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Message-ID: <32158asstr$998550601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "guy in the hat" <soothdotcorn@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Camera  Attn; Hecate
Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2001 03:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Here we go, posted to the right address.

I sincerely hope I haven't worried you, or worse, been an irritation. 
There's always someone who doesn't get it and this time it's been me.

I'd like to say THANKS for this opportunity. It's got me writing.....

I just regret I might be off line for a spell.

                                             Louis

Billie is possessed by an agency that was once a superhero. She becomes the 
Billie Ghost, able to utilise telekinesis.....and mind control.



You must be eighteen years of age or older to read the following story. And 
if depictions of
mind-controlled fantasy characters having sex is going to disturb you, 
please read no further. Everyone else go right ahead.



"Trina Yeates" sounded like a boring, stuffy name, and yet she kept it. Her 
best friend Billie  always wanted to suggest something Trina would adopt. 
She was bombarding Trina with names, like a sport.
"Jessica Drew."
"Have you ever read Spiderman? One of the Spiderwoman characters had that 
name. For her alter ego. Fictional superheroes have....."
"I know. Clark Kent is Superman. Bruce Wayne is Batman."
"What else have you got for me today?"
"Die Fauster. Die spelt D-I-E."
"What?"
"That was my sister's latest contribtion."
"I thought she'd grown out of being a Goth. Ha. No, I hadn't."
"Fat chance. So I can tell her you couldn't use it?"
"Or any of her others. Christ, does that girl think I'm seriously 
considering her  pretentious....morbid....goth-crap? I want a name that 
rings with life. Tell her that."
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha."
"You just give me her suggestions so you can have a damn laugh."
"I have others. I mean real suggestions."
"Tell me what they are and I'll tell you if they're real suggestions."
"Mary Tyler."
"After Mary Tyler Moore. Nah. I'm not big on "Mary", y'know."
"I really like that one."
""Tyler." Mm. I don't know. It's okay. If there was something that went with 
it, it'd be brilliant. What else goes with "Tyler"?"
"Delphine. Delphine Tyler."
"That....might be kind of nice. Hey, if you had a name like "Delphine", you 
wouldn't need a name like "Tyler". You wouldn't need a surname."
"Right......Well, what do you think of Delphine then?"
"I think the superhero from Mumbai in India has that name."
"A real superhero, who doesn't have one of those comicbook secret identity 
things going on. Yeah. Think about it. I can see people responding well."
"Ultimately I feel like a plagiarist if I do a thing like that."
"Rubbish."
"I just want something.....I don't know, unique."
"So we should be making up names."
"But not dee-ay-ee. That's far too bloody crap."
Trina and Billie had many conversations over the course of three years. 
Sometimes Trina swore Billie had come up with the goods. Other times Trina 
would get out a book of the meanings behind names, write notes in red biro 
on the page, and mope.
One conversation in January this year:
"I've got to say, I don't think we'll ever find a name for you, Trina. We've 
been over keeping one of your names and changing the other...."
"More than once, more than twice."
"We've considered every name in the book. We've sat down and played word 
association games. We've driven around making up names. Why don't you just 
keep....?"
"BECAUSE IT SUCKS! IT SUCKS!"
"Yeah, but what haven't we tried? You're never going to have another name. 
Even my fucking sister has suggested about a hundred names by now. And I 
must have suggested....God only knows....five hundred....a thousand....."
"Some of them the same. You've suggested "Cookie" three times over the last 
couple of years. That's a fucking stupid name...."
"Well, fuck you if that's all you can say about my efforts...."
In June, it had been Trina's twenty fifth birthday. Trina had sworn she 
would find a new name that day, that she would somehow `hear' the suggestion 
of providence and fate and serendipity and God and chance and all that other 
shit, but there was no such luck.
"You were trying too hard," Billie had told her.
Today, Trina was actually crying about it, weeping into her phone as she 
talked to her Mum.
"You're crying, Trina. What is it, dear? Your name? Is it really that 
neccessary?"
"Yes."
"But if there was a better name, better than the one your father gave 
you...."
"Billie tells me this all the time now! She claims she's offered me fifteen 
hundred names or something. Tch. God. What if you're right?"
"You'll always be Trina to me, my dear."
"I can't believe I'm crying, Mum. I've got to change my name."

