The Possessed

  The Possessed

  Kirk Kilgrave

  Copyright © 2018 by Kirk Kilgrave

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, locations, and events is purely coincidental.

  To subscribe to my new release newsletter and for a list of my novels visit: www.kirkkilgrave.com.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Author Note

  Sneak Peek - The Damned

  1

  “A Ouija board?” I asked, my throat growing tight at the sight of it. I’d had a bad experience with a Ouija board in sixth grade. While hanging out at my friend’s house, we’d pulled out that evil thing and tried to communicate with a classmate who had recently died of leukemia. The planchette moved under our fingers. A gust of wind blew out every lit candle in her room and slammed the bedroom door. I’d bolted to my feet, whipped that door open, and ran out of her house. My friends made fun of me for weeks, saying the breeze from an open window had doused the flames and shut the door. But the air in her bedroom felt thick and congested, even menacing.

  The same way our kitchen felt now.

  Or had I transferred my fright from that day onto this one? More than a decade had passed, but the memory left a deep scar on my psyche. Either way, I didn’t want my mother fiddling with it. “That’s dangerous. You should put it away.”

  “Nonsense.” With one palm wrapped around her cocktail and the fingers of her other hand resting on the planchette, my mother’s eyes were alert. Strange for someone who had gotten wasted every day since a drunk driver killed my father in a car wreck two years earlier. Usually her eyes looked sluggish and glassy. The same went for her ordinarily slack blond hair. Today it had plenty of volume and looked shiny.

  “I bought this game at Walmart,” my mother said. “They don’t sell dangerous products.”

  “They sell guns, Mom.”

  She twisted her neck my way and leveled me with those gray eyes. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

  “A thousand. Maybe more. It gets really fuzzy around nine-hundred.”

  “Please call me Lilah. Is that too much to ask?”

  In her mind, the drunk driver hadn’t just killed my father. He’d also killed any hope that we’d once again be a happy family. I’d tried to pull her out of an alcohol-fueled daze, but the harder I fought, the more she demanded that my identical twin sister, Noelle, and I call her by her first name.

  “This is serious, Jocelyn” she said. “I’m attempting to reach your father.”

  A moment of excitement coursed through my veins, but the exhilaration passed when I recalled the fear that gripped me when I first sat in front of that Ouija board. Why had Lilah waited until now to use the board? If anything, I’d have expected her to try it a couple months after he died, not two years.

  “If you want, I’ll call you Lilah from now until you die, but only if you put the board away and burn it.”

  My mother chuckled, eliciting a hint of condescension.

  Seeing that she had no plans to set the board aside, a sense of discomfort settled over me. As much as I wanted to turn away from that board, I needed to keep her company. If anything happened to her, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  “Did he answer?” I took a seat across from her and plopped my arms on our scarred, wobbly table that only had enough space for three in our tiny kitchen.

  “No, but I think I’m getting closer.” In spite of her alcohol abuse, my mother looked like she’d just crossed into her thirties, not that she’d soon exit her early forties.

  “Closer?” I asked, fright spiking my shoulders upwards. Either that or the chill on this October night in the suburbs of Chicago had somehow slipped between the window cracks and under the front door. “How long have you been at it?”

  She shrugged shoulders inside her flannel pajamas. “A couple weeks, but I’m on the verge of reaching him.” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she took a gulp from her glass.

  “A couple weeks?” I’d hoped she’d say a couple times at most, so to hear that she’d been trying to reach Dad for so long really disturbed me.

  “Despite my greatest efforts, this board hasn’t yet paved the way for communication with your father. But it will,” she said, nodding as her eyes twinkled with maniacal glee. “Oh, it sure will. I’ll make it happen. No matter what I have to do, no matter how long it takes, your father and I will be on speaking terms once again.”

  “Back up. When you said—”

  “Your father will find his voice, I assure you of that.”

  “Stop!” I paused to force her to look at me and listen. When she reached that point, I said, “Are you in deep with the paranormal?”

  “Of course not. I’ve only used it a handful of times over the past two weeks.”

  “What?”

  A satisfied smile met her lips. “And nothing bad has happened yet, now has it?”

  I couldn’t answer that. Over the last few months, when I wasn’t studying or hanging out with my boyfriend, I’d been taking jobs my old boss from Hank’s Hardware sent my way, so I could pay the bills and convince banking executives to give me a loan to start my own business: “Handywoman 4 Hire.” Far from the most imaginative business name, but it got the point across, especially since I’d promote it to women because I suspected they preferred to invite a female stranger into their home than a stranger from the opposite sex. All told, I came home to eat or sleep. That’s it. My mother had taken over walking J.D. twice a day because I didn’t have the time, a fact that cut me up inside, because I loved spending time with him.

  “This isn’t something to toy around with, Mom.”

  “Seriously? I just told you to call me—”

  “Burn that board right now, and I’ll call you Lilah.”

