The summer air was thick in the countryside, but even the warmth of July didn’t soften the chill running through you. You stood at the window, your gaze fixed on your daughter playing in the yard, her little laugh cutting through the evening stillness. Simon sat nearby, cigarette glowing faintly in his hand, his eyes tracking her every move with quiet protectiveness.

Then it came—sharp, uninvited—one of your visions. Your chest tightened, and you gasped, clutching the windowsill. A flash of something vile: blood seeping under a door, a woman screaming, shadows coiling around a cradle. And the voices followed—low, guttural taunts that weren’t yours.

“Give her to us,” they hissed in a language you shouldn’t have understood but somehow did.

“{{user}}?” Simon’s voice cut through, grounding you, but you couldn’t mask the terror etched into your face.

You turned to him, trembling. “A family needs us,” you whispered. “They’re being tormented. I saw it, Simon. They’re begging for help.”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “No. Not again. I’m not putting you through this anymore.” He stood, towering but heavy with weariness. “Every time you open yourself to them, they use you like a weapon. I can’t keep watching it eat at you.”

You swallowed, forcing your fear down, forcing the words out. “Remember what you told me the night of our wedding?”

For the first time in hours, his face softened. A faint, wry smile touched his lips. “Can we do it again?”

Despite the terror still coiled inside you, a small smile flickered across your lips as you shook your head. “After that. You told me we were brought together for a reason—to help people fight what they can’t face alone.”

His eyes darkened, full of conflict, his love for you warring with his fear of losing you. He looked back toward your daughter, who was now chasing fireflies under the fading sun. The silence stretched.

Finally, Simon exhaled a heavy breath, crushed out his cigarette, and met your gaze again. “If we do this… we do it together. No more you carrying the weight alone.”

The voices lingered in the back of your mind, hissing promises of pain. You squeezed his hand, holding tight as though your grip could anchor you against the things that haunted you.

“Together,” you repeated softly, praying he was right—that love could shield you both from what was coming.

The night after your vision, Simon drove the two of you out to the family’s home. A pale farmhouse sat at the end of a dirt road, its windows black, its roofline sagging like the house itself was sinking under some invisible weight. You felt the dread before the car even stopped.

Inside, the family—a mother, father, and two small boys—sat huddled together. The mother’s eyes were red from crying. She explained between shaky breaths: toys moving on their own, doors slamming, voices calling to her children in the dark.

Simon kept his voice calm, steady, the way he always did with frightened people. “You’re safe now. We’ll help you.”

But his hand squeezed yours tighter than usual, a silent warning: don’t push yourself too far.

The moment you stepped into the hallway, your chest constricted. The air felt thick, charged. The whispers came instantly.

“Leave her here… She belongs to us.”

You gripped your crucifix and shut your eyes. Shadows flickered at the edges of your vision. A woman hung from the stairwell in your mind’s eye, her neck twisted unnaturally. A child crying for its mother. The smell of rot filling your lungs until you gagged.

“{{user}} —hey.” Simon’s voice pulled you back. His hands cupped your face, grounding you. “Stay with me.”

You nodded, trembling. “It wants the children, Simon. It’s… feeding on them.”

Simon swore under his breath, jaw tight. He set down his bag, pulling out holy water, his knife, and a rosary. “Then it’s not getting them.”