Billie did some e-mailing, took an indulgent shower and got ready for bed. 
She was reading Serial Magic by Tatti Worlogod. Most nights, since the rift 
in her relationship with The Right Stuff (as he called himself) Tatti was 
staying home by herself and watching a lot of television. That's where 
having a good book came in.
Her bed seemed to fold out like a comfortable newspaper, and she slid in. 
She reached over to pick up her book from the floor on the other side, and a 
shiver went up her extended arm. Immediately, she thought of Trina.
I haven't seen Trina in two weeks. She only ever has one subject now. It's 
inane. It's insane. I give up.
It took a second for her to think that. As her fingernails glided over the 
cover of Serial Magic, a second wave of chilly electricity shot up her arm. 
She held up her arm, concerned with everything from arthritus to the 
electricity sockets in her room. But everything was okay; Joe Normal, as she 
called a boring day. She looked around the room, up and down her arm and her 
body, and she pondered the fleeting sparks she had felt.....reaching for 
that book. She looked down upon it, and what about it? There it lay as 
mundanely as any commonly placed object. On the flat green carpet, it looked 
like a pontoon. She reached for it again, expecting the attack, and nothing 
of the kind occured.
"Are you attempting to communicate?" she asked it, as she opened it at its 
book-marked spot.
She made herself more comfortable, throwing back the baggage of her blanket 
and sheet. It was stuffy, but the window couldn't be properly opened or 
closed without a monumental effort, so she knew she would put up with it. 
She stretched out her legs, brief thoughts of the girls back at school 
trying to match the perfection of their shape. The opened Serial Magic 
rested on her slanted thighs.
"Wow. I'm up to the chapter on assuming a new name. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Not 
that this is going to help either."
She began to read, and she pretended to hear voices. One page was read by 
Vincent Price,
another by the singer Nico of the Velvet Underground. The voice of Fran 
Drescher wasn't working for the next page, as she thought it  would not, and 
she switched to Margeret Thatcher.
Seven pages into the new chapter, and she couldn't think of any more voices 
to use. It was just an amusement, of course, but she was always disappointed 
nowadays to seemingly run out of ideas, like her imagination wasn't deep and 
bottomless enough. She had to agree to use her own. She turned the page, and 
the first sentence  was like chamber music. She was at the end of the second 
when she noticed the strange appeal of her own voice, the character  older 
than her years. She kept reading. Her narration was quiet avenues and 
suburbs of dead poetry. Each word she muttered mentally was the sound of a 
horn blown in the kingdoms of  continuums simply unknown. The deeper Billie 
got into the page, the more her own interaction with the text seemed to fuse 
her to the experience. An ocean ran out like a fleeting tide underneath her 
mind. Her lips began to mouth the words like a silent movie. The music in 
her brain seemed to levitate the entire room. The electricity returned, this 
time prickling its way up the length of both of her arms and legs like a 
slow snake. She read on and on. There was nothing to contradict the process, 
no footnotes to redirect the path of the continuing passage, no new 
paragraph to reassociate the mind. Billie read like an addict. Her lips said 
all the words, speaking them in shape.
Billie read and read and read.....

Trina gazed at her reflection in the window. She loved her face, liked to 
see how it looked back at her from different mediums. The bathroom mirror 
had an austere quality. The bathroom was the documentary room. Clear water, 
like a lake, with plenty of sunshine, made her look like an angel. Trina's 
high cheekbones and curious red lips were the features that she immediately 
checked on herself. She never wore lipstick. She figured her lips couldn't 
be `added to' or improved. At night, with the artificial light in the 
uncurtained window, her lips didn't look any colour at all. She smiled at 
the image, and true to form, it smiled back at her. A curious reflection, 
the pane of glass at night. Against a background of black treees and garden, 
a horrible smear of yellow light creeping in like a gas, she and her lounge 
were reflected `back' at her like an alternative and opposite dimension. She 
looked into it, looking for the colour in her eyes (sensual green flecks) 
and colour in her cheeks (traces of pink you might only notice in the 
bathroom.) Her hair was as much a phantom of a silhouette as all her other 
details. Dyed black like a goth's, it was. (The opposite of Shecat, Billie's 
twin sister. `Shecat' was a brunette who dyed her hair blond.)
Jill, `the flatmate', wandered in as Trina's attention seemed to sink 
further into her self. Jill
was `a slim one'. Not anorexic, as Jill herself would instantly point out, 
but just small, and slim, and with a name Trina knew she would seek to 
change too, it was so boring.
"You're a narcissistic bitch at heart, aren't you?"
"No. Yes."
"You are, man."
"Yeah, I am."
Jill was in her yoga gear, a t-shirt and spidery black tights.
"You're very good at maintaining an excercise routine, aren't you? Better 
than I ever was."
""Was ?". Have you passed away?"
"No. I'm just marginally older. You're nineteen, "man". I'm halfway to 
thirty."
"Oh, God. Well, aren't we all just lived out.......?"
"I hope not."

Billie turned the last page in the book. She had no longer been reading it. 
Her body had stiffened and her eyes were like flat buttons. Scarcely fluid 
enough to move, Serial Magic tilted and tumbled over onto the floor. 
Billie's head lolled sideways to the left, following its passage.

