Possession

Michael awoke that day with an eerie, unsettling feeling, as if something unknown were lurking nearby, too close for comfort.  A little buzz in the back of his mind kept him from falling back asleep after the alarm clock had been turned off.  Michael thought the buzz to be strange, but easily ignored it.1

Michael had always been a mild and agreeable person in general.  Except for the occasional temper slip or crazy impulse, he had no problem staying out of trouble.  Even when these urges awoke, he was usually able to quickly subdue them.2

Michael proceeded with his usual routine, thinking of nothing except mundane morning rituals.  As the time for departure approached, Michael thought only of quickly boarding the car for school and catching a quick thirty to forty-five minute nap.3

After arriving at school, he continued with his routine and dropped himself into his desk, catching another quick nap until being wakened by the bell.  Curse the bell, Michael thought.  He envisioned smashing the intercom speaker with a sizable rock.  Suddenly, a strange stirring sensation swam within him, fading away as quickly as it had come.  Michael passed it off for eating something strange for breakfast.  Sighing, he lifted his head and began to pay attention in class.  Because of today’s unusual drowsiness, he sat complacently with his jaw hanging soporifically.4

First period was dismissed, and Michael trudged down the hall to second period.  His backpack seemed unusually heavy today.  It would be quite comfortable to just shrug it off and leave it in the hallway.  It would also be quite stupid, since all his school necessities were contained in that book bag.  Michael continued walking, but stopped when a kid called out to him.  He stood behind him, and handed Michael his book bag.  Michael thanked the kid and continued onwards.  He must’ve dropped it sometime, but he had felt no change of gravity.  Even stranger, he felt as if he was carrying someone on his shoulders in addition to his backpack.5

Staggering into class, he fell into his chair.  One douchebag whom he had never particularly liked laughed at him and kicked his desk, knocking his pencil.  Michael was angered, and thought how pleasant it would be to land a solid punch into his face, feeling the tingle of his knuckles as bone met bone, hand stained with the crimson nose blood of his adversary.  The blow would crack the douchebag’s expensive sunglasses, sending shards scattering.  The sound of his backpack hitting the floor yanked him back to reality.  Surprised, he found himself standing with his left hand already pulling back for a blow.  Quickly, he gripped the edge of his desk and seated himself once more.  The strange sensation from first period was definitely back again, and much more noticeable.  Perturbed, Michael decided to take a nap again.  Perhaps that would also ease the soreness on Michael’s back.6

The bell wakened Michael from his scant slumber once more.  Michael cursed the bell once more.  \Strange\, thought Michael, \That weight has been removed from my shoulders by scarcely forty-five seconds of sleep… so much the better for me, I suppose\.  With that, Michael sat up in his chair and took detailed A-quality notes.7

As class began to end, Michael felt a strange foreboding approach.  Some great and immense presence was about to surround him and crush the breath out from him.  Michael looked around the room to see if anyone else experienced similar apprehension.  Suddenly, the voice of the principal came on over the intercom, dismissing second period and explaining that the bell system was malfunctioning, but classes would proceed as usual.  Michael felt uneasy about this, but gathered up his belongings for his next class anyways.  8

Michael looked up as a yell rang out from across the room.  The douchebag was staggering away from the unopened door, clutching his nose.  Michael though he saw a shade flit under the overhead television set, and seemingly the douchebag thought he saw something too, for he swung angrily in that direction, lost his balance, and fell heavily.  The teacher hurried across the room, examined his nose, and declared it broken.  She scribbled out a pass and sent another kid to accompany the douchebag to the nearest office.  Disturbed, Michael thought the situation over.  Michael deduced that the douchebag must’ve hit himself in the face when he opened the door, and deemed the strange shadow to be a trick of light caused by the douchebag’s overly reflective sunglasses, which lay in fragments on the floor.  Michael quickly stepped over the mess of blood and shiny shards, and hurried to his next class.9