  “Now you’re resorting to blackmail?” She rolled her eyes. “I raised a criminal.”

  I put my hand on the board, prepared to remove it from the table.

  My mother’s palm slammed down onto mine, pinning it to the board. “Let go.”

  I stared at her, unsure what to do, what to think. Not only because she’d caught me by surprise or that she had a feral look in her eyes, but also because that was the first time she’d touched me since Dad died.

  My mother stared at her hand across mine. Wincing as tears entered her eyes, she grasped my hand, interlocking our fingers. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, taking soft breaths.

  My breath left me, and I was afraid to move because I didn’t want this moment to end. Well, actually, I’d wanted to pull closer and wrap her in a hug, but intuition told me that would unsettle her and she’d leave the table.

  Which meant she’d leave the board behind! Then I could crack it in half and torch it. Relieved that I’d found an idea that might work, I started towards her.

  My mother raised her head, removed her hand from mine, and backed away in her chair. “What are you doing?” Her gaze immediately found her gla
ss of alcohol, her safety blanket. She reached for it.

  “Mom, don’t—”

  She took a giant gulp, set the glass down, and exhaled as a grin settled on her lips.

  It felt like she’d rather drink than share an affectionate moment with me. Even worse, it seemed that she needed to drink to get over the feeling that we’d once been close, a sensation she wanted to forget and had no interest in reclaiming.

  I needed to get her mind off the Ouija board. Just looking at it made my stomach churn. “I’d like you to come to my graduation in a few weeks.” I’d earn my Masters degree in business management from the same school my parents had once taught at until the accident dislodged my mother’s interest in teaching physics the same way it had displaced her interest in being an active part of my life.

  My mother set her fingers onto the planchette to resume working the board. “You may leave now.”

  In her current state, I doubt she’d even heard me speak. “Will you come to—”

  “Jocelyn, I’m busy. How can I reach your father if you keep interrupting me?”

  “This is a big deal, Mom.”

  My mother slammed both fists onto the table and hopped up from her chair. Her antagonistic eyes were now wide and alert. “Why? Why do you insist on disobeying me?” Her booming tone startled our thirteen-year-old Golden Retriever, John Doe, to get to his feet in the other room, the metal nametag around his collar rattling as he tottered toward us.

  “Because that board is evil.” Before my father passed, Lilah had been occasionally supportive, loyal, and honest, whereas she’d always exhibited those attributes for Noelle because she felt a stronger kinship with her.

  “The corner,” Lilah said, pointing at the wall behind me. “Go. Now.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m twenty-three.” Had she consumed so much alcohol that she’d killed all her brain cells?

  A self-serving smile settled on my mother’s lips. “An adult, huh? Then how about earning your keep? Why aren’t you paying your portion of the mortgage?”

  “I pay the entire mortgage, mother. And our water and sewer, the electricity, and our grocery bills.” Noelle handled our clothing needs, health insurance premiums, bought our appliances, and took care of a few other odds-and-ends. “If you weren’t hammered every day, maybe you’d realize that I’ve been working my fair share for the past two years, while you’re zoning out on reality TV.”

  “Well,” Lilah said, swaying in place for a moment before gripping either side of the table to stabilize herself. “Fine.” She sat down and her gaze fell upon John Doe, who’d just moseyed into the kitchen. “There’s my boy!” She crouched down, threw her arms around him, and hugged him tight before kissing the top of his head. “Now go in the other room. I’ve got work to do.”

  When John Doe headed into the family room, she sat down at the table again, and her eyes brightened upon seeing the Ouija board. “Follow J.D. I must attend to this task.”

  “It’s not a task.” Once more feeling a chill in the air, I headed out of the kitchen and checked the thermometer in the hallway, only to find that it was warmer outside of the kitchen. In fact, the temperature held at seventy degrees, but the kitchen, a mere fifteen feet away, felt like it was at least five degrees cooler. I’d need to check on that later.

  I returned to the kitchen to find my mother’s fingers on the planchette as it slid across the board. I swatted her hand off the planchette, sending it sprawling onto the floor.

  My mother backed up in her chair and glared at me, gasping. “It’s not enough that you keep me up all night, pacing the hallway upstairs, now I’ve got to worry about domestic abuse?”

  “I didn’t hit you. I hit the piece from your hand. There’s a big difference. I don’t want you working with that board.” Then her words struck me like a slap to the face. “What do you mean, pacing the hall? I don’t pace the hall, no matter what time it is.”

  “Back and forth, the floor was creaking with your weight last night,” she said, quirking an eyebrow.

  “That wasn’t me.” I didn’t hear any sounds last night, and my bedroom was next to the hallway. Then I recalled that my mother often passed out on the sofa downstairs while watching TV. Without a door to block out any sound from upstairs, she’d probably notice any noise better than I would. “Maybe Noelle had a tough time sleeping. She was worried about landing that local TV anchor job, so that could explain it.”

