A History of Widges

Chapter 1 - The Possession

Dedicated to @Sceritz for the kind words that encouraged me to continue this story. Thanks, man. 

The girl opened the door and stood in the dark hallway, squinting as if turning her eyes to mere slits would somehow improve her vision.

Hah. Humans. 

A ghost of a smirk snaked to my almost lips as I hovered against the wall. Sinking into the shadows. Drinking in her every move. I had been waiting too long, paying my dues. But she remained standing. Frozen. You can do it. Come on. As if she heard my thoughts, she took a step.

That’s right. Step inside.

Now close the door. Allow curiosity to cloud your judgment. Shut out the light. We need darkness.

She was taking longer than I had anticipated. I let out an impatient sigh, releasing my exasperation into the stale, hallway air. I stiffened. Had I made any noise. Did she feel my wind? Could she smell my breath? The girl bit her lip with unnaturally white teeth.

“Hello?” She finally spoke in her reedy squeak of a voice. I dared not move. “Is anyone there?” Her other foot descended into the hallway and the door swung shut behind her. I relaxed.

I had her now. At least, according to the rulebook I should. This was my first time. Rule #10: optimum conditions for host entry entail darkness and closed doors, sealing you in together with your host.

Funny word, host. It implies that these beings are willing. But who knew? Maybe mine would be grateful after all. 

I needed a host, a human host.  For too long I had been trapped in the ether, dodging in and out of cats, mice, flies, gnats. You name it. I had watched her for about a day; a fourteen year old girl, pale and thin with a penchant for libraries and for living other lives. Wasn’t that the truth about the world of books? I followed her home last night and slipped through a crack in the window.  Rule #1: When it comes to humans, you have to live in the host’s abode for 24 hours before you can live in their bodies. Otherwise the transformation doesn’t take.

I allowed her to creep down the hallway to her mother’s room and open the door. Her mother was ill; she was vulnerable, lost. Perfect for my mission.

I heard her murmur. A low, husky, raspy voice croaked in response. Another second and the girl was tiptoeing back into the hallways, tears glistening in her eyes. Her mother must have fallen asleep. I tensed, crouching down in the middle of the hallway as she made her way back to the other end. It was time.

My figure sprang up towards the girl, arms outstretched and reaching as if I were going to pull her into a comforting embrace. She yelped in surprise at the sudden sensation, as I was absorbed into her. It was working! I made it inside. We fell backwards, her head cracking on the floor. She was unconscious as I settled into the left temporal lobe…Left temporal lobe? That was a mistake, that controlled memory . . . I should have been in the frontal lobe, I would be overwhelmed . . . Rule #15 : Do not enter back of head. How did I get there? I struggled to move but it was too late. 

Her entire life circled around my head, grainy and clear images floating before my eyes in a whirlwind of memory. Different faces, emotions, songs, lives. I met her mother before the accident. I saw the accident happen. I lived through the characters in her books. I saw her family, her relatives, dropping away on by one until there were none left. I fell off a bike when I was three. I dropped an ice cream cone at the county fair. I became shy, reserved, unnoticeable, unhappy…alone.

And suddenly I was back in the darkened hallway, lying against the wooden floor, brown hair splayed across my face.

I exhaled slowly, face rearranging itself in an expression of pure shock. Human emotions were always very draining (as it stated in the ‘notes’ section of my manual.) Memories, images…it was never something a spirit could expect. And being solid. That was also an adjustment.

Everything was purely mechanical from there – breathe in, breathe out, remember how to balance, stretch muscles, and, whatever you do, don’t try to walk through walls…