Chapter 8: March 15th, 1982

===

March 15th, 1982

After a few days of rest, the pain in my body had finally begun to fade. The fever broke, and the bruises and aches from my encounter in Bellevue had lessened to a dull throb. The memories of that night, however, remained vivid and inescapable, driving me to seek out answers.

It was a chilly Monday morning, and I sat at the breakfast table with Emile, Jayden, and Zoey. The chatter and laughter around me were a comforting background, but my mind was elsewhere, focused on the task ahead. I had spent the past few days recuperating and now felt strong enough to begin my search for answers.

"You're looking better, Alex," Zoey said, smiling at me as she spread butter on her toast. "Feeling ready to get back to normal?"

I forced a smile, appreciating her concern. "Yeah, I think I'm ready. I've got some stuff I need to take care of today, though. Research for a project."

Emile raised an eyebrow, his mouth full of cereal. "A project? Sounds serious. What are you researching?"

I hesitated, not wanting to lie but also not ready to share the truth. "Just some history and folklore. Trying to dig into the past."

Jayden nodded, taking a sip of his orange juice. "Well, if you need any help, you know where to find us. We've got your back."

"Thanks, guys," I said, genuinely grateful for their support. "I'll see you all later."

After breakfast, I grabbed my coat and headed out. The crisp morning air was refreshing, and I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. I had decided to visit the oldest public library in Seattle, hoping it would have the kind of obscure books and documents I needed.

The bus ride was uneventful, and I spent the time staring out the window, my thoughts racing. The city passed by in a blur of buildings and people, but my mind was firmly fixed on the supernatural, on the spirit that had haunted my family and the abilities I had somehow unlocked.

The library was an imposing building, its grand architecture a testament to a bygone era. I stood outside for a moment, taking in the sight of the stone facade and towering columns. It felt like a place that held secrets, a repository of knowledge waiting to be uncovered.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside. The interior was just as impressive, with high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and rows upon rows of shelves filled with books. The scent of old paper and leather bindings filled the air, and I felt a sense of awe and anticipation.

I made my way to the front desk, where a middle-aged woman with glasses and a kind smile greeted me. "Good morning. How can I help you today?"

"Good morning," I replied, trying to sound confident. "I'm looking for books on the supernatural, folklore, and anything related to spirits or the occult."

Her eyebrows raised slightly, but she nodded. "We have a section dedicated to folklore and mythology, as well as a smaller collection on the occult. Follow me, and I'll show you where to find them."

I followed her through the library, weaving between shelves and past reading tables where patrons sat engrossed in their books. The further we went, the quieter it became, the soft whispers and rustle of pages creating a hushed, almost reverent atmosphere.

We reached a secluded corner of the library, where the shelves were lined with dusty, well-worn books. The titles ranged from the familiar to the obscure, their spines hinting at the wealth of knowledge contained within.

"This section has a variety of books on folklore and mythology," the librarian explained, gesturing to the shelves. "You'll find stories and legends from different cultures, as well as scholarly analyses. The occult section is just over there," she added, pointing to a smaller set of shelves nearby. "It's a bit more specialized, but you might find what you're looking for."

"Thank you," I said, grateful for her guidance. "This is exactly what I need."

"You're welcome. If you need any further assistance, just let me know," she said with a smile before walking back to the front desk.

### Chapter 8: March 15th, 1982 (Continued)

I stood in the dimly lit corner of the library, surrounded by shelves of books that held the knowledge I sought. My hands trembled slightly as I pulled down a thick, dusty volume titled "The Supernatural: Spirits, Demons, and the Occult." I carried it to a nearby reading table, the wood creaking softly under the weight of the book as I set it down.

I opened the book, the scent of aged paper wafting up, and began to read. The first chapter was an overview of the supernatural, a primer on spirits and demons. The text was dense, filled with archaic language and references to ancient texts, but I forced myself to focus.

