Possession

This story is by Julee Nicklaus and was part of our 2022 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The 4:00 P.M. bell—finally. Chairs scrape, books slam shut, doors creak open and I slither through the noisy, sweaty, pubescent bodies vying for attention in these ancient hallways. Glad for my release from the prison they call Shelton High School, I step into the dead of winter, take a breath and savor my temporary liberation. 

 Confident in my usual wannabe hippie clothes, I scramble up to my black 1960 V.W. Bug parked under a bare-branched dogwood. I coax the eleven-year-old engine—prone to backfiring—to turn over. I jam into first gear and boom! Thunder. Fat cold raindrops plop heavy on the windshield whose wipers stopped cooperating six months ago. Crap. I stomp on the gas, spit gravel in my wake, and pray no cops catch me speeding the half-mile home. 

 Winding up the hill, I peer through the rain and notice the street lamps click on. As I pull up to our house, Poppy, our calico cat, streaks in front of me. I slam on the brakes and skid to a stop. Wild wind sends my hair whipping and jacket flapping as I dash to the front door. Poppy darts in front of me. We compete for entrance. She wins, but I almost kill her again when I stumble over her. 

 At the far end of the living room, I see my sister Joanie, long stringy hair concealing half her face. Cross-legged and barefoot, she’s sitting in the only chair that rocks. My mother, clean and neat, is perched stiffly on the equally stiff brown couch. There are two ladies from church sitting with their backs to the rain-pelted window, opposite Mom. Mavis and Lydia, with their Aqua Netted hair and red lettered Bibles open on their skirted laps, turn toward me. I stop in the doorway. Mom opens her mouth. Joanie glances up. All four of them seem frozen in a tableau of interrupted mischief. 

What’s going on? I say.

“Mavis and Lydia are here to pray for Joanie to be healed,” Mom says, “Close the door.”

The wind catches the door and slams it behind me. Everyone startles—then settles with a collective exhale.

“And to be delivered,” inserts Mavis. 

Mom whips a stare at Mavis. Joanie fiddles with the hem of her blouse.

“Delivered?” I say.

I look to Mom for any clue that I might have heard wrong. Mom’s weary face forces a grimaced smile and she pats the couch, motioning me to come sit. Morbid curiosity and the urge to flee the premises wrestle for domination in my brain. But I kick off my shoes, tuck my legs under, and with every sense in my body on high alert, sit on the couch by Mom. Poppy jumps up onto my lap and, in ignorance, purrs immediately while I pet drops of water off her back. Wind-blown branches scrape against the window, setting my teeth on edge. 

“Ahem, Lisa?” Apparently Mavis needs my attention.

“Yeah?”

“You know the story in the Bible about the boy who had seizures?”

“Not really.” 

“The boy had epilepsy.”

“So,” I say. I didn’t know adults had permission to roll their eyes.

“The father tells Jesus how the boy falls into fire or into water.”

“Oh.” I roll my eyes at her.

“The boy was possessed by a demon.” 

“What?”

Lydia takes over, “Jesus rebuked the demon. It came out, and the boy was healed of his epilepsy!”—her giddiness tempers when Mavis lays a hand on her knee—“We’ve been praying together these last few weeks. We believe Joanie’s epilepsy is caused by the demonic.” 

“You think Joanie is demon possessed?” I say. But demons aren’t supposed to be able to get into Christians. She can’t be possessed. Can she? 

“Yes. We’ve delivered Joanie from two already today.” 

Can I be demon possessed? 

“Lydia, we can’t be sure that’s what’s been happening here. Joanie doesn’t … Sh—she’s very susceptible to suggestions,” says Mom. She takes my hand, and I remember how Joanie loves playing pretend. 

Lightning flashes. 

Mavis fixes her eyes on Joanie, but leans toward me and Mom, “In order to exorcise a demon, we need to know its name. The others gave their names and came out. But this one,”—she glances at Mom—“I think it’s the last, but it refuses to identify itself.”

Thunder claps. Poppy flinches. Lydia grabs Mavis’s shoulder. Mavis shrugs it off.

Joanie pipes up. “You’d like to know my name, wouldn’t you?” Her voice is deeper than normal. The words  are drawn out, sinister, taunting. Crap, she’s good at this.

