Chapter Two: The Possessed Volunteer Darkness, like thick ink, completely enveloped Elias. The extinguishing of his phone flashlight wasn't accidental, but rather the result of some unseen force devouring him—he could feel the cloying sweetness in the air growing stronger, mixed with the stench of decaying wood from the sarcophagus, like a pair of cold hands covering his mouth and nose, making breathing difficult. The sound of the sarcophagus moving was dull and slow, "creak, creak," like bones grinding together, coming from the depths of the basement, growing closer. A woman's whisper, like silken threads, wrapped around him, gentle yet irresistibly alluring, piercing his eardrums and reaching his mind: "Don't be afraid... I've waited for you for a long time, a hundred years..." Elias's back pressed against the cold stone door, his fingertips gripping the briefcase handle tightly, his nails almost digging into his palms. He could feel the black forbidden book inside the bag burning hot, pulsating as if alive, perfectly synchronized with the frequency of the whisper. The warnings in Samuel's diary exploded in his mind: "Never trust footsteps in the dead of night," "Those who touch the forbidden book will become vessels"—he now understood that this "vessel" was not simply possession, but a complete annihilation where the soul was devoured and the body occupied.

"Who are you?" He forced back the trembling in his throat, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping.

"I am Isabella," a whispered laugh rippled through the air, carrying the acrid smell of burning at the stake and the salty taste of tears, "Formerly Lady Grey, now... the Cursed." The sound of the sarcophagus shifting stopped not far away. In the darkness, a pair of pure black eyes slowly opened, without a trace of white, glowing with an eerie green light in the absolute darkness, like two clusters of will-o'-the-wisps. “Samuel thought he could trap me with witchcraft, the Puritans thought they could torment me with curses, but they were both wrong. The power of the Forbidden Book far exceeded their imagination; it allowed me to survive in the darkness, waiting for a suitable vessel to be reborn.” Elias’s heart pounded. He instinctively stepped back, only to find that the stone door had closed sometime earlier, trapping him in the basement. The ground beneath his feet grew increasingly sticky. He bent down and felt around, his fingertips touching a warm liquid. By the eerie green light, he saw that it was dark red blood, slowly spreading from the direction of the sarcophagus, like a living snake coiling towards his ankle. “You touched my book,” Isabella’s figure gradually solidified in the darkness. She wore a 19th-century white dress, the hem stained with charred marks, her skin as pale as paper, her lips as red as blood—exactly the image of someone burned at the stake as described in the diary. “Your soul has a thirst for truth, an anger at betrayal, so similar to mine… You will be the perfect vessel.” She reached out, her pale fingers carrying an icy chill, towards Elias’s brow. Just as her fingertips were about to touch his skin, Elias suddenly remembered Samuel’s diary in his briefcase. Almost instinctively, he pulled the diary from his bag and hurled it at her. The diary struck Isabella’s face with a dull thud, like hitting cotton. But the expected penetration did not occur—Isabella’s figure twisted violently, emitting a sharp scream, a scream that was not human, but rather the combined wails of countless souls. The charred marks on her body became more pronounced, as if she had been scorched by flames again, and her eerie green eyes were filled with pain and rage: "Samuel's handwriting... His obsession remains!" Taking advantage of Isabella's painful struggle, Elias groped his way towards the stone door. He could feel the chill behind him growing stronger, his hair being pulled by an invisible hand, and Isabella's curses echoing in his ears: "You can't escape! As long as you still have my book, as long as you're still in this library, you'll always be my prey!" He frantically turned the keyhole of the stone door, the symbols and badges on the keychain gleaming faintly in the darkness. With a "click," the stone door opened, and the mist outside rushed in like a tide, carrying a sliver of moonlight. Elias practically tumbled out of the basement, turned around and slammed the stone door shut, his back pressed against the door, panting heavily, cold sweat soaking his shirt, sticking stickily to his skin. In the library's hall, the fog was thicker than at dusk. Moonlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor like broken faces. Elias slumped to the floor, staring at the stone door to the basement, as if he could see a pair of eerie green eyes behind it, fixed intently on him. The forbidden book in his briefcase had cooled, no longer hot, but felt like a heavy stone, suffocating him. Just then, the library door was suddenly blown open by the wind, creaking open the silence. The fog surged in, carrying a familiar figure—Claire. She stood in the doorway, her once-tied ponytail now loose, her long hair disheveled and draped over her shoulders, a stain of unknown origin on her white T-shirt. Her face lacked its usual sunny smile; her eyes were empty, but a strange curve played at the corners of her lips, exactly like Isabella in the basement. “Director Thorne,” Claire’s voice turned cold and hoarse, no longer the clear, youthful tone, but carrying the unique, century-old vicissitudes of Isabella, “Why are you running? Our game isn’t over yet.” Elias abruptly stood up, his heart clenching as if gripped by an invisible hand. He could feel that Isabella’s soul now resided within Claire’s body—he had escaped, but pushed an innocent girl into the abyss. “Isabella,” he gritted his teeth, his voice filled with anger and helplessness, “Let her go! Come at me if you dare!” Claire slowly walked into the hall, her steps light, as if dancing, each step landing on dappled moonlight. "Let her go?" She chuckled, a sharp, piercing laugh. "The Puritans didn't let me go back then, neither did Samuel. Now, it's my turn to choose." Her gaze fell on Elias's briefcase, her eyes greedy and burning. "That book contains the method to completely free me. As long as I occupy the right vessel, find the sacred relic and the covenant, I can break the curse and leave this cage forever." "The sacred relic you're talking about, is it the Native American relic looted by the Puritans?" Elias pressed, trying to buy time, his mind racing, searching for a solution. Claire's eyes instantly turned icy: "That's right. Those hypocritical Puritans, under the guise of God, plundered the land and sacred objects of the Indians, and even slandered me as a witch. They didn't know that the sacred object possessed the power to purify souls, the key to breaking the curse. Unfortunately, they hid it; Samuel never found it before he died." Just then, hurried footsteps came down the stairs, and Martha ran down carrying a kerosene lamp, her face as pale as paper, the silver bracelet on her wrist gleaming intensely in the lamplight. "Isabella!" she shouted, her voice resolute, "If you dare touch this girl, I'll destroy your forbidden book!" Martha's appearance made Claire's body tremble violently, as if suppressed by some force. She staggered back a step, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “The descendants of the Grey family…” she gritted her teeth, “Samuel’s obsession continues in you. That bracelet, he forged it with his own blood, didn’t he? Used to suppress my power, how laughable.” Elias then noticed that Martha’s bracelet’s silver light intensified as it approached Claire, while Claire’s figure became somewhat transparent, as if it might dissipate at any moment. He suddenly realized that this bracelet was not an ordinary family heirloom, but the key to restraining Isabella. “This isn’t obsession, it’s atonement.” Martha walked step by step towards Claire, the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp illuminating the wrinkles and determination on her face. “Samuel sealed you with forbidden witchcraft to protect you, and to protect many others. He knew that once you completely lost control, the consequences would be unimaginable. Our Grey family has guarded this library for generations to prevent the curse from spreading and to find a way to lift it.”

