(POV Shift: Third Person)
The stale air of the basement seemed to follow them upstairs, clinging to them like an invisible shroud. Lorraine's revelation, the name "Bathsheba," hung in the kitchen with more weight than the crucifix on the wall. The Perron family, now with an identity for their torment, seemed even more terrified. Roger held a trembling Carolyn, while the girls huddled together, their childish eyes fixed on the unknown young man who had conjured a vial out of thin air and whose right hand was an abomination of plastic and metal.
Ed Warren, however, was already in combat mode. The fear on his face had been replaced by a steely resolve. He moved around the kitchen, his mind working at lightning speed, formulating a plan from impossible puzzle pieces. He stopped in front of Alex, his gaze intense and direct.
"Tell me about that... angel investor," Ed said, his voice low and serious. "Tell me exactly what the message said."
Alex, still catching his breath, recited the words that were now burned into his mind. "It said I'm not just a witness. That I'm an anchor. That my presence strengthens her, anchors her to this plane. It called me... a battery for her."
A deep silence fell over the group. Carolyn stifled a sob. The idea was not only terrifying, but cruelly ironic. The only outside help they had received was, in reality, fuel for the fire consuming them.
"A battery..." Lorraine repeated softly, her face pale. "It makes sense, in a horrifying way. Entities need energy to manifest. Strong emotions, fear, anguish... they're her sustenance. But you... you're different. You're a conduit. That window around you, those thousands of eyes I spoke of... each of them is a tiny spark of attention, of focused energy. Your 'stream,' as you call it, is a feast for a hungry spirit."
Ed nodded, assimilating the terrible logic. "So, your presence here is a double-edged sword. We need you as a witness, but you stay, and the evil grows stronger. You leave... and we have no idea how a god would let you go." He looked at the bundle of sage Alex had bought. "And that? What's it supposed to do?"
"Repels minor presences, according to the shop," Alex replied, feeling the weight of responsibility crushing him. "Though I doubt Bathsheba is a 'minor presence.'"
"It's a tool," Ed declared. "And we're going to need every one we've got. Listen everyone," he said, raising his voice to address the family. "This will be a long night. Bathsheba knows we're here. She knows we're a threat. She's going to attack, and she's going to attack hard. I want you to stay together. Lock the doors. Pray, if you know how. Lorraine and I, with the help of..." he gestured towards Alex, "...our new partner, are going to set up the equipment. We need irrefutable evidence for the Church to authorize the exorcism. We need to capture her activity."
His speech, filled with unshakeable confidence, seemed to inject some strength back into the family. They nodded, their faces still filled with fear, but with a new spark of hope. The battle for the Perron home, and for Alex's soul, was about to begin.
(POV Shift: First Persona)
Following Ed Warren as he prepared his arsenal was like watching an occult artisan in his workshop. He pulled heavy reel-to-reel tape recorders, sensitive microphones, thermometers that registered temperature drops, and various cameras loaded with infrared film from his bag. I, with my HD camera fused to my hand, recording in 4K and streaming to thousands, felt ridiculously advanced and completely useless at the same time.
"Put a microphone here, aimed at the corner," he instructed, handing me one of the devices. "Any whisper, any change in air pressure, this will pick it up."
As I set it up, I couldn't help myself. "You know, with a good parabolic mic and spectrum analysis software, we could isolate EVPs in real-time," I told him.
Ed looked at me, blinking. "The what?"
"Electronic Voice Phenomena," I clarified. "Instead of waiting to rewind the tape, you could..."
"Son," he interrupted, with forced patience. "I work with faith, experience, and the technology God has given me. You work with... whatever that is. For now, just help me lay the cables."
I shut up. He was right. I was trying to intellectualize the terror, to reduce it to data and technology because my Gen Z brain didn't know how to process the pure, primal fear seeping from the walls of this house. The chat, of course, didn't help.
TechieTom: Zero's right! Tell Ed his gear is museum grade! You could set up a spectral data analysis server with a Raspberry Pi! LaChicaGamer92: Not the time to be a nerd, Tom. This is serious. Zero, be careful! Remember you're the battery! Esceptico_Total: Still saying they're actors. But the dedication is impressive. The "Ed" guy has the character down pat. Angel_Investor: Don't listen to him, Alex. Ed's faith is a weapon as real as your sage. Technology records the shadows, faith fights them. Learn from him.
The comment from Angel_Investor chilled me. This anonymous donor seemed to know far more than he let on. Who was it? Another god? A real angel? Or just someone who had paid for the VIP pass to my personal torture?
We finished setting up the equipment. Cameras pointing into the hallways, microphones at the "hot spots," and thermometers strategically placed. The house had become a ghost-hunting laboratory, a reality show from hell starring me. Ed gathered us all in the living room. The Perron family huddled on a couch. Lorraine sat in a chair, eyes closed, in a state of deep meditation. Ed and I stood guard.
Night fell. The only sound was the soft hum of the tape recorders and the wind blowing outside. The calm was, somehow, more terrifying than the noises. It was the stillness of a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And then, from upstairs, came the first scream.
(POV Shift: Second Person)
You're in bed, in a room that no longer feels like your own. Your sister Christine sleeps in the next bed. The only light is a small moonbeam filtering through the window, drawing strange shapes on the wall. Every creak of the house makes you shrink under the covers. You smell something foul, like rotting meat, and pull the blanket up to cover your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing for morning to come.
You feel a tug.
It's gentle, at your ankle. You think it's just the blanket snagged. You move it, but the tug repeats, this time stronger. Someone is pulling your leg. Your eyes snap open. There's no one at the foot of your bed. Terror paralyzes you, steals your voice.
TUG.
