The Possessed

by Kirk Kilgrave

  They straightened up and faced each other, expressionless. They nodded. My sister turned toward the stairs…

  Instinctively, I hurried away from the steps and rushed into my room to prevent her from catching sight of me. Once I closed my bedroom door, one question appeared at the forefront of my mind.

  Why was I so scared to let them know I’d been watching them?

  7

  Upstairs in my room, lying on the bed with my arms cradling my knees to my chest, I heard a knock on the door. Fearing Lilah would enter in a drunken stupor, appear good-naturedly, and try to get on my good side, I waited with bated breath, unsure whether I should say a word. In her state, she might forget that I’d been in the house, so if I stayed quiet, she might go away.

  The knocking continued.

  I stared at the door.

  “It’s me,” said Noelle in a hushed tone. “Can I come in?”

  The tightness in my chest constricted. “Yeah?” What had she and my mother talked about in that huddle? Did it have anything to do with me?

  Noelle opened the door quietly, slinked into the room, and shut the door gingerly. “I’m sorry about J.D. I asked a ton of our neighbors. No one’s seen him. What do we do next?”

  Tears instantly entered my eyes. Whenever sad, I sought comfort from J.D., and he never let me down. Hugging him, petting him, and kissing his head always made me feel better. But now…

  “Are you okay?” Noelle asked, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

  “Something weird is going on. First, things with Jake went…” I couldn’t swallow past the invisible ball in my throat, and the tears standing in my eyes spilled onto my cheeks. If anything, I needed those tears to fall. Unlike my mother and sister, I couldn’t ignore whatever darkness happened in my life. I needed to feel the melancholy, to wrap it around my shoulders like a cloak until I came out on the other side, healed but changed from the experience.

  “Plus the pounding in the wall,” I said. “And the rotten stench. Have you seen anything in the house since using the Ouija board?”

  “No. Do you think all that stuff is related?”

  “Don’t you? It can’t be a coincidence.”

  Noelle gave that some thought. “If Dad talked to us, he’d be a ghost, right? But he didn’t. Even if he did, why would he smell like decay? He’d visit in spirit, not in the flesh. So how does that relate? Plus, he can’t knock on the wall because he’d be an apparition.”

  She’d mirrored my thoughts. Maybe we weren’t dealing with a spirit. I’d need to do some research later and find out. “Has Mom been upset a lot lately?”

  Noelle crossed the room, removed the chair from my desk, and straddled it a few away from me, pensive. “Mom is…Lilah.”

  Hearing my sister acknowledge that simple but nefarious truth meant almost every vestige of my mother’s personality had been consumed by Lilah… the woman who sought fights, rather than tried to avoid them, the woman who sought to alleviate her suffering by drowning her sorrow in the bottle instead of facing them and moving on with her life.

  “Just like how you think I pretended to be you? Like how I said your boyfriend tried to rape you?”

  I couldn’t meet her gaze. No matter what Noelle said, she’d done those things. And despite the evidence, she wouldn’t accept responsibility for her actions. At the same time, I believed she was innocent of the crimes. Like my mother, it seemed Noelle’s temperament had cracked in half and a second personality, one centered on anger and retribution issued forth, only without her knowledge.

  My sister shrugged. “Is it possible you forgot to close the front door, and J.D. went through it?”

  “No. I’m very aware of him at all times. I’m there when he whines in the middle of the night because he needs to relieve himself. I’m there when he throws up because his stomach can’t break down food the way it used to. He was either hurt or afraid, and this time I wasn’t there for him.”

  “He had no reason to leave,” said Noelle, “unless…”

  “Lilah made him leave,” I said. More tears broke free of my lashes and cascaded down my cheeks.

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. John Doe is out there somewhere. This is nothing like what happened to Dad.”

  The sadness that skipped my feelings along the ground fractured upon hearing what Noelle had all but admitted. “Who said I feel guilty? I wasn’t there. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “True,” Noelle said, but she let the word drag out as though she had misgivings on the topic.

