A young priest was sent to perform an exorcism on the edge of a small village.

The village was surrounded by a large marsh, one which the townsfolk claimed to be possessed by spirits of the dead.

While many within the tiny village were deeply religious, a young woman by the name of Annabelle DuPree was known for her deep mysticism. She was often seen wandering the banks of the deep marsh barefoot, in some form of intense trance. She rarely was seen in town, but when she did appear she was recognized instantly by her flowing fiery locks. The town feared her, and long kept there distance.

One morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, a ragged old farmer tending his livestock caught a glimpse of the young girl sitting on the banks. Her small arms were wrapped around her bare legs. She was completely nude, and her pale silky skin was riddled with deep scratches and dark bruises. She stuttered and shaked, mumbling inaudibly. The farmed cautiously walked towards her. He knelt down and began trying to communicate with her. As he did, young girl slowly turned her head towards him. He was shocked to see her skin cracking as she did, as if made of porcelain. She stared intently into his eyes, as she did she raised her hands to her face, just below her eyelids to be exact, and began scratching at her face, leaving long streaks of blood running down it.

The priest entered the small cabin to find young Annabelle tied to her bed with a several ropes, one at her feet, one at her stomach, and one at her neck, just tight enough to keep her from moving. Those who restrained her had forgotten to bind her hands, thus the ropes showed signs of fraying as she had tried to tear them away.

The young priest opened a large wooden box, bruised and chipped with age. In it lay an assortment of items of use in these sort of things. All of course were simply educated guesses, considering the fact that the exorcism of a demon had never been performed at this point. Demonic possessions were the stuff of legends in those days, only mentioned in biblical times as ever happening. Ultimately the priest was left to his own devices with this one.

He walked over to the young woman, who had by this point lost much blood, almost as if it were pouring from her pores. He took note that the young woman had lost all control of bodily functions; she twitched and jerked constantly, and had defecated herself. Her body contorted in disturbing ways, her neck seemed to have been broken, yet the young girl did not seem phased. The young man hesitantly crept closer, finally settling down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes settled on his, and the priest was shocked to see her eyes light up and her mouth twist into a hideous crooked grin. A toothless grin. Nerves protruded from her gums in awkward directions. He also noticed that her skin had been cracking, leaving chips to litter the bed and floor, leaving flesh exposed. The flesh had long been drying, turning a greyish-brown color.

The priest by this point was in complete and utter shock, barely getting the religious rites out of his mouth. He tried everything to exorcise the spirit which consumed her, much to no avail. It was nearly midnight before he lost all hope and collapsed into a chair in the corner of the small bedroom. He held his head in his hands.

A strained whistle came from young Annabelle's sadistic grin.

The priest slowly raised his eyes to the girl, twisted beyond normal capacity, what left of her skin nearly chipped away. The room stunk of death and decay. Her eyes were nearly popping out her skull. They were yellowed and constantly wandered in strange directions. Her fleshy form was covered in long tears as she continued to dig her nails deeply into her form, sometimes reaching bone.

She seemed to be laughing. It was subtle at first, but it grew. Grew into sick maniacal laughter. Hideous, evil, long, sadistic laughter.

The young priest cringed and held his hands tightly against his head. He twisted and squirmed, digging his feet into the wooden floor boards. Oh how she laughed! She cackled, hoarse and dry. Cackled. Screeched. Saliva poured form her lips. Laughter. Laughter. LAUGHTER.

The young man cringed. "Stop it! Stop it!"

"Please! Stop, I ask of you!




He jumped from his chair and grabbed the first thing he saw and began to stab



Blood poured from her body, sometimes shooting out in spurts like geysers. Yet she still laughed. Oh how that evil woman laughed!



He dug the object deep into her flesh. But she continued. She cackled and cackled.



The young priest had by this point stopped thinking of what he was doing and just kept stabbing. He couldn't stop. It soothed him. A smile spread across his face. He loved it.

Eventually the sick smile which had long tormented him had faded, and the young woman's head slumped into the pillows. Her lips had relaxed into a deep frown. Her eyes remained wide, and it too several minutes before they stopped wandering. The young man released his weapon and collapsed to the floor.

The townspeople buried the young man several days following. They mourned his loss for many weeks following. The whole town was in a state of gloom. But something puzzled them. They tried to forget it, but such a sick, disturbing thing is hard to forget.

That grin.

That disturbing, twisted grin.

That grin he wore.

That evil, sadistic grin.Template:Sort