Possessed

This story is my newest WIP and doesn’t have an official title yet. And actually very little fleshed out. What I currently have written totals ~5k words. This idea started with my husband saying “let’s write something with the same theme but different genres!” He’s writing horror, I’m writing queer romance.

The Consciousness

It hadn’t been long since the incident with Cyrus and Bacon. I was back in the void which was timeless but somehow I knew it hadn’t been long. The pull had been strong earlier that day, tugging me to Cyrus at the animal shelter. It wasn’t a place I was pulled to often but enough to recognize it.

Cyrus

I’d like to say everything was different after that but I couldn’t. I wish I could say that after the time I almost died getting hit by a car because I was too stupid to pay attention to the streetlights…after that I was more attentive, more aware. I was focused and put together.

If only.

Everything was different after that. After that first possession.

Emotions roiled through the incorporeal body I never realized I inhabited before. When the tugging sensation would yank me from the nothing, I wasn’t just a thing. I was no longer pure consciousness with no thought, or emotion. I might be invisible and okay I was man enough to admit I was actually a ghost.

It was a sunny day, no clouds in the sky. It must have been summer as most people walked around in shorts and shirts, sweat rolling down their faces as they went about their day. Cars honked and raced down the street, their fumes piling up and drifting through the air.

The consciousness watched Cyrus as he walked down the sidewalk.

The next time or maybe the tenth time after that (sequences and numbers had just as much meaning as time to the consciousness. As in, it had no meaning), the tug brought him to the hallway of a building. Somewhere the consciousness hadn’t been before but it felt familiar anyways. The hallways were empty of people, but the murmur of voices from rooms and around corners echoed along the tiled floor and over the wooden walls.

The consciousness didn’t understand time nor did the passage of it effect him in any manner. There was nothing, he was nothing. And then sometimes, he was more. He had pressure, and weight, and sensation. But still no form, nothing tangible, no thought, or memories.

The times he was more than nothing only happened when the pull got so strong it couldn’t be ignored.

The darkness couldn’t be described as peaceful, nor was it suffocating. It wasn’t heavy or weightless. It just was. There was nothing. It was nothing. Thought and emotions didn’t exist and it didn’t matter that they didn’t exist. There was no time and no place. Just…nothing.