Mary's Story
I'm going to try and write a little bit every day. We'll see how far I get. This is mostly what I wrote a few weeks ago when I had the idea. TOTALLY un-edited and barely spell checked.
This place was temporary. The spectors had caught her trying to destroy a furry demon in the park. In her defense, the thing was exceptionally wily and wouldn't hold still for her to perform the rites. One of the agents had been able to sneak through her defenses when she had been climbing under the playground set and dragging the demon out by his pehensile tail. The agents had taken her back to their interment camp and forced the possession upon her. Add camps go, this one wasn't so bad. This one had lights, meals, a recreation area and a minimum of rats.
The old spirits told stories of camps so filthy the rats avoided them. Children starved, women were raped men were beaten. Nightmarish hell holes where the aristocracy used to tour simply to be amused at the lengths of their own depravity. Times had changed since then, but the older spirits still passed on the tales whenever they were given the opportunity to speak.
One of the old spirits was talking just now. Sitting cross legged on the sagging cot. Mary sat on the floor, leaning against the block wall with her eyes closed. She was concentrating on Jumanji. He would have been distraught when she hadn't come home. Jumanji was a Baloo. Whether the legends of monsters under the beds of children gave birth to the baloo or they gave birth to the legends was beyond Mary. That was an exotentialist question best saved for long nights at the pub with too many ciders. Jumanji was a baloo, and yes, his favorite place in the whole world was under her bed. He was also her friend, her loyal companion, a type of familiar. They shared a bond. It was almost psychic. Sometimes she swore he could hear and understand her, other times she just thought he got lucky. Tonight however, she didn't think her messages were getting through. She was still fighting off the effects of the possession and the Elder one's innane ramblings were affecting her concentration. Finally Mary gave up, and spun on her butt, lifting her legs up to lay on the wall while she laid on her back with her arms splayed out on the floor.
She considered herself a harmonic. It meant that she felt things, like vibrations in the air. Sometimes it was like music or a claxom of alarms. Other times it was just a low buzz in her bones or a hum in her ears. Other people she'd met felt the powers in different ways. One girl had called herself an aura reader. She said she could see the light given off by things and could read their intent in the colors. MOst of the people she met were feelers. They had to touch things, like a cognative psychic. However, they did it, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that they were here together, imprisioned for defending themselves against forces others couldn't or wouldn't see.
The others were without magic. They couldn't feel it, couldn't use it and often wouldn't see it by sheer force of will. Mary often wondered how they could refuse to see the demons that dragged them in front of cars, scarred their faces and tampered with their thoughts, but the effect of demons was common place. The power weilded by Mary and others like her, was rare. Rare, unpredictable and unknown. Therefore, a threat. The others had used their superior technology to create the possession. The possession forced a person's soul to open for a special kind of demon. Black as sin, thick and chalky on the bck of her tongue, Mary felt as though it simply pushed her to the back of her own head and wore her body like an unflattering meat suit.
But the sould regenerated and in order to hold the possession, the others had to be vigilant. There were ways to twart them, and mary knew them all. Tomorrow her mind would be clear and the day after that her magic would be regenereated enough to facilitate her escape.
"I don't think she's listeing to us, Marco." The Elder spirit's nasally voice poked through her fuzzy thoughts. Mary opened her eyes to see that the old one had been joined by one of her favorites, Marco. He was also sitting cross legged on the cot, his dark hair falling over his light eyes. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, feeling better about the world. The spirits were always the first to find her after a possession, or more likely, her ability to see and hear them was the first to return after a possession. The spirits were everywhere. Some, like the elder one here, were connected to a place or time. Some like Marco, were attached to her. They couldn't do much, besides hiding your keys or untying your gym shoes when you were jogging, but they were a wealth of information. She missed them when she was trapped in the back of her mind, straight jacketed and locked away from her magic. Marco's smile was like coming home. A very noisy home filled with an extended family with no sense of privacy, but home none the less.
Marco replied to the elder spirit, but his gaze remained fixed on Mary as he spoke. "Easy Georgina, she's just resting. It's been a long day. They call it exercising for a reason."
"It's exORsising." Mary emphasised the or, but neither of the spirits paid her any mind. Seraphina, another of Mary's crew, floated into her view, singing some haunting song in Italian. A couple of place spirits followed her, enraptured by the melody. Mary closed her eyes again, breathing deeply and trying to lose herself in Sera's song.
A hum slid under the door. Mary felt it rumble under he head and shoulders, calling her out of her room. Sighing, she pulled herself up to her feet and began setting the protecttion wards around her cot. The wards wouldn't effect the spirits or Jumanji, or even the guards of the interment camp, but they kept the demons at bay. That's all that mattered. She didn't want one oozing into the thin mattress or painting itself onto her wall only to ambush her in the middle of the night. The Baloo protected her bed at home, along with the rest of her house, very much the same way a cat keeps out the mice. Without Jumanji, however, she was forced to protect herself. She gathered all the small objects in her room into a pile on the bed and laid her hands over the pile and murmured the words of blessings. Her fingers thrummed with the weak power, more a product of the ancient ritual than her own generation. Mary slid her fingers to wall and anchored the spell there. When the words were done, she sagged to her knees on the floor, wasted by the effort. Tomorrow she would have enough of her own power that the wards would be stronger without having to pull so much magic out of thin air. She carefully placed each of the blessed objects out around her bed, feeling the net of protection stretch and crackle until her space was completely enclosed. When it was done she grabbed her standard issue sweater and turned on the light in her room just before she opened the door to the hall. Glaring white light assaulted her eyes and Mary tried not to flinch. The possessed didn't care about the light, loved it in fact. They kept the lights on and avoided the dark places. If the guards noticed her sitting in the dim, they would become suspicious and come to check the status of her possession.
