The Naked Eye: A Paranormal Documentary

By Rita J.

Rita begins by sharing her stories of terrifying encounters with the unseen world, which began at the age of three. By the age of thirteen, she is a troubled teenager with a reckless lifestyle of drinking and drugs. At the height of her rebellion was the most terrifying demonic manifestation she had encountered. Her cries for help to a God she didn't know existed were answered, and the beast was removed. As she grows older, her relationship with God continues to grow and she learns about the spiritual existence of life and how the evil in this world hungers to kill, steal, and destroy mankind, especially those having a passion for God. During an outreach to her brother-in-law deployed overseas, demons began physically manifesting to attack her and those she loves. Rita's anger toward the enemy intensifies, and she becomes determined to strike back in a large-scale way by telling the world how to fight back against the powers and principalities of the supernatural world. This is the Naked Eye by Rita J., A Paranormal Documentary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642581751

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The Naked Eye

A Paranormal Documentary

Rita J.

ISBN 978-1-64258-174-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64258-175-1 (Digital)

Copyright © 2018 by Rita J.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

I’m writing this for many reasons, but primarily to teach people how to fight back. From what you ask? You’ll just have to read all of my story to find out. It won’t take long before you get a good idea, but please read all of it. It starts off scary but I bring you up to date and my life is much better now than when it started. This is the story of my life.

My story begins when I was three years old. It was 1971 and we were an average family living in Hyattsville, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, D.C. There was my mom, dad, sister, and our little dog. We had recently moved into our house and had been settled in a few months. It had to be late fall because it was dark outside before dinner time. I was often too curious for my own good. I was always into everything and had to be monitored all of the time. My mother has told me if I was being quiet, it meant I was into something.

One evening before dinner, I wandered off into the kitchen and saw something big and red on top of the counter. Since I was so young, I really didn’t know what it was. All I wanted to do was touch and squeeze it. I just had to get it, so I reached as far up as I could, which was a stretch, but with much perseverance, I got it. It was soft enough to push my finger through it, so I did several times. After making a mess of it, I put it right back up on the counter where I found it and left the scene of the crime. It ended up being a tomato and when my mom found it, she of course called me and asked if I did it.

This is where I was faced with my first time to tell the truth or not. I didn’t choose to tell the truth. There was no time to think it through; I answered quickly and concisely, no. As soon as I lied, a monstrous face appeared in the window looking right at me. I screamed and screamed and ran out of the kitchen to my dad who was in the den, and I jumped on his lap, grabbed him around the neck, and continued to steadily scream. I looked out of the window in the den and there it was again looking right at me. It had a shiny, bumpy red face with black horns and it was staring right at me. I was horrified and I jumped down off of my dad’s lap and ran into the middle of our living room where the curtains were closed, and I continued screaming for a long time. My nervous system was shocked and my world of innocence had ended.

When my mom finally calmed me down, I told her what I saw and she tried to reassure me that it didn’t happen. I knew it happened and it was horrible. Some might say that it must have been something I saw on TV. Well, that is not the case because I don’t even think we had a TV at that time, and if we did, there was no way I would have been allowed to watch anything scary.

Nothing much happened after that until two years later. My parents had a black metal statue of an African warrior. Why? I don’t know. He was scary looking and my sister and I hated this statue. He stood about two-feet tall, and he was very thin holding a staff. He had a long beard and an angry look on his face. We would often take it off the shelf and hide it in the book cabinet, but our parents would find it and put it right back on the shelf. I can’t remember where exactly we hid it the last time, but it seemed to be hidden for good.

Around this time, my sister and I shared a bedroom adjacent to our mom’s sewing room. I was around five years old and my sister was eight. In the sewing room, there was a very large cedar chest, which creaked when you lifted the lid. We had to go through this room to get to our room, and one night, when my sister and I had gone to bed but hadn’t fallen asleep yet, we heard the lid slowly open and then slam closed. We were scared but knew we had to get downstairs to tell our parents but that meant walking past the cedar chest.

Once we got enough courage, with my sister holding a flashlight and I must mention, holding on behind me, we walked ever so slowly, tiptoeing as we went, not to make any sounds. Once we got to the cedar chest, there it was, the statue we hated sitting on top of the cedar chest. We flew down the steps and crashed into our parent’s room. We couldn’t believe it. How did that statue get there? The cedar chest lid had opened and closed and anything on the lid would have fallen off to the back of the cedar chest.

