Scavenger Hunt! Deleted Scene from POSSESS!

This is the original version of Bridget's babysitting flashback scene from POSSESS, dating back to when the manuscript was entitled BANISH. It was shortened and condensed in the final version, but this is the expanded version of how Bridget first became aware of her exorcism abilities.

Enjoy!

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The stiff leather creaked under her weight as Bridget plopped down on the sofa and grabbed the remote control.

Finally! She thought the twins would never go to sleep. There are only so many times a girl can read Curious George Goes to the Hospital aloud before her brain starts to turn to mush.

The display on the DVD player read nine o'clock which meant she had at least two glorious hours of uninterrupted TV time in front of the Fergusons' forty-eight inch plasma: no wrestling with Sammy for the remote, no fighting with her mom over her choice of shows. If she wanted to rot her brain with a Cribs marathon there was no one to tell her otherwise. Damn, babysitting nights were the best.

Vanilla ice cream, check. Diet 7-UP, check. She clicked the power button and the screen flickered to life, bouncing its dullish blue glow across bookcases, coffee table and sensible Berber carpet. Commence channel surfing in three...two...one...
Bridget only made it two pages through the on screen channel guide before the sound of footsteps froze her thumb above the scroll button.

At first, Bridget thought it was one of the twins. But the steps were plodding, heavy and echoed out from the upstairs hall like boots were marching down the parquet floors. Clop. Clop. Clop. Definitely not the patter of bare feet. Maybe the twins were playing dress up in a pair of dad's shoes?

"Danny?" she called, her voice more casual than she felt.

Clop. Clop. Clop. They were coming down the stairs now.

"Manny?"

No response, just steady footsteps. They reached the bottom of the stairs and came down the hall towards the living room. Steady, unhurried.

Bridget's stomach backflipped. Holy shit. There was someone else in the house.
She slid her legs to the floor, cursing the creaky sofa, and tried to keep her voice steady. Maybe she could fake out the intruder. "Funny, guys. Go back to bed." She tiptoed over to the fireplace and carefully pulled the metal poker out of the stand. "Your parents will be home any second and they're going to be pissed if you're still awake."

The footsteps grew louder, stronger, so forceful she could feel their vibrations through the floor. They were almost to the living room, and Bridget positioned herself behind the door, poker raised over her head like she knew how to use it.

How the hell did someone get into the house? She saw Mr. Ferguson set the security system himself when he'd left and an intruder would have sent the alarm off.

Unless he was already in the house.

Okay, don't panic. The phone's in the kitchen. Just hit him as hard as you can and run for it.

A shadow slid across the floor, black and massive. Definitely not the twins. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Bridget held her breath and tried to control the fear welling up inside.

The footsteps reached the door then stopped. Did he know she was waiting for him? Bridget strained her ears, listening for the sound of his breathing. Silence. She waited an eternity. Her arms ached as she held the poker overhead and blood pounded in her ears. Just as her arm muscles were about to give way, the shadow withdrew and the steps retreated down the hallway. Where was he going?

Bridget bit her lip and peeked around the living room door. The light in the hallway was on, illuminating its full length, but there was no one there. Huh?

She crept out of the room expecting at any moment for Jason or Freddy to come at her with an array of cutlery that would make the Iron Chef drool.

"Don't be silly, Bridge," she told herself. "If it's a real serial killer, he'll probably just strangle you then wear your flesh like a second skin."

Bridget groaned. Goddamn horror movies were biting her in the ass now.

The footsteps continued up the stairs, she could hear each step straining under the weight of an invisible body.

Hear, but not see. What the hell was going on?

A door slammed from upstairs, then the silence of the house was pierced by the terrified screams of Danny and Manny Ferguson.

Poker in hand, Bridget sprinted up the stairs to the twins' room. Their door was closed. She dropped the poker and gripped the handle with both hands but it wouldn't turn.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Bridget pounded on the door. "Guys, it's me. Open up!"

All she got was more screaming.

"Danny, listen to me," she pleaded to the more level-headed of the seven-year-olds. "Open the door."

The door flew open so violently that it knocked her to the floor. Her skull smacked into the wall and for a moment bright flashes danced before her eyes. As she crumpled to her knees, Bridget caught sight of the twins through the open door, huddled together on the floor in the corner of their room.

