Chapter 6: March 10th, 1982

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March 10th, 1982

It was a weekend night, and the atmosphere around the orphanage was unusually calm. The other kids were busy with their own activities, some watching TV, others playing games or doing homework. I had spent the past few days meticulously preparing for this moment, and now, it was finally time to set my plan into motion.

The day before, I had purposely acted sick, feigning a stomach bug that left me bedridden and isolated. Ms. Daniels and the staff, believing my act, had granted me the space and time I needed. I had spent those hours finalizing my plan, thinking through every possible way I could get caught and eliminating them one by one.

I had studied maps of Bellevue, plotting the best route to the location I needed to reach. 1432 Maplewood Drive. I knew the streets, the back alleys, the shadows where I could move unseen. I had chosen my weapon carefully—a simple but effective kitchen knife, easy to conceal and lethal if used correctly. The weight of it in my hand was a constant reminder of what I was about to do.

I swallowed my morals, pushing aside the voice in my head that questioned whether this was truly the right path. My family was gone, taken from me in a senseless act of violence. Justice had failed them. Now, it was my turn to act.

Dinner at the orphanage was a quiet affair. I picked at my food, my mind elsewhere. Emile, Jayden, and Zoey chatted about their plans for the weekend, their voices a distant hum in my ears. I forced a few smiles, nodded in the right places, but my thoughts were miles away.

After dinner, I excused myself, claiming I was still feeling unwell and needed to lie down. "I don't want to spread whatever I have," I said, my voice convincingly weak. "Please, don't disturb me."

Ms. Daniels looked concerned but understanding. "Of course, Alex. Just rest and let us know if you need anything."

I nodded, heading up to my room. Once inside, I locked the door and took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. I changed into dark, inconspicuous clothes, ensuring I could move silently and blend into the night. The knife was hidden in a sheath strapped to my leg, ready for when the moment came.

I waited until the orphanage was quiet, the usual evening activities winding down. The clock ticked slowly, each second stretching into eternity. Finally, when I was certain everyone was settled, I made my move.

I slipped out of my room, moving with practiced silence. The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows my allies as I made my way to the back exit. I had chosen this route carefully, knowing it was the least likely to be monitored.

The cool night air hit me as I stepped outside, the world beyond the orphanage a dark and waiting expanse. I paused for a moment, taking in the silence, the stillness. That was it. There was no turning back.

The bus stop was a few blocks away from the orphanage, and I walked briskly, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The streets were mostly empty, the occasional car passing by with a whoosh of air. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up, casting my face in shadow, and kept my eyes down to avoid drawing attention.

When I reached the stop, the bus was already there, its engine idling and lights casting an eerie glow. I hesitated for a moment, then boarded, keeping my head low as I dropped the fare into the coin box. The driver barely glanced at me, and I moved quickly to a seat near the back.

The bus was nearly empty, just a few late-night travelers scattered throughout. I chose a seat by the window, the dirty glass distorting the view of the city as we moved through it. The familiar landmarks of Seattle passed by, their outlines blurred by the speed of the bus and my own nerves. Each mile brought me closer to Bellevue, closer to the house on Maplewood Drive.

My mind raced with thoughts of what I was about to do. I had gone over the plan a hundred times in my head, considering every possible outcome. Yet, the reality of it was sinking in now, the gravity of my actions weighing heavily on me. I clutched the strap of my backpack tightly, feeling the outline of the knife within. It was a constant reminder of my purpose, my mission.

The bus ride seemed to stretch on forever, each stop and start a jolt to my already frayed nerves. I watched the cityscape transition from the familiar streets of Seattle to the quieter, suburban roads of Bellevue. The houses grew larger, more spaced out, each one a potential witness to my actions.

Finally, the bus approached my stop. I pulled the cord, signaling the driver, and stood up, my legs feeling shaky. I moved quickly to the front, stepping off into the cool night air. The bus rumbled away, leaving me alone on a deserted street.

