The Possession Of Emily Borden Pt 01

The silvery moonlight filtered through the branches of the ancient forest; the trees that stood sentinel for ages forever leafless. Her footsteps on a forest floor devoid of all life were loud to her ears, disturbing the peace all around her, disturbing the stillness of death. One so vibrant, so full of life, this was not her place. Her presence was unwelcome; the forest loved her not.

She was unsure how long she'd been walking. Her mind told her it had only been minutes while her body ached as if she'd been walking for hours. She was footsore yet she was incapable of stopping to rest her weariness. She felt her destination calling her, pulling at her. She knew not where she was bound, only that it was of the utmost importance that she make it there. Her stride lengthened as she drew closer to the place, her place. She heard singing, life in the forest of the dead; the pull grew ever stronger. She began to run, heedless of whatever pitfalls the darkness may have hidden. Something awaited her there, something with power, maybe even enough power to save her.

The clearing was in front of her almost before she knew it. Her steps slowed of their own volition. She did her best to calm her frenzied breathing as sounds of song filled the space between. This place was sacred; she approached with reverence. She came to a stop just on the edge, longing to join the scene before her but feeling unworthy, somehow unclean. Seven ladies danced in a circle around an altar made of stone. Their white, diaphanous gowns shimmered in the moonlight, billowed in the light breeze, concealed nothing of their nubile, virginal bodies. They moved with a grace not born of precision but one bordering on chaos. They were carefree. They each were in a world of their own. Their only connection was the haunting melody they sung, the activity they shared.

The woman in the center was the object of their obvious worship. The woman was always there. The woman had just appeared. She found time to be unreliable in this place. The woman was impossibly beautiful, built from a divine blueprint. Raven tresses streaked with silver flowed down milky white shoulders before wrapping around perfectly formed breasts, a taut stomach, and child-rearing hips before pooling around her ankles. The woman's face was youthful, unmarred by blemish or wrinkle. The woman's eyes were beyond ancient. They were of the clearest grey and they had seen the dawn of mankind. Those eyes could see all, could expose all. Nothing could hide from that gaze, neither motion or thought. Those eyes met hers. She couldn't look away for the entire world's riches. Then the woman spoke. "Emily," she said in a voice both beautiful and absolutely terrifying. "I've found you".

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Emily woke in a state of near panic. She attempted to stand and run but succeeded only in falling backwards. She fell hard to the carpeted floor; her chair shattered. Part of her mind still lingered in the dream, still thought she was in that ancient forest. The dream was so vivid, so real, it took a moment for her to transition to the nightmare that was her life. Her spill made her the center of attention; the entire study hall was laughing, even the teacher. "Are you ok, Ms. Borden?" said Mr. Burroughs while trying unsuccessfully to hide a chuckle.

"I'm fine," said Emily, sighing as she attempted to gather herself. It was difficult. Her thick, coke-bottle glasses had flown clear across the room, the frame breaking in half on the rear classroom wall. Her ankle length dress somehow got tangled up in her legs while she looked for her glasses causing her to fall again. The tears came unbidden to already bleary eyes. She was no stranger to ridicule, but this particular humiliation was the last straw. She finally got her bearings just enough to stand. She escaped the cacophony of laughter and derision with as much dignity as she could muster. Mr. Burroughs said something about the nurse's office to her retreating backside but she shut out everything in the pursuit of her escape, knowing that if she stopped, she would not have the strength to start again. There would be a sea of faces laughing at the poor, clumsy, skinny red head with the severe acne scars. She felt if she stayed in that room for a second longer than what was necessary to reach the door she'd break.

Broken glasses forgotten, she ran all the way home without incident despite her severely impaired vision. She'd left her phone, purse and book bag at school in her rush to get away so she had to use the spare key under the welcome mat.

No sign of Daddy. Good.

If her father was there he would have immediately taken note of her disheveled appearance and demanded an explanation. With the day she had, she would be a sniveling ball of tears; her frustration would come boiling out and she wouldn't be able to stop. At that point she didn't want comfort or a sympathetic ear. As much as she normally craved it, she didn't want love or affection. All she wanted was to be left alone.

