Marisa Kwiatkowski

marisa.kwiatkowski@indystar.com

As The Star's social services watchdog, it's my job to be a voice for those who can't speak for themselves.

I've investigated gaps in intensive mental health services for children with developmental disabilities and mental illnesses. I've written about the struggles of families to pay for children's hearing aids. I've studied the state's response to a paralyzed young woman's death. And my colleagues and I investigated Indiana's day-care system, which helped spur a change in state law.

But the article I'm most known for? Nope, it's none of those. It's a tale of demonic possession.

When it was published in January, "The exorcisms of Latoya Ammons" became an instant sensation. I fielded hundreds of calls and emails from people all over the world. Movie and TV producers clamored to connect with Ammons for the right to tell her story. Zak Bagans, host and executive producer of "Ghost Adventures" on the Travel Channel, was so intrigued that he bought the Carolina Street home in Gary, Ind., where the family says many of the events occurred.

"The exorcisms of Latoya Ammons" is now the most-read piece in The Indianapolis Star's history. Not bad for an article that almost never published.

Today, on Halloween, amid the usual frivolity over ghosts and goblins, it seemed an appropriate time to finally share the story behind the story. So here goes:

My deep dive into the world of levitation, fear and faith started the way most articles do — with a tip.

A source I'd met during my years working for a paper in northwestern Indiana brought Ammons' story to my attention. You'll never believe this case I was involved in, he told me. The source sent copies of reports detailing a police investigation into paranormal activity at Ammons' home in Gary, Ind.

I was intrigued.

As is true of most reporters, I've encountered my fair share of people asking me to investigate crazy happenings. But this was the first time that the wild claims were backed up by high-ranking police officials and two Indiana Department of Child Services employees.

Ammons claimed that she and her three children had been possessed by demons. But that's not what really fascinated me. What I found so intriguing was the unusual responses by state and local agencies to Ammons' assertion.

From the very beginning, records indicated those closest to Ammons' case believed her story of demonic possession. A DCS family case manager and registered nurse even claimed they'd seen Ammons' then-9-year-old son walk backward up a wall at a hospital.

And when DCS removed Ammons' children from her home, it wasn't because of the traditional definitions of abuse or neglect.

"All of the children were expericing (sic) spiritual and emotional distress," a DCS employee wrote in an official court document.

I pitched Ammons' tale to my boss, Steve Berta, who agreed to let me pursue her case.

I contacted Ammons early in the reporting process, and she agreed to be interviewed. I also spoke with police officials and the priest who performed a series of exorcisms. I gathered records from police departments and the Catholic Church.

Ammons also agreed to let me have copies of her DCS records, which would otherwise have been confidential under state law. But the agency's process for gathering such records takes time, so my first stab at the article was written based on interviews and records from police and the church.

Let's just say my editors had reservations. None of us was willing to publish a story that could be perceived as purely sensational and nothing more. If the story did not include a level of skepticism, it could undermine our credibility. My editors wanted a skeptical voice, but not just any skeptical voice — someone close to the situation. So did I. Problem was, I couldn't find one.

So we waited until DCS released Ammons' records, which included medical, psychological and court documents. It was through those that I found officials who questioned Ammons' story.

"This appears to be an unfortunate and sad case of a child who has been induced into a delusional system perpetuated by his mother and potentially reinforced" by other relatives, clinical psychologist Stacy Wright wrote in her psychological evaluation.

A second clinical psychologist came to a similar conclusion.

I even pored over years of old articles to make sure details shared in Ammons' case weren't similar to those published elsewhere. Nothing matched.

For the second version of my article, I wove in details from the hundreds of pages of DCS records. That piece was well-received by my bosses, and thus was born "The exorcisms of Latoya Ammons."

The combination of religion, police, DCS investigation and demonic possession struck a chord with readers. The article went viral. I was even plagiarized by publications all over the world.

After it published, I was inundated for weeks by calls and emails. It was a fascinating mix of those who believed Ammons and her family told the truth and those who believed they lied to get attention.

Some people, including a few in the journalism community, criticized The Star for the way the article was written. They felt I should have written it from a "these people are crazy" point of view.

But I deliberately wrote it straight, not supporting one side over the other, so people could come to their own conclusions.

I'm often asked whether I believe Ammons' story — including during an appearance on the Fox News Channel's "The Kelly File." Don't get excited. I wouldn't answer then and I'm not telling now, just as I wouldn't give my opinion on any other article or topic I cover.

But it's worth noting that many of the details I published came from court documents written by officials connected to Ammons' case. To falsify such records is a crime.

As one official put it, he and the DCS family case managers wouldn't "toss their careers away" to perpetuate an elaborate hoax.

Nine months after the story was published, interest in Ammons' tale hasn't waned.

I still receive weekly calls and emails about it.

As for me, I am back to my normal reporting routine. I've been working on an in-depth piece about day care providers who repeatedly violate state law.

Still, as I sit here on Halloween, I know the truth. "The exorcisms of Latoya Ammons" is a story that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Call Star reporter Marisa Kwiatkowski at (317) 444-6135. Follow her on Twitter at @IndyMarisaK.