That's Where Aurabelle Lives

Chapter 10: The Voices in Our Heads

Inside her small, cluttered bedroom, Lisa sits cross-legged on her bed, her hands fidgeting with the frayed edges of a worn comforter. Her eyes, wide and brimming with unshed tears, are fixated on a spot on the wall where the paint is chipped and faded. The silence of the scares her. As if she's waiting for something to frighten or jump out at her.

Her friend, Sarah, once a source of joy and companionship, now haunts her every thought. Lisa wrestles with the absurdity of it all; how can she entertain the notion that her friend is... possessed? The word itself feels alien on her tongue, a bitter pill that refuses to be swallowed.

"There's no such thing as ghost. There has to be a reasonable explanation of all of this," Lisa whispers, trying to calm her fears.

In a desperate bid for distraction, she reaches for her headphones. She scrolls through her playlist, selecting tracks at random, anything to fill the void, to drown out the whispers of her own thoughts. The music starts, a familiar melody that usually calms her nerves. But tonight, the notes seem distorted, the rhythm out of sync with her racing heartbeat.

"What the-" Lisa's eyes widened.

As the song progresses, Lisa's unease grows. The lyrics, once fun and comforting, now carry an dark and twisted tone, an undercurrent of warning that sends shivers down her spine. "Leave her alone," the voice sings, a harmonious melody that belies the dread creeping into Lisa's soul. "Escape while you can." The words loop, a mantra that grows in intensity until it's all she can hear.

Panic sets in, a sudden, overwhelming tide that crashes over her, leaving her gasping for air. Her hands shake as she tears the headphones from her ears, her breaths coming in short, ragged gulps. The room spins, and the headphones, once her refuge, now seem like a tunnel of doom. With a cry of frustration, she hurls them across the room, where they clatter against the wooden floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet.

Fighting the nausea that rises in her throat, Lisa stumbles to her feet, her movements erratic as she paces the small space. She needs sleep, respite from the relentless onslaught of her fears. But the thought of closing her eyes, of surrendering to the darkness that beckons, is more terrifying than the chaos of her waking mind.

***

Ethan lies in his bed, the sheets twisted around him. His eyes, wide and unblinking, are fixed upon the ceiling, where shadows dance and form shapes. It's well past midnight, and the world outside is silent, save for the occasional car passing by or the distant bark of a dog. But inside Ethan's head, it's anything but quiet.

He too is haunted, not by the specters that claim Sarah, but by an obsession that clings to him more tightly than his own shadow. It's an obsession with possession, a craving for the supernatural that has gripped him ever since his father introduced him to the eerie world of ghost adventures at the tender age of eight. Watching those ghost hunters explore the forsaken corners of the world had ignited something in him, a burning curiosity that has never been quenched.

But there's something else, a secret that weighs heavily on Ethan's conscience; a memory that is as vivid to him now as it was on the day it happened. He had been just a child, his hand engulfed in his father's as they'd wandered through the decaying halls of an abandoned psychiatric center. His father, ever the thrill-seeker, had called it an adventure. But for Ethan, it was the day he crossed paths with something unseen, something that whispered his name and clung to his soul.

In that forsaken place, Ethan had stumbled upon papers, old and yellowed with age, bearing the name of the Walters family. He had felt a chill then, an inexplicable connection to the names and stories that seemed to rise from the pages and wrap around him like a cold embrace. He had never spoken of it, never told a soul.

Ethan rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow as if to smother the thoughts that race through his mind. Sarah is safe, he tries to convince himself. She's miles away, tucked in her own bed, oblivious to the shadows that play across his walls. But the reassurance is a frail thing, shattered by the voice that suddenly cuts through the silence.

"Don't be a fool, Ethan," the voice hisses, a serpentine whisper that seems to come from the darkest corner of the room. "You know you can't protect her from me. From us. From you too." The voice laughs. "You know Ethan, you're not a good person either. You dragged your friends with you through this. You could've isolated yourself but you choose to live a life of adventure. Just like your father. It's all your choice. Your friends are in danger because of YOU."

Ethan's breath catches in his throat. He knows that voice, has heard it countless times since the day at the psychiatric center. It's the evil spirit, the one that has latched onto him, a parasitic shadow that feeds on his fear.

"I can try and save her. I can save them all," Ethan murmurs, defiance rising in him like a wave. He sits up, his eyes searching the darkness for the source of the voice. "I can warn her, get rid of you."

A cold laugh answers him, a sound devoid of humanity, echoing around the room as though bouncing off invisible walls. "Warn her? Rid of me? You truly are a child playing at games you don't understand," the spirit taunts.

Ethan clenches his fists, the fabric of his sheets bunching in his hands. "I'm not a child," he retorts, though the quiver in his voice betrays his fear.

The room grows colder, a creeping chill that seeps into Ethan's bones. He can feel the presence of the spirit now, not just an auditory hallucination, but a palpable force, a pressure in the air that makes it hard to breathe. It's a malevolence that has grown with him, feeding off his obsession, his secret forays into the world of the paranormal.

"You've invited me in, Ethan," the spirit reminds him, its voice now a whisper right beside his ear. "You've made your bed, and now you must lie in it."

Ethan's heart hammers against his ribcage. He wants to scream, to leap from the bed and turn on the lights, to chase away the darkness with the flip of a switch. But he's paralyzed, caught in the spirit's gaze, though he cannot see it.

"I don't want this," Ethan whispers, a plea for mercy to a being that knows no compassion.

"But you do," the spirit counters. "You've always wanted to know, to see, to touch the beyond. And now you have. You're mine, Ethan. And if you try to escape, to cast me out, to tell anyone... especially that girl... I'll make you wish you were never born."

Ethan's blood turns to ice. He thinks of Sarah, her laughter, the way her nose crinkles when she's amused. He can't let anything happen to her, not because of him, not because of this thing that claims to own him.

"Then what do you want from me?" Ethan asks, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

The spirit's laugh is a low rumble that seems to shake the room. "I want you to embrace it, Ethan. Embrace your destiny. There's power to be had, knowledge beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do is accept it."

Ethan shakes his head, the movement small. He takes a deep breath and let's it all out. He lays down in bed. Replying to the spirit in his head. The spirit is satisfied with the response and leaves Ethan be for the night. Ethan drifts off into a deep sleep...