by Dawn Landrum
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The next day was filled with oddities. I arrived home from school to find that my cat, Sabrina had died under the crawl space in the house. The Animal Control Department was already there. My closet door was ajar and the door in the floor of it was opened. A man popped out with my cat wrapped in a towel. He took her away and I cried.
That night missionaries from Stef's church came by to visit us. They could tell something that didn't belong was in our home. They explained the Plan Of Salvation to our family and talked about Jesus. They told us that satan really doesn't want us to find the true gospel of Jesus Christ. In thier opinion, all that was going on with our house was satan's attempt to scare us away before we could. They told us of the story of Joseph Smith and about scriptures. I was pleased. Even though I had visited church with my grandmother and knew of the Bible, I knew God wouldn't just leave us with one book to guide us forever. This made sense. We sang songs and learned to pray. It was great.
When the missionaries left my mother helped me put the stuff back into my closet and shut it's door (which always seemed to stick tight). My family went to bed feeling fulfilled, calm and peaceful.
A couple hours after we all were asleep I was awakened by a scratching sound. It was coming from my closet. I pulled the covers up over my head and peeked out. The scratching got louder...faster. The closet door knob began to girate. I broke into a cold sweat. The room became cold and I tried to cry out. My parent's room was right next to mine, but no sound came out of my mouth as I tried to scream for them. It was as though my tongue was bound. I remembered the way I felt at church, I remembered the primary songs we had sung, I remembered what the missionaries said. I decided to pray and sing primary songs in my head. I watched in fear as I sang song after song. It seemed that this terrible scene would go on forever. The loud scratching, the jiggling knob, the force that shared my room...it was almost unbearable. I wouldn't give up. I wouldn't give in. I prayed and sang until all of a sudden it felt as if a weight was lifted. Then silence. The closet door then burst open and what appeared to be my dead cat, ran across the floor, then it was over. I took a big breath, sat up, prayed again and then went to look at my parents who were sleeping, oblivious to what had just happened to me.
Amazingly I didn't feel fear when I crawled into bed. I felt triumphant instead. I thought I'd be too scared to sleep, but for some reason I was physically exhausted.
More things happened in our "perfect" house. More terrifying things, and more great things. We continued to take missionary lessons. Knowing about what was happening gave us strength and comfort. My father took the lessons and words taught to him as ammunition against his unseen enemy.
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