Josie

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Along the way we prayed that it would be the place to deliver our little girl back from the hands of the Devil. We asked Father Shultz to meet us there. He drove despite the storm.

The cabin was just what we wanted; a warm hand to be placed onto a frozen shoulder. And more importantly, isolated. We were a good forty minutes from town.

Jacob had been worried that the darkness would linger after the ceremony, that our daughter Josie wouldn’t be able to live in the environment where her parents had betrayed her, even if done out of pure love, so this seemed a better option than our good home.

Josie was different you see, not exactly the daughter I had hoped for. But then again, I must appreciate the Saviour and his knack to test me in ways that almost seem cruel. I think he gives the greatest tests to those most devoted, so all of his children can continue to grow.

I know how terrible it sounds, tricking your daughter because she wasn’t the child you always dreamed of having, but you must know I’ve tried everything I can, and now I know for certain that my daughter Josie is infatuated with Satan himself.

She was born 12 years ago, on the 6th of March, 1996 in Mattawa, Ontario. She entered the world silently, her eyes a bright blue. Not only did she stay silent in that hospital but she did not have anything to say for a very long time. In fact, she didn’t shed a single tear until she was about 8-years-old when Jacob had told her that Santa Claus was not real. It was weird, she hadn’t shown any interest in Santa, not physically anyways, so we hadn’t thought much about breaking the news. But low and behold, to the daughter that the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with despite our efforts, and to the one none of my neighbours or friends could believe in, a first tear in her life. Watching her cry was devastating, but also exciting, like by-standing an explosion from afar.

And that’s when she changed. At the age of 8. Because of something as trivial as the existence of an imaginary man. Before that day, and after seeing several doctors, I had considered that Josie was perhaps a saint or Angel because you couldn’t draw up an easier kid to raise: always tidy and polite, always obeyed her parents fully, always honest and forgiving. But I soon discovered how tricky the Devil can really be.

Her quietness had concerned Jacob and I for a while. As a baby, she slept so well. And when she woke it was almost as if she was still sleeping. She would just sit there, staring. She made sounds sometimes but not much more than a “pa” or “ba”. Even at the age of 4, she hardly ever said more than a few words each day. What would’ve made it more concerning is if she didn’t act so well all the time. She was clearly learning what we were teaching, and even more. Father Shultz from our Church said Josie had been reading the Bible for most of their time together while Jacob and I were away for a weekend when Josie was 7. He said she also brushed the dog quite a bit after seeing him do it once, and never had to be told when it was her bedtime.

Josie’s love for the Bible didn’t end there. She carried it everywhere she went. If I asked her to find an excerpt she could find it in seconds. Of that, I was proud. Although after the Santa incident I didn’t see Josie’s Bible for a while outside of Sunday Mass.

We were skeptical about putting Josie in school at first, but after speaking with Father Shultz about it, he assured us that St. John Paul Elementary Academy was a safe place for Josie to learn. Father spent some time there reading morning prayer to the students over the intercom and offering after school communion classes to the younger children. He said Josie was at the top of her communion class despite being the only 6-year-old in a group consisting of mostly 7 and 8-year-olds. He did however express concern that Josie asked a few questions that could be considered blasphemous had they come from the mouth of an adult.

Josie seemed to have a curiosity that went beyond the desires of most any child. One day in Church when Josie was 6 she asked me what it meant when the priest said that God was all-powerful. I said that it meant that he had complete power over everything in the universe. She then asked if God had power outside the universe. I told her that his universe was the only thing that existed. She perked up when I said this. I thought that maybe my wisdom had gotten through to her, but she then replied, almost happily, “is it possible for God not to exist as well?” I looked at her quizzically and I could tell Jacob was getting annoyed by our whispering during Father’s sermon. I told her we could speak about it in the car. She frowned a little at first but then put an imaginary zipper over her lips and smiled. The moment we got in the car she followed up, “Is it possible for God not to exist?”

Jacob angrily intervened, “Josie! How dare you say such a terrible thing about the Lord thy Saviour! Of course God exists! Do not question his Grace.”

Josie’s responded quietly under her breath, “If God can’t not exist, then doesn’t that mean that he isn’t all-powerful? Because the power to not exist is a sort of power isn’t it? And you said—

I lost my temper. “Josie enough! Just drop it!” It was probably the most I had ever heard Josie say, and for it to be so profane had induced fear in me. I took a breath before continuing. “Listen to your father’s wisdom sweetie. He knows much more than you or I about the word of God.” Josie nodded apprehensively while Jacob shook his head.