The author described spirits as the souls of deceased humans who, for various reasons, had not moved on to the afterlife. Spirits were generally benign, existing in a state of limbo, bound to the earthly realm by unfinished business, strong emotional ties, or other unresolved issues. It was rare for a spirit to be malevolent, as it required a conscious choice to harm the living. Such malevolent spirits were often the result of a particularly evil or violent life.

However, the text emphasized that the true threat often came from demons. Demons were fallen angels, cast out of heaven and condemned to hell. They ranged from imps, the lowest order, to powerful entities like Satan himself. Unlike spirits, demons were inherently evil, driven by a desire to corrupt and destroy.

Demons had a limited ability to directly influence humans due to the divine protection humans inherently possessed as creations of God. Instead, demons often sought to corrupt spirits, turning them into malevolent entities that could act on their behalf. The corrupted spirits, now puppets of demonic will, could then torment and harm the living.

I read on, fascinated and horrified by the descriptions of demonic corruption. The book detailed how demons would latch onto the unresolved emotions of a spirit, amplifying their negative aspects and twisting them into tools of malevolence. It was a gradual process, often unnoticed until it was too late.

The book also discussed the various means of protection and exorcism. Holy symbols like crosses, Bible verses, and holy water could repel and harm demons, but there was a crucial caveat: the faith of the person wielding these items had to be stronger than their fear of the demon. If one's fear outweighed their faith, the holy items would be ineffective.

Spirits, on the other hand, were generally unaffected by holy power unless they were corrupted by a demon. In such cases, the corrupted spirit could be exorcised, forcing the demon to retreat and releasing the spirit from its malevolent influence. The process was dangerous, requiring both spiritual strength and unwavering faith.

Uncorrupted spirits either have to be destroyed by items that can affect souls, sealed, or you have to complete the unfinished business that is keeping the spirit in the real world in the first place. If they are however just straight out evil, evil enough to be sent to hell, then they can be sent there instead by artifacts, or by priests.

I leaned back in my chair, absorbing the information. It was a lot to take in, but it confirmed some of my suspicions. The spirit that had corrupted the man who killed my family was likely under the influence of a demon. The tears in his eyes, the momentary clarity—those were signs that he was not acting of his own will.

I continued to read, delving deeper into the lore of demons and spirits. The book described various types of demons, from the mischievous and relatively harmless imps to the powerful and malevolent archdemons. Each type had its own characteristics, methods of corruption, and weaknesses.

Imps, for example, were small and cunning, often causing minor mischief and chaos. They thrived on fear and confusion, using their small stature to go unnoticed until it was too late. While they were not particularly powerful, they could be difficult to detect and expel.

Greater demons, on the other hand, were far more dangerous. They had immense strength and could exert significant influence over the living and the dead. They were masters of deception, often appearing as benign entities to gain trust before revealing their true, terrifying nature.

The book also detailed various methods of summoning and banishing demons. Summoning rituals were complex and dangerous, often requiring blood sacrifices and intricate incantations. Banishing a demon, however, was even more perilous. It required a combination of holy power, precise rituals, and unwavering faith. Any mistake could result in disaster, with the demon gaining even more power or turning its wrath on the would-be exorcist.

I took notes as I read, filling pages with the knowledge I was gaining. Each piece of information was a potential weapon, a tool I could use to fight back against the supernatural forces that had destroyed my family. But as I read, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. The more I learned, the more I realized how dangerous and formidable my enemies were.

After several hours of reading, I closed the book and stretched, my muscles stiff from sitting. The library was quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of pages and the distant hum of the air conditioning.

With a few books already checked out and tucked into my bag, I decided to dive deeper into the world of human abilities and magic. I needed to understand what had happened in Bellevue. What power had surged through me, allowing me to repel the spirit? The knowledge I had so far pointed to something targeting the spirit's soul, but I needed more specifics.

