Season Spirits
MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE Halloween Erotic-ahh Digest Vol. 05-05
Season Spirits
MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE www.midnightshowcase.com
Season Spirits Published by MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE PO Box 726 Lusk, WY 82225-0726 www.midnightshowcase.com YEAR OF THE CAT Copyright © 2005 by Alecia Monaco ETERNAL PASSIONS Copyright © 2005 by Roxanne Rhodes THE STRAW MAN Copyright © 2005 by Bonnie Dee HAUNTED PASSIONS Copyright © 2005 by Bridghid Parkinson Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISSN : #1555-5496
Credits Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter Editor: Nikita Gordyn Copyeditor: Regan Taylor Printed in the United States of America
Season Spirits
Alecia Monaco is a talented author who is just beginning to publish her work. Look for more stories from Alecia and stay up to date with her progress by checking her website… http://www.aleciamonaco.com
and her blog http://www.aleciamonaco.blogspot.com
Season Spirits
YEAR OF THE CAT By Alecia Monaco All Hallow’s Eve—The night when the veil between the living and the dead becomes as thin as sheared silk. The lone man walked steadily down Sycamore Lane, his black trench coat swirling behind him in the late October breeze. It was perfect, this night. Halloween, the one evening of the entire year when he could walk among mortals, undetected. A night made for threshold beings like him. A night to be savored. The trees were hung with their autumn splendor, a riot of colored leaves in hues from scarlet to gold and bronze. The very air carried the scent of apple cider. Yes, this was perfection, and he intended to enjoy it to the hilt. The sun had finished its descent, and he’d risen from the crypt where he passed the daylight hours in a sleep as deep as death. Soon children would scamper past in their costumes, the prerequisite clowns and ghosts mixed with this year’s action figure. None would run from him in fear. In fact, they might even ask him for some of the candy he was on his way to purchase. He rounded the corner, approaching a graveyard of undeterminable age, the headstones crumbling, the stone angels showing faces with worn off features. This was nothing like his daytime retreat, a modern cemetery with immaculately kept grounds. But he didn’t want to think about the dead, or the undead. Not now, when he could pass among the living with such ease, his vampiric appearance taken for a well-done costume. 1
Season Spirits He quickened his step, forcing his gaze away from the spiked black iron fence surrounding the decrepit boneyard. He spotted a bat out of the corner of his eye and moved to cross the street. “It’s time.” The voice came from somewhere behind him and just to the left. He stopped in his tracks. Couldn’t be… He turned to face the graveyard fence and watched the bat shapeshift into the familiar form of his maker, who sat like a gargoyle, leering at him with a fanged smile. “Silas.” He regarded the ancient strigoii morte with trepidation. “Always the bearer of glad tidings.” “You were expecting Yuletide greetings?” Silas removed a watch of burnished gold from his pocket and glanced at its face. “It is All Hallow’s Eve, after all.” The vampire heaved a sigh. “Say what you’ve come to say, and let me be on with my evening.” Silas let out a rusty, hacking chuckle. “Oh, you’ll be on with it.” He narrowed his golden eyes. “Before dawn, or your body will return to the dust from whence it came.” The vampire’s throat tightened. “Surely it hasn’t been…” He did quick mental calculations. “A hundred years?” Silas’ laugh grated on his ears. “But it has. Tonight is the night. You must drink the blood of a virgin to survive the next century.” A knot tightened inside the vampire’s chest. He hated this, despised it with a passion. “You know I never feed on the innocent. It’s the criminals, the outlaws, who sate my nightly bloodlust. I harm only those who seek to harm others.” Silas slipped the watch back inside the pocket of his tattered black coat. “Vincent, you’re a vampire, not an angel of justice. You must make this compromise to secure your own survival for the next century.” “But feeding on the life of an innocent virgin makes me no better than the reprobates who serve as my prey.” Silas took a conciliatory tone. “We’ve been having this discussion since you were a fledgling. It’s not as if you have to kill her. You only need drink enough to empower your blood again, not drain her to the point of death.” “But,” Vincent said, “what if I can’t stop myself? What if the taste of virgin blood pulls me into such a deep thrall that I…” He turned his 2
