FRIDAY, OCTOBER 4TH
5:12 PM
BRADFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY PARKING LOT
Ambrose pulls into the mostly empty library parking lot in a massive truck with more dings and dents than I can count. Renny's riding shotgun and hops out just as Watts and I finish locking up our bikes.
The afternoon sun lingers lowly over the nearby woods, casting long shadows across the pavement. It's later than any of us would've liked, but Watts had to walk his sister home from school and watch her until his mom got home from work. I don't think any of us would blame him for not wanting to leave her home alone.
I used the hours since school ended to finish up my homework and work on some drawings. I never planned to, but since the locker room, I've already drawn several versions of Kayla's transformation. I've drawn Watts, Renny, and Ambrose, too—the three of them have such distinct characteristics that they make for great character studies. It isn't hard to emphasize Ambrose's tough exterior, Renny's overt, tomboyish appearance, or Watts's undeniably dorky self.
"We could've picked you up, you know," she says as she strolls over.
Watts and I both send a wary glance towards Ambrose as he steps out of the truck. Unlike Renny, who's tall in her own right but was dwarfed by the truck, he still looks like a giant next to the huge vehicle. Have I mentioned how much I absolutely want to avoid getting on his bad side?
Renny gives us a pointed look. "Ambrose never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. The fact that he's speaking to you guys means an ass-kicking is likely not in your future."
"Why's he... I mean... What's with the not talking thing, anyway?" Watts asks.
The truck door shutting makes Watts flinch, and he goes silent as Ambrose walks up to us.
"I talk when I have something to say." His voice is even and matter-of-fact, thankfully holding no traces of offense.
Still, Watts flushes red—he obviously didn't think our conversation could be heard from where Ambrose had been standing. "Right. Yeah. That makes sense."
The four of us head inside, where I discover that the library is just as old—if not older—than the rest of Bradford's historic buildings. The parquet flooring is dull and worn, and the plain white walls have a yellow tint to them that obviously isn't intentional. Dark wooden shelves line the walls and create rows on the edges of the room, while the middle is taken up by large tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs. A few patrons sit throughout, reading or studying under the dim saucer lights hanging from the ceiling.
Watts leads us through all the sections we'll need. Bradford's library isn't the most up-to-date, but we manage to amass a decent stack of books about witches, the occult, paranormal activity, and possessions. By the time we sit down, picking a spot on the floor against the wall between two tall non-fiction shelves, the sun is already almost completely set outside.
"Okay," Watts spreads out the books on the floor around us. "We're looking for stuff on exorcising a demon, reversing a possession, or anything that might help explain what we saw in the locker room. If we figure out what that was, maybe it'll help us figure out how to stop it from happening again."
"If the demon can't get what it seems to need from humans, it doesn't seem like it'd be able to stay in Kayla's body," I surmise.
Renny nods. "It looked like she could've keeled over at any second. Like the thing is draining the life out of her."
"What I'd really like to figure out is, if Bozzanath can get the energy it needs from people without killing them, then why are people being murdered?" Watts' question is obviously rhetorical, but we fall into silence to ponder it.
"Well," Ambrose speaks up, already pages into a book, "I don't know how credible..." he flips the book over to read the cover, "Paranormal Investigator Elmer Gruber is, but according to his book, victims of possession will likely feel disoriented, exhausted, and will often have missing memories, unaware of what goes on when an entity takes control."
Renny runs a hand through her hair, slumping back against the wall. "So in other words, Kayla probably has no idea she's possessed."
"Well, she might, but she likely doesn't know what she does when Bozzanath takes control." Watts mindlessly taps his fingers against the book in his lap.
"If she knows she's possessed, wouldn't she do something about it?" Ambrose questions.
"Not necessarily," Watts replies. "Not if she wanted to be."
I turn to him, my brow furrowed. "And she would want to be possessed because...?"
"The cult," he says it like it's the obvious answer. "My original theory still stands, D. I think the popular kids have formed a new wave of the Cult of Bozzanath, and that Kayla sacrificed her own body as a host for him."
