POA ch008 — Write 'hello'

Summary: Henry chats with you. A Scout appears. Felicity gets into an altercation.

Author's Notes: Just because we’re an eldritch entity possessing Henry’s body and choices doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.

Content Warnings: Possession, loss of bodily autonomy, violence, blood mention, insects, monsters, scopophobia.

Anger clenches Henry’s fist on the pen. He wants something to happen with a vicious, righteous masochism. He wants to be proven right.

Henry pants, the pen pressing into the paper. His fingers are pale and white in the low light of his bedside lamp and the cool moonlight streaming through the window.

For a moment, he thinks nothing will happen, and despairs.

Then he feels it.

Panic and relief vie for dominance as that same force takes over his arm for the second time today. And, now that he thinks about it, the spirit board incident wasn’t the first time, either. Henry has felt that same automatic drive multiple times since he left Pembroke Lab. It was subtle when it helped him choose what to eat for dinner (though it came as a surprise to Ash and Naomi, who knew that eating dinner was not a decision Henry could make to save his life), or when it had helped him choose whether to text Felicity or Seonjae. In those moments, the entity’s power had been little more than a balm against Henry’s natural indecisiveness. In retrospect, the sensation reminds Henry of when a piano piece finally clicks. The chords and melody coalesce from a series of memorized movements into a song, inevitable and singular. It was only when Henry consciously wanted a choice for himself that the decision had been torn from him, dissonantly and terrifyingly. In those moments, the entity wrestled against his own willpower and, in a terrible loss of autonomy, summarily defeated it.

Henry gulps as his hand moves of its own accord, etching letters in a handwriting that is not quite his own. The first ‘H’ is scrawling and jagged, and Henry forces himself to consciously relax into the sensation. He asked for this. He needs to let it happen, if only to learn more about the entity that drapes across his shoulders and whose powers run through his veins co-mingled with his own human blood. Henry consciously allows his arm muscles to go limp. He chooses not to fight.

As he relaxes, the letters smooth out into large round letters unlike Henry’s own messy chicken-scratch. He is forcibly reminded of that long, trailing ‘7’ at the end of Felicity’s phone number.

Hello, Henry’s hand writes.

Hello.

Oh, Henry thinks. That’s it?

His hand is his own again.

Henry’s breath punches out of him. So that’s that, then, he thinks, I’m possessed. Henry slumps back onto his bed and puts his head in his hands.

“Well,” Henry says, aloud. “Um. Hi? Seems I have an… unwanted passenger. Or passengers. Starting to feel a little crowded in here, at any rate.”

Henry looks down at his hands.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry continues. “Um. Am I simply going insane? Maybe. I guess. But, well— It seems like my thoughts are still my own. For now, at least. Even if you borrow my body, sometimes. Or make decisions for me. That, um, that could be handy, I guess?”

Henry laughs, a little manic, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Well, I— I guess I should go to sleep.”

Henry proceeds to lie back down and flick the light off, only to keep scrolling on his phone. The glow of the screen shines in his face, illuminating his pinched eyes and creased brow. Henry jumps between Instagram, Tiktok, and his messages. Unable to fall asleep, Henry opens his voicemails and starts deleting the spam calls.

He stops when he gets to Naomi’s voicemail. She’d left one for him while he was in the procedure at Pembroke Lab, just yesterday. He hasn’t listened to it.

Henry hits play.

“Hi Henry, this is Naomi. Which you know. Obviously. Um. Well, so, I’m guessing that I probably didn’t catch you in time, since you didn’t pick up. Um. I just— if you do happen to see this before you go to the Lab, m-maybe— maybe don’t? I know it pays well, and those studies are usually fine, but… my advisor said something a little weird about it, today? I don’t wanna go into it too much here, b-but… I’m worried about it. It gets into str—”

The voicemail statics out for a moment.

“—ory. And, some of the stuff Wilkins is up to— I mean, it’s probably nothing. I’m sure it’ll all be fine, they wouldn’t do anything too crazy. See you later. Stay safe, alright?”