Our parents to some degree believed us, but as any parents, they wanted to pacify their children and tell them everything is OK even though they’re scared too. They threw the statue away and I can’t help but think it probably found its way out of the trash and into someone else’s home.

After a couple of years, our parents thought we should have our own rooms. My sister kept our room and I was given the sewing room with the cedar chest. I never felt as comfortable there as I did with my sister, but because I was a big girl now, probably seven years old, it was time to have separate rooms. I wasn’t too far away from her and I was going to be brave even though I had not forgotten about my previous encounters.

I enjoyed having my own room and I mostly played on my bed instead of the floor. There always seemed to be something negative under my bed or in the crawl space of my room. I would jump and dive into my bed to avoid my legs being so close to the side because I was afraid something was going to grab me. I often hid under the covers and as I started to get a little smarter, I would stuff all of my toys under my bed to take up the space so nothing could hide there. This seemed to work but I couldn’t get away from what was in the crawl space. Something was living in there and it wasn’t mice. I can’t remember anything specific to write about the crawl space, I just have the memory of knowing something was in there.

Around the same time, which would make my sister around ten years old, she and a group of her girlfriends were in her room with the lights out and sitting Indian style in a close circle around a candle and a Ouija board. I had no idea what they were doing so I asked and they told me they were trying to contact the dead and they were asking for a sign of their presence. Then suddenly, there were coins dropping on the floor of her room, and I ran away scared. I still had memories of my previous horrifying events and I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

My sister told me later in the day that they were just playing around and it was one of her friends who threw coins across the room. All in fun, huh? Well, not really because a few days went by and as I was walking up the hardwood steps to my room, there it was, the sound of coins dropping beside me as I’m going up the steps. I quickly looked down to see if there were coins and there was nothing. I ran as fast as I could up those steps using both hands and feet. The sound of coins dropping continued occasionally for weeks, if not months. You might wonder how someone can live like this, but what choice do you have?

My dad’s mom was the only one who really spoke of God. My mom and dad believed in God, but we were never a family that went to church or read the Bible. Their teaching about God was more along the lines of, God is going to get you if you misbehave. At some point early on, someone taught me to say my prayers at night and I would say, Now, I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless Mom, Dad, my sister, and everyone in the world except the devil. I added that last little bit about the devil myself. No one in my family ever spoke of such things. The fact that I knew at an early age that he was in existence in the world still surprises me.

I debated with myself about telling this next story only because I would never want anyone to do the same thing, but it’s part of my story too. However, I strongly encourage you not to do this. I had a friend who lived down the hill from us. We were around nine or ten at the time when we decided to do something really stupid. We heard one of the older kids saying if you stood in front of a mirror with a candle and the lights out and repeated Bloody Mary over and over that she would appear in the mirror. Well, we wanted to see for ourselves and had nothing else interesting to do that day, so we did. The two of us repeated it a few times, and there it was, a wicked and dead-looking face of a female with hollowed eyes and with long grayish stringy hair looking right back at us. We were shocked and we couldn’t get out of that bathroom fast enough. I remember we fumbled at that doorknob trying to get out. Oh, man, we were scared. After that, I never wanted to use her bathroom again. We both agreed that we would never do that again and never spoke of it or told anyone. We couldn’t believe what happened and it shocked us. The memory is still so vivid.

Chapter 2

Around the age of twelve, my parents divorced; and knowing more now at forty-three, I’ve realized that evil must have influenced them in a negative way, which was the reason for them falling out of love. After they divorced, I began drinking alcohol and smoking. Yes, that’s right, barely a teenager and already on a really bad road. It was not all at once. It was drinking first and then cigarettes, and then, it progressed to smoking pot and then harder substances. This was my life as a teenager for the next few years.

My friend from around the corner and I would do really stupid things. Besides smoking and drinking, the most stupid thing we did was hitchhiking. We went all over the area with no real purpose in mind. She was the brave one who would get us picked up and we did get into a couple of dangerous situations but all thanks to God that nothing ever happened to us. I do have to give her credit for being street smart and getting us out of harm’s way, but really, it was God making sure that we made it home alive every time.

I’ll take a minute to tell you about her. We met when I was five and she was six. She lived with her grandmother around the corner from me and we had tons of fun. There wasn’t a day that we didn’t laugh all the way home from elementary school. We pretty much grew up together. As we got older, she became a more positive spiritual influence to me. This was primarily because her grandmother loved the Lord and taught her so many things about the supernatural forces of good and evil.

