Helen's possessed body walked back into the house without a word. Her drenched nightgown clung to her curvy body, and her hair was drenched as she stepped into the darkened kitchen. The demon stood there, soaking in the sighs and sounds of the night and the sexy feel of its new body--its first in a long time. The dark and silence were interrupted as a small light flicked on the kitchen. In the light there stood Walter--Helen's slob of a husband--with an empty cereal bowl. "Just coming in for a late-night snack honey," he said with a slight smile as his belly growled with ravenous hunger. "You want something too?" he asked as he held out a bowl for her to take. She did nothing but turn and awkwardly tilt her head at him as the water dropped from her now-possessed body. Walter regarded her oddly. "Honey--you--you're all wet . . . you okay babe?" he asked, clueless.
Helen's body had begun to show a bit of age, yes, she weighed a few more pounds than a beautiful 20-something with a perfect body, and she had made peace with that--even found ways to made it undeniably sexy. A couple small lines around the eyes were her mark of pride; women are sexy, but little girls with boob jobs are passing fad, she'd decided. Still, Walter had taken embracing the coming years to an absurd level. He stood about four or five inches taller than his sexy wife, but he had given up on looking even moderately tolerable years before. At 49 years old, gray stubbled betrayed a nascent, unkempt beard slowly sprouting from his face. His chest and giant belly protruded out before him, both distended by years of scarfing down beer and junk food. A thin t-shirt tried without success to hide the man's girth. Every step and every laugh brought a shake of his jello-like belly. Boxer shorts adorned his unfit legs as he stood like a dumb bastard there in the kitchen with a cereal bowl for yet another snack. "Honey? You--you, uh, you okay baby?" he asked. Helen could do so much better.
Without missing half a heartbeat, the possessed Helen grabbed a large knife from the wrack that sat on the island in the kitchen, closing the distance between herself and the aforementioned slob and cutting a wide, deep gash across his throat. She smiled as he bled out, his eyes widened by unimaginable terror at the actions of his own wife and the pain that ripped through his body as the proverbial lights began to go out. The man fell roughly to his knees, eliciting a mighty shake from the small kitchen and from the big man's own sloppy body. Helen grabbed the cereal bowl and let the blood from him pour into it, a smile crossing her face. She needed to use the phone after all. The man breathed his last gasps in a terrified, paralyzing end.
Helen stood and set the blood-filled bowl upon the table. She closed her eyes and concentrated over the bowl for a moment or two. The blood began to bubble, and sounds of moaning and torture could be heard, as if in the distance, but coming closer. "I will find bodies for all of you . . . soon," Helen said.
Within a few minutes, the possessed figure of the woman strolled sexily from the house to the car, still covered in the curtain of night. She got into the car and headed for her night shift job at the store, a sick smile crossing her face. "He's coming--I will prepare the way," she said as her car zipped through the night.
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