“Atonement?” Claire laughed wildly, her laughter filled with despair. “Locking me in a dark basement, making me watch innocent people become my vessels, is that atonement? Samuel is a coward! He didn’t dare to confront the Puritans, so he could only hide me away, making me suffer eternal torment!” Her emotions grew increasingly agitated, her aura becoming violent. The bookshelves in the hall began to shake violently, books falling with a clattering sound. Martha’s expression changed. She quickly pulled a small copper symbol from her pocket, identical to the one on the keychain, and hurled it at Claire. A silver streak of bronze light flashed through the air, striking Claire precisely in the chest.

"Ah!" Claire let out a piercing scream, her body convulsing violently, as if two forces were tearing at her from within. Her eyes glazed over, then regained their clarity, her words broken and fragmented: "Save me... Curator Thorne... Save me..." It was Claire's own voice, filled with boundless fear and despair.

"Hold on, Claire!" Elias tried to step forward, but Martha stopped him.

"Don't go!" Martha's voice was urgent. "Isabella's soul is fighting for control of her body. Getting close now will only result in being affected by her power. My bronze amulet can only temporarily suppress her. We must find the sacred object and the contract as soon as possible, otherwise Claire won't last much longer." Claire's convulsions gradually stopped. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, her eyes regaining some clarity, but still tinged with an eerie blackness. “I… I just saw… fire… so much fire…” she said weakly, her voice trembling. “There was a woman, she kept talking in my head, asking me to find her a book, to find a stone…”

“That’s Isabella’s memory, and also her goal.” Martha crouched down, took the silver bracelet from her wrist, and gently placed it on Claire’s wrist. The bracelet emitted a strong silver light the moment it touched Claire’s skin, and Claire’s complexion instantly improved, the darkness in her eyes fading. “This bracelet can temporarily protect her soul, preventing it from being completely devoured by Isabella. But this is only a temporary measure; we must find the sacred object and the contract before the full moon.”

