The Occupant: The Afterlife Investigations #3

by Ibsen, Ambrose

  There was also one other reason I'd given into my impulse to flee and hadn't attempted to put the monster down.

  I held out hope of one final alternative.

  Jake was listening carefully, and I saw him wince every time there was mention of hurting the Occupant. When I'd gotten to the point in my story where I described shooting her in the abdomen, he'd fallen completely silent. Learning moments later that the shot hadn't done the creature in, the idiot actually seemed relieved. Looking to stamp out this merciful mindset he was still holding onto once and for all, I pointed at him with my cigarette. “Now, don't get carried away with this, but something strange happened when I shot her. The bullet hit her, she doubled back, and suddenly she was Elizabeth again. Her face changed back, and her voice did, too. It was like I'd temporarily knocked the spirit out of her, made Elizabeth's body less hospitable to it. The change didn't last. The Occupant returned and she skittered away like a wounded animal, but I thought it was strange. It makes me wonder if maybe... just maybe... there isn't some non-lethal way out of this.”

  Jane looked at me with contempt, shaking her head and putting out her cigarette. “You really that soft in the head? After all you've seen, after all that's happened to your sorry ass, you still want to spare the goddamn thing?” She made a noise like a laugh, but was too disgusted for actual amusement. “That's ridiculous.”

  “What's ridiculous about it?” asked Jake. “If it's possible for us to save her, then we should absolutely try. The professor and I didn't come out here to become killers.”

  Jane cocked her head to the side. “Then the two of you shouldn't have come out here at all.”

  “Listen,” I continued, “I know it's a stretch, but I'm not the only one who thought it might be possible to pry the Occupant out of its host. Remember your uncle? When he came back to the sanitarium, after the Third Ward Incident, he was interested in finding a way to send the Occupant back to the darkness, right? He wanted to use you in new experiments so that he could 'close the door', so to speak. What was he planning? How would that have worked?”

  Jane stood up, stepping out of the tent and pacing across the clearing with her arms crossed. “Don't bring my uncle into this,” she spat.

  I followed her out. “But surely he had some kind of plan! Some experiment he'd hoped to try! Whatever it is, maybe we can recreate it and get rid of the Occupant for good.”

  She stared out into the woods, refusing to look me in the face. “You had all of my uncle's research,” she said, shrugging. “Might have been something in there.”

  “There wasn't. And it's all gone, anyhow. You're the only lead we've got,” I insisted. “When he came back and sprung you out of that madhouse, what was he planning? He had to have said something to you, given you an idea of what you could expect, else you wouldn't have killed him.”

  This caused her to turn, and the look in her eyes was hardly less hateful than that of the Occupant.

  “Is he wrong?” asked Jake, arriving beside me.

  Jane took her sweet time in responding, hands buried in her pockets and eyes riveted to the dimming sky. “It'll be night soon,” she muttered, tonguing her molars. Finally, she delivered the goods, though not without her fair share of disclaimers. “It would never work. And he didn't explain it to me, not fully. I wanted no part of it. After what he'd put me through at the cabin I didn't even want to see him again. I'd wished he was dead long before I ever pulled the trigger. But when he came back, he finally realized that the Occupant was bad news—not to be messed with—and yes, he wanted to do experiments with me so that he could find a way to send it back to... Hell, I guess. To the shadows, where it came from.

  “That would involve calling it back from the asylum, though. He knew it was still in this world, that it would wander the building where its last host had died. But maybe, he theorized, by letting it back inside of me, he could keep it there—contain it—until he found some way to get rid of it permanently. Like I said, I wanted no part of that. Wouldn't stand for it, and told him as much. If he wanted to use someone else as a guinea pig, then that was fine, but I wouldn't take part. Always a stubborn man, he wouldn't take no for an answer, though. He brought me back to that cabin and started preparing—doing lots of reading and shit. That's when I took action. I knew that if I didn't, his experiments would have me suffering through more of the same horrors. I knew that the Occupant would be back, and I was scared to death that it wouldn't leave this time. It hadn't liked me very much as a host—it had preferred the Lancaster girl at the asylum—but he felt confident he could invite it into me and then, when he had it in his sights, he'd try any number of things to destroy it. But what kind of sense does that make? It's like infecting your patient with a deadly virus and strapping her down in the hopes that you can find a cure before it eats her brain. It's madness.

