His eyes. I just remember thinking to myself, keep looking into his eyes. Those deep, hidden, haunted, ethereal eyes. Ashen eyes that matched the sky before the storm. And then, before the next breath, I was pulled into the dance. Drowning in his words. His hand on my shoulder. Shaking me. Pouring his energy into mine. Keeping me focused on his words. The pain and passion behind those voices were overwhelming.
"How can you not do this! Your Grandfather was a Minister!"
Then, as quickly as they appeared, the elderly man once again stood before me. Telling his story. No one but me was hidden in the storm. I smile at his history. His gentle face. His calm eyes. He moved on. Another stood before me. Giving me no time to process. No time to think. No time to breath. No time.
It has been days since the occurrence, encounter, possession and I can still feel the trembles rise within me. I wonder if it is the same for everyone who encounters them or am I alone. After all these years. After all I have seen. After all I have experienced. I should know. I should see it coming. I should be okay. But even now, as I type this, I tremble.
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