(POV Shift: First Person - "ZeroCool_x")
CLAP. CLAP.
The sound bounced inside my skull. It wasn't a natural echo. It was crisp, close, deliberate. An invitation. My instinct screamed to run, to hide in the woods and wait for the sun to rise, if it ever did again in this hell. But the blinking red dot on my camera-hand's screen was a constant reminder of my condemnation. I didn't come here to survive. I came to record.
"Okay, chat," I whispered, my voice barely a thread of air. "Let's see who's up for some clapping games at this hour." It was bravado for the viewers, for the bastard god watching me, and most of all, for myself.
I pushed the front door with my flashlight hand. It creaked with agonizing slowness, opening to a darkness laden with dust and abandonment. My brand-new Maglite's beam cut through the gloom, revealing furniture covered with white sheets that looked like small ghosts waiting silently. The air was thick and smelled of dampness, rotting wood, and something else... something sour, like stagnant fear.
I advanced step by step, every creak of the wooden floor sounding like a gunshot in the sepulchral stillness. I followed the hallway, sweeping the faded wallpapered walls with my light. To my left, a half-open door. I peered in. A dining room. On the far wall, a dozen wall clocks, all stopped.
CLAP. CLAP.
It sounded again, this time closer, at the end of the hallway. It was coming from the kitchen. I swallowed hard, cold sweat running down my back. I pointed the camera into the darkness and moved forward, bracing for the worst. A monster, a ghost, a girl in a white dress... any horror cliché was possible.
What I didn't expect was to find the room lit.
(POV Shift: Third Person)
Alex rounded the corner and stopped dead, momentarily blinded by the soft glow of several oil lamps. In the center of the spacious kitchen-dining room, the scene was a tableau vivant of fear and confusion. The Perron family—the father, Roger, the mother, Carolyn, and their five daughters—were huddled against the far wall, their eyes wide.
In front of them, in a protective stance, was a middle-aged man with a furrowed brow, and a woman by his side holding a rosary. Both were conservatively dressed, with the unmistakable air of the 1970s. They were Ed and Lorraine Warren. And both spun sharply towards the intruder who had just appeared in the doorway.
Ed Warren raised a hand, his face a mask of authority and severity. "Hold it right there! The house is closed. Who are you and how the hell did you get in?"
Roger Perron, the father, stepped forward, fists clenched. "I'll call the police!"
But Lorraine said nothing. Her pale blue eyes didn't fix on Alex's frightened face, nor on his strange clothing. They locked onto the video camera that seemed to sprout from his right arm, and then into the air around him, as if she saw something the others couldn't perceive.
Alex raised the flashlight, illuminating his own face. A trembling, yet defiant, smile touched his lips. It was the "ZeroCool_x" smile, the mask he wore when cornered.
"Easy, everyone," he said, his voice sounding firmer than he felt. "I'm not here to steal the silver." He paused dramatically, knowing he had an audience of thousands of ghostly viewers and, probably, a bored god. "Answering your question... I'm the one who pissed off a god."
(POV Shift: First Person)
The silence that followed my line was almost more terrifying than the claps. Ed and Mr. Perron stared at me as if I'd gone insane. Carolyn Perron hugged one of her daughters tighter. I maintained the smile, though I felt a nervous twitch in my eyelid.
"A god?" Ed repeated, his skepticism palpable. "Son, we're dealing with something very serious here. We don't have time for jokes or for..."
He broke off because his wife, Lorraine, laid a hand on his arm. Her gaze was still fixed on me, but it was a strange, unfocused look.
"Ed," she whispered, her voice laced with a strange urgency. "It's not a joke." She turned to me completely. "You... you don't belong here. Not in this time. There's a... a window around you. Cold, digital... I can feel eyes, hundreds, thousands of eyes staring through you."
I froze. She saw it. Somehow, the famous medium Lorraine Warren could perceive my stream. She could feel my chat.
My HUD flickered with an avalanche of comments.
LaChicaGamer92: OMG I KNEW IT!!! IT'S THE REAL LORRAINE WARREN!!! Esceptico_Total: Ok, this is crazy. How did he do that effect? Actors? TacoDestroyer: She found you out, Zero!!! The witch saw the stream!!! xX_GamerGod_Xx: Bro, I think your "god" sent you to the f***ing past.
Before I could reply, a metallic, discordant sound echoed throughout the house. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
We all turned towards the dining room I had just passed. The twelve wall clocks, previously stopped, now moved. Their hands spun madly until, one by one, they stopped in unison. All pointed to the same time: 3:07 AM.
The terror in the room became so thick you could cut it with a knife. The Perron family sobbed. Ed Warren pulled out a crucifix. And I... I was trapped in the middle of it all. One unexplained phenomenon within another.
Lorraine looked at me again, and this time, in her eyes there was not just confusion, but a hint of compassion. "Whatever entity sent you here," she said quietly, "it has thrown you into the heart of another war."
A donation notification appeared in my vision, almost making me jump.
[History_Buff_01 has donated $5.00]
"Amazing! You're in 1971! Don't touch anything, you might create a paradox! By the way, buy the smelling salts, looks like the lady in the corner is going to need them."
I looked at Carolyn Perron, who was pale as a ghost. He was right. I mentally bought the salts, and a small vial appeared in my hoodie pocket with a faint hum.
Ed Warren watched me, his expression having changed from anger to a deep, worried uncertainty. He had a terrified family, a house full of evil spirits, and now, a kid from the future with a camera for a hand and who made things appear out of thin air.
"Okay," Ed finally said, running a hand over his face. "Okay... for now, stay where I can see you. We have a much bigger problem."
I nodded slowly, lowering the flashlight a bit. The war wasn't just mine. And for some twisted reason, I had just been drafted.