I returned to the shelves, this time focusing on folklore and ancient texts about humans with quote unquote "special abilities." My fingers traced the spines of books, many of which were worn and faded with age. I pulled down a particularly old volume titled "Arcane Arts and Mysticism: An Encyclopedia of the Supernatural."

I carried the book back to my table and opened it, the pages yellowed and brittle. The musty scent of old paper filled the air as I began to read. The text was dense, filled with archaic language and references to ancient civilizations. It described various forms of magic and special abilities that humans were said to possess throughout history.

The first chapter detailed the lore of witches, believed to have been granted their powers through pacts with supernatural entities. It spoke of their ability to control the elements, foresee the future, and cast spells that could manipulate both the physical and spiritual realms. I read accounts of witches who could summon spirits, bind demons, and even curse or bless individuals with a touch.

As I delved deeper, the book described different types of magic practiced by ancient cultures. There was druidic magic, rooted in nature and the earth, and shamanic magic, which involved communication with spirits and the use of rituals to heal or harm. There were also accounts of alchemy, the precursor to modern science, which sought to transform matter and unlock the secrets of life itself.

I spent hours poring over these accounts, my mind swimming with information. Each story and description added a piece to the puzzle, but none seemed to fit perfectly with what I had experienced. My ability had felt instinctive, a sudden surge of power directed at the spirit's very essence. It wasn't a spell or a ritual—it was something more primal, more direct.

I continued reading, turning the pages with increasing frustration. The book mentioned sorcerers who could control minds, necromancers who could command the dead, and seers who could glimpse into the past and future. But none of these matched what I had done. My power had targeted the spirit's soul, causing it pain and forcing it to recoil. It had been an attack on its very being.

I turned to a chapter on soul magic, a rare and dangerous form of magic that was said to manipulate the essence of life itself. The text described soul attacks as the ability to harm or influence a being's soul directly, bypassing physical defenses and affecting their core. It spoke of sorcerers who could sever a person's soul from their body, trapping it in objects or banishing it to other realms.

But the descriptions were vague, the details lost to time and superstition. There were no concrete explanations, no clear methods. I was left with more questions than answers. The accounts hinted at possibilities, but nothing definitive.

Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The library had grown quieter as the day turned to evening, the remaining patrons absorbed in their own studies. I stared at the book in front of me, feeling the weight of my ignorance. I had come so far, yet the truth remained elusive.

I closed the book gently, the old leather cover creaking in protest. My mind was a whirl of half-formed ideas and unanswered questions. I had learned a great deal about the supernatural, about spirits and demons, but my own abilities remained a mystery. I knew they were connected to the soul, that much was clear. But beyond that, I was in the dark.

I gathered my notes, feeling a mix of frustration and determination. My journey for answers was far from over. There were more books to read, more secrets to uncover. I stood up, stretching my stiff muscles, and looked around the library. The shelves still held many books, many potential clues.

Taking a deep breath, I moved to another section of the library, this time seeking out books on ancient magic and mystical practices. There had to be something here that could help me understand what I had done. I refused to leave without a better grasp of my abilities.

The next few hours were a blur of reading and note-taking. I skimmed through texts on Eastern mysticism, ancient Egyptian magic, and even obscure tribal rituals. Each book offered a glimpse into the vast and varied world of human abilities and magic, but none provided the clarity I sought.

As the library's closing time approached, I felt a gnawing sense of disappointment. I had learned so much, yet the core of my question remained unanswered. I didn't know what my ability was called, how it worked, or how to control it. All I knew was that it had saved my life and had the potential to confront the supernatural forces that haunted me.

I checked out a few more books, determined to continue my research at the orphanage. The librarian gave me a sympathetic smile as she stamped the due dates inside the covers. "Finding what you need?" she asked kindly.

"Not everything, but it's a start," I replied, managing a weary smile. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. Good luck with your studies," she said, her eyes kind and understanding.