The voicemail ends. Henry leaves it, his stomach tense with dread. He rolls over to plug his phone in. He falls onto his back and lets out a sigh.

“Well,” Henry says to the ceiling. “I don’t suppose you’re able to make me fall asleep, right now?”

You aren’t.

Henry waits a few moments, but nothing happens.

“Doing it the hard way, then,” Henry says, and curls into a ball, one hand fisted in his duvet.

Henry falls asleep not long after.

…

When Henry wakes the next morning, he almost believes it was all a dream.

Then he turns and sees Hello still scrawled across the notebook page by his bed.

“Right,” Henry says to the piece of paper. “Good morning, I guess.”

Henry rolls out of bed and heads into the bathroom. He glances in the mirror and stares at the spot over his left shoulder.

That same wave of cold shock rushes down his spine. They’re watching me, Henry thinks. He shivers, and then washes his face and brushes his teeth. He doesn’t like to think about how this means that someone — you — might be watching him while he uses the toilet. It’s far too creepy.

I really need to figure out how this all works.

When Henry arrives downstairs, borrowing Ash’s pink bunny slippers as a defense against cold and clammy feet, he finds that neither of his housemates are home. Henry isn’t certain, but he’d put money on Ash camping out a table at Opera Cafe, with a large coffee by their side; and Naomi squirreling herself away in the physics lab to examine data Henry had no hope of understanding. Something about string theory and dimensions. She had to bargain with her director of graduate studies to allow her extra access on weekends and nights, to support her idiosyncratic work schedule.

Henry’s gaze falls on the spirit board. Someone cleaned it up last night. It now leans, innocuously, against the wall in the nook beneath the staircase. The candles had been tidied away, too. There is no evidence of what occurred. No evidence that anything would be amiss in Henry, Ash, and Naomi’s cozy little home.

Henry looks down at his hands again and swallows thickly.

“Breakfast,” he says, and then winces. “Oh, god, am I going to start talking aloud to myself like some kind of weirdo?”

Henry probably should be scared. An unknown force, looking over his shoulder and controlling his decisions? You could make him do anything.

But he can’t bring himself to be truly terrified, with the gentle sunlight streaming through the windows, the remnants of Naomi’s 6 AM cup of tea sitting by the sink, a vase of flowers Ash picked up from the Covered Market adorning their glass table. The most Henry can muster is annoyance.

He catches sight of his reflection in the surface of the electric hob and scowls at you.

“Shut up.”

…

At 1:45 PM, Henry shrugs on his raggedy neon orange bomber jacket (which Ash is constantly trying to convince him to throw away) and slips into a pair of sneakers. He grabs his keys and locks up the house. Time to go and meet Felicity. If he’s right, and you are related to the Pembroke-Wilkins study, she might have some answers.

Henry makes his way up Great Clarendon Street and weaves around the Oxford University Press. The day is bright and sunny, a hint of the summer to come. The fear and nausea of the night before is all but gone.

And then it returns.

Because there is someone following him.

Someone, or something.

Henry doesn’t notice. He shivers, a sensation of unease crawling down his spine and skittering across the back of his neck.

“Is that you?” Henry whispers. He glances behind him. “Is something wrong?”

He tsk’s to himself. If something was wrong, Henry says, why would they tell me?

Henry wars within himself — he doesn’t want to trust the entity. He doesn’t know what the entity wants. And yet, it is difficult for Henry not to place his trust in the forces that control him. What other choice does he have?

Henry starts walking again. This time, he can hear the footsteps behind him. Are those footsteps? He wonders. They don’t sound like human footsteps. They clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack against the pavement.

Henry whips around, this time, glaring behind him.

He doesn’t see anything. And then, he does.

Something detaches itself from the back wall of the post office.

Henry twitches.

Oh, good lord. Is that…?

What the fuck is that?

The creature scuttles forward on too many legs, a formless shadowy millipede. Its legs arch up over its body and roil with its movement, too fast to fully comprehend. It’s insectoid body doesn’t shine in the sunlight; rather, it lacks depth entirely, as though made of the pure void. Its eyes are huge and bulbous, shimmering with a hundred shades of deep blues and purples and greens.

