Bridled in Barrington
In our world, just outside the sight of normal humans are forces beyond our true comprehension. Agencies around the world, desperate to prevent a panic have developed defensive measures to protect the innocent from the influence of ghosts and demons. In the United States, this duty falls to the Special Cases Unit of the FBI. However, the disruptive chaos of the supernatural and their abettors grows stronger with each passing day.
"Got any coffee, boss? Not exactly used to house calls this late." A haggard man in an aged suit towers over a desk, his beige trench coat absorbing the pale light of the fluorescent bulbs. At a more generous time of the day, one could argue there was a handsome face hiding beneath the growing black stubble.
"For Christ's sake, McMulton, cut the jokes for five minutes...please. We have a potential situation. Wouldn't have called you otherwise." An older gentleman adjusted his seat and shuffled around his desk with a few files before handing Philip McMulton a vanilla folder nearly vomiting documents into his chest.
"Better to get them out the way before the serious shit goes down. The world would be a better place if people would lighten up a little." Philip's bloodshot eyes zipped across the words and images within the folder, those brown irises widening a little before he blinked and closed the folder. "So there's some whack job out east butchering animals? Cruel and I feel sorry for the critters, but shouldn't this be a job for animal control or something?"
"That's what the local police intended at first. Read the rest of the document, and you'll understand why." Director Cooper strained his eyes to keep them open from the Sandman, a part of him agreeing with his agent about the hour. His long years in the special cases unit of the FBI had offered him little rest and salted his dark mane. Another grey hair added itself to the collection, reflecting on the latter half of the folder Agent McMulton was reading.
"Pentagrams of animal blood...tourists losing their memories...fiery wisps? " Philip could already feel the smartass within him offering a plethora of cheap remarks, but Cooper's steely stare kept him in line. "So this isn't like Miami then. It's more than just some high Voodoo nut jobs sacrificing livestock."
"Yeah. Barrington, Massachusetts. Ectoplasmic readings are very high there, though we can't be certain we're dealing with a witch this time. The town's all the way on the other side of the state." Cooper clinched his fists, wishing he had more to offer his agent other than the typical good luck and rehashing of procedure.
"Witch, occult nerds, it doesn't matter, I know my job. I'll stop them before they summon the big one through those bloody scribbles. Last thing we need is a panic." Philip took a deep breath, his mind shouting at his body that there was work to be done. "Anything else? Am I getting help on this one? Daphne?"
"We're trying to get more agents to the site, but many of them are busy cleaning up that mess near Boulder including your partner. As it is, we're sending you in on your own right now." The veteran felt a chill crawl down his spine at the thought of the malevolent architecture that had crapped up in those mountains. "As for the perp, based on the size of the circles and the common horse blood used, I'd say our suspect is likely new at the craft and is only trying to summon lesser demons...or pieces of a larger one. And McMulton..."
"Be prepared, I know. Get the helicopter ready, I'll gear up." Philip offered a light grin while hanging on to a hope it would be another prank or Goth too powerless to summon any real trouble. His beige trench coat was quickly stuffed with instruments of supernatural execution. His pockets bulged lightly with silver bullets, syringes of holy water, a portable ectoplasm detector, and a blood dissolving kit to break fresh pentagrams. Mostly importantly though was the thin plate of cold iron already in his head, the blessed metal protecting his mind from the wiles of the supernatural. The familiar flutter and grind of the helicopter filled his ears once he left the headquarters, the cool slap of autumn awakening his nerves. "Really wanted that coffee," he muttered before hopping in for the short flight to Barrington.
"Sure you can't tell me what's going on down there, pal?" asked the helicopter pilot for what seemed like the twentieth time.
Philip knew it wasn't, but exhaustion was biting into his demeanor. "Vince, I told you that the only thing I can tell ya is that I can't tell ya about the mission. For Your Eyes Only and that shit." He rubbed his eyes again and looked down towards the outlying farms around the small town of Great Barrington. If the blades of the copter and metal weren't clouding his ears, he would have guessed it sounded very peaceful around the village, the neighboring farmers already slumbering away innocently.
"Man, you ever think this system would work better if the people upstairs trust us grunts a little more. I mean, what if you call me for an emergency pick up? It would be nice to know if it was for a kidnapping or a serial killer or what not, helps put me in the right state of mind." Vincent rolled his shoulders and relaxed, seemingly better adjusted to the late hour's touch.
