Familiar Spirit

At that thought, because she was exhausted already, Sarah stopped fighting abruptly and let herself go limp.

Her attacker vanished.

And then all Sarah’s fears and exhaustion had been extinguished by a feeling of bliss.

It was a feeling she had experienced before, although not often, when she was with Brian, just after making love. A sense of being enhanced, of being joined. A dream of swimming slowly through a vast, sentient ocean. Not knowing or caring where her body ended and Brian’s began, because they were both the same.

Sarah knew she was not alone, and she was glad. It was wonderful not to be alone. She could feel another presence close to her—more than close. It was with her, a part of her, beneath her skin.

At first, it was wonderful. A kind of ecstasy.

Then Sarah realized that she was standing, without any memory of having done so. And she was walking across the room, feeling her legs move without willing them to. Sarah’s hand, without Sarah’s will, turned on the light, and then she could see. She felt as if she had been detached from her body and was floating slightly above and to the right of it. She watched herself walk through the rooms of the house and knew she was only a passenger—a passenger who could not even feel the seats, or the motions of travel. Only an observer.

The bliss was gone. Sarah felt nothing. Nothing but fear.

No, she said, but no mouth opened to pronounce the word. No. No voice spoke. No, no, no.

Her body moved back and forth erratically, jerkily. Arms swung back and forth. Head twitched on shoulders. Legs lost their strength, and let the body fall heavily to the floor.

Sarah, somewhere deep inside, could feel none of this, although she knew it was happening. She could still think, and she still had hope of regaining her body. If only she knew how to fight. How could she fight when she could not move?

Think.

As she had learned to do in the nightmares she had as a child, Sarah struggled to close her eyes. If she could close her eyes, she would know she was dreaming. Sarah concentrated all her strength on closing her eyes. Such a little thing to do; she had been doing it all her life. Suddenly everything went black. Did that mean her eyes were closed? Had she done that, or was it the other? Sarah opened her mouth. She felt the roaring darkness rush in. She couldn’t breathe. She was choking on darkness, but she couldn’t close her mouth even if it filled her—she had to breathe. She choked but went on trying to scream. If she could scream, she could expel the darkness. She screamed. And heard herself scream. And knew that she was herself, alone in her body again.

Sarah shuddered under the force of the memory. All night she had fought against that thing, her invisible assailant, the rat who wanted to kill her and take her body.

She had thought, by morning, that she had won because she was still alive, still alone in her body. But all she had won was a resting-spell. She had only survived. But so had her enemy, the thing that changed bodies like suits of clothes.

The rat was dead, but the spirit had survived and was inhabiting the body of a cat. Sarah was certain that it would attack her again—and she was not at all certain she could survive another round.

In a panic, she leaped to her feet. She had to get out, get far away from the house and the cat.

The cat was waiting on the back porch.

Sarah stopped just in time, her fingers curling around the big, old metal doorknob, and stared through the window in the door at the evil-eyed creature. Her panicked breathing rasped in her ears. How had it known what she would do? Could it read her mind? She knew that if she turned and ran to the front door, the cat could make it around the house and meet her there, attack her there.

Sarah whimpered softly to herself, closing her eyes and leaning against the door. She had to get out, somehow. She had to get away. Why had she come back at all? What sort of spell had the thing put on her, that she forgot about it as soon as she was away from the house?

This time she swore that she would remember, if only she could get away. She’d run and run and never look back . . . if only it would let her. But it was guarding her, a cat before a mousehole. Last time it had been a rat, but now she was the timid rodent.

Sarah struggled to conquer her fear and think. There had to be a way out, a way past the cat. There had to be a way of tricking it, or overpowering it. She opened her eyes and looked through the glass at the cat. It stared back quietly, unmoving, yellow eyes huge.

Sarah’s skin crawled, and she could imagine the burning pain of raking claws, the piercing bite of sharp teeth as the cat leaped on her. She felt faint. She needed air, fresh air. She had to get out . . . her hand grasped the doorknob and began to turn it.