Chapter 9 - Possession Is Nine Parts

That look soon passed, as she settled her feet in those pink socks and resolved, "Sensations in dreams can hurt or feel the same as when awake. So, you just pinched our daughter's poor wrist for nothing. If you were Lucy, then you would know..."

Grandma preempted her, "Riona bruises badly whenever she falls, except on her wrists. I know. We took her to Dr. Wentworth, because of concerns of a bleeding disorder."

Wrapping her tiny arms around her stomach with the sleeves down, likely in thought and also so her wife couldn't get at them a second time, grandpa mulled that answer as much as he might a detective's early postulations preceding the end reveal.

Turning in place, she soon came to the conclusion, "They say everyone in your dream is yourself, so...therefore...you would also be me and be able to recall everything I know."

Grandma responded, "Do you feel like a little girl? Because I feel...umm...different than I ever have. I may still have a good imagination from teaching, Orson, but it isn't as good as this. And what if I tell you something I've never shared with you?"

The little girl at my side turned over those questions with a grimace deepening to hand-gripping reflection.

The temptation to just tell them this was a real, waking reality along with everything that had happened to Lacy and me felt like a hot, burning running nose trickling down my face with a painful itch and suffocating my throat as I stood there. Lacy burst in first.

"I put some clothes in the washing machine downstairs for...Mark. And...Riona here...needs something to wear as well, especially since I reminded Mark that it's Halloween and you kids should go trick or treating. I mean...come on. It's nearly dusk. Why not have some fun?"

Both of the kids looked at Lacy wearing my face and completely-appropriate awkward expression like he was totally crazy. I wasn't far from that thought. In the following silence, Lacy amended that the attic had lots of old costumes or potential for costumes and "they need to be washed now, so they can be ready for a fun time out".

Naturally, grandma as Mark was the first to gently inquire if John was alright. John was pretty not alright, no matter how you looked at it. Grandpa soon realized and proposed that if we found something to read, then it should be scrambled, illegible, or change from one reading to the next in a dream. She scampered ahead to the front room with some book or example text evidently in mind. After brushing Lacy on the shoulder sympathetically, grandma followed.

That left us standing together in the hallway as Lacy pinched at her forehead and asked, "You still have those cookies in my purse?"

I answered in the affirmative before realizing what she meant. "Wait! Those cookies are mine."

She corrected me, "Those cookies are for John because Lacy's body is allergic to peanut butter. We don't want to waste grandma's cooking. And, besides, this is my first chance to enjoy them without it being lousy. Come on."

I sighed, but with a gesture to invite Lacy to go try them. It vaguely occurred to me though that she had noted it was her "first time" and not her "only time".

Before I trailed after Lacy to the kitchen, I checked on our grandparents, who were digging through the bottom of the side bookshelf. I desperately hoped that grandpa wouldn't get adventurous, like he did when he tried to fix parts of the roof on his own when Lacy was sick for a while. I also grabbed the bowl of candy and the three remaining bananas because I didn't want them to get any other ideas before we had proof of how this thing even worked.

In the kitchen, some of the bags were still out, especially ones with my clothes. I stretched to set the bowl on the top of the fridge and watched as Lacy extracted the little baggie of cookies from what had been her purse. The aroma still clung with a shiver. Not even the best market cookies could compare when slathered by grandma with peanut butter.

Taking a breath before, Lacy bit into the weightiest one and savored her bite filling my mouth and body. I wanted to be purely happy for her and I was glad she got to enjoy it without trouble, although she still gave a little cough. I served out some milk for her in a glass as she continued to eat.

"It's definitely more candy-like than almond or cashew. Those feel flat. This is sharper", she commented. I could feel green envy, but smiled for her. Looking in her purse, I dug around till I came up with Lacy's cell phone. Settling it into my left hand, I slipped Lacy's purse on the shoulder I had been given and looked over.

She started on a second cookie as she glanced up and noted, "It looks good on you. And these are soo so good. Shame grandma didn't make more before this happened."

No amount of fiddling with her purse or unlocking her phone to look at things inspired jealousy. I should've known.

We did often share our stuff with a sense of camaraderie from the fallout of our respective parents, but a bonus to this body also would've been nice. But there were places distinctively Lacy which I would not be imposing on. Although, looking down at the front that came with Lacy, it was more like it was constantly imposing on me. I used it for a bit of phone support because the flat, rigid shape wasn't especially comfortable in her fingers, even with that weird nipple grip.

"What happened to grandma?" I asked while dipping the phone to a side of one slope. Lacy had finished the second cookie and was eagerly eyeing a third to finish the way she'd been stretched to fill my template.

