With you

I watch and I whisper.

I've done it for millennia.

There is nothing new under this sun, we've seen it all time and again. We can't read minds but we know what you'll do. Those little expressions on your face, your eyes always give you away. Hell, even the hairs on your body, the sweat that comes off of you, these tell the tales of what's going on in your mind.

We're the ones always close by, always within ear shot. The ones you feel breathing down your neck, the itch in your skin.

It's no suprise to me that you called a Pastor for help, bringing him here, trying to evict me from your life.

The cat senses him, his arrival imminent, it moves away from the apartment door waiting for the Pastors entrance. It starts paying me attention in this moment, the cat knows what I am. It's fun to see little Geoff's reaction when dear old moggy pays me fascinated interest at night. The cat's swift head jerk when I dart across the room makes my little Geoff's fears deepen when it's dark and his mind begins to wonder.

Those nights where I'm in the corner of your eye, the hint of an image in the mirror. The scratch on the wall and the faint creak and tap at three in the morning to break up the dead silence. We whisper in your ear the worst and dreaded thoughts in those hours and your little brain gobbles it all up. My touch makes you cold.

Here he comes now, the Pastor.

I can hear the hefty traction on the carpet outside, his waddling up the hallway to us, getting closer now.

They make you sick with that little jovial knock they all use, rat-a-tat-tat on the doors, trying to ooze joy into a worthless life. Go on now my little Geoff, go answer the door, your Pastor's coming to usurp me from you.

Good boy.

I see this one's the same as they all are. Same as they've always been. Hardly shepherd like unless they've eaten the whole flock. Portly, bloated, assured and over confident. I see you, but you don't see me. Carrying your little bag of holy tricks with your vile of water inside, or are you going to be using the oil? The big leather bound book of control sitting in there, fingered to the point of ruin and a silver cross I do detect. Riches over humbleness, precious metal instead of wood.

I see that many a different colour of light shines out of the bag from within, the light from our past we all shared, the light now burning from afar in memories and within this room it's smiting at my presence. The light that only shines from Him. Your stupid boss.

You may be safe Pastor but my little Geoff isn't. He's not one of your flock, barely been inside any of your temples. What is he to do with you? Trot along my little Geoff and make the Pastor a tea to drink.

I wonder, will you tell him what you thought about this morning? Go on, tell him. I saw your reactions to my whispers, I saw it on your face, your eyes gave you away. You dirty boy, you indulged in it for quite a while. Now you own it, those thoughts are your own. As evil a thought as what I'm accused of, there's no greater or lesser a sin under the sun and yet I'm divorced from my flesh and you get to keep yours for a little while.

Ah, the things I would do if I could only have your flesh.

Aw, you're not going to tell him are you. You're going to have Pastor here believe you're an okay guy and not one to indulge in depravity. Can't read minds but I can easily read the look on your face.

Let me guess then, the questions that will come from this bloated puke's mouth. Has little Geoff done anything he really shouldn't have done?

Why, yes he has.

Has he dabbled in the occult?

Naturally.

What could be more harmless than contacting something you know nothing about? After all, his aunty is a medium and appears fine. His friends did the ouija board in college, their lives seem unharmed. Appearances are never as they seem and we're never too far away.

So, what did my little Geoff do?

Pick a card, any card. Let's see what the future has in store for you, young man. You didn't think something was watching you did you my little Geoff.

Ah, you're showing him the mark on your wrist. Was only a little love bite from me, wanting to tear out your veins. For the want of a body, again. You waste your flesh but we never did. The things we accomplished in our time and to witness your kind wasting it away to dust. After today I'll be in you or cast away, but never destroyed.

Oh, here we go, the prayers. The pleading to your controller. The grovelling and the pleasing. Do you have deep faith Pastor puke or is it just in words learned by rote? Apply your oil then to the front door but it's too late. I'm already here. The light may be your shield, but what good is it if you're on the wrong side of the barrier, the side of it that I am on.

Ah, my little Geoff. Following him around like a lost lamb, into the kitchen you go. Hear my whispers, Geoff, remember the thought you had this morning? Do you think your precious Pastor knows any woman in his flock who would do that? Something for you to think about. Think about it while he smears oil on your window pane, while he blesses the room and dedicates it back to your boss. I see on your face the dangerous pleasure and then the shame. I see it, not that any human can perceive but it's as clear as day to me. This is fun.

Will Pastor cleanse your bathroom of your demon now I wonder? Well, he certainly isn't leaving a stone unturned. Does the controller like the toilet dedicated back to Him? Leaves us down here to rot like faeces so it would be fitting.

Ah, the bedroom. Many an illicit and decadent thought in here for you little Geoff. Filthier than your toilet. Will the light shine from the oil in here as well? Like rainbows but turned up brighter, the light from the oil burning hotter than flame. The blessing that emanates from it, the blessing of this light from Him.

Except, I'm not on the walls, I'm on my little Geoff.

So, here at last, the moment of truth, my little Geoff, time to get the bosses blessing but only if your heart is in it, your heart for Him.

Be on your knees both of you, plead and grovel to your big boss. Smear your oil on the head of my Geoff, the sickly little lamb.

If you think the scratching on the walls or the love bites you got from me are anything, think again. We're no longer playing, you'll be punished. It won't just be the passing glance as you awake at three in the morning when you barely perceive me with your eyes. I'll be there, so strong a vision, that the blood in you will run colder then ever before.

You know I'm here right now, the hairs on your neck quiver at my whispers. Your very spirit unhinged in that mortal vessel at my utterances. I'll gnash deeper from now on. So then, here it is, do you have a seed of faith in your heart? For your sake, your heart better be in your stupid boss.

Here it comes, the supplication, the amen to throw me away, to put me asunder. Rip me away from my little Geoff as I've been torn away from only a few before.

The light stays where it is, on the walls and doorways, windows and Geoff's forehead, but I'm not severed off from him.

Nothing is happening.

Oh dear, I'm still here little Geoff. Your heart just isn't with Him. So, I'll allow you this quiet moment together with the Pastor, the last of your visceral sanity in this world. I'm so excited for our future together.

I watch the Pastor leave, smiling his vain smile towards my little Geoff. They've gone through the whole apartment cleaning and praying away, busying themselves, staining all materiality with the oil as if it means something when the only reality is what lies beyond their senses. I can tolerate the light for a while. It'll fade away, the heat can't evict me.

Ah, such a feeble thing it is to give false hope to the already lost. You may be protected Pastor but like I've said, my little Geoff isn't one of your flock, he's my very own little turd and I'm the fly that will never go away. So you go away and think the worst of temptations and indulge your weak minds into it. There'll be one of us near by throwing you a whisper.

This is world of our right and you are nothing.

Even the cat knows all of this was futile, looking solely at me. I may not be able to read minds, but I've been around long enough to know what it is thinking, how they all think. Yeah, the cat knows. Say goodbye to a good night's sleep, kitty cat.

What good was that oil on your head, it's just a smear of liquid, another man's superstition. The light never went into you, boy. There's having little faith and then there's having none at all.

Poor little Geoff, you have no idea what's to come. You think it's a bad thing living with me in your ear and playing with your fears, just you wait until my brothers come. Not even God will recognize you after they've finished and in a short while, my little Geoff, your name will be as burnt to nothing as will your soul.

Matthew 12

43 “Now when the unclean spirit has gone out of a man, it roams through waterless (dry, arid) places in search of rest, but it does not find it. 44 Then it says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when it arrives, it finds the place unoccupied, swept, and put in order. 45 Then it goes and brings with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and make their home there. And the last condition of that man becomes worse than the first.”