The Possessed

by Kirk Kilgrave

  Before I could thank her for her kind words, she walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, “I’ll distract God, so He won’t see you taking another sip from your glass. Better hurry, though, I’m not sure how long I can hold Him off.”

  I reached out and took her hand just to feel closer to her since we so rarely spoke so intimately. I cleared my throat and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Love you, Noelle.”

  “Me too.” Just as she was about to leave, she pointed to the wall beside me. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard some pounding from that wall. I pulled the washer and dryer away from the wall, but it’s still making the same thumping sounds.”

  “Okay, I’ll take a look.” Because I’d been so busy lately, I hadn’t heard the noise Noelle had mentioned.

  In the past, Noelle had thrown all sorts of things into the dryer: shoes, baseball hats, a windbreaker with a tennis ball in the pocket. In short, she often dried things that didn’t ordinarily belong in there, so I suspected she’d added another heavy object that made the dryer rumble, and if the dryer were too close to the wall, it would no doubt bang against it.

  I entered the laundry room and flicked on the light. As I suspected, the washer/dryer combo was pressed against the wall. Yet, Noelle just said she’d pulled it away from the wall. Then again, when Lilah drank more than usual, she often knocked things over, her liquor glass being the main object, since she always had it within arms’ reach. What if she’d spilled liquor on her clothes or onto a blanket? In that case, she may have accidentally bumped into the unit, forcing it against the wall.

  After using the washer and dryer, I always unplugged them to prevent them from sucking phantom energy from the outlet. As the primary breadwinner of our family, I was always looking for ways to reduce our bills. Both cords were still in the wall. Noelle knew better than to leave them in the socket, so I suspected Lilah had indeed used the unit after Noelle had last checked it.

  I unplugged the cords and shimmied the unit away from the wall. I was too exhausted to do a more thorough search. Besides, I could tackle that project tomorrow morning after a long night of rest.

  I returned to the kitchen, but just as I was about to head upstairs to bed, an unlikely scenario popped into my head: what if a rodent had been stuck between the walls?

  Would that even register a sound? Rodents usually scurried around, not banged into walls. Unless of course, there was an infestation, and they were cramped in such a tight spot that they trampled all over each other. The idea sickened me, but knowing that critters would seek shelter during the fall and winter, I couldn’t leave the laundry room after that idea snagged my mind.

  I turned around, went over to the wall, pressed my ear to it, and listened for any clawed feet skittering around.

  Nothing but silence. For at least thirty seconds. I pulled away and spun around.

  A hollow thump whacked the wall in the spot my ear had touched a moment earlier.

  Startled, I jumped back, my pulse ratcheting up to twice its normal speed. What could have made that sound? It didn’t sound like an army of rodents. Could a gigantic rat have pounded the wall with that much force? Doubtful but not impossible.

  I inspected the drywall for a bump or a dent, but I didn’t see the slightest indentation. I tried to get my heavy breathing under control and considered other possibilities before narrowing down the list to damaged pipes or an HVAC issue.

  Checking both would be time intensive. I prayed it was merely an HVAC issue. If so, I could fix it myself. Our house was over forty years old, and I hoped the issue didn’t stem from pipes that had outlived their lifespan. I barely knew the plumbing basics, so if there were a problem with the pipes, I’d need to hire a professional, and it would hit my bank account hard.

  Dreading the more expensive option, I checked the wall near my feet in both the kitchen and the laundry room, but a quick once-over didn’t indicate that the drywall was wet or moldy, so I doubted any flooding had occurred. I retraced my steps to listen once more for the sound to repeat itself. I set my ear in the exact spot the bang emanated.

  Please don’t make a sound. We can’t afford a major repair.

  I didn’t move for a few minutes and listened for water rushing through pipes, or if the heating system turned on and caused the noise, but I didn’t hear anything. Glad that the noise hadn’t resumed, I spun around and headed to the family room.

