Diana was a mid-aged unmarried girl who liked to be on her own most of the time. She shared a home with her parents and two younger brothers, Jake and Enzo. Both of them were younger than her, and the three of them formed a very close-knit and loving family—so much that people would use their family as an example of affection and unity.
It was Diana's 26th birthday—November 26. All her friends, family members, and coworkers were invited, and her parents had planned to celebrate the day at home. They had decorated the house impeccably, surrounding every nook with light and warmth. Diana was truly joyful that day.
They resided in an area outside the city, where quietness enveloped their home. In the evening, guests started to arrive around 7 o'clock. Diana put on her mother's gift that morning, her dress, and when she came out of her room, she was amazed at such sweet arrangements. All of them wished her with happiness, she cut the cake, and then gifts were given to her by the guests. Afterwards, it was time for dinner.
At dinner, Diana walked outside with one of her friends, Dave. Dave had long had secret feelings for Diana but had never spoken them. Her nature always made it difficult for anyone to approach her like that, but tonight he had made up his mind that he would propose to her on her birthday, which fell when she turned 26 years old.
They sat by a large tree on a wooden bench, discussing the ornaments and the party. All of a sudden, someone emerged from within the house, calling Dave in a hurry for assistance. Although he did not want to leave, Diana instructed him, "Go ahead, I'll wait for you here." With great reluctance, Dave headed back to the house.
The moment he left, Diana felt something strange—as if someone was watching her from above the tree. She quickly looked up, but there was no one. Trying to calm herself, she whispered, "Oh Diana, you've had too much to drink tonight, that's why you're imagining things."
She softly began humming a song to distract herself:
Nothing's perfect, but it's worth it, after fighting through my tears… LA LA LA LA LA
But then, somehow, it seemed as if another voice was harmonising with her. Surprised, she got up and scanned around the trees, but no one was in sight. She again talked to herself that it was an illusion.
She closed her eyes, and she started singing again, but this time she felt someone taking deep, heavy breaths beside her along her left side. She immediately opened her eyes but saw no one.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swept past her, as if it went straight through her body. Her head started spinning, her heart pounded in her chest, and before she could even move, Diana fainted under the tree.
When Dave came, he was shocked to see Diana unconscious. Panic overwhelmed him. Instinctively, he moved forward, picked her up in his arms, and carried her indoors. Guests murmured anxiously, speculating what had happened.
Dave took her directly to her room and placed her down on the bed. When he touched her forehead, a jolt shot through him—she was burning up with fever, as if she was aflame.
Tom, Diana's father, immediately telephoned the doctor and asked him to come urgently. Soon after, the doctor came, checked her properly, and said, "It looks like she fainted due to hunger. Her temperature would normalize after this medicine. She'll be fine once she rests.
The family heeded the doctor's suggestion and went back to their rooms, leaving Diana to recuperate. Dave, after settling her in, alerted his own father and told him he would see her again the following morning.
Only Caroline, Diana's mother, slept with her that night, prepared to assist if necessary. Everybody else had retired. Caroline slept on the sofa and Diana slept on the bed.
Just as Caroline was about to fall into deeper sleep, a faint creaking noise made her jump up—like the opening of a door. She jumped up fast and looked at the bed.
Diana was not there.
Heart racing, Caroline checked the room and the bathroom, but her daughter was nowhere to be found. Panic mounting, she called out Diana's name repeatedly.
Her yelling roused Tom, Diana's dad, and in no time her brothers, Jake and Enzo, were awake too. They all combed the house, calling her name.
Then Enzo stopped dead in his tracks, his voice shaking. "Mom… look!"
Everyone tracked his look. Outside, in the moonlight, Diana perched high in the limbs of the very same tree where she had fainted before, directly in front of the house.
She glared down at them with an icy smile that wasn't hers.
Suddenly, Diana screamed so loudly she broke all the mirrors in the house. The scream was so cutting it seemed like their eardrums would burst had they not plugged their ears in time.
Seconds after the frightening scream, Diana had fallen over.
Tom ran outside, caught her before she fell, and brought her back to her room. The whole family had come, shaken and speechless, and at last all agreed: at sunrise they would summon a priest. Whatever was troubling Diana was no ordinary illness—something evil was within her.
With the first light, Tom headed directly to the church and sought out Father Augustine, a priest infamous for battling the supernatural. After being told the whole tale, Father Augustine did not require persuading.
"This isn't illness," he declared solemnly. "She's been possessed."