Season Spirits face from his maker. “I think of what became of that young maiden in Pompeii and…” “Such a thing won’t happen again,” Silas interrupted. “You learned the power of virgin blood, the sway it holds over you. You know your weakness and won’t bring harm to an innocent just to glut yourself on her succulent taste.” “I pray you’re right.” Vincent heaved a deep sigh. “I am right. The elders of the old coven are watching, and you know yourself it would be…unwise to make such a mistake again.” Vincent raised his eyebrows. “The punishment would be?” “Final.” Silas slipped effortlessly down from the fence, landing with both feet on the damp ground. He craned to look up at Vincent. “Perhaps that’s why the elders decided to issue something of a challenge.” “Dare I ask?” Vincent peered down into his maker’s wizened face. “The virgin chosen for you this Hallow’s Eve is no ordinary maiden.” He paused. “She’s otherkin.” The term was familiar to Vincent. He braced himself. “What race?” He pictured a temperamental sprite with gossamer wings, a she-wolf howling at the moon. “Bastet.” Silas ambled down the lane, and Vincent followed, slowing his steps to match the shorter stride of his Adra. “Catkin, a child of Bast.” Vincent drew a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and considered this. Silas continued. “But there’s more. She’s unawakened.” “I don’t understand.” Silas croaked out a grating laugh. “You, my progeny, must awaken her before you feed from her.” Surely a task he could handle. “How does one awaken a child of Bast? By bringing her a bouquet of catnip?” Silas bared his fangs in a hideous grin. “There’s only one way to awaken a female Bastet.” He stopped, his yellow eyes fixing on Vincent in the darkness. “Through making love.” **** Anya Katz loved Halloween. It was the one night when she could be anything she damn well wanted to be. And what she wanted to be at the moment was a successful hostess. She placed a platter of Goblin’s Eyes down on her makeshift buffet table, along with other spooky themed treats. She’d been planning this party for weeks, as she did every year. Anya’s annual Halloween bash 3
Season Spirits had become a tradition among her coworkers at the Museum of Natural History, but this year she needed to raise the bar for all future Monster Mashes. Satisfied with the arrangement of food, party plates and napkins boasting a haunted house print, and the giant jack-o’-lantern she’d carefully carved for her centerpiece, she turned on her heel to return to her kitchen. She paused in front of a gold-framed mirror, checking her costume. She raised her hand to adjust the velvety black cat ears atop her head, smoothing her dark auburn hair in the process. Her feline-inspired makeup did look outstanding. She might not be ready to join the chorus of an Andrew Lloyd Webber stage production, but the effect was good, despite the vintage cat-eye glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. At least the glasses were fashionable, in a funky offbeat sort of way. Better than the coke bottles she’d worn as a kid. She returned to the kitchen and took a container of punch from her fridge. The punch was her masterpiece, and she poured it into her grandmother’s crystal punchbowl, occupying the place of honor at the end of her buffet table. She admired the deep crimson brew before helping herself to a cup. The cranberry, seltzer, and raspberry liqueur concoction made her taste buds sing. Vampire’s Blood—what could be more perfect for Halloween? Having a date for my own party, for starters. The punch turned bitter in her mouth, thoughts of her recent breakup flashing through her mind. Greg, the paranoid, overbearing jerk, Chief of Security at the museum, who watched her like a hawk, doing everything short of stalking her. No wonder she’d ended the relationship with her virginity still in tact. Not that she’d wanted to lose it to Greg. He was about as close to her fantasy man as New York was to California; but she’d begun to wonder if holding out for the fantasy was a mistake. The dark brooding mystery man of her heat-fueled dreams hadn’t shown up with a plan to awaken her passions. What made her think he’d show up at all? With a little sigh of resignation, she slipped the ‘Rocky Horror’ soundtrack into her CD player. Hearing her doorbell ring, she stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from her black spandex cat suit, pasting on a smile as she made her way to the door to greet her first guests. 4