"They do trust me. That's why I get these jobs that would make people like you panic. Think what the worst thing that could ever happen happens, and then it's worse than that. Now land this thing...please." Philip tried to give his colleague his best grin, despite knowing he was steaming with annoyance.
"Yeah, maybe, but I've seen some pretty fucked up shit over the years, including some of the aftermath of...those forces from the beyond." Less successful missions filled his eyes, making his toes curl. Vincent turned his head back, his biting tone now sobered. "Take care out there, Phil. Should be a couple of cars in the safe house there, and I'll have my radio on for you."
"Good. I'll try and keep this quick and efficient." His gaze peered out of the chopper's window and spotted a dusty old barn amidst the moonlight, the flaking red walls easier to see once they touched down on terra firma.
"Should have just had Vince park me in town, I thought those country roads would never end," lamented the agent within his mind, though he did take some joy in feeling the firm texture of pavement beneath the covert sedan. The moon reflected clearly off the glossy piano black of the hood, while the engine underneath zipped car and driver towards the small town. Only a few lights of the local taverns and emergency stations greeted the weary traveler.
Parked before the quaint, but tidy police station, he entered the humble headquarters and approached the desk. Aged, but sturdy like its occupant, one Chief Samuel Cunningham. "Hmmm...is there something I can help you with fella?"
Philip picked up on the similar weariness in the chief's tone, but he could feel pleasantness to the words as well. He gave a short nod and retrieved his identification, and declared, "I'm Agent McMulton, FBI. I was sent to investigate recent disturbances at some of the farms outside of town."
"Mmhhmm, Chief Cunningham. Have a seat if you'd like, heard you were coming. I already had my boys and ladies investigate that until those suits you work for told us to let you folks handle it." He shook his head, kicking fruitless at the red tape surrounding him. "Most of the cases were relatively standard at first, simple theft of livestock and horses at first, but then that poor Westwood couple...some hooligan or Satanist terrorized those good people. Wrecked up the joint, ripped apart at least one of those animals stolen to paint those uuhhh...you know, those magic circles, but worst yet, their daughter Rosalind has gone missing. Now those two are distraught and shell-shocked, doctor said it might be a while before they fully remember what happened last night." Cunningham's breathing grew deeper, talking about the incident causing his chest to grow tight.
Agent McMulton nodded, understanding the camaraderie between citizens in a small town. He took a seat, and confirmed with the officer what the mission dossier declared. "That's about what the report told me. Rest assured, sir, I plan on solving this case and finding their daughter. I assume you've already alerted the town and farms about this dangerous individual and told them how to protect themselves."
"I reckon I did. It's hard to get everyone to agree to the standards, what with some of those characters running the farms out there, but we have more lights on out there in the country to scare them off, and some of those coots have their dogs and guns ready, itching for a chance to fire." Cunningham shook his head at the last fact and added, "Let's hope you bring the fool in before we need a body bag, eh? Or at least find that poor girl. Her parents are being looked over at the old hospital a block over. Doubt the doc will let you interrupt their beauty sleep, but maybe you'll have better luck than us getting them to talk about it in the morning."
"I'll do that, thank you for your cooperation...Cunningham," uttered Philip, barely remembering the man's name in his exhaustion. Before leaving the station, he turned back and inquired, "By the way, do you have any coffee around here?"
"Heh, sure. Ain't the best joe in the world, but it's yours. Us grunts have to stick together, eh?" Cunningham quickly poured him a cup of the black liquid, a strong aroma wafting from the within the Styrofoam prison. "Just do your best to bring her back. Her father's a good friend of mine, and he already lost a boy."
All Philip offered in return was a silent nod before leaving, letting his mind distract itself with the sharp buzz of unsweetened coffee. The years had told him it was better to move forward than to drift on someone's backstory. Rubber burned lightly and the dark automobile soared through the muted streets, approaching the ivory walls of the local clinic.
"Mr. Westwood, please. I'm going to do everything I can to help your daughter, but you need to tell me what happened out there," commanded the agent, his words laced with annoyance.
Entering the hospital at the dead of night for questions was simpler than he could have hoped for. A quick flash of his credentials convinced the nurses on duty, and the father's insomnia helped play into his urgency. "Just something. It will be easier if I don't go in blind."
