markgrago
Once again, an account given to us by the late Mr. Rich Oswald, an exemplary storyteller from Beaver County! This is a tale of a supposed REAL EXORCISM that took place in Beaver County many years ago! See what you think. (Retold and rewritten with permission from this late author’s daughter.)
‘THE FENNEL HOUSE EXORCISM’
‘The house is gone now—demolished by a wrecking crew in 1991. Some locals say it was about time the local menace was gone. The Fennel House, as it came to be known by some of its more recent tenants, was constructed of local brick around the Civil War by B. Clayton. There were no stories of mysterious happenings in the house itself before the turn of the century until the terrible disaster in 1901 when the eight-member David Pfalph family decided to install gas lights, the latest technology, throughout the house. Unfortunately, the installation was done improperly, and during the first night, after the gas lines were activated, the whole family was asphyxiated. From then on, anyone who attempted to take up residence there began to report various phenomena such as sounds of people talking and laughing from inside the walls, steps on the stairways, strange flickering lights, levitated objects, and unidentified perfume-like smells. It did not help matters either that a small cemetery situated on a nearby knoll was the reported haunt of the decapitated woman, Barbara Davidson.
Throughout the next fifty or so years many strange stories evolved around the supposed hauntings, but until 1948, there was nothing malicious about the happenings there other than what appeared to be the mischievous behavior of some of the local entities. It even seemed the atmosphere was friendly and warm with many of the residents acquiring a certain peace from regular nightly visitations. That changed in ‘48.
The house was inhabited at that time by two sisters, Margaret and Phyllis Fennel. As the story goes, neither of them were married. In fact, Margaret was considered somewhat challenged and that her sister Phyllis had dedicated her later life in her care. Phyllis, like others before her, had reported strange occurrences around the house, and her mentally disabled sister often claimed conversations with some of the spirits. Sometimes it seemed Margaret’s only intelligent communication resulted from talks with her “friend” in the wall. The friend appeared harmless, but it was unfortunately discovered that was not the case.
It soon became apparent to her sister that Margaret was suddenly gaining weight—or else she was pregnant! Of course, that was impossible. Margaret was always around the house and Phyllis discouraged any visitors due to her sister’s delicate mental condition. Eventually, the impossible proved true. Margaret had somehow become pregnant even though Phyllis could not fathom any private visitations by a man in Margaret’s second story bedroom. It was challenging to get a straight answer from her sister. Every time she thought she was getting through to her, all Margaret said was the only man she knew was her friend in the wall!
That spring Margaret gave birth to a baby boy that she insisted be named Lucas after his father. In all respects, the child appeared healthy, and strangely, the mentally disabled girl was doing a credible job as its mother. That was—until one night about mid-July when Phyllis was awakened by terrible hysterical screaming. She rushed downstairs to the kitchen where the door to the stairway leading to the basement stood open. Margaret was standing at the head of the stairs swaying and moaning.
“He wanted Lucas! He wanted him! And I gave him Lucas!” “What did you do, Margaret? Tell me now,” demanded Phyllis. Margaret pointed down the stairs. There, the infant lay—dead. Its head had been gruesomely smashed against the stones of the basement wall!
The police were called in that night, but no one could get anything but gibberish from Margaret. A month later, for her own good, Margaret was committed to an asylum near Pittsburgh. But for Phyllis, the nightmare lived on.
In her mind, every time she looked down the basement steps, she could visualize the blood on the wall. She thought she was going crazy. But then, when a few parishioners from the nearby church visited Phyllis to comfort her, they too claimed they saw, for a brief moment, the flash of gore on the stones. Later, others witnessing the spot for the first time, agreed they saw something as well. If that were not enough, regular wailing took place in the house, coming from the upper rooms. To make matters worse, the sound of a baby’s mournful crying began to rise from the basement nightly—a cry that she immediately recognized as that of her dead nephew, Lucas! Phyllis began to make plans to move out, even though she had nowhere else to go.
In September, neighbors revisited Phyllis and made a recommendation. They had heard that the local priest, Father Leger, in a past assignment, had gained some experience in exorcism. Perhaps they could get him to eradicate the troubled spirits that were continually torturing Phyllis. She agreed this might be her only chance to stay in the house. So, the two women visited Father Leger at the church on Valley Road and told him of the story. At first, he was hesitant to get involved, but after hearing the details, he agreed to visit the house and make his assessment.
