Blake Healy, writing for Charisma, says his burnt eggs summoned a demon.

Just like Jesus always promised…

As the eggs cooked, I ran around the house, grabbing things I would need for the rest of the day. [Daughter] November started to cry, so I picked her up and carried her around with me as I packed my computer bag, notebook and coffee tumbler.

…

Then I started to smell burning eggs.

My frustration began to mount as the rest of my to-do list resounded like a chorus in my head. Then I began getting frustrated that I was getting frustrated — burned eggs and a delayed breakfast are hardly the worst of the world’s problems. What right did I have to be moody?

It was then I saw a demon come around the corner.

There wasn’t much to it. The demon was a little under three feet tall with grayish skin and a potbelly. It shuffled forward, its pace and posture that of a toddler who has smelled something tasty.

I could have commanded it to leave. “In the name of Jesus be gone. I banish thee from my household,” or something like that. But that would not really solve the problem. The problem was in my head. The problem was that I had let my circumstances, as trivial as they were, determine my level of internal peace.

I found myself humming again, the same worship song I was humming before. I gave my head a little shake to clear it, smiled at my daughter and went back to the refrigerator to get more eggs. The demon turned around and skittered away after that. I hummed the song all the louder.