The force is undeniable now. You're slowly dragged towards the edge of the mattress. You try to scream, but only a choked whimper escapes. You look into the corner of the room, into the dark space behind the door. You see a silhouette. It has no definite shape, it's just... darkness darker than darkness itself. And you know, with a blood-chilling certainty, that it's watching you.
The smell becomes unbearable. You watch the figure raise an arm. The tug turns into a violent yank that almost rips you from the bed.
Finally, you find your voice. The scream that tears from your throat is pure, instinctive, and filled with terror. It's the sound that wakes the whole house.
(POV Shift: First Person)
Nancy's scream sent us racing up the stairs, three at a time. We burst into the girls' room to find her in a corner, pointing at her sister Christine, who was sitting on the bed, crying and rubbing her ankle.
"She was pulling her leg! I saw it!" Nancy shrieked. "She was behind the door!"
Ed knelt beside Christine, examining her ankle while Lorraine tried to calm Nancy. I stood in the doorway, sweeping the room with my flashlight beam and camera lens. The thermometer we'd placed on the wall showed a drop of nearly ten degrees. The microphone in the corner emitted a static hiss. It was happening.
"There's nothing there, honey. It was a nightmare," Roger said, though his own voice trembled.
But it wasn't a nightmare. As everyone focused on the two girls, I felt the cold intensify. It wasn't coming from the window or the door. It was coming from above the wardrobe. The same wardrobe Carolyn had pointed out hours earlier.
I slowly raised the flashlight. And I saw her.
It wasn't a shadow. Not this time. It was a figure. A woman, or the silhouette of one, sitting atop the wardrobe. She was facing away from us, a dark, hunched mass. The room grew silent. Everyone felt her. The smell of putrefaction filled the air, thick and nauseating.
"My God," Carolyn whispered.
The figure turned its head. Not naturally. It rotated one hundred eighty degrees, with the crunch of old bones breaking. It had no face. Just a pale smudge with two black, empty holes that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. And from that non-face came a sound, a low, guttural growl that vibrated in my chest.
Everyone was frozen. Fear was a physical paralysis. Ed raised his crucifix. Lorraine began to pray in Latin. But the creature's growl grew louder, drowning out their words. It was feeding on our terror. The battery! I thought. It's me! I have to do something!
I remembered the sage. I pulled it from my pocket. It was just a bundle of dried herbs. How was I supposed to use it? I needed fire! I had no lighter, no matches. Shit!
"Fire! I need fire!" I yelled, my voice sounding strange and distant.
My mind raced to the only option I had. The shop. Would it sell a lighter? It wasn't on the list. Panic seized me.
It was then the most beautiful and timely notification I'd ever seen burst into my HUD.
[TacoDestroyer has donated $2.00]
"WTF IS THAT THING!!! BURN IT!!! HERE, FOR A LIGHTER!!!"
I looked at the shop. A new item had appeared at the bottom of the list, as if desperation and the donation had summoned it.
Zippo Lighter (reliable) - $2.00
I bought it without thinking. With a flash of green light, a cold, metallic Zippo appeared in my free hand. I flipped it open with a clumsy flick of my trembling thumb and spun the wheel. Flame sprang forth, small, defiant, and glorious in the oppressive darkness.
I brought the flame to the bundle of sage. The dried leaves caught fire, releasing thick, white smoke with a pungent, earthy aroma.
"Get out of here!" I yelled, more from instinct than bravery, and stepped forward, waving the smoking incense as if it were a sword.
The effect was instant and violent.
The creature on the wardrobe hissed, a sound like water on red-hot metal. The growl turned into a sharp, hateful shriek. The white smoke from the sage advanced towards it, not like normal dissipating smoke, but like a barrier, a wall of purifying mist that collided with the darkness surrounding it. The figure recoiled, its form becoming less defined, dissolving at the edges. With a final shriek that vibrated the window panes, it vanished.
The cold disappeared instantly. The smell dissipated. The only sound left was our collective gasps and the soft crackle of the sage in my hand.
(POV Shift: Third Person)
Morning sunlight filtered through the windows, painting the dusty interior of the house with golden shafts of light. Daylight brought a sense of security, but it was fragile, false. The previous night had left scars.
The Perron family huddled together in the living room, wrapped in blankets, their faces pale and exhausted. Ed and Lorraine reviewed the tapes and photographs, their expressions grim. There was nothing. The tapes only contained static during moments of peak activity. The photographs came out veiled, as if a force had prevented the evidence from being captured.
Alex sat on the front steps, holding the Zippo in one hand and the half-burned sage bundle in the other. The smoke no longer rose, but the aroma lingered, a reminder of his small, terrifying victory. He watched the viewer count on his HUD. It had reached astronomical numbers overnight. Thousands of people had witnessed the horror in real-time. Thousands of people had fed it.
Ed approached and sat beside him. They sat in silence for a long time, looking at the large tree in the garden.
"It worked," Ed finally said. "Your... shop thing. It worked."
"Yeah," Alex replied, his voice hoarse. "But she also got stronger because of me. Almost killed us all."
"Lorraine was right," Ed continued, as if talking to himself. "The Church won't approve an exorcism based on our testimonies. They need proof. Proof she won't let us get." His gaze fell on Alex, and for the first time, there was no skepticism in his eyes, but a terrible understanding. "She can block my cameras, my microphones. But she can't block you. You're the only living, breathing evidence."
Alex looked up at Ed, and then at the camera that was his hand. The red light kept blinking. REC.
He realized the truth. He wasn't just a battery for the monster. He was the recorder the god had sent, yes, but he was also the only recorder Bathsheba couldn't stop. His punishment and his weapon were the same thing. And the night, as he well knew, had only just begun.