  Something heavy thudded against the wall once, twice in quick succession, sounding like someone had slammed a mallet against the surface.

  I jolted to a stop and spun around to face the kitchen wall, once more breathing heavily and now listening if Noelle or Lilah had used the toilet. I didn’t hear any sound on either floor. Likewise, the heating system hadn’t kicked into gear.

  So what had caused the noise? It sounded too loud, compact, and powerful to be a giant rat. In that case, wouldn’t I have heard feet clawing against drywall?

  My thoughts turned to the Ouija board. Goosebumps once more pebbled my skin. I’d broken the board. No one could contact the spirit world now. Besides, the air didn’t feel cold or thick, so I disregarded that thought. Just to bring closure, I snapped each side of the board again and tossed them in the trash.

  I wanted to stick around and identify the problem, but it was almost midnight and I’d strung together a few consecutive restless nights. I found it difficult to concentrate, and if I tried to do so and couldn’t pinpoint the problem, I’d end up getting angry and have a tough time falling asleep. I also didn’t want to do a more thorough check this late at night. All told, if the problem had existed for a day or two, and an emergency hadn’t already occurred, I could wait another day to look into it. At least I hoped so.

  I turned off the light and replayed the noise in my head. It sounded like something was inside the wall trying to break free…or get my attention.

  Once again, my mind returned to the Ouija board. What if…?

  I didn’t want to consider it, but my thoughts still veered in that direction. No, nothing was trying to contact me. It had the perfect opportunity to do so earlier when Lilah and Noelle were beside me, when we’d all placed our fingers on the planchette. If it was a spirit, it only responded after all three of us were present, so it would only make sense that it would try reaching out when we were together.

  But Noelle had heard the sound earlier. That relieved some of my anxiety, which could have wound me up because I was alone late at night. If I’d heard that sound during the afternoon, I’d probably have had a more subtle reaction.

  I stood in place, unable to breathe, unable to move, just staring at the wall, hoping it didn’t make another sound, praying the kitchen remained perfectly still. I stood there for a full minute, but not hearing anything, I finally managed to move my joints. And when I did, I bolted out of the kitchen, hurried up the stairs, and dashed into my room.

  I hurried past J.D., who gave me a lazy stare before resetting his chin on the rug beside my bed, and then leapt onto my mattress and hugged my blanket to my body. Now behind my bedroom door, where a third knocking in the wall downstairs couldn’t reach me, I felt safe and secure. Maybe it had something to do with John Doe lying next to my bed. Then again, if a spirit came after me, would J.D. even notice it, or would he look at me like I was nuts?

  Regardless, for the first time since we took J.D. home from the shelter, I didn’t snuggle with him before bed and wish him a good night. But speaking aloud would help me pretend if I didn’t speak, the sound wouldn’t return.

  Despite my fatigue, I stayed up for a couple more hours, worrying about whether Lilah or Noelle had indeed contacted something on the other side that had finally responded. Maybe it hadn’t pounded when they were beside me because…it wanted to communicate with only me.

  3

  The next morning, after getting a great night of sleep, I felt the mattress behind me sag as if someone had just joined me in bed. With sleepy eyes, I said, “Awww, J.D., it’s been forever since you cra
wled into bed.” I was surprised he’d managed to leap up considering he hadn’t been physically able to do it in about four months.

  The mattress shifted again as if he was trying to get into a comfortable position. The bed frame squeaked with the movement. The covers slid a few inches away from me.

  “You’re just a cuddle-bug, aren’t you?”

  The blanket eased away from me, possibly moving only a few centimeters every second.

  “Hey!” I clenched a fistful of fabric to keep him from taking any more. “Okay, you can’t hog all the covers.” Although I tried to pull the blanket my way, it wouldn’t budge.

  Wait a minute. J.D. couldn’t grasp hold of a blanket. He could paw it, push it, or pull it, but he couldn’t tug it toward him incrementally. A dog didn’t have that much control over its faculties.