"It's all my fault," uttered the shaking father, almost in a whisper. Mr. Westwood felt the sting of guilt pierce into his tender body. "I asked her...no...I told her she needed to stay at the farm for a little while, at least until we could get a new hand t-to replace my boy." The scruffy man's eyes grew tear with melancholy. "She wanted to leave for Boston, she had planned it for a while, was tired of the quiet, simple life out here."
"And she rebelled I take it?" Philip already knew the answer, the scene thick with déjà vu.
"Yes. She resented Martha, and me twice as much. Shadowy men started meeting with her in the barn. Never got a good look at them before I spooked them off. That was...before some of the livestock started disappearing, before she started acting mighty peculiar, not bathing or brushing...and then..." Mr. Westwood grinded his teeth, the fear pounding his chest. "I checked the back of the barn yesterday...the dusty old storage, I don't go in there much, but I saw her..." His skin grew pale with nausea, but he summoned enough fortitude to continue. "She was covered in blood and...oh God, our horse was split open...and she was drawing that circle, that twisted, mangled circle..." The broken man dove for the sink and unleashed his light dinner, the crimson soaked memory causing his insides to quiver.
Agent McMulton closed his eyes, giving the broken man a moment of private dignity. "I've seen this before." He waited a few moments, letting the father recollect himself and return to his chair, thankful he cleaned himself up first. "Mr. Westwood, your daughter has likely been contacted by a member of a splinter Satanic cult and was brainwashed. Cults will use psychology and charismatic figures to persuade and pressure people into their causes. Now it's very important that you tell me where she might be right now. The FBI has methods for helping people recover from that kind of indoctrination." Philip's steely, piercing glance connected with Westwood's eyes, while he delivered the cover story and explanation.
"I...I don't know. She could be somewhere on the farm still, but the police already said they found nothing when they investigated. After I found my daughter back there, everything stops, just blackness. When I regained my senses, I was lying in the middle of the field with my wife. She said she heard my scream and the same thing must have happened to her." Westwood groaned, the guilt driving him to glower at his image in the mirror. "Why can't I remember? She needed me, and I just...goddammit."
"You and your wife likely fainted from the sight." He turned to the door across the hall and peered at the ectoplasm detector in his trench coat pocket, the meter running in the fiery orange. "I assume her story is about the same."
"Yes, we talked about it already." The father then peered into Philip's eyes and begged, "Please let her sleep. She's been a wreck all day, almost as bad as me. Let her have a little comfort, sir."
Philip snapped his eyes towards Mrs. Westwood's room again, and then nodded. "Fine, but other agents will be here in the morning for questioning for both of you. I hope you understand."
"Yes sir, just please find her and tell her..." Westwood's mind cycled through millions of pleading statements before he decided on, "...tell her I'm sorry I didn't listen, and that my ears are open. Just come home and talk." He then drowned his voice in a long glass of water and swallowed.
The agent gave another quiet nod, and added coolly, "Thank you for your time, sir."
"So is that all, McMulton?" asked the firm voice of Director Cooper, still at his desk with heavy eyes.
"Yeah, not much different from the police report, but that man definitely had his mind wiped. The guy was coated in localized ectoplasm. I also know that demonic contact with that girl likely occurred in the Westwood's barn. Doesn't sound like it's been going on for long, so its influence probably hasn't stretched past the farms." Philip swiftly tore through the highway with the roar of his car echoing through the crisp air.
"Good. We're mobilizing some of the agents that have returned. We'll have a perimeter around the place in a few hours."
In a better mood, he would have quipped about his solidarity, but weight of the facts held down his snarky remark. "Make it sooner if you can, this one is hot. Advisement, sir?"
"As you were, go investigate the farm carefully. If the girl still had enough control not to sacrifice her parents, then this is likely just a Class 1 possession and is confined within 5 miles of where the spirit was summoned, but you never know when that can escalate. Bah, you know the procedure, so go do it," ordered the veteran over the buzz of the radio.
"I will." Philip's voice possessed a certain certainty that made it seem it was destined to happen. "I'll handle it, fast and quiet before the little fuck can cause real trouble."
"Yeah, that spirit's thinking the same thing. Keep me posted, McMulton."
The radio went silent with the agent having nothing more to say. He couldn't summon the banter and jokes from earlier, his duty holding all his attention. The rumble of dirt country roads filled his ears once more, while the innocuous sight of the Westwood farm came into view.
