The Demonic Possession's Grip: Possession
The Demonic Possession's Grip: Possession
The air inside St. Vincent’s Church was thick with incense, but it did little to mask the lingering scent of decay. Father Michael tightened his grip on the rosary, his breath shallow as he stepped into the dimly lit sanctuary. He had faced evil before, but nothing like this.
“She’s in here,” Sister Agnes whispered, pointing toward the confessional booth.
A guttural growl resonated from within.
Father Michael swallowed hard. “Lord, grant me strength.”
The Possession
Inside the booth sat Emily Carter, her frail body writhing against invisible restraints. Her once-bright eyes were now black voids, staring into something far beyond human comprehension.
“Emily?” Father Michael called.
Her lips curled into a grotesque smile. “She’s not here anymore, priest.”
The voice that spoke wasn’t hers—it was layered, distorted, as if multiple beings spoke at once.
Father Michael held up his cross. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this child.”
Emily laughed, the sound inhuman. “You think He’s listening?”
Then, the church doors slammed shut on their own.
The Ritual Begins
Father Michael stepped closer, opening his worn Bible. He began the rite of exorcism, his voice unwavering.
Emily shrieked, her body convulsing. The candles around the altar flickered wildly as a chilling wind filled the church.
“The power of Christ compels you!” Father Michael commanded.
Emily’s back arched, her fingers contorting unnaturally. “You… are… weak,” the demon spat.
Sister Agnes clutched her rosary, whispering prayers.
Then, Emily’s body levitated.
“You have no dominion here,” Father Michael continued.
The demon roared, the sound shaking the very foundation of the church.
The Dark Past
As the battle raged on, Father Michael recalled the history of St. Vincent’s Church. Years ago, there had been another exorcism—one that had failed. The girl had died, and the priest conducting the ritual had disappeared without a trace.
Rumors spread that the demon had never left.
Could this be the same entity?
Father Michael’s faith was strong, but doubt crept into his mind. What if this thing was too powerful? What if Emily was already lost?
Emily’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You hesitate, Father. Just like the last one.”
The priest’s blood ran cold.
The Battle Escalates
Emily’s body twisted unnaturally, bones cracking as she contorted in impossible angles. Her face shifted, morphing into the faces of the past victims.
Father Michael’s grip on his cross tightened. “You cannot deceive me, demon.”
The demon let out a screech, knocking over pews and sending hymn books flying. The walls of the church trembled.
“I AM LEGION,” the voices boomed in unison.
Father Michael refused to waver. He stepped forward, pressing the crucifix to Emily’s forehead once more. “By the blood of Christ, I cast you out!”
Emily’s eyes rolled back, and she let out an unholy wail. Shadows slithered from her mouth, dissipating into the air.
For a moment, it seemed like the worst was over.
The Deception
Emily collapsed, her breathing ragged. Sister Agnes rushed to her side. “Emily?”
Her eyes fluttered open, looking normal once more. “I… I think it’s gone.”
Father Michael sighed in relief. He lowered his cross.
And then—Emily smiled.
“You shouldn’t have let your guard down, Father.”
Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with unnatural strength. Her skin was burning hot, and her eyes darkened once more.
“Did you really think I’d leave so easily?”
Father Michael gasped in pain as his skin seared under her grip.
The Final Exorcism
Sister Agnes, desperate, grabbed a vial of holy water and splashed it on Emily’s forehead.
Emily shrieked, her grip loosening.
Father Michael regained his stance and began chanting louder than before. “God, deliver your servant! Drive out the spirit of darkness!”
Emily’s body convulsed violently, her mouth frothing. A black mist erupted from her chest, filling the church with an unearthly scream.
The windows shattered.
The pews caught fire.
And then—silence.
The Aftermath
Emily lay unconscious. The church was in ruins, smoke rising from the destruction.
Father Michael knelt beside her, exhaustion weighing him down. He placed his trembling fingers on her wrist.
A pulse.
“She’s alive,” he whispered.
Sister Agnes wept with relief.
But as they prepared to leave, Father Michael noticed something in the corner of the room—a dark shadow, unmoving.
And then, a whisper.
“We’ll meet again.”
Some battles are won, but true evil never dies.
Post a Comment