Season Spirits **** “It’s all been arranged,” Silas explained as they approached a cozy refurbished bungalow at the end of the street. “The young lady is having a party to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve. She’ll merely think you came with another guest.” “What about a costume?” Vincent took in the cheerful Nile green curtains in the windows, and the flowerbeds planted around the house. The entire property had the energy of a beloved home. “You’re wearing it.” Silas halted as they reached the front steps. “Need I remind you of your…distinctive appearance?” Vincent was all too well aware of his unearthly glow, his pale skin, the entire dowry of vampiric traits he possessed. “I’m uneasy about this, Silas.” It’d been so long since he’d desired a woman. He could still function as a man, even feed on the energy created by sexual union. But his lust for blood had long ago surpassed his desire for female flesh. The task of awakening this virginal Bastet daunted him as nothing else had in his centuries of immortal life. If he had no desire for her… “Don’t,” Silas said, obviously reading his thoughts. “May I remind you that this form of a thirty year old man in his prime you so enjoy, will be the dust of a five hundred year old corpse by sunrise if you fail?” Vincent winced. “But you won’t fail. It’s not your powers of seduction in question. No, those are powerful beyond measure, as is your gift of spellbinding. It’s the predatory instinct lacking in you, the drive to deflower this young kitten and draw on her blood.” Vincent feared his inner predator, knowing it could cost an innocent her life, knowing that no passion equaled that of bloodlust, and nothing tempted him quite like virgin blood. But he couldn’t fail. He couldn’t return to dust, this immortality ended over his inability to push himself back from the vampiric table. “I won’t fail, beloved maker.” He gave Silas a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll continue this journey through the centuries, no matter what it costs me.” Climbing the steps, he heard the sounds of music and voices inside, the scent of blood and warm, living humans drifting out to tantalize him. With a final glance at Silas over his shoulder, he tried the door. Finding it unlocked, he let himself inside. **** Anya drank down the contents of another cup of Vampire’s Blood, jiggling her knee in time with the music. She’d never imagined it possible to be bored at her own party, or to feel completely alone in a 5
Season Spirits room full of people. Everyone had arrived in pairs, rearranging her living room furniture to make room for dancing. And dance they had, while she refilled food platters, changed CDs, and bustled around—thankful that no one could read her heart and see the aching loneliness concealed within. The doorbell rang, and before she could rise to her feet, it rang again. She shouted a pointless “Coming!” over the din of music, nearly tripping over a couple locked in a heated clinch near the door. Rolling her eyes over Romeo and Juliet, Anya threw open her front door. To her horror, Greg stood on the other side. “Anya!” Tammy from the butterfly garden shrieked, her blond Marilyn Monroe wig catching the light. “Tammy.” Anya forced the corners of her mouth to turn up. “I’m so glad you came.” She stepped aside, pointedly ignoring Greg. “Please, come in. I have refreshments…” Greg interrupted her, grabbing her arm in a grip that hurt. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He lowered his voice, the heat of his breath burning her face as he forced her closer to him. Anya glared at Tammy’s retreating backside and white Marilyn dress. “Why do you keep avoiding me?” “Because we’re over,” Anya said through her teeth. “Let go of me.” His hand closed around her arm like a vice. “Now.” She tried to shake herself loose, managing to break away from him but losing her glasses in the process. Muttering a vile curse, Greg stomped away to catch up with his ostensible date. Anya lowered herself to the floor, fumbling for her glasses. Through the haze of her uncorrected myopia, she spotted them under the coat rack by the front door. She stood up and polished them with the hem of her sleeve before sliding them back into place. Her vision instantly returned to normal. Much better. Her gaze drifted to the other side of the room, and locked with the most gorgeous pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Blue eyes. Watching her. Her breath caught in her throat. The creature leaning against the wall on the opposite side of her living room was easily the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Tall—easily over six feet—broad shoulders, a body of obvious perfection beneath the black pants and black silk shirt he wore. 6
