Please Take a Seat

The light flicked on and off. Screams filled the basement. Jack’s eyes were a mix of fear and apology. He assured me he’d done it before. I’d believed everything he told me, right up until when the walls started to bleed. I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked just as surprised, and petrified as the rest of us. He had no idea what was happening now, or what was to come.

Shadows flew around the room, occasionally swooping at our faces.

“What do we do, Jack?” screamed Kelly. Both her and Izzy hid their faces behind their hands, trying to separate themselves from the horrors unfolding in the basement.

“We need to stay calm,” a very un-calm looking Jack explained. “Nothing can hurt us. We’re not virgins. It can’t violate our unclean bodies.”

I snapped my head up. Jack had not mentioned virgins before.

Jack looked at me, disappointed. Somehow, lying about the girl I met on holiday was worse than Satan violating me.

I opened my mouth to speak. I felt like all the air in the room was forcing its way down my throat. I couldn’t breathe, but no panic. My body didn’t demand air. It didn’t demand anything. My control was being taken from me. It was shoving me down, as something else stretched out, filling the gaps I’d previously occupied.

Then, like the flick of a switch. Darkness.

Another flick. Light. The kind you can hear humming.

This wasn’t Kelly’s basement.

This looked like a waiting room. There were ten people scattered around, each one desperately avoiding eye contact.

I scanned the white room, but I couldn’t see any of my friends.

“Jack,” I hoped the sound of his name might pop his head into view.

“Shhhhhh.”

The sound came from behind the front desk. Its creator was a short, elderly woman who wanted any excuse to flex the minuscule authority she wielded.

I gave her my best apology eyes. I needed her on my side.

I made my way over. She threw her arms up in frustration at having to deal with whatever I was bringing. I smiled, still pushing for a reluctant kinship.

I didn’t want to make the approach any more than she wanted me approaching. What did she expect me to do? Grab a magazine and chill in whatever corporate hellhole I’d landed in?

“Hi,” I began unsteadily. “Can you tell…”

“Sit and wait for your name to be called,” she interrupted, not looking up from her keyboard.

“But,” I sputtered, “I’ve no idea what’s going on. Please help.”

The pathetic tone finally pulled her eyes from the screen. She looked like she might want to feel sorry for me, but that would require the empathy she clearly misplaced.

“First time?” she sighed.

“Yes. I guess so.”

“We don’t get many newbies these days,” she said, her dislike of me intensifying.

“Sorry,” I said, not quite sure why, only that I desperately needed her to hear it.

“Name?” she demanded.

“Erm…” I stalled, already struggling on the first question. “Dylan Jacobs.”

“Let me check,” she said, furiously typing.

I turned back to the seating area. There was a man in the corner. He sat upright, staring at his phone, a devious smile spreading across his face. The room was silent, save for him. His breathing was heavy and low, rattling around the space, clumsily bumping into everyone.

“What was the reason for the possession?” the receptionist asked, cutting through the thunderous panting.

“I’m not really sure,” I said. “Jack said it would be fun.”

“Okay,” she replied, in a tone that suggested it very much was not. “This Jack, is he fully qualified?”

“I don’t think so,” I admitted. “He found the instructions in his grandad’s old stuff. He said he’d done it before.”

The more I spoke, the more I sounded like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“We wanted to impress these girls,” I continued, mortified. “Jack said they’d be into something dark. Make us look edgy.”

I felt like a randy teenager. She clearly agreed. I started to understand why everyone else was keen to remain incognito.

She sighed again. “This is not what I needed just before lunch.” After about four hundred clicks of her mouse, she looked at me with the eyes of an inmate on death row. “You’ll need to tell me what happened,” she said. “From the very start.”

Jack’s grandfather had just died, and judging by what Jack had found, he’d lived a completely unhinged life.

There were photos and trinkets from all over the world.

“Dylan, come look at this,” Jack shouted, tugging a yellowed piece of paper from a wooden crate. “This is that demonic stuff I told you my grandad was into. It’s a summoning spell.”

He passed me the paper. The writing was in blue biro. Hardly a demonic priest’s pen of choice.

“Mate,” I laughed, handing it back, “it looks like a shopping list.”

“Shut up,” he snapped, “I’ve done it with my cousin loads before.”

“Really?” I asked, smelling the bullshit on his breath. “How come you’ve never mentioned it?”

“Because I knew you’d be a coward about it,” he laughed, only half joking. “You’d beg me not to, worried I’d get groped by some dirty old demon.”

He was probably right. Not about the groping thing. I really hoped not about the groping thing.

“Well,” I said, “did you get fiddled by a demonic diddler?”

“You wish,” he shot back. “It’s safe. Nothing can hurt you. Scary as hell, though.”

“First of all,” I said, stepping closer so he could fully absorb how stupid he sounded, “it’s not real. Secondly, there is absolutely no way your grandad was messing with that stuff. And there is definitely no way you and your thicko cousin are. It’s probably a letter from your nan begging for him back.”

