Mind Games

By AJ Graham

Rafael has been called many things throughout time -- demon, fairy, monster -- but even he has no idea what he truly is. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s not human… and that he can influence the minds of those around him without even trying.

He hides in plain sight, making a living as a magician and stage hypnotist, allowing his audiences to assume that his feats of mind-reading are mere illusion. Most humans succumb easily to his powers of persuasion, but when his very presence robs people of free will, it’s hard to truly get close to anyone.

When he meets Carrie, a strong-willed and wounded woman uniquely resistant to his abilities, Rafael is intrigued. But Carrie fears his powers. She won’t easily open up to him, but he’s determined to get into her head.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Aug 13, 2022

Book preview

Mind Games

AJ Graham

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2022 AJ Graham

BIN: 010444-03393

Formats Available:

Adobe PDF, Epub

Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Mind Games

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

AJ Graham

Mind Games

AJ Graham

Rafael has been called many things throughout time -- demon, fairy, monster -- but even he has no idea what he truly is. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s not human… and he can influence the minds of those around him without even trying.

He hides in plain sight, making a living as a magician and stage hypnotist, allowing his audiences to assume that his feats of mind-reading are mere illusion. Most humans succumb easily to his powers of persuasion, but when his very presence robs people of free will, it’s hard to truly get close to anyone.

When he meets Carrie, a strong-willed and wounded woman uniquely resistant to his abilities, Rafael is intrigued. But Carrie fears his powers. She won’t easily open up to him, but he’s determined to get into her head.

Chapter One

Gravel and dead leaves crunched under the tires as the gray car crept along a narrow, unpaved road. It was mid-November, and many of the trees had already lost their leaves. The branches stood bare and skeletal against the pale, cloudy sky. The car rounded a turn, and the house loomed into view through the trees.

Carrie’s fingers tightened on the wheel. She swallowed hard, trying to banish the dryness in her throat. A small voice cried out inside her, Turn around. Go back.

She ignored it. She’d made up her mind. She was going to put those old demons to rest, once and for all. It was just an old house, for God’s sake. It couldn’t hurt her.

She hadn’t told her psychiatrist about her plans. She doubted he’d approve. After all, the hallucinations were under control, and the nightmares grew less and less frequent with each passing year. He would tell her that she should focus on the future, not the past.

Still, she knew she wouldn’t be able to truly leave the past behind her until she’d confronted those memories head-on.

She parked and got out of the car. A chilly breeze ruffled her hair, and goose bumps rose on her skin. Carrie shivered and hugged herself, wishing she’d worn something warmer than a T-shirt and a denim jacket. She took a deep breath, raised her eyes, and stared at the house.

The whitewashed walls had faded to a dull, weathered gray. The windows were dark. Some kid had spray-painted the words FUCK EVERYONE on the wall in bright green. Absurdly, that made her feel better. It made the house seem more real, less like something out of a nightmare. Even so, it took all her willpower to stand her ground. Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run… as if by running far and fast enough, she could escape the memories.

But she’d come to confront those very memories. Her nightmares all took place in this house. If she proved to herself that there were no monsters here, maybe this place would finally lose its power over her. Maybe she would finally have some peace.

Carrie squared her shoulders and walked to the front door. Her heart thumped. She wiped sweat-damp palms on her jacket, reached out, and hesitated. The front door was already open a crack. She’d thought -- hoped, maybe -- that the door would be barricaded and locked, that she wouldn’t be able to get inside. Old, abandoned houses were almost always locked. Maybe some kids had found this one and broken in for kicks. She’d probably find the floor littered with beer cans and cigarette butts inside.

She willed the tremor from her hand and grasped the tarnished brass knob. Rusty hinges squealed as she opened the door.

A living room lay beyond. She stepped through the doorway, pulse jumping in her throat. The rotted floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Carrie looked around. The faded, yellowish wallpaper had peeled in places, like diseased skin. The curtains hung in ragged shreds. An old couch sat beneath the window, its upholstery torn, stuffing and springs poking out. An overpowering smell of mold and decay hung in the air, and she pressed a hand over her nose and mouth.

Dim memories stirred in the depths of Carrie’s mind. Fear trickled like ice water down her spine, but she stepped forward, deeper into the house. She walked through another doorway, into a dark, musty kitchen. The smell was worse here. She took a small flashlight from her pocket and switched it on. The yellow beam swept over a curling linoleum floor. A fat, black spider scurried away from her feet. She swept the flashlight’s beam across the kitchen, illuminating old cupboards, half-open and empty. A dead mouse, dried out with age, lay in one open cabinet. She saw the gleam of a knife, gasped, and took a step back… then let out a shuddering breath. The knife was stuck upright in the tabletop, as if someone had slammed it point-down into the wood, but both knife and table were dull with dust. Cobwebs covered every surface. No one had been here in years.

She walked deeper, down a narrow hall. The floorboards creaked underfoot. The white walls were blotched with runny, yellow stains, as if wetness and filth had leaked through. She walked past a dark, smeared handprint on the wallpaper. It looked like a child’s handprint. She looked closer, sweeping her flashlight over it. The dark substance was blood, so old it was almost black. Her throat tightened.

