The Passenger
Why do human beings want to live forever? Beats me. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Hell, after a few thousand years, most to go crazy. Me? I haven’t gone crazy yet.
Who am I? I am whomever my current host is, I guess you could say. My parents didn’t give me a name. We don’t have names like humans. I just inherited all their knowledge and life experiences from both of them. Which means I have a lot of information. Some of it is useful. Some of it not. Most of it didn’t make any sense until I had my own life experiences to relate to.
Yet, here I am. Still living among you. I’ve been worshiped as a God. Bowed down before by you as a Pharaoh, a king and a queen. I’ve been a man, but I prefer to be a woman. Men are easier prey than women. With men, as long as there is sex involved, they’ll go with you. You don’t even have to be pretty.
Who am I now? I’m currently a single mother with two kids. Or at least, that’s how it appears. Because you see my host. You don’t see me because I live inside my host.
I’m a parasite. But I don’t live off my host. That would be counterproductive. But I do feed off other human beings. Don’t worry. I don’t have to kill my prey to feed. Even though, the best feeding is achieved by sucking the prey drive. If you suck the prey dry, the feeding last between a decade to a quarter of a century depending on the age and the health of the prey. The younger and healthier the prey, the better the feed.
The way I do it, I select men between 20 and 50 years of age. The feed last between 3 to 5 years. It means I have to hunt more often, but there’s no trail of bodies either. Just a guy here and there that thinks I’m kinky or rather that my host is kinky. But I don’t hunt in the town I live in. I drive out of town and move every decade or so.
But I only stay with the host about half a century now. The benefits of being a host are excellent health and longevity. How do you think those guys in the Bible live so long? The blessings of being a God-fearing man? Please.
Not that you don’t have creators, you do. They invited us here, because we give you excellent health and longevity. Our realm was imploding, they offered us refuge here in your realm, on your world.
They hadn’t meant for you to grow old and die. But they are feeding off your souls after all.
That’s right folks. For those that are a little slow, I’ll put it bluntly. You are not the top of the food chain. The reason you grow old and die is because your creators are constantly feeding on your souls.
They’ve gone by many names: Zeus, Apollo, Hera, Aphrodite, and Ra to name a few. And they did interact with you in the beginning. Or rather what you think of as the beginning. You can even reproduce with your creators. You were after all created in their image. But it’s been a long time since you’ve reproduced together. The last guy that was born of such a union, you now call your Savior and pray to him. Not that he’s not capable of hearing your prayers. But come on people, do you think he’s really listening? Well, maybe he’s listening once in a great while just for a laugh.
I wonder what they do over there on their side of the veil to keep themselves busy. They’re not over here hunting to survive, that’s for sure.
And sometimes I think they made you way too intelligent for your own good. Figuring out your average life expectancy. Counting and keeping track of each other like cattle. That’s why I have to change host about every 50 years. Before you began doing all that, I could keep a host for up to 500 years. If the villagers got suspicious because we didn’t seem to be aging, we just moved on. Went someplace else, someplace new. Sometimes we even faked our own death. No body in a burned down house, no problem. Not possible these days.
These days, by the time I get my host life in order and we’re finally living comfortably, it’s time to go to a hospital and pick out a new host.
Yes, a hospital is the best place to find a new host. There are plenty of unconscious people. Where do you think miraculous recoveries come from? God? Not that your creators are capable of healing you and extending your lives, but they don’t bother with that anymore. You do very well at yourselves now anyway.
When I found my current host she was in the hospital having a paldynado cyst removed. Not necessarily a life-threatening condition, yet still very painful. She was 13 years old. I thought cool. After all teenage guys are always horny. My next feed was going to be so easy.
And it was. The only problem is the only reliable form of birth control is abstinence. So in the process of getting myself fed, I got my host pregnant at 15. Not me personally. But me, as in, I was in control that night. I was driving the car so to speak.