“Jesus, mate,” Jack gasped. “I’m grieving here.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Got carried away.”

“Dickhead,” he laughed. Then, more seriously, “I told Kelly and Izzy about it. They’re properly up for it.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. I was annoyed at being signed up to satanic double date, but also ecstatic at the thought of hanging out with Izzy. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. She had…”

“Yep,” the receptionist cut in. “That’s quite enough, thank you. Let’s focus on the possession agreement. The paper, what did it say?”

“How do I know?” I snapped, before realising that I did know. Word for word.

“The agreement was made with you,” she said, utterly unfazed. “Fraudulently or not, you’ll always remember it.”

As if it had been tattooed onto the inside of my skull, the paper Jack had shown me filled my vision.

Por juramento sellado en carne e voluntad rendida, otorgo con consentimiento pleno que el demonio tome señorío, more e use de mi cuerpo para…

I began reciting it aloud.

“Nope,” she said quickly. “Not in here, thank you.” She slid a pen and notebook to me. “Write it down.”

I’d started writing it before I’d even looked at the paper. Once I was finished, I slid it back to her.

She looked at it, and for the first time I saw something that might have been concern flicker across her face.

“What was the reason and time length of the possession?” asked the increasingly irritated receptionist.

“I don’t know,” I squeaked. “That was all he said.”

“No reason?” she said, eyes widening. “No timeframe?”

The concern on her face tripled instantly.

“What is it?” I asked, not entirely sure I actually wanted to know.

“The possession agreement is a contract a human can make with a demon,” she said, adopting the tone of a primary school teacher explaining something very slowly to her most challenging student. “The terms of the agreement must be given at the time of possession.”

“What if they’re not?” I asked, continuing a line of questioning I absolutely did not want answered.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she replied. Her voice was full of apprehension now. This time, all of it was for me. “I’m going to need to look into this. Take a seat.”

“But…” my protest began.

“Take a seat!” she growled.

The force of it physically shoved me back. I stumbled, and made my way back

When I got to the waiting area, a few people had left. The weird guy in the corner was still there, wheezing.

There was a new addition, not like the others. She wasn’t hiding. Her foot tapped along to a beat only she could hear. Like she was waiting for a bus.

She couldn’t have been older than fifteen, but she carried herself as if she’d lived a hundred lifetimes.

When her eyes met mine, she smiled. I say down opposite her.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “What are you in for? Teenage tech guru?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, hoping she’d be able to provide some light in the darkness I’d been left in. “I’ve never been here before. Me and my friends were just messing about.”

“But you’ve got a contract?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.

“No,” I replied miserably. “I spoke to the lady behind the desk. I think I’m screwed.”

“On the contrary,” my new companion chirped. “I think they’re screwed.”

I had so many questions I didn’t know which one to ask first, so instead I just stared at her, hoping she could hear the stupidity screaming inside my silence.

“Do you not know what this is?” she asked, sounding almost jealous.

I shook my head.

“In that case,” she grinned, “you’d better prepare for some core memories to be evicted, because what I’m about to tell you is going to need lots of room, and it’ll stick around.”

I leaned back, bracing myself to hear the thing I needed my brain to understand, without ever actually hearing it out loud.

“This place is called The Offices of Voluntary Inhabitation. It was built to lower possession related crime. It used to be a real problem. Demons were lawless. It was like the Wild West.”

She stopped and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Everyone else was either staring at the floor or at their sweat-smeared phones.

She slid into the seat beside me and continued. “They couldn’t outlaw possession, so they controlled it. Airtight contracts. Heavy punishments for anyone who breaks them.”

The worry must have shown on my face immediately, because she added quickly, “Not for you. You didn’t sign anything. You’re not liable.”

Some of the anxious energy drained out of me, leaving a small pocket of relief behind.

“Don’t look too relieved,” she laughed. “You’ve still got a demon you know nothing about living its best life inside you. You’ll be covered in every bodily fluid possible.”

“It’s not actually me that’s covered in it,” I said, twisting around. “See? Nothing.”

She snorted, smiling like she was having the time of her life.

“No,” she said, still laughing, “but when you get back in your body, you’ll stink of it.”

Then, like she’d been caught giggling in church, her face turned serious. Her eyes filled with embarrassment, maybe shame.

“What’s the deal with everyone else?” I asked, selfishly steering away from whatever that was.

“Well,” she said, relieved by the distraction, “they don’t want anyone to see their faces. They’re some of the most recognisable people on the planet. They made deals with monsters. Fame and fortune in exchange for letting the demon loose, every now and then.”

I looked around and gasped, far louder than was appropriate. No one looked up.

I spotted at least two Premier League footballers. There were movie stars too. Pop stars. All of them trying to blend into the background like impeccably groomed chameleons.

“What’s his deal?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the sweaty breather.

“Some people don’t want fame or fortune,” she said with a smile. “He’s a demonical cuckold.”