After that ordeal, Michael continued to feel the pressing atmosphere that no one else seemed to notice.  It unnerved him, but it seemed to be subsiding rapidly.  Michael noted it and continued with school as always.  Third period was as dull as usual, but Michael paid attention as he always did, since a particularly difficult teacher taught Spanish III.  Fourth period passed without any event, except some new and interesting facts on biology.  In fifth period, he sight-read new pieces with his good standpartner buddies.  They were placed three to a stand because one had been evicted from his previous stand and was taken in by his stand.  Michael looked over at the outside girl.  He recalled a memory from last year where she had suddenly grabbed his neck in a weak chokehold from behind.  He had done the same to her, except with a better chokehold a few days afterwards.  She had mad a funny choking sound, which prompted Michael to stop his choking.  The memory amused him.10

Class ended, and Michael was heading to the back of the room to pick up his belongings.  Suddenly, he felt his lungs deflate.  The unnatural claustrophobia faded back in and smothered him.  He blanched, and then straightened suddenly.  Feeling a bit lightheaded and dazzled, he felt his face crack into a smile.  His standpartner was sitting in her chair, doing little other than sitting.  Michael felt his feet tap the ground as he walked, or perhaps floated, over behind her chair.  Bending down, he embraced her from behind.  As she turned her head, Michael planted a kiss on her cheek and smoothly brought his arms into a choke-lock, the same one he used last year.  Grinning broadly now, he jammed his left ulna further into her windpipe and began to slowly raise her out of her chair.  A pair of hands gripped his arm, but the pressure only excited him more.  He could hear nothing else, but the adrenaline pounding through his veins.  His grin grew even broader as an unearthly dizziness spiraled in his skull.11

A familiar funny gagging sound filtered through to his brain, ending his temporary insanity.  He felt normal now, but a bit disoriented.  Puzzled, he looked down where he was holding his standpartner two centimeters out of her chair.  He gently plopped her back down and sat down beside her.  “Michael!  What was that for?”12

“I dunno…  I’m not sure…  I’m sorry.”13

“Eh, you’re a weird one Michael.”14

As fifth period ended, it was his lunchtime.  As he again went to pick up his belongings, he noticed that his jacket was missing and that realized that he must’ve left it back in first period.  He approached his conductor and asked for a pass back to his first period classroom.  Hopefully, the room would be unlocked and he’d be able to find his jacket just where he left it.15

Michael’s footsteps echoed through the quiet halls of the east wing, pausing only to present his pass to bored hall monitors.  As he neared his first period classroom, a silent, rushing sound greeted Michael’s ears.  The hall spun, his legs crumbled, and he was knocked over by an unknown force.  Panic gripped him and he turned to run back the way he came.16

Stumbling forwards, Michael ran into a locker, causing a girl to poke her head out of the classroom.  He didn’t know her, but she exclaimed, “Oh Em Gee!  It’s him!  It’s him!  Looklooklooklook!”  Michael turned to look at the girl over his shoulder, and glimpsed an administrator step out of the same room as the girl.17

“You!  Michael!  Stop!  Come here!”  His head pounding, Michael turned to face the admin.  “Hurry!” she called.  Michael walked over to her, feeling nauseous and glum.  As he entered the room, he noticed a big rock and broken intercom speaker lying on the floor.18

“I saw you!” the girl said.  “I saw you run in and smash the speaker with the rock.  You were wearing a weird shimmery black costume with that weird black veil.  He did it!  It wasn’t me!”  Michael looked over at the girl with offended indignance.  \What the heck…\, he thought.  \Who is this girl to utter such blatant falsehoods?\  The admin then proceeded to rant and ramble about destruction of school policy, disrespect, and other tedious things.  \Who is she to believe her entirely without even hearing any response from me…\  Despite his growing discomfort, Michael began to seethe with bottled anger.  He continued to wonder why his country endorsed free enterprise and popular sovereignty but his school didn’t.19

Michael was shifting his glare from the admin back to the girl and noticed a sudden change of her facial expressions.  Her face changed from a picture of jittery unease to one of disbelieving horror.  He shifted his gaze back again to the admin, who had been getting pretty worked up.  She had the same look of rage frozen on her face.  Michael turned and saw a replica of himself, swathed in strange black skintight gauze.  He appeared shiny and iridescent, emanating black light.  In his left hand, he carried a large meat cleaver and in his right a skinny fillet knife.20

