Disclaimer: You Clicked It, You Own It
This blog is not for the faint-hearted, the overly skeptical, or those who think demons belong exclusively in horror flicks and medieval myths. If you’re looking for warm fuzzies and bedtime platitudes, turn back now. You won’t find them here.

But let’s be honest—you clicked on this. You saw the title, and something stirred in that deep corner of your mind where the rational and the mysterious wrestle like Jacob and the angel. Don’t blame me for where your curiosity led you. This is your circus now.

If you’re still reading, congratulations. Strap in, hold tight, and remember: we’re not called to sugarcoat the truth but to proclaim it boldly, even when it unsettles. After all, unsettling people with Scripture is a feature of the Gospel, not a bug.

Now, onward into the fray.

It was late, dark, and quiet—the kind of quiet that made up every night before. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a regular night. I had prayed, locked the doors, and turned off the lights. The room was sealed like a tomb (as it always was), and I lay down, ready for the sweet mercy of sleep. But what came that night was something else entirely.

I don’t know if it was a dream. Or a vision. Or a moment when the veil between worlds thinned and spilled the shadowy excess of the unseen into the seen. All I know is this – I woke up in the middle of the night with hands around my throat. Big, clawed hands.

There was no mistaking their strength. They didn’t fumble. They didn’t hesitate. These were the hands of some ancient evil (yes, these were the thoughts in my brain as it was happening), hands that had choked countless others in malice, hands made for breaking what is good.

I opened my eyes, but I could hardly make out what I was looking at in the darkness. I saw teeth—sharp, grotesque—and part of a face twisted in hatred. It wasn’t human. Not even close. It was the kind of hideous that makes your soul recoil, the kind of malice that could curdle your courage.

I tried to move its hands, but I might as well have been wrestling a mountain. I was weak, like a child grappling with stone. I tried to speak, to scream, but no sound came. My throat was a locked door, and the key was gone.

And then—because when the monsters come, you remember who the real hero is—I thought of His name.

Jesus.

I whispered it, barely a sound, a flicker of light in the oppressive blackness. But His name doesn’t whisper back. His name is thunder. His name is fire. His name burns the shadows.

“Jesus,” I whispered again, and the creature’s grip slackened.

“Jesus,” I said louder, and my strength grew, though I don’t know how.

“Jesus!”

The thing hissed, like steam escaping a kettle, and I felt the iron in its hands begin to melt. My own hands—suddenly strong—wrenched them free, and with one last shout of His name, I flung it backward.

The creature flew like it had been hit by the fist of God. It crashed into my balcony doors, flinging them open with a force that rattled the night. And then it was gone, like smoke in a windstorm.

I lay there, my heart hammering, my lungs gulping air. I should’ve been terrified. I should’ve been trembling. But I wasn’t. Something else had settled in me—something solid. Courage, maybe. Or anger. Not for being attacked, but at that thing and what it represented. And more than anything, a fierce, unshakable trust in the name I’d just spoken.

When morning came, I woke up, half-convinced the whole thing had been a nightmare. I sat up, shaking off the heaviness of sleep, and that’s when I noticed it—the balcony doors. Wide open. Both of them.

I froze. My mind immediately went to the night before. I was certain I had locked them—both doors. But even if I hadn’t, logic demanded that only one should have swung open, not both. Yet there they were, fully ajar, as if something—or someone—had forced its way through.

I tried to dismiss it as I went to the bathroom to freshen up. That’s when I caught my reflection in the mirror. There, on my neck, were two faint but unmistakable scratches. I tilted my head, trying to figure out how they could’ve gotten there. The angle didn’t make sense—my hands couldn’t have made them. And there was nothing on my bed that could’ve caused it either.

The open doors, the scratches, the memory of that shadowy figure—I couldn’t explain any of it away. This wasn’t a nightmare. Something real had happened.

Why this story? Why now?

When Tucker Carlson recently shared his story about a demonic attack (see here), the world reacted with its usual mix of mocking, jeering, and howling into the void of their disbelief. What caught my attention, though, wasn’t just Tucker’s account but the thoughtful responses from men like Jeff Durbin and Doug Wilson. They took the opportunity to remind Christians of something the Bible never shies away from – demons are real, spiritual warfare is real, and Christ is victorious.

As I watched their responses, I couldn’t help but think back to my own experience. Tucker’s story, and the commentary from Durbin and Wilson, rang true to my own encounter with the dark. For years, I’d kept my story quiet from most people—shared only with those closest to me. Not because I feared rejection or doubted its reality, but because stirring the pot unnecessarily is rarely wise. Our congregation is a unique blend of cessationists and charismatics, which makes certain topics, like angels and demons, particularly unsettling for some. Pastors tread a fine line between nurturing the flock and upsetting it, and I often opted for restraint. After all, spiritual warfare isn’t something to toss around like a campfire ghost story for shock value. It’s a grim reality, and one that demands reverence and discernment.

But increasingly, I’ve come to see the need to be more vocal and outright with these matters. The times call for it. Scripture itself calls for it. If the truth unsettles, so be it—that’s the job description of a pastor, to preach the Word in season and out, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes some people. As Paul wrote to Timothy, “reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching” (2 Timothy 4:2). To unsettle people with Scripture is not only permissible—it’s often necessary.

There may have been wisdom in withholding this story before, but withholding it no longer feels wise. The spiritual battlefield is not optional for Christians, and to pretend otherwise is to leave people vulnerable. Tucker’s story, and the cultural response to it, is yet another evidence that silence can sometimes look like cowardice, and cowardice isn’t a luxury pastors can afford.