  “So, I shot him. The Occupant was far away, and as far as I was concerned, the nightmare was mostly over. I'd never forget what he put me through, but as long as I never had to experience it again, I told myself I didn't care, that someday I'd get over it.”

  The wheels started turning and I tried my hand at devising an experiment. When faced with a traumatic injury, the Occupant's sway over its host momentarily weakened. What if we could somehow make Elizabeth a less hospitable host for the entity by exploiting that? What if, through the use of limited—non-lethal—violence, we could push the Occupant out of her, allow it to temporarily take up residence in Jane, who'd be waiting nearby, and then abandon the dark spirit to the woods? I wasn't sure if it would work, but the fact that we could mess with the Occupant's connection to Elizabeth at all was too good a lead to overlook. If there was any way to get through this mess and let the girl live, then this was it.

  I told Jane what was on my mind, and kept speaking even as she scoffed and scowled. “I need your help, Jane. I want to capture the Occupant. It'll be tough, but if we manage to shoot the thing—and you're a much better shot than I—then we'll find ourselves with enough time to bind her. We brought rope, right? Well, after that, like some witch-finder of Salem, we'll torture her a little—just enough to keep the Occupant from re-entering her, and when the thing has had enough, maybe we can get it to enter you for a bit. Hear me out—if the Occupant enters your body, it'll cause you great fright and discomfort, however it won't be able to establish a strong enough connection with you to harm us. Right? It needs a Lancaster to make that sort of strong connection. Jake and I can leave with Elizabeth, try to make it out of the woods, and when the Occupant has left you, like it always did during your uncle's experiments, then it'll be forced to wander the woods again and you'll be free to hike out of the forest as well.”

  Jake agreed enthusiastically to this, and even came up with an idea for baiting the spirit. “The two of you, with your guns, can hide nearby while I call out to her. When she hears my voice, she'll come closer and you two will have a great opportunity to wound her. Then we'll tie her up and do what the professor said. I think it might work!”

  “Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?” barked Jane. Though I could have been mistaken, I thought I saw tears in her eyes. “Do you know how long I've dealt with this? How long I've tried to bury the memories? And now you want me to... to let it in again, just like my uncle!” The way she looked at me just then, I feared she was going to blow my brains out, like she'd done to Corvine.

  “Jane, I know I'm asking a lot,” I replied. “And there's no way for me to know what you went through. But I'm begging you to consider it. Imagine what Elizabeth's going through right now.”

  She shook her head fervently. “That poor girl was damned from the day she was born. Her line, her blood, was cursed.”

  “Exactly. And from where I'm standing, this is the only way we can possibly save her.” I stepped towards her. “Please. Help us save this girl, Jane. She's young. She's been through a lot, but she still has her whole life ahead of her. If this doesn't work, then we'll... we'll do the nuclear option. K
ill her, dump her in the mineshaft like they did to Sarah Lancaster. Burn the body, too, if you like. Whatever it takes. But before we resort to that, let's try and save her.”

  Jane fumed at the edge of the clearing, muttering to herself. “And if it doesn't work?” she demanded. “If it all amounts to nothing?”

  “Like I said, if it doesn't work, then we go with the original plan and kill her,” I said.

  She shook her head. “No. If it doesn't work, if things go sour, are you going to be able to live with yourself?”

  I nodded. If I did everything in my power to bring Elizabeth back home, then I could die with a—mostly—clean conscience. “This is the path I want to take. I can't force you, but I'm begging you, Jane.”

