My Personal Hell with Barton Schnell

 

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Chapter 1

Possession is an art. Demons do it sometimes because we have to, if there’s a vendetta, but mostly we do it because it’s just what we do. We do it for the same reason your little boy likes to fly his kite or why your Rottweiler consistently barks at the mailman. It’s just our way. My first target was Barton Schnell. I intended to perform no parlor tricks. I wasn’t interested in the neck snap, nor did I care to frighten his relatives and neighbors. I had one mission, and that was utter ruination.

I chose Mr. Schnell because he didn’t look too young or too old, and his body looked sturdy. He sat at his desk continuously yawning, so I used that as an opportunity to slip discreetly into his soul.

Once inside, I tried to interfere with the buffoon’s digestion. I was unaware that the food he’d earlier consumed had spoiled, and my causing him to vomit had actually saved his life. I chalked this up to an innocent nuisance and moved on. I tried next to make my young prey crash his ugly car into traffic, but he wound up leaving the scene uninjured and his automobile insurance paid for a brand new vehicle. I then moved on to more dangerous fare. As Mr. Schnell slept, I thrust his body upwards in a startling motion, thrashing him all over the walls and ceiling. Needless to say, due to his sleeping medication, he did not awaken, but did manage to bang in all the loose ceiling slats and wall boards.

Exasperated, I knew I would have to up the ante.

The following night, as he slept, I raised Mr. Schnell’s body temperature so high that he awoke feeling ill and feverish, and drove himself straight to the hospital. As it turned out, he had a small but dangerous growth that needed to be removed. The doctor even told him that if it hadn’t been for his late night visit, he would’ve died. I’d managed to save this useless scab’s life yet again. About to give up, I thought I would try a desperate move, and attempted to grope several women on the subway, in the hopes of getting Mr. Schnell arrested. However, one woman’s quick maneuvering sent Mr. Schnell tumbling toward the ground. He landed so hard that I was knocked loose, and as I hovered above, invisible, I noticed that the woman who’d escaped our clutches felt so bad about Mr. Schnell hitting his head, that she waited with him for the ambulance to arrive. They married three months later.

That was my first and last attempt at demonic possession.

Let my tale be a lesson to you. If you happen upon a sad gent who seems to have impeccable luck despite his bland personality, look deep into his eyes. Stare into his soul. For there might be a demon in there, and he might be trying to grope you.

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