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I let the audio recorder run on my phone overnight. The following day I was devastated to hear the playback. It was a man's voice, not mine, saying, "I have a hold of your body. I pushed back your conscious mind; you're just along for the ride, but you're helpless to do anything to stop me," I looked down at my phone; blood was all over it. It was on my hands, the front of my shirt, and my blanket. I don't know where it came from, but I was so horrified that I had to jump in the shower and wash it off in a fit of hysterics. After I dried off, I got dressed. I had to leave and go to St. Joseph's to get a priest. Leaving my apartment, I saw the hallway crowded with cops; my neighbor, Ms. Preston's door, was open. I could see her body on her living room floor with a sheet on top of her. Her legs stuck out; it was covered in blood, splattered across the walls and the ceiling. "I did that," the voice that possessed my body whispered. "That's my work; you just helped me to do it. I must thank you for your hard work."

...to be continued

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