I've got to take control of her! I've got to -

Ah.

Don't know how long this will last, got to hurry. Pencil, paper, where's she keep her wretched--okay, this'll do, what can I write on? No scratch paper! Tabletop's too dark--white walls!

Help Im trapped in your body! Im a scientist my names George Zutis Im assoc prof of psych at CU Boulder my experiment went wrong take me to psych dept room 45 and h

The young woman blinked, looked mutely at the red crayon in her hand, at the scrawled message. She dropped the crayon, put her face near the wall, and touched the words she knew with a stubby index finger: "Help... a... my... of... at... me... to...," she said as she touched, pronouncing each word with difficulty. Then dull terror filled her as she remembered how Momma had yelled the last time there was writing on the wall. Whimpering, she rubbed at the letters with the palm of her hand, the tags on her I.D. bracelet jingling with each stroke.

See the "About the Editor" page. This is by no means my first non-Beatle story, but it's one of the few I have that I've actually finished....