The Possession

by Michael Rutger

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  The same voice, and now I recognized it. It was muffled, fuzzy, and coming from the side road I’d been looking down before. “Pierre?”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said. “Let me in, Nolan. Let’s talk.”

  Mist was starting to seep out into the main concourse now—pooling so thickly down the side road itself that it was almost black.

  Except…maybe it wasn’t mist.

  From the way I wanted to back away from it, even run—and from a tickle in the back of my throat—I was beginning to wonder if my brain already knew it was something else, the central deep mind that didn’t care what reality looked like but understood it had only one important job to do. Protecting the body that held it.

  “Okay, Pierre,” I said. “Let’s talk.”

  I walked into the mist and within a few yards my eyes began to sting. I started to cough. I felt my arms twitching, and legs too—as if trying to push away from something. A sudden, visceral fear.

  And then I blinked and found myself lying propped up in the storage room in Olsen’s.

  Something was thumping against the floor, from beneath.

  And the place was on fire.

  Chapter

  58

  Those two impressions came straight at me—rapidly followed by awareness of the fact that Ken was propped up alongside me, Molly and Val sprawled out in front, Kristy out in the corridor, like a bizarre slumber party.

  The transition was instantaneous, with an abruptness that might have made a lesser man pause. Okay, to be fair, I sat blinking for a few seconds, my mind literally hurting, before locking in.

  More thumping from the floor increased my focus—and there was enough light coming in from the small, high window to see Molly’s body was bouncing up and down as the hatch underneath her took heavy impacts from the other side.

  I crawled over. “Pierre?”

  “Nolan,” he said. “Seriously. Just let me in.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “To be honest—you’re sounding kind of weird.”

  His voice had an odd doubled quality. The fuzziness I’d heard came from the fact it sounded as if two voices were overlaid, one at least a tone higher than the other.

  “I set a fire,” he said, and this time it was even more clear. The higher voice was a little slower, finishing the word fire a beat after the one that sounded more like him. “It’s not big yet. But it will be. It will burn this place to the ground.”

  The light coming through that window wasn’t moonlight, I realized. “You set a fire in the cellar? Where you are?”

  “No, out front. I’m not dumb, Nolan. I know you all think I am. But I’m not.”

  “We don’t think you are,” I said. “You’re…a hugely valued member of the team. You know that.”

  “Without me,” the voice said, and this time the higher tone was clearly dominant, “he wouldn’t have noticed that you avoided the question. But I’m in him now, so he does. Let me in.”

  “Pierre—why do you want to get in here? Do you know?”

  “To kill you.”

  “Well, exactly. That was my fear. Though you did say before that you didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t,” Pierre said, suddenly sounding miserable, in the lower tone. “But I’m not just me anymore. And the thing inside wants to hurt you all very much.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s what it does.”

  “Can I talk to it?”

  “It hears.”

  “Listen,” I said. I could smell smoke more strongly now. “I genuinely don’t think Pierre’s dumb. Not to mention that he’s saved my life in the past and is one of the bravest and most good-hearted people I’ve ever met. So fuck you, demon. How about you stop making him do things he doesn’t want to—and get out of him and leave him alone?”

  Pierre’s throat laughed, but it wasn’t him. It was a bad, high-pitched laugh—the kind of laugh bad people make before doing very bad things. “I like it in here. It is wet and warm. Let us in.”

  “I’m really not going to do that.”

  A barrage of thumps—as he/it/they tried once more to force their way up through the hatch. Then it stopped, just as suddenly.

  “If you don’t,” the voice said. “I’ll hurt him.”

  “No you won’t. You just said you like it in there.”

  “Listen.”

  A hard thump against the underside of the hatch. A pause, then another. And one more.

  “Okay, so what?”

  “That wasn’t his fists,” the voice said. “It was his head.”

  “Pierre,” I shouted. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” Pierre’s real voice, but slurred and vague. “Maybe.”

  Something went skittering by in the corridor, trailing laughter. Creaks came from the walls, building in intensity, the kind of noises it might make if being gently squeezed in a giant fist. I realized that though the thing in the cellar wanted to come up here and get at us on its own account, it was working in concert with others. Keeping me occupied while they renewed their attack.

  A loud thud from the underside of the hatch.

  “He’s bleeding from his head now,” the voice said. It was sounding less and less like Pierre, and less like a sound, too. I was understanding what it meant, but not through words. “A lot. And don’t forget the fire.”

  If you have your people, they’re your people. You don’t throw anybody off the boat—especially if it’s not their fault—unless or until there’s no other option.

  I rolled Val off the hatch and pushed Molly off the other, while keeping my weight on it. The effort, and the smoke, made me cough my guts out, and I had to wait a moment before I could speak. “Can you hear what I’m doing?”

  “Moving bodies.”

  “A gesture of good faith. So now how about you go put out the fire, then I’ll let you in, and we can talk.”

  “There is no good faith. Only different color lies.”

  “I don’t have time to master demon rhetoric. The smoke is very thick in here now. I have no idea what you have in mind, but I’m assuming that it’s not getting in here to find five people already dead of asphyxiation.”

