Invasion
It was midnight and the house was still. Though Mary had now been asleep well over twelve hours, no one thought to wake her. From time to time, Fletcher and Anderson had looked in on her, but she seemed fine.
Anderson continued to use her as bait and watched the monitors intently. In the beginning he wanted the team to stay together, but his new strategy was to keep them separate. His concern for their safety was no longer as important as his data.
Finally, Fletcher was spent. The girls had gone to bed nearly two hours ago, but being the first assistant to Dr. Anderson, he felt an obligation to remain awake. It seemed that Anderson had abandoned his plan of rotating shifts. He put all of his faith and trust into himself only. Fletcher nodded to him. “Good night, Professor.”
Anderson only grunted.
As Fletcher ascended the stairs, he watched Anderson. He was becoming reclusive and easily agitated. Once he reached the top, he stood on the balcony and watched the aging professor fidget with his equipment.
A moment later he turned and entered the bedroom. On the bed, Amy and Jessie seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He carefully walked into the bathroom, so as not to disturb them.
As he brushed his teeth, he swore he heard laughter. He peeked around the corner just as the laughing ceased, but the girls were asleep. He resumed, but the faint laugher returned. He walked across the passageway and peeked in Mary’s room. She, too, was asleep. He dismissed the sound as his own nerves.
As he continued in the bathroom, Mary’s eyes were wide open as she giggled. Fletcher ignored the sound.
He quietly walked into his room, careful not to disturb the girls. Looking at Jessie, he admired her ability to sleep in such a place. She was beautiful, far more than most. He stared at her and watched her face twitch as she dreamed.
Oh, who might be so lucky as to wind up in her dreams, he thought. His eyes followed the contour of her body. If he were to lay an hourglass on its side, her form would mirror it.
Butterflies began dancing in his stomach. His pulse raced, his breath quickened, and his mind began to ponder impure fantasies. Her vulnerable state, her beautiful body--would she ever know that I touched her? I can do it softly, only touch her clothing. No! he thought. I cannot do that! I refuse!
Something in his head was talking to him. Yes you can, she’ll never know.
“No, I will not do that. I refuse to hurt her.”
If she doesn’t know, how will it harm her?
“I’ll know— and one touch would never be enough. It’s the gateway. I refuse go down that path!”
The covers lifted off her body as she shivered in the cold. He could see the protrusions in her nightgown, a symptom of the cold weather.
Do it, the voice said.
He stood there, tempted and tormented.
The voice continued, I’ll show it to you.
She levitated off the bed as her nightgown began creeping up her leg, exposing more of the youthful flesh to his aging eyes.
“No!” he shouted. He covered his eyes and quickly hurried to his bed. He lay down, praising God for giving him the strength to resist.
Downstairs, Anderson was watching the monitors closely, as well as taking electromagnetic and temperature readings. The rooms were static. The spiritual activity in the house seemed to have dried up. Perhaps this was a dry well, he thought. No! He remembered breakfast. Something was definitely here. Time, that’s what he needed, only time.
† † †
Soon Fletcher was asleep, but even in his dreams; he could not escape his impure thoughts…
Fletcher lay there on the floor, focusing his eyes. Something was in front of him--feet. He looked up and gasped as Jessie stood there, naked, in full view of him.
He lay there, silent and unsure of what she was doing. Her body was stunning, perfect down to the last detail. But did she know he was there? Was she unaware he had gone to bed?
He thought, Why are you doing this? Why are you tempting me? I don’t want this from you; leave me alone!
As he watched, she did nothing, her arms to her side, her mouth closed, her eyes looking straight ahead. In his mind he heard, A gift.
No, he thought. This cannot be right. I will not.
He stood slowly while trying to keep his eyes fixed on hers. “Now, I’m going to put you back in bed, and I want you to stay there.”
As he got to eye level with her, she reached out and grabbed his head. She kissed him passionately, her tongue swirling inside his mouth. He put his hands on her head and pushed her back. Her expression was of stone, as if her soul was gone. He reached out and forcefully grabbed her arms. “Don’t do that again!”
With a firm grip, he walked her back to the bed. “Now please, get in.” He loosened his grip and she stepped back into him as his hands curved around her breasts. Her back pressed against his front. He jerked his hands back instantly and put them around his face. “I’m not playing with you! You’re going way too far with this.” He turned his head, only for a brief moment, then looked. He was relieved to see she was back in bed. But he was unnerved when he saw she was dressed. He stepped over to see her. At the same time, he felt a female body press against his back. He turned and she was there, naked. She was standing naked and asleep in bed!
Again, the voice in his head: She’ll never know. Now you can have her.
Fletcher swallowed. Such strong temptation he thought. “God, save me from this, please!”
She moved forward as he backed up. He reached out to stop her, but she continued forward. She grabbed his head, and her grip was incredible. He was unable to fight it. She pulled his lips to her own and kissed him deeply.
I cannot do this, he thought.
Yes you will. She then shoved his head down and forced his lips upon her right breast. Suck it for me, the voice said.
Fletcher trembled, but locked his jaw and refused to comply.
