Possess Me Please Read online

  Possess Me Please

  By

  S. K. Yule

  Possess Me Please

  Copyright © June 2014, S. K. Yule

  Cover art by For the Muse Designs © June 2014

  Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Amira Press

  Charlotte, NC 28227

  www.amirapress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-627620-61-1

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

  Dedication

  As always, to my husband, family, and readers.

  Prologue

  Isabelle sighed in relief as the possessing spirit slid from her body, but the relief was ripped from her an instant later. Her soul shrank in fear as the uninvited crept inside her at the exact moment the invited spirit exited.

  “Well, well, what have we here.” The menacing words slashed at her as efficiently as a sharp blade from a sword.

  “H-how did you get in? I didn’t invite you,” she stammered. “Get out of my body!”

  Fear threatened to choke her, to spur her into running and cowering, but she maintained her position, instinctively knowing this situation would soon escalate into a fight for her life.

  “You may have to invite me in, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t—shall we call them technicalities?—even with such things as possession. You do realize that any time a window is open—the one where a spirit is sliding in or out—anything is possible?”

  No. She didn’t know that. “Who are you? What do you want? I-I can help you.”

  “Oh, you can help me, all right. And I’m being simply rude, aren’t I? I’m Stephen. Stephen Banks. However, the kind of helping you will be providing me is different from the assistance you give to the other spirits, which is quite impressive, I must say.”

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “I want your body, Isabelle.”

  “What?! No! I will die, and so will you.”

  Stephen’s laughter echoed through her insides. “I’m already dead, and what do I care if you are dead, too? I will still get what I want. A body for a few days, maybe a few weeks. You do seem to be stronger than the rest.”

  “No! You can’t have my body. It’s mine. Get out!”

  But there was no more talking. Stephen latched onto her soul, ripping and tearing at it. The pain was crippling. Her inner screams, screams that couldn’t be heard by anyone but her and Stephen, reverberated throughout the attack.

  After what seemed to be endless hours of struggling to stay alive, she was ready to give in. He was too strong, too quick, too…everything. Fortunately, Isabelle had a stubborn streak a mile wide that tenaciously sought life. She began chanting the only cleansing spell she knew.

  “This body is the temple of my soul alone,

  Uninvited spirit, exit and be gone.

  All invitation is now rescinded,

  Go now, leave me unharmed and mended.

  Three chants in, the spell finally worked. Stephen’s hold on her weakened, and he was evicted.

  * * * *

  The side effects of the hostile possession had been harsh—still were at times. The burning pain had been nearly unbearable. Isabelle was sure if she were to have an X-ray, it would show the deep trenches of the claws that had relentlessly dug bloody troughs on her insides trying to break free through her chest. It had taken several session-free months to recover.

  That incident had taught her a very valuable lesson. Never ever invite a spirit into her body without using the anchoring potion her witch friend, Nina, had provided her. It gave her superior strength and held her soul earthbound.

  Isabelle would never again leave herself open to the kind of horror Stephen had put her through.

  Chapter One

  “Spirit of the afterlife,

  Come and ease your loved one’s strife;

  I bestow you use of the temple of my soul,

  Temporarily, and only if you assent to leave it whole.”

  Inviting spirits into one’s body was scary business. Her skin tingled, almost painfully, at the sensation of what felt like tiny bugs crawling under its surface. The ghost’s spirit would slip into her body and slide through her cells as stealthily as cancer might. And just like the disease, Isabelle never knew if the possession would be benign or malignant.

  Now used to the sensation after so many possessions, Isabelle managed to remain calm and in control. She’d only had one bad encounter—a result of carelessness on her part. The memory teased the back of her brain at every session since, setting her on edge. She hated the hold that memory had on her, warred with it, but could never get rid of it as it was imbedded too deeply. It was too strong to fight.

  No one could call her line of work glamorous. People reacted to her ability in one of four ways—by being thankful, intrigued, terrified, or skeptical. Most thought death was something to be feared. No matter how badly people thought they wanted proof of survival on the other side, when faced with it, it usually proved too mind boggling for most—too intense. It opened a can of worms that held no hope of being satisfyingly sorted through.

  She had been called crazy, evil, and many other names she tried to forget. When push came to shove, she didn’t care about any of that. Yes, the abilities she possessed—which she called her gift—were unique, to put it mildly. But she helped people. That was all that mattered.

  The light of her own soul dimmed, resembling a shadow, watching as Charlie’s foggy, gray ghost peered out of her own brown eyes into his wife’s smoky ones. Isabelle tried to stay alert and vigilant during possessions, as she had to maintain tight control of the situation. Allowing a dead person to use you as a vessel was risky and unnatural at best. The body was not meant to contain more than one soul. She couldn’t afford to allow any visiting spirit to get ideas about taking over her body.

  There were others she’d met over the years who were psychics, mediums, or witches, but she had never found one single person who had allowed another soul into their body and lived to tell about it. No, that was her gift alone. Some viewed it as a curse, but if she allowed herself to believe that…she would have an exceptionally hard time living a normal, sane, life.