  Not all of the thickness in the atmosphere was smoke. There were things already inside the building, and I knew from being buffeted by them in the marketplace that they could interact physically. Unless it’d only felt that way because I was in a space conjured to deal with their nature, and out here they needed to be inside someone. I didn’t have time to work that out.

  I could feel my mind failing to cope, becoming confused, sliding sideways under the weight of the things in the building—the ones running along the floor like invisible rats, lurking in corners like dangerous chairs.

  “It’s up to you,” I said. “Put out the fire or you’re not coming in. I’ll open the door when you’ve done it.”

  “If you do not, I will tear Pierre’s skin off his face with his own hands.”

  “Just put out the fucking fire.”

  A pause. Then I heard Pierre letting go of the metal ladder and heading toward the exit to the cellar. Soon as I heard his feet heading upward on that, I rolled Val and Molly back onto the hatch and added Ken for good measure.

  I went into the corridor, stepping over Kristy. Her face was pale and her eyelids were twitching fast. It seemed like whatever she was into inside her mind was a lot worse than the others, and given what was happening to them, that didn’t seem like good news at all.

  The smoke was thicker out here. There were faces in the floor and walls. My head was pounding. I staggered through the restaurant to the door. Yanked at one of the planks nailed across the glass, getting a hand full of splinters in the process.

  I couldn’t move it far, but enough to see through the gap that Pierre was out there robotically stamping on something. He looked like a puppet being worked
on strings.

  My stomach was cramping. Smoke or fear. Couldn’t tell, didn’t matter—the effect was the same and it needed to stop. Even if Pierre/the thing truly put out the fire, the smoke wasn’t going to disappear immediately, and without fresh air in here very soon we were all going to die.

  I kicked at the lock on the door. Kicked at it again. The third blow started the damp, semi-rotten frame splintering, but it was still pretty solid.

  I leaned to the side to give vent to another gut-wrenching bout of coughing. By the time I’d finished there were stars in my eyes. “Pierre,” I shouted. It was more of a rasp. “You’re going to have to help.”

  There was a near-immediate crash from the other side of the door. Then another. The frame splintered. I wondered why the thing inside Pierre hadn’t thought to try this before, instead of coming in through the cellar. Maybe demons just aren’t that smart. Or maybe it was hard for them to break through walls. Any kind of walls. Maybe they needed human help. Maybe that was how all this started.

  Another kick. It was close to breaking now. There was something I had to try first. “Hey Pierre,” I said. The sparkling in my eyes wasn’t from the coughing anymore. I was close to sliding over again, close to blowing out.

  A couple of the planks broke, and the glass shattered. Crash—the door flew open. Pierre stood outside. His upper lip and chin were covered in blood. There was a deep gash across his forehead. “What?”

  “Remember rowing down the Grand Canyon?”

  I took a step toward him. My legs felt wobbly and insecure. My vision was cutting in and out, either because of the things all around in the building, or the specific one now only a yard from me, inside my friend.

  Pierre’s eyes were cloudy. “Of course. What about it?”

  “Just checking. That was pretty cool.”

  I had no idea if my idea was going to work. It was all I had. I grabbed a shard of glass from the floor. “Remember that river. Picture it in your head.”

  The other voice from Pierre’s mouth, or in my mind. “What are you doing?”

  “Just talking. To Pierre. Nothing to do with you.”

  I put my arms around Pierre’s shoulders and pulled him close, pressing my forehead against his. “You and me, Pierre, and Molly and Ken. We’re a team. Right?”

  “Help me,” he whispered.

  “Come with me,” I said. “Let’s go find them.”

  Chapter

  59

  Then we were in the main street of Birchlake. We arrived in the echo of an enraged howl. Pierre pushed back from me, looking very confused.

  “What’s happening?”

  It was still grimy, stores closed, and mistier and darker. A few of the streetlights were working, but flickered badly, like strobes. There were a lot more people wandering around on the other side of the crossroads now.

  I could feel something sharp against my fingers. I focused on it. Kept the sensation in the front of my mind.

  “Hurry,” I said. I didn’t like the look of the crowd.

  Pierre was bewildered. “Hurry where? Where are we?”

  “Your body’s where it was. In Olsen’s. And there’s likely something still inside you there. But for now, you, the real Pierre, is here with me.”

  “What?”

  “Just go with it.” I walked fast down the street to the fountain. The huge cross was still in place, less rusty than before. The pool was full of stagnant water, and sickly looking liquid was leaking from the fountains. There were long splashes and smears of blood on the tiled road.

  The closer we got, the easier it became to hear low moaning sounds from the figures crowding into the next section of the street. Men, women, children. Shambling around, not looking at each other. Staggering as if in search of food.

  “Nolan…what the hell are those people?”

  “Did you ever see Ken’s movie The Undying Dead?”

  “No,” Pierre said. “He says it’s crap.”

  “It’s actually not. I mean sure, it’s a total rip-off of Dawn of the Dead, but it has its moments. I finally got around to watching it a couple weeks ago. And basically that’s where we are.”

  “We’re inside Ken’s head?”

