the sofa, 
pulling his limp right arm up from behind him and laying it across his chest. But Tom was still conscious.
 “What are your intentions?” Tom wanted to know.
 “Isn’t it obvious?” She replied. They’ve told me that you’re probably a virgin. My intention is to
 rock your world.” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “All these nasty little buttons. 
How buttoned-up we are.” 
“Does your brother know…no obviously, he doesn’t.” Tom tried to wake up, to rally himself. 
Now she had his shirt undone. She stroked his chest. He tried to push her away. 
“Can’t have that,” she replied. She got some ribbons from a table decoration and tied his two 
hands together. Then she tied them over his head to the wooden sofa arm which was not upholstered.
 Tom now heard hissing and multiple far-away voices, all talking at once. 
The noises were coming out of her. He realized that she must be possessed. Tom opened his eyes
 and looked at the girl attacking him. 
“Who are you, really?” he asked. “Is that you, George?” Tom’s pet nickname for the Prince of
 Darkness was George. 
“No, no, not George,” the voice replied. “Lilith.” 
“Lilith!” Tom exclaimed. 
“Lilith is in here with us, yes,” the girl replied. 
“What did you promise her?” Tom asked Lilith. 
“Many nice things. Furs. Rubies. Manolo Blahnik shoes. Hermes scarves. Gucci purses.”
 Tom tugged at the ribbons and he began to kick the sofa. 
“Hm,still a lot of fight in him,” the girl replied and disappeared into the kitchen again.
 As it turned out, she was a pharmacist, and she had access to drugs. She pulled out a 
syringe and a little bottle. She came over and stuck Tom in the thigh with the syringe,
 right through the cloth of his pants.  Then she stood back, with satisfaction. 
She went over and pulled off Tom’s shoes. He could feel it. She waited, and Tom could 
feel the second chemical affect him. This one was a lot stronger. He was almost unconscious. 
He could feel her unbuckling his belt and tugging at his pants. He could feel her and her gauzy 
dress on top of him. He opened his eyes and the room was nearly dark- she had dimmed the lights- 
and he looked up at her face. Her eyes were like snakes eyes. And it felt like she was pouring 
her body all over his, every crack and crevice. He heard her sigh with satisfaction. 
Lilith came and peered into Tom’s mind, wanting to possess Tom as well, so that she could feel 
the pleasure that both he and the girl were feeling. When  George wanted to possess Tom, 
Tom would just rebuff him. But now that Tom was drugged, his willpower was nearly nil. 
Tom tried shoving her away with his mind like he had done before with George, but it didn’t work.
 So Tom felt Lilith come into his body as well. He felt the girl chewing on his neck and ears, 
kissing and scratching his chest, running her hands down the rest of him. 
“Biting, biting, scratching, scratching,” sang Tom in his mind. Having Lilith inside of him 
really wasn’t that traumatic. The demoness  behaved like a curious gal, poking over here, 
wondering what that was over there, like a school girl checking out a field full of daisies.
 But Tom knew demons had their dark side.
 "Out!" He thought, very weakly. Lilith laughed in his mind. I want to possess you, 
body, mind and soul, she said. "For how long?" He thought back. 
"Until I am satisfied," she replied. "I will give you many things if you will let me in to stay."
 "Like what?" He seemed to open his eyes again in the darkness, and it looked like a big black 
snake was on top of him with snake eyes the size of shot glasses. 
"Great wealth and power. The destruction of your enemies."
"George already offered me that. I turned him down."
 At this point he felt the girl on top of him having her way with him. She was very physical.
 He felt electric sensations dart up and down his body. He stiffened and groaned and pulled 
on the ribbons. He felt Lilith smile. 
She spoke. "All this and much more can be yours, at any time, just for the asking. I offer not
only power, but pleasure as well."
 But Tom knew if he said yes to her, that she would never leave. Indeed, there was 
even the possibility that if he said yes, the girl on top of him would turn into a 
serial killer and after raping him, kill him in a brutal way, chop him up and maybe 
even serve him as stew, because demons like both sex and violence. Listen, Tom said 
in his mind to her:  "Aren’t there lots of FBI agents that you can tempt with such a proposal?" 
 Lilith laughed. But Lilith was satisfied. Tom was no longer a virgin. 
"What is your answer?" asked Lilith. Tom thought of Sandi. 
"My answer is no."
 "No?" She thought back. "It’s not that easy!"
" Listen, I know you’re a curious whatever and fun-loving but I am not the person 
to go roaring around town in. Now get out of me. And get this girl off of me."
 "What if I refuse?" Lilith replied. 
Tom got angry. "Get out of here!" He tried shoving against her with his mind,
 but his mind was too weak from the drugs.
 Lilith only laughed. 
Then Tom yelled out in his mind: "Help! Help!"
 Suddenly, Lilith paused. Then she felt terror. She fled instantly, flying backwards out of him.
  Then Tom felt it- a great anger and power come crushing down on him. It was this anger and 
power that Lilith had fled in terror from, no doubt about it. Tom blacked out. 
When Tom awoke, he was sitting in his car, all dressed and buttoned up and the car was
 parked in his driveway. The library book wasn’t there. He had a bad headache and he ached
 all over. He went inside and went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He could see 
himself dimly, and he saw that he had a lot of scratches and hickies. He took a bath, and
 he saw a lot more scratches and hickies. When he went to work the next day, 
the psychologist wasn’t there, because he rotated between two offices and he was at
 the other office now.  But the other officers could see the bruises and they snickered.