Mavis shoots back, “What is your name? I command you! Tell us!”

Joanie bores her focus into Mavis, “I’m not telling you—and I’m not coming out.” She—it?—lets out a soft maniacal chuckle and gives a side look toward Mom and me. 

“Wait.” says Mom, “Joanie’s not—“

“You must come out! Look at me!” Mavis shouts.

“Why should I come out?” Joanie smiles, closes her eyes slowly and pops them back open with a glassy stare at the ceiling. “I like this body.” She twists her back bone, her shoulders roll seductively and her head tilts. She rocks back in her chair and it glides forward.

I scoot closer to Mom. Poppy adjusts herself. Mom stiffens. Thunder rattles the window and the lights flicker. 

Mavis raises her Bible, “In the name of Jesus, come out!”

Joanie fixes her eyes directly on mine. I shiver. It doesn’t feel like she’s pretending anymore. Hissing oozes from her mouth, “If I come out”—her upper lip curves up into a sneer and she jabs her finger at me—“I’m going to go into her sister. Ha!” 

What!?! My neck prickles with erect hairs. God, she really does have a demon! I scramble to find some kind—any kind—of blockade against this—this…

“No you won’t!” I’m yelling.

Another clap of thunder reverberates through the house. I hope against hope that shouting “no you won’t” is a barrier around my body that is enough to keep a demon from entering me. I have zero confidence. I forgot to say,“In the name of Jesus!” Oh God. 

I send a silent plea to the heavens for the success of this exorcism. Poppy’s tail whips. Something big slams into the roof—hard. The power goes out.

I hear a guttural whisper. It is close, “Sila! Sila is my name.”

My breathing stops. Poppy digs her claws into my bare arm and launches herself into the darkness. 

“Stop!” It’s Mom. 

Bright light blinds me. I shield my eyes and make out that it’s a flashlight, coming from Lydia. Joanie is at my ear. I turn toward her and see bulging eyes, flared nostrils, and open mouth—breath fast and foul. My heart jumps to my throat. Incoherent blabber uncontrollably flies out my mouth.

Mavis is on her feet and in Joanie’s face, “Sila! In the name of Jesus I command you! Out!”

“I said stop!” Mom lunges toward Mavis. Joanie flops down to the floor. “Stop! All of you! Joanie has no demons!” 

We all freeze. 

Mavis breaks the silence, “No demons? What was all that then?” 

“Not demons! She’s pretending!”

“Pretending!?”

“Yes! You don’t know Joanie. She’s my daughter! It’s hard…hard for her to distinguish reality from fantasy…cuz of her—you know…”—Mom’s head twitches—“she’s very susceptible to suggestions—she loves to act!”

“Act?” says Lydia.

“That’s right! She’s acting. Acting the part you gave her!”

“Mom! Don’t make ‘em stop. Let them finish.”—I latch on to Mom—“please!”  We’re both trembling.

Lydia’s flashlight finds Joanie’s face. Joanie sits up and snaps to normal. A sweet innocent demeanor has regained control of my sister. And like a miracle, the lights come back on.

“Look. She’s fine!” Hiding tears, Mom shakes me off and heads toward the kitchen.

Wait! What if she’s not pretending? Mom! It said its name, for God’s sake! 

Joanie looks up at me, all innocent. I don’t believe her.

Mavis raises her eyebrows and shuts her mouth. 

Lydia whispers, “I think we got ‘em.” 

“We did,” says Mavis.

They gather up their Bibles and walk the ten steps to the dining table. I follow. Poppy, my only comfort, has disappeared. Mom breaks out some kind of packaged cookies because she’s hospitable. The adults drink coffee or tea or juice or something, I don’t know because the fear in me has a grip, and I’ll never be sure that Joanie isn’t possessed or—Crap! Maybe I am! 

The grownups are polite to one another, and except for some nervous laughter, act normal. I hear a car. Glancing out the window, I see Dad’s white Ford Galaxy and feel safer. He enters through the side door which opens into the dining area where all of us are—except Joanie. She’s back in her chair with a closed lipped smile, vacant stare and crossed legs—rocking…rocking…