  “No, thank God. But because I left, I think everything skewed more toward how he sees things. A mall. Danger. And so now zombies.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” As we got around the fountain area there was a discernable change in the atmosphere. One by one, the things lurching around the other side seemed to sense that something unlike them had entered the area.

  Heads were raised, sluggishly. A child on the left turned in our direction. How this felt in my head made me confident I was seeing another interpretation of the demon that had been trying to bite Ken and me before I left.

  I focused on my right hand. Didn’t look down at it, because I knew I wouldn’t see anything but my fingers—and this would deflate the sense of a realer world. I tightened my hand. It hurt, but that was good.

  “Uh, Nolan…”

  Pierre nodded toward the child. Its mouth was hanging open slackly now. Both eyes were dripping. It was slowly raising a hand to point at us.

  “Shit.” I realized that it wasn’t a wholly good thing that the figures were clustering on the right side of the street. They were at their thickest right outside the store where I’d left Molly, Val, and Ken. “Pierre, we need to get on this fast.”

  The child was pointing directly at us now. More of the shambling, rotting figures were arriving, too—out of the darkness down the concourse/road. They were starting to cluster, to arrive in far greater numbers.

  They knew we were here, and they were hungry.

  For the moment, apart from the child, they still didn’t seem to have a clear fix on us. I led Pierre quickly toward the storefronts on the right.

  “We need to stay…very, very quiet,” I said.

  At that moment the door to the store smashed open and Ken came barreling out, waving a wooden chair and shouting.

  Really loudly.

  Ken skidded to a halt, holding the chair like a baseball bat. Molly and Val were right behind, also holding makeshift weapons. Every head in the street turned to look. They looked like something out of a 1980s movie poster.

  “Whoops,” Ken said.

  Mouths were dropping open all around us. Feet shuffled as the figures turned in his direction.

  “For fuck’s sake, Ken,” I said. “I told you to stay inside.”

  He saw me, grinned. “And I told you fifteen minutes, mate. Alright, Pierre? Stopped being weird yet?”

  “Come toward us,” I said. “Quietly. And do not make any more sudden moves.”

  Ken sized up the situation and elected to sidle along the front of the buildings rather than cut straight toward us through the things thronging the street. They were starting to move in a more concerted fashion now. Most toward Ken, a few toward Pierre and me. It was clear we didn’t have much time.

  I focused on my hand again—though by now it was beginning to really hurt. The child started to moan. Quietly at first, but getting louder, still pointing.

  Ken carefully moved to a position where he was about a yard out from the storefront and gestured to Molly to slip behind him. “You too, Val,” he said.

  “God you’re a sexist asshole,” she said.

  “You want to be in front, be my guest,” Ken said. “But bear in mind they’ll also come from the side, and maybe behind. Which is why I thought it’d be a good thing if you’re there. And if they do, don’t screw it up.”

  “Shh,” I said. “Just move.”

  They started to sidle along the wall toward us. Heads turned jerkily to follow their progress. Molly coughed, tried to stifle it. When Ken glanced toward me to gauge how much farther there was to come, I saw his eyes were red.

  The kid stopped moaning. But then started to scream. This worked like a siren for the others. They started to move, to close in on Pierre, who
was still standing there, confused, blood dripping down his face.

  “Pierre, step back.”

  Val was coughing too now, unable to hold it back. Molly joined her, collapsing against the wall. Ken was managing to hold it in, but barely.

  “Okay,” I said. “This isn’t working. Change of plan. Ken—come here. Just you. Now. Do it fast.”

  “Nolan…”

  “Trust me.”

  He hesitated, but then swung out at the nearest figures with the chair, swacking several across their heads. This created enough of an opening that he could crouch down and drive into them, fast.

  I tensed my fingers. Coughed. It hurt, but I knew why and what it was, and so it might help.

  Ken was within a few feet of me now. Molly and Val were coughing ceaselessly. Pierre was surrounded by the figures, in a circle, staring silently at him, jostling, crowding him. His eyes were watering and he looked very scared. I wondered why they were paying more attention to him than the others, and then remembered—he still had something else inside. One of them.

  “Alright, now what?” Ken said, as he reached me. The figures around us were reaching out for us now, a sea of arms, waves in danger of rolling over us.

  Just at that moment Pierre stopped looking afraid, and slowly smiled. He started pushing through the other figures toward Molly and Val.

  “Molly,” I shouted, “get Val back in that building and stay there. Forever. Okay?”

  “But what about Pierre?”

  “He’s being controlled by the thing inside him again. Leave him outside.”

  She nodded, still coughing horribly, and started to retreat. I looked Ken in the eyes, tightened my fingers and felt the pain of the shard of glass still in them—and then jabbed it forward into his thigh.

  “What the fuck are you…”

  Flat on my back. Eyes stinging. A weight across me. For a moment I thought it would be Ken, but of course it wasn’t.

  I threw the shard of glass away. I rolled, shoving Pierre’s unconscious body off me. Put my hand over my nose and mouth. The smoke was very, very thick. The thing that had been inside Pierre hadn’t put it out properly. Of course.