Silence overtook the land once Philip's car eased into a stop alongside the gravel road to the center of the farm. He cracked his knuckles and looked at the dead property, with only the moonlight illuminating anything. Gripping his Beretta and detector, his tense footsteps led him up the road. The faint tick of the meter was his only friend out there in the dark, its metallic hand creeping towards the higher limits of the scale.
His breathing grew tighter, even though he kept telling himself the possessed, let alone demons had no special power at night. The logic in his mind kept grappling with his instinct, the familiar urge to flee making a plea in his head. It was callously denied, his sense of duty dragging him forward with each strained step. He ignored the lifeless house and drifted to the scene of the crime, the bright red of the barn looking rather sinister tonight.
Loud creaks echoed through the property as the aged hinges of the doors grinded, but permitted the officer inside the dark depths. Any animals once inside were long since gone, though their stench lingered, only rivaled by the aroma of death pervading from the back of the barn. Philip switched on the flashlight in his detector, thankful for his ally's adaptability.
The light broke through the darkness, the shavings of hey and abandoned stalls revealed to his weary brown eyes. The hiss of demons and the unnatural did not respond to his defiant light, his stride to the back unopposed. Within the back storage room, he observed the initial makings of an investigation scene by the local police. To his luck, the horse carcass was already replaced by a chalky shadow, but the bloody pentagram remained, its gnarled shape far from the perfect circles of fiction. Raw, chaotic emotions filled the sigil, but the telltale signs of a destructive summoning were absent. It was a failure.
Before McMulton could take a relieved breath, a sudden icy thud struck the bare skin of his neck. Still conscious, he turned his light and handgun on the assailant. The light revealed nothing, panicking the man with thoughts of an invisible or swift demon until another thud filled the room. A worn shovel struck the ground, covering the loose hay it once gathered and spilled. The agent cursed himself, his anger overwhelming his fear as he took one last sweep of the barn, before leaving. The ectoplasm inside was recent, but no active sources jolted the detector's hand.
The brisk autumn air welcomed the agent back to the outside world, the moon's shine taking a short break behind a cloud. Philip reached for his radio, his other hand still on his Beretta. "Boss, this is McMulton. The barn is clear, signs of a lesser summoning that triggered our satellites, but it was a definite failure, probably interrupted by the kid's parents yesterday. The house is cold according to the ectoplasm levels."
A short moment later, the buzz of the radio returned with Cooper answering in disappointment. "The police must have scared our perp off. Agents are en route to your location, ETA: 90 minutes. Do a few more sweeps out there, check the house if you can. You never know."
"Understood. I'm out." The radio went dead once more, leaving Philip as the lone man on the farm. His trusty detector reclaimed its spot in his right hand and led the dark haired agent across the grounds. Trace amounts of ectoplasm tickled the meter, but left it starved of significant clues until it flicked strongly a few meters away in a field of near nothingness claimed by a lone tractor.
The sturdy vehicle was inspected by Philip, from top to bottom, over and under without success. For a moment, he wondered if the meter was being toyed with, until he turned and his elbow struck a firm wall of air. He groaned for a moment, his funny bone taking the bullet from the firm surface, but his eyes told him only grassy earth and air lay before him. It didn't matter with his suspicion, he knew what he felt, the sting in his elbow quickly fading in a few shakes. The agent's hand reached out and felt for the firm wall, his fingers feeling the cool touch of metal somewhere ahead.
He nodded, and quickly retreated to post his finding to HQ before turning to radio silence, his meter screaming out at the supernatural presence within the metallic, sightless box. Philip had a feeling he knew what was going on, his hand digging out the blood dissolving kit, hoping it would be potent enough to break the bonds of the illusion. He moved in a circle, implementing quick dashes along the box's border with the solvent. A few moments pass by uneventfully, until finally out of the ether appeared a decently sized tool shed. Below the small shelter, a similar bloody pentagram broke apart with its magic lost forever.
Forgotten by the parents in their turmoil, and unseen to the police, the humble tool shed showed all the signs of active paranormal phenomenon according to the detector. It would not be long until the sigil's destruction would alert the suspect. With his assessment completed, he kicked the door open and aimed his Beretta in, only to be kicked in the face by misty hoof. Equipment and spittle went flying with the agent before the earth gracelessly caught him. His head was ringing from the blow, his mind fading fast. His ears only caught one statement before the blackness took hold.