I took a deep breath, orienting myself. The address I needed was a few blocks away, and I began walking, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, the houses dark and the streets empty. I kept to the shadows, my senses heightened, every sound amplified in the stillness.

As I walked, my thoughts returned to my family. Their faces flashed before me—my mother's gentle smile, my father's reassuring presence, Stacey's infectious laughter. The memory of that night, the screams, the blood, the loss—it all fueled my determination, hardening my resolve.

Maplewood Drive appeared before me, a narrow, tree-lined street. I slowed my pace, counting the house numbers as I went. The houses here were large, each one sitting back from the road, shrouded in darkness. The address loomed closer, and I felt my heart rate spike, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Finally, I stood before 1432 Maplewood Drive. The house was dark, its windows like empty eyes staring back at me. I took a moment to study it, noting the layout, the potential entry points. It was a modest two-story house, with a driveway leading to a garage and a small porch at the front.

I moved cautiously, staying close to the bushes lining the property. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of a car passing on a nearby street. I crept towards the side of the house, my eyes scanning for any sign of movement. There were no lights on inside, no indication that anyone was awake.

I reached the back of the house, where a sliding glass door led into the kitchen. I tried the handle, but it was locked, as I had expected. I reached into my backpack, pulling out a small toolkit I had brought with me. I worked quickly, using a thin piece of metal to slide between the door and the frame, feeling for the latch.

It took a few tense moments, but finally, I heard the click of the lock releasing. I slid the door open just enough to slip inside, my heart pounding in my chest. The house was dark and silent, the air thick with tension. I paused, listening for any sign that I had been detected.

The kitchen was neat and orderly, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. I moved through it silently, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The layout of the house matched what I had memorized from my research, and I made my way towards the stairs.

I paused at the base of the staircase, looking up into the darkness. My thoughts were a whirlwind, the gravity of what I was about to do pressing down on me. But I pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the task at hand. This was for my family. This was justice.

I took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs, each step deliberate and silent. The wooden steps creaked slightly under my weight, but I moved slowly, distributing my weight to minimize the noise. As I reached the top, I paused, listening.

The hallway was dark, the doors to the bedrooms closed. I moved towards the master bedroom, the layout familiar from the documents I had found. My hand tightened around the handle of the knife strapped to my leg, the cold metal a stark reminder of my purpose.

I reached the door, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would wake the entire house. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This was it. This was the moment I had been planning for. My hand moved to the doorknob, turning it slowly, the click of the latch sounding impossibly loud in the silence.

I pushed the door open, slipping inside. The room was dark, the shapes of furniture barely visible in the faint light filtering through the curtains. I could see the outline of the bed, a figure lying under the covers.

My grip tightened on the knife, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The man who had destroyed my family lay before me, unaware of my presence. This was it. This was my moment.

I moved closer, my steps silent on the carpet. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, the reality of what I was about to do crashing over me. I paused, my mind racing, a thousand thoughts and doubts swirling.

But then, the anger surged up, the memory of my family's screams, their blood. This was justice. This was for them. I took another step, my resolve hardening. This was the moment I had been preparing for.

I stood there, the knife raised, my heart pounding in my chest. As I looked down at the figure in the bed, a flood of memories washed over me—my mother's gentle smile, my father's reassuring voice, Stacey's infectious laughter. They were gone, taken from me in an instant, and their absence left a void that nothing could fill.

My hand trembled, doubt creeping in. Could I really do this? Could I take a life, even one as twisted as his? But then, as if summoned by my hesitation, their voices rang in my head. Their screams, their pleas for mercy. The memory of that night, the blood, the loss, it all surged back, fueling my resolve.

This was for them. This was justice.

I plunged the knife down, but instead of hitting flesh, the blade sliced through empty air. The bed was empty. I stumbled back, confusion and fear gripping me. My heart raced as I frantically looked around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening.

A cold, sinister voice broke the silence. "You came right to me."