The evening Father Leger visited Phyllis Fennel, she had tea and raisin muffins as they talked at the table. The priest had doubted the stories to this time, but suddenly, as Phyllis began to relate the story of the wailing from the upper rooms, the teacup in front of the priest began to wobble and slowly move across the table toward him. He jumped up in time to avoid a scalding message. Then a low voice, somewhat challenging to understand whispered in a grating voice. “Get out of here, now!” Father Leger, now standing, ashen but determined, agreed. “Yes, my dear, we will indeed have an exorcism in this place. Until then, you may stay in the guest house behind the parsonage.”
The process for having an exorcism approved by the Church is rather lengthy. It was not until the following summer, appropriately in mid-July, that an appointed eight-man committee, laden with various paraphernalia, trudged down the lane to the deserted Fennel House. The day was hot, as is often the case in July, and the sweating men, led by Father Leger, carried their jackets on their arms. The door was difficult to open, but eventually, it relented with a loud protesting crack. Before the eight men was a dusty dining room tabletop. The room was trimmed smartly in dark oak cabinets loaded with abandoned china and cutlery haphazardly strewn on the shelves.
The men were jittery. No one from the parish except Leger had ever witnessed an exorcism rite, and twilight was quickly approaching. Since the electricity had long been cut off, the candles that each man placed on the table in front of him provided the only dull, flickering light, casting dancing shadows eerily in dark corners of the room. When the eight took their seats around the table, Father Leger read a long prayer in Latin that none of them had ever heard. Then the priest instructed the men to open the leather-bound books each had been given to begin the rite. He also told them to persist even if afraid because each of them had been empowered by the Church to do this and would be given the strength to get through it.
The priest commented that he believed that there were some distracted souls trapped in this house, but it was the committee’s appointed task to concentrate on the one malicious spirit which had caused so much discomfort to the owners of the house. It would be difficult, but they must necessarily ignore the pleas of the others. As he went on, he explained the prayers, written in Latin needed loud and precise responses from them if they were to be successful. Each man mutely nodded understanding and turned intently to his readings.
Father Leger, reciting loudly from his book, began to chant in a monotone like one might hear in a Medieval cathedral. Soon the rest of the men started to rhythmically respond in the same way, imitating the voice of the clergyman. At first, nothing seemed changed. Perhaps it was because the men had become enamored by their ritualistic responses.
Looking back, the men admitted the first thing they noticed was the room itself growing cooler—much colder than was natural. A few men absent-mindedly donned their discarded jackets as they maintained their droning prayer vigil. It was then that some of them heard what he later described as a whispering that may have at first thought to have been the wind in the nearby pines. The whispering sound became more and more pronounced until intelligible words were beginning to be understood. Out! Please leave my house; the voice once grated clearly. Several men stood in their seats, pale, with fearful expressions. The priest called out to the men that they remain strong. After a short hesitation, each settled one by one back into his seat and proceeded with his assigned oral prayers.
Now, the room was noticeably colder, and one man looked back at the window and noticed, despite the heat of a July night, the glass was covered with a layer of ice! Then it happened. Several loud protests appeared to come from within the walls, and the cupboard doors flew open, violently emptying the contents of the shelves and drawers onto the floor at the feet of the chanters. There was another loud male voice groaning as if in pain. Then the window—the one that had iced up—suddenly burst inward.
The room began to warm, and now the candles that had once barely lighted the room burned with a more significant flame. The low voices were ended. Without a word, Father Leger gestured to his men, who packed up the books and extinguished their candles. The exorcism had been completed.
It was not, as Father Leger had indicated to the eight men who helped him with the exorcism, the end of the strange happenings at the Fennel House, but the task of returning the malicious haunting spirit to his grave had apparently been successful. For twenty-five years people reported hauntings, voices, apparitions, music, and other things. The house exchanged hands several times until the last owner, a descendant of Margaret Fennel, decided the house was unlivable. No one could sleep there at night anymore, and there were too many bad memories. In March 1991, the house was razed in hopes of ending the hauntings. Some say, the spirits are still there and have witnessed them at certain times.
Perhaps. You will have to be the judge.
The information for this story is based on interviews with people who lived in the area back then at the time of the exorcism and on sketchy church records. Most of the people have said they heard about the exorcism but did not know much about it. I was fortunate enough to meet and interview John B. who claimed to have been one of the eight men on the committee that performed the exorcism. John was reputable and of good character. I believe him. John is dead now, and out of respect for him and his family, he must remain “John B.”’
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