(POV Shift: Third Person)
In the Perrons' kitchen, the silence that followed the clocks stopping was heavy and brittle. Roger and Carolyn tried to calm their daughters, whose faces reflected a mixture of terror and a strange fascination with the newcomer. Ed Warren, however, regained his composure with the speed of a veteran. He became the calm center in a hurricane of fear.
"Alright, nobody panic," he said in a firm voice, though his eyes kept moving, analyzing the room, his wife, and the living anachronism that was Alex. He approached the young man, maintaining a prudent distance. "Son, I'm going to need you to be straight with me. That... camera... is it always recording?"
Alex nodded, the movement stiff. "Can't turn it off. Can't let go of it either."
"And the shop?" Ed continued, in the tone of a mechanic diagnosing a faulty engine. "Does it appear when people... give you money?"
"Donations. For the stream," Alex corrected. "And yeah. Apparently, a punishing god has terrible IT security and left a backdoor open to my Twitch account."
Ed didn't understand half the words, but he grasped the essence. This kid was a walking anomaly, a supernatural wildcard in a game that was already deadly. Lorraine moved closer to her husband. "Ed, he's not lying. His presence here is a miracle and a curse, like ours. We must continue. He must see what we see."
Ed sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked Alex up and down, from his hoodie with Japanese characters to his sneakers. "Alright. You're staying with us. Don't touch anything. And if you see something, you say something." He turned to Carolyn. "Mrs. Perron, please show us where the incidents began. We need to see everything."
(POV Shift: First Person)
And so began the creepiest tour of my life. Carolyn, trembling but determined, led us through the house. I lagged behind, next to Lorraine, while Ed walked at the front, carrying a bag filled with what looked like movie ghost-hunting tools. Every step was torture. My stream HUD was still active in my peripheral vision, and the chat was a constant flow of panic and excitement.
TacoDestroyer: DON'T GO UP THE STAIRS, ZERO. IT'S RULE NUMBER ONE!!! LaChicaGamer92: Omg, you're on The Conjuring set?! It looks just like it! What production! History_Buff_01: Fascinating. The 1971 architecture is very accurate. The doorknobs, the wallpaper... 10/10 for the prop god!
"It was up here," Carolyn said, her voice trembling as she pointed to the top of an old wardrobe in one of the girls' rooms. "Cindy saw her. An old woman... looking down from up there. She told us she smelled bad."
I looked up at the top of the wardrobe, expecting to see something, but there was only darkness and dust. Still, a chill ran through me. I was stepping onto scenes I had seen on a screen, but now the damp smell was real, the cold was real, the family's fear was contagious.
"Alright," Ed said, taking notes in a notebook. "And the game? The clapping game?"
"That's Andrea," Carolyn replied. "She plays 'hide-and-clap.' But sometimes... something else answers her."
Just then, a dull thud came from downstairs. We all froze. Roger Perron ran down and returned a minute later, pale. "It's the basement door. It opened itself again."
Lorraine closed her eyes for an instant. "We must go. The energy is stronger down there."
Great. The basement. Because of course. If there was a horror manual, this place was following it to the letter.
(POV Shift: Second Person)
You descend the wooden stairs into the basement. The air immediately grows colder, heavier. You smell damp earth, rust, and that same decaying odor, now much more intense. Ed goes first, with a powerful flashlight. Roger follows him, armed with a fireplace poker. Carolyn hesitates on the last step. Lorraine gently encourages her with a gesture. You go last, the beam of your Maglite trembling in your hand, the camera in the other feeling like a block of ice.
"I used to play here as a child," Carolyn whispers, looking at an old red ball lying in a corner. She reaches out to pick it up, her footsteps echoing in the silence. And in that instant, you hear a metallic clang above you.
BAM!
The basement door slams shut, plunging you into near-total darkness. Carolyn's scream is stifled. The only light is yours. You frantically point it towards the stairs. The door is sealed. Roger and Ed throw themselves against it, pounding it with their shoulders, but it won't budge. It's as if it's welded shut.
"It won't open!" Roger shouts, desperate.
And then, you hear it. The sound that brought you here.
CLAP. CLAP.
It comes from a dark corner, right behind you. You spin the flashlight, but there's nothing. Just dancing shadows.
CLAP. CLAP.
Now it sounds from another side. It's a game. It's taunting you. Carolyn sobs, huddled on the floor. Panic is a living beast in the small, confined space. The light from your flashlight flickers.
(POV Shift: First Person)
"No, no, no, not you, you piece of junk!" I hissed at the flashlight as I hit it. The light stabilized. Ed and Roger were still pounding on the door. The sound of clapping stopped, replaced by Carolyn's terrified weeping.
It was then I saw her. Lorraine. She wasn't looking at the door or her husband. She was staring fixedly at a dark corner of the basement, her face a mask of pure horror, her lips moving in a silent prayer. She saw something we didn't.
Suddenly, with a metallic screech, the door swung open on its own. The hallway light bathed us. Roger ran to his wife, who was hyperventilating on the floor. Ed knelt beside her, trying to calm her.
I remembered the donation comment. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the vial of smelling salts. I pushed my way through and held it under Carolyn's nose. She gasped loudly and her eyes flew open, coughing, but coming back to herself.
"What... what was that?" Roger asked me, looking at me with a mix of gratitude and astonishment.
"A sponsor bonus," I replied breathlessly.
But my attention was focused on Lorraine. She was leaning against the wall, pale as wax. "I saw her," she whispered, her voice broken. "She was in the tree. She hanged herself in that big tree overlooking the lake. She proclaimed herself a servant of Satan before she did it. She cursed anyone who tried to take her land. Her name is Bathsheba."
The name fell upon us with the weight of a tombstone. A new notification exploded into my vision, much larger this time.
[Angel_Investor has donated $20.00]
"You are not a mere witness. Your presence strengthens her, anchors her to this plane. You are a battery for her. Buy the sage. You'll need it. Soon."
My blood ran cold. A battery? My presence, my stream, was making her stronger? The god hadn't just sent me to record. He had made me part of the weapon.
Without hesitation, I opened the shop. My balance was $20.00. The price of sage incense was exactly that. I bought it. A bundle of dried herbs tied with string appeared in my pocket, next to the empty smelling salts vial. It smelled of earth and hope.
I looked at the Warrens, at the terrified family, and then into the darkness of the basement. This had just gotten much more personal. I didn't just have to record. I had to survive. And maybe, just maybe, fight back.