"More meat for the grinder," cried out the cruel words, mocking the sweet voice they spewed out from.
"Ugghhh...fuck..." groaned Philip, consciousness slowly coursing through his aching skull. His body struggled to move, until he noticed the rough texture of the rope gripping his body.
"You're awake, very good! I could not start until those sweet delicious eyes fluttered opened," chirped a young woman, her skin freckled with blood and long brunette hair unkempt.
Philip struggled against the rope bonds, hoping he could trigger a quick break, but to no avail. "Rosalind, that's your name, right?"
"The girl's name is. She makes such a lovely vessel, don't you agree?" The possessing spirit giggled with glee and made Rosalind shake her generous chest towards him, the bloodstained overalls and plaid shirt shaking with her curvature. "But you can just call me, Garnet."
Disgust overtook all the other emotions across Philip's face, his struggles intensifying. "You aren't welcome in this world, you dirty hitchhiker. She has a life, you had yours."
"And what a life it was. Forty three years in an asylum all because my tastes don't match with society's restrictive laws. How is that fair?" Rosalind's body grinned with slimy glee as she gently caressed Philip's mane of black hair. "I suppose your next pointless question is how did I take hold of this girl, or perhaps why I haven't eaten you yet."
A firm spit of hatred escaped Philip's mouth, but missed by a mile. His fetters refused to yield against his despite limbs.
The spirit made it quick and simple for Philip, "There are always ears willing to listen to the song of chaos, and the choir helped her draw me back from the hells of purgatory." She petted the agent's head and added, "But I'm sure a smart boy like you already figured it out. As for your fate, sadly you have been given a greater honor than being my meal for the evening." Her pale finger then pointed downward towards the stone foundation of the shed.
Only, it wasn't quite stone. Philip could barely turn his head far enough to peer at the ground, but the sight shocked him. His body felt like it was on solid ground, but his eyes told him he was hovering above a portal crafted out of another mangled pentagram, with his bound legs and arms keeping him from falling inside into the swirling dark mists below. Then another sight befell his twitching eyes with a spectral image of a front half of a horse running across the cyclone of mist.
Absolute black eyes then look into Philip's own, their gaze lasting eons before breaking. The beast whinnied with delight and he ran up the sides of the mist with reckless abandon. "Not one of my brethren, but stronger than the soft, tamed hides you have laid before me in the past fortnight. His mind will make excellent fuel for the shape I intend."
"You...you're a demon, aren't you?" questioned the agent, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the creature as it crawled out through the corner of the portal. He did notice the tail of the specter was being pulled back towards the black vortex, but it mattered little at the moment. The incredible glow and dark eyes told him everything, that this wasn't some random shapeless ghost, but a slain demon of some sort.
"Indeed. Keshi is my name. I will make the process quick. My station must be filled again." The split horse then wrapped its clammy, misty arms around Philip's shoulders, and breathed cold air into his neck.
"Yeah, my steed has a lot of children to visit. Gonna spread all kinds of sickness and suffering. It will be such a wondrous journey!" Rosalind's former body hopped up and down with delight.
"I am not your steed, human. I will break you free of your own restraints, and carry you away from here, nothing more." Keshi groaned with annoyance from the disrespect, but the vortex pulling on his spirit kept him diplomatic.
"No! I won't let you do that, that girl, those children, they're innocent!" Philip cried out in fury, lashing at his ropes with a second effort. "Why am I even trying to talk? A psycho ghost and a demon...dammit."
Raising an eyebrow, the demon shook its head and explained, "It is not out of malice I do such things. Without disease to test their bodies at a young age, children of all species become weaker. Those that perish would not be long for this world even without my interference, and the rest become stronger." His grip tightened around Philip, and he used his icy touch to silence him for a moment. "It is because of sightless fools like you and Krishna that I was slain long ago. His attack shattered my soul with the scraps left to rot while the rest lingers here, denied a proper rebirth. I was forced to flee my homeland of India, lost between life and death."
"Well, find someone else! I'm not interested in being your body!" Philip's eyes widen in hope as his wrist started to loosen against the rope until a firm boot slammed down on his wrist. "Ahhhhhh!"
