There Is No Coming Back

In a small, superstitious town where whispers of old beliefs lingered in every corner, life was quiet but fraught with unspoken fears. People avoided crossing paths with black cats, and no one dared sweep their homes after sunset, for fear of accidentally sweeping away their luck. Michel's family had always viewed these traditions with amusement—until the day Michel started seeing ghosts.

Michel, 16 years old, had always been a grounded girl. She loved reading, often lost in fantasy worlds that felt safer than the real one. But recently, the lines between fantasy and reality began to blur. Shadows shifted when they shouldn't, and voices whispered from corners where no one stood. At first, she thought it was stress, school piling up and the expectations of her parents weighing on her. But soon, it became undeniable.

It started with the dreams.

Every night, Michel found herself in a dark, endless void. Voices echoed, calling her name. Shadows with hollow eyes stared from the edges of her vision. One phrase, repeated endlessly, haunted her nights: "There is no coming back."

She told no one at first, hoping it would fade. But when the figures in her dreams started appearing during the day, following her to school, standing in the corners of her room, she knew something was terribly wrong.

Her parents, John and Maria, watched as their daughter withdrew, her once bright spirit fading. She became pale, tired, and distracted. They took her to doctors, hoping for an explanation. But the doctors found nothing. "Stress," they said. "Maybe anxiety."

But Michel knew it wasn't just in her mind.

One evening, as she sat alone in her room, the shadows gathered again. This time, they spoke.

"Until she crokas," one hissed.

Michel froze. It was real. They were real.

The next day, she told her parents everything. Desperation gnawed at them. If doctors couldn't help, they had to turn to something older, something rooted in the traditions of their town. They had always dismissed the old superstitions, but now, they couldn't afford to ignore them. Their last hope was the church.

---

The church stood on the edge of town, its stone walls ancient and worn. The church father, a man who had lived in the town all his life, greeted the family with a grave expression. He had heard of Michel's condition from the whispers in town. Though he was a man of faith, he understood that there were forces in this world that defied explanation—forces that walked in darkness.

"Bring her inside," the father said, his voice low.

In the dim light of the church, Michel sat across from the father, her parents standing anxiously behind her. The father studied her, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the tremble in her hands.

"What you are experiencing," the father began, "is not of this world. There are spirits attached to you, child. Spirits that do not belong here."

Michel's breath caught. She had feared this, but hearing it confirmed made her stomach turn.

As the father began to prepare for the exorcism, Michel's mind raced. 'What if this doesn't work? What if these spirits never leave? What if they were right—there really is no coming back?' Her hands shook in her lap, her fingers cold. It felt as though the weight of something unseen pressed down on her shoulders, invisible but suffocating.

---

The father began to prepare. He lit candles around the room, filling the space with the scent of incense. He pulled out an old Bible and a vial of holy water, placing them on the table in front of Michel.

"This is an exorcism," he said plainly. "I will need to record this, to capture anything that might reveal what we're dealing with."

Michel nodded weakly. Her parents exchanged uneasy glances, Maria gripping John's hand tightly. Neither wanted to believe their daughter was truly haunted, but the evidence was undeniable.

As the father began the ritual, Michel felt a shift in the air. It was colder, as if the warmth had been drained from the room. She shivered as the father spoke prayers in Latin, his voice steady and strong. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the shadows moved.

Michel's body went rigid. Her head tilted back, her mouth opening unnaturally wide. And then the voices came.

"Until she Crokas," one voice hissed from Michel's mouth, though it wasn't her voice at all.

Her parents gasped, backing away in terror. Maria clutched John's arm tightly, her breath coming in shallow, frightened gasps. "This can't be real," she whispered, her voice shaking.

John, though equally terrified, couldn't tear his eyes away from Michel. **What if this was their fault? Had they ignored the warnings for too long? Had their skepticism of the old ways left their daughter vulnerable?** He swallowed hard, guilt mingling with his fear.

The father remained calm, playing the recording device. The voices continued.

"This dumb-ass bitch."

"Scremes!"

"For us, there is no coming back."

"Never! For all eternity!"

The father's hand tightened around his cross as he kept speaking the prayers. The final voice that came from Michel was deeper, more menacing than the others. It rattled the room as it said:

"I Annealiese, Judas, and Nero, Cain, and Hitler—that's all of us."

Michel's parents were shaking, tears streaming down Maria's face. John couldn't take his eyes off his daughter, horror gripping him as he realized the spirits were more powerful and malevolent than they could have imagined.

---

Outside, a black cat darted across the churchyard, visible through a small window. John's heart sank. The superstition—disaster follows those who see a black cat—suddenly felt all too real. His breath quickened. Had they already lost Michel?

Inside, the exorcism reached its peak. Michel's body convulsed, her voice distorted by the spirits. The father poured holy water over her, commanding the spirits to leave.

With a final, ear-piercing scream, Michel collapsed to the floor.

The room was silent.

The father knelt beside her, checking for a pulse. "She's alive," he whispered, relief in his voice. Michel's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at her parents, tears in her eyes, but she was herself again.

They hurried her home, her body weak, but free. Or so they thought.

---

That night, they tucked Michel into bed, whispering soft reassurances that the worst was over. But in the darkness, Michel's dreams returned, the same void, the same whisper: "There is no coming back."

The next morning, Michel was gone.

Her bed was untouched, as if she had vanished into thin air. But on her bedroom door, scratched deep into the wood, was a message that chilled John and Maria to their core:

"For us, there is no coming back."

Maria screamed, collapsing to the floor in disbelief, while John stood frozen, his mind reeling. 'Had the black cat been the final omen? Had they missed their chance to save her?'

The message glowed faintly in the dim morning light, a haunting reminder that some forces, once unleashed, could never be returned.