Forgotten and lost soul

 "You know, I've had some weird days, but this takes the cake," said Mark to his friend Dave, as they both stared at the flickering TV screen. The static was annoying, but it was the least of their worries.

Dave nodded, popping open another beer. "Yeah, man, but what do you expect when you're stuck with a black-and-white TV from the '80s?"

They had been trying to watch the game, but the old set had decided to throw a fit. Mark sighed and leaned back on the couch, rubbing his temples. He had been feeling off all day. It was more than just a headache; it was like something was trying to get out of his mind, to escape.

Suddenly, the static grew louder, and the room grew cold. The hairs on the back of Mark's neck stood up, and his eyes darted around the room. Without warning, the TV flicked to a grainy, black-and-white image of a cemetery at night. A chill ran down his spine as he watched a figure in a tattered cloak slowly approach the camera.

Dave was too busy complaining about the TV to notice the change. "Seriously, I don't know why you don't just get a new one."

The figure on the screen was now standing right in front of them, and it was clear that it wasn't part of any show. Its eyes, two white orbs in the sea of static, bore into Mark's soul. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move. The ghostly presence was taking over, and the room was spinning. The last thing he heard was Dave's confused voice calling out his name, before everything went dark.

The next morning, Mark woke up in a cold sweat, convinced it had all been a terrible dream. He was relieved to find the TV off and the room back to normal. But as he went about his day, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone in his body anymore. The ghost had made its presence known, and it had no intention of leaving quietly.

Throughout the day, Mark felt his actions being influenced by an unseen force. His hand would spasm, knocking over a cup of coffee or scribbling on a page without his consent. His voice would sometimes echo with a strange, hollow tone that sent chills down the spines of those around him. He tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away, but the ghost was insistent.

The day grew darker, and Mark's control over his own body waned. The ghost grew bolder, making him do more erratic things. It forced him to stumble through the crowded streets, knocking into passersby, whispering secrets into strangers' ears, and causing a scene at the local grocery store. People looked at him with fear and confusion, whispering about his sudden change in behavior.

By the time night fell, Mark could barely hold onto his own thoughts. The ghost was in full control now, leading him to the very cemetery that had haunted his vision the night before. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped through the wrought-iron gates, the chill in the air growing more intense with each step.

The ghostly figure from the TV was there, standing before a grave with Mark's name etched into the stone. "Why are we here?" Mark's voice was strained, barely recognizable as his own.

The ghost didn't respond with words but instead took over his body completely. Mark's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed onto the cold, damp ground. The spirit's energy surged through him, and suddenly, he was standing again, floating towards the grave with a sense of dreadful purpose. As he reached out to touch the cold stone, he realized with horror that he was about to become a part of the very scene that had been playing out in his living room. This was no longer a simple possession; it was a battle for his very existence.

The cemetery was eerily silent except for the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves. Mark could feel the ghost's power growing stronger, pulling him closer to the grave. He had to find a way to fight back before it was too late. With every ounce of willpower he had left, he clenched his fists and screamed, "Get out of me!" The words echoed through the night, a desperate plea for freedom from the otherworldly invader.

The ghost's hold on him wavered, and Mark felt a flicker of hope. He stumbled backward, gasping for air as if he'd been underwater too long. He knew this was his chance. Summoning all his strength, he sprinted away from the grave, his heart racing.

Back at his apartment, he found Dave, wide-eyed and worried. "What happened to you, man?"

Mark didn't have the energy to explain. He collapsed into a chair, his body trembling. "It's not over," he murmured. "It's just beginning."

The ghost had brought him to the cemetery for a reason. It wanted something from him, and Mark had to figure out what before it was too late. The game was on, and he was playing for the highest stakes possible: his life.

Dave looked at him, his concern turning to fear. "What do you mean?"

Mark took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "We need to find out who this ghost is, and why it's after me."

The two friends sat in silence, the weight of the situation settling in. They had no idea what they were getting into, but they knew one thing for sure: they couldn't just sit back and let Mark's life be controlled by a spirit from beyond the grave.

They began to research, digging through dusty books and scrolling through countless articles online. The more they learned, the more they realized how deep the rabbit hole went. The ghost was ancient, vengeful, and had a history of attaching itself to those who had wronged it.

The clock ticked away the hours, and Mark could feel the ghost's presence growing stronger. He knew they were running out of time. They had to find a way to exorcise it from his body before it was too late.

Their search led them to an old woman named Edna, a local medium with a reputation for dealing with the supernatural. She lived in a small, cluttered house on the edge of town. Her eyes were kind, but her gaze was sharp as she listened to Mark's story. She nodded solemnly, her eyes never leaving his face. "I've heard of this spirit before. It's notorious for seeking vengeance on those who dare to disturb its slumber."

"What can we do?" Mark pleaded, his voice laced with desperation.

Edna looked at him with a mix of pity and resolve. "We must perform a ritual to send it back to the other side," she said. "But it will be dangerous. The spirit is powerful, and it won't let go without a fight."

They gathered the necessary items: sage, candles, a silver crucifix, and a dusty, ancient tome that held the incantation needed to banish the ghost. The apartment felt heavier as the night progressed, the air thick with anticipation and fear. The TV flickered back to life, the ghostly figure on the screen watching them with a smug smile, seemingly enjoying the chaos it had wrought.

The ritual began with Edna lighting the sage, the pungent scent filling the room as she chanted in a language that sounded ancient and otherworldly. Mark felt his body spasm and contort, the ghost fighting back against the purifying smoke. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he struggled to keep from screaming out in pain.

Dave held him down, sweat beading on his brow, as Edna continued her incantation. The room grew colder, and the shadows began to dance on the walls. The ghost's presence grew more palpable, and Mark could feel it clawing at the edges of his consciousness, trying to regain control.

But Edna was unrelenting. She held the silver crucifix up to Mark's forehead, and the room was filled with a blinding light. The ghost let out a piercing screech, and Mark felt a surge of power leave his body, leaving him gasping for air. When the light dimmed, he looked up to see the TV screen go black.

He was free.

The following days were a blur as Mark tried to piece his life back together. He had to explain his erratic behavior to his boss, his family, and the people he had scared during his possession. The experience had left him with a newfound respect for the supernatural and a deeper bond with Dave, who had stood by him through it all.

But the cemetery visit was never far from his mind. He found himself drawn back to that spot, feeling the ghost's anger still lingering in the air. He knew that the spirit was not truly at peace. The battle was over, but the war was far from won.

One night, unable to sleep, Mark returned to the grave. He stood before the stone, whispering a silent apology for disturbing its rest. He didn't know what he expected, but as he turned to leave, a sudden gust of wind extinguished the candle he had brought. He looked back to see the ghostly figure standing before him, its eyes no longer white orbs, but filled with a sadness that seemed to reach across the void.

For a moment, Mark felt a strange kinship with the spirit. It had been trapped, seeking resolution for centuries. Perhaps there was more to this haunting than mere vengeance. With a heavy heart, he promised to find a way to help it find peace.

And so, the real journey began. The story of Mark and the vengeful spirit was far from over. It was now a quest for understanding, for redemption, and for the peace of a soul long forgotten