There was a time when humans volunteered to be the host for my kind. And they lined up begging to be the human sacrifice. They were eager to be the one to die while being embraced by a God. And just for the record, I was not the one who told that lie. One of your own creator said we were God. And adoration is fun for a couple of centuries, then it starts to get monotonous.
I think it may be the monotony that drive some of us crazy. And one of us has gone crazy inside one of you, it’s a bad thing. Children, can you say Elizabeth Bathory? Napoleon? Hitler? Count Vlad the Impaler? Unabomber? Jeffrey Dahmer? The Pious Poisoner? How about Jack the Ripper? Child Corpse Collecting Chad? Harold the Human Skin Collector?
You guys don’t need any help killing each other. And when one of us goes nuts, we manage to take out a lot of you in all kinds of ugly ways. We try to police ourselves, but were not as good at counting ourselves as humans. I just know there are a lot more of you than us. And when one of us goes crazy, it has to be terminated. We usually do that by preventing it from getting a new host when their current host dies.
You can keep a dead host’s body animated for about four hours. But you’re integrated into your host. Your part of him or her. Part of their immune system, connected to their brain and spinal cord, to their intestines. Our tentacles are connected all over the place. Including the respiratory system, I need oxygen too. So if you can’t get out of your dead host, you expire too. We can heal a lot of things for our host including most cancers. I’ve healed damage that should have killed my host. But I can’t fix stuff like decapitation or severed limb. And I can’t metabolize poison. We all have our limits.
But I miss the good old days, when I and my host were partners shared thoughts and feelings. Made decisions together. All my knowledge, was their knowledge too.
Now, they never know I’m there. I sneak into their body while the lay unconscious in a hospital bed. It’s better if they are unconscious because no matter how you enter the body it’s uncomfortable for them, even quite painful for them if they fight you. And you do a little damage on the way in, but I heal it quickly. With men, there are only two ways to enter: orally and anally. I know. Ew gross. I guess that might be why I usually choose a female host. Entering the body vaginally is easier than orally or anally. Less discomfort for the host too if I enter vaginally.
My first host was a young girl of 11. A virgin. Don’t ask me why they like to use virgins for everything. But Cleo was so brave. She received me on her knees. She opened her mouth willingly, never flinched and never screamed. Of course, the fact that she didn’t struggle means she didn’t suffer any pain, just momentary discomfort. I loved her very much. So many centuries ago. Yet I still miss her very much. The thing about going into a hospital and choosing a host is that you don’t know everything you’re getting.
Take my current host. I really love and like her. She’s awesome. But when I got her at 13, she had already been molested by a preacher when she was a preschooler. Just a few months before I got her, she had been raped at a party in her own home while her mother was downstairs partying. Her mother’s a fairly functional addict while her father is a drug pusher who spent most of her childhood in prison. She was a little suicidal when I got her. But I helped her through. Subtly of course.
My current host is not exactly fully aware of me. She’s aware of me in the same way that she’s aware of her own conscience. Or rather she thinks I’m her conscience. I whispered to her. She hears me the way she hears her own thoughts. And when she argues with me, she just think she’s arguing with herself. She’s such a good person. A lot of internal strength and endurance.
When we got pregnant when she was 15. I say we because you have to remember I become an integrated part of my host I hear with her ears, see with her eyes, touched with her hands. I experience everything she’s experiencing: the good, the bad and the: why me?
Yet finding oneself pregnant at 15 in a day and age when it’s not considered proper is very scary. She was so scared. Her mother offered to take her for an abortion, but she didn’t even consider it. She decided to keep her baby. Her mother offered to sign the papers so she could drop out of high school because she had the baby. But she didn’t go for it. She stuck it out and got her high school diploma. Then she worked hard and got her bachelor’s degree through a university partnership program at the local community college. She had her second child a year before she earned her bachelor’s. That pregnancy didn’t have anything to do with me. She was in a relationship with what we both thought was a nice guy. But his reason for dumping her was the fact that she got pregnant by him. What an ass! I should’ve fed on him and sucked him dry. Bastard.
