Voices (standard:horror, 1322 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Dec 08 2020	Views/Reads: 1258/887	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
What can Ian do about the voice and headache inside his mind that he is convinced is a demonic possession?

It's a demon, he thought. It has to be. For the past week, he had had
migraine-like headaches which he believed was a supernatural 
occurrence. This spirit, had gained entry to his mind, and now it 
wanted to get out, but it couldn't, so banged away at his skull in an 
attempt to find an exit, rather like a spider in a bath, unaware of the 
plughole from which it came. He took all the pills he could without 
overdosing, but they didn't work. He tried to convince himself that the 
voice inside was his own conscience, but concluded that a demon had 
taken over, and demanded to be let out. It didn't possess him enough to 
control his actions, but it still resided in his mind. 

That was according to him, anyway. He was susceptible to believing in
such issues. Sometimes demons took human form and committed heinous 
acts of criminality. Sometimes they possessed people and controlled 
their actions, but the one inside Ian Morton seemed to be a novice. 
Perhaps this was its first possession, or it changed its mind. Either 
way, it banged on his skull and demanded to leave. How did you get in? 
Ian had asked, aloud to himself in his mirror. Ear operation, it had 
said. A week earlier, Ian had had a myringotomy procedure in his right 
ear to relieve increasing pressure and to prevent infection, and for 
several seconds there was direct access to his brain, to his mind. 

I want to leave, the voice said. Find a way. 

Ian worked as an industry and commerce accountant, was 38 years old, had
a permanently greasy mop of black hair that he was always flicking 
back, and wore thick black rimmed glasses. He walked with a stoop that 
made him looked constantly suspicious and shifty, and whilst he did not 
shun the attention of other people, he did not seek it, or particularly 
welcome it. 

He lived alone in a basement flat with his two hamsters, Cedric and
Jasper. Women had not featured much in his life, and he accepted that. 
Yet, the most private area a person has, away from anybody, away from 
anything, was the mind. Prisoners, slaves, anybody reluctantly 
surrounded by others, and confined in anyway, can retreat into their 
imagination, and there, go, be, and do anything they want. Ian's mind 
had been taken over, but the spirit could not be visualised, only 
heard, and felt, and that made him wonder that it was in fact his own 
conscience, intensified by an unknown disease that could cause a person 
to believe that they heard voices. Yet, Ian believed it was a demon, 
and tablets could not remove it. 

It was 5.30pm. Home time. He locked his office, passed by the secretary,
and nodded goodbye. Near the main entrance, a blue overalled worker was 
fixing the overhead lights. He was on a step-ladder, examining the end 
of a wire. In his other hand was a cordless power drill. Ian slowed 
down and stared at it for a few moments, then continued out onto the 
street. 

That's it, he thought, because his thoughts were still his own. If I
drill into my skull, then that will let it out. Perhaps, came the 
voice. Give it a go. As it was a Wednesday, the libraries were open 
late, so he walked half a mile to his nearest centre and looked in the 
health section for any information on old curing methods and remedies, 
but he could not find anything, so decided to go on a computer to see 
if he could find anything out. He was soon online, and searching for 
trepanation. 

Despite it being a somewhat unorthodox and unbalanced procedure, he saw
it was mainly for medical purposes for which it was used, and would be 
similar to what he was thinking in the relief of the headaches, but 
there were few mentions of the reason he sought, but he found two 
sentences which simply told that people in the middle ages, believing 
they were possessed, trepanned their skulls to let the demon out. This 
was good enough for him, and Ian logged off, and left the library. 

Not far away, a DIY chain store was open late, as they always were, and
Ian walked up and down the aisles until he came to the drills. There 
was quite a choice, as well as the drill bits for the end. How big a 
hole, though, he thought. He decided on half an inch. He didn't buy a 
cordless, but a heavy one with a long wire. Soon, he was heading home, 
his nerves burning slowly at the thought of what he was going to do. 

He was soon staring at the water in the transparent kettle in his flat,


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