  She looked to Jake, and then back to me, chuckling darkly. “Guess I've been out-voted, huh?” She put her hands on her hips and returned to the tent. “I'll tell you what, I'm going to try this little experiment. Every nerve in my body is screaming right now, telling me not to. But I'll do it. If it's possible to spare this girl's life, it's worth a try. But if it doesn't work out, I'm not going to hesitate—or ask permission—to put a slug in her brain. Do you both understand me?”

  I agreed with this. Jake, too, eventually agreed.

  Now that we had a plan—and little remaining sunlight—we began to make our preparations.

  22

  We chose the tottering church as the stage for our impromptu capture.

  Though lacking confidence in the plan and running mostly on hope, I tried to keep spirits high as we packed the bulk of our things and began hauling them down to the church. We abandoned the tent and packed a particular bag full of the rope we'd brought for easy access. By the time we'd hiked to our location the sun had dipped past the horizon and was falling fast. Jane and I kept our guns close at hand and paced around the inside of the church, which was still done up in the Occupant's grisly décor, and which still boasted the body of Eli Lancaster up near the altar. Meanwhile, Jake stared out the door at the darkening woods and talked quietly to himself, rehearsing lines like a nervous kid in a high school play.

  The plan was roughly this: Jake would wander a little ways from the church and call out to the Occupant, luring it with his voice. When it finally moved in on him, Jane and I would make our way outside to a strategic position to the right of the church, where we could probably manage clear shots at the specter. We'd agreed not to aim for her vitals—to try and hit her in the leg, arm, or some other place that would induce the stunning effect I'd described—but Jane couldn't fight back her smirk, as if to say, “Whatever happens, happens.” Finally, once the Occupant had been wounded, the two of us would rush over to the temporarily-freed Elizabeth and tie her hands and legs tightly. Afterwards, she'd be brought to the church, where we'd carry out the transference experiment.

  Seeing as how we were the only three things in the entire forest that the Occupant had any interest in, I felt confident that it would come. What would happen once it showed itself, however, was anyone's guess. Corvine had never tried something like this. His entire study into the Occupant had been focused on giving the entity whatever it wanted in the hopes that it would reward him. We were breaking new ground, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious as to how it would play out.

  When night was fully upon us and we'd run through a few drills, Jane and I took our places within the church, each of us standing to one side of the door with our guns at the ready, while Jake began calling out.

  “Elizabeth!” he cried. “Are you out there? Babe, it's me! I want to see you. Are you out there?”

  It was early yet, but a light fog was beginning to swirl between the trees. I hoped it wouldn't interfere with our aim when the time came.

  “Elizabeth!” continued Jake. “It's me! Follow the sound of my voice!”

  Minutes passed and my faith in the plan wavered. The Occupant was out there, somewhere, but what if it had found us out, somehow? Could it smell this setup? For that matter, what if the gunshot wound I'd left it with had rendered it immobile for a time? Would it spend the night in the bottom of that mineshaft, resting?

  Jake's voice wavered. “T-There you are,” he said. “I've b-been looking all over for you.”

  Jane shot me a look. It was nearly time.

  I tensed, wanting to rush out and start firing, but Jane, sensing this, shook her head. She'd give me the signal when it was time, and she edged narrowly towards the door to take a look outside. Gaze narrowing, she held her rifle close and watched Jake make his rehearsed overtures.

  I peeked, too, and felt my heart pause as I did so.

  The Occupant was standing within the treeline, looking at Jake intently. The breeze sent its orange hair swaying. It took a few slow steps out of the woods, practically gliding towards him, and as it advanced I could sense no difficulty or pain in its movements. It was possible—though I couldn't tell you how—that the wound I'd given it had healed up over the course of the day.

  When the Occupant had come within just a few paces of Jake, and he looked so white in the face that I thought he might faint, Jane gave a firm nod. Rushing out of the church, bounding through the grass some ten or fifteen feet, she halted, raised the rifle and took aim, squeezing out two shots back to back. Without even waiting to see if those had connected, she moved slightly to the right and fired another pair. It was fluid, almost beautiful to watch.