“Full moon?” Elias pressed. “Samuel’s diary should mention it,” Martha stood up, glancing at Elias’s briefcase. “The Puritan curse will reach its peak on the night of the full moon. At that time, Isabella’s power will break free of its seal and completely take over Claire’s body. Then no one will be able to stop her. Today is the thirteenth of the lunar month; we only have three days.” Elias immediately pulled Samuel’s diary from his briefcase and quickly began to read it. Sure enough, on one of the pages, Samuel wrote: "On the night of the full moon, the yin energy is at its strongest, the power of the curse awakens, and the seal becomes weak. Only by finding the Native American sacred object 'Moonstone' and the Puritan's covenant, and using the blood of a blood relative as a catalyst, can the soul be purified and the curse lifted."

"Blood relative's blood?" Elias looked at Martha. "You are a descendant of the Grey family, that is, Samuel's blood relative?" Martha nodded, a heavy look in her eyes: "Yes. My mother also tried to lift the curse, but failed, becoming a living dead, imprisoned by me in the attic. Her body is still alive, but her soul has been corrupted by Isabella's power, leaving only instinctive struggles." This news shocked Elias: "The living dead in the attic? The one you mentioned before..."

"That's right." Martha sighed. “I haven’t told you yet because I was afraid you’d be scared, and even more afraid you’d give up. But now, we have no way out. Claire is possessed, the seal on the basement is weakening, and Isabella’s power is growing stronger. We must act quickly.” She walked to the stone door to the basement, stroking the twisted symbols on it, her voice low and somber: “Lina, who disappeared forty years ago, like you, touched the forbidden book and was possessed by Isabella. She tried to find the sacred object and the contract, but failed. In the end, her soul was completely devoured, turning her into Isabella’s puppet, forever trapped in the library. Sometimes, I can see her figure in the dead of night, wandering among the bookshelves, searching for something she can never find.” Elias remembered the “crying in the dead of night” Claire had mentioned, and a chill ran through him. He looked at Claire, slumped on the floor, then at the heavy stone door, and suddenly realized that this curse spanning centuries had bound them all together. He was no longer a mere escapist, but a participant who had to take responsibility. "Where are the relics and the contract?" Elias's eyes hardened. "We need clues." Martha pulled a yellowed map from her pocket and spread it on the front desk. The map outlined the town of Arcadia, marking locations such as the library, town hall, and church, as well as an area circled in red, located deep in the forest outside the town. “This is a map left by Samuel. The red circle should mark the location where the relic is hidden. After the Puritans looted it, they hid it in an abandoned chapel in the forest. As for the contract, it's likely in the hands of the Hamilton family—the descendants of the Puritan leader who tried my great-grandmother Isabella. They've lived in town for generations and possess many unknown secrets.”

“The Hamilton family?” Elias recalled some rumors from the town. “I heard they're wealthy gentry in Arcadia, controlling many of the town's businesses.”

“Yes.” Martha's eyes became complicated. “They've always avoided the library, yet they've secretly been monitoring it. I suspect they're also searching for the relic and the contract, wanting to completely destroy Isabella's soul and eliminate any future trouble. After all, Isabella's existence is the biggest stain on their family history.” Just then, Claire suddenly looked up, the blackness in her eyes reappearing, and a strange smile curled at the corner of her lips. Her voice turned cold and hoarse, reverting to Isabella's tone: "You think this will stop me? The Hamilton family will be coming for you soon, and they're more ruthless than you imagine. And Lina will help me find you..." Before she could finish, the silver bracelet on her wrist suddenly emitted a bright silver light. Claire let out a painful groan, her eyes regaining their clarity, and she collapsed to the ground again.

"She's warning us, threatening us," Martha said gravely. "The Hamilton family won't stand idly by while we find the relic; they'll likely strike first. And Lina's ghost is completely controlled by Isabella; she'll become her eyes and ears." Elias looked at the thick fog outside the window, listening to the faint howls of wolves coming from the distant forest, and knew that the next three days would be a battle of life and death. They not only had to fight Isabella's curse and guard against the Hamilton family's obstruction, but also find the relic and the covenant before the full moon to save Claire and the cursed library. He gripped Samuel's diary tightly; the forbidden book in his briefcase seemed to heat up again, as if responding to some distant power. Behind the stone door to the basement, Isabella's whispers still faintly echoed, while in the attic, the undead figure of Martha's mother was weakly howling through the door. The autumn fog in Arcadia seemed thicker than ever, concealing all secrets and dangers in this pitch-black darkness.