“No,” Henry breathes. “That’s— what?!”

Being possessed? Henry can imagine that. An unfathomable, insect-like creature that seems pasted-on to this world, rather than of it?

That is something Henry cannot process.

As soon as he speaks, the creature’s head snaps to Henry and begins to advance on him with quick clack-clack-clacks.

Henry shrieks and sprints away, bursting onto Walton Street. There are more people on this road, and cars driving past. Henry zips around the corner and ducks under the awning of the post office. He nearly careens straight into an old fellow with his dog. The man startles with a Scottish grumble and grumpily pulls his cap further down, as though to obscure Henry and his odd behavior from view. He and his dog march out onto the crosswalk, uncaring, and Henry jumps forward to call out to them or stop them from drawing the creature’s attention.

As Henry moves back out into the intersection, he glances round.

The creature is gone.

The man’s dog barks, yappy and shrill, as they reach the other side of the crosswalk. Henry jumps.

“Hush, Lucy!” The man commands, tugging her leash.

Henry steps further out, into the crosswalk proper. He glances down Great Clarendon, where the creature had emerged.

There’s only a businessman wearing a dark suit and carrying a black briefcase, marching up the sidewalk, entirely unscathed. The businessman gives Lucy-the-dog a truly vicious glare of dislike, and the old man sneers at him and huffs in annoyance. Suit-Man continues on his way, crossing the street and disappearing among the university buildings.

What? Henry thinks.

He stares down Great Clarendon Street. A bright, sunny Jericho street. No strange, dark, insect-like creature.

Did I just imagine it? Henry wonders.

Henry’s phone vibrates.

Here! Felicity has written. Just arrived. No rush 😁

Henry lets out a squawk and dashes the rest of the way to Gail’s.

…

Felicity is waiting outside Gail’s wearing a cute yellow sundress. She’s casually reading on her phone, a small smile playing on her face. The dress reveals further patches of vitiligo symmetrically on both her upper arms. She wears a set of gold armbands clasped just above her elbow that glint in the sunlight.

“Hi!” Henry calls out as he approaches.

“Hiya!” Felicity replies. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Henry laughs. “Almost didn’t make it.”

Felicity chuckles. “Same. Glad you did, though.”

“Same.”

“Shall we…?”

Sure!”

The two of them get in line at Gail’s. Felicity orders a pot of Earl gray, Henry a cappuccino with soy milk. Felicity selects a vegan sausage roll, Henry a pain-au-chocolat.

“Outside?” Felicity suggests, and they elbow their way out the door and crowd themselves onto a small metal table tucked up against the glass windows of the coffeeshop. Felicity pours out her tea and adds a splash of oat milk from the small carafe.

“So,” Henry begins. He glances around surreptitiously. “What do you know?”

Felicity sputters out a laugh and sends a spray of flaky vegan pastry into Henry’s face.

“Sorry!” Henry apologizes immediately. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

”Mm! Mm-mm,” Felicity says, and then swallows. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting this to be a clandestine meeting. We’re like two spies from opposite sides, sharing intel, aren’t we?”

Henry laughs. “In some ways, I suppose!”

He takes a bite of his pastry and a sip of his cappuccino, his stomach fluttering with nerves. He keeps glancing behind him, and can’t shake the skittering sound of clack-clack-clack from his mind.

“I suppose you’ve figured out about, you know,” Felicity tilts her head in a sideways nod to her shoulder.

“I-I just figured it out last night, actually.”

“Oh!”

Felicity spends a moment meticulously cutting a piece off her sausage roll.

“I-I mean, nothing much happened? I had the procedure on, gosh, was it Thursday? Yeah, must’ve been. A-and then not a lot happened. Last night was when I really felt… them.”

“Really?” Felicity says. Her expression, which had been so open and interested, shutters. “So you haven’t— nothing really bad has happened, then?”

”Having my body taken over by some external force is pretty bad, I would say. Why? Did something worse happen, for you?”

