[Doreen Virtue's Intro: A professional angel therapist named Sophia Fairchild needed immediate and extreme help from Archangel Michael to clear away negative energies and earthbound entities from her home.]
Many years ago I bought a ramshackle house on a hill overlooking the ocean. It was badly run-down, but it was the only place I could afford at the time. I suspected something was very wrong with this house when in spite of its beautiful location and low price, nobody else showed any interest in buying it.
Looking back now, I see that it was glaringly obvious what the problem was. At the first and only open house, the few prospective buyers got no farther than the entry hall before the blood drained from their faces. Most of them bolted back to the safety of their cars and sped away. The real estate agent stood well off to the side, meekly pointing out the ocean views and apologizing for the fact that the house had stood empty for some time.
I, too, sensed the cold, clammy atmosphere emanating from the house, but I carefully ventured inside. I tried not to wince at the broken vintage plumbing, holes in graffitied walls, decades-old junk piled up to the rafters in the grim garage, and personal items abandoned in haste, strewn like confetti across the yard. Yet the lovely ocean view and glimpses of what must have once been a magnificent garden, now lying buried beneath weeds and trash, gave me some confidence that I could make a thing of beauty from this wreck of a house. And besides, this was all I could afford.
At the auction I was the only bidder, except for a man I suspected was a stooge, positioned there by someone to deliberately jack up the price. Fortunately, I called his bluff and was thrilled to secure the house for a sum even lower than I’d expected. It seemed like a miracle to own my own place at last! My son, however, was not so thrilled.
Shortly after we moved into the house, I began to hear strange stories from my nervous neighbors about the previous residents. An old woman who’d survived the Nazi death camps had lived alone there for many years before dying in my bedroom. A tormented soul, she took aimless bus rides crisscrossing the city every day, apparently to get away from someone or something that was always chasing her. It was sad to think that after all she’d been through, she was so frightened of her own home.
The house had then fallen into disrepair through years of neglectful tenants and an absentee landlord who’d bought the property merely for its land value. The last occupants had been a group of occultists who must have enjoyed the parade of ghosts that nightly streamed through that windswept house—until they left in a big hurry. Even my cats knew that this house was truly haunted, but I still managed to gloss over that detail.
I enlisted the aid of a well-known feng shui expert to begin work on clearing the house of its dank, cloying energy. He doused the property and pointed out a couple of powerful ley lines that intersected below the house. We hammered copper pipes into the ground across them, hoping this would calm the energy down, and we moved furniture around in my son’s bedroom. When the man had done all he could, he left me with a recommendation to call in a specialist to perform an exorcism. A what?! Okay, an exorcism. But who do I call? He didn’t know. This wasn’t something that could easily be looked up in the yellow pages.
Right then I began firmly telling myself that I had to get a handle on this situation. I simply pushed aside the feeling that I was totally out of my depth, yet I didn’t know where to turn. I kept getting an image in my mind of a stained-glass window in an old Gothic cathedral. This was my only association with the term exorcism at the time. With nothing else to go on, I decided to search among the dusty shelves of antique bookstores for anything I could find on medieval exorcisms.
It was in one of these bookstores that I happened upon an illustration of Archangel Michael in a brilliant stained-glass panel of an English church. The gilt-edged book mentioned prayers for calling upon the archangel’s assistance when dealing with “daemons.” I noticed I’d been holding my breath for a long time and was starting to sweat. This was the nearest I’d come to a description of how to exorcise a haunted house.
The book said: “Michael is the prince of the heavenly armies. The faithful call upon him in all dangers of soul and body and implore his intercession at the hour of death that their souls may by him be brought before the throne of God.”
As I jotted down these words, I could no longer deny the reality and extent of the haunting, and I understood how truly helpless we were. I’d been thinking that I somehow had the power to make a stand to protect my family amid the swirling legions that moved at liberty through our house each night. I was in way over my head, but Michael was throwing me a lifeline. I began to breathe through my tears.