  “What? You blame me?” It felt like I’d turned my back, and she’d jammed a knife into it. “I wasn’t anywhere near Dad at the time. How could it be my fault?”

  Noelle wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  I grabbed her left arm and tugged her to force a response.

  “Ouch!” Cringing, she shifted away from me, drawing her arm back.

  “What’s wrong?” I let go of her, shocked that barely touching her had evoked such drama. It’s not as if I’d dug my fingernails into her skin.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “I don’t buy that.” I reached out to grasp hold of the same spot.

  Noelle jerked back her arm and grunted in anguish as if I’d touched her flesh. “I’m fine, okay? Just…” She got up and marched toward the door.

  I’d barely touched her. So what made her recoil? I sprang into action and slung myself in front of the door, preventing her from leaving. Noelle had been in abusive relationships before. Each time, I nursed her back to health.

  “You’re not leaving until you tell me what happened.” Noelle had always been very vocal about her romantic relationships, but she hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone of late, and I feared she might have just entered a new relationship.

  “It’s not a big deal.” Noelle reached for the doorknob.

  I blocked that attempt. “Tell me!”

  She placed both hands on her hips and notched her chin high.

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  She let out a heavy sigh and folded her arms across her chest. “Fine.” But she didn’t speak. She didn’t move either.

  I lunged forward, grabbed her shirtsleeve, and lifted it up to find a purple-blackish bruise a couple inches wide. I gasped. “What the hell is this?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked away, but when I didn’t speak, she met my gaze again. “What? I’m serious. I really don’t know. I woke up this morning, and there it was.”

  “You didn’t get trashed?” I asked. “And maybe bumped into a railing or something? Or maybe you took some kind of drug and—”

  “I smoke a little pot now and then. So what?” She pulled back her arm and covered the sleeve over her bruise. “Enough with the judgmental shit, all right? You know what? Fuck this. I’m outta here.” She grabbed my shoulder and pushed me aside.

  “Hey!” I regained my balance and turned toward her. As Noelle tried to get a hold of the doorknob, I threw myself back into position and knocked her hand aside. “Not until you tell me what happened? Did some guy do that to you? Who is he?”

  “There’s no guy, all right? I told you already. I don’t know how it happened. Now let me go.”

  I scrutinized her expression.

  Noelle winced as though frightened by the idea that she didn’t have an explanation. A moment later, as though aggravated by her uncertainty, she tossed a hand overhead in aggravation. “Whatever. It’s over anyway.” She started toward the door again.

  Unsure what she’d been going through, but sympathetic to her plight, I stepped aside.

  She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and swung it open before stepping through the threshold and leaving my room.

  A gust of the rotten smell whooshed into my room.

  I staggered back as though struck and turned away from it.

  Noelle didn’t look back as she made her way down the hallway. “Cunt,” she said, her voice lowering with each syllable.

  I vee
red toward her to determine if I’d heard right, but my sister didn’t even waver. She kept walking down the hall, through the disgusting scent, as though she hadn’t noticed that it brushed against every follicle of her body.

  Surely, I’d misheard her. We’d had plenty of nasty shouting matches during our teenage years, but she’d never called me such a derogatory term, nor had she said it in such a cool, detached tone. In the past, we’d screamed at each other. This was different. So different, in fact, that I returned to the possibility that something had affected Noelle’s behavior. Something she may have conjured last night while using the Ouija board.

  It had to be composed of matter. Otherwise, it couldn’t have pounded the wall, removed the blanket from my bed, or emitted such a putrid scent…if the latter emanated from a supernatural cause.

  Determined to identify the source of that scent, I left my room. The stench was still in the air, but it wasn’t as heavy as a minute ago. I walked through the hall and made my way down the steps, ignoring my mother’s sleeping form on the couch.

  When I reached the bottom floor, the odor seemed more prominent. Once again, I traced the scent to the kitchen and sniffed my way around the room like a dog, which of course, led me to thoughts of John Doe, so it took me some time to tamp down on reflecting on someone I’d loved so much and instead concentrated on the issue at hand.