He walked with Tom back home. The instant the priest crossed the threshold he sensed it—a heavy, malignant presence. "There is a strong evil in this house," he cautioned.
Father Augustine came into Diana's room. On her dressing table was the perfume bottle she had used on the day of the first incident. He picked it up, sniffed a bit on his hand, and approached her bed.
Diana's eyes were shut, her breathing unhurried.
The priest extended his scented hand to her face.
Her eyes flew open in a flash—blood-red and snapping with malice.
A cold, unhuman laugh escaped her lips and rang off the walls.
The family let out a gasp of horror as Father Augustine remained unflinching and asserted in an authoritative voice,
"Who are you? What do you want with this innocent girl?"
The ghost provided no response—only a low, derisive laughter.
Father Augustine pulled out the silver cross from his vest and pushed it toward Diana.
She screamed, a scream that shook the windows, and then she spoke in a voice not her own.
"Drive you out?" the ghost spat. "Never. I came to steal this girl away. I adore her. On November 26th, she sat under my tree with that heady perfume, and she stole my heart. Now she is mine. I will marry her and no one will ever stop me. Anybody who does will pay the price."
The room went quiet, the implication obvious:
Diana had been taken over on her birthday, the evening she stayed under that accursed tree.
Tom and Caroline looked at each other with terror-stricken eyes, fear spreading over them.
"What can we do?" Tom begged.
Father Augustine's face set. "It won't be easy," he said. "But it won't be impossible. We will struggle with all we are—and we will rescue your daughter. There is only one way to get her back, but it will take all our strength and faith.
Father Augustine informs Tom the only means of saving Diana is with an exorcism over night. The first pale washes of morning crept over the curtains, but the house remained suffused with midnight. Father Augustine stood at the foot of Diana's bed, his crucifix raised a final time.
"Eternal God," he whispered, voice rough from hours of prayer, "seal this home in Your light. Let no shadow remain.
The candles—burned almost to stubs—flamed in concurrence. Their steady light poured warm gold over the room, no longer the shuddering orange of fear.
Tom sat next to his daughter, fingers encircling her hand. Her skin was warm now, her breathing steady. Caroline kneeled on the opposite side, quiet tears streaming down her cheeks.
For a long time, all there was the quiet rustle of leaves outside. Then Diana moved. Her eyelids flickered and she opened her eyes—clear, soft brown again.
"Dad?" Her voice was small, confused. "Mom? Why… why are you crying?"
Caroline sobbed out relief and buried her forehead against her daughter's. "You're safe, sweetheart. You're safe."
Father Augustine breathed a sigh, shoulders at last dropping. "The presence is departed," he said. "But the memory of that darkness will attempt to return if we let it. Tonight we won the fight; now you must guard your hearts."
Diana glanced about, bewildered. "The tree…" she breathed. "I recall a tree and a—" She shivered, finishing in a cutoff.
The priest bowed solemnly. "The spirit was tied to that spot. Its longing was great, but it is done."
He looked at Tom and Caroline. "Burn the perfume she was wearing that day. Inter the burned remains of the candles at the base of that tree and bless the soil with holy water. Evil attaches itself to symbols; we must cut every connection."
Tom clutched his daughter's hand. "We will do all you tell us."
Outside, sunrise came in a flash of rose and gold. Birds started to sing, hesitantly at first, but then boldly and confidently.
Later that morning, the family strolled together to the great tree. The air was fresh with the scent of storm during the night. Tom began a shallow hole at its bottom. Caroline put the candle ends that had melted and the broken perfume bottle in it. Father Augustine doused a stream of holy water while murmuring a closing prayer.
An unexpected gust shook the branches. For a moment the leaves whispered like an exhaling breath—and then, nothing.
Diana moved ahead, sunlight on her face. "It's quiet," she breathed. "Really quiet."
Father Augustine smiled wearily, yet with conviction. "Because it's over."
They went home as the sun rose higher, bathing each room in light. The house, once thick with shadows, seemed to be altered now—lighter, humming with peace.
That evening, as the family sat together, Tom lit a single candle on the kitchen table. Its flame was small, steady, and perfectly ordinary.
Diana leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered.
Caroline kissed her hair. "You're safe, my love. We're all safe."
And for the first time in days, the Rashid home settled into true peace, the dark presence gone—only the memory of courage and faith remaining.
Outside, the ancient tree stood still under the stars, its branches not swaying in the soft night wind.
The End.