My dad recently passed away. He was a therapist for many years. Among his possessions was a box of old patient records. It mostly contained handwritten notes and various case studies. My plan was to shred it all until I noticed a red file folder. The other folders were manila but this was the only red one. Inside was a stapled document. I realized it was someone’s diary, typed instead of written. I could tell it was typed by my dad based on certain context clues.
I have no idea if this is legitimate or some creative work of fiction on his part. I’m sure that the Leo character is him or represents him thanks to the hair description. We always said he had Albert Einstein hair. At any rate, I thought you guys would enjoy whatever this is. It gets pretty weird and seems really unlike anything my dad would ever write. My mom agrees and is also baffled by it. I’d be glad to post some more entries if this seems like a good fit here. None of the entries are dated, just numbered.
Entry #1
“What the fuck are you doing?” demanded the police officer.
That’s when I realized the gravity of my mistake – a momentary lapse in judgment that brought dire consequences. Regrettably, the officer had caught me in a compromising position. It was the dead of night, and I was drawing energy from an unwilling source that I had rendered unconscious moments before. She, a middle-aged woman unknown to me, had been taking an evening stroll. I seized the opportunity.
As I was drawing much-needed sustenance, the officer stumbled upon the scene and shined his light directly into my face. To my embarrassment, I was completely caught off guard. But there is really no excuse, is there? The reality is that I had gone far too long without proper sustenance. I can feed – for lack of a better word – in various ways. Energy absorption is my preferred method, as it’s more discreet and less messy. I just need to initiate some sort of physical touch, which is why it’s helpful when they’re unconscious.
Feeding is necessary for me to maintain my possession over a host. If I don’t feed or go too long without feeding, my grip weakens and I’ll involuntarily withdraw, resulting in the host’s immediate death. Once I possess a being, their consciousness is permanently usurped by my own. Indeed, their bodies fall under my total and complete dominion for as long as I see fit. The host body dies immediately upon my withdrawal. A corpse is unable to be possessed again.
There are those among my ilk who aren’t as gifted in the art of possession. Their possessions are often short-lived and non-lethal. Moreover, they can be cast out under the right circumstances.
Going back to energy absorption, it’s a rather straightforward process. Through the power of my thoughts and touch, I can absorb a life form’s energy. Humans are most desirable. Furthermore, I can harness and amplify this energy, including my own, and employ it for offensive or defensive endeavors. This ability proved particularly useful in the situation I’ll now finish describing.
On this fateful evening, I had let myself go too long without feeding and became rather desperate. It’s best to feed at least twice a month, but I was two months past due at the time. When I finally found a source, I overindulged a bit, much like a puppy presented with a bowl of food. In this ravenous moment, I failed to sense the approaching officer. The light from his flashlight blasted me in the face, and I wasn’t prepared or composed enough to hide my eyes. They become quite penetrating whenever I feed or experience intense emotion.
Most humans would cower at such a sight. To my further surprise, however, the officer didn’t back down. He lunged at me instead, like a football player attempting a tackle. I made the decision to both terminate his life and abort the situation at once.
It all happened so quickly, though I hardly moved a muscle. The electricity inside of his body became greatly amplified the second he placed his hands on me. He was like a moth flying towards a bug zapper, completely oblivious to the peril before him.
He seized up and fell backwards. Whether he died from the initial surge or from the impact of his head hitting the ground, I can’t say for sure. Regardless, he was dead. And as I mentioned earlier, I became keenly aware that this mistake was irreparable; my hand was forced. I resolved it necessary to sever ties with the current identity I was then assuming. The details of who I was pretending to be hardly matter now.
I withdrew from my vessel. If only entering was as easy as leaving. In a torrent of darkness, my presence departed with great haste. For the record, I never intended to kill anyone that night nor compromise my situation. Killing is a last resort, though admittedly I have been provoked into violent behavior in the past.
When feeding, I only take what’s needed. In other words, a source is left with enough energy to survive. Wanton killing would draw unnecessary attention. Subtlety and discipline is much more preferable. It’s like going on a hike and finding an orchard. The hiker enjoys the choicest fruit, moving on when satiated. Destroying or desecrating the orchard afterwards would be rather gratuitous.
As I drifted along the eastern coast of the United States, I found a small coastal town rooted in the deep South. I’m always on the lookout for smaller, more insular communities. I prefer playing in a small sandbox. This town, which I’ll call Indigo, checks all the boxes: conservative, religious, homogeneous, and simple. Being near water is a benefit as well (boaters and fishermen make easy targets).
Yes, Indigo is just right. There’s a beautiful church there that sits right on the water. It’s a large church with over two-thousand members. The surrounding community is quite affluent. Most live in gated communities, own second homes, and enjoy the finer things in life. The broader area, which is more affordable relative to other places, attracts both tourists and transplants. I foresee continued population growth, but for now it’s a manageable enough size for me.
Now at this picturesque church by the sea, three ordained ministers are on staff. Two seemed wholly unremarkable upon investigation, but one was too good to be true. He was both young and exceedingly handsome. Charismatic and charming also come to mind. He could effortlessly build rapport with others.
Possessing him, I thought, would allow me to experience a life I hadn’t considered – a life within an ecclesial sphere. Being at the helm of a large, influential church sounded appealing. It’s rare these days for a church to be the epicenter of communal life in such a bustling town, but such is the case here. I was eager to observe and interact with this church from within. Perhaps experiment is the better word.
Thankfully, my intended host was a broken, dysfunctional individual. Riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, he was easily manipulated. When disembodied, I’m what you might call spiritual in nature. A spiritual being is similar to water: formless, shapeless, fluid. I typically require a biological vessel to take form and be perceived by humans. Most animals can be taken instantaneously, yet humans are more difficult. They have to be enticed; they’re individual desires and nuances must be considered. My preferred method is to infiltrate a human’s mind via their dreams. They’re not only more susceptible in this state, but they’re also less resistant.