Trina watched Jill as she sat in the lotus, her eyes pinched tight, her 
breathing getting lighter and lighter. Jill was just meditating now. Trina 
wondered whether she was aware of her staring, a perfectly good question. If 
she was, it didn't change  the proceeding or interfere with Jill's routine. 
Do I like women?, Trina wondered at times like these. I suppose I must. She 
studied the curves of Jill's legs, appreciating the almost cliched kitsch of 
her black lycra tights. They just had this little shimmer and shine to them. 
Resting and stationery as Jill's folded legs were, Trina had to move her 
head around to see those features on the curved and modeled lycra animate 
slightly. (Trina thought of Tinkerbelle,
the superheroine who took her name from the Peter Pan fairytale. Now she 
could sparkle
like champagne. Trina had seen her once in real life. She had flittered 
there in the air overhead, her golden aura glistening like madly diminutive 
pinpoint sunheads. Ever since that day, Trina had a thing for the 
glistening....the shining....the playfully star-like.....)
The door whipped her back into the here and now. Not so Jill - or at least 
she didn't show it. The door was being hammered on! It sounded angry. 
Something about the rudeness of having her eyes dragged off Jill was violent 
and disturbing. Little fire alarms went off in Trina's mind. The fact is the 
door just seemed like the prelude.....but she rushed off to answer it. She 
could never ignore telephones - no one could ignore this!
Trina threw back the door. No quick guesses or intuitions had told her to 
expect Shecat.
"What in the hell is the -?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Is Billie here?"
"No. What's the problem? Is Billie okay?"
"I don't know. I don't know. Please, can I come in....?"
"Sorry, yeah, of course......"
Even over black coffee, the night had a sting in its tail that spread like a 
gradual poison. Even in the normalacy of conversing with Shecat and Jill, 
there was a component setting this apart from just any conversation she 
might sit down and have. Shecat was calmer now, but couldn't tell them much. 
Almalgamating the fractions of her conversation, her account went like this:
"Billie and I....we have this psychic link. It's true of a lot of Gemini 
twins....I've told you many times about sharing our dreams....before we were 
ten....It's more occassional now....like deja vu, which is so much 
less....because adulthood or some shit....insulates you against...yeah. 
Anyway....God. Tonight....I was just watching TV by myself....mind on 
nothing particular....just, no, nothing particular. TV was just some 
consumer's rights thing....Billie, she comes to mind, right ? I mean....I 
just think Billie, and, like....it's like a book falls inside my head. A 
fucken book....goes and falls inside my fucken head....and...Y'know, I can 
feel it strike the ground. Fuck me, though, it's...I can tell what book it 
actually is. It's that bargain.....Billie got at Gateways. You know....thing 
she's been reading.....Serial Magic....written by someone 
Worlogod...."Worlogod", fuck.... At it's....Billie's coming here. I couldn't 
tell you....for what. Can't interpret...
the impression. It's a blanket thing and I can't.....Anyway, 
Billie.....something about her, there's something about her....and she's 
going to come here....I don't know why....Billie's going to come 
here......."
As Shecat ejaculated her story, she would shiver now and then for 
punctuation. She sat
curled up on a stool in a fetal image. Trina had time to vaguely think about 
the shape of Shecat's slender, doubled-over form. Shecat wore her foundation 
and lacertated tutu. Strangely, her black tights were new and unblemished, 
contrasting with the primmer Jill, who it would have to be said, was wearing 
the perfect pair of Goth-legs in worn and thinning black lycra .
Jill was impatient with them both. "Oh mannnnn, you've got to be worried 
about exactly nothing there. Would you call it a...an aural hallucination or 
something? Some book fell over when you had a daydream. Big deal, Shecat. 
You've gone and jumped to all these
goddam....far-fetched conclusions. Did you try phoning Billie, for example? 
Did you try doing that ? You haven't mentioned it. I know it's late, but 
with the state you're in...."
"Fuck off, Jill. I told you, she's coming here."
Trina thought of the feeling she just couldn't quit, and she was on Shecat's 
side. Shecat was probably right. So....what to expect from her friend ?

Billie sat bolt upright. Her legs, her arms, her spine, they were as stiff 
as a broomhandle.
Slowly, her staring, catatonic eyes rolled back in her head.
The agency had taken its possession.
This is what Trina could expect of her friend.