Renny scoffs. "Well if that's the case then she's complicit in the murders! Which brings me back to my original idea—exorcism via decapitation."
A few patrons sitting at one of the tables in the center of the library glare in our direction at the sound of Renny's raised voice, but she just stares back at them, raising her eyebrows as if inviting them to do something about it.
I know I couldn't kill Kayla. I just couldn't. Maybe if there was definitive proof that she wanted all this to happen, or if there was no other way to get Bozzanath out, but now, based just off of Watts's speculation? It wouldn't be right.
"She's still a person," I argue quietly once the adults turn away from Renny's leering.
"Yeah, well so were Greg, Pamela, and Layne."
Watts holds his hands up between us. "Look, just because it's what I think doesn't make it anything more than a hypothesis. And even if I do turn out to be right, I still think we should all agree that killing would be the last resort."
Renny sighs heavily, but nods. "Yeah. Sorry. I just... Let's figure this shit out."
And for the next hour, that's exactly what we try to do. We pour over texts detailing possessions, exorcisms, and the like. Watts scours through pages and pages of Bradford's history, trying to find anything that might connect the Cult of Bozzanath to the present day. But by 6:30, each of us still has a surprising lack of notes jotted down.
"It doesn't make any sense," Watts breaks the silence, leaning against the bookshelf. "Everything I read points to the murders being some sort of sacrifice to summon the demon. But by the looks of it, the murders were done by Bozzanath."
"And it's obviously still looking to kill, unless Kayla suddenly got the hots for Darren Hoffman," Renny adds. She tosses the book in her hands onto the carpet, next to the pile of ones we've already looked through. "But it doesn't seem like these books are gonna be able to tell us why."
The lights flicker for a second, drawing all of our gazes to the ceiling before anyone can respond. I glance towards the occupied tables not too far away, but no one else seems bothered by the millisecond of darkness. I guess it's probably common—I doubt this place has been updated in decades.
"Maybe..." Watts pauses to think for a second, removing his glasses to clean them with his shirt as he continues. "Maybe what Bozzanath did to Paul isn't enough. Maybe it needs to feed, to take lives to sustain living in a human body. It might've been running out of time and needed a quick fix."
"But why not kill Paul?" Ambrose questions, still sounding like he doesn't buy into any of it. "I mean, it had him right there in a secluded area, unconscious."
Watts puts his glasses back on and frowns, obviously void of any potential explanation.
The gears turn in my head. "Maybe out of respect."
Renny arches an eyebrow. "Respect?"
"If Watts' cult theory is right, then whoever summoned Bozzanath might be close to Paul. Out of respect for the person who brought Bozzanath back, it might only be killing people that the person doesn't care about—that's why it lures in victims from outer circles, instead of just killing within Kayla's friend group."
Watts nods his head, and his frown is quickly replaced by a growing smile. "Dude! That's genius."
Before I can thank him for the praise, the lights flicker again.
Once. Twice. And then with a sharp hiss, they go out completely.
The library is drenched in darkness. Outside, the sun has set completely, and all that comes in from the distant windows is a soft, blue glow that barely illuminates the entrance. Even the exit light has gone dim.
"Jeez." Watts's voice makes me flinch. It's so dark that apart from their breathing and their knees or shoulders brushing with mine, I can't tell that the others are sitting by my side. "Even the emergency lights are out."
"It's not even storming," Ambrose notes with a hint of annoyance. "When's the last time someone checked out this place's wiring?"
"Shh," comes Renny's voice from my right. "Everyone shut up a second. Listen."
We drop into silence, and it quickly dawns on me what she's pointing out. Apart from our voices, there's... nothing. Not a sound from anyone else.
Why aren't any of the other people nearby complaining about the outage, or asking what's going on? Shouldn't one of the librarians be making some kind of announcement, telling everyone not to worry, that the power should be back on soon?
Instead, it sounds like apart from us, the library has been completely abandoned.