Emily took her shoes off at the door and headed upstairs to her room. A certain urge, a strange feeling made her bypass her door however. It was like a voice, a barely audible whisper, only it was in her head. She couldn't make out the words, wasn't sure if she would be able to understand them even if she could, but she could somehow feel the intent behind those words.

Almost like it felt in the dream,

she realized with a start, her hand hovering over the door knob leading to the attic before she was actually aware.

What is wrong with me?

she pondered, exasperated. Ever since she broke the chain of her mother's locket in the shower before school, she'd felt strange, incomplete. Her day had gone horribly even before the incident in study hall. She missed the bus and had to walk to school. She discovered that her locker had been vandalized shortly after she arrived; the locker looked as though someone poured chocolate milk all over her belongings. The cleanup caused her to be late for first period where she was chastised by the teacher. Then at lunch she was tripped by one of the cheerleaders; she fell face first into her mashed potatoes. And unfortunately, Natalie, her best and only friend, was out with the flu. She had to deal with her plight alone.

The feeling got more persistent as she stood there contemplating her terrible life. She decided to stop fighting it.

What's the worst that can happen?

She thought.

My life is already horrible.

Shrugging off a sudden feeling of foreboding, she opened the attic door and mounted the stairs. She walked through the attic, coughing at the clouds of dust rising with every step, still unsure of what she was looking for. A shaft of light came through the attic window, highlighting a box on the floor, standing off by itself. It caught her attention. "Pretty obvious, don't you think," she said aloud to no one, expecting no answer.

The writing on the top of the box read AGGIE'S THINGS in faded red marker.

My mother's things. And it hasn't been touched since she died, looks like.

Agnes Borden, Emily's mother, had died eight years ago when she was 10. Her father put the box in the attic and seemed to forget all about her. Her father never spoke of her and never permitted Emily to speak of her. But Emily never forgot. She wore her mother's pendant all the time; her mother told her to never take it off when she gave it to her. When the chain broke, that had been the first time she'd ever been without it since it was given to her. Her talisman, she knew that as long as she wore it her mother would always be with her, sheltering her.

Is this you Mom? Are you trying to tell me something?

Her answer was silence both in the attic and her head. For a second she hoped that her mom was actually speaking to her from beyond, but realized immediately the silliness of that thought.

Let's just look in the box.

She reached for the box but it disintegrated at her touch, a cloud of dust billowing up and making her eyes water. When they cleared there was a black book nestled in the remains of the box. The book was unmarked save gold stitching and a gold lock. The key was already in it, already turned. She knelt to touch the book and suddenly a sharp pain hit her in her temples. She shook off the cobwebs, took the key from the lock and opened the book. The pages were blank.

This is what drew me up here? What a fucking waste of time.

When she made the move to stand the room lurched. She felt sick, woozy. She was about to be violently ill. She ran down the stairs, book in hand, moving much more gracefully than usual. She made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit in the toilet bowl. She threw up what seemed like every meal she'd ever eaten in the last 5 years. Afterward, she felt lightheaded. "I gotta go lay down," she spoke to the air. She staggered into her room, flopped onto her princess bed, and promptly fell asleep.

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She knelt on the soft grass, the scent of spring in her nostrils. Her head was bowed, unsure in the moment if it was in reverence or fear. That ancient gaze contrasted in that beautiful face, its force fully trained on her. For such a one to pay attention to her was an honor she was unworthy to receive. She feared she would prove to be an inadequate vessel. Her voice could rise no louder than a whisper. "Who are you?" She forced the words out, prayed that her trembling went unnoticed. Something told her it would be unwise to show fear.

"I have been called by many names over the course of time," said the figure in a voice that sounded as musical chimes in a soft breeze. "I have been known as Morgana, as Matahari, as Cleopatra, Lilith, Diana, Pandora, so many many names. They are unimportant in the grand scheme. Mistress you may call me, that will be sufficient. Rise child. I will not harm you."