Her hands tightened around his head like a vise. The pain became too intense and he sucked, licking the nipple as he sucked. Good…good, the voice said.
As she let go, he pulled back, but she grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her vagina. With all his might, he tore from her grip. Quickly he returned to his bed, climbing in and covering his head. “It’s not real, I’m dreaming, that’s all!”
The covers began to lift. He grabbed them and refused to let go. She ripped them out of his hand and launched them into the air. He lay there as she stood over him.
Without any expression, she began to kneel. He stood and ran from the room. As he looked back, she was walking toward him, her face still without expression. He hurried down the stairs, “Anderson, Anderson!” But he was nowhere to be found.
As he looked up, Jessie was walking down the stairs, staring straight ahead.
Fletcher grabbed the chair next to the monitors. As Jessie walked up, he held the chair to her, like a lion tamer. She reached out and tore it from his hands. She launched it into the air, and it slammed against the ceiling. It fell back to the ground and splintered into twenty pieces. Fletcher let out several short breaths then ran to the front door, but it was locked! He sank down in the corner of the entryway, whimpering, as she walked up to him. She got down on her knees and reached out for him.
“Please don’t!” he cried.
It’s what you want; don’t fight it, the voice said.
He moved, but she grabbed him. There was no getting away; she had the strength of ten men…
† † †
As everyone slept, Anderson continued to watch the monitors. Finally he stood up, as thirst had taken hold. He walked into the entranceway and was stunned. The air was ice cold. It seemed to be coming from the corner. He walked over and put his hand out. “Dammit!” He jerked his hand back instantly. There were teeth marks on his fingers. He reached over and turned on the light but nothing was there.
He returned to his equipment, but the temperature sensor readout from the entranceway was normal.
He frowned, then reached into a bag and pulled out a meat thermometer. He returned to the entranceway, which was still frigid. He put the thermometer near the corner and the needle rocketed to zero. It exerted so much pressure on the stop-bar that it broke. The needle then spun wildly for a moment and came to rest on seventy-two degrees. Anderson looked up and the room felt normal. He bravely put his hand near the corner, but nothing happened.
A moment later he returned to his equipment, his hand was throbbing with pain. A semicircle of teeth marks lay across his fingers, as if he had stuck them in someone’s mouth.
Something had bit him so hard that he was moved to tears. He looked at the wound carefully and decided it needed ice. He stood and walked out to the snack bar. After he put ice on his hand, he then indulged in the soda fountain. His only hope was that something about the attack got recorded.
Fletcher woke in a cold sweat. He sat up and scanned the bed, thankful the girls were sleeping. What a nightmare, he thought to himself. Slowly, he stood and walked into the bathroom. The frigid floor sent shivers up his spine.
He turned on the water and splashed it on his face, wincing at the cold. He looked at himself in the mirror. “How can I sleep now? I have to change rooms; I cannot be in the same room as her.”
He shook his head and walked back into the room. As he did, he noticed the covers lifted off her.
She’ll never know, the voice said.
“Not again! Why must you torment me?” With tears flowing down his face, he backed into the corner and noticed a figure standing in the opposite corner, near the bed. It was gray, like smoke, but with form. It began to move toward him.
Fletcher squinted, unsure of what he was seeing. He closed his eyes, then opened them. “No!” he screamed. “You’re not real!” Again, he closed his eyes, then opened them. The grayish figure was still there, still advancing. Slowly he backed into Mary’s room.
“Mary! Mary!” he shouted, but she did not move.
The figure floated through the passageway and into Mary’s room. Fletcher panicked and ran to the bedroom door, but it would not open.
He jumped on the bed, but Mary did not move. He couldn’t care less if he woke her. The figure floated around the bed, stalking him. He jumped off and dashed through the passageway and back into his room. He grabbed Jessie. “Wake up! Wake up!” Her limp body did not react. He let go of her as the figure gained ground. He dashed for the door, but it was locked too. He banged and screamed for Anderson.
Outside, Anderson’s hand was finally feeling better. He had downed three sodas and was eager to get back inside. He was about to go, but the soda fountain seemed to call to him; he had to have one more.
Fletcher stood against the bedroom door. He had nowhere to run. The figure suddenly advanced on him, and though he lunged for the bed, it entered his body, and he crashed to the floor. He lay there, writhing in pain as it twisted his organs and gnawed on him from the inside.
Anderson came back into the house, having filled himself with soda. That should keep me awake, he thought. He reviewed the data but only found frustration. There was nothing there.
† † †
Jessie tossed and turned, just like Mary and Fletcher; even in sleep she was not safe. However, her fear was not of the present, but of the past…
A voice called to her, “Jessie, come here please.”
She stood up, realizing she was in her own room. “Coming Dad,” she said. She looked around the room, but it did not feel right. Her mind was blank and she did not remember going to bed.
“Now, Jessie!”
She hurried from the room and down a long hallway. Her house was immaculate; a pristine showpiece of Highland Park. Her father worked in downtown Dallas as the vice president for major bank. He was well respected and in turn expected his family to reflect well upon him.
