SFFH: Article
There was something inside her.
It wasn’t her–that was for sure. It didn’t think or act like
her. This was a struggling entity, distinct from all her molecules.
Sometimes it was physical. She could feel it worsening, its appendages
trying to claw through. The sensation would cause her to moan
and wince. Sometimes it would just tickle. She closed her eyes
and visualized the head of horns that ate at her...the devil tail,
the devil mouth.
“I know you’re making all this up,” he told her. Just trying
to get attention. Need to stop watching those movies.
“This is real, I swear to you. I don’t feel like myself,” she
said. “This thing is trapped in my body...”
“It’s in your head.”
As it progressed, she felt herself change too. Words would come
out that weren’t hers, a voice screaming against her judgment.
Wanting what she did not condone, on the verge of violence constantly.
Soon she felt she had no free will left. Anything she did depended
on it, and she did less and less as a result, peeking out through
the blinds at night. Then after a while she feared she’d die
without it, as if the thing had been propelling her forward and
with it gone she’d just collapse, no lifeforce left to hold up
her own two legs.
The pain became a third entity, the only thing holding her and
it apart. She didn’t believe she could feel this way and be alive.
Shadows everywhere formed its face, beholding her from even the
mirror. She’d try to cut and stab at it, through her, but the
red that dripped into the sink was hers alone. She didn’t even
know at that point which of them was doing it. An unnamable disgust
penetrated from its hold. One night her body lurched and shook,
vomiting like a waterfall onto the floor. She couldn’t live under
its power any longer. It had grown too much, too strong; it was
too late to consult a priest. She’d have to check the listings
for someone who really knew what they were doing. She was willing
to try anything.
She stepped up to the silver building. Pausing there before the
door, she fed her voice to the machine and it responded with a
beep.
Inside doors opened for her as she made her way down narrow halls.
Finally she entered the room, and the exorcist was there. She
sat before him.
“I can’t say it–” she murmured, looking away. The tears were
streaming already.
“I want you to drive this demon from me,” she sniffled, holding
her face in her hands.
“This is all the incantation you’ll need,” he said, producing
a small tablet. She looked at it in disbelief. “There are risks.
And there’s a chance it may not work. Do you understand?”
She nodded quickly, eagerly. He left the room and when he came
back he had a cup of water for her. She gulped the tablet thirstily,
swallowing more than once.
“Now wait till you get home,” he said. “And then you’ll take
another one.”
“Do I have to wait till I get home?” She was shaking, clutching
at herself, trying to hold on to her.
“Yes,” he said. He escorted her out. As she was leaving, a woman
said she’d pray for her.
As soon as she got in the door, she dashed to the kitchen sink,
fitting her head under the faucet and gulping...pressing the poison
down into her, at it. She imagined the cure as a weapon, and
soon she did feel like she had swallowed knives or bullets...
Volatile.
For hours upon hours, pain. Pain that left one defeated, unable
to move or think. It felt worse than what had preceded... She
knew it was fighting in there, even now endeavoring to destroy
everything that she was. And it was chipping away, not to give
up till the battle was over. All her dreams, fears, loves, and
hates evaporated before her. She said goodbye to herself. Then,
at last, she slept.
Morning, she got up and went to the toilet, and the baby dropped
out quickly in the form of blood and undeveloped tissue.
Colette Phair is the author of
Nightmare in Silicon, a short
novel about a woman who gets turned into a robot. It won the Chiasmus
Press First Book Competition in 2006. Colette lives in California and
online in the following places:
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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Contains language, graphic violent or sexual descriptions or other
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