This place was temporary. The spectors had caught her trying to destroy a furry demon in the park. In her defense, the thing was exceptionally wily and wouldn't hold still for her to perform the rites. One of the agents had been able to sneak through her defenses when she had been climbing under the playground set and dragging the demon out by his pehensile tail. The agents had taken her back to their interment camp and forced the possession upon her. Add camps go, this one wasn't so bad. This one had lights, meals, a recreation area and a minimum of rats.
The old spirits told stories of camps so filthy the rats avoided them. Children starved, women were raped men were beaten. Nightmarish hell holes where the aristocracy used to tour simply to be amused at the lengths of their own depravity. Times had changed since then, but the older spirits still passed on the tales whenever they were given the opportunity to speak.
One of the old spirits was talking just now. Sitting cross legged on the sagging cot. Mary sat on the floor, leaning against the block wall with her eyes closed. She was concentrating on Jumanji. He would have been distraught when she hadn't come home. Jumanji was a Baloo. Whether the legends of monsters under the beds of children gave birth to the baloo or they gave birth to the legends was beyond Mary. That was an exotentialist question best saved for long nights at the pub with too many ciders. Jumanji was a baloo, and yes, his favorite place in the whole world was under her bed. He was also her friend, her loyal companion, a type of familiar. They shared a bond. It was almost psychic. Sometimes she swore he could hear and understand her, other times she just thought he got lucky. Tonight however, she didn't think her messages were getting through. She was still fighting off the effects of the possession and the Elder one's innane ramblings were affecting her concentration. Finally Mary gave up, and spun on her butt, lifting her legs up to lay on the wall while she laid on her back with her arms splayed out on the floor.
She considered herself a harmonic. It meant that she felt things, like vibrations in the air. Sometimes it was like music or a claxom of alarms. Other times it was just a low buzz in her bones or a hum in her ears. Other people she'd met felt the powers in different ways. One girl had called herself an aura reader. She said she could see the light given off by things and could read their intent in the colors. MOst of the people she met were feelers. They had to touch things, like a cognative psychic. However, they did it, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that they were here together, imprisioned for defending themselves against forces others couldn't or wouldn't see.
The others were without magic. They couldn't feel it, couldn't use it and often wouldn't see it by sheer force of will. Mary often wondered how they could refuse to see the demons that dragged them in front of cars, scarred their faces and tampered with their thoughts, but the effect of demons was common place. The power weilded by Mary and others like her, was rare. Rare, unpredictable and unknown. Therefore, a threat. The others had used their superior technology to create the possession. The possession forced a person's soul to open for a special kind of demon. Black as sin, thick and chalky on the bck of her tongue, Mary felt as though it simply pushed her to the back of her own head and wore her body like an unflattering meat suit.
But the sould regenerated and in order to hold the possession, the others had to be vigilant. There were ways to twart them, and mary knew them all. Tomorrow her mind would be clear and the day after that her magic would be regenereated enough to facilitate her escape.
"I don't think she's listeing to us, Marco." The Elder spirit's nasally voice poked through her fuzzy thoughts. Mary opened her eyes to see that the old one had been joined by one of her favorites, Marco. He was also sitting cross legged on the cot, his dark hair falling over his light eyes. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, feeling better about the world. The spirits were always the first to find her after a possession, or more likely, her ability to see and hear them was the first to return after a possession. The spirits were everywhere. Some, like the elder one here, were connected to a place or time. Some like Marco, were attached to her. They couldn't do much, besides hiding your keys or untying your gym shoes when you were jogging, but they were a wealth of information. She missed them when she was trapped in the back of her mind, straight jacketed and locked away from her magic. Marco's smile was like coming home. A very noisy home filled with an extended family with no sense of privacy, but home none the less.
Marco replied to the elder spirit, but his gaze remained fixed on Mary as he spoke. "Easy Georgina, she's just resting. It's been a long day. They call it exercising for a reason."
"It's exORsising." Mary emphasised the or, but neither of the spirits paid her any mind. Seraphina, another of Mary's crew, floated into her view, singing some haunting song in Italian. A couple of place spirits followed her, enraptured by the melody. Mary closed her eyes again, breathing deeply and trying to lose herself in Sera's song.
A hum slid under the door. Mary felt it rumble under he head and shoulders, calling her out of her room. Sighing, she pulled herself up to her feet and began setting the protecttion wards around her cot. The wards wouldn't effect the spirits or Jumanji, or even the guards of the interment camp, but they kept the demons at bay. That's all that mattered. She didn't want one oozing into the thin mattress or painting itself onto her wall only to ambush her in the middle of the night. The Baloo protected her bed at home, along with the rest of her house, very much the same way a cat keeps out the mice. Without Jumanji, however, she was forced to protect herself. She gathered all the small objects in her room into a pile on the bed and laid her hands over the pile and murmured the words of blessings. Her fingers thrummed with the weak power, more a product of the ancient ritual than her own generation. Mary slid her fingers to wall and anchored the spell there. When the words were done, she sagged to her knees on the floor, wasted by the effort. Tomorrow she would have enough of her own power that the wards would be stronger without having to pull so much magic out of thin air. She carefully placed each of the blessed objects out around her bed, feeling the net of protection stretch and crackle until her space was completely enclosed. When it was done she grabbed her standard issue sweater and turned on the light in her room just before she opened the door to the hall. Glaring white light assaulted her eyes and Mary tried not to flinch. The possessed didn't care about the light, loved it in fact. They kept the lights on and avoided the dark places. If the guards noticed her sitting in the dim, they would become suspicious and come to check the status of her possession.