The Electric Battery Acid Test

Larson shoves his Bible into the small of Heidi’s back, causing her to produce hideous moans. Two DWJD team members rush to protect him.

Larson asks Heidi’s demon how long he has possessed her. “Since she was 5,” she howls, not unlike a dying dog. “A man did it to her.”

“What did he do to her?” Larson demands.

“You know what he did to her,” she replies, now sounding a bit like Freddy Krueger. “Don’t play games with me.”

“You don’t play games with me!” Bob retorts. “Do you want that sword in your back again? Tell me what he did to her.”

“He touched her,” Heidi replies nonchalantly.

The confrontation escalates. “Satan, do you have a right to be there? Answer the question! Yes or no?”

“Is she gonna let go of me?” she cackles, now resembling the Wicked Witch of the West.

Larson’s team members hold her arms, as Heidi’s body twists and contorts. Larson jabs his Bible-sword at Heidi’s chest and says, “I divide Heidi from you, Satan. Do you have a right to be there? Yes or no?” Heidi laughs satanically. Larson asks again: “YES OR NO?!”

“Okay, no,” Heidi says, intoning a bratty, Valley Girl.

“Who are you?” Bob demands.

“Distortion.”

Larson’s beady eyes light up. His demons rarely have ancient names like Belial and Beelzebub; they are more likely to have mundane monikers such as Murder, Hate, maybe even Parking Tickets.

“Distortion?” he asks. “What do you distort?”

“The mind.”

“So you sexually abuse a little child, and it throws everything into distortion, doesn’t it? Who she is . . . what love is . . . what sex is.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “It’s all devised.”

“I bet you wish you hadn’t come here tonight.”

“She’s been praying for it all week,” answers Distortion. “She’s fasted two meals today. She never fasts.”

Even Larson finds the “self”-effacing entity a little goofy. “This demon ought to be on the Comedy Channel. This demon’s got personality, but it’s also arrogant and cocky.”

Larson orders Distortion to “go to the pit,” and Distortion quickly agrees.

“You’re lying,” says Larson. “Demons don’t agree that easily to go to the pit. Heidi, I wanna see you at 10 o’clock tomorrow.” The gauntlet has been thrown down, but the battle for Heidi’s soul will have to wait until Saturday’s seminar. What won’t wait is the pitch: “I’m going to pray that right here tonight someone will write a check for $7,000,” he tells the now freaked-out audience. (Hey, it doesn’t hurt to ask.) He’ll also accept $70, $140, $210 or $700.” Credit cards accepted.

—Dan Kapelovitz