|Voices (standard:horror, 1322 words)|
|Author: Lev821||Added: Dec 08 2020||Views/Reads: 143/71||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|What can Ian do about the voice and headache inside his mind that he is convinced is a demonic possession?|
It's a demon, he thought. It has to be. For the past week, he had had migraine-like headaches which he believed was a supernatural occurrence. This spirit, had gained entry to his mind, and now it wanted to get out, but it couldn't, so banged away at his skull in an attempt to find an exit, rather like a spider in a bath, unaware of the plughole from which it came. He took all the pills he could without overdosing, but they didn't work. He tried to convince himself that the voice inside was his own conscience, but concluded that a demon had taken over, and demanded to be let out. It didn't possess him enough to control his actions, but it still resided in his mind. That was according to him, anyway. He was susceptible to believing in such issues. Sometimes demons took human form and committed heinous acts of criminality. Sometimes they possessed people and controlled their actions, but the one inside Ian Morton seemed to be a novice. Perhaps this was its first possession, or it changed its mind. Either way, it banged on his skull and demanded to leave. How did you get in? Ian had asked, aloud to himself in his mirror. Ear operation, it had said. A week earlier, Ian had had a myringotomy procedure in his right ear to relieve increasing pressure and to prevent infection, and for several seconds there was direct access to his brain, to his mind. I want to leave, the voice said. Find a way. Ian worked as an industry and commerce accountant, was 38 years old, had a permanently greasy mop of black hair that he was always flicking back, and wore thick black rimmed glasses. He walked with a stoop that made him looked constantly suspicious and shifty, and whilst he did not shun the attention of other people, he did not seek it, or particularly welcome it. He lived alone in a basement flat with his two hamsters, Cedric and Jasper. Women had not featured much in his life, and he accepted that. Yet, the most private area a person has, away from anybody, away from anything, was the mind. Prisoners, slaves, anybody reluctantly surrounded by others, and confined in anyway, can retreat into their imagination, and there, go, be, and do anything they want. Ian's mind had been taken over, but the spirit could not be visualised, only heard, and felt, and that made him wonder that it was in fact his own conscience, intensified by an unknown disease that could cause a person to believe that they heard voices. Yet, Ian believed it was a demon, and tablets could not remove it. It was 5.30pm. Home time. He locked his office, passed by the secretary, and nodded goodbye. Near the main entrance, a blue overalled worker was fixing the overhead lights. He was on a step-ladder, examining the end of a wire. In his other hand was a cordless power drill. Ian slowed down and stared at it for a few moments, then continued out onto the street. That's it, he thought, because his thoughts were still his own. If I drill into my skull, then that will let it out. Perhaps, came the voice. Give it a go. As it was a Wednesday, the libraries were open late, so he walked half a mile to his nearest centre and looked in the health section for any information on old curing methods and remedies, but he could not find anything, so decided to go on a computer to see if he could find anything out. He was soon online, and searching for trepanation. Despite it being a somewhat unorthodox and unbalanced procedure, he saw it was mainly for medical purposes for which it was used, and would be similar to what he was thinking in the relief of the headaches, but there were few mentions of the reason he sought, but he found two sentences which simply told that people in the middle ages, believing they were possessed, trepanned their skulls to let the demon out. This was good enough for him, and Ian logged off, and left the library. Not far away, a DIY chain store was open late, as they always were, and Ian walked up and down the aisles until he came to the drills. There was quite a choice, as well as the drill bits for the end. How big a hole, though, he thought. He decided on half an inch. He didn't buy a cordless, but a heavy one with a long wire. Soon, he was heading home, his nerves burning slowly at the thought of what he was going to do. He was soon staring at the water in the transparent kettle in his flat, Click here to read the rest of this story (51 more lines)
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