Season Spirits She swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes from his. Her heart sped up, blood rushing through her veins like a river about to burst a dam. Her dark fantasy had arrived, and he was walking toward her, getting closer with every step. **** Vincent studied every inch of the girl whose blood would renew his life. But this was no girl. This was a woman, in full-bodied lush glory. He raked his tongue across his fangs, feeling them sharpen with lust. Other parts of his body—long unaccustomed to increased blood supply—stirred to life as his gaze flicked over the luscious breasts of the woman he was to awaken and seduce. She had hair the color of dark copper, eyes the color of emeralds, and skin that made him want to taste—and not just to obtain her blood. No, he was after another kind of pleasure altogether with her. He’d want her even if his immortal life didn’t depend on it. Before he could reach the spot where she stood, Anya was accosted by the obnoxious lout that had grabbed her roughly a few minutes earlier. Vincent stood back, summoning all his of powers… The poor fellow’s nose began to stream blood at an alarming rate. Vincent permitted himself a grin of satisfaction as the poor bastard’s date ran to his side in alarm, blood splattering the front of her white screen siren’s dress. The two of them looked like a pair of victims from one of the horror movies he enjoyed watching sometimes. He watched with pleasure as the lout and his date left. Now to get rid of everyone else…He used the full measure of his psychic gifts to clear the room. Soon, he’d have his kitten alone, and awakening her to pleasure would be the most enjoyable thing he’d done in quite some time. **** The party died a premature death. Anya sank into the nearest chair with a heart like lead. Despite her meticulous planning and good intentions, her Halloween bash was far from a smash. It was dead as the proverbial doornail. Except for a couple of stragglers sharing a long good night on the front steps, the place had cleared out completely in the span of fifteen minutes. Alone again…naturally. Anya huffed out a breath and went to the kitchen for a trash bag. She shuffled back to the living room, might as well start cleaning up the post-party shrapnel. Happy frickin’ Halloween. Then she saw him. Him. 7
Season Spirits Turns out she wasn’t alone, after all. He stood in the exact spot where she’d first seen him, propped against the wall, staring at her with eyes that made every glance feel like a caress. She stood, clutching the white plastic trash bag like a lifeline as he sauntered across the room to her. Once again, her heart went into double time. He stopped a few inches from her, close enough for her to look up into his eyes, indescribably blue with swirls of luminescent light of a hue and brilliance to put the Aurora Borealis to shame. His mouth curled up on one side, calling her attention to the suckable fullness of his bottom lip. One of them had to say something, break this mind numbing tension. Anya’s mouth opened before she had time to think. “I see you stuck around to see the last rites. I was just about to call an embalmer.” He laughed, a low masculine sound that did things to her body. “It’s my good fortune.” “Why’s that?” “Their loss is my gain.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I finally have you to myself.” She exhaled a shuddery breath. The touch of his lips on her hand carried an erotic charge far exceeding the gesture itself. She instantly imagined those lips on hers, and going lower, brushing every region of her touch-starved body. Common sense dashed over her like a bucket of ice water. She was alone with a total stranger on Halloween night. It called for a dose of caution. She eased her hand from his, every nerve ending singing to life as her skin slid against his. “Do I know you?” It seemed like a good place to start. “I want you to know me.” His gaze raked her body. “My name is Vincent.” She narrowed her eyes. Ok, so he had the face of a Greek god and the body to match, and generated enough chemistry to blow up a nuclear power plant. The entire thing was still too unusual for her to trust. “Vincent what?” “Vincent St. Angelo.” He smiled, revealing the most fabulous set of cosmetic fangs she’d ever seen. Anya barely stifled a gasp. “Well, Vincent St. Angelo, I do know one thing about you.” 8
Season Spirits “What’s that?” He moved in closer, close enough for her to feel his heat. “You must know one hell of a special effects artist. Those are the best cosmetic fangs I’ve ever seen.” Before he could respond, a crackle buzzed through the room, shutting off the electricity and plunging them into total darkness. **** Well played. The lights had gone out at precisely the right moment, ending Anya’s line of questioning. Vincent congratulated himself. He’d shut down the electricity without so much as batting an eye. Nice trick, that. He’d have to thank Silas for teaching it to him. “Oh, God. This is too craptastic for belief.” Anya groaned. “Here I am with my horrendous night vision, stuck in a blackout.” “I thought cats could see in the dark.” Vincent smiled to himself. She had no inkling of her true nature, nor his, for that matter. “Hardy har har. The cat suit is only skin deep.” And what fine skin it is. Skin he hoped to taste and touch, the sooner the better. Of course, the darkness presented no problem to him. With his vampiric vision, he could see as well in the dark as he could in the light, a fortunate trait for someone with a nocturnal existence. A few orange and black pillar candles