I did have two other people outside of my immediate family that I felt cared and looked out for me. There was my high-school friend who was like my twin, the good twin. Her mom was such a sweet and tender woman and someone who expressed all of the time her love for the Lord. She was a positive spiritual influence in our lives. Her mom passed away from a terrible battle with cancer and her passing left a big void in my friend’s life.

There was also my first official boyfriend when I was fifteen. He really showed that he genuinely cared about me and our relationship was innocent. He never pushed like a typical hormone-driven teenage boy and he would always look out for my safety. I could tell him anything without feeling judgment and he always had good advice.

We dated for over a year until I felt as though he was not giving me the attention I craved and I decided to break up with him, which I still regret. After breaking up with him, I became more careless about everything, which was detrimental to my health. I don’t want to go into details here, but I do have to mention that I became really sick. This was the winter of 1985 and it was the second quarter of my twelfth grade year. I was in the hospital for a few weeks, which included Christmas, and this was a really sad time for me and being out of school put me far behind. I didn’t seem to learn any lessons here because once I was discharged from the hospital, I returned back to my reckless and careless lifestyle.

As if the things I had been doing weren’t bad enough, I also liked watching scary movies about the supernatural and magic, similar to today’s movies for children focused on sorcery. You would think I would have known better, but the evil influences are very deceitful. I was naïve to say the least and I was a follower, not a leader. I was weak-minded and I didn’t realize with my new curiosity of the supernatural world that I must have put out signals in the world of darkness. The interest in the unseen was all that was needed to open doors that I had no business touching, and it didn’t take long to understand that fact.

My mom had taught us at an early age how to cook and I had been in the kitchen for about an hour cooking dinner and I needed to get something out of my room. I had walked a few feet into my room and it felt as though I had just walked into a dense fog and it had such a rotten pungent smell. I quickly turned around and ran out. I instinctively knew what it was, but I was trying to debunk it. If it was something like a dead mouse in the vents, it would have stunk up the rest of the apartment too or at least not be entirely centralized that I could walk into it and walk out of it. I can only compare the atmosphere to a dense fog, but it was really more intense as it had a very heavy and oppressive feeling. I didn’t see any fog or else I would not have walked right into it. As for the smell, I had never smelled anything as bad as that in my life. It really smelled like it could have been hot rotten human flesh.

After I ran out of my room, I was standing at our patio door staring outside trying to gather my thoughts and analyze what just happened. It was dark outside so I couldn’t see anything except that of my reflection and that of our living room. As I was looking at myself and the reflection behind me, there suddenly appeared a shadow of a man standing right by my bedroom door. I freaked out and ran to my mom’s room. I’m sure I was hyperventilating trying to tell her what happened, but when I finally told her about it, she said, sounds like someone’s trying to tell you something. What? That was no help at all, but she was right; however, that’s not what I needed to hear. I needed someone to go charging into my room and tell that thing to leave. But that’s not what happened at all and it continued to torment me by making itself well known over many weeks.

It made banging noises in my room. It rattled door handles. My hanging plants would start swinging by themselves. I would be physically touched, and my things would be misplaced or disarranged. Several times when I was in bed, I would feel someone sit down beside me and I could see the impression in the bed. I was living in terror daily. My friends witnessed the closed doors rattling like something was on the other side trying to get out. You can debunk that all you want, but there is no breeze or vacuum effect with that force and rapid pulling and pushing on the closed door, which can explain it.

Even talking about this twenty-five years later makes me nervous for a minute. I was scared all of the time and I never wanted to be alone. There was one time that I was scared and my sister was home so I went into her room crying, but she told me to leave because it was after me, not her. You can see how I felt alone in all of this.

Things continued to happen and another evening when I was really scared again, I had called my childhood friend. She was always talking about God and she was quick to pray. It was around 11:30 p.m. when I called her but she wasn’t home; however, her sister was. Sounds helpful, doesn’t it? In a backward kind of way, she was. I’ll have to explain a little about her. She was one person that scared me. Her personality was so unpredictable and she was easily irritated and often became violent. She knew something about evil and she was tormented too. Her story is her own so I’m not going into details here, but she was not someone to tell anything to, let alone ask her for help. My friend would have never told her about the thing living in my room. After she told me that my friend wasn’t home, I said, OK, and was going to hang up, but then she said, I know about your visitor. What? I said, but I thought, Oh, no, because I knew she was connected to that realm and I know my friend did not share anything with her. She proceeded to say that I was going to have someone greater than that coming to me at midnight. I’m not sure how I ended that conversation because I was in shock and all I could think was, Oh, my God. I hurried and hung up the phone and for the first time ever, I began to pray. It wasn’t the childhood bedtime prayer. I was screaming on the inside crying out for help. I started praying by saying, God if you’re real and I think you are, then please help me. I know what’s going on around me is real so you have to be real too. God, help me. On and on I prayed. I can still see myself sitting Indian style on the floor holding myself, eye’s tightly closed, rocking back and forth just crying and praying. I didn’t even want to take a peek to see what time it was. I was going to keep praying through until midnight had passed.

