Outfox Stories: stories to read and AI adventures to play, no account needed
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Chapter by
FeverDreamer · 10 Apr 2026 -
The fortune teller offered to summon a spirit to possess me.
But I'm not in any real danger: It's only make-believe. -
I can’t stop thinking about the tent, the fortune teller, and the overwhelming euphoria of surrendering my body to the spirit world. Not really, of course: none of it’s real. It’s only make-believe. But the thrill is very real.
Just the memory makes me itch. Am I addicted? Is this an addiction? It must be. From my cubicle, I look at the clock. I don’t know why: Even when the work day ends, I’m only going home. It’s not Friday. It’s not time to return. Not time for her to speak the words and put me under. I have to wait, but the waiting is excruciating.
I turn back to my emails. Drivel. Nonsense, all of it. A life I wish I could leave behind. A life I wish I could surrender to someone else. I shiver at the thought. Someone else could take my hands and raise them over the keys, someone else’s fingers could type out pedestrian banalities in response to pedestrian complaints. But then, someone else wouldn’t do that. Not with these fingers. Not with this body.
What would they do? What could I do with this life, this face and this body, if I could only slough off my own timidity? When it happens, I feel like there is so much life inside me! Like I could do anything and it would be a joy! I want my body to leap out of my chair, tear my blouse and stand on my desk, breasts exposed to my dull-eyed coworkers and declare that I’m leaving and never coming back.
But I can’t. Because I’m me, and that wouldn’t be a “me” thing to do. So instead, I type in front of a screen, and think about Friday and how it feels to pretend that someone - someone with a greater appreciation for being alive than myself - has control of my body.
I can’t believe how insistent the cravings have become, or how quickly they took hold. Surely something this addictive could make a fortune and take over the world if the practice were more widespread, but in my own mind I am glad that it is not. She can only see me once a week, and I could not bear the thought of seeing her less because of other clients competing for her time.
It was only by chance that I met her: A full tent …
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Colm's party splits one silver a month. So when he overhears about a dungeon nobody's logged yet, he doesn't wait for the rest of his crew. He grabs the party healer, Agnes, burns their emergency teleport scroll, and goes in.
They come out with more gold than any of them have ever seen. Agnes comes out a little different.
She cooks better now. She's friendlier, too. Much friendlier. And there's something purple living in her that's been sealed in a box for a thousand years and is very, very bored.
Aldous was an alchemist once. And after relentless experiments he's now a colony of slugs who can wear anyone he likes, and he's decided Colm is the closest thing he has to a friend. He's promised to let his hosts keep control most of the time.
He's lying.
The clerk counted my pay out one coin at a time, slowly, like each one hurt her personally.
“Eleven copper,” she said.
“The posting said fifteen.”
“The farmer docked you four. For the hat.”
“The goat ate my hat.”
“He says it gave her a stomachache.”
The farmer told us she was a very special goat. He made us walk ten steps behind her the whole way so she wouldn't get nervous. She was not nervous. She ate my hat, and then, apparently, she charged me for it.
I scooped the coin…
They come out with more gold than any of them have ever seen. Agnes comes out a little different.
She cooks better now. She's friendlier, too. Much friendlier. And there's something purple living in her that's been sealed in a box for a thousand years and is very, very bored.
Aldous was an alchemist once. And after relentless experiments he's now a colony of slugs who can wear anyone he likes, and he's decided Colm is the closest thing he has to a friend. He's promised to let his hosts keep control most of the time.
He's lying.
The clerk counted my pay out one coin at a time, slowly, like each one hurt her personally.
“Eleven copper,” she said.
“The posting said fifteen.”
“The farmer docked you four. For the hat.”
“The goat ate my hat.”
“He says it gave her a stomachache.”
The farmer told us she was a very special goat. He made us walk ten steps behind her the whole way so she wouldn't get nervous. She was not nervous. She ate my hat, and then, apparently, she charged me for it.
I scooped the coin…