rested on a silver tray on the coffee table just a few feet away. Perfect. “Why don’t we light the candles I saw earlier on your coffee table?” He was careful to phrase this in a way that hid his night vision. “Great idea.” She took a few fumbling steps toward the kitchen. “I know exactly where my matches are.” “Never mind that, I have it.” “Good. I’m going to call the power company. Thankfully, I have them on speed dial.” She managed to locate the wall-mounted phone just outside the kitchen entrance. “I’m Anya, by the way.” “Anya.” He rolled the name on his tongue, imbibing its sweetness. “It’s my pleasure.” She picked up the phone and began dialing. Certain that her back was to him, he lit each candle in turn with a flick of his finger, no matches required. The pleasure would be his, and hers, as well. **** 9
Season Spirits “Going down stairs in the dark really puts me on edge.” Anya clung to the wall with one hand and to his arm with the other. With his free hand, Vincent held a candle, watching its flame throw shadows against the unfinished walls of her basement. “I would’ve been happy to check the fuse box for you.” After all, he did have a place of his own, a small out of the way night side sanctuary. He was no stranger to fuse boxes. They reached the other side of her basement, where she quickly located the fuse box. He held up the candle to illuminate it for her. “Nothing here.” She closed the box with a metallic clank and a sigh of disgust. “Everything looks fine.” “The power company said they’d be here as soon as possible,” he reminded her. “They’re swamped tonight, eighteen thousand kinds of pranks going on.” She took his arm again and steered him toward the stairs. She put her foot on the first step and lost her balance, landing squarely against his chest. He looped his free arm around her to steady her. Her body was warm against his, her heart beating wildly. He felt his cock stirring. The scent of her blood tantalized him. The scent of her as a woman tantalized him more. Her backside pressed against his hardness, making him want to take her then and there on the basement stairs, no preliminaries, no feeding, just man to woman, him inside of her. He inched his face closer to her neck, his hand skimming its way down her abdomen. To taste her…to be inside her would be the heaven his immortality had failed to grant him. With a sharp intake of breath, she stepped out of his grasp and away from him. She pushed her glasses into place with a hand that shook. “We should go back upstairs. In case…” she cleared her throat, “in case the power company shows up sooner than expected.” She climbed the stairs on her own. He knew she’d felt everything he did when they touched. He couldn’t let it end now, not when they were so close to discovering ecstasy. “I’ll stay with you until they arrive, if you’d like.” They crossed the threshold into her living room. “No, that…that’s all right.” She sat down on the overstuffed sofa behind the coffee table. The candles glowed around her face. “Surely you have something better to do.” 10
Season Spirits “If you’d rather be alone…” He didn’t want to use his powers to spellbind her. He wanted her to give herself to him willingly, no psychic persuasion involved. “Alone? In the dark? On Halloween night?” She shook her head, rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” She gave him a wry smile. “I guess you’ve noticed I’m shy and fluster easily.” “I find you perfectly charming in every possible way.” He joined her on the sofa, a careful distance away. “That would make you a minority of one.” She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, avoiding his gaze. “My ex certainly didn’t think so.” “Ex? Would that be the jackass who grabbed you at the door earlier?” She laughed without mirth. “That would be him, the one and only Greg.” The thought that this Greg person had dared to touch Anya made Vincent’s blood boil. “While I can certainly understand his inability to keep his hands off you…” “Oh, no,” she interrupted. “It wasn’t like that at all. We…” She squared her shoulders and sat back against the sofa. “We never slept with each other.” “That’s good. He’s unworthy of you.” “I guess I haven’t had the best luck with men. How else would I get to be twenty-five and still a virgin?” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, obviously trying to discern his reaction. She wouldn’t find it in his face. No, another body part had reacted, turning hard as granite. He wanted her as he hadn’t wanted any other woman on his immortal journey. But he’d only take her if she came to him out of trust and desire. He’d rather turn to dust at dawn than to use her against her true will. **** Anya wanted him. She’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted him. She wanted to be naked beneath him, to feel him inside her, to give herself to him in any way he wished.