Jill and Shecat argued like opposing lobsters. Trina turned the radio on 
loud to blast them and shut them up. It did her some good, too. Briefly, the 
vague mental nausea was blown out of the scaffolding of her mind.
"Jill, will you listen to me ? Shecat and Billie really do have the 
connection Shecat's talking about. She's not exaggerating...."
"Perhaps I....Shecat, yeahhhhhh,  I'm sorry. (Turn that down, Trina!) I'm no 
fan of talk about psychic this and psychic that. Those phone numbers on TV 
to call and get a tarot reading....They just get me angry. But, look, maybe 
something really is up here, y'know. I don't believe in telepathy or 
telekinesis....but I know some of those superheroes in the Field Agents or 
the Rivals of Evil....have that shit. Stuff like it. That girl in the 
purple....she has premonitions. And Dolly Random....she can see three hours 
ahead in time. All the time. She can't turn it off. That's a documented 
fact. Urm, so what I'm trying to say is....Well, I definitely apologise. 
And....what could be happening here? Won't Billie just show up, need a 
cuddle or something? That link you've got....Isn't it a channel for love and 
sisterly affections and...?"
"Jeez, Jill, it's a channel for whatever the fuck is going on...."
"Do you think we're in danger?"
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FUCKEN SAY, GIRL?"
"Well, what the hell do we do then ? Shouldn't we escape from here...?"
Trina felt anger at that. "Then what about Billie?"
Everyone noticed it at the same time, a womanly outline coming to hover in 
the process of levitavtion at Trina's window. She was all white with a glow 
like a cold lantern.
"That's Paper Princess," Trina said plainly, "Oh my God!"
Shecat ran forward to open the window. Paper Princess floated in.
"You are in danger." Her voice was like a secret river.
"We know, we know," Shecat complained.
"How do.....you know something is going on here ?"
Paper Princess told the story: "Girl Ghost from my team the Rivals of Evil 
went bad when she fought a male demon from the Seventh Level. She passed 
through his form, disrupting his corporeal form. He blazed in orange fire, 
dieing in....it was hideous bloody-minded agony. I saw the recordings on 
file. Lord. In return, coming into contact with the internal body of the 
nameless demon, Girl Ghost was changed. She was corrupted. Anyone would be. 
And she....well, we have fought her several times. She likes to possess 
people and play....sexually with their bodies. Fondling and masturbating 
and....like that. She has....done it to me. In fact, I was the bait in a 
gambit that several mystic superheroes devised. Girl Ghost took full 
possession of me in Ranfurly Hotel, where we were sure she was spending 
time. We had to let her, um, go with me for a while. To ensure she wasn't 
going to suspect anything and that we would definitely get the drop on her, 
it was decided to let her have control of me for fully twenty minutes. I 
used an amnesiac block as well, strong and naturalised by Freya and 
Signature. Girl Ghost took over my body, controlling me completely. I've 
tried to describe this.....Certainly, I can say I was a prisoner in my own 
body. Girl Ghost determined everything. It seemed to me I had the 
occassional thought....but even then, I'm just not sure. When twenty minutes 
were up, and two achingly exotic orgasms had been produced - this is all a 
matter of record, I just want you to know what you're up against - the trap 
was sprung! Freya formed a psychic field of pure mental force about the bed. 
It was something Girl Ghost could not escape. At the same time, my favourite 
witches, Legion and Terran, began to chant their serial magic invocation. 
Large, sunken runes could be seen, from certain angles, hanging in the room.
There was immediate impact! Signature levitated my body and Notional Girl 
caused Girl Ghost and I to hallucinate my....our perishing in those 
self-same orange flames. We twisted in horror and Girl Ghost abandoned my 
writhing-about body.....to be snagged by the metaphysical snares of Legion 
and Terran. Signature gently lowered me to the bedsheets while the 
transparent sight of Girl Ghost .....flattened out, fading into 
intangibility and nothingness. But....wellllllll, she keeps finding ways of 
coming back.
Superheroes can't and often won't stay dead. But especially her.....Terran 
and Legion are sensitive to her unique vibration - they tell me it's active 
again. They tell me there is a chronal confluence in time and 
place.....here, right here. I believe Girl Ghost has taken possession of 
