No one moved.
The oratory felt smaller now, as if the walls had crept inward while they weren't looking. The words on the book's open page glimmered faintly, dark and wet, as though they had just been written with blood.
"The girl is mine. The witnesses will bleed before nightfall."
Victor swallowed, his mouth suddenly dried up. He could hear the sound of his own breathing, loud and fast in the silence.
"Witnesses…" Michael said quietly. "That means us."
Father Lucas closed the book with care, resting the cross on it. "Yes," he said. "It has acknowledged your presence."
Mary was still on the floor, her body slack, her face pale. Cynthia came close and knelt down beside her, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face.
"Mary," she called out in a soft voice. "Wake up."
Mary hesitated for a moment, her eyelids began to open slowly. She looked around in distortion.
"Why am I down here?" she asked while trying to get up slowly.
Michael let out a breath. "You collapsed."
Mary looking surprised. "I don't remember falling."
Father Lucas watched her closely. "Do you remember anything? A voice, perhaps?"
She hesitated. "I remember… hearing something. But it wasn't shouting. It was calm."
Suddenly there was a vibration coming from where the book was, the priest noticed and was about to pick up the cross on top of it but it felt too hot.
"Aahh" Victor shouted out as he shifted his weight, he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his wrist. He pulled his sleeve back to see what it was, his breath caught.
A thin, black symbol had appeared on his skin, looking as if burned from within.
Cynthia noticed immediately. "Victor—your arm."
Michael suddenly felt the same sharp pain coming from his forearm.
His voice trembled. "This isn't possible."
Cynthia felt a dull heat just beneath her collarbone. She touched the spot and flinched, same mark was on her too.
Father Lucas closed his eyes briefly. "The mark of claim," he said. "You have been seen."
Victor's chest tightened. "Seen by what?"
"By something that does not intend to let you go easily."
The air grew colder, a faint pressure pressed against their ears, as if the room itself was listening.
Mary looked around as the cold breeze came through from the window that has been shattered. "It's still here."
Michael turned to her. "What do you mean?"
She shook her head, her eyes unfocused. "Not here like before. It's… farther away. But it's watching."
A whisper slid through the room, so faint it was almost imagined.
"Before nightfall."
Cynthia hugged herself. "We shouldn't leave each other alone."
Father Lucas nodded. "Fear isolates. That is how it weakens you."
Michael stared at him looking confused. "So we're just… waiting?"
"No," the priest replied. "You are enduring."
The lights flickered, then steadied.
Michael rubbed his arms, suddenly cold. "I don't like this."
Father Lucas stepped closer. "Stay together tonight. Whatever happens, do not let panic guide you." He prayed for them and reached into his satchel and handed each of them a small vial. "Keep this with you. It will not stop the demon, but it may delay it, when you come across it again, shatter it on the demon and say these prayers."
The priest blessed it and gave each of them a bottle.
Michael glanced down at the floor—and froze.
Suddenly his shadow begins to stretch out oddly, darker than it should have been.
Then it moved.
Michael's voice dropped to a whisper. "Father…?"
No one answered.
Because behind him, his shadow slowly lifted its head like it was alive on it's own.
"My shadow," he said again, louder now. "It moved."
Victor turned. The shadow laid flat again, ordinary and harmless.
Father Lucas placed a steady hand on Michael's shoulder. "Fear will distort your senses," he said, though his eyes lingered on the floor longer than necessary to catch the sight of what Michael said.
Mary suddenly let out a sharp breath, as if struck by a sudden pain.
The sound filled through the room.
She folded forward, clutching her abdomen, her face draining of color as if something inside her had ruptured.
"Mary?" Cynthia rushed to her. "What's wrong?"
Mary shook her head, unable to speak. Her fingers were holding onto her lower ribs, her breathing sharp and shallow. A low, strangled sound escaped her throat—pain, real pain, not possession.
Then she cried out.
Father Lucas knelt immediately. "Help her lie down."
As they eased her to the floor, Mary convulsed once, violently. A thin trail of blood slipped from the corner of her nose.
Michael froze. "That— that's not normal."