"We tried that, but Keshi didn't like the animals I brought him before. More meat for the grinder!" Rosalind's possessor laughed heartily as she removed her boot, likely spraining the agent's wrist from the firm stomp as a purple bruise overtook his tanned skin. "Now let's get started, a law man like you probably already has friends on the way." Garnet waved Philip's I.D. arrogantly in his face before tossing it into a pile of his equipment near the door. She then sat down and started to speak in a whisper, though the words rung loudly in his ears.
The crimson lines of the sigil grew alit with terrible energy, the markings burning into Philip's bare flesh and clothing. More of his pained screeches echoed through the tool shed, while Keshi gripped his shoulders tighter, like some twisted lover. The spectral horse whinnied once he felt the pull of the vortex weaken and let him reach into Philip's body. He crawled inside slowly, as if he were donning a set of clothes. A minute later, he disappeared entirely within the human body.
"What...what is this? Ugghhh..." Philip struggled against the second consciousness residing within him, the demonic Keshi trampling on his mind.
"I said I would make it quick, but change requires some investment of time, human." Keshi continued to whinny and neigh as it recklessly assaulted his body. Even with the cold iron in his head, the demon wasn't a normal ghost, and his rampage slipped through the cracks.
The agent assumed the horse demon was merely trying to destroy his spirit from within, but then he looked to his sprained wrist and noticed thick hair starting to sprout from his cuff and forearm. "What the hell is this, what are you doing to me?"
"The human form does not suit me. I am adjusting it to my whims." Sounds of stampede filled Philip's mind with the demon trampling more of the human's defenses.
"No, I won't let you!" he cried out, Philip's sharp words reaching his mind and the outside world. The pain in his wrist seemed like a paper cut now, the sting muted by the changes overwhelming his body. His limbs flailed in tension as his body's rough skin was overtaken by chocolate brown fur, while his black hair lengthened into a proper mane. His screams were soon spat out from a long brown and white muzzle, and his bugged out eyes became a darker fudge color, desperate to escape like the human trapped within.
"Quit struggling, you are only forcing the changes to be slower and painful." Keshi grunted, feeling Philip's mind dragging on his racing spirit, but his progress continued.
His hands managed to remain human shaped for the moment, but thick white fur sprouted across his ten fingers and clinched palms. His legs sprouted the same white fur around the ankles, though his feet were not so fortunate, succumbing to the changes with several gut-wrenching cracks before the skin shed to reveal a pair of sturdy hooves down below. His back then arched in a fresh shade of pain, his tailbone growing out against his furry skin until a tail, black as his hair, sprouted above his flanks. "T-This...this isn't right...stop..."
"Do not whimper, you are becoming part of something better. I will use this body to help your world once again." Keshi kept racing forward, but his breathing became strained, his spirit becoming exerted from the changes, the cold iron plating, and the annoying human clinging to his spectral body. With another roar, he dashed forward with a second wind, forcing Philip's whole body to react in a spasm before his lean musculature expanded.
The man shaped horse stared at his swelling body, the endurance and strength of a demonic horse coursing through his body. He quickly exceeded the size and shape of a normal human, his statuesque physique sending jealous athletes into a crying shame. His clothes had long since popped off along with the ropes, leaving the creature free before the possessed girl.
"Hmmm, not a full horse yet I see. Too bad, too bad, worn out, eh?" Rosalind's tormentor giggled, getting a kick out of seeing a struggle, even from her own ally.
"I will recover soon," panted the demon in a mix of two voices, breathing in deeply from physical and mental exhaustion. "And then finish."
"Well, to help hurry you along..." Garnet's perpetual grin became wicked with lust as she wrapped her hand around the demon's engorged pride. "How about a little fun to relax your weary, little body?"
Both Philip and Keshi gasped in surprise, looking down out of reflex to see the girl's smooth hands caressing his thick pink rod and plump chocolate balls. Without hesitation, the mustang's head flung forward and head-butted Rosalind towards the door. "Do not touch me without my permission. Take your whims to someone else."
"Brute!" shrieked the spirit, furious for a brief moment before unnaturally calming herself. "Teehee, that can be attractive in a man in fair doses." She arose in haste and strut over to the horse demon with glee. "If you don't want to play now, then let's finish our business, I want to be free."