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Season Spirits Wetness pooled between her legs. She was slick and ready for him, and they hadn’t so much as kissed. She could only imagine what would happen if he… “Do you want to be a virgin?” She saw the quick rise and fall of his chest. She shrugged and answered truthfully. “No man has ever wanted me enough to win my heart.” He moved closer to her, taking both of her hands in his. “Would you allow me to try?” Before she could answer, his lips were against hers. The warm pressure ignited her senses and she gasped, giving him entry to her mouth. His tongue moved against hers, circling it. His hands found her breasts, cupping them through the tight spandex of her catsuit. She unbuttoned his silk shirt and pushed it open, letting her hands roam his chest. Without asking, he stopped and picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom and placing her on the bed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, he lit the row of candles she kept on her bedside table. A subtle glow filled the room. “I want you enough,” he said, joining her on the bed. “I want you more than you can imagine.” He nudged her legs apart and knelt between them, then grasped her wrists and positioned them over her head. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She wondered where he’d touch her next, how he’d touch her. Her answer came when his hands began a slow descent down to her shoulders. “Don’t think,” he said, the heat of his hands scorching through the fabric of her costume. “Just feel.” She shifted her awareness from her mind to her body, allowing the sensations evoked by his hands guide her. When they glided down to her breasts, she let out a cry of pleasure. He cupped her breasts, letting their weight rest against his palms. She could feel her nipples tighten, aching against the fabric, straining for his touch. A flash of lust filled his eyes as he watched the sensitive peaks harden. Without a word, he stroked his thumb over them, heightening their sensitivity ten-fold.
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Season Spirits Suddenly he took his hands from her breasts, leaving her to whimper in protest. He bent down and silenced her with his lips against hers, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth, his fangs grazing it. Those fangs, Anya thought, could bring exquisite pleasure or pain. He licked her bottom lip, letting his mouth travel down the side of her face, trailing kisses until he reached her neck. She twined her fingers through his ebony hair, reveling in its silky texture. His tongue slid down the column of her throat, coming to rest on her pulse. He nipped it with his teeth, abrading it lightly with his fangs. She pushed her hips against his, demanding more…more pleasure, more of him, all of him. He rose up slightly, pulling her up with him. With one hand, he found the zipper in the back of her suit. In a single motion, he pulled it down. “I need to see you.” He slipped his hands inside the unfastened back of her suit, stroking the length of her back. “Taste you…” He brought his hands around front, holding her breasts. “Feel you.” She moaned, words failing her. He peeled the cat suit down, leaving her bare from the waist up. He rose to his knees, taking her with him. She had a flare of self-consciousness. She’d never been nude in front of a man before. Her heart banged against her ribs so hard, she was sure he could see it. But he gave no sign of it as he pulled her arms up over her head, causing her breasts with their swollen nipples to thrust outward. “Perfect.” He lifted his gaze from her breasts to meet her eyes. “Do you wish to continue?” “Yes,” she breathed. She couldn’t stop now if she wanted to. “I want this.” She lowered her arms. Something unreadable looked back at her from the depths of his eyes. She touched his face, tentatively at first, then drawing him closer. “I need you.” He didn’t answer her with words. Instead, he used his mouth to kiss down the length of her neck again, stopping to run his tongue across her collar bone, then lowered her back onto the bed. Holding himself above her on his elbows, he focused on her breasts, laving one with his tongue, kneading the other with his hand. She threw her head back on the pillow, eyes shut, lost in sensation. Then he changed sides, his mouth on the other breast. When he took her nipple in his mouth, liquid heat seeped down her legs. 13
