Page 191 of Love at First Fright

I reformed at the top.

Father Ashworth stood rigid, clutching a Bible and a silver cross. Brad leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, expression caught between smugness and apprehension. Evelyn hovered near the priest, hands clasped together.

And below—

Harrison crouched at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a yellow protective helmet and goggles. The electric saw screamed in his hands, sparks flying as the blade bit into ancient metal.

Each step down felt like walking deeper underwater, pressure building in my ears. The walls closed in, rough stone scraping against nothing. My form flickered and reformed, barely holding together.

The tiny space at the bottom looked even smaller now. Harrison filled most of it, broad shoulders hunched as he worked. The ruined fuse box clung to the left wall—glass panel shattered, exposed wires dangling like intestines.

And the door.

Black iron bands ran across its surface, bolted deep into stone. Medieval. Impenetrable.

Except Harrison’s saw cut through it like butter.

And I felt it.

The thing behind the door.

Cornelius.

His excitement washed over me like rancid water, thick and cloying. Each spark from the saw sent a ripple of anticipation through the air. His hunger pressed outward, testing the weakening bindings, probing for gaps.

Soon, something whispered. Not words exactly. More like a feeling pressed directly into my consciousness. Soon soon soon—

The saw screamed louder.

Harrison leaned in, applying more pressure.

No choice.

I pulled myself together—every scattered atom, every fragment of consciousness—and dove into Harrison’s body.

Possession drained energy faster than anything. Faster than materialising solid, faster than moving objects, faster than every other paranormal party trick combined.

But I saw no other way.

I slammed into Harrison’s consciousness, pushing past his defences quicker than I’d ever attempted. No finesse, no gradual merging. Just brute force.

His awareness recoiled, fighting back.

The body jerked.

Harrison’s—my—hands spasmed. The saw bucked sideways, blade shrieking as it caught metal at the wrong angle.

Control slipped.

The saw twisted, momentum carrying it down.

Down.

Into Harrison’s foot.

Pain exploded through me, white-hot and violently visceral. The blade chewed through polished leather, through flesh, through bone. Blood sprayed. The smell hit immediately—copper and meat and something burning.

I couldn’t hold on.