"Guys, run!" she yelled. Too late. A cacophony of slamming doors filled the hallway and Bridget froze in horror: every door in the house was opening and closing of its volition.

They needed to get the hell out of the house. Like now. Bridget scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the twins' room between cycles of the door. She grabbed the boys with each hand and hauled them up, ready to make a beeline out of the house. Whatever was in the house with them wouldn't be scared off by a babysitter wielding a poker, that was for damn sure.

The bedroom door slammed shut before she could drag the hysterical twins out of the room. As quickly as it started, the slamming doors stopped and the house fell silent.

Then the closet door slowly creaked open.

"He's here," the twins said in unison.

Bridget sensed a presence in the room. She pushed the boys behind her and turned to face it.

An imposing black mass filled the entire closet from floor to ceiling. It seemed to be made of shadows and darkness, sucking light, energy and hope right out of the room. It seethed, growing larger and smaller as if taking deep breaths, yet it made no sound.

She backed up to the wall, keeping the twins behind her. Holy Mary Mother of God this could not be good. She had to be dreaming, right? This couldn't be happening.

Muffled animal sounds filled the room. Snorts, brays, howls. They seemed to come from the house itself, from the walls and the ceiling and up through the floorboards all at the same time. The mass glided forward, blocking the door and Bridget could sense its hate. Dark, focused hatred.

The room began to pitch and Bridget was swamped with an overwhelming sense of dizziness. She staggered and placed a hand on the wall to steady herself.
Then she heard them.

"There's no escape from us. There's no escape. We own it. We own this place. We were summoned and we won't go back."

"Back where?" Bridget asked.

She felt a collective gasp, a hundred people inhaling at once.

"She hears us."

"No she doesn't. She cannot."

"She does. Look at her."

"Impossible! The Master protects us. They cannot hear us unless we take their voice."

"I can hear you," Bridget said.

This time the voices in the wall shrieked like they'd just been set on fire.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" they all screamed at once. Then gibberish filled her ears as the voices broke into a language she didn't understand. The black mass wavered.

It had to be a hallucination. Maybe they all had food poisoning? Food poisoning from pepperoni pizza. Sure, why not? It was the only way it made sense.

Bridget took her hand off the wall to brush a strand of hair from her face. As soon as her palm left its rough, stuccoed surface, the voices stopped. She held her hand an inch from the wall and could hear them again, muffled in the background.

The sensation of pointed evil abated and Bridget couldn't help but feel like her ability to hear the voices somehow disturbed the entities. They were scared of her. That was a new one.

Psychotic episode or not, she needed to get the boys out of the house and for whatever reason, the entities and the black mass was afraid of her. Maybe she could use that? Setting her jaw, Bridget placed her palm flat against the wall.

The voices were still speaking nonsense, louder now, arguing amongst themselves. They seemed less terrifying when she pictured them as bickering old church ladies. The thought actually made her smile and gave her the courage to speak.

"Get out," she said. Her voice was shaky.

"It is speaking to us? Is the Watcher speaking to us?"

"Get out of this house." Her voice sounded strong even if she felt like she was going to ralph her vanilla ice cream all over the rug.

"We don't listen to you."

"We don't listen to her."

"We do what the Master tells us."

"We were summoned. The Master wants us here."

"Well, I don't want you here."

"Bridge?" Danny (or was it Manny?) sniffed.

"It's okay, boys. It's going to be okay."

"This is our home now."

"Don't talk to her. The Master wouldn't like it."

"I want Mommy," the other said.

Bridget inched towards the door, keeping one hand on the wall while she herded the twins with the other. "Leave us alone."

The black mass shrank into the closet. "We'll never leave. Never, never, never."

Bridget's hand was on the doorknob. "Let us out of this room."

"We won't! We won't! We won't!"

"Now!"

With another painful shriek from the voices, the bedroom door swung open. Somehow, Bridget had power over them.

She shepherded the boys towards the door. "Get out. Get out of this house."

"How are you here?"

"How did you know?"

"We only obey the Master."

"Her words burn like the white flame."

Bridget planted her feet on the floor and clenched her fists. "Get out of here!"

The house moaned in pain. The lights in the hallway flickered and the voices in the walls let out a soul-wrenching wail.

And then all was still.