Josie did drop it for another few months, and was a very good girl in that time. Her bad behaviour persisted during another mass when she asked why the Jesus on the cross in our Church had white skin when he was born in Bethlehem and lived in Egypt and Nazareth. She cleverly pointed out that all the people born in those places have brown skin. I was impressed by her knowledge of the Lord’s geography, but told her that her question was not important since his appearance means nothing with regards to what he did for us. But she wouldn’t drop it. She kept saying how Jesus told us not to lie and how we were telling a lie. She brought it up again when I was in the kitchen a few days later. I’m not proud to say it, but her father and I had become fed up. We agreed that there was only one true way to deal with such impiety from our own child. Jacob brought her to her room and spanked her bottom. Josie didn’t make a sound. Josie didn’t speak again for weeks. I was worried that we had permanently damaged her after she had finally come out of her shell. But what other choice did I have as her mother? I tried to answer her questions, but she simply wouldn’t hear me.

The next time she spoke came shortly after the Santa Claus incident, four years before we rented the cabin.

“I’m having memories,” she said while I did some Christmas baking.

“What kind of memories?” I asked.

“From before this. I was a man named William who died on September 13, 1759. Shot the head by a musket just before the Battle of the Plains of Abraham.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. She continued,“I was a spy for the British.”

“Josie stop,” I said, still astounded.

Her face was stoic. “The French found out about me. They executed me out in the open so the British could see.”

My hands trembled. Part of me wanted her to keep going out of curiosity, but I knew he was playing another trick.

“I was so afraid, momma. But then I was fine. It was like taking off a tight sock, drifting up, up, up. I remember laughing at all the fear I had been holding onto, except there was no ‘me’ or ‘I’ to even laugh, so I guess there was just laughter and something to observe. But how do ‘I’ remember that? If there was no ‘I’—

“Josie enough! He has taken you! Give me back my little girl you demon!” I had shocked whatever it was, scared it quite badly. It stared at me dead in the eyes. “Josie, come back! Come back to momma baby! You are stronger than him! You have the Lord.”

Eventually she slept, and while she did I knew that it was her again because the Devil could never sleep so soundly. But I’m not sure she ever came back the way I prayed for. Over the next three years or so she stayed quiet, did very well in school, and helped me and her Father around the house constantly. She was the perfect daughter in many ways, but I could tell that there was something off with her. Every time she had spoken more than a few words in her life it had been irreligious, so even in her quiet politeness I couldn’t help but feel that another trick was being played. Jacob hadn’t spanked her in some time because he couldn’t really. There was nothing to discipline even if it felt like there was.

My suspicions weren’t confirmed until Josie was 11, and had to give a presentation of her choice to her sixth grade religion class. She had an A+ in the class, and had memorized the Bible at this point, so we weren’t exactly concerned about this minor presentation, but maybe we should’ve been.

“Next up we have Josie who will be talking about the Gates of Heaven,” said Mrs. Abernathy.

Josie cleared her throat. Her voice was soft and a little raspy, especially for a child. “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the House of God, and this is the Gate of Heaven— Genesis 28: 17. I will begin by asking a question that I’m not allowed to ask at home because my parents are uncomfortable by it. That is, “what is God?” Not “who is God?” Because God is not a person even if we want her to be. You see, you became uncomfortable there, just like my parents, when I said her instead of him. We are attached to this idea that God is a human but they are not. They are not anything, they are everything, meaning that the House of God is this, all of this, everything that you see. And the Gates of Heaven are these.” She pointed at her own eyes. “When Jesus opened the Gates of Heaven he was in the House of God, and what he really opened was his eyes, not actual gates, just like how God isn’t actually a human, or white. People want him to be white, and for Jesus and Mary to be white too because they’re all white, and so if God is then it means that they are all closer to God.”

Mrs. Abernathy looked stunned in the corner of the room. The children looked mesmerized as if they were listening to a mermaid speak about the water. Mrs. Abernathy spoke up, “Please, Josie, continue.”