No offense to you, Henry thinks, at you. No, wait. Full offense. I don’t want you here.

“Oh, no,” Felicity replies, far too quickly. “No. Definitely not.”

They each eat their pastries in silence, while Henry gathers up the courage to press her to share.

“Have you given yours a name yet?” Felicity asks suddenly, her twinkling smile back across her face.

“A name?”

“Yeah! I’ve, uh, started calling mine ‘John.’”

“’John’?!”

“Well, yeah,” She says defensively. “He kind of just feels like a John, you know? And it’s sort of like John Doe, you know? I don’t think they really have names.” Felicity giggles. “It’s actually a reference to this podcast I like.”

“Oh!” Henry exclaims. He doesn’t know how to react to this bit of information. If I name you, does that mean I have to keep you? Like a stray? He thinks, wryly.

“Sorry,” Felicity says awkwardly. “I— it’s silly, I know. But. I don’t know? It kind of helps with the— with everything else. It’s been a few weeks for me, so I reckon I’ve gotten… used to it. Some of it. Um. Not everything.”

“No, I… I get it,” Henry says, smiling back at her. “So you think yours is… is just one?”

“How do you mean?”

“Only I feel like there’s… there’s more than one?”

“Ah,” Felicity breathes out. “I see. You— you haven’t even realized that—”

“Hello!”

Henry jumps as a hand falls on his shoulder. A corporeal, human hand, with very familiar rings.

“Ash!” Henry says, and stands up to give Ash a hug.

“Hello!” Felicity chirps, standing up as well. “I’m Felicity!”

“Oh, right, Henry mentioned he was going out with you today.” Ash shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly.

“‘Going out’?” Henry repeats. “Hang on, Ash, this isn’t—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” Ash interrupts. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just passing by, getting a coffee.”

“You’re literally carrying a to-go cup from Opera,” Henry observes. Ash frowns, shooting their cup with a look of betrayal.

An awkward silence ensues.

Felicity stares at Ash with an odd sort of expression.

“Anyway,” Henry says. “I’ll see you back at the house, right, Ash? Felicity and I were just finishing our conversation.”

“Right,” Ash says. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Nice to meet you, Felicity.”

“You too!” Felicity offers Ash a genuine, friendly smile.

Ash and Felicity make eye contact. Ash’s eyes dart sideways, to her shoulder.

Then, her countenance darkens. As Henry watches, he can almost see a dark, half-there hand curling tighter around her neck. Felicity’s face twists into something horrible and foreign. Her teeth clench and her hands curl into fists, her whole body seizes, taught like a predator.

“Felicity? Wh—”

And then the thing that is hardly Felicity, or perhaps not currently Felicity, rears back and socks Ash square in the nose.

“Ough!” Ash’s to-go cup splatters to the sidewalk and Ash’s hand flies up to their nose.

“Stay away from us,” Felicity snaps, but it comes out wrong. It’s her voice, her vocal cords, song-like and high-pitched, but twisted into something dissonant and horrible.

Ash stares, complete shock playing across their bloodied face. Henry watches, one hand outstretched towards each of them. Ash’s face contorts in a look of abject terror.

“G-get away from me!”

“I’m s— I—” Felicity fights against the entity that holds her captive, her muscles spasming as she tries to prevent whatever inexorable course of action she is trying to take.

Felicity crumples to the ground, her hands spasming strangely. Their little crew is drawing attention from everyone inside Gail’s, and the few people sat outside near them have quietly gotten up and retreated within.

Felicity writhes with unseen forces. Ash gives Henry one betrayed look, glances down at Felicity, and then turns and runs.

Poll 

Image Descr.: A screenshot of a poll at the bottom of a Patreon post, with two options. Option One — Go after Ash. Option Two — Stay with Felicity. Initializing... Polling... Forty-four percent, go after Ash. Fifty-six percent, stay with Felicity. We have chosen to stay with Felicity.

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Points of Articulation is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution NonCommercial ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It is written and created by Hannah Semmelhack, with beta-reading by Fiona Clare.