  And that gift was the reason she sat here allowing Charlie’s wife the opportunity to talk with him one last time. She didn’t help ghosts cross over, or with unfinished business. She helped the grieving, gave them a unique opportunity to say goodbye. A chance to ease their troubled consciences, to allow them to better cope with the fact they were the ones left behind.

  * * * *

  Charlie watched as Myrna reached out one wrinkled hand and took Isabelle’s smooth one. “Charlie, is that really you?”

  “Yes, my love.” He held back a chuckle when he heard Isabelle’s voice speaking his words. “ It truly is, but I can’t stay long. I must move on soon.”

  Charlie had never imagined possession was possible.

  “Oh Charlie! I miss you. We were together for so long. I don’t know how I’ll continue on without you.”

  Charlie patted her hand. “Shhh. It’s okay now, Myrna. We had fifty fabulous years together. It was never a secret that we wouldn’t live forever, dear.”

  Myrna hugged Charlie and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I said what I did the day you died. I was upset, and I shouldn’t have spoken in such haste.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you? Myrna, come now. We always had our little tiffs now and again. It’s part of why I found our relationship special. No matter what either one of us said, I knew you’d always be there waiting for me, loving me, just as you knew the same was true of me.”

&nb
sp; “I know, Charlie, but I never thought the last words I ever said to you would be during a fight. I shouldn’t have let you leave the house that morning without telling you I loved you. I do, you know? I always will…forever.”

  “Myrna, I know this. You know I do, and you know that I will always love you too. Now, enough of dwelling on a silly tiff. I have to go, and I want to see that smile one more time. The one that is bright enough to put the sun to shame.”

  He pushed her chin up to look into her eyes. His beloved Myrna. He didn’t see gray hair or wrinkles. He saw only the young girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, the beautiful face that had brought him more joy than he’d ever hoped for. He would miss her, and couldn’t be more thankful for this wonderful opportunity to tell her goodbye. It would go far in helping his wife endure losing him. He was glad he’d passed first because he doubted he’d be strong enough to survive losing her.

  Myrna smiled at Charlie, and a soft breeze ruffled her gray hair as he departed his borrowed body. He whispered, “I love you,” by Myrna’s ear, then watched Isabelle slump in the chair.

  As he floated up, Charlie smiled at his beloved wife. He knew they’d be together again one day, and he’d be waiting for his sweet Myrna when that day came.

  * * * *

  Isabelle stirred from the near unconscious, exhausted state that was typical after a possession. This was the part she hated most because it made her feel helpless and vulnerable. After the fog cleared from her brain, she pushed the stray hairs off her face and behind her ears, then focused on her client. “I hope I have helped you, Mrs. Beaumont.”

  “Oh! I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, Isabelle. Thank you.” Mrs. Beaumont grabbed Isabelle’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  “Knowing I’ve helped you is thanks enough.”

  Isabelle never asked for a fee, but most of her clients insisted on paying her something. She didn’t need the money. She’d worked hard since she’d been a teenager. For the first four working years of her life, she’d put nearly all of her earnings into a savings account. She’d been an orphan and hadn’t had any monetary obligations. Technically, she was released from the orphanage’s care at the age of eighteen, but had been allowed to stay until she’d turned twenty in exchange for helping out where needed and next-to-nothing room rent.

  At twenty, she’d managed to land a job at an investing firm, and was fortunate enough to work for a boss who had been willing to show her the ins and outs of investing well. Her savings, some well-orchestrated loans, along with risky investing, had paid off big. Within twelve years, she’d been able to retire and live comfortably off the interest.

  Myrna shoved a check into her hand as she walked her to the door. Isabelle didn’t feel guilty for taking the check, since she donated the money earned from her sessions to the orphanage she’d grown up in.

  Mrs. Beaumont lived just outside of Landings, Colorado, the town Isabelle had called home for the past fifteen years. Still, she was not looking forward to the hour-long drive ahead of her. Yawning, Isabelle got into her car and began the drive through the winding mountain roads. By the time she pulled into her driveway, she wanted to slump sideways and sleep in the car. Feeling wiped out after a session was normal, and after a decent night’s sleep, she would be fine.

  Yeah, a nasty little side effect of possession—exhaustion.

  She slowly coaxed her weary body to the front door where, after letting herself in, she shrugged off her coat and stripped off her clothes, dropping them in various places throughout the house, as she made her way to the bathroom.

  She turned on the shower and stood under the steaming water, letting the warmth massage the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. This would be an opportune time to have a warm, caring, attentive man around, one who would rub her back and have dinner ready on nights like this one.

  Isabelle laughed and flipped the water off. Sounds as though I need a masseuse and maid instead of a man.

