Emoelle

CW: This story contains themes or mentions of supernatural possession, emotional abuse, and trauma.

My now adult-sized fingers still quiver and shake at the thought of this memory. We met her, well, technically, only I met her when I was six years old. I held my breath for four years after that until she finally left my life for good. This story is very difficult for me to write. I don’t know if what I am writing here will be included or not, but I need to be transparent for this story to be understood. In terms of what I have access to in my conscious mind, the content is limited. This was a central trauma along with being at least the first prominent trauma I can pinpoint through the course of my life. I will admit I don’t have clear visuals of the first time I met her nor do I remember how we finally rid of her. However, what is cemented in my memory is the feeling of terror and despair, the physical sensation of experiencing those emotions at such a young age— it is something I struggle to put into words. Each time I have gotten a new therapist, I know this experience is important to explain as it has much bearing on my person and problems as an adult. However, I am also aware that this is not a “textbook trauma” that any of them may have learned in schooling or encountered throughout their careers. I can at the very least say it is not common that a person’s core childhood trauma centers around the demonic possession of a best friend. 

I do believe this was a supernatural occurrence and would have no doubts if I were to bet my life on said position. I am aware this may not be a widespread consensus and I can understand why those hearing this account second-hand may question its authenticity. However, focusing on whether or not Emoelle was real could overshadow the core elements of this story which is something I want to avoid. The fact is the horror I experienced was real, the scars on my soul are real, and the person I have become, based on this experience, is very real. Moreover, I shall not stall anymore, here is the story of two young girls named Sophia and Grace and their encounters with a spirit named Emoelle.

I do believe it to be true that ignorance is bliss, however, it would be a lie to say the saying conveys a well-rounded message. Once a person is tainted by the darkness in the world it is near impossible to rationalize much less successfully return to a state of blissful ignorance. I was six years old when I first grew conscious of malevolence in the world, I am still not sure whether my keen senses were what drew Emoelle to me or if it was my time with her that stripped me of my rose-colored glasses. 

Cynicism was a core attribute of my personality, especially in elementary school; I never actively caused trouble at this age, the one time I got “in trouble” was because of my lack of fulfilling the participation component of “music appreciation class accompanied with my very active facial expressions conveying misery. What set me apart from my peers was a sort of advanced level of self-awareness: I very quickly picked up on the fact that adults looked down on children, realizing this by noticing the difference in manner of speech towards children versus other adults. I loathed this practice and often felt unfairly underestimated and disrespected, it still baffles me that none of these adults seemed to pick up the awareness I had. Maybe that is why she chose me, maybe when a child’s vulnerability is mixed with adult-like internal conflicts, a perfect victim is born. 

Friendship has always been the most important part of my life, from my earlier memory to the present time, my friends have always been both the light that guides me and the rock that grounds me. All my friends are and always have been special to me in different ways, each holds a unique place in my heart for his/her/their unique qualities. I will say though, that Grace has always stood out in a certain way. I should say, that the bond we had and still have is in itself greater than this Earth, “platonic soulmates” is what we call it. At that young age, all I ever wanted to do was spend time with friends, namely Grace. Grace was the only one like me, who wanted to sit and talk, talk for hours and hours, about anything, everything. Somehow it feels like there was no topic left out yet at the same time we never ran out of topics to discuss. Two peas in a pod, in our own little world a lot of the time: creating in-depth narratives for American Girl Dolls, making up stories about ghosts and witches. My one-on-one time with Grace is what I lived for, it was my escape from the infuriating and lonesome nature of childhood. Emoelle wanted to take Grace away from me but act as her to others. Everyone else would be living in the illusion that Grace still held control of her mind and body while only I would know the truth. 

Emoelle’s voice was high-pitched and she spoke rapidly. She was jumpy and fidgety, and never seemed to be able to sit still. She would laugh, more of a cackle, right in my face:

“Grace is gone, she’s gone, and she is never coming back.” 

“Please please please don’t do this, I will do anything, please, please, please…” My voice would halt as the short, quick breaths and tears engulfed my face. I kept saying please over and over, I would not and really could not stop. I was taught that the word “please” was supposed to make the other person understand both that you respect them and also that what you need is important. I think this is when I first learned that “please” does not mean much to most, it has become a filler word to convey desperation but rarely affects the outcome of the response from the other party. 

Emoelle chuckled, “Maybe I will let her come back this time, we will see, but remember if you tell anyone,” She snapped her fingers, “POOF! She will disappear with no sliver of a chance to return.” I dug my nails into my skin as deep and as hard as I could while rocking back and forth, back and forth. No matter how deep of a breath I took in, I never got the sweet release of a breath out, not for four years. 

“Wait what's wrong, why are you crying… oh my gosh, did it happen again?” My tightened muscles relaxed slightly and I looked up. Without hesitation, I leapt forward and wrapped my arms around Grace, holding so tight, maybe hoping if I held onto her then she wouldn’t be taken from me again. The tears did not stop, the sobbing did not stop, and the fear of losing her again has continued to persist for sixteen years, with no sign of stopping. 

Grace has always had bright, blue eyes. Eyes are not the first thing I notice, I tend to look at mouths first but Grace’s eyes were and still are hard to ignore. When Emoelle would invade her body, I swear her eyes were black. Assuming it is true that the eyes are a window to the soul then that must mean not only did Emoelle lack a soul but also that Grace’s soul was elsewhere, lost in the abyss. She has no memory of where she was during the times Emoelle possessed her body. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose it is for the best that the very least she does not remember the fear of being detached from her body and placed somewhere unknown to her. 

I will admit that the mysteries of this experience are what keep me chained to the past. I wonder why it only happened at my house, never anywhere else. I was always in the guest bedroom or the basement, but primarily the guest bedroom. Each time, right before it happened, Grace would express blind interest in going to one of these rooms, in these moments she always spoke softly but it was accompanied by urgency in her tone. I would also plead, beg with any energy I could spare, “Please Grace, she is going to take you, I can’t lose you again, please Grace, please, we can’t go there, please.” She would stare back blankly, not registering my fear or even my words as if in a trance of some sort. I kept trying “Please,” even though proving ineffective it felt like the only power I had. I think words have always been the only power I hold. 

All other unanswered questions are overshadowed by one: why me? I can speculate, theorize, or make an analysis of the situation but there is nothing conclusive. I do believe everything in this universe is connected, I believe each and every occurrence no matter how seemingly insignificant, does happen for a reason. Yet even though that is a fundamental piece of my philosophy, I don’t fully understand how Emoelle was essential. I acknowledge that the fact that I don’t currently know her importance does not mean that the reason doesn’t exist. However, no matter how many different perspectives I consider, the inability to understand those occurrences is suffocating. To me, it was a horror story and not even a generic one but instead, a version of hell specifically tailored to me, toying with my worst nightmare of losing the person I love most.