The horse man arose in a groggy heap, his muscular body easily towering over the girl at an impressive seven feet. His fur and mane were a mess, but he did appear to be the perfection of an anthropomorphic horse. He was an image straight out of the legends and tales of mankind. He was an image of the many traits men covet, his muscles toned and built for long stretches of work, and a long, healthy member dedicated to virility. He was an image that gave Rosalind a firm hook across the face.
Dents lined the shed's thin metal as Rosalind's possessor recovered, furious eyes peering back at the pair. "Not going to fulfill your end of our bargain?"
"You disgust me, spirit. It is poor taste that you do not give respect to your superior, but you also assume I am a merchant of death such as yourself. I won't blight the land with your presence." Keshi's eyes shot daggers at the girl, his mighty fist preparing for another blow.
"Hold it, horsie boy!" Her arm then rose, carrying Philip's Beretta, pointed squarely at the demon's body. "We had a deal, and you'd best honor it, or I'll shoot you down. I can always find another's help."
"You don't even know what honor is," declared the mustang, pouncing forward, fearless of the gun.
A crisp crack of a gunshot filled the tool shed, the silver bullet imbedding itself in the demon's shoulder, throwing him back for a moment. The sting caused Philip to cringe in pain, but he also felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Neighing and stampeding through his mind, Keshi's spirit roared with pain, the silver burning into his body. Thrashing about, the horse sought an escape, his beastly instincts driving him to leave the hybrid body he crafted, panting in relief as the silver left his soul. "FOOL! YOU WILL SUFFER UNTIL THE END OF TIME!" he boomed, before causing a burst of icy air to fill the room, throwing Rosalind back.
The human carrier chortled as she watched Philip slump to the ground, while she was pinned to the wall for a moment. Disconnected from the body's actual pain and temperature, Garnet recovered quickly against the body's protests. "If you're trying to give me a flu, the cold air means nothing to me. If you will not help lil' ol' me, then I will send you back." More gunfire filled the room, several bullets launching through the spirit. The incorporeal beast shrieked in agony from the silver passing through and burning holes into its glowing hide before it fell by the edge of the pentagram. Keshi's breathing slowed, inhaling fresh night air from the bullet holes puncturing the wall.
"Heheh, bye bye, little horsie. Don't worry, you won't need respect where you're going," assured the girl, before gasping from the furry fist knocking the gun out of her hands. "You!"
Philip quickly grabbed the fumbled pistol and aimed at Rosalind, not even giving the possessor a chance to speak. "Sorry." Another bullet rang through the shed, piercing the girl's arm, giving her a bloody wound while helping her shed the ghost within.
A spherical monstrosity in chains floated free, linked to Rosalind by the pale bonds. Angry colors danced around its formless surface, before screeching in an inhuman tone, "Sorry! You'll be sorry when you're in my belly, boy!"
"Well, it's a good thing the sorry wasn't for you," snapped the horse man before unloading more silver bullets into the spirit.
"Ahhhhh! This...they won't stop! And you...your life...ha ha...your life is a cursed one now! Ahhhhhhhhh!" Unable to withstand the silver barrage any longer, the common psychopath and her chains ceased to be in a puff of disappearing mist.
Philip panted lightly and lowered his head, surveying the girl he shot. Bleeding, but she was not leaking buckets yet. The agent turned his head towards the demon spirit still hanging on to reality as it arose from the earth on its two remaining hooves.
Keshi snorted and glared at his new body. "You will defy me to the end. I know this now, and you know this. The outcome is in fate's hands." He charged forward, fearless and stalwart in his desire.
One last snap of the Beretta filled the shed that night, ripping another hole through the head of the horse demon. Without its back legs to support it, the charge was countered, making Keshi fly back and twirl into the vortex. The torn spirit lashed at the swirling mists, climbing up back towards the exit. He was met by the firm face of Philip's new body, the Beretta aimed down at his forehead.
"I think we'll do fine without your help," declared the agent before pulling the trigger, returning the spirit to the mists from which it was birthed. He then quickly grabbed his blood dissolving kit from the equipment pile, fumbling for a moment with his bigger hands before retrieving the solvent and dashing the circle into pieces. The violent swirl of otherworldly wind vanished, leaving the countryside quiet once more.
Breathing deeply, finding it difficult to believe all that occurred, Philip took a seat and collected his thoughts. "I'm...goddamn, I'm still like this, still a horse...man." He looked over to Rosalind's limp, bleeding body and gasped. "Fuck! Don't die on me kid, not after all this!"