Victor felt dread settle cold and heavy in his stomach. He started regretting why he picked up the book, if he hadn't, Mary would have not been in this situation… He was blaming himself at that moment.
Father Lucas pressed two fingers to Mary's neck, his expression tightening. "Her heart rate is irregular."
Cynthia's voice shook. "what's happening to her father?"
"She is being pulled in two directions," he said quietly. "Her body resisting what her soul is fighting."
Mary gasped again, her back arching slightly, then fainted.
"That's it," Victor said. "We're taking her to the hospital."
Father Lucas didn't argue because it was a matter of urgency.
They took the book along with them in the car but when they got to the hospital, due to how urgent it was, they forgot the book Inside the car and hurried mary into an emergency room
The hospital lights were too bright.
Too clean.
Mary was rushed through the emergency entrance on a stretcher, nurses speaking quickly, voices overlapping, loss of consciousness blurred together.
Cynthia tried to follow, but a nurse stopped her. "Only one of you for now."
"I'll go!!," Michael said immediately.
Victor hesitated, then nodded. "I'll catch up, I need to make use of the restroom."
They were separated not by choice, but by urgency so they didn't remember the situation they were already in.
Inside the car, the book suddenly snapped open as words bled on the pages… The book was making a story on it's own.
By procedure.
Victor turned down the wrong hallway while looking for the restroom, the sound of hurried footsteps and rolling carts fading behind him. The corridor grew quieter the farther he went. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, some flickering as though struggling to stay awake. Then a sharp pain hit him from the mark on his arm.
That was when he heard it.
"Victor…"
His name, stretched and warped.
He reduced his steps immediately. Looking around to see if there was anyone around.
"Victor," it called again—closer this time.
His chest tightened. "Hello?"
The end of the hallway wasn't clear anymore.
Something stepped forward.
It looked like a very tall woman.
Or what remained of one.
She wore what might once have been a nurse's uniform, she was coming closer smiling as she called out his name. Her body was stretched—wrongly so—her limbs elongated, her torso impossibly tall. Her head nearly grazed the ceiling tiles, her nails looking so dirty.
Her face was pale and smooth, as if carved from wax, but her mouth—her mouth was too wide.
When she got to the middle of the hallway she smiled.
"Victor," it said again.
But it wasn't one voice.
It was many.
Fear filled his body instantly.
He ran.
His footsteps echoed wildly as the hallway seemed to stretch, doors passing too slowly, the lights flickering faster now. Behind him, the thing was catching up to him, not running–But walking incredibly fast and unbalanced.
"Run," it whispered.
"Run faster."
"You can't leave them."
Victor turned a corner sharply and collided with a cart, sending metal instruments crashing to the floor.
It looked strange to him that there was nobody around at that moment, no doctors, no nurse or patient. He didn't stop to look back at the instruments.
He didn't need to.
He could hear it breathing.
Elsewhere, Cynthia sat alone in the waiting area, her hands were trembling. The mark beneath her collarbone burned faintly, pulsing in rhythm with her heart.
She suddenly felt… watched.
Across the room, an elderly man stared at her without blinking.
Too long.
When she shifted, his head tilted along with her to make it more certain that he was staring at her.
Then she looked around to see if anyone noticed him but everyone was acting normal.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: You shouldn't have brought her here.
Her breath caught.
She looked up again.
The man was gone like he disappeared into thin air.
At the emergency room after Mary has been attended to, she layed down to rest. Michael stood beside her in the hospital bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Machines hummed softly.
For a moment, she looked peaceful.
Then her fingers twitched.
Michael leaned forward. "Mary?"
Her eyes opened—but they weren't focused, she seem to be looking lost in space.
Her lips parted.
The words came slowly, strained, as though forced through a narrowing door.
"I don't… want it here."
Her body trembled and resisting what was about to possess her.
The machines began to beep faster.
Michael grabbed her hand. "Mary, stay with me."
Her head turned toward him, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.
"It's harder this time," she whispered. "It hurts."
Her voice dropped suddenly—deeper.
"But pain does not stop me."
The lights flickered.
Somewhere in the hospital, a scream echoed.
And far down an empty hallway, Victor felt a cold hand brush his shoulder—
Just as the lights went out.