I CAN SEE YOU

CHAPTER 3: THE TOLL ON THE FAMILY

The Bell family had once lived in peace, their home surrounded by the quiet, serene woods of Tennessee. But now, their world was crumbling, slowly being consumed by an invisible force that threatened to tear them apart. Since their encounter with the vengeful spirit, Kate Batts, nothing had been the same. What had once been unsettling whispers and strange noises had become full-blown hauntings, with terrifying physical manifestations. The family had become a shell of themselves-exhausted, fearful, and filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. And the worst was yet to come.

It began with Betsy. Once a lively, energetic twelve-year-old, she had always been the light of the Bell household, but now, she seemed like a different person altogether. Her face, once rosy and full of life, had grown pale, her skin almost translucent. Her eyes, once bright and full of curiosity, were now dull and lifeless, as though she was no longer fully present. Betsy spent most of her time staring into the distance, as if lost in a world that no one else could see. And at night, she would often walk the house in her sleep, her bare feet dragging across the wooden floors, her expression blank and unseeing.

John Bell, watching his daughter's transformation with growing horror, tried to reason with her, but it was as though she couldn't hear him.

"Betsy, where are you going?" he would ask, his voice trembling with fear.

But Betsy would not answer. She would only laugh-softly at first, then louder, a chilling, hollow sound that sent shivers down his spine. It was as if someone else, something else, was controlling her, manipulating her every move.

One night, as John stood by the staircase watching his daughter wander through the dark hallway, her laughter growing louder, he heard a soft whisper from behind him.

"You can't stop it," the voice hissed, and John spun around, his heart racing.

"Who's there?" he demanded, but no one answered. There was nothing-just the cold, oppressive silence of the house.

Betsy's laughter echoed through the halls, and then, in the dark corner of the room, her voice joined the chorus. "Leave me alone... leave me alone, Pa... I can't stop it."

Her voice was no longer hers. It was a low, guttural rasp, tinged with malice and hatred. John stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat as he watched Betsy's body twitch and convulse, as if something unseen was pulling her in different directions. His heart pounded in his chest as he rushed to her side, desperate to break whatever hold the spirit had on his daughter.

"Betsy!" he cried, shaking her gently, trying to rouse her from whatever nightmare she was trapped in. "Betsy, please, wake up!"

But her eyes, when they finally opened, were not her own. They were cold, dark, and empty-staring into nothing, into a void where the light once was. And then, for a moment, she smiled-a smile that was twisted and unnatural.

"Kate... Kate... is coming," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Kate is coming... to take us all..."

John's heart sank as he realized that his daughter was no longer the girl she once was. Kate Batts had already claimed her.

The torment continued to intensify, not just for Betsy, but for the entire family. John Bell, a strong and healthy man, began to feel the effects of the haunting as well. At first, it was just an occasional headache or a strange feeling of dizziness. But soon, it became more severe. He found himself constantly fatigued, his body growing weaker with each passing day. He could no longer keep up with the work on the farm. His hands trembled when he tried to hold a plow, and his legs buckled beneath him when he attempted to walk. His skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and his once commanding presence was now diminished, as if the life was being drained from him.

"What's happening to me?" John whispered one night as he collapsed into a chair, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

Lucy, who had become as worn and hollow as her husband, knelt beside him, her face filled with worry. "John, we need help. We can't keep going like this."

John's eyes were clouded with uncertainty. "I don't know what's happening to us, Lucy. I've never felt this weak before. Something is taking my strength."

The nights were the worst. In the darkness of the farmhouse, the air was thick with fear and oppression. Strange sounds filled the house-scratching, whispering, and the faint sound of chains dragging across the floor. Lucy could no longer sleep. She stayed awake, watching over her children, her mind racing with questions and fears. But no answers came.

As John's condition worsened, he became desperate. He sought the help of local doctors, but their diagnoses were of no help. They told him that his symptoms were caused by stress, that the exhaustion and physical weakness were the result of too much worry and not enough sleep. But John knew better. This was something beyond the realm of medical understanding. The doctors' words brought him no comfort, and the hopelessness that had begun to creep into his soul only deepened.

"We've tried everything," John muttered one day, as he sat in the dim light of the kitchen. "But nothing works."

Lucy could only nod in agreement, her eyes red from lack of sleep. She had watched her husband deteriorate before her eyes, and it broke her heart to see him so helpless. The weight of their suffering seemed unbearable.

In a moment of desperation, John remembered something-in times of such difficults only the supreme being could help them. He turned his hand to his rosary and started praying.

He sat down and penned a letter-addressed to the Vatican itself, asking for aid. He explained their plight, the haunting that had befallen his family, and the torment that they were enduring. His handwriting was shaky, and his words were laced with fear and desperation. But he had to try. He had no other choice.

"I must be heard," John whispered to himself as he sealed the letter, his hands trembling. "Someone must listen."

Days passed, and the letter was sent. As the weeks wore on, the Bell family's suffering continued, and the house grew more oppressive. Betsy's condition worsened, and she would often be found in the dead of night, speaking in tongues, her body writhing as if something was trying to force its way out of her.

John Bell had hoped that the Vatican would send someone to help, but as the days turned into weeks, his hope began to fade. He couldn't shake the feeling that the spirit was growing stronger, its grip tightening on his family.

One night, while sitting alone in the parlor, John heard the unmistakable sound of soft laughter. It was coming from the darkness of the hallway, echoing through the walls. He knew it was Betsy, but the laughter was not hers. It was the same eerie, hollow sound that had filled the house since the haunting began.

As he stood up, ready to confront whatever evil lurked in the shadows, the door to the parlor creaked open. A cold gust of wind swept through the room, extinguishing the candles and leaving the family in complete darkness.

"John..." came a voice-soft, mocking, and filled with malice.

John's blood ran cold as he turned to face the doorway, his breath catching in his throat.

"I am Kate Batts," the voice hissed. "And you cannot escape me."

John Bell had heard enough. He could no longer fight alone. The spirit was too powerful, too determined to destroy his family. He had to act fast before it was too late. And so, with no other options left, he knelt before the hearth, clasped his hands in prayer, and waited for the help that he so desperately needed.