Walking up the twisty dirt trail, Isaiah could easily see why it was abandoned. It’s not that it was difficult to tread – quite the opposite. It must have been walked upon by countless generations: the ground was barren, any trace of life trampled into dust by thousands of footsteps. There were no pesky vines or branches in the way, just a clear, albeit serpentine road. Heck, there were streets in Strona that were trickier to navigate.

What made it seem inadequate, unwelcoming even, was the gloom. The trees let through only the tiniest flecks of sunlight that danced on the forest floor as the breeze played with the branches. Other than that, it was as dim as a poorly lit pantry. It wasn’t exactly the most picturesque place to take a hike.

“Why did people even walk here?” Isaiah asked as he led the group forward. “Is it a local thing?”

“Not really,” Garrett answered. “It’s just that the city used to take care of this place. Chopping off branches to keep the path lit, trimming the bushes. But when they gave up on it, nature just took everything back.”

“How much longer?” Marrow huffed. “Not that I’m tired or anything,” she added haphazardly.

“Well, we’re getting closer,” Isaiah said. “The path goes on up for a while more, and then we should reach a clearing. After that, it’s not much further.”

True to his words, the trees around them began to thin as they put more distance behind them, and soon enough a light appeared in the distance, clearly marking the end of the forest canopy. It took several hundred more steps along the zig-zagging path, but eventually a clearing burst open before them. They had reached a plateau of sorts, a more-or-less flat grassy plane that stood at the base of a much larger hill. An impressive view of progressively taller mountains spread out into the distance.

“Well shoot, it wasn’t that fun getting here but the payoff is worth it,” Marrow said, hunched forward with her arms resting on bended knee as she took in the sights.

Isaiah looked towards the hill that rose from the plateau. At its base, it was dotted with lonely pine trees that gained more and more company as the elevation increased, soon transitioning into a true forest.

“That’s where we need to go,” he said, pointing towards the pines. “Up the hill, into the woods.”

Everyone turned to face their goal. The trees looked like huge green spikes growing out of the ground, stretching way up to the peak of the hill. No-one seemed particularly thrilled about having to go into a forest that was bound to be even darker than the one they just left, but no-one said anything about it either. They took a short break, and then proceeded towards their destination. Soon enough they were slowly working their way between pine trees, the light of day they were basking in only moments ago feeling like a long lost memory.

Then it happened.

Without any warning, Isaiah suddenly felt like a huge, incredibly muscular hand grabbed him by the soul and try to pull him out of his own body. It was such a shock that he immediately stopped in his tracks and dropped the photo. His vision began to blur as his own thoughts faded into silence, replaced by a menacing cackle inside his head.

“Hello again,” the treacly voice of Ambrose Annable spoke into his mind, as clearly as if he was a real person standing right next to him. Isaiah felt his own consciousness reduced to a tiny dot, threatened to be consumed by the malevolent spirit inside him. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs – it was like they no longer belonged to him. His senses were numbed, the disorder around him registering only as muted images and sounds.

“It’s not all bad being a spirit,” Annable spoke. “It opened a window into a world I had never even known existed. That lingering presence you feel around the photo? I can see it, feel it. And do you know what? It’s not actually holding onto the photo. It’s holding onto its body. It managed to slither away from it and find an object to attach to, but it had to keep itself tethered to what’s left of its physical form, even if it was just with a thin thread. Because if it lets go of the body, there will be nothing else to hold it here. It’ll float away.”

Isaiah wanted to scream out, to punch the air, to do anything, but it was no use. None of his impulses could escape his mind and find their way to his muscles. He was trapped, his stubborn refusal to give up the only thing keeping him from being fully consumed.

“When I noticed this thread,” Annable continued, “I thought: ‘Well, trying to take over this body by force is all well and fine, but what if I used a different approach?’”

“That’s why I made you aware of the thread. I can do that, you know. Being here, inside your head, I realized that I can funnel some of my own consciousness into you. Make you experience what I was experiencing. It’s like I’m inside your nervous system. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“And you, you were like a fish that took the bait,” Annable snickered. “Ever since that moment you noticed the spiritual thread connected to that photo I’ve been reeling you in, bit by bit. The more you focused on it, the more you were letting me into your conscious thoughts. I was slowly planting my roots deep inside your head, and you didn’t notice it because you thought it was some new ability you were developing.”

“Turns out I was going about this the wrong way,” he crowed. “I was trying to take control while you were at your weakest when all I needed to do was make you believe you were in control. You don’t resist what you think you control.”

Isaiah felt like the entirety of his being was compacted into a tiny glass orb that was under such intense pressure from the outside that it was only a matter of time until it was shattered and swallowed up by Ambrose Annable. It was a truly terrifying feeling.

At that moment, it seemed like it was all over. There was no getting out of this. Annable had won, and Isaiah was about to forfeit his body to him.

Then, suddenly, the suffocating heaviness pressing down on Isaiah seemed to cease. Lightness, all-embracing lightness, an abstract feeling so joyful and magnificent that it seemed to transcend any human emotion. He felt like a liquid, flowing freely into every part of the container that was his body. His senses returned to him, his limbs were once again his own. He was still fighting with Annable over the space in his head, but now it seemed like a fair fight.

When his vision cleared, he saw a familiar face looking at him. It was Nigel, all teary-eyed and frantically shouting. Isaiah couldn’t hear him until sound faded back into his ears.

“…recommend this!” Garrett’s alarmed voice came from the sidelines. “It’s very dangerous!”

“Can you hear me?” Nigel shouted, his hands pressed against Isaiah’s cheeks. “Listen to me! You are not a murderer! You’re Isaiah Hargraves! The kindest, most understanding, most righteous person I have ever met!”

“How do you put up with this every day?” Annable hissed. “He needs to shut up.”

Isaiah struggled to keep control of his arms, but in spite of this they lunged forward. His fingers were now tightly clasped around Nigel’s throat.

“Pull them apart!” Marrow screamed.

“If we move we’ll break formation and lose him again!” Garrett barked.

“Shoot him!” Motley shouted. “He’s gone, we can still save the husband!”

“No,” Nigel clenched through his teeth, his big arms grabbing Isaiah’s hands and managing to pry them away from his neck just enough to let air sneak in.

“Isaiah,” he continued, staring straight into his eyes. “I know you can hear me. And I know you’re not a murderer.”

Annable tightened Isaiah’s grasp, reducing Nigel’s voice to a hoarse whisper.

“You couldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. Do you remember… our first date?” Nigel mustered as his husband’s arms were strangling him.

Once those words made it through to Isaiah, time seemed to stop. He could practically see himself inside his head, observing the scene before him through his eyes as if they were windows. Then, like someone had turned off the lights and flipped the switch on a projector, a scene started to play on a screen in his mind. A memory.