Possession
The priest had told me that I could do this because God had chosen me. Sometimes I blamed the Other Guy.
Third floor, Father Joe had told me. First room to the left of the landing.
The inside of the house looked like old people smell, but it was a beauty. I’d worked as an architect before the accident, so I could appreciate the old craftsmanship that went into these places.
When I wasn’t doing my new gig.
Some yuppies had moved in to start renovating the place, which was when the situation turned sour. The living do tend to stir up shit. A red scarf dangled from the banister; I stepped over one then a second black ankle boot. The former residents had left behind their scents, too – cherry pipe tobacco and a real sugary, girly flower perfume.
“Bet she bitches at him about the pipe.” I felt a lot colder; the temperature seemed to drop with every step I took. I’d done a couple dozen of these houses already, but this one felt major. “When she’s not spending three hours in the bathroom.”
My voice sounded braver than I felt.
By the time I reached the third floor, my face felt stiff and my nose and ears were numb. First room to the left of the landing had a pale pink door with a white bulb-shaped knob. Someone had hand painted rosebuds on the wood, back when people actually cared about stuff like that.
“Shit.” It was so cold now it hurt to breathe in, but there was something behind the cold. “It’s a kid. He could have told me that.”
The priest wasn’t big on details. He was usually too busy praying and shaking holy water on my head. Kids were bad, but at least it wasn’t a baby. Babies were the worst.
“Okay.” I put my hand on the cold porcelain knob and pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked like stoned mice. “Showtime.”
What I saw inside wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else. There were two rooms in the same space. One was dark and cobwebby and cluttered with old junk; the other was bright and clean and filled with toys. Images from each overlapped, but the ugly room looked more solid.
The ugly room was also real, and empty. The pretty one wasn’t.
In the prettier, brighter room, a young girl sat on the floor in front of a huge dollhouse. She wore a funny white dress and big green satin bows in her hair. Cute little thing.
Please don’t be what I think you are.
She looked at me and grinned. “Hello.”
“Hey, sweetie.” I forced a smile back at her. So far, so good. “What’s your name?”
“Agnes.” She got up from the floor and shook out her skirt, which was puffed out almost like a tutu by all the petticoats she wore beneath it. “Have you come to play with me?”
“No. I’m the cleaning lady.” That was the simplest explanation. “It’s time for you to leave here, Agnes.” I always tried to be nice to the kids – they really didn’t deserve this crap.
She gave me a what are you, stupid? look. “But I live here.”
She was arguing. It was never good when they argued. Or easy.
“Not anymore.” The sweat above my upper lip turned to little beads of ice. “Don’t you want to see your Mama and Papa?” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, and I bet they really miss you.”
“They don’t miss me. They didn’t even like me.” She covered her mouth and coughed. “I’m too sick all the time. See?” She showed me her hand, and the clots of blood staining it.
So she had a grudge. Hell, I would have too, if I’d had some crappy lung disease.
“I’m sorry, honey.” And I was, even as I took the holy water and the cross I’d had blessed from my jacket pocket. “But you can’t stay here anymore.”
Circa 2010, Possession is another of my old unfinished stories. I remember setting it aside because I wasn't sure how I wanted to handle the religious angle (and now I'm glad I did; I'd already ticked off a lot of Catholics with some aspects of Darkyn.) Possession is Idea #9.
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