My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, and I can finally make out the faces of Ambrose, Renny, and Watts. The four of us are huddled silently between the two bookshelves, confusion etched into our features as we strain to hear something, anything.
But there's nothing to hear.
The hairs on my skin stand up as goosebumps flood my body. I try to breathe, try not to panic, but I know something isn't right.
A deafening bang makes all of us jump, gasping and cursing at the sudden explosion of noise that cracks through the quiet, seeming to resonate from everywhere. My heart jumpstarts in my chest, pounding against my ribcage like it's trying to escape.
"What the fuck was that?" Renny hisses. She's fumbling for something, reaching into one of her pockets.
Before any of us can guess, it's there again, a booming thud that's undeniably closer than the last time. The noise sounds like it's right at the end of the shelves, just beyond the shadow that envelops the library, making it impossible to see anything further than the rows of books.
Watts's hand grabs my shoulder just as I reach for Renny's arm. Her other hand pulls out a small metal square from her pants and she swipes it open with a sharp shink. A lighter.
Before she can try for a flame, the lights flicker on again, just for a split second.
But a second is long enough to see.
Standing at the end of the narrow corridor created by the shelves is Paul.
His skin is ashen like dust, but his cheeks and eyes are sunken and flushed with a hideous, bruised purple. His irises have gone completely white, yet it's undeniable that he's looking right at us, staring us down with those soulless eyes.
And he's smiling.
Impossibly large, toothy like a hungry wolf baring its teeth at cornered prey. Blood spills from his gums, painting his sharp teeth red, pouring down his chin and staining his varsity jacket.
The tables behind him are empty. The librarian's desk has been abandoned.
The light disappears just as Watts lets out a strangled scream. My gut lurches and I hold back a gag, straining my eyes to see past the cloak of darkness. It's impossible, but I know he's there. I can sense him. I can feel death closing in, getting ready to swallow the four of us whole.
Renny's thumb attacks the lighter, rolling the spark wheel again and again, begging for a flame. Finally, one comes, illuminating the four of us with a tremoring fire. Her hand is shaking so violently I'm worried the motion might put out the flame.
She holds it out, trying to reveal what lies past our field of vision. I'm not sure if I want to see. I'm not sure if seeing will make it any more likely that the four of us won't die surrounded by research of the very thing that killed us.
Our breaths are ragged, stuttered and loud as we fail to hold back whimpers of fear. Seconds pass of nothingness, of struggling to identify any sign of Paul or Bozzanath or whatever that creature was.
When the light pops back on, it's so bright and sudden that it burns my eyes, making me blink and squint against the harshness. But what I manage to see in front of me isn't Paul or any sort of disfigured, famished-looking beast.
It's the librarian.
She's glaring down at us—mostly Renny and her lighter—ranting about our screaming and telling Renny to put that away before she has her escorted outside. The tables are filled once again, and their occupants are staring at the scene we've created with expressions of amusement and annoyance.
I share a look of confused relief with Watts, who sits forward to gently close the lighter in Renny's shaking hand. She looks totally out of it, eyes searching the room behind the stout librarian, looking for what we all saw.
What we all saw.
I turn to Ambrose, whose expression is blank apart from his wide eyes. He's staring at the area where Paul stood, and I know: he believes us now.
The woman in front of us continues to scold us, threatening that we'll be kicked out if there's any more yelling. I don't think any of us really hears her—my mind is racing, trying to make sense of it all.
How we experienced something that the rest of the library is totally oblivious to. How Bozzanath seemed to bend the world to his will. How he knew where we were.
Why he wanted to find us.
Renny seems to come to her senses and pushes herself from the floor, suddenly towering over the librarian, who she doesn't even send a second glance. "Let's get the hell out of here."
She doesn't need to convince the rest of us, who scramble onto our trembling legs and follow her wide steps to the exit, leaving behind our pile of books.
I HOPE THIS WAS AT LEAST A LITTLE SCARY 😅