The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.50 A Prison Within A Prison

June 6, 6:30 pm

Howard wanted to believe that he had gone mad. But he also knew that was too easy of an answer. And too convenient. How nice it would be, after all, to just tell himself that everything he had experienced was only in his own mind, and that none of it was real.

But it was all real. He knew it. That voice in his head was not his own.

His name is Justin.

The presence had a name, and it had spoken to him as if they were old friends. But friends never did to you what this presence did to him.

After the thing had left him, he had leaned over the toilet and vomited up the ham sandwich and jello they had given him for lunch. Sitting on the cold concrete floor, he looked at the wet semen on his hand and dotting the orange fabric of his prison issue uniform. He quickly used some water from the tap at the back of the toilet to scrub the telltale spots away, but had to stop halfway through to vomit one more time.

The water left dark stains on his chest and crotch that made it look even worse.

He did not know how long this Justin had been inside of him. It had felt like hours, but he knew that wasn't possible. It couldn't have been nearly that long. And shortly after he had... assaulted him, he felt the thing's hold on him weakening. He had struggled up from that deep well in his mind and regained control of his body once again. The last thing he heard from Justin was a laugh, and a promise to return.

Howard knew he would. And that the thing would be stronger. Justin had promised that he would eventually have Howard's body as his own permanently, and he had intimated that when that happened, Justin would be locked in that well forever. A pet, kept at the pleasure of a sadistic master. Someone to tease and torture and... use.

He felt dirty and wished that he could strip off all these clothes and put his body under a hot shower. So hot that it would turn his skin pink and in the pain he could forget everything that the dark presence had done to him.

Howard sat on the cot in his cell, and tried to make himself as small as possible, alert for any sign of Justin's return. But even through his trauma, Howard felt a small thrill growing inside him. As terrifying as the experience had been, he now had something he didn't have when he woke up in this cell this morning.

He had information.

His first two possessions had felt more like dreams than anything else. And he had almost managed to convince himself that he had just blacked out, or perhaps had some kind of seizure. Even though he had hazy memories of everything he did the night that Richard Pratt died, it felt as if he had watched it all from afar.

As if, he realized, I had been at the bottom of a dark well.

Before today, he had really believed he was just suffering a psychotic break. But this time the presence had spoken to him, and that voice made all the difference. This time he had been fully aware through the entire incident. Absolutely, painfully aware of each and every thing that was happening. Perhaps that was only because Justin allowed it. It would be no fun tormenting a victim that couldn't comprehend the torment. But it was still a relief to actually know, finally, what was happening to him.

If only he could dismiss Justin as a demon, or something out of a horror movie. But what he had heard in the voice was someone much more mundane. This was no ancient evil. This presence felt far too... human. Too modern. The words it used were too common. In fact, it felt—young. It actually felt and sounded like he had been possessed by some bitter, angry kid.

Howard had known plenty of bitter and angry kids in his time. Hell, he had been one not that long ago, and he remembered those feelings, that frustration, and all those confusing emotions. Every bit of resentment and uncertainty and general disgust at the world he had ever felt was in the voice of Justin.