The enemy is real, and the fight is unavoidable. But so is the victory. Christ reigns supreme over every inch of creation, including the realm of the unseen. And it’s in His name that we stand, and in His name that the darkness flees.

Uncommon, but not unusual

For most people, an encounter like mine—waking up to a demon’s hands around your neck—is uncommon, maybe even unheard of. And that’s fine. The devil doesn’t need to choke everyone physically. Why would he, when he’s doing a fine job choking faith, hope, and joy in a hundred other ways?

 Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

1 Peter 5:8

But not every attack is the same. Some come with teeth and claws; others come with subtle whispers, creeping doubts, or crushing despair. Satan’s playbook is vast, and his tactics are diverse. For some, the choking grip comes through financial difficulties. For others, it’s through relational strife, chronic anxiety, or temptations designed to strangle their spiritual vitality. The battlefield looks different for each of us, but the war is the same.

Paul speaks in 2 Corinthians 12:7 of a “thorn in the flesh,” a messenger of Satan sent to harass him. While we don’t know exactly what Paul experienced, we do know he understood it as part of the ongoing spiritual battle—a reminder of his dependence on Christ.

Similarly, these more visceral encounters—like the one I experienced—serve as reminders for those of us entrusted with leadership. They shake us awake to the reality of the kingdom of darkness, and they steel us to keep fighting. For pastors, elders, parents, and anyone influencing others toward Christ, the devil’s hatred burns especially fierce. And why wouldn’t it? If he can take out a leader, he knows he can send shockwaves through the community they serve.

But let’s be clear – these uncommon experiences, while startling, are not unnatural. They are part of the biblical landscape. The devil physically assaulted Job, tempted Jesus in the wilderness, and sought to sift Peter like wheat. If he worked so aggressively against these men, why should we think we’re immune?

At the same time, these encounters are not a cause for fear. They’re a reminder of who our enemy is—and who our King is. When these moments come, they draw the battle lines clearly: the kingdom of darkness against the kingdom of light. And for those of us in Christ, we know how this war ends.

For He must reign until He has put all His enemies under His feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death

1 Corinthians 15:25-26

The devil may choke, whisper, and prowl, but his end is certain. His defeat is written in the blood of Christ. And every attack, no matter how fierce, is just one more reminder that the One in us is greater than the one in the world.

How bad can it get?

The late R.C Sproul wrote, “The Christian is always faced with this question: Can I be demon-possessed? I don’t believe so. I believe that people can be demon-possessed, but I don’t think that this is possible for a Christian, because God the Holy Spirit resides in the regenerate person, and the Scriptures tell us, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty” (2 Cor. 3:17). So, no demon can hold us hostage to the power of Satan. Demons can oppress us, they can harass us, they can tempt us, attack us and so on, but thanks be to God, He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4).”

The absence of possession does not mean the absence of battle. The Bible provides numerous examples of Satan’s attempts to oppress God’s people. Job was afflicted physically and emotionally with God’s permission but never abandoned by God. Paul described his “thorn in the flesh” as a “messenger of Satan” sent to harass him, teaching him to rely on God’s grace (2 Corinthians 12:7). Even Peter faced direct satanic opposition when Jesus warned that Satan sought to sift him like wheat (Luke 22:31). These accounts remind us that oppression can take many forms, but it is always under God’s sovereign control.

The believer’s assurance lies in the promises of Scripture. We are temples of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19), sealed for the day of redemption (Ephesians 1:13-14), and equipped with the armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-18) to resist every attack. Most importantly, Christ has already triumphed over Satan, disarming him and exposing his defeat through the cross (Colossians 2:15). While the devil may still prowl like a roaring lion, his power is limited, and his ultimate defeat is certain.

So, how bad can it get? Bad enough to remind us of the ongoing spiritual battle, but never bad enough to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:38-39). The devil’s attacks, whether subtle or dramatic, are the thrashings of a defeated enemy. In Christ, we are more than conquerors, not because the fight is easy, but because the victory is already won.

The Battle is real, but the Victory is certain

Christians cannot afford to dismiss the reality of spiritual warfare. While overt demonic encounters like Tucker’s, Durbin’s or mine may be uncommon, they are entirely consistent with Scripture and the testimony of faithful Christians throughout history. From the temptation of Christ (Matthew 4:1-11) to the assaults on Job (Job 1-2), the Bible makes it clear that spiritual forces of evil actively oppose God’s people.

At the heart of these discussions is the reminder of Christ’s authority over all things, including the powers of darkness. James 4:7 calls us to “submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” The power to resist does not come from our strength but from the overwhelming authority of the One who reigns. When Christians stand firm in Christ, calling on His name and wielding the Word of God, the forces of hell cannot prevail (Matthew 16:18).

These experiences—whether dramatic or subtle—remind us of the cosmic battle between light and darkness. The devil’s schemes often target those leading others toward Christ, seeking to undermine their faith and resolve. But his attacks only serve to highlight the sufficiency of God’s grace and the victory that Christ has already secured.

The same Christ who disarmed the rulers and authorities, putting them to open shame through His triumph on the cross (Colossians 2:15), is the One who equips and sustains His people. The battle is real, but the victory is certain. Whether it’s a dark shadow in the night, a whisper of doubt, or the mockery of an unbelieving world, the answer is the same – submit to God, resist the devil, and proclaim the power of Jesus.

The enemy may roar, but his defeat is assured. Take heart. Stand firm. The One who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world (1 John 4:4). And every attack is an opportunity to declare the glory of the King who has already won.