Free The Haunting of the Gemini by Jackie Barrett

eyes. I sat in my bedroom, slumped on the floor beside my bed. My ears still rang from his shouting. I had heard, loud and clear.
    * * *
    Most folks hear the word
possession
and run. They think one could only be possessed by an evil spirit or entity. Not so. Sometimes it is wearing the skin of another, not necessarily one who was evil. But it buries your own self just the same.
    Imagine going into a vintage clothing store and picking up a hat. The color is worn and faded, the fabric is thin, the pattern doesn’t quite blend like it used to. It is well worn, and well loved. Try it on. It fits perfectly. Does it bring its past with it?
    If an artist had owned it, one might feel the creativity and passion. If it had been owned by a man of the cloth, one might feel closer to God, protected and blessed. But if it had belonged to the victim of a gruesome crime, what would be hidden in its fabric? A lifetime cut short, a horrible end? No one would ever want such a sensation snug against the head. Such hard luck and torment might follow you. Or what if the residue of the perpetrator remained in the hat, like a worm in the material, until you place it on your head, and it slowly slips into your ear, all warm and comfortable? It begins so slowly. You look around. There’s no one in sight, but you are so sure you heard a voice. So don’t touch that hat! Just in case your skeptical nature is proven wrong. What would become of you?
    I’ll tell you if you’re willing to listen.
    * * *
    I left the house, quietly, just before dawn. The city was still asleep, and the peacefulness of the streets calmed me as I walked. I wandered, letting my feet take me where they wanted, until they stopped in front of Our Lady of Angels Catholic Church, a few blocks from my house. I stood there, looking at the entrance to the huge brick front of the Catholic church. I did not want to go in. Maybe it was because I felt like I did not belong. Or maybe it was the fear of agitating the demon I was sure resided within me. Just like my mother.
    The door clicked and swung open as I stared at it from the sidewalk. The devil’s voice came from within. “Jackie, why bother? It’s not like you don’t know me. It’s just a house. That’s all it is. I, too, can walk right in. I’m not the sucker that jumped on the cross. I told him. I warned him. Did he listen?
    â€œWalk away, Jackie. Come to me. Look, don’t take it so personal. Long before the existence of this world as you know it, we sort of had this meeting. It went like this—if you take Park Place, I get the Boardwalk. Oh, yeah . . . That boardwalk . . . Do you remember the ocean waves?” He was taunting me with my mother’s death at the Surf Hotel. He had met me in the water outside. It had been such a long time ago. I would not take his bait.
    I looked away from the door and toward the massive stone angel in front of the church. It began to rain. I took my hood off and let the water hit my face as I stood in peace. I felt centered, and I felt that I could do this. I have always believed in God, and I pray often. I pushed open the heavy iron gate and started up the steps. A sharp stabbing pain went through my back, forcing me to grab the railing as my knees buckled.
    â€œGod isn’t home today! But I’m always ready to extend my hand. Go on, Jackie. They’ll only deem you nuts. Schizophrenic. And then no one will have use for you. What will you say?” the devil asked mockingly. “‘The devil made me do it’? It’s the insane asylum for you, Jackie, my own private playground. And then we can be the best of friends. Who knows? Maybe your mom will come out and play . . .”
    The steps went on forever. I hung on to the railing with both hands as a pain that felt like a thousand bee stings went across my back. My feet stuck in foul-smelling mud and felt heavy as I struggled to lift