She rarely visited him at work because he believed the presence of his family was inappropriate. She remembered one time when her mother took her to the office, she remained seated by his secretary’s desk, but when her mother entered, she screamed. That night at dinner, no one talked. Her father seemed more menacing than ever before.
As she hurried down the staircase, she heard, “I don’t have all day!”
Faster and faster she ran, through the entranceway, across the living room, then through the kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and into his office, where he sat behind a large antique desk. She came to a stop. “You called me?”
He slammed the newspaper on the desk. “Did you think I would not find out?!”
She was baffled. What could she have done? Nothing came to mind. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
He stood and walked from behind the massive desk. As he came to the front, he reached over and picked up a statement and shook it at her. “Credit cards! I just got this in the mail. Would you like to explain the twelve thousand dollar charge at Northpark?”
She searched her mind. As she thought, he walked closer. Slowly she backed away, but he quickly walked up and grabbed her in a fury. “You better speak, young lady. Whatever it is, you’re taking it back!”
“I—”
He slapped her across the face. “You think my accounts are your piggy bank?!”
Her face stung as tears flowed down her face.
“That’s why I left your mother! Her greedy ways are now yours and I will not have it!” He slapped her again, knocking her to the ground.
She put her hands in front of her face. “It...it…it… it had…to have been Angela,” she mumbled.
Her father backed away. “You little snot, taking the easy way--blame the step-mother!”
“But Dad—”
He kicked her in her side and her lungs automatically exhaled. She put up her hand to stop him. “I swear—”
He descended on her, beating her, repeating, “You will learn! You will learn!”
She covered her face as best she could. As she looked at him, his face changed to Fletcher’s, then her father’s, then to Fletcher’s. She rolled on the ground as he continued his assault. She knew it was her stepmother, she knew it! He would not listen; he never would.
Moments later, he stopped. She was bloody and bruised. “Get your ass upstairs. You’re grounded ‘til you heal. Leave your credit cards outside your door; you’re cut off!”
She staggered away, embarrassed and humiliated. She had to get back to her room, to safety. The moment she was back in her room, she heard, “Jessie, come here, please.”
She looked at the door, fearful to go back, but compelled to do so. She tried to fight it, but her movements were not her own. She was trapped, just like Mary, a prisoner of her own body.
Jessie woke in tears. Her memories haunted her thoughts and she could not escape them. As hard as she tried, she could think of nothing else. It was as if she was being forced to remember.
She saw horrid visions of her father, coming home drunk, accusing her mother of cheating on him, sleeping with black people, lying down like a dog. She remembered when her mother had finally had enough. She went to the police and confessed the abuse she was enduring. She also remembered the day she dropped the charges.
Jessie was sitting in her room when her mother walked in. “Honey, your father’s not a bad man; he’s just under stress. We have to understand that. He does not mean to hurt us, but sometimes we ask too much of him.” She looked at her cowardly mother as she continued, “He has provided this lavish lifestyle for us and only asks that we respect him. That’s why I have decided to drop the charges.”
She stared at her; she wanted to say, “No Mother, you dropped the charges because he paid you to do so, just like at the office. You caught him with that woman, but he paid you to forget it, and you did.”
A week later, her mother disappeared, but the police investigation was inconclusive.
Soon after, her father remarried. The woman was half his age, closer to her age. She was a cold, heartless gold-digger who demanded attent
ion and undeserved respect. Angela was her name, but the devil was her persona.
More than once, Angela stole her debit cards. Unfortunately, Jessie paid the price for her stepmother’s spending sprees. Her father was close-minded on the subject. He worshiped Angela and did her bidding. Jessie hated her, but had to play nice when she was around. Once, she was even made to apologize to her for ruining a social gathering at the house, when it was clearly Angela’s fault.
Jessie remembered the times when her father was out of town, Angela often forced her to do humiliating chores, such as cleaning her shoes, ironing her panties, and worst of all, serving Angela’s friends tea and cakes as they made fun of her.
Soon, Jessie passed out again, but she would find no relief. She relived the nightmare several times and each time it seemed as if it were new, with the exception that her father’s face was consistently replaced by Fletcher’s more and more. In the final nightmare, her father was replaced by him entirely.
He had just picked up the credit card statement, but his words were different. He looked down on her with hateful vengeance. “You’re worthless! I hate you; why do you live here?”
Confused, she looked at him as he leaned against the desk, shaking the credit card statement. “This isn’t about the credit cards?”
Fletcher threw the statement at her. “How dare you! You’re just like your mother!”
Angela walked in, wearing Jessie’s favorite skirt and laughing. “Nobody’s going to help you, nobody! You’re nothing to anyone. Your father doesn’t love you; your mother didn’t love you; no one does. You’re a toy to be used, right, Fletcher?”
Jessie looked at him. “Father, please…”
Angela walked past her, blowing kisses at her. She sat down on the couch and spread her legs wide.
Fletcher smiled. “You’ve upset your step-mother, now go make her feel good. Give her a long hug and a kiss.”
Jessie’s body crawled to her step-mother, but inside, Jessie was screaming. Fletcher just laughed. “Good girl.”
Angela looked down at her as she grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Don’t fight it; this is all you’re good for!”