Emily's relief was so palpable she nearly started crying. There was no trace of menace or dissatisfaction in the goddess' tone. Only, longing? Some sort of hunger? Parsing her tone was an exercise in futility. Emily was eager to please her; she tried anyway, so as to serve her better. She rose on unsteady legs and spoke. "What would you have of me Mistress?"

"I knew your mother. She belonged to me as I hope you will soon."

"I am yours to command, Mistress."

"No, you are not; or at least not yet. You are worthy, you simply are not ready. I will MAKE you ready. You must continue to prove yourself worthy, worthy of the gift that is your transformation, worthy of the responsibility a contract with me entails. I have given you a book."

A book?

Emily was confused. Was she speaking of the one in the attic? "Mistress? The book was blank."

"So it was. It is always so for an initiate to my service." The Mistress spoke with frightening authority, her voice echoing in the forest glade. She surveyed her surroundings; the maids started as her powerful gaze touched them, as if being prodded by a brand. She smiled as they continued to dance more furiously than before, then focused back on Emily. The girl tried to suppress a shudder and failed. "Give the book a drop of your blood. Seal the contract. Keep it with you always. Thus will I guide you in the ways of power." The Mistress flicked a hand dismissively and Emily was cast from the dream.

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Emily slept for the next two days. Other than the weird dream she remembered nothing of her time asleep, only a red haze and a sea of pain held strangely at one remove, as if it were someone else feeling it through her. She awoke to an empty house, unaware of the passage of time; in her mind she'd only took a short nap after an emotionally trying day. She discovered the note in the kitchen; she was lightheaded but ravenous and so had wandered downstairs. She read the note, not noticing that she didn't need her glasses to see it clearly. Her father had to go out of town for a last-minute business trip and would be gone for a few days. He'd left a credit card and some cash to be used in case of an emergency and a refrigerator full of food. It was a little late. She figured that she'd wash up after eating and go check up on Natalie. She was unaware that she'd been out of commission for the better part of two days or that she'd been sleeping in her uniform. She was unaware that she'd gone through a metamorphosis.

Feeling better after sating her appetite, she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and take a shower. Shocked would be an inadequate descriptor for what she felt when she first glimpsed herself in the mirror. She was absolutely floored by the changes that had taken place. Her hair, once stringy and unmanageable, was now sleek, silky and vibrant. Her acne scars were gone, leaving behind flawless porcelain skin. Her chest had grown a full cup size; her bra struggled to contain her newfound gifts. Even her eyes were different. Her vision was no longer blurry without her glasses. Her light violet eyes would be allowed to shine, no longer trapped behind thick lenses. She felt like a princess visited by her fairy godmother; she certainly wished to be beautiful during her lowest moments. Tears of joy ran down her face. She was so overwhelmed by the changes that it never occurred to ask herself how such a thing could be possible. That would come later.

Eager to share her newfound miracle she called Natalie on the barely-used landline mounted on the wall in her kitchen. She was filled with nervous energy as the phone rang, the seconds waiting for her friend to pick up feeling like an eternity. Natalie finally answered, her voice sounding strange. "Emmie? Where have you been girl? I've been calling you for two days. I was really starting to get worried. Are you ok?"

Two days? Surely I haven't been asleep that long.

She immediately dismissed the thought. "Never mind that, Nat. I need you to come to my house, like right now. It's important."

"Do you know what time it is? My parents would kill me coming out this late. Why? What's the matter? I heard about that thing at school..."

"Look," Emily interrupted, not wanting to think about the fiasco that in her mind happened only a few hours ago. "I really need you to come over. Please? I'll explain everything once you get here. I know I'm asking you to stick your neck out but I need you. What time is it anyway?"

"It's nearly midnight and...wait. You don't know what time it is? What is going on with you? You know what? Nevermind. I'll be over in about 10 minutes, but you will tell me everything, you hear me? And you are gonna owe me big time lady!"

"Of course, Nat. And thank you." Emily hung up the phone with a smile, her hand absently stroking the book she didn't realize she held.

