Psychic Host 2

Starving Artist by Michael J. Bowman

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At a loss, I continued meditating. The dreams didn’t change and the message came again.

“Don’t resist.”

“Resist what?” I asked out loud.

No reply came. A contest of wills developed between me and the entity I sensed. I was frayed and desperate, not confident I could hold out.

At the next “Don’t resist” message exchange an answer came.

“My presence.”

“Why? Who are you? What are you?”

I should have known better. The entity was not inclined toward discussion. My only option was negotiation. Offer to give up resistance for information.

In the next evening’s meditation I initiated a discussion as soon as I sensed its presence.

“I will stop resisting if you explain. Why me? What are you?”

Silence.

At some point I fell asleep. The dream was different. Not as vivid. Dark and muted. I could feel the entity behind me as it spoke.

“You are not the first or only.

“You were not chosen. You invited me.”

In the dream, I met a stranger after work. He seemed to know me. When I woke, I knew we would meet. And we did.

He was older, completely unknown to me except for the dream, but he greeted me as an old friend. Used my first name. Made easy small talk. He looked tired. Clothes aged and worn. Smiled a lot.

“So, you know about them now,” he said.

“A little. What are they?”

“Psychic parasites.”

“Do you live the double lives?”

“Yes, that is my lot. There are others driven to create, obsessed. Many different fates.”

“Is there no way to break away?”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be good. Bad things happen. You might cut your ear off.”

“How did I, we, invite them?”

“We are symbiotic hosts that can feed them emotions, experiences, life. They consider that an invitation.”

“So it’s random?”

“Yes,” he said.

We parted ways easily. I returned home loaded down with the unimaginable burden.