  A serious relationship, one which entailed a man taking care of her at all, wasn’t possible. She had little time to put into such a union, and she hadn’t yet met a man who didn’t hightail it out of her life as if his ass were on fire as soon as he found out what she could do.

  She towel dried, went into the bedroom, climbed into bed, and snuggled under the fluffy blanket. Isabelle began drifting to sleep when the phone rang, and she nearly jack-knifed off the bed at the unexpected noise.

  She calmed her heartbeat and snatched it up on the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Isabelle. How did your session go?” Nina Franklin, her best friend, made a habit of calling her after each session.

  “I’m okay. Tired as usual.” Isabelle pressed the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn.

  “I wish I could make you a potion for that, too. You know, you should let me show you how to make your anchoring potion. I worry about you. I mean, really. Spirits possessing your body? I can’t imagine how yucky that would be.”

  Isabelle giggled. “Now why would I need to learn how to make the potion when my best friend in the whole wide world can do it for me?”

  Nina hesitated. “What if I wasn’t available for some reason, and you ran out?”

  “Hey! Are you trying to tell me something? Wait, are you and Mark getting married and moving away?” Mark and Nina were the perfect match, and it was beyond Isabelle’s comprehension as to why they hadn’t gotten married yet.

  “Whoa! I am not the marrying type, and Mark knows it, even though he has tried to convince me otherwise on more than one occasion. No, Isabelle, I simply want to know you are always safe.”

  “Thanks, but as you know, I keep a generous supply of your potion on hand. I’m fine, really. Are you sure there isn’t more? You sound kind of, I don’t know…weird.” What Isabelle did was dangerous, and she was thankful to have a friend who cared about her, but she wasn’t going to stop doing her sessions.

  “Well, I didn’t want to tell you, and it isn’t anything I’m sure of…”

  She could hear the worry in Nina’s voice as it trailed off. Isabelle sat up straight in bed. “Tell me.”

  “I keep sensing something profound is going to happen to you. But before you go and get all upset, I don’t get the feeling it is something bad…necessarily.”

  Isabelle frowned. “What do you mean by necessarily?”

  “I don’t know exactly what it is, but something is going to happen to change your life, and it’s going to coincide with your next session.”

  Isabelle slumped back on the bed and cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Well, I guess as long as it isn’t anything bad, I don’t have anything to worry about.” The other end of the line remained silent. “Nina? You still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know. It’s just going to be a significant change. I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more, but you know how lacking in detail my visions can be.”

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. I appreciate the warning.”

  “Hey, do you want me to go with you?”

  “Nah. I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know as soon as this profound thing happens, okay?”

  “Okay. Just promise you’ll be careful?”

  “I always am, Nina.”

  “I know. But you know I worry about you.”

  “I know.”

  “Love you, hon.”

  “I love you too, Nina. Now I have to get off this phone, or you will be listening to me snore.”

  Nina laughed. “Be careful and have a safe trip. Call me when you get back.”

  “All right. And, Nina?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being such a wonderful, caring friend.”

  “It goes both ways, Isabelle.”

  “It does, indeed.”

  After Nina said goodbye, Isabelle hung up the phone.

  What the hell was that all about? What could happen to her that would change her life profoundly that wasn’t bad?

&nb
sp; She punched her pillow and burrowed back down under the blankets. Guess I’ll have to wait and see.

  Isabelle lay in the dark and drifted to sleep with lingering thoughts dancing in her mind.

  Chapter Two

  He was seriously pissed off, and his bullshit meter was in the red and ready to blow. Soul-demons were made for one thing, taking souls from bodies, and he was past tired of not being able to do what he was made for. Walking the Earth—or bowels of Hell, whichever—for thousands of years equaled the taking of thousands of souls. Yet he hadn’t deprived one damn body of its soul for the last fifty years. Why? Because he’d unwittingly allowed a bitch of a witch to put a binding spell on him.

  He’d slipped up and let his dick do the thinking.

  Since then, he had been trapped in his true form—or rather, a formless state of fog—floating around, only half existing.

  He could remember that night as if it were yesterday. He had been living inside the body of the former Jack Nixon—good old fucked-up Jack, the murdering rapist who had deserved to have his corrupted soul ripped from his body—when he met the little witch, Lily. She had intrigued him with her big blue eyes, wheat blonde hair, big tits, and shapely ass. Yeah, the shapely ass was probably what had gotten him in over his head.

  The shapely ass is undeniably what got you in trouble, you idiot.

  If there was one thing he enjoyed nearly as much as taking souls, it was taking women. And he had known instantly that Lily would give as good as she got. Except he had never gotten the chance to find out. Somehow the witch had known what he was and tricked him.

  Lily had lured him to her bed, and, just when things started getting interesting, she’d chanted her spell and bound him in his demon-spirit form before he realized what she’d been up to.

  If there was one weakness all males had in common, it was thinking with their dicks. War wasn’t the downfall of man. Pussy was. He had been too sure of himself, too sure of his past experiences with women, too cocky, and thoroughly blindsided. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.