I nodded and left the library, stepping out into the cool night air. The streets of Seattle were quiet, the city settling into the calm of the evening. I walked back to the orphanage, my mind still racing with thoughts of demons, spirits, and ancient magic.

But now I had a different short term goal. Trigger that ability residing within me.

.

I arrived back at the orphanage late in the evening, my mind still buzzing with the day's research. Dinner was a quiet affair; I sat with Emile, Jayden, and Zoey, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

I picked at my food, barely tasting it, my mind replaying everything I had read in the library. The concept of soul magic, the descriptions of spirits and demons—it all swirled in my head, a chaotic mix of information and half-formed ideas.

After dinner, I retreated to my room, eager to be alone with my thoughts. I closed the door behind me, the familiar surroundings offering a semblance of comfort. The books I had checked out from the library were stacked neatly on my desk, a tangible reminder of my quest for answers.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands. I had felt something that night in Bellevue, a surge of energy that had come from deep within me. I needed to understand it, to harness it. But how?

I took a deep breath, trying to remember the exact moment when the power had manifested. I had been in mortal danger, filled with rage and fear. The possessed man had been choking me, and in my desperation, I had somehow directed all my emotions into a single, powerful burst. It had felt like my very soul was burning, and that energy had lashed out at the spirit.

Closing my eyes, I tried to recreate that feeling. I focused on the anger and fear, the sense of injustice and loss that had driven me. I pictured the face of the possessed man, the tears in his eyes, the twisted features of the spirit controlling him. I let the emotions flood over me, allowing the rage to build.

Nothing happened. I opened my eyes, frustration welling up inside me. This wasn't something I could force. It had to come naturally, but how? I needed a trigger, something to bring out that power without the immediate threat of danger.

I stood up, pacing the small room. The more I thought about it, the more elusive the feeling became. I needed to calm my mind, to let the emotions come naturally. I decided to try a different approach.

I sat back down and closed my eyes again, this time focusing on my breathing. I inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment before exhaling slowly. I let my mind clear, pushing away the frustration and focusing solely on the rhythm of my breath.

As I fell into a meditative state, I began to recall the events of that night in Bellevue more vividly. The terror, the anger, the overwhelming need to survive. I let those emotions wash over me, but this time I didn't force them. I let them flow naturally, rising and falling with each breath.

Slowly, I began to feel a familiar warmth in my chest, a flicker of the energy I had felt before. It was faint, but it was there. I focused on that warmth, letting it grow, nurturing it with my emotions.

The warmth spread, filling my body with a tingling sensation. It was like a fire being stoked, the embers glowing brighter with each passing moment. I kept my focus, willing the energy to build, to coalesce into something tangible.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my head, a splitting headache that made me gasp. The warmth flared, then dissipated, leaving me breathless and trembling. I opened my eyes, the room spinning slightly as I tried to regain my bearings.

I hadn't quite achieved the same level of power as before, but I had felt it, if only for a moment. It was a start. I sat there, panting and rubbing my temples, the headache slowly fading. I needed to practice, to find a way to harness this energy without the pain and exhaustion.

I decided to try again. This time, I would approach it differently. Instead of focusing solely on the emotions, I would try to direct them, to channel them more precisely.

I closed my eyes once more, breathing deeply and evenly. I let the anger and fear rise, but I also added a sense of purpose, a focus on what I wanted to achieve. I imagined the energy as a flame, growing brighter and hotter with each breath. I visualized it spreading through my body, filling me with power.

The warmth returned, stronger this time. I focused on it, guiding it towards my hands, willing it to take form. The tingling sensation intensified, and I felt a faint, almost imperceptible pressure in my palms.

Then, just as quickly, the energy dissipated again, leaving me frustrated and exhausted. I opened my eyes, the room once again spinning. I had made progress, but it wasn't enough. I needed to understand this power, to control it fully.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands.

===

Chapter Word Count: 3,425

Story Word Count: 20,682