  So if he hadn’t moved the blanket… “Very funny, Noelle.” My sister had preyed on my fear of the Ouija board and the possibility that a spirit had knocked down our family portrait. Pretty cruel joke. I let go of the blanket.

  It continued drawing in the opposite direction.

  Unhinged by this development, I craned my neck to look over my shoulder.

  The blanket stopped moving.

  John Doe was not on the bed behind me.

  In fact, he wasn’t even in the room with me.

  Air seeped out of my chest like someone had turned the knob on an oxygen tank, letting a steady stream slip out. I stayed in place for a long moment, my eyes widening to take in the area. “Noelle?”

  No response.

  I should have been able to hear her breathe or shift her knees against the floor if she were kneeling on the carpet. Perhaps she’d been lying down. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hear a sound. That slowed my heartbeat a little.

  “Stop it.” My voice came out squeaky and far from confident. I’m sure she loved spooking me. I could almost imagine her covering her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing.

  With no sound from around the bed, I looked to my right, but she wasn’t there.

  I squiggled free of the blanket, but I felt cold, so I grabbed it again and pulled it tight to my chest. I lifted myself off the mattress and peered over the foot of the bed.

  The area was vacant.

  I scanned my room for anything that may have moved my blanket. Nothing came to mind except...the invisible entity I’d believed had flicked the frame off the wall. The hair on the back of my neck lifted.

  I wished my boyfriend, Jake, was here. He’d laugh off the incident, probably saying I’d been so tired that I’d merely imagined the blanket had moved. Even if I’d consider the idea far-fetched, I’d have wanted to go along with it, which would have put me at ease.

  Eyes and ears perked for the slightest movement or sound, I waited for something to happen. Five seconds passed. Then ten.

  When I figured I could keep sitting there for another minute and not hear a sound, I jumped out of bed, hurried across my bedroom, and zipped through the hall, but I didn’t see Noelle in either the bathroom or in her bedroom.

  The sun was high in the sky, which meant she had left hours ago.

  Since my mother and J.D. were gone, I figured Lilah had splashed her esophagus with alcohol before taking him for a walk. Once she took a more serious dose of liquor, however, she turned into an ornery woman who found little to like about our dog. Once that happened, John Doe stopped trying to win her affection and found a spot in the house as far from her as possible.

  In the house all alone, but with light pouring in through the windows, some of my fear subsided. Still, I wondered if something had indeed visited us last night...and decided stick around.

  I couldn’t discount that possibility. But how could a ghost sit down on my bed, only to have the mattress sag? Granted, I didn’t know anything about spirits, but they were invisible and as such, didn’t weigh even one pound. So if that were true, what pressed its weight onto my bed? What peeled the blanket away from my body?

  To keep myself from freaking out at every sound in the house, whether it was the floors creaking under my feet or the house settling, I turned on the television and flipped through satellite music stations until “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees pumped through the speakers. Tapping my feet to the beat helped divert my attention from what had happened upstairs.

  But the echo of that incident remained in the background, similar to how computer users toggled between multiple windows. They might not pay attention to a file now, but it was always there in the background, waiting for them when they needed it. Only in this case, I didn’t want a reminder. I wanted the memory deleted from my intellectual hard drive. Forever.

  I hesitated before entering the kitchen, but ignoring the wall made it easier to feel comfortable. As other hits from the 1970s played in the family room, I ate breakfast without hearing even one thud from the wall and finally found the courage to perform a detailed check on the thumping from last night.

  I did some preventative maintenance on the heating system. Everything checked out okay, so I researched piping issues on the internet and followed up with a few measures that made it clear we didn’t need to replace them. Although it bothered me a little not to find a cause for the pounding in the wall, I’d need to wait until I heard the sound again, so I could analyze it and hopefully find out if it gave me an idea how I might fix it.

  That is…if there was anything to fix.