your friend, and is using her body as a terran vehicle.....to drive about 
in. Girl Ghost, if I'm right about this, is wearing your friend....like a 
set of clothes, like a suit. To permit her to operate on this plane."
"Where the hell are the others? We need a whole team of you guys for this, 
don't we? What he hell's the use of you? She's already controlled your body 
once!"
Trina came to the defence. "Don't listen to Jill. She's scared fucking 
shitless like we all are. You probably are too!"
"Oh, I am."
"Where are the others, Princess?"
"They're scattered about geometrically.....outside. Surveillance. They will 
not engage her. That will be a group effort.....I hope."
Paper Princess drank a glass of water. It tasted bright, and she drained the 
glass.
Something happened!
There was a shock as the glass dropped to the floor to shatter.
"God! Look at that! Look at her eyes!" Shecat spat out.
"She's....what....?"
Paper Princess was as still as the side of a mountain, frozen in a moment's 
image, as unmoving as an old statue. Her eyes were dull and empty, unprinted 
pennies in her face.
Jill backed away from the Princess, afraid for her mind. Trina and Shecat 
went forward to
feel and touch her, to investigate her state. Trina stood face to face, 
looking into her frighteningly passive eyes. They had glazed, and reminded 
Trina of mirror glass. Trina felt her cheek. It was clammy. The Princess' 
temperature had been turned down.
"She's....this Girl Ghost must have done this! The Princess is hers now. 
Hey, you know maybe....I mean don't tell me she was all along! I wonder."
Shecat didn't fancy this idea. "You mean.....? Do you mean....Girl Ghost was 
controlling Paper Princess's mind the whole time? Fuck, no. How powerful is 
she?  I fucking hope not. What chance have we got if she wants to control 
US? We're not fucking superheroes! Look at her, Trina. She's completely 
under....gone....and she's the superhero. She's s'posed to be saving us! How 
the hell is she going to do that? That bitch has turned her into a statue! 
This....Girl Ghost has complete control of our one vague possibility of 
hope."
Paper Princess shuddered slightly but noticeably. Then she spoke three flat 
words in a tone more empty than space.
"See - you - soon."

There was a body in the air, floating across the city like a weather 
pattern. Billie's body, Billie's strange, appropiated husk. Girl Ghost 
looked down through the egg shell whites of her host's eyes. The city passed 
like a neverending vista. In the imperfect black of it, lights seemed to 
live. Red lights, green lights, blue lights, yellow lights. Cars and trucks 
drove about like travelling metal lifeforms making city echoes. It was good 
to be in the world again. Good to feel the cold, blowing wind on her new 
skin. Good to observe the human filled spaces of this familiar place. 
Whatever she used to think of what the human race have done with the habitat 
called the world, creating places like cities, machines like cars, it didn't 
matter now. Just to be here - in the world - this imperfect world, that was 
enough. For the only alternative was no alternative - floating like a 
disembodied shade locked out of home. Haunting the realm of the senses (as 
it is indeed called) and yet haunting no one and not marking the path of 
anything kindred . There was no communication and no potential access to 
making her plight known.
There was only possession.
Worlogod's excellent book on Serial Magic. She could live there if driven 
back into the desperate phantom planes. Driven back yet again! It must not 
happen.
Through Paper Princess' eyes and ears, she could tune into the sights and 
words of Trina, Jill and Shecat. She couldn't resist the show she had put on 
with the Princess in her complete thrall. Unscripted, it was, all `played my 
ear'. She had never used one of her puppets like that before. So you can 
make them act! Oscar Wilde said something she couldn't quite recall, about 
how much effort it was to act natural. He wasn't speaking of mental 
possession, of course. Yes, it took a lot of concentration, much more than 
simply controlling the subject like the customary drone, no thoughts in 
their retarded brains,and no will in their bodies. But now she had another 
entertainment she could employ. Now she had another trick up her sleeve.
It was all good.
Jill amused her. Jill was the cliche, a scared rabbit. Shecat amused her. 
Shecat wanted to be saved by the superhero. Trina annoyed her. Something 
about that frequency, a funny note.
She would investigate Trina's mind during the sex.