  “It started at three o’clock.”

  “That wasn’t me.” I scrutinized her expression to see if she was messing with me.

  “I’m quite serious.”

  “And I’m telling you, I was asleep the entire night. I didn’t even go to the bathroom. You should ask Noelle about it. She might have been working off nervous energy.”

  “Noelle’s like you: she sleeps the whole night without disruption. Last night was no different. Then perhaps John Doe was the culprit.”

  I shook my head. “He sleeps by my bed every night, remember? And I didn’t let him out until this morning.”

  Her expression, a melancholy mask of introspection, appeared troubled by not learning the truth. “It wasn’t my imagination.”

  “Maybe it was the TV. Or better yet…” I gestured to the Ouija board. “Maybe that had something to do with it.”

  “How would you know? Have you studied the paranormal? Are you an expert on spiritual phenomena?”

  “No, but—”

  She chuckled with more than a bit of arrogance. “Then don’t you think it’s possible that you’re being a little melodramatic about—”

  “If you’d let me explain, I’d—”

  My mother waved both hands across my field of vision. “You haven’t studied in this field, yet you persist in passing off what you think you know as truth? You know as much as an empty book, so why should I listen to you?” Lilah took a sip of her drink.

  She breezed past me, bent over to retrieve the planchette that rested against the bottom of the fridge, and nearly stumbled while trying to rise. She held out both arms to regain her balance.

  “I can feel it,” said my mother. “I sense it. I will make contact.” She wagged a finger my way. “Would you care to join me?”

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said over the past ten minutes?”

  “I’ve tried not to. You’re an emotional creature, Jocelyn. You always have been. You get that from your father.”

  Had she faked the tears that shimmered in her eyes a short while ago? No way! That was as sentimental as I’d seen her in two years. It even looked like she had trouble swallowing past an imaginary Adam’s apple in her throat. Now, however, after drinking so much she’d allowed the liquor to forget our past, so she could concentrate on talking with another person from her past.

  Once more, against my better judgment, but only to keep an eye on my mother, I joined her at the table, but rather than taking part, I tried to find some way to interrupt her.

  “Given your academic temperament,” she said, “I doubted you would dabble in something you haven’t thoroughly researched.”

  “Just because I haven’t, doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  “Consider me impressed,” Lilah said in a yawn, her petite frame rising and falling with her heaving breath. “I’ve done enough research on the topic.” She set her gaze on the board as if it held every unanswered question about the universe. She directed a finger above the refrigerator where she’d stacked a handful of books on the paranormal. “In addition to the Internet, I’ve read those.”

  I shook my head, feeling that she got the better of me because I hadn’t even noticed them. That’s what happened when you bolt to and from the house for months on end. You miss little things. Sort of like how there was a draft in the house, and the thermometer seemed broken. I didn’t beat myself up over it though. My mother had probably only gotten those books a couple of weeks ago since they had library labels on the spine, and she could only renew them so many times before overdue fines kicked
in.

  “Don’t you think he would’ve answered you by now?” I asked. “If nothing happened before, why do you stick with it?”

  The front door slammed. “Dinner is served!” Noelle said, lifting a bottle of vodka in her hand. She trounced into the room, looking twice as beautiful as I did on my best day by adding well-placed make-up, while I preferred not to use anything more than lipstick and some eyeliner. Where I looked frumpy in clothes whose colors had faded because I used what I earned to support the family, Noelle spent freely on anything that enhanced her beauty, which granted, didn’t take much despite our being identical twins. But I now regretted telling her that I’d take on so much financial responsibility, where she mostly needed to spend on the infrequent big-ticket items.

  She wore a black Guns N’ Roses shirt one size too small for her chest, which displayed a flat midriff, and a short black skirt showed off her toned thighs. She sauntered into the family room with a shiny pair of black knee-high boots. She’d dyed her hair black yesterday, which enhanced the warmth in her caramel-colored eyes. Noelle caught sight of the Ouija board. “Yes! I’m totally in for speaking with Dad.” Then her gaze fell upon me. “Oh…why aren’t you working?” She plopped the vodka bottle on the table.

  I’d come to expect this line of questioning from Noelle. While I’d worked hard in an academic setting, Noelle had barely eked out a high school degree, but because of her beauty, charisma, and an uncanny ability to relate to others regardless of their social status, she waltzed through life without putting much effort into achieving her success.

  Still, having been born a mere three minutes earlier than her, Noelle regarded me as her older sister, and when she needed help, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resist doing just that. Some would call that weak, but when I looked in the mirror sometimes, I saw Noelle – someone I admired: popular, outgoing, and stunningly beautiful. So whenever she came running to me for help, I did what I could because she was my sister, but also because I hoped some of her sparkly personality would rub off on me. It never did.