Angie wasn’t sure exactly when it first started. It began as like an itch in the back of her brain, compulsions telling her to do things she didn’t want to do. They slowly took the form of sounds -- an then a voice. The voice was deep and masculine. It spoke not only commands that she would tryto ignore, but it also talked about a plan to overtake her body completely.
She tried to fight it, but it kept growing stronger. For short periods, it would take complete control of her entire body, forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. She told herself always every day that she would win in the end -- despite the evidence that she was actually growing weaker to its influence.
When she finally collapsed coughing one day, she thought it was a purge; that she’d finally be rid of the voice in her head. Instead, it was her own soul pushed out in the form of a pink cloud of smoke, leaving only the man’s thoughts left in Angie’s head. He was satisfied with his slow possession; he had finally won.
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