"It's ludicrous that we haven't called the police. I'm calling the police"
So spoke the rabbit. Shecat gazed across to the landline sitting on a small 
bookcase. "It's funny.....Coppers never occured to me. That's the one idea 
we've had. Jill.....is there any yoga or meditational technique that might 
help, Christ, I don't know.....proof our minds against Girl Ghost's mental 
stuff....her powers?"
"Are you kidding me? No. Of course there isn't."
"Okay. I'm only trying to help."
"She won't neccessarily....do what she's done to the Princess to us, 
anyway," Trina added, trying to sound like there was any angle of 
possibility there.
"She's going to do something to us! Why stage the Paper Princess 
extravaganza if she just wants to drop by for a gin?", Shecat came back to 
her with. And Shecat was right , of course. They were in a "power of shit", 
as an honest politican said once.
"Hello? Police? Good. Listen, we....we've got Paper Princess here. What? The 
sup- You say what? No. No, you idiot, we really have....You - huh? No, not a 
ransom thing - NO!
No, listen to me....We're in a situation with her....."
Jill felt her nervous system short circuit as a catastrophe of mental 
telekinetic wind blew Trina's window into bits. The window crashed into the 
room, chaff and splintery dust hurled across the floor. Billie hung in the 
portal, her mental agilities negotiating with gravity, her powers putting on 
a magic show. Billie.....? Or the intangible insider lurking like an 
arrogant foreigner within her form?
Trina and Shecat backed away. Trina tried turning the door handle of the 
front door. It wouldn't budge.
Jill gazed across at Billie, as she swam into the room, a waterless 
amphibian. Jill had seen this stuff on TV. She was spooked to see it in real 
life. What was happening here? The Girl Ghost's possession  meant she was 
stationed inside Billie's brain - and the Ghost's telekinetic nature could 
allow Billie to literally `go aerial'.
Billie as the subject was the real reason to freak out!
"Jill," Billie Ghost's voice was like a gaining signal, "I've just made a 
mess of your floor....when I'm about to make a mess of your life....."
The cold in the room crept up their rib cages. The unreality of it marked it 
as an indulgent dream.....though it was real. The fear of the three women, 
their beings intact, mixed indivisibly with the invading character of the 
outside's pitiless chill. It was as though the Girl Ghost had already begun 
her (soft and gradual) assault. This could literally be true for Jill:
"Billie....it's me, Jill. The Girl Ghost has control of you. Look. Look at 
you! You're floating in the air...like it's natural...."
"Oh, it's natural...."
Billie Ghost's voice seemed to blow mist across Jill. Jill felt it's fibre, 
its importance.
"Billie....Don't....want to be like the Princess...."
"Doesn't matter, Jill. What you want, it doesn't matter. Ha ha ha ha ha."
"Billie...."
"Oh, stop fighting Jill!"
And she did. Jill felt her arms and legs grow as rigid as flagpoles, her 
mind free and cavernous. Her pupils lost their lovely blue. Her tempertaure 
decreased. Billie circled her new statue like a fish. She was pleased - 
hugely, magnificently pleased.
"Seeeeeeee? You ARE like the Paper Princess - and you don't mind! Ha ha ha 
ha ha ha ."
Trina and Shecat saw their worst fears materialise. Trina wanted to cry out 
- her throat wouldn't work. Shecat wanted to scream. Her throat felt like an 
empty cylinder.
Billie Ghost clicked her fingers, and it was like thunder imploding. Jill, 
her body frozen in a model of antipathy and hopeless fright, slowly began to 
move her limbs. The O her lips were petrified in, turned into a wider, 
gaping mouth. (There was a sport the Ghost liked. The open-to-closed mouths 
her slaves were wont to display. Without determining any of it, she loved to 
take over a woman's mind, stunning them perfectly, letting the formation of 
their lips express the new hierarchy of their minds. Some women would 
inevitably shut their lips, tight. Hit them with anything, they would close 
their lips like stubborn clams.
Despite controlling every drop of their will-power, every thought they could 
ever have, the Ghost preferred the spontaneity of the result. She could open 
their mouths like old sideshow clowns, the ones whose heads turned back and 
forth, whose mouths you fill with tennis balls. Or she could close their 
mouths, as shut as draw bridges. But she preferred the look of gaping 
helplessness to be the effect of her siezing them. She preferred that 
determination.)
Still and all, she gave Jill an open mouth. She wanted her to exhibit that 
wide-mouthed frog look. True to form, Jill looked as helpless and powerless 
as any mind-controlled slave could look!
Jill's body grew as inert as the Princess. Two statues, one agency, and two 
scared minds filled the room. And the cold. And the glass.
Shecat found words. They were entrenched in the short, sharp whispers she 
was only capable of. "Jill's.....gone the way of the Princess. She is going 
to control us...."
Billie Ghost got on with her agenda. Delicately, she hung in the air before 
her new puppet,
spreading her legs.
"Hungry? I say you are."
"Oh no. Trina, look!"
"I can't."
Billie wrapped her legs about Jill's emptied face. Jill's tongue came out of 
her mouth. Billie pushed her pussy into that tongue - a sigh and a shudder 
completely making Billie forget what she was about.....for a moment.
"Eat me, my love. You are mine. Your body is mine. Everything about 
you....."
Jill got on with it. Her hands came up to greet Billie Ghost's legs 
mechanically. Her hands felt her master's thighs, and her fingers began a 
massaging rhythm.
"She's...They're...."
"Don't fucking tell me....."
"No, look at them. We can't help Billie. We have to escape."
"HOW? She's telekinetically sealed the door. We're trapped, aren't we? We've 
got to resist her....with will power. It's the only thing we have left. Our 
own minds."
Despite her protests, Trina took a rollercoasting glance at the spectacle 
that Shecat couldn't, in truth, tear her gaze away from. There they were, as 
bad as Trina feared. To see Billie, her eyes like blind slits, her body 
levitated and in sexual congress with her flatmate.....It was insane. Could 
she use that insanity? Could she find some new part of her own being that 
could fight the impact of the Girl Ghost's superior will? Hopes like these 
seemed to be the only threads there were.
"Drink....meeeeeeeee.......eat, yes, nibble and.......ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, 
some more on.......Oh God............"
"We could make a break for the window....."
"Maybe.....maybe we should. You're right. Billie...we can't help Billie. 
Only those heroes.....They've succeeded before......"
The Paper Princess came unstuck, turning toward Shecat and Trina to comment, 
in her monotone...."You - will - be - going - nowhere - my - pets." The 
words came slowly, like
chipped, tumbling pebbles from a being turned to void. "You - will - await - 
the -fate - I have - in - store - for - you.- Observe. - You - will - become 
- as - mindless - as - Jill. - And - you - will - serve - 
me...........bereft - of - your - wills. - You - will - pleasure - 
me......."
