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Slinking through the air, unseen on a veil of darkness, the sentient spirit carefully selected its next victim. For thousands of years it had been trying to complete one task, the most important task, that which would mean victory. Regenerated in energy, it was time to attempt the process again. The unyielding determination after so much failure was surely admirable. Not everyone was suitable to be a host for the spirit - it drove them quite mad to be infested with the foreign entity. Though it only needed them for a short time, the sharper minds always tended to last longer, that was why it took so long to find a new body to control. Millenia passed as it had tried different tactics to fulfil its desire to capture the line. The protection it held had always thwarted the spirit’s efforts. Conquerors, sadists, family members and lovers, even changing the world around the target hadn’t worked. There was always the one person who defended them from being snared – the wizard charged with protecting the target. The hosts all fared differently in their fates. But no matter how many fell in their line of duty, the spirit was eternal, everlasting. It was something the wizard didn’t know how to rid himself of, his greatest adversary.

Stalking its newest fascination, the spirit glided silently behind the man on the dimly lit street as he walked home from another day of meaningless toil. It knew the man had a family, but he would not be returning to them after tonight. He would become lost and then most likely die from his experience when the parasitic infection stormed through his mind, transforming his senses and grip on reality. It always helped the process when the host wanted to be pushed over the edge. Sometimes they just needed the right nudge. The time had come.

“Why do you follow the same path every day?” the spirit said. Having no mouth of its own it communicated into their minds directly, slowly building the connection between them. The man turned, startled by the unseen voice.

“Who is there?” He looked through the trees of the darkened country lane, expecting a child to jump out and tease him.

“You always wanted adventure and yet you settled, grew a quaint life for yourself. Surely you still yearn to feel some importance?” There it was, the prickles of suspicion, the thoughts and memories triggered by the right words. The spirit latched onto them.

“I said who’s there?” the man stammered as he turned on the spot, ready to strike at the hidden demon with his fake leather briefcase. An archaeologist by trade, he lived a quiet life in Oxford, having taken up a university position for security and stability. In his youth he had travelled the world, wanting to learn, explore and discover. Now he simply regurgitated what he once craved to inspire those who might walk the path he had lost.

“What if I could give you those dreams again?”

The spirit was silky smooth, a friendly voice in the ear which surrounded the man’s being, encapsulating him with wishes of a life left in the dust. All humans yearned for importance or recognition or attention in some form or another. They were easy targets to exploit, the older ones even more so as time made fools of them. That regret turned to resentment eventually against the road they had decided to travel. The spirit presented them with their secretive unvoiced question of… what if? The spirit sensed the man’s mind starting to turn as the visions took hold.

“What are you?” he asked, still looking around at nothingness.

“I grant desires to those who aid me. I only ask of one thing before you receive your reward.”

“Tell me, I’ll do anything.”

The last tendrils of the man’s willpower were released as the spirit was accepted freely into his mind. Once secreted there, it seared and burned an image onto his subconscious, the only thing that mattered. The picture the archaeologist saw in his mind’s eye was that of a teenage boy. Around fifteen years old, he had dyed blonde hair and emerald-green eyes. Who was he? What made him so important with his friendly and unassuming expression?

“With your help, he will finally be mine….”  

Three months later, the archaeologist found himself counties away from the home he no longer remembered. He thought of faces of people he once knew, but any previous connections to them were now extinguished. His own name appeared scrubbed from his memories. He tried not to think anymore as his task lay before him; the night had arrived. The archaeologist stood outside a school auditorium, clutching the ticket he’d pickpocketed from one of the parents attending to see the show.

He knew the boy would be here tonight. The one who filled his mind. It was a relief when he had finally seen him at his secondary school and proved his existence. That meant the reward of a new life would be real too. Rather than snatch him during class, the archaeologist had waited, learning that the boy would have a role in the dance show tonight with his friends. It would be simpler to capture him backstage or during a scene change. Too much would be going on for someone to notice him disappear, until it was too late. The girl that the boy clearly fawned after was going to be the star, but the boy was the only one the man would have eyes for.

Taking his seat, the archaeologist tried his best to blend in, not wanting anyone to know he had this strange entity in his mind, concerned they could see the dark secret. Rather than paying attention to the show he studied the layout, working out his best route to the boy. By the intermission he was worried he hadn’t laid eyes on him yet. The love interest with long black hair had been on stage several times already, along with the other natural blonde friend in their little group. Perhaps his target wasn’t here, and the other boy was a stand in for his part. The man needed to find out - he feared his do-over at life was suddenly slipping. If he missed this window of opportunity there might not be another one for ages. The spirit was insistent, driving him forwards.