  I spent the next ten minutes checking the kitchen: the fridge and freezer, the cupboards, the oven, and the drawers. The odor led me to the same wall that had issued pounding sounds last night. Once more, I opened the kitchen door, entered the garage, and inspected the drywall opposite that which the smell emanated from, but as before, I couldn’t detect anything unusual. I closed the door and turned around in hopes of discovering the hotbed.

  Noelle stood a couple of feet away, watching me.

  I jumped. “What the hell, Noelle!” I used that line often not only because it rhymed, but also because she frequently exasperated me. My heartbeat went double time, and I needed a moment to catch my breath.

  “Follow me.” Noelle turned, headed out of the kitchen, and started toward the stairs.

  I could have admonished her, but I didn’t want to wake up Lilah, so I followed her. When we entered her bedroom, it smelled as if Strawberry Shortcake had spent an hour passing gas in there: numerous candles were spread throughout the room, all with their wicks lit. A white vanity sat near her bed, dozens of various cosmetics lined up on the desk. Opposite her bed was a dresser with another mirror above it.

  “What did you call me earlier?” I asked. “You know, when you walked out of my room?”

  My sister squinted and shook her head as though waiting for more information.

  Seeing her act ignorant burned me up inside. “You called me a ‘cunt.’” I hated using that term, but I couldn’t sugar-coat the truth.

  Her eyebrows perked high into her forehead. “What?” She shook her head, and her hair swished across her face. “I’d never—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Noelle.” I watched her mouth drop open in apparent shock, and if I didn’t know better, I’d buy the act. But I’d heard her correctly. I invaded her personal space. “Don’t ever call me that again. Understood?”

  “But I didn’t say that. Honestly, Jocelyn, I’d never—”

  Seeing her lie to my face made me want to grab her arms and shake her until she got whiplash. But I clenched my teeth and held it together. Because we were sisters. And I loved her.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked, her nostrils flaring with irritation. “I’d never call you that.”

  I just stared at her, wishing Jake stood in her place. I needed someone to listen and understand, someone who wouldn’t just deflect everything I said. Tears entered my eyes.

  “Really?” Noelle asked, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “You blame me for calling you…that, and now you’re gonna cry?” She snorted as though offended. She lowered her brush and drew closer to the mirror to look for any facial defects. “I don’t get you. So emotional, I swear. Always crying.”

  “I won’t apologize for having feelings,” I said, my voice trembling a little because I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to swat her in the back of the head…or start sobbing. Sometimes I got more emotional when I was indecisive than when I wasn’t conflicted. I had no problem admitting to being overly emotional. “At least I don’t manufacture them like you do on the air…so viewers can feel like they know you. You’re always smiling, always in a good mood. But I know the truth. Sometimes you can be a real bitch.”

  “What?” Noelle swung in her seat toward me. “I’m not a liar. That’s why people like me.”

  “No, people like you because you’re confident and charismatic. But the few times I’ve seen tears in your eyes, it always looks like you’re acting.”

  Noelle stuck both hands onto her hips. “That’s so…” She frowned and sputtered for the right word to sum things up for her. “Sick!”

  “Quick, look in the mirror! See? That’s how you look. Phony. You should get a mirror app, so you can check your expression.”

  “They made one of those?” Her personality sparkled through the moroseness that had controlled her earlier. “I totally have to get that.”

  Had Noelle dismissed my accusation and feelings and turned to humor to get off the subject? It hurt that she didn’t care enough to admit the truth or even apologize. If an entity had been manipulating her thoughts and actions, it would explain why she couldn’t remember insulting me. If that were the case, did it have control of her now? Even contemplating that idea made me shiver. I studied her face, hoping to find a telltale sign.

  “Just an FYI,” she said, “I’d never call you that, okay? Even if we’d been arguing, I might call you a prime-time bitch or whatever, but I’d never call you a…well, just know that’ll never happen, all right?”