 “Ah, I was pruning my rosebushes,” Tom replied. 
At times Tom seems to get preternatural help. But he’s not sure about this.  Like the time
 Tom hadn’t enough time to study for a final law exam. His case load had just been too heavy.
 So he arrived at the law school a couple of hours early, to get in some studying. 
His notes were a little tattered and the penciling a little light, so he thought of
 Xeroxing them on the copier on the dark setting. He put the first page on the glass,
 lowered the lid and pressed the button. Nothing happened. There was an error message:
 out of paper. He sighed, and looked around for more paper. It was at night, and all
 the secretaries had gone for the day. He saw three sheets laying on a shelf and 
opened up the machine and put them in the hopper. Suddenly the machine came to life,
 and it began to copy. But what came out was not what was on the glass. It was copying 
a previous project that was still in its little computer memory. It spat out the three pages,
 stapled, of something that Tom did not recognize. He was pissed. The dumb  machine had
 eaten up the three pages of paper. He stared at the stapled pages.  He saw that it 
 was a test. All multiple choice. The professor’s name was not at the top. But the course
 number was. But Tom could not tell what course it was, because 783 meant nothing to him. 
So he read the questions, trying to determine what course it was and what professor so 
that he could put the test into the professor's  mailroom box behind him. He scanned the first
 page. Then the second page. Some of the questions looked like questions from his midterm.
 And then it dawned on him. This was his final exam that he was about to take in three hours.
 "Crap!" He thought. Problem. The test was compromised. What to do? He looked about. 
Offices dark, no-one was there. He stuck the test into his notebook.
Then at the first opportunity, he flushed the dumb thing down the toilet in the men’s 
room. Hey, you techs designed the dumb copier like this.

	Sandi was interviewing a middle-aged lady and using her questionnaire that she used on 
every client. Particulars about drinking and drugs and what age started, home life, 
abuse as a child and as an adult, any criminal record, educational level, pretty much 
everything about a person. She asked the lady if she were working and the lady said no,
 that she had just gotten fired for an event at work that she did not even remember doing.
 Sandi paid no attention to this: when you get upset, you are sort of running on automatic.
 Then the lady began to talk about how she was sexually molested as a child. And the molester
 being an avid church-goer. Here we go again, Sandi thought. Then the lady came out with 
the revelation that she heard voices. Immediately Sandi thought: Psychosis, and expected 
the typical description: Angry, destructive voices telling the person that they should go 
hurt either themselves or someone else. But instead, the lady told Sandi that there were 
three voices, two little girls and one little boy. One little girl was shy, one little girl 
was social. The little boy was aggressive. And they engaged her in conversations.
 Then Sandi remembered the talk about the firing. 
"So, you say you sort of blacked out at work?"
 The lady nodded. 
"And do you find it happening that people say you’ve done things
 that you don’t yourself remember doing?"
 The lady nodded. 
Here we go, thought Sandi. A split personality. Right in my office. I’m gonna freak. The interview went on,
 and then Sandi asked the lady about what about her that she considered to be her good points.
 It was a question that Sandi’s supervisor required her to ask of every client. 
The lady grabbed tissue and began to wail like a little girl and said: 
“Mommy says there is nothing good about me.” Sandi gulped. The lady was dissociating right in her office. 
It was one of the little girls emerging. 
“That’s so silly,” replied Sandi. “I can see right off that you are strong and smart.” 
The lady instantly stopped wailing, and then an evil leer came onto her face. 
Sandi knew it was George. She smiled back.She came over and sat right 
next to the lady and said:
 “We’re going to do our best to make you better.” 
She saw the lady look uncomfortable. George hates love and compassion,
 and Sandi knew this and wanted His Majesty to leave, pronto. The interview over,
 Sandi escorted the lady to the secretaries to make appointments for her, including to
 see a psychiatrist, and the secretaries were able to get her in to see him that very 
afternoon. Sandi made sure that the lady wasn’t driving herself home, lest the little 
girl come out again. The little girl wouldn’t know how to drive.  Then Sandi sought 
out her mentor, and told her what she had observed. The mentor nodded. 
"The case I once had, the woman, as a child, had been forced to be
 part of a satanic worship service." 
Split personalities, or what they now call Dissociative Disorder is a fascinating problem.
 You have to make them wait in the waiting room until the children leave and the big folks
 come back so that they can drive home safely. When you give them an eye exam, 
some of the personalities will need glasses, and some won’t. The personalities give 
different answers on the MMPI, which is considered to be an infallible test. 
 Some will be allergic to things, others not. You can actually watch the allergy 
wheals on their arm go up and down as they change personalities. And they also give
 different results on the EEG’s, which are brain waves. And a psychotherapist knows
 better than to have anything religious in their office, because it will set these
 people off. These folks can have as many as a hundred different personalities, 
and one will always be some sort of monster or demon. They all have in common that
 they were sexually tormented as children and they all have in common that the torturer
 was obsessed with religion. Now, some researchers believe that this condition doesn’t
 even exist. They point to the lesser numbers diagnosed in Europe. 
Why are there more cases diagnosed in America? Because, people, there are more religious
 fanatics in America. And a religious fanatic is currently running the country.