Chapter 7: March 11th, 1982

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March 11th, 1982

I woke up on the floor of my room, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The events of the previous night came rushing back, and I groaned, struggling to push myself up. My head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, and my throat felt like it was on fire. I was actually sick now, and every part of me ached with exhaustion.

With a monumental effort, I crawled into my bed, pulling the blankets around me as a shiver ran through my body. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying every detail of the night before. The possessed man, his body contorted and grotesque, his voice a distorted mockery. The horror of seeing him crawl upside down on the ceiling, the tears in his eyes, the hint of clarity that showed the man was trapped inside, helpless.

The realization that he never meant to murder my family hit me like a punch to the gut. He had been controlled, manipulated by a supernatural spirit with some unknown grudge against the Mercer family. The very existence of the supernatural, something I had only ever seen in horror movies and ghost stories, was now a terrifying reality.

I thought about my father's words on that fateful night. "It's me you want." He had been talking to the spirit, not the man. My father had known, somehow, what was happening. Had he been involved with the supernatural? Had he done something to anger the spirit, to bring its wrath down upon our family?

Anger surged within me, a hot, bitter rage that threatened to consume me. How could my father have put us in such danger? But then, just as quickly, I slapped myself, the sting of it a reminder of the respect and love I had for him. He had tried to protect us. He had died trying to save us. I couldn't let myself blame him, not when he had sacrificed everything.

My thoughts turned to the moment in the forest, when I had been lifted into the air, choking, and then felt a surge of energy course through my body. The rage and pain I had channeled, burning into the man's mind, had made the spirit recoil. It had given me a chance to escape. What had I done? How had I done it?

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the exact feeling, the exact moment. The energy had been intense, almost overwhelming, but it had felt right. Like it was something I was meant to do. 

The idea seemed both ridiculous and entirely plausible in the light of everything I had experienced. The supernatural was real, and I had a part to play in it. But what did that mean? What was I supposed to do now?

The questions swirled in my mind, each one leading to more uncertainty and fear. But amidst the chaos, a new resolve began to form. I couldn't change what had happened. I couldn't bring my family back. But I could find out more. I could learn about this spirit, about my father's past, and about my own abilities. And maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to fight back.

I lay in bed, the pain and sickness pulling me towards sleep, but my mind refused to rest. There was so much to think about, so much to plan.

'I need to visit a library and research...'

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Very short chapter. Kind of burnt out from the last one and need time to write the next one. The next one is literally just a shit ton of research and walls of text with no interesting developments, so my creative juices are not in use while writing it.

Chapter Word Count: 629 

Story Word Count: 17,256