My girl can’t catch a break. Rotten parents. Irresponsible fathers. Two kids with special needs. Beat up old transport. And she doesn’t give up. She keeps trying, keeps pushing forward. She’s intelligent, honest, hard-working and reliable.
She has currently gotten herself some religion. I can’t say I’m exactly happy about it though. Except it does give her hope. So I’m not going to rain on her parade in this area. I’ve only ever lived on this world in this realm. For all I know maybe your creators have some sort of paradise waiting for you after you die. I have no trouble saying that my girl deserves such a reward.
But this new religion is going to be a problem for me. It’s so strict. We’re not allowed to have any fun. No coffee. No cigarettes. No booze. My girl’s not a drinker, but I do like to have one once in a while. I like the fruity ones.
Here’s the big problem, she took a vow of chastity... During sex is the easiest way for me to see. Of course, I really enjoy sex too... I can manage to feed during hot and heavy making out, but she’s not even allowed to do that.
I hate to totally take over and drive. That leaves her with a blank spot like a blackout. Then if she finds out what happened while I was driving, she’ll be afraid she’s becoming a nut job like her mother. I don’t want her to doubt herself. She’s vulnerable and fragile as it is. And she’s so lonely. She’s hoping that if she’s a good girl, God will finally reward her with her soulmate.
I’m not even sure I even believe in such a thing as a soulmate. But I guess it’s possible. My parents were in love. Said it was very rare for one of us to find someone to endure for eternity with. My parents died when their host were beheaded. I have a sibling I haven’t seen hide nor hair of in a few centuries. I have no idea if my sibling is even still alive. It’s been at least two centuries since I’ve come across another like me.
How would I know if another like me was in the room? Scent. Your noses are more sensitive than you think...
Okay, I want my host to be happy. She deserves it. And if she meets Mr. Perfect for her, then what? I don’t want to feed off of her mate. A feeding that last me 3 to 5 years knocks up to a decade off the prey’s life. I don’t want her to be a young widow because of me. But she’s not the type to cheat. I’d have to take over and drive… Hell, a lot farther than just the next town over. Because if it got back to him it would ruin her marriage. And believe it or not, I’m trying to help make her life better, unlike her own parents. We don’t talk to them and have moved about as far away as we can get.
My girl has big brass ones. I gave her the idea it was time to move again and she just ran with it. She spent about a year preparing. Packed up her kids, rented a 24 foot long you U-Haul and started driving.
Everything didn’t go as planned. Yet, we’ve managed to land in a decent area. We haven’t been here a whole year yet. And because of her rough upbringing, she’s slow to make friends. She has trouble trusting people. But we’re going to make it.
I have always managed to help my hosts build better lives for themselves. It would make me very happy if by the time I’m ready to seek a new host, she had a good mate to spend the rest of her life with and a nice fat retirement. She’s never had a real vacation. I’d like to see her get that. There’s so much I wish I could share with her. I would love to let her know she’s not alone.
I hate it when she cries herself to sleep at night. She’s a quiet crier. She doesn’t want our kids to know how lonely and scared she is. She’s afraid that no matter how hard she tries, her life will always be a living nightmare.
I want to tell her she’s one of the bravest women I have ever known. Every bit as brave as my first host, Cleo. And braver than any male host I ever had.
I have found males to be unbelievably insensitive. A male will tell woman he’s gotten pregnant without batting an eye, “It’s not my problem,” or “Get rid of it.” Like his own child is an unwanted litter of puppies or kittens. The laws protect pets better than they do children.
I did admit I prefer to have a female host, didn’t I? That’s because women are the truly strong ones. There isn’t anything my current host wouldn’t do to make the lives of her children better. For most males, their whole focus is themselves and their third leg.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to male bash. But remember, I have centuries of personal observations and experiences to go by, centuries.
