2
507words
My mom once told me a ghost possession story.
In the 1970s, in a small rural town, a lazy drunk named Tom Harris beat his wife, Mary. In that era, everyone worked hard for extra food, but Tom was an exception.
Assigned to feed sheep, he stole lambs to roast with his friends. Tasked with weeding, he yanked crops too. He always lied, so no one gave him work. Mary had to support him.
She toiled at grueling jobs and came home late to his abuse. She cried every day.. Then came a turning point.
Tom and his friends hunted rabbits in the hills, and he stepped on an old grave. The decayed coffin collapsed, and he fell in, passing out.
His friends carried him back. When he woke up, he was a different person. —working hard, listened to Mary, and later became the first person in town to make a lot of money after some reforms.
Everyone said he'd changed for the better, but Mary claimed the soul wasn't Tom's.
Soon after, Mary died suddenly. Tom lived to 70. Locals said the ghost of Tom drained her life.
Wasn't this exactly like my situation?
James must be possessed.
I decided to test him with old folk methods.
I dug out sticky rice and wrapped red paper packets, placing them where he'd walk.
I also borrowed some incense ash from a neighbor, mixed it with salt, and sprinkled it on the floor. A possessed person would tiptoe, leaving only toe prints in the ash.
Clutching a bag of ash, I hid in the bedroom, peeking through a crack.
James came out of the bathroom and walked right across the ash without any reaction. He just walked normally.
Then he poured water from the kettle.I'd hidden sticky rice in a tea tin on the coffee table. Under my tense gaze, he reached for it…
Then pulled back.
My heart skipped, thinking he'd noticed, but he was just debating water versus tea.
After hesitating, he grabbed the tea tin.
Nothing happened.
I was confused.
If James wasn't possessed, why the drastic change?
After he drank his tea, he left.
Sweeping the ash, I stared at the door, feeling likeI'd forgotten something.
The meat—where'd it come from?
I went to the old fridge. Its door creaked, unleashing a rotting stench.
The cramped fridge was stuffed with decayed meat, squeezed together, reeking like dead rats.
Sticky blood dripped, white maggots crawling through the flesh.
I gagged, recalling the morning's wontons, and vomited in the bathroom.
No wonder James was so eager to feed me—those were rotten wontons!
Where'd all this meat come from?
James was frugal; we rarely had meat. Buying all this would cost hundreds of dollars—would he spend that much?
The more I thought, the stranger it felt.
Then I noticed the ash by the door had only my footprints.
James was bigger, his blows lifting me like a ragdoll. His footprints should be deeper.
But there were only mine.
I was sure James...was possessed.
