Partial Possession

Ah, spring. A time of renewal and birth. Spring rain, pouring life-giving rain onto the Earth below. Spring flowers, popping up out of the ground to begin another year of growth and beauty. And, as one denizen of one small suburban town was experiencing, spring cleaning, when all the clutter of the year is given away, thrown out, or at least shuffled up into the attic or down into the basement. Yes, rather than being out in the sun, this unfortunate person was toiling away, hefting boxes of junk up and down the stairs to the musty, dusty alcove they called their attic. Old decorations, books and knickknacks that were taking up too much space for how little they were used, furniture with replacements on the way, etc. In all the commotion and clutter, a few mistakes here and there were expected; if only that mistake didn't come in the form of a loud shattering noise that filled the attic as a box in a back corner tumbled to the ground.

Opening the small, cardboard box, this person finds only a shattered ceramic jar, the box otherwise seemingly empty except for the coat of dust that seems to burst outward as the box is opened. The person coughs, breathing in the dust, but not recognizing the jar whatsoever, they simply close the box and begin carrying it downstairs, their cleaning for the day reasonably done. Besides, all the physical labor and the air of the musty attic was starting to get to them. After all, what else could account for the sudden slight tightness in their chest, or the tingling in their arms and legs? Little did they know that, along with the dust, something else from that broken pot was settling into their body, feeling around in it, ready to take or relinquish control at a moments notice....

Who are they, anyway?