  After dealing with whatever had tugged on my blanket, I was disappointed in myself for wanting to call Jake. It made me feel weak, because really, what could he have done? Get angry and slam some doors to try to chase the entity away? It’s not as if the ghost had anything to fear: no one could see it.

  Despite that, discounting my family, Jake was the first person I wanted to tell about the disturbance, so I decided to surprise him in the offices reserved for the Department of History professors at the University of Illinois at Chicago. I’d chosen this moment to visit because I had a small window of time between the pair of history classes he taught this morning and afternoon.

  I swept through the open doorway of his office and shut the door behind me, hiding the grilled-cheese sandwich I’d bought for him behind my back, a gesture that, once unveiled, would elicit a smile before he’d devour the meal. I always enjoyed how he appreciated the little things in our relationship.

  “The craziest thing happened last night and this morning!” I said.

  “Craziness?” asked Professor Jake Tilburn, a thirty-year-old with a few days of dark stubble on his chin. He wore a white dress shirt under a sky blue cashmere sweater that prominently displayed his toned muscles and a pair of fitted, worn blue jeans that hugged his frame nicely. “There’s been a lot of that going around lately.”

  Since the beginning of the semester when we met, I thought he’d grow weary of my traditional values of waiting until marriage before consummating our relationship, but he’d surprised me by making it a non-issue. Since we were both mature for our respective ages, we made a good couple. I didn’t have much experience in the romance department, so I didn’t have past relationships to compare it to, and I wanted to take things slow.

  “I think my house is haunted,” I said.

  Jake, leaning back in his leather chair and crushing a blue stress ball in his right hand, placed his full attention on me. “Haunted, huh?” He set that firm jaw of his as though preparing for battle, still staring at me with dead eyes. “Good.”

  His detached manner and the stirring of a smile made it seem like he took pleasure from what I’d shared. A flicker of anger rose inside me. Either he wasn’t taking me seriously, or something was wrong. In the past, whenever I was upset, he would come around the desk, sit in front of me, and listen intently. This time, he didn’t even pretend to move. For that matter, he didn’t pretend to care.

  “What’s with the hostility?” I asked, thrown off by such an unexpected greeting.

  “Don’t come in here and act like nothing happened.” His eyes flic
ked to the door, his lip curling with aggravation. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  I hadn’t talked with him since yesterday morning, and he’d seemed happy and untroubled on the phone. What could have happened between then and now? I certainly hadn’t done anything that would have pissed him off so much.

  Jake glanced at the door again. “See that door behind you? Walk through it. Keep going. And don’t come back.”

  Upset yet frightened by his standoffish behavior, I said, “I seriously don’t know what you’re upset about, so why don’t you—”

  “The rape charge, Jocelyn, not that you’d forgotten already. Or have you? You’re obviously crazy.” He folded his arms across his chest, breathing heavy as though he’d just hiked up the steps to his office.

  “What?” I shouted, panicked by such a grave accusation. “I’d never accuse you of that.” What convinced him that I’d done otherwise?

  “Don’t bullshit me.” Crimson stretched up his neck until it hit his cheeks. He slammed the stress ball onto his desk, jumped to his feet, and stood behind his chair, his hands gripping the padding hard. “I was there. I heard it.”

  “That’s impossible. I haven’t seen you in two days. We last talked yesterday morning.”

  “So you’re saying I made all this up? That everyone else is wrong, not you?” Revolted, he shook his head. “Sorry, that’s impossible.”

  Had someone slipped a hallucinogen into his coffee? That would explain such a wild and baseless exaggeration. It pissed me off to no end that he believed I’d be capable of such a bullshit charge. Was he secretly looking for a way out of our relationship? Is that why he’d made up such a bogus claim? To dump me and act like a jerk so he could cut ties and move on?

  “I didn’t accuse you of rape, and you’re an asshole for thinking I did.”

  “You’re still going to deny it?” He shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Even when you stood in front of my class and accused me? Two hundred students saw you and heard everything. Some even recorded it on their fucking phones!”