  I followed her out, holding the gun out before me and trying to size up the Occupant before taking a shot of my own, but by the time I thought to pull the trigger, the thing had already fallen to the ground in a heap.

  Jane had hit it.

  Turning to us with large, watery eyes, Jake dropped to his knees. “Y-You hit her!” he shouted.

  Just where the bullet—or bullets—had ended up was a mystery. I feared that Jane had gone too far, had shot to kill, and also that, upon her arrival to the body, she would deliver a coup de grace. When the two of us reached the Occupant, we both gasped in surprise.

  It wasn't the Occupant we were looking at, but Elizabeth.

  Crying and clutching at her calf, where a bullet had passed clean through, Elizabeth Morrissey looked up at us confusedly. She was weeping too much to speak, but for that moment, there was no visible trace of the Occupant in her.

  “I'll be damned,” blurted Jane, setting down her rifle and immediately thrusting her hands into the bag of rope. “Boys, hold her down!” she commanded.

  Jake and I did as we were told. Using all of our strength, we gripped her wrists and ankles, holding them close together so that Jane could bind them with complicated knots. With great speed and zero hesitance, I watched Jane tie Elizabeth's arms and legs together several times over, the knots so tight, firm and intricate that I wondered if she wasn't a Green Beret. Elizabeth kept on sobbing the whole way through, said not a word, and was apparently too weak to resist us.

  The final knot had been tied around her ankles when Elizabeth's body began to quake and change. Her eyes were the first to transform, going dark and then expanding till they looked like the hollows of trees. The roars of the dead erupted from her mouth as it unhinged, and her limbs, fighting suddenly against the restraints, looked on the verge of dislocating at the joints, such was the energy she put up in resistance.

  But she was trapped.

  For once, the predator had been restrained.

  I stood up, staring down at the Occupant in awe as it shook and spat. It was a sight to behold. “See?” I told Jane. “Elizabeth really is still in there. I told you.”

  Jake, despite his terror, was overjoyed at this discovery. “We can save her! We can do this!” he said. Then, looking to the serious wound on her leg, he grew visibly deflated. “That isn't going to kill her, is it?”

  Jane shook her head. “No. Not right away, anyhow. Not while this thing is still living in her.” She motioned to us both, giving us a cue to pick it up and carry it into the church. “We don't have a lot of time. Let's get her inside and do this.”


  Taking hold of the Occupant as though it were a rolled-up carpet, Jake and I ferried it into the church hastily and set it down between a pair of overturned pews. Having calmed somewhat, the specter looked up at each of us in turn. What was going through its head just then—what savage acts it was hoping to commit once freed—I didn't want to guess.

  The transfer would involve me injuring the captive. I'd hit it in the head, punch or kick it, but would abstain from a killing blow. We had to test what amount of punishment the thing would be willing to take before abandoning Elizabeth's body. Once we'd figured out that limit, we'd have Jane, who was presently asking Jake to tie her arms and legs together with rope, invite the Occupant into her own body. There was no telling whether the spirit would take the bait, especially with Elizabeth so close by, but we hoped it would and planned to flee with Elizabeth at the first sign of success.

  I picked up Jane's rifle and, as we'd discussed beforehand, struck the Occupant with the butt of it, right in the gut. The specter flinched, but to my surprise, Elizabeth didn't make a reappearance. Growling and fixing me in its black eyes, it remained unchanged. I focused next on its hands, bringing down the butt of the rifle against one of its fingers like a hammer. The digit could be heard to snap as it was sandwiched between the stock and the stone floor, and this blow did cause a change. The Occupant was overthrown, and when I looked down at its face again I saw Elizabeth staring back at me. She wailed in pain, closing her hand and trying to roll onto her side.

  While all of this was going on, Jane had taken a seat on the floor. Her wrists had been tied, as had her ankles, and she had her eyes closed.