The Devil's Pet

Chapter 22

Sean’s memory was intact up to the point of killing Sam and being arrested, but his recollection faded quickly from that point. The last clear memory he had was kneeling on the floor at Porter’s.

With purposeful motion, a dark mass oozed from the bloodied end of Sam’s severed head. He watched it slowly creep and tumble across the floor toward him. Sean was on his knees, handcuffed behind his back and unable to flee, not that he thought it would have made much difference. He examined the two uniformed cops standing on either side of him, and could tell no one saw any of this but him.

He wanted to close his eyes, but found it impossible.

Hugging the ground like a thick mist, it appeared more like an oily fluid, but left no trace behind, and it was black as midnight. No light escaped from it--even though it moved, there was no shimmer or reflection.

This was a black puddle of death, with a mind of its own, moving steadily toward him.

He held his breath as it stopped several inches short of his leg. It thinned and sent out a pseudo pod to touch him.

He shuddered as he realized he had just been tasted.

It suddenly jumped to him, and began moving around his legs, clinging to him, pulling its way upward, inching along his body, amassing itself temporarily on his shoulders. Thinning again, it sent two filaments to his head. Warm and viscous, like fetid blood, it began pouring itself into him, disappearing through his ears.

It filled him with a thick mass of darkness that coated all it touched--pushing him farther and farther back into the deepest recesses of his being. The blackness wanted to win, it wanted to own him, but he pushed back with all he had.

Vivid dreams of suffocating captivity and paralyzing terror filled every corner of his existence to the point of exhaustion, but still he fought it.

His conscious self was pushed inward so deep that he lost the connection to his physical body. He was no longer in control.

He became vaguely aware of other people around him then realized he was in the police station. He tried to call out to them, but his body wouldn’t respond. There was no lingering memory of how he got to the station.

The struggle kept him still for many hours, until he was finally overwhelmed. His being, the self-aware energy that was him was forced aside, pushed up against the inner wall of his own skull. He was flattened and helpless while Satan’s malignant energy forced control over his physical body.

He felt its contempt splash on him like a hot oily sheen. It wanted him out, so it could command his body without interference. He didn’t know how long his struggle lasted, but he was sure he wouldn’t survive much longer. As his will began to wear down to its last threads, he was suddenly lifted from captivity.

The musty odor came through first followed by the familiar sight of the confessional booth. He was sitting in the old church once again. When the blackness lifted he heard Father talking through the opaque screen.

“We each wanted you but neither could have all of you. Your eternal soul came to us and your body went to him, it was a deal that had to be made. You had something each side wanted. For us, your soul is a stark example to others who will come after you. For Satan, your body is a necessary tool if he is to be effective on earth. 

You see, possession is one thing but an empty human vessel is rare to come by. A good analogy would be a thief who steals a car with the keys in it. Now imagine stealing the same car, with the owner still in it, and he’s constantly struggling with the thief to steer.

It’s very distracting, but more importantly, it means the body won’t last. Before long the stress of occupation is overwhelming and the soul withers inside the body causing an end to that life. Possession is always temporary. What he wants is ownership. Constantly finding new bodies to possess is a chore, even for Satan, which is why his last abomination was as valuable to him as your body is to him now.”