Book Title: Forbidden Library Chapter 1 The Shadow of the Greystone Library The autumn fog in Massachusetts, like a shroud soaked in a century of tears, enveloped the town of Arcadia. When Elias Thorne parked his rented blue pickup truck in front of the Greystone Library, the fog had already reached the tires. The Victorian spires loomed in the fog, appearing as blurry black shadows, like rusted nails driven into this land steeped in Puritan history. He tugged at his crumpled Oxford shirt; the termination notice in his briefcase still smelled of disinfectant from the Boston University administration building. Three months earlier, he had been accused of academic misconduct for questioning the "Puritan Colonial History Research Project," and had fallen from a literature professor to unemployed. This position as librarian in this remote town was his escape from the hustle and bustle, and his only chance to get close to the Puritan secrets obscured by mainstream history. The raven relief on the brass door knocker was chillingly cold. The moment the door was pushed open, a mingled odor of musty paper, cedar, and a faint smell of rust assaulted the senses. The hall was astonishingly empty; dusty crystal chandeliers cast dim light, and the shadows between the bookshelves, reaching to the ceiling, were deep and unfathomable, as if harboring countless watching eyes. Behind the counter, an old woman's withered fingers tapped on the ledgers, the monotonous, eerie "tap, tap" sound like a woodpecker pecking at rotten wood.

"Mr. Thorne?" The old woman looked up, her gold-rimmed glasses slipping down to the tip of her nose, her cloudy yet sharp eyes piercing through his dejected appearance. "I am Martha Petronette, and I have worked here for fifty years." She wore a faded blue shirt with a brass badge pinned to the collar—a tangled tapestry of intertwined vines and crosses, its edges thorny. “The former librarian died of a sudden heart attack, leaving behind only this set of keys and a warning: Keep an eye on the first and second floors, don’t touch the basement.” Elias took the keychain, three badges pressing against his palm: a book, a quill pen, and the twisted symbol. His gaze swept over the old black-and-white photograph on the wall, taken in 1897 when the library was completed. The man at the head of the group had a sinister look in his eyes, and the badge on his chest matched the symbol on the keychain perfectly. The nameplate read: Librarian Samuel Gray. “What happened to the basement?” he asked. Martha’s tapping stopped abruptly, her knuckles white from gripping the ledger tightly. “It was nailed shut with steel bars forty years ago. The former librarian said the things inside would eat people.” Her tone was as calm as stating the weather, yet it sent a chill down Elias’s spine. Mist seeped in through the window, condensing into tiny droplets on the floor, flowing down the wood grain like the footprints of some creature. Elias, carrying his briefcase, headed up to the second floor. The solid wood staircase creaked and groaned, as if something was wriggling beneath the planks. The reference section on the second floor was even darker; the stained-glass windows were obscured by fog, and patches of light fell on the yellowed spines of the books, like blurry faces. As his fingertips traced the Salem Witch Trials files and other books, he suddenly touched an unusual book—hidden between two Encyclopedia Britannica volumes. Its black leather cover was blank, and it felt warm, sticky, and grainy like animal skin. Pulling the book out, the brittle pages rustled as they turned, like the movement of insects or whispers in his ear. The first page, written in dark red ink, read: "Dedicated to those who dare to look into the abyss, may original sin be with you." The ink, like dried blood, exuded an eeriness. At that moment, light footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs, the crisp sound of satin high heels slowly ascending. Elias slammed the book shut, turning to find the misty stairwell deserted, save for the sound of the wind like suppressed sobs. He shoved the black book into his briefcase; as the zipper closed, he felt a slight vibration from the bottom, as if the book inside was struggling. The iron door at the far end of the second floor was rusty, the twisted symbol painted in red on the door panel, the paint cracked and peeling, dark red threads hanging from the edges. Elias hesitated for a moment, but ultimately succumbed to scholarly curiosity and the resentment of being dismissed, inserting the symbol-shaped key into the lock. A harsh "click" echoed as the lock opened. Beyond the door was a narrow corridor, the walls peeling away to reveal grayish-blue bricks covered with densely packed, identical symbols, like cursed inscriptions. The air was thick with the smells of dust, a faint stench of blood, and a cloying sweetness like rotting flowers. Each step on the decaying floor felt precarious, as if one might fall into darkness at any moment. The skylight at the end of the corridor was boarded up, letting in only a few slivers of light. On the central oak desk, beside a dusty kerosene lamp, lay a parchment-covered diary, titled "Samuel Gray's Diary," the handwriting neat yet trembling almost imperceptibly. The moment his fingertips touched the cover, a chill ran down his spine. He opened the first page; the handwriting for October 31, 1897, was messy and distorted, as if soaked with tears: "I locked her in the basement. The whispers finally disappeared, but the Puritan curse will not dissipate. They burned her body, but bound her soul with a spell. When the full moon illuminates the spire, when the forbidden book is opened again, she will return with the vengeance of the stake, devouring all who inquire." Elias's heart pounded. He continued reading; the handwriting grew increasingly chaotic, interspersed with the same witchcraft symbols carved into the wall. Scattered words like "Isabella," "witch," "contract," and "holy relic" were visible. One page read: "Isabella was accused of witchcraft by the Puritans because she could see spirits and communicate with nature. Fearing she would reveal the truth about the plundering of Indian relics, they cursed her at the stake: her soul would be forever trapped in the library, its vessel the one who touched the forbidden book, never to be reborn." He gripped his briefcase tightly—he had already touched that black book. Turning to the last page, the smeared ink was like a black hole, and a line of bright red writing below seemed to still be flowing: "Do not believe the fog, do not believe the mirror, do not believe the footsteps in the night—they are all bait for original sin." "Mr. Thorne?" Martha's flustered voice came from downstairs, "The volunteers are here." Elias closed the diary and stuffed it into his briefcase. As he closed the door, he vaguely heard a long sigh, and a cold breath brushed against the back of his neck. The fog in the corridor thickened, the symbols on the walls seemed to twist and writhe, and he heard footsteps behind him, synchronized with his own, but no one appeared. As he descended the stairs, the young receptionist illuminated the oppressive lobby like sunlight. "Hello! I'm Claire White, a high school student volunteer!" Her hand was warm and dry as she extended it. Elias noticed Martha staring intently at his briefcase, her eyes a complex mix of wariness and despair. A ray of sunlight pierced through the fog, illuminating the silver bracelet on Martha's wrist—engraved with the same twisted symbol.