I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. The man, or what had once been the man, was contorted inhumanly, crawling upside down on the ceiling. His mouth was stretched open into an impossibly wide, black expanse, his eyes wide and pure white. Veins, now black and pulsating, snaked across his skin. He was possessed.

The voice, strangely feminine and distorted, echoed through the room. "You thought you could escape me?"

Panic surged through me, and I bolted for the door. The thing dropped from the ceiling with a sickening thud, its limbs bending at unnatural angles as it pursued me. I ran down the hallway, my footsteps echoing like gunshots in the silence. The memory of my birthday night, the chase, the terror, all came rushing back. History was repeating itself, but this time the real culprit was clear.

I reached the stairs, leaping down them two at a time. The possessed man was right behind me, his movements a horrifying blur of speed and twisted limbs. As I reached the bottom, an invisible force grabbed me, flinging me across the room. I crashed into a cabinet, the impact knocking the wind out of me.

I struggled to my feet, gasping for air. The thing advanced, its mouth stretching wider, a guttural growl emanating from its depths. I grabbed a nearby chair, hurling it at the creature. It shattered against its body, but the thing didn't even flinch.

It lifted me into the air, my body levitating as I thrashed helplessly. The grip tightened around my throat, choking me. I clawed at my neck, desperate for air, as the creature's face loomed closer.

But then, something changed. The man's eyes flickered, the white fading back to their normal color. His body convulsed, the grip on my throat loosening. "No," he gasped, his voice breaking through the distorted feminine tones. "You can't have him."

The spirit fought back, its voice shrieking in rage. "You're mine!"

They struggled for control, the man's body contorting as the battle raged within. "I didn't want to kill them," he cried, his voice full of anguish. "It was you, you made me do it!"

The spirit's grip tightened again, but the man fought back, his eyes locking onto mine. "Run," he choked out. "Run, before it's too late!"

I remembered my father's words on that fateful night. "It's me you want." He hadn't been talking to the man. He had been talking to the spirit controlling him.

'B-but why!?' I truly did not know why my father was seemingly involved in such supernatural matters, and why one wanted to kill him and all of us.

With a burst of strength, I kicked free, landing hard on the floor. I scrambled to my feet, the man's body writhing as the spirit and he fought for control. I didn't wait to see who would win. I ran.

I sprinted through the house, the walls blurring as I fled. I reached a window, throwing it open and climbing out. The cold night air hit me like a slap, but I kept running, driven by pure fear.

I plunged into the forest behind the house, the trees closing in around me. Branches scratched at my face and arms, but I didn't slow down. The memory of the spirit's twisted form and the man's desperate cries drove me forward. I had to get away. I had to survive.

The forest swallowed me up, its darkness a refuge from the nightmare behind me. I didn't know where I was going, but I didn't stop. I ran, the sound of my own breathing loud in my ears, the fear propelling me deeper into the unknown.

The trees blurred past me, their branches clawing at my skin as I pushed forward. But no matter how fast I ran, I could hear the creature behind me, its horrifying pace matching and then surpassing my own.

The possessed man was sprinting like a wild dog, his limbs elongated and grotesque, each nearly as long as his body. His arms and legs used whatever surface they could find—branches, the ground, tree trunks—to propel him forward with a speed that defied belief. His movements were a twisted dance of inhuman agility, and the sight of him filled me with a terror I had never known.

I pushed myself harder, my legs burning with the effort. But the terrain was uneven, the forest floor littered with roots and rocks. In my desperation, I misstepped, my foot catching on a root. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, but it was too late. I fell forward, crashing into a small ditch. The impact knocked the wind out of me, pain radiating through my body as I struggled to get up.

Before I could move, the creature was upon me. I looked up, my eyes wide with fear as the possessed man loomed over me. His face had transformed into something even more horrifying, his mouth an endless black abyss, his eyes wide and pure white. But amidst the terror, I saw something else—tears, glistening in the corners of his eyes. A hint of clarity, a silent plea. The man was still in there, watching everything but unable to stop it.