On and on I prayed and when I finally did take a peek and look at the time, it was ten minutes after midnight. I knew at that time God really protected me. I was so very thankful, and on top of nothing worse coming, the evil that had been staying in my room was gone. Even the oppressive feeling of the room was gone. It was like the feeling after a good heavy rain, how clean everything feels and smells; the darkness was gone. This was the beginning for me with God and I knew that God was real, but at that point, that’s all I really knew.

It was right after this that I became sick again, and this time, they wanted to perform surgery. I was scared to have surgery, but I had no other option and I was in so much pain that I just wanted relief. This is where my childhood friend gave me the best advice ever and told me to lay my hands on my issue and pray until God heals me. I was scheduled to have the surgery in three days and I did just as she said. I believed like a little child that praying to God would work and praise the Lord, it did. The entire issue was gone and the doctor called it a miracle. Yes, it was absolutely a miracle of God’s healing grace and mercy.

Chapter 3

Iwas seventeen when my mother decided that she and her new boyfriend were going to move in together and I was told that I needed to find a place to live. She did wait for two weeks until my eighteenth birthday to move, and by this time, I had already dropped out of high school. I was so far behind in my schoolwork and I just couldn’t catch up. I couldn’t move in with my dad because there was no room. Here I was now at eighteen with no car, no place to live, no diploma, and not making enough money to survive. I was feeling homeless, hopeless, and desperate.

I was really on a bad road now and had felt thrown out to the wolves. I was not prepared at all for the world, but thank God, my grandmother, my dad’s mom, offered to let me stay with her until I could get on my feet. Living with her was such a blessing. I wish I knew it then so I could have really let her know how much I appreciated her loving me and letting me live with her. She became my best friend and I could tell her anything and it was a feeling of comfort and security living there. I was getting on track and even studied for my GED, which I passed. I was so proud to get that GED. While living with my grandmother, she impressed upon me the need to accept Christ as my Savior. My childhood friend and a friend in North Carolina would also tell me often that I needed to give my heart to God and ask Christ into my life. I’m very thankful to them, they were used by God to lead me to give my heart to Him.

My grandmother took the initiative to call her pastor who lovingly came to our house and led me in prayer to accept Christ. I can still see myself kneeling on the floor with him praying. That was October 18, 1986, and shortly after that, I got baptized. Life was going really well. I had started working as a receptionist at our local hospital and I really felt like I was on a good road now and I felt secure. Unfortunately, I became really sick again with the same problem I had at seventeen and ended up in the same hospital where I worked. I was in there at least a week and then was terminated because of not being able to report to work. It was really disappointing to say the least.

Shortly after being home from the hospital, I met someone who promised to love and take care of me and he wanted to get married after three months of dating. He really pressed the issue. I thought at the time that if it wasn’t the right thing to do that God would stop me from doing it. I suppose I thought I would hear this thunderous voice from heaven telling me to stop, and when that didn’t happened, I married him. Oh, what a lesson I learned here. God had tried stopping me and He used my family to talk me out of it, but I didn’t listen to them.

After we married, that man showed his true colors and he became very possessive and he did not want me to have any communication with my family or friends. He didn’t like me wearing makeup either. I didn’t really see it at the time, but my family and friends did and they could not stand him. He and I fought often. He never physically hit me, but he would hold my arms so tightly that it caused bruises and he would just scream in my face. That did come to an end because the last time he did that, I snapped like a dog and tried ripping off his bottom lip with my teeth. He didn’t strike back, which was a smart move on his part. He backed off in disbelief and tended to his wounds. He kept saying that he couldn’t believe I did that. I couldn’t believe it either really. It was built up rage, and honestly, it felt good to release it. I’m a nice person and would never hurt anyone on purpose unless having to defend myself