I didn’t want to admit I’d no idea what that meant, but my entire outer self betrayed me.

She looked thrilled.

“He likes to have a demon enter him,” she explained, “and then watch that demon use his body to enter his wife.”

“Wow,” I whispered. “Does she know? The wife, I mean.”

My concern for the woman, rather than the situation itself, made her beam shared understanding.

“Some do. Some don’t,” she replied soberly. “As long as there’s a signature, this place doesn’t care.”

“This place just keeps getting worse,” I muttered.

That earned another approving smile. She nodded, as if I’d passed some quiet test.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It had a warmth to it. I could have let it stretch on forever.

“My name’s Olivia,” she said gently. “What’s yours?”

“Dylan,” I smiled back. “Have you been possessed, or are you one of the possessors?”

She gave a weak grin.

“My stepdad used me for a deal with some demon. Every now and then, I hang out here.” She paused. “Waiting.”

The way she said the last word made it clear that was all I was getting.

I offered a pathetic smile and a weak nod, as if that was contribution enough.

“How do you know so much?” I asked, hoping to change the subject I’d steered us into.

“I’m here a lot,” she continued in a monotone, “I must have read the info packs a thousand times.”

“Mr Jacobs,” a voice called from the desk.

I stood, gave an over-the-top bow, and instantly regretted it.

Olivia smiled anyway, clearly delighted by any push back to the darkness.

“Remember,” she said, “whatever they tell you is probably a lie.”

I smiled, and turned. I wanted to make sure she didn’t see the drop in my face. She struck me as a person who didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her.

The desk was still manned by the same lone, grumpy figure. No supervisor. No manager.

“I’ve spoken to my superiors,” she said, with a clearly painted on smile. “We can get you back into your body right away.”

The door behind her was ajar. Inside, people around a screen. The volume was low, but the catastrophe still leaked out.

Mobile phone footage. A crowd at a music gig. Only half of them were moving. The rest lay still, their bodies soaked in red. The ground and walls were crimson too. The screaming thinned until only a handful of voices remained.

The camera panned to the stage.

It was me.

Laughing. Roaring. Drenched in gore. My mouth and tongue trying to taste every drop.

The door slammed shut.

I felt hundreds of eyes burning into me, when I looked up it was only the receptionist’s glare, sharp enough to tear flesh.

I smiled. As if I hadn’t just watched a massacre starring myself.

“Take a seat,” she said. “It’ll take us about ten minutes to get everything ready.”

I turned and hurried back to my chair, desperate for advice from Olivia.

She was still sitting there. As I approached, her eyes widened, grateful for the distraction I provided.

“What did they say?” she asked.

“They said I can go back,” I said, smiling, or attempting to.

“You should tell your face,” Olivia teased.

“I saw a video of me,” I said as I sat down. “I’ve killed a lot of people. I saw hundreds of bodies, and that was only a few seconds of it.”

My eyes burned. The tears were turning to steam before they could fall.

“If you go back,” she said, leaning closer, “you’ll be charged with all those murders. Probably killed before trial.”

The air dried up in my throat. When the words finally scraped out, they sounded brittle.

“They didn’t mention that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. They just want it stopped.”

“What should I do?” I asked, trying hard not to beg.

“You need to bring this place down,” Olivia replied dramatically.

She looked exhilarated. I felt mortified not knowing what she meant, so I just shrugged.

“Inhabitations are only allowed with consent,” she said. “If a complaint is raised, they have to shut the branch down. Immediately. All contracts null and void.”

She beamed, radiant. So light she looked like she might float up. “I’d never have to come back here again.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” I asked, bursting her bubble.

“For the same reason I’ve never done it myself.” She sighed, emptying her lungs completely. “Your contract can’t be declared null and void until an investigation takes place.”

“How long will that take?” I asked, continuing my awful habit of asking questions I didn’t want answered.

“Of the forty-two complaints made against the offices,” she said quietly, “all are still awaiting investigation. The problem branch closes. The complainant is erased, like they never existed, pending a verdict.”

I slumped. Nothing inside me felt solid enough to hold the weight of what she’d just said.

My mouth asked the question before my brain could intervene.

“Does that mean I wouldn’t have killed anyone, and you’d be safe?”

“Yes,” she nodded solemnly, her eyes glistening with water.

We stood. Olivia wrapped her arms tightly around me.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I smiled, turned toward the desk.

The receptionist fixed another of her phoney smiles in place.

“We’re almost ready, Mr Jacobs.”

She looked back down, hopeful I might vanish.

“I’d like to make a complaint,” I said.

Her eyes snapped up. Every atom in her body begged me not to continue.

“I was possessed without my agreement,” I said, slamming my fist on the desk.

The receptionist pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head in disbelief.

Then she was gone.

Everyone was.

I was alone.

I still am. Still awaiting investigation.

There is no night or day

I need no food or sleep.

I just wait.