Starting with a heaved chuckle not too far from my moments of exasperation, she answered, "I'm pretty sure you don't want the details. I heard you guys upstairs and I'm amazed you didn't hear us. Like throwing a huge boulder off a cliff and demolishing the cliff along the way. Wasn't there a kid's book with a bear who got shrunk by a witch for doing that?"

Her line of thought traced very close to mine, but I didn't recognize the title any better than her. She gave a similar account, although with access to the boxed, old clothes of our parents in easy reach. Grandma surmised a hallucination, along with grandpa's same fear of leaving a mess for us to clean up. Lacy glossed over major parts but claimed the bathroom was "usable".

That sounded ominous, but I opted not to pry. Instead, I asked, "Trick or treat?"

Chomping into her third cookie, Lacy rocked her head. "It's something to do. Grandma mentioned it and that was on my mind. You know I had some bad experiences there. I could take them for some fun. Or we can share. You take them up the road and I take them down. And trade-off at home so neither of us gets worn out."

Clasping Lacy's hand atop her borrowed head, I had no idea what she was thinking, despite the fact I may have possessed a physical copy of her brain with my spirit shoved into it. Or maybe it was still my brain. If it was her brain then I would just be a second her. Only this was magic (or something) which needed to obey mass conservation.

My internal digressions aside, I quietly questioned Lacy, "Does that make any sense with the fact we've both changed and now our grandparents have? And what do we do if another banana turns us back? We have three with four changes."

Finishing the cookie and draining a good sip of milk, Lacy proposed, "Maybe that could work out."

Widening her own eyes at her, I pressed, "How could it possibly work?"

Twisting the baggie in my hands, Lacy bit through one of the remaining cookies and stated, "Perhaps one of us would be fine without another banana." She flicked my eyes away, but I knew my own face.

With a sigh, I said only, "Lacy..."

"I mean, I'm fine. I would be fine, no matter what. So, don't worry about me." She chewed through any other words, along with the rest of that cookie.

Resolutely, I told her, "Can't. Not even for a minute. We're in this together. If you want to be where you are...right now...then I need to take care of your spot, if you ever need it back." That was a silly notion and I should've said that there needed to be a Lacy to at least maintain some order to this. But that was what I felt and told her.

She offered up one of my familiar "tsk" reactions and admonished me for many of the same rationalizations I held inside, but she added, "Thanks though, as always and ever. Although we might be freaking out for nothing and those on that forum who claimed it runs out might be right and this'll just be one crazy day we look back on and laugh about. Could you check the forum?"

Signing into the old house's Wi-Fi, despite the fact the signal was always garbage in the kitchen, it was easy to find the forum from the browser history, although I noticed Lacy had cleared it prior to that. Letting her front part do the key support of the phone as the virtual circles spun, it didn't take long for disappointment to show.

"The site is down, 404. Maybe..." A check of other sites soon revealed it wasn't the connection's fault this time. To be sure, I tried the cellular data with the same results. Lacy hypothesized, "It's Halloween evening, so maybe users overloaded their server. The Frostwell Paranormalcy site is hosted by some local guy, Ryan Bartlett."

I recognized the name from when we had access to the forum earlier. He had the username "GonePearShaped". On a whim, I googled that and came up with a Twitter account. The guy had only one tweet public. After reading it, I turned the phone and showed it to Lacy.

Lacy scrunched my eyes at the screen then flicked them over to me as she read the tweet. After a few moments of quiet reflection, she noted, "He always seemed slightly out of his gourd. Probably ate one and thinks he's hallucinating as like his...uhh...mom maybe?"

I shrugged. Still, it was an unsettling statement. Before I could search for the unlikely possibility that he had an email or number to contact him, maybe for paranormal tips, I heard the feet of our little kid grandparents scuff across the carpet.

Lowering Lacy's phone back into her bag, I watched as little Riona and Mark held the other's hand. Riona pressed forward and declared, "We have been discussing matters at length. I am naturally skeptical and need evidence. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. However, I can find nothing that can tell me for sure this is a dream. If it's a more...serious matter. Well, I have some rather pointed theological questions about why I appear to be the child version of my daughter. The Almighty must have a strange and slightly-crude sense of humor. However, dwelling does not appear to be fixing matters. So, I welcome being less myself a little while..."

Setting a hand on Riona's hair, Mark sweetly interpreted, "My husband and I would like to take our children out for a fun and proper Halloween. Oh! Riona would look lovely in a bright skirt. And I so miss doing her hair up like a princess."

Pouting towards Mark, Riona adjusted her loose clothing and countered, "Riona was never keen on either, though she did look nice. And she never dressed as something fun like a detective. I intend to remedy that with just the costume stowed away in the attic. Come dream, delusion, or something else, I'll see her in it."