The archaeologist slipped behind the big red curtain adorning the stage and moved slowly, sneaking a peek from his vantage point. Anyone involved in the show would recognise straight away that he wasn’t meant to be there. He might be able to play it off being a parent, but that didn’t mean the kitchen knife in his waistband could be explained away. If he was going to do this, he would only have one chance - the second he made himself known he wouldn’t be able to return. The police would search for him and the vision would be lost.

As the second part began, the lights went down and he sneaked out of his hiding place, sequestering himself near the backdrop. He watched as the dancers gathered next to the stage, ready to go on. The black-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. The archaeologist dug his feet in, feeling the urging inside his mind to hurry and find the boy. He knew logically that if she had been in most of the show already, she would continue to do so. The archaeologist cradled his head and wiped his nose; it was bleeding again. He didn’t need this distraction.

Suddenly, not only did the black-haired girl appear in her elegant red and gold costume with shimmering tights and pointe shoes, but so did a hoard of boys, all dressed in masks and helmets with foam swords at their sides. What was happening, he wondered? The dancers already on stage cleared room for the host of new stars who trooped forwards. The black-haired girl danced ballet in centre stage as the boys around her appeared to worship her as a goddess, kneeling and bowing as if it was some sort of ritual. One of the boys peeled off and started to dance with her. In clumsy steps he was her mannequin to dance off, holding her hands as she spun herself to great lengths, leaning in line with her as the other boys looked on. The black-haired girl was smiling as the boy in his mask and helmet began to dip her down low, trying his best not to drop her. The smile turned to a slight scowl as her face turned towards the back of the stage away from the audience. The message was clear ‘drop me at your own risk’. This had to be the boy he sought.

Before the archaeologist could make his move to grab the boy another of the mock soldiers sprung up from the masses. The clanking piano music echoing through the auditorium changed pace to a more exciting tempo as the two boys drew swords, the black-haired girl looking on as they fought. Smacking each other with the hard plastic on the arms and legs when they managed to make contact, the boys were enthusiastically duelling as if the fight it was real. The moment to strike was quickly running out as the other boys took up their own swords, mixing into an even larger melee. The other female dancers fled stage as gracefully as possible as the show erupted into a battle with the tiara wearing black-haired girl as the supposed prize.

It was the archaeologist’s last opportunity; this was surely to be the climax of the show. Racing forward and knocking multiple children out of the way he set to work tearing helmets and masks off, searching for his target. The piano music continued to cascade as the player didn’t realise the disturbance happening on stage; parents were starting to become suspicious, however, because several of the children were running away. Time was running out - there was only one thing that would draw him out. Untucking the knife from his waistband the archaeologist lunged for the black-haired girl. He grabbed her arm roughly before she could flee, tearing her sequinned costume sleeve. Parents began to scream as they saw the knife, clearly distinct compared to the moulded plastic props the kids were using. The piano music cut off as people didn’t know what to do.

“Marina!” called one of the boys who had been fighting.

“You,” the archaeologist pointed his knife at the boy that had made himself known. “Take off your mask,” he commanded. The boy hesitantly removed it, scared for his friend. Furrowing his brow, the archaeologist screamed in rage as he realised it was the other friend.

“Zane, get him!”

The shout came from below the archaeologist. He looked down and saw it was the one he was here for, the dyed hair and green eyes were unmistakable even when twisted with anger. In his surprise, he let the girl go, turning and reaching for the boy. Before the archaeologist could make contact however, he was thrown over him. The boy had bent down, whilst the one called Zane had ploughed into him with all his weight, tripping him up so he fell onto the stage floor. The knife slipped out of his hand. As he scrambled to regain himself the trio of friends regrouped, defiant and trying to usher other kids off stage.

The archaeologist grabbed his lost weapon and advanced towards them, baring his teeth. The other two were expendable, he just needed to get away with one of them. He was so focussed on the teenagers he didn’t take note of a sandbag sailing towards him at high speed. Compared to Zane’s weight it was three times as heavy and lifted him from his feet, catapulting him from the stage entirely into the stalls. He was instantly restrained by brave parents of the children and disarmed. The lost sandbag caused the curtain to drop, shielding the trio from further harm.

Seeing the end of another failed attempt, the spirit exited the archaeologist’s body, finishing off the rest of his mind and leaving him with permanent amnesia. In his quest for a new life, he would now never remember anything he once held dear or recollect the crimes he had just committed. The spirit skulked backstage in defeat. Surely enough it sighted the one who had foiled this attempt; he was now hiding a long staff in one of the prop trees and looking smug with himself. The spirit would now have to spend the long process of regaining enough energy for another chance at the boy. Before leaving, it dwindled over the trio who were now surrounded by their baying parents. The girl was hugging both boys tightly to her.

“You two are the stupidest heroes I’ve ever had looking out for me. You could have been killed, Zane! And you’re even dumber for getting him to charge that nutcase, Leo.”

“Maybe it’s time to try a different approach,” considered the spirit.