"Princess! Can't you fight this? YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THIS!"
Billie Ghost extricated her form from the embrace of her slave. Jill's 
tongue hung from her mouth, and slowly crept back up to her lips. It was 
covered in Billie. It hung in the open door of her O-shaped mouth.
"You have my attention.....Shecat. Hah! What kind of name is that?"
That voice!
"You can't do that to us! Oh, please, I'm just begging you now...."
"Oh, my sweet arse, I love it when my lovelies beg me......for their 
minds.....You haven't a prayer, you realise"
Billie's voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. It sounded like 
Billie. And Billie's lips moved. Of course it was the Ghost. Girl Ghost 
owned the apparatus. She owned Billie by conquest.
And Paper Princess and Jill as well.
"Well? Go on, Shecat. Beg some more....."
"I won't. You....you're getting off on it....."
"Then it is time I made you my tool!"
"I'll resist you, you bitch. You won't control me, I'm telling you....."
"Of course I shall!"
The air about Shecat seemed to grow another shade colder. Shecat couldn't 
pull herself away from the confrontation with Billie Ghost. She felt the 
magnetism and gravity the agency had in abundance.
"Goths are ice-creamier, " Billie stated, the blanks of her eyes shining 
like evil white glass.
"Goths are.....so very fucking sexy. I now command you to stand on the spot 
and turn into my....zombie."
And Shecat did try to resist. She concentrated, clenching her teeth, 
thinking of daggers and swords and violence and storm. She dug her heels in, 
and countered the force enveloping her mind, attempting to tie it up like a 
package. She thought  as hard as she could, her fists tight and quivering. 
She fought the invasion, and was successful ....for the first moments. Then 
a numbness pinched her toes, travelling through them and into the balls of 
her feet. Shecat looked down to see her legs going stiff, a cold bleakness 
creeping up her arse, up her spine, shooting like a subterranian arrow up to 
its target, her head. It all happened so quickly. One minute, Shecat had a 
mind, the next she did not.
Her eyes turned to film.
Her body joined the state the others were in.
"Come to me."
Shecat, like a slow marionette, complied.
Trina watched this, unable to avoid the issue. She watched Shecat as she 
took her first step toward her puppet-master. The look in her eyes! Each 
footfall was defeat and victory. Her legs moved her over to the victor.
"Take off your shoes."
Shecat knelt mindlessly, undoing the detail of her bootlaces. She pulled off 
her docs, allowing each one to collapse with a dull plod to the floor.
"And kneel....where you belong.....my darling worshipper. Your will, it is 
mine. You will worship me forever, if I determine. You will....Why don't you 
start by sucking my feet?"
Shecat, already crumbled to her knees, put out her hands to receive her 
master's gift. One of Billie Ghost's feet came to rest in her hands, and she 
began to nibble her ankle. Soon, she was smearing the Ghost's feet with her 
tongue, chewing and kissing and caressing her empty heart away.
Trina did watch this. There was no escape.
"And now....you! "Trina". It's your turn to join your friends....."
"You can't hear me, Billie?"
"I can hear you.....but I am not Billie. Now, how shall we do this? I favour 
the contact of eyes...."
Trina was already there. A thin blue pulse of electricity streamed like a 
line of oscillating eels across the distance, trickling into her eyes....and 
Trina felt the shut down of her mind completely. It zapped into her pupils, 
going behind them. And the result as all before.
Billie Ghost clicked her fingers. Trina, her arms raised, her fingers 
spread, her mouth gaping, froze like inplacable sculpture.
And that was the four of them!
Curious though. Something not quite right, though nothing you could put your 
finger on.
"I congratulate the four of you, three of you as newcomers.....becoming 
theatrical sex-puppets in my ongoing....mmm, personal stageshow. 
Congratulations. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Princess, Jill, Shecat, Trina. You are 
thralls. Your bodies and your retarded minds.....just objet d'arts, simple 
exhibits.....that I exhibit solely to....ME!"
Billie Ghost raised her hand, her fingers splayed like spokes. Trina stood 
before her, the colour of her eyes the colour of her ineffectual will. 
Billie fed her two smallest fingers into Trina's mouth. Trina sucked hard 
and dynamically, her tongue enveloping her master's protruding members. 
Billie Ghost laughed lightly, felt her pussy run madly. She took her new 
play-thing's other hand, pressed it deep into what she acknowledged as her 
second mouth. Billie Ghost squirmed, going mad with the pleasure.
"Oh farkkkkk, that's....Who's got words for this stuff?"
After moments of writhing, Billie wanted to be kissed. Her fingers clicked, 
and in the spartan detail of Trina's mental landscape, the softly blowing 
zephyr of her will fell across it like cover. Trina's arms rolled slowly 
down to the side of her body. The commands she felt in her top story seemed 
to fill every recess of her mind.
"What I really want now....is a deep, carnal kiss. C'mere...."
Billie pulled Trina's face towards her. She planted her lips on Trina's, and 
they both exchanged tongues. Trina's arms rose, and she enveloped the body 
of her friend, kissing and hugging her, holding onto her like there was 
nothing else.
There was nothing else.
After a while, Billie Ghost let Trina go. She had what she wanted. She had 
physical residence, she had her harem of automatons. She gazed about at 
their inert forms. There was definitely a feeling of pride. The Ghost felt 
like the child with the most impressive toys. Four blank-eyed dollies. She 
imagined keeping them on a shelf, or in a cardboard box. What could stop 
her? She laughed under a smile, and clicked her fingers, thinking of the 
media image of the conductor, hair flying about, majestic determination 
etched on their faces, their baton pointing - ordering the music about! The 
sound echoed like a crash in the canyon of their heads and the four of them 
seemed to pause as the closest thing they had to thought took place in 
thought's old home. Billie Ghost had decided that they ought  to stand like 
mannequins. The four of them grouped together in a square, assuming this 
pose.
With the cool of their skin and the white torpor of their bodies, the effect 
they achieved was all too appropiate. Shecat looked particularly impressive. 
White arctic skin, ditto the eyes, black throwing the white out even 
further. Billie traced her fingers across Shecat's breasts.
Her nipples stood up like beautiful, small bullets.
"And....well, so, I have you. I HAVE you."
The Paper Princess made a convincing mannequin, too. Her blond hair went 
with the glassy eyes, the colourless skin.
"This is what you, in particular, deserve. How dare you set me uplike that! 
Unfortunate, really.....Now you are highly subseptible to me. In due course, 
I'll deal with the other Rivals.....WE'LL deal with them together. We're a 
team. My will, your bodies."
She thought it would be sexy if they spoke. "Yes - Master," they said in 
unison, two fat, wooden words.
"Okay. I think for the rest of the night....an orgy."