  I studied my sister’s unwavering eyes and firm jawline and once again, I couldn’t find any indication that she was lying. Had I just misheard her? Had she uttered something else under her breath? Maybe I’d imagined it because so much craziness had been happening lately that I’d been expecting more of the same.

  To get off the subject, I said, “I checked the house a couple times to find out more about the gross smell, and it seems to be coming from the kitchen.”

  “Where? The wall where I’d heard the pounding?”

  “Maybe. I couldn’t tell. Lilah thinks dead rats are to blame. I’m not so certain.”

  “Any theories?”

  “Not yet.”

  Noelle shrugged again with a blank expression, disinterested. “Okay.”

  I wanted to question her about the rape accusation, but my gut feeling told me that Noelle’s response wouldn’t change. I suspected that the authorities and school officials would soon contact me and inquire about the event. I tried to put that out of my mind, which of course made me wonder how Jake was coping. By now, the cops had probably interrogated him, and the university may have already suspended him, pending the investigation. It seemed we both had some scary situations going on in our lives, and both revolved around my sister.

  That had to mean something.

  “You’re thinking about your boyfriend, aren’t you?” she asked with downturned eyes, the kind that tried overly hard to fake sympathy.

  Now this person may have called me the c-word. Furious, I opened my mouth to sling a torrent of negativity her way, but I caught sight of a black mark on her upper right thigh, which startled me and turned my anger to concern. I got to my feet. “What happened?” I asked, pointing at the bruise. “Another one?” I approached her. “What’s going on? Who’s hurting you?” Noelle immediately pushed down her nightgown to prevent me from getting a better look. “It’s nothing. You’re being dramatic. That’s my job, remember?” She smiled as if what I’d seen wasn’t worth any extra attention.

  Looking further, I saw just that: beneath her slip, a black bruise covered at least three inches of her fles
h. “Who did this? Tell me, dammit!”

  “A guy I’ve been seeing.”

  “You told me that ended.” Rather, she inferred it.

  “It’s kind of an on-again, off-again thing. Once in a while, we’re on for a week, break up for a few hours, and then we’re back at it again. Other times, we’re on for a day and then off for a week. It happens so much, I sometimes forget when we’re supposed to be together or not. Either way, the make-up sex is sooo worth it.”

  “Sounds tantalizing,” I said sarcastically.

  “Anyway, he likes to suck me. All over. He sucks me so hard, it leaves a hickie. It’s kinda played out. It’s one of the reasons we break up so much.”

  That was a new one. Everyone had their perversions, I guess, so I shouldn’t judge them.

  “Not everyone is a prude like you, Jocelyn.” She chuckled with abhorrence. “Wanting to wait until marriage before having sex? Give me a break! What if it’s a disaster? What then? You’re stuck with some guy who doesn’t know how to make you feel good.” She looked at me for a long moment. “Have you ever felt good, Jocelyn? Have you ever touched yourself in your deep, dark, secret place?”

  Whoa! Where had that come from? “I’m not a prude.”

  “Not now that you’ve got a boyfriend.” Her face twisted into a confused expression. “Wait, are you still together?”

  “I don’t know.” I hated that he’d gone nuclear before giving me a chance to digest what he’d said, but I’d also withheld information about my family, so we obviously had our flaws. Still, I can’t imagine what it felt like to be accused of such a twisted act in public that could destroy his career, and I hoped he’d cool down and let me give him my side of the story.

  “But you had to have touched it, right?”

  I wouldn’t meet her eyes. I felt like a teenager again. When Noelle had begun dating, she had never brought up the topic with me because I rarely had more than a few dates with any particular guy before one of us called it off. And since I didn’t have enough experience to relate to her on the topic of guys, I got the impression she kept the subject off-limits because she didn’t want to make me feel awkward. But even now, after having been in a relationship with Jake for three months, I still felt incredibly awkward about discussing love and sex with her.