Josie’s blue eyes brightened a little bit. “Jesus opened the Gates of his Eyes, so he could see the world as it truly was. In order to do that, he had to be crucified but the crucifixion wasn’t real either. I mean it was, but not in the way that we want it to be. The crucifixion happened here.” Josie pointed to her heart. “He had to let go of the world, the sins he had committed, the love that he had for Mary and Joseph and God. All of it.” She took a small drink of water from her aluminum bottle. “Only once all the dead hair has been brushed from the dog can it really run free. When Jesus opened his eyes he could see the blind people for their anger. He forgave them for not seeing, not because he had to but because he became forgiveness when he became everything. We pretended like he opened our eyes too, but in that lie we continued to prove how blind we really were. To end this I will leave you with two thoughts. One, God is an ocean and we are all waves. When you feel your wave like Jesus did you can become the ocean. And two, when we don’t listen to people because we don’t like what they’re saying, we have become those who crucify. The only way to avoid crucifixion is in our surrender.”

Mrs. Abernathy looked as pale as the moon. She didn’t give Josie a grade that day because she couldn’t. Instead she called her parents to tell them that their daughter doesn’t believe in the crucifixion. She felt sick to her stomach after making the phone call but didn’t know what else to do; her hands were nailed.

That was when Jacob and I knew that our nightmare had become a reality. We pulled into the driveway of the cozy A-frame cabin. We didn’t want her to think that there was anything wrong with her, or that Mom and Dad didn’t love her, but she couldn’t understand what we knew— who we saw hiding behind her bright blue eyes. Hopefully when she got older she would understand.

She knew something was up when we entered the house. She was always so clever. Or maybe it was him. “Why did we come here?” she said.

“We wanted a vacation sweetie. Sometimes families go on vacations to spend some loving time together away from home,” said Jacob.

“But home is not real. Don’t you understand? Home is in our brains and hearts.”

I raised my voice,“Now don’t you talk back to your father like that young lady! You say you’re sorry right now!”

“I’m sorry father.” He smiled warmly and superficially, but she continued. “For you are blind. You lie. And you lie for you know not what you do!”

Jacob got so red I thought he might strike her. Instead he grabbed her arm like a leash and dragged her into her room. He slammed the door and locked it from the outside. Josie didn’t make a sound in there, alone. Satan had her now.

Father Shultz was to arrive at any moment. Jacob sat quietly by the window with his face in his hands while I rubbed his back. Lord, give us back our little girl.

Josie sat quietly in the room where the exorcism would happen. There was a gentle knock at her window. She pushed it open with her 12-year-old hands. Mrs. Abernathy was standing in the snow. She looked green.

“Are you okay?” asked Josie.

Mrs. Abernathy choke-laughed and then sobbed. “Am I okay? Are you okay? I saw your Dad throw you in here by your arm. I called the police.” She paused when she caught a glimpse of Josie’s bright blue eyes. It was like standing on the sand, looking in. “Josie, I am so sorry. You are so good. So sweet. I know you are good. Your parents are sick. I just— I didn’t know what to do after your presentation. I never thought about it that much. All the other kids would go home to tell their parents. I had to do something. I haven’t been able to sleep. That’s why I followed you up that winding road.”

Josie smiled warmly and a tear rolled down her face. “It’s okay Rachel.” It felt weird for a child to call her by her first name, but also very fluid. “I love you. So of course I forgive you. If your eyes are closed you can never truly forgive. And when they’re open you become forgiveness. My parents aren’t sick, they are blind. I forgive them for not accepting that they are part of this ocean. For not believing that Santa Claus is real. They are part of it whether they like it or not. That’s the beauty of it, Rachel.” Josie pulled a coin from her pocket. “One side of this is Heaven, and the other Hell. They need each other to become a coin. So in a way, that makes Heaven Hell and Hell Heaven, because they are the same coin. My parents think I am the Devil because what they’re experiencing is the Devil, when in reality if they were experiencing God I would be an Angel in their eyes. It’s the same Rachel. It’s all the same. And I love you.”

The tires of a Priest’s Toyota could be heard pulling in. Rachel became quite serious. “Josie, we have to get you out of here, please give me your hand!” Josie removed her socks and exhaled. “Life is an infinite sided coin that pushes and pulls enough to create a perfect ocean. We must forgive them, Rachel, for they refuse to accept their own waves.” She sat down cross-legged in the middle of the room. Rachel watched while Father Shultz screamed into the bright-blue eyes of a little girl tied to a chair, demanding that the Devil leave her poor body.

Josie had this thought while his angry red spit hit her face. Maybe eyes weren’t just windows, maybe they were mirrors too.