Morning was a romantic Spring promise of things to come.
Had you autonomy.
Warm air, yellow sunlight, brilliant blue, smoke-signal clouds. It's 
exciting edge took the chill off the five women. Billie stood in the 
sunlight, appreciating the difference. The other four lay on top of each 
other, a pile of rag dolls. (The Princess on the bottom, Trina thrown across 
the top.) Sun bathed their bodies in elements the distinct opposite of their 
previous eight  hours experience. The freeze seemed to recede a little as 
the new colours changed the room not unlike a reprogrammed hologram. Even 
Shecat and the Princess saw a slight thaw to them.
The smithereens of window-glass Billie Ghost had bonded into  a small 
paperweight so that she and her lovers could avoid its minor lacerations. 
She walked about the floor now herself. Something called hunger was making 
itself known in her belly.
"I shall have to feed you, shan't I? And this....pile of zombies. They're 
all keepers, aren't they? I'll say they are! Well, I'll just see what's in 
the cupboards and fridge....."
  As Billie went to look, Trina began a tremble that now escaped her 
attention. It seemed to
gently massage her, warming and restoring her. Her wide, catatonic eyes, 
though, didn't fill in with green. Instead, her telltale pupils rolled back 
into her head. Trina took the look Billie Ghost possessed - egg shell 
whites, an agency behind her eyes.
A new agency and presence.
Trina, ("Trina"), as naked as the day she was born, sat bolt upright. She 
looked about, beginning to climb slowly off the small pile of bodies. (Each 
of them had their eyes open wide, never blinking, never needing to.)
"Girl Ghost!" came Trina's voice, sparkling and pristine.
"What?" came the confused and alarmed response. The Ghost stood in the frame 
of the kitchen door. She looked like a Tarot Card.
"My name is Tatti Worlogod. You have been using my Serial Magic, have you 
not? You're name is, most often, the Girl Ghost, though you have something 
we'll call a civilian identity. Rochelle Sophia Purcell."
"How are you able to....invade my subject? Trina's mine. Tatti 
Worlogod....You should get the fuck out of here while you can......"
"Oh, please. It's my system of magic you use. You're in my medium. Have a 
care...."
"Even you can't...."
"Claim another's slave? Usually, that is true. But this one's a 
little....unusual. Special."
"How is Trina special? I controlled her like any of my 
possessions....Though....there was an odd buzz.....I remember now. Something 
strange....that I didn't investigate. Nothing that prevented me from....."
"It prevents you now!"
"Why are you picking on me? Yes, I've used the pan-dimensional property of 
the very tome itself....the....ohrr, fucking superb book you've written up, 
built up into...."
"You have misused my book. It's as simple as that. No good vs evil scenario. 
Just: I don't like the use you have put my magicks to. And now I'm going to 
deal with the situation!"
"But, damn it, that's not for you to....to....You autocratic fucking 
bastard! IT'S GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU HOW I HARNESS THE SECRET WORLD OF 
THE -"
"Speak not."
Billie Ghost's voice was dissolved. Her hand shot to her throat. It was a 
symbolic gesture.
"That's right, you cannot speak. Do you think I  care one whit for your 
.....indignity? YOUR indignity? What about Shecat, Jill and the Paper 
Princess? What about "Trina"..... special, nameless Trina?"
Nameless? What do you mean "nameless" ? That's what Tatti Worlogod imagined 
Girl Ghost coming back with.
"I mean.....nameless. Spirit without a title. What's the first aspect of 
Serial Magic, Girl Ghost? It is counting. From zero to one. I am zero, 
because I am `me', and that is my first perspective. I, myself, am ground 
zero. And so we come to one. One is one's name. It is the first footstep on 
a journey long or short. You've....got to have it. Without a name, your 
journey cannot begin. And if you begin such a journey .....through sheer 
force of will  or built up momentum....which you certainly achieved here, 
then someone such as myself can come and...."tear your playhouse down." You 
have used Serial Magic, by which I mean my book, rather a lot in the last 
year or so. You have fled the Rivals of Evil, imaginatively using a copy of 
Serial Magic itself as a safe haven...more than once. Ingenious, I grant 
you. But now....you are imbued....with me. My magicks, my sequences, my 
rules. And you have lost out on step number one....."
It didn't occur to Billie Ghost to run. It didn't occur to Billie Ghost to 
put up a fight. The Girl Ghost inside Billie's body felt a pull, something 
like a fish on a hook, and before she had another think, she was sitting in 
the White Room.....
On Earth, Billie was free.
"Gaaaarrrrrrd......Where the fucking hell am I....? My God, my head, 
my.....Ahhh. Trina! Christ, your....eyes. You....oh my God. Remember.....I 
can.....actually.....Oh MY GOD! And....and....You're not Trina. Wow, God, 
you're Tatti! Tatti Worlogod! I was reading Serial Magic when.....the Ghost 
got me. She used....I mean, she was hiding in.....You know all this! Christ, 
I remember, you know.....floating across the city. I can remember it being 
cold but not having to care about it....."
Tatti Trina let Billie babble. At least she sounded healthy. Considering the 
process, Billie could as easily have ended up deep in a traumatised 
shock-coma. It seemed she could remember the deeds Girl Ghost committed in 
control of her body. This meant the telekinesis, the sex.....
"Billie, I am happy to have restored you. Now I must restore the 
others.....and go."
"What have you done with Girl Ghost?"
"She's in number nineteen.....Limbo. I call it the White Room. And I'm 
afraid I may have to leave her there. Once you've been corrupted by 
something from the Seventh Level....well, you're fucked. She's never going 
to be the person she was. What does Shri Chinmoy say? Ah yes. "The past is 
dust.""
"What about me, Tatti? She inhabited my body last night and....Am I 
infected?"
Tatti Trina was quiet, because the answer wasn't a pure "no". "I'll be 
keeping an eye on you, Billie," she eventually said, "Sorry."
Tatti restored the others. They picked themselves up off the floor, the 
colour of their irises
natural again. They looked at each other, embarrassed, heads aching, 
remembering everything with the efficency of machines.
Paper Princess began to apologise, but Shecat, hastily putting on a black 
pullover of Jill's,   tried to put her mind at rest. "Look: It isn't 
Billie's fault, it isn't yours....It isn't even Tatti Worlogod for writing 
her book or the, what is it ?, Seventh Level for existing fuck knows 
where...."
"We....We all....."
"Princess. I know we did. I'm....pondering some of that stuff myself, 
well....right now."
"Who isn't....?" came Trina's voice.
"Our saviour has returned to her phantom-like realm. We get Trina in return, 
" Billie made known.
Trina and Jill made coffee and a basic rice dish. Soon, the four of them had 
the conversation that would last for seven hours.

  `Normal' wasn't normal for at least six weeks after the Night of the 
Billie Ghost. Gradually, though, people's inflamed sense of the everyday 
began to settle. Trina, aware of Tatti Worlogod's caution regarding 
`contamination', looked twice at every thing Billie did. What was she 
looking for? Something out of character , something that reminded her of 
Girl Ghost or -
Who knew?
Trina, for the time being, forgot about her quest for a new name.
It was her lack of a name that Tatti had been able utilise to put herself in 
the picture. And thank God she could.
Perhaps Trina would never rename herself.
"Trina." Yeah. Go with what you know......

(C) Louis, 2001

Anyone wishing to comment can reach me at soothdotcorn@hotmail.com. The 
characters above are available for the use of other authors, but are 
copyright yours truly. (And I'd appreciate hearing about it first.)















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