She heard a faint sound, like a sigh, and her head jerked up. She stood motionless, listening. Silence. Carrie took a deep breath. Just the house settling.

She kept walking. Ahead, she saw the thing she’d dreaded most, the door which led into the basement. She wet her dry lips and reached out to touch the rough wood grain with her fingertips. She gave it a light push, and it glided open, eerily silent, revealing a set of cement steps leading down into darkness. She stood at the top of the stairs, shaking. The beam of her flashlight seemed suddenly feeble, a tiny light swallowed up by that thick darkness.

A memory flashed inside her head like a sudden, bright light, and she was nine years old again. Ropes chafed her wrists and ankles, and a man stared down at her, lank, brown hair hanging around a gaunt face. His mouth stretched wide in a terrible grin, baring his white teeth to the gums, and a wet, red tongue crept out to wet his lips, as if he were imagining what she would taste like.

Carrie shook her head, hard. That man was dead. She stared into the darkness, and a hot spark of anger leapt in her chest. I’m not afraid of you anymore, she said. Her voice sounded very loud in the silence. You weren’t a monster or a demon. Just a sad, sick, twisted man.

Is that so? whispered a deep, hoarse voice.

She spun around, breathing rapidly. But of course, there was no one there.

The voice chuckled, a thick, wet sound, like mud. If you’re not afraid of me anymore, why don’t you go downstairs?

A soft moan escaped her throat. She backed away from the dark doorway. You’re not real! Tears stung her eyes. Her harsh, panicked breathing echoed through the silence. You’re just in my head!

Low, cold laughter echoed through her mind. I’m down there in the darkness, the voice whispered. And I’m coming out. I’m coming to get you. I’ll drag you down into hell with me, and we’ll play together again, just like old times. We’ll have such fun, you and I.

The flashlight slipped from her fingers. She ran out of the house. She stumbled, fell, skinned her knee, leapt to her feet and ran to her car. She flung open the door, got in and started the engine. The voice in her mind was still laughing as she turned the car, half-blinded by tears, and drove away.

* * *

Alone in her apartment, later that night, she called her psychiatrist and scheduled an appointment.

Four o’clock, then? Okay. She hung up and sank to the couch with a sigh. How many times would the doctors have to adjust the dosage of her medication before her auditory hallucinations went away for good?

She’d thought she was cured. It had been over a year since she’d heard that voice. There were still nightmares, of course, but she could deal with those. When the nightmares invaded her waking mind, however, she started to wonder if she was destined to wind up in a padded room.

What if it wasn’t a hallucination? What if, somehow…?

Carrie shook her head. If she allowed herself to start believing the voice was real, she really would end up in a padded room. She had to keep a firm grip on reality. Dacy was long dead. She’d identified the body herself. Dead people could not talk. It was just her own brain playing tricks. She repeated these facts to herself as she stood and made her way into the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea and a hot bath would soothe her nerves.

Her cell phone’s ring-tone went off, and she gave a start. Carrie sighed and picked up the phone. Hello? Her voice emerged weak and hoarse, as if she had a bad cold.

Hi, Carrie.

Oh. Hey, Elena.

Are you okay? You don’t sound good.

I’m fine. Just tired. I had a long day. Of course, there was more to it, but right now, she was just too mentally and emotionally worn out to tell the truth. Besides, Elena wouldn’t understand. She’d say Carrie was crazy for visiting the house where she’d been kidnapped and tortured as a child. Maybe she’d be right. Carrie’s attempt to confront her fears certainly hadn’t done much good.

Did something happen at work? asked Elena.

Nothing out of the ordinary. The store was really busy all afternoon, and I got a few bitchy customers. I just need to relax. Thought I might take a bath and read for a while.

Shoot. Does that mean you don’t want to go out tonight?

She considered. I could use some fun. Maybe a night out would keep her mind off things. What did you have in mind? A movie?

No, I’ve got something better planned, said Elena. You’re not going to believe it. Rafael Samson is in Chicago tonight.

The name rang a faint bell. Maybe she had heard it on TV, or read it in a newspaper somewhere. Who’s Rafael Samson?

You’re serious? You haven’t heard of him? Have you been living under a log?

She laughed. I guess I have. He must be pretty good.

His show is supposed to be mind-blowing. My cousin went to the one in New York last year and she says you have to experience it to believe it.

"So what is he? Wait, I think I remember. He’s a magician, or some kind of illusionist, right?"

Not quite. He’s a telepath.

A telepath, Carrie repeated flatly. Are you serious?

Elena laughed. "I’m not that gullible. It’s just a show. But he’s supposed to be really convincing. And it’s kind of fun to let yourself believe, just a little, that it might be real. Plus, he’s hot. I’ve seen him on TV. So if nothing else, there’s the eye-candy factor."

Carrie chewed her lower lip. "I don’t know. To