In this particular circumstance, the subject suffered from depression. This underlying illness left his mind even more vulnerable, enough so that I infiltrated it without making a big fuss. As I drew closer to his sleeping body, I could at once perceive his thoughts. Within that disjointed cacophony of sound and imagery, I learned that he desperately craved to be someone important and powerful. Fame, fortune, adulation – I would be successful if I could promise him these things and convince him of their certainty.
As I dipped my finger into the ocean of his mind, my ripples began spreading out. I took him to his family’s summer lake house. In that familiar setting, I appeared to him as his deceased father. We were fishing on the dock, making small talk. Eventually I asked him what his one wish would be if given the chance to make one.
“To have you back,” he said.
That was touching and all, but then I pushed him deeper.
“Maybe I’d wish for a superpower,” he said, “like teleportation or invisibility. Maybe even immortality.”
Interesting wishes when thought about. I saw within him a desire for independence and self-reliance, to establish control over his life and circumstances. He often felt overwhelmed – desperate to hide and escape obligations and scrutiny. I found a way to offer him that.
“Son,” I said in the kindhearted voice of his father, “I love you so much, and I am incredibly proud of the person you are today. But you have much more potential. There is so much more you could be doing. You must see that, right? I know you feel it.”
He nodded like a scorned child.
“Sounds like you need a little help. What if I told you that all you had to do was ask – ask and it shall be given to you?”
He seemed confused at first.
“Search, and you will find,” I said, “knock, and the door will be opened for you.”
“That sounds familiar,” he said with a smile.
“It should,” I said. “Can you finish the rest?”
“For everyone who asks receives, everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”
“Do you remember how I used to read the Bible to you at night?” I said.
“Of course. It was a children’s Bible with pictures.”
“I tried my best to raise you right.”
“I know you did, dad. I talk about being thankful for you all the time – how you influenced me.”
“And yet you’re not happy with who you are today, are you?”
He said nothing.
“I’m here to help you, son. I’m offering you the chance to be whoever you want to be.”
He started crying, going on about how much he missed and needed me (his father).
“Don’t you understand?” I said. “I’m offering you the kind of power that can reunite us.”
I placed my arm around him as he continued to cry. In hindsight, I underestimated how triggering this dream would be for him. Seeing his deceased father in such clarity really messed with him. The serene atmosphere I was trying to cultivate was being disrupted by the rawness of his emotions. We exchanged a little more banter before I employed a different strategy.
Whether I’m in the physical world or someone’s mind, one of my most fundamental attributes is the intense feeling of dread that I can inspire in just about any living creature. This is one of the more difficult abilities to control. I must intentionally suppress and be constantly mindful of this fearsome aura, lest the more perceptive creatures in my vicinity become upset.
Sometimes I instill this dread in a gradual manner, other times it can be more instantaneous. It was the latter in this case. I contorted my face with rage and my eyes flashed with danger. The bearded mouth of his father unhinged itself like a snake’s, revealing jagged fangs and a forked tongue. I yelled with a hideous voice, and the hand I had placed on his shoulder suddenly dug its talons into his flesh.
“ASK ME FOR HELP!” I said, my voice echoing like thunder.
The peaceful backdrop became a fiery hellscape, and it was then that my future host found himself in the midst of a terrible nightmare. Please note this wasn’t me revealing my true form or anything of the sort. Do NOT think of me as some clandestine snake monster. I can simply influence the thoughts and feelings of others. One could be made to see anything I want – anything from the mundane to incredible visions beyond imagination.
Certain creatures cry out in their sleep, especially if they’re dreaming something that is frightening enough. That’s what happened next. He cried out the exact words I wanted to hear.
“HELP ME, DAD!”
And that’s all it took. His body became mine. In one fell swoop, I commandeered the body of this sad individual – a wellspring of untapped potential! That was four years ago. A lot has happened since. We’ll catch up; don’t worry. There have been many unintended consequences with this particular possession. I find myself compromised in certain ways, experiencing feelings I haven’t felt in a very long time. This is highly unusual and inconvenient. Certain existential questions keep surfacing – questions I thought were either answered, unimportant, and/or inapplicable.
Would you believe that all of this has affected me in such a way that I am now pursuing therapy? I am actually subjecting myself to the counsel of a human psychologist. I’ve never written something so incredulous. Interestingly enough, at this time, he is the only person who knows the true nature of my identity.
Although we’ve only had one session so far, he presents as a person of tremendous honesty and integrity. When he first shook my hand, I felt a burning sense of curiosity inside of him. He seeks greater knowledge; dare I say higher knowledge. He scours books, learning what he can about the world around him. Much of the wisdom he has obtained is an illusion, of course. In exchange for his services, I will provide him with the true knowledge he seeks. He’ll be referred to from now on as “Leo,” as his hair is reminiscent of a lion’s mane.
Leo has strongly encouraged me to start keeping a diary. He wants me to document my experiences, emotions, thoughts, perspectives, etc. “This might become an outlet for you,” he said, “a constructive way to process the complexities of your current situation.” What you are reading now is my first entry. I will entertain this assignment so long as it feels efficacious, though I remain thoroughly skeptical and annoyed by the idea of it.
It’s so unbelievable, isn’t it? It’s absolutely unbelievable that I’ve sought help from a human. And I’m playing his little writing game, no less. We’ll see each other again soon. In the meantime, I’ll finish writing the account of our first session together for the sake of context. That’ll be the next entry. Not only was my true nature revealed to Leo in an undeniable way, but I also made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.