He reached down, his elongated fingers wrapping around my throat. I clawed at his hand, trying to free myself, but his grip was like iron. He lifted me into the air, his strength overwhelming. I could feel the life draining from me, my vision darkening.

Then, something strange happened. As the spirit lifted me, a surge of energy coursed through my body, flooding my veins with a burning intensity. It was as if the spirit had accidentally imbued me with a fragment of its own power, unlocking something deep within me.

Desperation fueled me, and I focused all my rage, all my pain, and all my grief into a single point. I didn't know how I was doing it, but I could feel the energy gathering, burning hotter and hotter. With a guttural scream, I released it, channeling the searing rage directly into the mind of the man before me.

The effect was immediate. The spirit recoiled, a look of shock and pain flashing across its twisted features. The man's eyes flickered, the white receding for a moment as the spirit's control wavered. My head exploded with pain, a splitting headache that threatened to tear me apart, but I didn't stop. I focused everything I had on that moment of clarity.

The spirit shrieked, a sound that echoed through the forest, and the man's grip loosened. I fell to the ground, gasping for breath. With the last of my strength, I grabbed the knife from my belt and lunged forward, plunging it into the man's side.

He howled, the sound a mix of agony and rage, and I used the opportunity to scramble to my feet. I ran, my legs screaming in protest, but I pushed through the pain. The forest was a blur, my only focus on getting as far away as possible.

I didn't look back. The creature's howls faded behind me, replaced by the pounding of my heart and the rasp of my breath. I ran until my legs felt like they would give out, until my lungs burned and my vision swam with exhaustion.

Finally, I burst out of the forest, the trees giving way to the outskirts of a small neighborhood. Lights flickered in the windows of the houses, a stark contrast to the darkness of the forest.

I kept running, my legs driven by sheer willpower. The houses of the small neighborhood blurred past me as I pushed forward, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the nightmare in the forest. The faint glow of a bus stop sign came into view, and I focused on it like a beacon.

The bus stop was empty, the streets eerily quiet. I stumbled to the ticket machine, my hands shaking as I fumbled for coins. The machine accepted them with a mechanical clunk, and I grabbed the ticket, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I didn't have to wait long. The bus arrived with a hiss of air brakes, its headlights cutting through the darkness. I boarded quickly, avoiding the driver's eyes, and found a seat at the back. The few passengers on board paid me no mind, and I was grateful for the anonymity.

As the bus pulled away, I leaned my head against the window, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my body. I watched the city lights blur past, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fear, exhaustion, and a strange sense of relief. I had survived. For now, at least.

The journey back to Seattle felt interminable, each mile a battle to stay conscious. I forced myself to stay alert, knowing I couldn't afford to let my guard down. The memory of the spirit's face, twisted and contorted, was seared into my mind. I couldn't escape the image, the terror of it driving me to stay awake.

Finally, the bus pulled into the station near the orphanage. I stumbled off, my legs threatening to give out, but I kept moving. The streets were familiar now, the buildings a comforting sight. The orphanage loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky.

I approached the building cautiously, slipping into the shadows to avoid detection. The back door, which I had used so many times before, was still unlocked. I pushed it open quietly, slipping inside and closing it behind me with a soft click.

The hallways were dark and silent, the orphanage asleep. I moved with practiced stealth, each step a painful effort as I made my way to my room. My body ached, the adrenaline fading and leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

I reached my door and paused, listening for any sounds of movement. Satisfied that no one had noticed my absence, I unlocked the door and slipped inside. The familiar surroundings were a welcome sight, a stark contrast to the horrors I had faced.

But my strength was nearly gone. I made it only a few steps into the room before my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. The last of my energy drained away, and darkness closed in, pulling me into a merciful, dreamless sleep.

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Chapter Word Count: 3,540 

Story Word Count: 16,627