[ CW ] A person 's body becomes under the control of a supernatural villain miles away from them , describe the transformation without writing either character 's thoughts , only the body 's actions and speech .

Bright sunlight streamed through the trees as Julius Jameson ambled down the sidewalk, making his rounds as he normally did. It was a pleasant mail route, especially the portion in the Valley Way development, as the sidewalks were straight and swept clean, the canopy overhead providing shade, and the elderly residents all amicable and jovial, generally. 
 
 Generally, that is, except for the seventh house on Julius's current sweep. THAT house belonged to the most elderly resident of the neighborhood, Mr Carlos Cranne. Cranne spent his better years working in a factory before the war, but was unable to work after returning due to unspecified injuries. Nothing apparent that prevented him from chasing people, even neighbors with small children, away from his ill-kept property. There, for decades, he resided, with few friends and fewer visitors. 
 
 Julius shuffled some of the post in his satchel, hitched it back up onto his shoulder, and ambled up to the first house on the street. His ankle began to itch as he approached the door and the mailbox mounted on the wall. Balancing on one foot, he began to scratch at the nagging sensation with his other, as he placed the mail for Ms Jenkins in the box. 
 
 Suddenly, the door swung wide, nearly knocking Julius over, as another resident of the neighborhood, Mrs Tompkin, strode out. `` Thanks for the tea, dear! Oh my, I did n't see you there, Julius! I nearly knocked your block off with the door!'' 
 
 `` No need to worry Mrs Tompkin, I'm perfectly fine!'' Julius called, as he bent over and began scratching more intensely at his ankles. A letter slipped out of his satchel as he knelt, and fluttered down to land on Tompkin's foot. `` Looks like you lost one, for... oh, for HIM, I see.'' She kneeled down to pick it up as Julius began raking his fingernails up his exposed calves. 
 
 `` Oh my, did the door hit your leg?'' Tompkin inquired. `` N-no, I'm just... really itchy for some reason. Here, let me take the letter.'' Mrs Tompkin gasped at the blood under the fingernails of Julius's proffered hand. `` Oh my God, are you ok, Julius?'' Julius stared blankly at his hand for a moment, then down to his leg. A singular gash ran from under his socks, up and around his calf, nearly to his kneecap. Shocked, Julius shoved the hand under his armpit and snatched the letter away with his other. `` I really must be going'', he mumbled, as he began backing down the path to the sidewalk. 
 
 Slowly at first, then faster, Julius moved back towards his mail truck, at the end of the block. Two squirts of hand sanitizer cleaned the blood from his hand, but there was still the problem of his leg. Gasping, Julius globbed more of the sanitizing gel onto the open wound, then wound some sterile gauze from his first aide kit all around his leg. 
 
 There, on the back of the truck, he sat, staring blankly at his wounded leg. He sat long enough for one of the residents on the other side of the street, Susan Ellison, to come out bedecked in a fluffy robe, phone in one hand, cup of coffee in the other. `` Hi there, you look like you could use a cup of joe'' she began, jovially. A painfully long pause commenced before Julius slowly, deeply inhaled, then spat out `` NOI'MFINETHANKYOUHEREISYOURMAILMA'AM'' as he reached into the satchel sitting behind him, snatched a handful of letters and fliers, and shoved them into her face, and spilling her coffee, all within seconds. 
 
 With an unintelligible grunt, Susan swatted the offending material away from her face before shouting `` WOAH, should I call your manager or something‽'' A cold, empty stare met her gaze, causing her shoulders to slump, and for her to shrink away, across the street, back to the safety of her abode. 
 
 There Julius sat for another dozen minutes, staring blankly at his leg, before reaching blindly back into his mail satchel, and withdrawing a single envelope, now slightly rumpled and flecked with a smattering of blood. Suddenly leaping to his feet, he fixed his gaze on a house, seven doors away. 
 
 With a menacing purpose in his stride, Julius made his way up the middle of the street, stopping in front of the Cranne abode. There, he looked down at the envelope in his hand, at the single word scrawled on it. *CRANNE*. Putting his injured foot forward, Julius closed the distance from street to door in mere moments. 
 
 The door reverberated, and the space behind it seemed to echo, as Julius's fist met it three solid times. Then, silence, for a full minute. With a wheeze and sudden loud gasp, as though he had n't been breathing, Julius began to roar. *'' CCRRRRRRRRA-'' * He stopped as the door suddenly swung inward, or would have had it not been suddenly halted by three chain locks. 
 
 `` What is it'' came the muted voice of the sole resident of the house. A statement, not a question. 
 
 `` Post... for... you...'' came the response from behind Julius's clenched teeth. Skin scraped from his hand as he jammed it into the narrow opening, forcing the letter at Cranne. There, both parties stood, on either side of the portal, for a few moments before the letter reached its recipient. Julius jerked his hand back, and the door slowly closed. He began to sway, slowly, rocking back on to his heels, before raising his injured hand to the wall to steady himself. 
 
 A full minute of silence passed before the sound of locks opening could be heard. Slowly, slowly, the door opened, revealing a dimly lit sitting parlor, and the elderly Carlos Cranne, supported by a walker. The sunlight glinted off of two rifles, resting on a wall mounted gun rack, well behind Cranne. 
 
 `` I suppose you want to come in to do this?'' Cranne's voice wavered only slightly, at the end. 
 
 `` NO'' came the forceful response, as Julius's hands flew from his hips, finding the throat of his prey.'' NOW... YOU... IT... ENDS...'' were the last earthly sounds that Carlos Cranne heard. 
 
 A limp body slumps to the floor, life extinguished. Moments later, another limp body slumps down in the doorway. Thousands of miles away, in a foreign land, a candle is snuffed out by wrinkled fingertips, and lines of chalk are slowly swept up.