An inspection of the wound showed the bullet went through the arm cleanly, better than what it could have been. "Let's patch you up, at least until we can get you a doctor." He grabbed the small portable med kit from his beige trench coat, cleaning and dressing the wound the best he could to halt the loss of blood. Bruises could be seen across the filthy girl's body, but her breathing seemed stable at the moment. "There, that's better, right?" Even in his current state, he at least could muster a small grin, a victory amidst all he lost.
Rosalind's eyes slowly fluttered open, the sting of the disinfectant stimulating her freed body. The brunette observed Philip with wide eyes before pouncing forward, challenging the larger mammal. Words did not grace her lips, only guttural cries of animalistic fury.
"No...no, it is not," he uttered in sheer futility, and gripped the girl's wrists, holding her back from chomping on his face.
Suddenly the door was kicked in, revealing a trio of FBI agents in cleanly pressed suits marched in, pistols locked on Philip and Rosalind. "Freeze!"
Rosalind's beastly eyes arched back towards the agents, before she greeted them both with a slobbery hiss. "Nnnttthhhhh!"
"Daphne...Robert...Dave, cuff the girl. We have a lot to talk about," spoke the mustang, astonishing the agents to hear Philip's voice out of the hybrid.
"Phil, that's you?" Daphne was a little worried, knowing some demons could mask their voices.
With a light roll of his eyes, the equine agent knew where this was going with his longtime partner. "Your birthday is April 21st, you were born in Chicago, you love jazz music, and you still hate me for beating you at the annual chess tournament back at HQ." He grinned slyly like a proper know-it-all, though the relief from seeing friendly faces helped the grin.
"My god, it is you." The blonde haired woman's breathing tensed up before she looked at Bob and nodded. "Cuff the suspect. "
"So that's really you under all that fur. That's wild, so...I'm sorry." Daphne sighed, aware that nothing she would think of would help her imagine Philip's situation. Dressed in only a trench coat, and his fur and mane frayed to all hell, the hybrid was not a pretty sight under the early dawn's light.
Philip looked up, seeing the squad of FBI cars surrounding the property, with Agent Robert taking Rosalind to the lead car, still snarling all the way to the back seat. "Don't be, anyone would have a million questions about this. I'm sure the bosses will figure something out when I'm done answering theirs. This was caused by paranormal activity. Maybe they can find someone to cure me like those who are possessed." He clutched his bigger fists, hanging on to that hope and added, "You think they'll be able to fix that girl? I haven't seen one that wild after an exorcism in a while."
"You mentioned that the spirit was a former patient of an asylum, a girl named Garnet. The spirit probably ravaged her mind without a care, but our doctors are getting better at curing the victims." Daphne tried offering a reassuring smile. "Rosalind was strong enough to stop herself from killing her parents; we'll find her in all that fury."
"I hope." Philip arose, ready to leave Barrington for good, the long night taking his toll on him, even with his equine constitution.
Daphne walked with him, heading for the helicopter landing near the house to zip Philip out of the public's eye. Her keen eyes inspected his shoulder on the way to the landing vehicle. "Phil, I know you're built like a brick house and we got the bullet out, but is that wound okay? You're not even holding it or anything."
Raising an eyebrow, Philip slid off the edge of his coat and unwrapped the bandage to find the wound had sealed up the impact. "I was already larger when I was shot, but it still shouldn't have healed this fast. It must be this body." For a moment, he was thankful for the benefits of new body, but then he pondered what else the demon's changes caused. "If I could go out like this, I could bust demons easier, make the ol' 8 to 5 a breeze."
"Let's focus on getting you some help first. We need to understand these changes." The blonde brushed her bangs away from her forehead and entered the helicopter. "Get in, Phil."
"You want to keep me company, eh?" He snorted in a bit of a chuckle, trying to hold onto a bit of his sense of humor. "Fine, but unless you have some coffee, don't mind if I sleep the whole way home."
Within the pilot's window, Vincent maintained the same look of wide eyed disbelief from when he arrived. "Should've listened, should've listened," he mumbled to himself with thick anticipation. As the blades spun and lifted them into the skies, he turned back towards at the snoozing mustang and the blonde agent, and gave a sigh of relief. "Still alive, well that's sometimes the best you can hope for, eh?"
The End