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Ten and a half minutes later Natalie walked in the door without bothering to knock. "Ok girl. What's the emergency..."? She trailed off as she noticed Emily, her best friend for as long as they'd known each other, leaning on her kitchen counter with a Mona Lisa smile. Her jaw dropped. Emily's smile grew wider at her friend's reaction but didn't say anything, just gazed at her with more self-possession, more confidence than Natalie had ever seen from her. The moment stretched; her hand went slack on the door handle as she tried to collect her thoughts. She had no words.

Emily's voice finally broke into the silence. "From your reaction, I guess you're surprised at my change in appearance?"

That statement broke open the floodgates for her best friend. "Uh, in the interest of stating the obvious, no shit Sherlock! How? Did you go to a spa or something? Plastic surgery? Divine intervention? I mean, don't get me wrong. I never thought you were ugly or anything, but now you look like you should be on a magazine cover..."

Emily held up her hands to forestall the verbal barrage. "Nat, Nat! Calm down! Here, come sit on the couch and I'll explain, at least what I remember of it." She recounted the events that happened only hours ago to her mind. She did not volunteer much information about her strange dreams. Her recollection of them was already shrouded in a red-tinged haze that triggered emotions of both dread and awe. Of the book there was no mention other than her discovery. Shortly before Natalie arrived Emily had a strong compulsion to open the book that was even now sitting on her lap and prick her finger, to spill a drop of blood on the pristine pages. She didn't tell her friend about the way the droplet formed a strange pattern identical to the one on her mother's forgotten locket before disappearing into the pages without a trace. It was a pretty short retelling, all things considered. Natalie looked skeptical.

"So basically, you had a shitty day a couple days ago that to you was only this morning, you ran home, wished on a star or something and woke up looking like a goddess. Is that about right?"

"Far-fetched I know. Still, can't argue with the results, right?" Emily bit her lip, looking pensive.

Natalie saw the vulnerability and her heart went out to her friend. She gave Emily a hug. "No girl, there's no arguing with the results. But it doesn't matter with me, I love you no matter what." She pulled out of the hug and smiled at Emily, who looked back at her with an appreciative smile and a single tear in her bright violet eyes.

By mutual silent accord they dropped that line of conversation, turning to more regular topics. They sat close on the couch, half-watching a movie on cable. In the back of her mind, Emily considered Natalie. She was, in a word, unfinished. It was clear to anyone paying attention that Natalie would become an exotic beauty with her deeply tanned skin and canted hazel eyes, her long legs and pert, tear-shaped breasts and her hair in a multitude of tiny braids hanging just past her shoulder blades. She had some filling out to do but was well on her way to becoming a great beauty. Her outcast status was due to her attitude (blunt) and the fact that she was a mixed-race young woman in a predominantly white neighborhood. Sure, there were a couple guys that tried to 'put the moves' on her when she first arrived at the school half way through their sophomore year, but she saw through their pathetic attempts to bag the black girl and put a notch on their pubescent bed posts, shutting them down in short order. And she was way too smart and outspoken to find a home with the popular girls and their mostly vapid conversations. Despite that, she'd been insecure about her looks since Emily had known her, though she'd never share that with anyone else. And it was clear from the furtive sidelong glances Natalie gave her that she was feeling quite envious of her friend's metamorphosis. She kept it well concealed but Emily knew her friend, knew what must have going through her mind. She was worried that she was on the verge of losing her best friend, in truth her only friend no matter what she'd told Emily earlier.

Emily felt the book go warm in her right hand; she'd been unconsciously stroking it and the sensation made her flinch slightly. Natalie was watching the screen as they talked and didn't notice. The temperature of the book returned to normal almost as soon as it warmed. Emily could have imagined it. Indeed, after a few minutes where the book did nothing more innocuous than lay in her lap, she figured that she actually did imagine it. She dismissed the book's strange behavior just like she dismissed the way her blood shaped a pattern on a now blank page little more than an hour gone. She settled back into the couch, moving close enough to Natalie for their bare shoulders to touch. The skin contact made her feel warm, connected to her friend. Images began to cascade in her mind, indistinct yet powerful. Emily sat bolt upright, jarring Natalie from her comfortable position. "What's wrong Em," Natalie asked, half in worry and half in irritation.