Hallucinatory Tribulation Vol. 1 [Anthology]

Possession is the Law

I had never experienced depression before, yet I knew that's where I had been the past several months. Actually, it had to have been closer the past year. For a while, I forgot who I was and really thought this shithole was my life. That was until her voice returned not too long ago to remind me.

"Shut up. Shut up," I growled back at the unwanted creature while clapping palms against my ears.

"I think you should talk to someone," my best friend, who had been the only person I told about my trouble, suggested kindly as our car turned the curve toward the cemetery, "Not just about the...you know, but like a therapist or someone about the voices in your head."

"I can't tell anyone about this," I sighed, "It will ruin everything." I don't know why I said it since it was the very thing I was contemplating doing. Perhaps she was starting to win her way through.

Tommy shrugged and continued driving, "Why are we going out here again?"

To be honest, I wasn't sure. I guess I thought that being close to my body would grant some sort of clarity. I had avoided the graveyard to the best of my ability since that day a year ago when young Michelle had wandered away from her grandfather's funeral and toward my plot. There had been a deep sense of unrest within my soul from the moment I realized I had died.

That wasn't so unusual, I suppose. How many people would be truly at peace waking up from surgery only to see you hadn't woken up at all? Instead, you'd become some wispy beast floating about a freshly covered grave. I didn't even know how long I had been stuck there before help had come along.

The girl whose body I now inhabited was fifteen at the time and had not wanted to attend the ceremony. I knew this because as she approached where I hovered tethered to my corpse, she complained about being forced to go.

"At least you still get to go places," I huffed.

"What?" she spun around with a quickness I had never seen, waiting a moment before rolling her eyes, "And now I'm hearing things."

It wasn't my first encounter with another living thing since my awakening. I had minor success with scaring birds and squirrels, but no human had made notice of me at all until her. Although she apparently could not see me, I was thrilled with the discovery that my voice had been heard.

"Why wouldn't you want to be here to see your grandfather off?" I questioned, testing to see if she would hear again.

Once more she turned around, eyes darted frantically to find the sound's source, "I am not in the mood for your games, Jeremiah," she wagged a finger at nobody, "So show yourself."

"My name's not Jeremiah," I said.

Finally, she was facing me. It seemed she had figured out that there were no tricks being played, "Great. I'm becoming psychotic."

"I'm not a voice in your head either," I almost laughed, "There, the stone in front of you. Read it."

With a glance backward at her family in the distance, facing the opposite way at a coffin being slowly dropped below, she reluctantly obeyed, "Joshua Jones, died in 1987...that's been over two decades."

"Two?" my tone was incredulous, "It's been that long?"

Suddenly, my spirit fell, both metaphorically and physically. It was as though time was catching up with me and I was feeling the full weight of years of loneliness, idling about a grave which had never been visited. I could barely even remember what life felt like. Vague details about who I had been slithered about.

I was a teacher, wed once and widowed. No children of my own. I wasn't very old when I died either, if I recalled correctly. There had been a procession of teachers, students, and parents, yet no family. Everyone seemed to forget about me as soon as I was buried.