The possession

1. The Summons
The rain fell in sheets as Dr. Maria Fischer drove toward St. Augustine’s Asylum. The GPS signal flickered as she approached the rural outskirts, the headlights of her car barely cutting through the mist. The asylum loomed ahead like a fortress, its Gothic spires clawing at the stormy sky.

Maria gripped the steering wheel tighter. She didn’t believe in divine interventions or demons, but something about this case gnawed at her—a mixture of professional curiosity and unease.

Inside, Father O'Neill’s office was just as oppressive as the building’s exterior. It smelled faintly of incense and old books, the flickering candlelight adding to the air of somber authority.

"Dr. Fischer," he greeted her, his deep voice echoing in the cramped space.

"Father O’Neill," Maria replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but cold, his sharp gray eyes piercing her own.

The pleasantries didn’t last long. "Tell me," he said, leaning forward. "What do you believe in?"

The question caught her off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Faith. God. The devil."

"I believe in what I can see, measure, and prove," Maria replied carefully. "I’m a psychiatrist, Father. I deal in science, not superstition."

O'Neill nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Then your skepticism will be our greatest weapon."

Maria frowned. "Weapon against what, exactly?"

He slid a file across the desk. The photograph of Rosalynn Anderson was haunting—her pale face framed by matted dark hair, her eyes empty and hollow.

"Rosalynn is fifteen. She was found in her family home, standing over the bodies of her parents. Their deaths were… grotesque."

Maria flipped through the file, pausing at the crime scene photos. The walls were smeared with blood in what appeared to be ancient symbols.

"How does a fifteen-year-old girl commit something like this?" she asked, more to herself than O’Neill.

"She didn’t."

Maria looked up sharply.

"She wasn’t alone," he clarified. "We believe Rosalynn is a vessel."

"A vessel?"

"For a demon."

Maria leaned back in her chair. "Father, with all due respect, dissociative identity disorder and childhood trauma could explain these behaviors."

O’Neill’s expression darkened. "We’ve considered every possibility. That’s why we called you. If this is a case of mental illness, we need your expertise. But if it’s something more..."

Maria stared at the file, feeling a strange mix of dread and intrigue. "I’ll evaluate her," she said finally.

2. The First Encounter
The examination room was sterile, but its dim lighting and faint smell of disinfectant gave it an eerie atmosphere. Rosalynn sat shackled to the table, her wrists bound with padded restraints. She didn’t look up as Maria entered, flanked by Father O’Neill.

"Hello, Rosalynn," Maria said, taking a seat across from her.

The girl didn’t respond. Her long, unkempt hair partially obscured her face, but Maria could see her trembling.

"You’re safe here," Maria continued. "No one’s going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

Rosalynn raised her head slightly. Her voice was barely a whisper. "She’s watching."

"Who’s watching?"

The girl’s lips twitched into a faint, eerie smile. "You’ll see."

Before Maria could ask further, Rosalynn began convulsing. Her head snapped back, her eyes rolling white. Her fingers clawed at the table, leaving deep scratches in the wood. Father O’Neill muttered a prayer under his breath, clutching a rosary.

"Rosalynn!" Maria shouted. "Can you hear me?"

The fit stopped as abruptly as it started. When Rosalynn looked up, her expression had changed entirely. Her eyes were sharp, predatory.

"She’s not here," the girl said, her voice lower and rougher.

Maria froze. "Who am I speaking to?"

The girl smirked. "Elizabeth."

"Where’s Rosalynn?"

Elizabeth tilted her head, as if considering the question. "Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. She’s crying, you know. Pathetic little thing."

"Why are you here?" Maria asked, keeping her voice steady.

Elizabeth’s grin widened. "I go where I’m invited."

Maria leaned closer, her curiosity overtaking her unease. "Invited by whom?"

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to Father O’Neill. "Men like him. So quick to pray. So eager to believe in monsters. But you, Doctor..." She turned back to Maria, her eyes narrowing. "You don’t believe in anything, do you? That makes you… interesting."

3. The Temptation
That night, Maria couldn’t sleep. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling like a chorus of whispers. Her room, though modest, felt suffocating.

At 3:00 a.m., she heard it—a voice, sweet and melodic, calling her name.

"Maria..."

She sat up, her pulse racing. The voice seemed to drift through the air, pulling her toward the hall. Against her better judgment, she followed it.

Rosalynn’s door was ajar, a soft green light spilling into the corridor. Maria pushed it open, her breath catching in her throat.

Inside stood a woman—radiant and otherworldly, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. Rosalynn lay on the bed, still as death.

"Maria," the woman said, her voice like honey. "You’ve suffered so much. Let me take it away."

Maria’s chest tightened. "Who… what are you?"

"I am liberation. I can give you everything you’ve ever desired. Freedom. Pleasure. Power."

Maria’s knees weakened as the woman’s words seeped into her mind, each one striking at her deepest fears and longings.

"You’ve been abandoned," the woman whispered. "By your family. By your faith. By the world. Let me fill the void."

Tears streamed down Maria’s face. "I…"

The woman extended a hand. "Say yes, and you will know peace."

Maria hesitated, the logical part of her mind screaming to run. But the promise of relief was too tempting. She nodded.

The woman smiled, her form twisting into something monstrous. Darkness consumed the room, and Maria’s screams echoed into silence.

4. The Aftermath
At dawn, Father O’Neill entered Rosalynn’s room. The sight before him made him stagger.

Rosalynn’s body lay lifeless, her pale face streaked with blood. On the walls, crimson symbols writhed as if alive. Above the bed, the word Goodbye was scrawled in blood.

An acolyte rushed in. "Father, Dr. Fischer is missing."

O’Neill’s hands trembled as he clutched his rosary. "She’s beyond our reach now."

Outside, the storm had passed, but the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a shadow moved, and the whispers began again.

Epilogue: The Shadow Rises
Months later, reports of strange murders began surfacing across the country—unexplained acts of violence, each one leaving behind symbols eerily similar to those found in Rosalynn’s room.

In the darkness of a forgotten chapel, Maria stood before a congregation of shadows, her eyes glowing with an unholy light.

"Let the world burn," she whispered, her voice a twisted echo of the woman who had claimed her. "For I am the vessel."

And the whispers answered, "Amen."