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Journal Entry #1: Possession

December 5, 2010

The back story in my upcoming novel, THE DEMON BAQASH, is told through the demon’s journal entries. In anticipation of the novel’s January 2011 release, here’s a special sneak peek at an entry not included in the novel.

From the journal of the demon Baqash:

I abhor the flesh.

That is, I hate inhabiting a fleshly form. As a spirit being, I enjoy a certain liberty denied those forever tethered to the physical plane. I have form, oh yes. We, the fallen, are not as the ether, merely particles to disperse upon some metaphysical wind. I have limbs, torso, wings, head. But constraints such as size, shape, density, are ambiguous, having no firm meaning to one such as me. It is not until I step to within the flesh that I face earthly limitations such as pain, physical injury, even death.

No. I cannot die. That luxury is ever elusive. Should I take possession of a person – inhabiting, controlling, commanding every breath, every twitch and shudder – and should that host vessel parish while I yet reside, I would surely continue to exist. Oh, most definitely. But the trauma! Ah, the shock of the death experience is such that I could well be rendered insane.

“Ah! But, you’re a demon,” some might say. “And as such, could we not argue that you are already insane?”

And to this I would say that there are many levels of insanity, some of which make even a demon shudder. Therefore, it is when I am within the flesh that I am most cautious, for it is then that I am most vulnerable.

I am now reminded of a young woman, Lacey Klein, by name. She and I had a… Well, let us call it a relationship. Yes. Relationship seems an appropriate term.

Lacey was weak of spirit, a loveless wretch who traded a mundane, yet comfortable, middleclass life for the fickle thrills of addiction. Her husband had left some months prior, and her daughter was still too young to realize that should she be allowed to grow to adulthood, she would surely learn to hate this miserable creature she so lovingly called “Mommy.”

A child really should be spared such misery, don’t you think?

I was not unknown to Lacey Klein. But, in this particular moment, I was as the vapor: unseen and unknowable. This was by design, for I did not desire to be seen. Ah, but we had a relationship. Indeed we did. For I had physically presented myself to her many times before. Of course, she had never seen me as truly I am, with six tattered wings, a lulling tongue, and darting eyes on all four of my distorted faces. No, when I revealed myself to Lacey, she saw me as I wished to be perceived in the human world: tall, with smooth bronzed skin, golden hair long and flowing. And dressed to kill! Armani, Prada, whatever the current trend. I am nothing, if not stylish.

I had befriended her, courted her. The soulless forever seek a soul mate. Ironic, I suppose. I brought her gifts of flowers and of drugs. I fawned over her brat with toys and treats. Lacey thought that she loved me. But Lacey didn’t think so clearly.

Today, though, I did not appear to her. For today, the courtship stage was over. Today we were to consummate the relationship. Yes, today I would view the world through Lacey Klein’s fleshly orbs.

The possession process has always appalled me. Even in the early days when we, the fallen, would inhabit wild beasts so that we might battle one another to physical death, I found the putting on of skin repugnant. Lacey welcomed me at first. She was high, or, at least, traveling that road. I was familiar to her, and so my presence initially comforted her. But soon the warm mental embrace turned to icy fear.

It always turns to fear.

For I had never before resided within her. She had known me only as another human being, a friend, a lover.

Or, at least, she had convinced herself to believe the deception. There are always tells. One only need acknowledge them. Though, few people ever do. Life is much simpler for those who ignore that which they don’t understand.
We fallen rely on it.

I cannot read the mind of one I possess; but still the mind screams at me as through a dark and echoing chamber. Lacey’s mind had a shrill quality to it. Loud. Whimpering. Bludgeoning me with fits of confused indignation. This is not surprising. She was an annoying person at best.

Her form pitched about as I wrested control. She fell face forward to the tiled kitchen floor. Her nose was bloodied, most likely broken. We tossed about the room, colliding with and overturning the kitchen table, smacking thrice against the eastern wall, and finally tumbling back to the floor where Lacey lay twitching.

And finally I controlled the form.

I felt the rhythmic pumping of the heart.

I experienced blood rushing through veins and arteries and nourishment churning in digestive gasses.

I tensed and then released the musculature, testing, familiarizing, shunning the trivial pains and irritations which exemplify physical existence.

I blinked, bringing the inadequate fleshly eyes into focus. I blinked again. And then, for a time, I saw through the eyes of Lacey Klein.

Lacey screamed from somewhere deep within her skull, but I am adept at ignoring that which is irrelevant. My steps were halting, my coordination poor. Perhaps it was that Lacey still fought my control, perhaps it was the drugs forever slipping through her veins. But despite the difficulties, I managed to maneuver the form out of the tiny roach infested kitchen, down the short hallway, and into the brat’s bedroom.

The girl was two years old, or perhaps three, and turned over in her bed as I tossed open the door. “Mommy?” asked the girl in a voice still clinging to puppy dog dreams. “Mommy? What’s a matter?”

But, mommy said nothing. Instead she simply stepped forward, a peculiar grin on her newly-distorted features, reached down, and embraced her child, oh, so very tightly.

Sometimes, I do so enjoy inhabiting the flesh.

COMING IN JANUARY 2011: THE DEMON BAQASH by Thom Reese: Trent Troxel was humiliated, defeated, forced from his position amidst scorn and scandal. Now, after nearly a year of rebuilding, of reestablishing trust with his wife and loved ones, he is confronted by the one who just might have caused it all. Trent Troxel now sits face-to-face with the demon Baqash. And though Trent finds the demon’s supernatural claims incredulous, he is soon drawn into Baqash’s mad scheme. His wife spirals into the insanity of possession. His precious daughter is threatened by a fiend of Hell. And Trent’s only hope is to uncover the secrets locked away in mysterious manuscripts given to him by the demon himself. But, these ancient pages might just uncover the terrible truth of his own unspeakable origin.

Available January 2011 from Speaking Volumes

Copyright 2010 Thom Reese

Thom Reese is the author of the novels, THE DEMON BAQASH, DEAD MAN’S FIRE, and CHASING KELVIN, along with the short story collection, 13 BODIES: SEVEN TALES OF MURDER & MADNESS. Thom was the sole writer and co-producer of the weekly audio drama radio program, 21ST CENTURY AUDIO THEATRE. Fourteen of these dramas have since been published in four collections. A native of the Chicago area, Thom currently makes his home in Las Vegas.


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  1. Well done, Thom. I read Father Malachy Martin’s Hostage to the Devil a long time ago. I think many born Catholics have an interest in the subject of possession and exorcism. Wish you success with your new book!

  2. Joey Jordan permalink

    Excellent piece Mr. Reese!

  3. Hi Thom:
    I’d love to read your book and journal entries, and I will as soon as I complete the novel I’m working on. It should be released in March 2011. I received a letter from Ira Levin several years ago – after sending him one of my books as a gift. He thanked me, but said that he never read other writers work while he was composing (he promised to read the book later, but within three months, sadly he passed away). I understood what he meant though, and I’m sure you do to. But I do look forward to reading your new book after I finish mine. I’ll take it with me to the beach, hang out, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I also have a brand new blog on WordPress. Just an introduction. The address: is
    Have a great holiday season, Cheers MSB

  4. Very creepy, Thom.

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