Michael, who had stopped noticing the strange pressing feeling when he started to get angry was reminded of it in full.  His lungs crumpled, and he fell to his knees.  His pulse pummeled his skull.  He grabbed his throat as it began to compress.  Panic threatened to overcome him.  Michael fought down a forceful vomiting and focused on one thing only:  defeating his shadowy self.  Eyes coloring with multi-colored patterns, he stood, ignoring his reduced oxygen intake and shunting his head pains aside.  The shadow stood less than a foot away, but had not raised either blade.  Both of its arms hung at its sides.  Michael positioned his arms in his kungfu fighter stance, and made ready to strike.  \What a noob  shadow\, Michael thought.  \Wherever he got those knives from, I’ll never know.  I’ll pwn este yaro\.  Intending to throw a hefty double punch, he jabbed with one arm and prepared the other for a power strike.  Michael felt his center knuckle contact icy shadow flesh, and then pass right through as the shadow dissipated and faded away.21

Startled, Michael fell forcefully to the ground.  It felt as though someone had jumped onto his back.  Michael struggled, but was unable to raise himself, weighted by his supernatural counterpart.  All of a sudden, Michael ceased to resist.  He stood quickly.  Michael felt airy and light-headed again.  There was the unmistakable feeling of something foreign, something that didn’t belong.  Michael felt as if he were in another’s body, watching events unfold.  He had no feeling in his limbs, no voice, no breath, no eyes.  He was merely unfeeling sentience and vision.22

He looked at his hands.  They now clutched the knives that the shadow once did.  A scared whimper emerged from a corner of the room, next to an open window where the girl had retreated.  The admin was slowly backing away.  A crazy grin placed itself on his face once more.  He looked at his arms.  The veins were bulging and pulsing black.  His body felt more compact, solid muscle, although not much bigger.  He saw the ground fall away from his as he grew slightly in stature.  He laughed.  The world was his to destroy.  He stepped forward confidently and carelessly stuck the fillet knife into the admin’s heart.  She toppled forward, dead, with the point of the blade protruding out the other side.  The glee of killing pleased him.  His first taste of murder was shocking, more thrilling than he’d expected.  Once more, he laughed and moved towards the girl in the corner.  She was gripping the big rock.  As he closed in, she heaved it at him.  He felt a rib snap with a complaining crack as he watched the rock bounce off of him and shatter on the floor.  He laughed again.  It hurt his side to laugh, but he laughed all the harder.  The pain was fun for him; it was wonderful, observing the futile efforts of his victim.  The girl snatched up a jagged shard and crazily dragged it down his chest.  His shirt ripped and blood ran down his body.  He just stood there for a moment, immersing himself in the fear of a victim, reveling in the stench of blood.  He backhanded the girl and she hit the wall.  He looked at her face.  She was in tears, gibbering incoherently.  He chortled madly at this and walked back towards the corpse to pull out the fillet knife, watching the little spring of blood flow from the knife-hole.  The girl made a frenzied dash for the open window.  The shadow-possessed Michael raised the cleaver and flipped it nonchalantly into the girls back.  It embedded itself in her spinal cord, not yet killing her, but severely damaging her nervous system.  She fell to the floor, twitching and bleeding.  Her helplessness amused him.  The ecstasy of slaughter made him feel alive, more than he had ever felt before.  In contrast to their decrepit and lifeless state, he was alive and killing.  Smiling, he sat down and watched the dying girl gradually twitch her life out.23

When the girl had breathed her last, Michael watched as the shadow lowered him to the floor to lap up the blood .  This act of vampiric cannibalism broke the bonds on Michael’s mind, initiating revolt.  He wrestled inwardly with his shadow, exchanging intangible blows, two spiritual forces clashing.  Michael threw off the shadow with a final heave and promptly vomited.  “My God, what have I done…  I’m so sorry.”  The shadow pounced again, pinning Michael flat on his stomach, grinding the gore and vomit into his face.  Michael retched once more.  He was repulsed by his shadow.  How could such an evil like that reside within him?  It was more than he could bear in his current mental state, torn by outside manipulation.  His shadow had toyed with him like a puppet, a medium of evil.  These detestable impulses were not his own, but yet still his.  He went berserk then, flailing beneath the shadow’s weight, and pictured a knife in his breast, his own hand on the handle.  The shadow sunk back into his body, regaining control, and gave Michael his last breath, ending itself forever.24