The Exorcism of Florence Lewis

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It’s not unusual for Flo to shout out during the night, usually this ranges from ‘I’ve got a bogey!’ to ‘I want my blanket back on’. The latter irks me as it’s generally just by her feet, the lazy little shit. So, either myself or Emma will plod over to her room, remove the offending bogey or replace the blanket and all is good in the world again.

The better half works nights so it’s always been a law of averages that a ‘night-time incident’ would occur while I’m home alone with the Jam-eater. Last night was that night.

About 1.30am the call for help is raised and it’s a new one, ‘Daddy my face is wet’. I immediately thought ‘Her face is wet?, what a load of shit!’. She’s had a cold this week so a ‘wet face’ is nothing out the ordinary, just a bit of snot to clean up I thought. Thing is, hand in hand with this cold comes a lot of nose picking and I think she may have gotten a tad carried away in her sleep as her ‘wet face’ was the result of a massive nose bleed.

I’m not going to lie, I only expected a snotty child, so naturally I did the thing that all good fathers do. I metaphorically shit my pants (easy ladies!). The last time I saw this much blood was when I was watching ‘The Red Wedding’ on Game of Thrones.

The clean up process started and once Flo and I calmed down we got changed and settled back down to the ‘Gruffalo’ and some other random pop up book. Now, I thought we were sorted so I popped to the toilet and walked back in the room to start getting Flo to bed. Now I’m scared….

The F-Bomb is sat cross legged on the floor looking directly at me with yet another blood soaked hand raised in the air (yes, she can’t stop picking her nose!) and crazy hysterical laughter coming from her tiny blood soaked mouth. 

My mind wandered back to all the 80’s horror films and tried to think if we had a crucifix or holy water in the house. I’m not even religious so that was out of the question. Who do you even call for an Exorcism? Is there a waiting list? Will this child condemn me to hell and shout vulgarities at me like Regan in ‘The Exorcist’?

Then the opposite happened, the possessed giggling demon child who was sat sat on the floor spoke. ‘I just did a big pump daddy’. She wasn’t possessed after all, she’s just a little Fart Machine. 

So after another wash down (with standard water, not holy water), she decided to relocate herself to our bed to try and sleep (which took another two hours).

I utilised some ‘Dad Skills’ at this time though. I started her off sleeping on Emma’s side of the bed just in case of another blood soaked relapse and switched her to my side before Emma came in this morning. Genius.

Now, I suddenly have the urge to watch Game Of Thrones again.

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