Possession(95)

Here lies Richard Valentine, loving father to two daughters. Born 26th January 1970, Died 15th July 2016.

That was three weeks ago. His body was found buried in Virginia Water in Surrey—only nineteen miles or so from where I live. He was buried deep, but a storm sixteen days ago unearthed his decaying body. He had a stab wound in his back which was determined to be the cause of his death. It was murder, of course, and it is only now that the police are investigating.

At first, they thought he had run away—possibly met a girl, got swept off his feet, and was living by the beach, sipping cocktails with a buxom blonde. My sister kept on the case, though. She tried to tell them that it wasn’t like him to just disappear without at least keeping in touch. I vouched for her to the police, but I also reminded her of that time when he disappeared for a year without a trace and came back just as suddenly as he had left. I knew the real reason why, but I didn’t divulge it to my sister or to the police. That little secret was between Daddy and me alone. The two police officers gave each other that look… The one that says, “Yeah, there’s no foul play here.” They just thought he had found the girl of his dreams and was busy acting the part of the doting boyfriend to his new plaything.

As I think on this, I stroke his grave tenderly and sweep away the leaves that have fallen from the nearby trees. I need to make sure that it is clean and tidy before kneeling down at his grave and throwing my arms over the gravestone. With my arms shielding me from anyone who may be watching, I take in a long, deep breath. A smirk rises on my face as I utter the words, “You always loved it when I threw my arms around you, didn’t you?” I sigh, scooting up to get closer to his headstone before spitting on his grave.

“I hope you’re enjoying your time in Hell, Daddy.”





No amount of physical or emotional scars left behind could ever actually reveal true heartache. The evil from which they were formed cuts so deeply into your bones that it seeps into your bloodstream and pumps through your veins until it’s ringing in your ears. The scars never truly show themselves… Never reveal the brunt of their true force. While they are a symbol of survival, they are also reminders of things we would much rather forget—of pain that cannot be shed.

I have become an orphan … left to pick up the pieces of a broken heart which can never be fixed. I am incurably and irreparably hopeless.

Time stood still the day my family was ripped away from me. I lost myself—my very identity. I was chosen to live. I was chosen to carry with me the burden of being the one who survived. I was left with the question which haunts me endlessly:

Why me?

Why me?

Why me?

And now, I lie in a small room. Four walls are what welcome me day after day. No sharp objects, no ropes… Not a thing I could use if I wanted to end it all. He took me. That’s why I’m here. He will never let me decide my own fate. He will never let me choose my own destiny.

He will never let me go.

It was he who chose me. It was he who had been stalking me for the last nine months. And it was he who pulled me from the car on that fateful day—two, maybe three weeks ago. He won’t leave me in peace… He will never leave me in peace.

He is forever waiting in the wings, watching me. I am his, he tells me. As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will always be his. He rules my head, my body, and my heart. But the most frightening thought of all is that … pretty soon … he will rule my soul as well.

With that last thought, I clutch the duvet to my chest.

I would have expected to be alone with my family gone, but he’s certainly made sure that my situation could have been worse.

Far worse.

I get fed three times a day, provided with refreshments on a regular basis, and a little later, I get treated to hearing his voice over a speaker in the corner of my room. He talks to me. He wants me to tell him about my life, my fears, my longings, and my dreams.

He has not once entered my room, but now, I long for it. I long for the contact so much that my insides burn. I am relieved to hear his voice, but now his voice alone is not enough.

I want more.

I need to see him. Need to be with him… I need to touch him. I crave the contact. To feel skin on skin.

He has started to invade my dreams so much that I cry out during the night. He knows they’re about him; he tells me so. I talk in my sleep, apparently, and he likes that. He also tells me that he likes the sound of my voice. For some reason, that makes me smile. I have no idea why.

He abducted me and is holding me prisoner against my will. I didn’t ask for this. He forced me. So, why do I long for him the way that I do? Why do I seek out his company? It wouldn’t make any sense to a normal person… I guess that means I’m not normal.