Steve watched in horror as his body laughed evilly and led his hypnotized family out the front door.
“Wait!” he croaked, running after them. A strange, impenetrable force field at the door stopped him dead in tracks. “What's happening? Why can't I go out? Don't leave me here like this! Give me back my life!”
Steve banged with tiny, withered, old lady hands uselessly against the invisible force preventing him from leaving.
But it was all to no avail. Steve could do nothing but passively watch as the evil old witch, now possessing his body, led the family to the car, fixed the flat tire, and then drove off into the darkness.
He had never felt so alone or abandoned until this moment.
“What am I going to do?” he wailed in a creaky, old voice.
Steve looked down again to examine himself. He was short, well under five feet tall now. He was dressed in a dusty, dirty black dress that hung down to his ankles and was badly ripped, tattered, and torn all along the hem. On his feet he had a pair of badly worn black-and-white socks and some scuffed up, antique looking black, flats with tarnished silver buckles. His hands were small, very pale, and wrinkled and withered heavily with age. He felt around his head and found his hair was a silvery white rat's nest of unkempt tangles. His bones and joints badly ached, and he discovered he now required the aid of the old woman's gnarled walking stick in moving about.
“I'm an old lady!” he sobbed.