"Ms. Petro, your bracelet is quite special!" Claire asked curiously. Martha's face paled instantly, and she stiffly walked towards the bookshelf: "Just a useless old thing." Her back was hunched, as if carrying a heavy burden. The afternoon passed quickly as Claire diligently organized her books, humming country music as she occasionally mentioned a local legend: "The old folks say the library is haunted. Forty years ago, a volunteer named Lena disappeared, and they say they can hear her crying at night." Elias seized the opportunity to press for details, and Claire lowered her voice: "She stayed at the library at night organizing books, and then she vanished. The police couldn't find any clues." While Claire was busy, Elias flipped through Samuel's diary. One page mentioned a "sealing ritual": he used the magic of a forbidden book to seal Isabella's soul in a sarcophagus in the basement. A hidden compartment beneath the sarcophagus held the key to breaking the curse, but only vague clues remained: "Blood must be paid for with blood, original sin must be redeemed, sacred objects and contracts are indispensable." As evening fell, the fog thickened, and darkness quickly descended. Claire packed her bag, her face filled with unease: "The fog is too thick; I have to go." Elias saw her to the door, watching her figure disappear into the dense fog. Martha emerged, carrying a lit kerosene lamp. "I'll lock the door," she said. "You get some rest. Remember, no matter what you hear tonight, don't come to the library again." Her warning was firm and unequivocal. She turned and hurried away, not daring to look back. Elias stood alone in the hall, the steam forming a film on the floor like a cold mirror. He picked up his keychain; the symbols and badges gleamed coldly in the lamplight. Martha's warning, the curse of the diary, the allure of the basement—they were intertwined in a web. He had to open the basement door, or he might become the next "container." He walked towards the basement entrance at the bottom of the stairs. The red paint on the door seemed damp, as if it had just solidified. Elias took a deep breath; the musty, bloody, and cloying smells in the air grew stronger. As the key turned in the lock, a sharp, piercing scream echoed from the depths, filled with endless pain and resentment. "Click," the lock opened. The darkness of the basement surged out like a tide, engulfing him. Elias switched on his phone's flashlight. In the flickering beam, he saw densely packed bookshelves, filled with ancient books bearing the same symbols. The ground beneath his feet was sticky and slippery, as if covered in decaying leaves. Suddenly, the flashlight went out, plunging him into complete darkness. From the darkness, he heard the heavy thud of a sarcophagus being moved, and a woman's soft yet alluring whisper, slowly drifting from the depths of the darkness: "Finally… someone has come."