Here is the start of ‘Possession is 9/10’.  It was a fun little story to write.

 

The day invaded my personal space with a gradual lightening of the comforting darkness. Next came the tortuous ringing of the bells on the alarm clock. That vicious little thing has it in for me. I tried to burrow deeper into the warm coverings and ignore the cutesy venomous ringing that threatened to drive a spike in my ears. Ten agonizing seconds later I finally started my day –- by bringing my clenched fist down on the offending noisemaker. Irritated strength overpowered the small mechanical brass contraption and the satisfying ‘crunch’ of flattening metal gave way to irritation. I was going to have to get another alarm.

Blessed sleep ran whimpering from the growing brightness and I sat up in bed, stretching my arms towards the ceiling and trying to keep them between me and the way too cheerful sunlight streaming in through the blue lace curtains on the floor-to-ceiling patio window.

Each morning can be an adventure. This morning I wake up after crunching the alarm, stretch, try to cover my eyes, and then turn and put my feet on the floor, only to find that the floor isn’t there. The bed I’m in hangs in mid-air with no visible means of support, and my head barely avoiding a collision with the ceiling as my senses start to tell me things are very wrong.

The night stand drops from the side of the bed, falling to the floor with a splintering crash. My feet dangle off the edge and the bed tilts dangerously as reality and gravity grab me by the throat and give me a solid shake as a good morning greeting. The bed falls stopping just above the floor and gently settles. My feet touch the floorboards and flinch away. The wood was like ice. I look down and the floor is ice –- at least a quarter-inch thick over the reddish cherrywood. My breath hangs in the air as puffs of fog from my lips. Just another day of possession for yours truly.

You heard right. Possession. As in something not ready to pass on hides inside a person hoping that it can coerce whom it possesses into satisfying a last lingering regret or desire before it rejoins the choir invisible and moves on to its reward or whatever place restless spirits go. Fortunately for me, I’m not the one who’s the possessed.

That would be my ferret, Imp. She’s what is called a ‘Siamese coated’. Her limbs are all a chocolate brown with a light tan body and a bandit mask. It’s striking actually. Not as striking as her chatter when possessed. If you’ve ever heard a child try to squeak out curse words while trying to control an out-of-control object, you have a good idea of what it’s like for Imp.

She has full control of her body, but the spirit can talk, usually screaming for Imp to slow down so they can talk to me and we can agree on a deal for their lingering business. After a negotiation of some mutually beneficial deal, we get about the business. Hey, stuff like this isn’t for free. I have to make a living too. Otherwise I couldn’t keep Imp in the style she’s accustomed to.

Like today, she’s sleeping on my bed, and came wide awake as it settled back to the floor. Her furry body launched off the bed onto the floor without a care in the world.

Me, I shiver in real cold and check the thermometer on the wall by the patio door. It says -10C and that I’m welcome would I like to hear the forecast for today? I decline with ill grace. I’m never happy unless caffeinated. That being said, it was obvious that a spirit was in desperate straits to use Imp.

Obvious, you ask? Easy to answer. If you note I said the bed was floating in the air. I didn’t suspend it from strings as a slight of hand trick. That’s expensive and more effort than I want to put out for anything actually.

To answer the second unspoken question I know you’re itching to ask; Why not me? Because I’ve no aptitude for psychic phenomena. Why a ferret has that kind of sensitivity is one of those things in the universe that no one has any idea. It just is. Imp was being her usual self, running to the food dish, finding it empty. Then realizing she hasn’t done her morning ablutions, and runs for her toilet. Once that’s done it’s back to the food dish, then to me to ask if I could please hurry up and feed her since she’s hungry thanks-ever-so-much?

I get there eventually, which is never fast enough, and get a scoop of ferret food for Imp. Then I can go about the real necessities, coffee for a wake-up, and eggs with bacon for me. Then I can get to the spirit in question. Said spirit was trying to talk around ferret crunchies and failing. Imp paid no attention to the funny noises while I waited patiently for her to finish eating and let the spirit communicate.

When Imp came over, I nodded at her, and she lay down in front of me, looking for all the world like a cat that had just claimed that spot for its own. I leaned over so the spirit could get a better look at me. Ferrets are notoriously near-sighted.

“Hello, I’m Kat, that’s Imp. What can we do for you?”

Imp shifted lazily as the spirit tried to get a word in edgewise while she cleaned her belly fur.

“I’m…ahh…Chuck Wuerley.” The spirit tried to gag as Imp started cleaning her butt. “Gah! Oh my god this is…ack! What are you doing?! stop! Stop!” His discussion was put on hold while Imp finished her morning ritual. She looked back up at me and the spirit recovered enough control to resume talking.

“What is this? There’s this weird taste in my mouth.”

“That would be Imp’s breakfast and some hair from her grooming. You’re in a ferret, by the way, not a person.”

The ferret continued to gaze up at me in what I suppose was stunned silence or ferrety satisfaction of a full belly and clean fur. You can never tell with spirits. Or ferrets. Some are okay with an animal possession. A few were ecstatic. Most are shocked and dismayed. Chuck seemed like the latter.

“A ferret? What the hell is a ferret?! I rolled my eyes and walked over to my bathroom. I had a mirror on the counter next to the sink, and picked it up. I walked back out to the still motionless ferret, and plunked the mirror down in front of her.

“It’s a rat. I’m in a rat. Why am I in a rat?”

“Imp is a ferret, not a rat,” I said indignantly. “Get your mammals straight, doofus.” I waggled a finger right in front of Imp’s nose as I spoke. Imp took this as an invitation to a play fight. She leapt up, dooking and shook her head side to side as she rapidly backed under the bed while the protesting Chuck tried to scream at Imp to stand still.

“Whoa! Stop! Stop! Dammit you little ass-wipe-fuzzy-stretch-rat stop! I need to talk the person. Stop dammit!”

Imp scrambled out from under the bed and pounced on my fingers, biting playfully at them as I flipped her over and tickled her belly.

“Waah..ha..hahahahaha! Stop! It tickles! Haaahahahah!”

Imp dook’d happily and flipped back over. She scrambled back under the bed, ran out, then ran back under again as I moved toward her. Chuck was pleading with me to stop and listen to him after another five minutes. I stopped playing with Imp, who made a few lunges and back-aways from me, then seeing playtime was over, noodled over to my feet and lay on her side.

“Okay Chuck. What’s your situation besides being dead and all. What do you need to happen to go to the great beyond?”

“I want you to find my kid.”

“Find your child? What happened? Did she run away? Or…?”

“No no no no…nothing like that. I want you to find my kid. My baby goat.”

I couldn’t help it. “Say…what?”