Season Spirits He sucked her nipple, scraping it with his teeth, his fangs, torturing it until it pulsed. Then he took it completely into his mouth and drew on it, draining it. The muscles of her core tightened and relaxed with every motion of his mouth, as if a current ran between her nipple and the throbbing channel between her legs. He released her nipple, leaving it wet. The cool air in the room hit it, igniting a frenzy of nerve endings. But he’d already moved down, licking his way down to her stomach, pulling her suit down just ahead of his lips and tongue, he continued past her belly button, making his way to her hips. She kicked off her high-heeled slides and raised her backside from the bed, letting him undress her completely. All modesty had faded. She had no room for embarrassment, not when the flame of his touch had found its way between her legs. He stroked her inner thighs, going up slowly and back down again. She moaned, lifting her hips, silently pleading for him to touch her where she was slick and hot. He pressed her hips down on the bed with his hands and lowered himself between her legs. He kissed her outer lips, the opening between the folds, without using his tongue. She arched toward him, knotting her fingers in his hair, opening her legs wider. When his tongue finally touched the hood of her clitoris, she let out a cry. He circled her clitoral hood with his tongue, stopping to brush it with his lips, kissing it chastely. She took her hand from his hair and moved it toward her clitoris, but he caught her by the wrist and stopped her. “Let me.” He blew on her clit, making it pound with blood. “I want to make you come.” Her hand fell to the bed, limp as a rag doll. Taking his hand from her hip, he touched her clitoral hood to pull it back, exposing more of the throbbing bud. The pleasure was too intense. She thought she might black out from it. Then his tongue flicked across her clit, and rational thought became a thing of the past. He stoked it with his tongue, up and down, up and down, circled it. With both hands, he spread her outer lips, exposing her clit completely. He continued to circle it, then moved to lick a spot on the underside that made her legs quiver with each flick of his tongue. 14
Season Spirits She couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but thrash beneath him. Pressure built inside her, crashing like waves, threatening to explode. He slipped his tongue inside her wet channel, lapping her juices, sucking her like a dripping piece of succulent fruit. Her hands sought her breasts, her nipples. She tugged them, rolled them between her fingers. He placed her legs over his shoulders, and made love to her with his mouth, kissing her wet pussy the way he’d kissed her lips. The throbbing between her legs intensified. Without warning, time stood still, then a release unlike anything she’d ever known took her, making her grind against his mouth, spasms of pleasure rocking her even as he continued licking and sucking her clit. Her orgasm tapered, leaving a series of aftershocks. He kissed her inner thighs and arranged himself on top of her. “I need you inside me.” She wrapped her legs around his, feeling his erection through his pants. “Now.” She reached down between their bodies and found the button and zipper that fastened his pants. Working quickly, she had them undone and down in a few seconds. Vincent removed the rest of his clothes quickly. She could feel his hardness, the entire length of his cock brushing against her still pulsing clitoris. He moved against her, letting his erection glide against her wetness. She pulled his head down to hers, licking his lips until he opened his mouth, his tongue meeting hers, twisting against each other even as the tip of his penis stroked her entrance. “Inside me,” she panted. “Can’t wait any longer.” He moved back, no longer on top of her, and knelt between her knees again. This time, he bent her knees as deeply as they could go without pain, exposing her to him. She stared at his cock, the length and thickness of it, the natural lubrication coating the tip. A shiver of mingled anticipation and fear rolled through her. Could she take something so large inside her? Would it fit? He took his erection in one hand, and placed it at her entrance. Slowly, he moved the head inside of her. She felt the stretch and pull, the first taste of having him inside her. Emotion welled up inside her. She was afraid she’d burst into tears. “Are you all right?” He held her legs back with his hands. “Am I causing you pain?” 15
Season Spirits “No, no pain,” she gasped, blinking rapidly. “More.” He eased another inch of his cock inside her. The feeling was indescribable. She lifted her hips to meet him. Inch by inch, he pushed his way into her tightness, until he hit a barrier. He stopped, concern etched across his face. “I can’t bear to hurt you, Anya.” He stroked her inner thighs. “You won’t,” she assured him. “Just push through. I’m ready.” He clutched her hips, and raising her to meet him, entered her to the hilt. There was a momentary sting, a twinge of pain, but nothing more. He held completely still, his chest heaving for breath as he allowed her body to adjust to him. She signaled her readiness with a thrust of her hips, and he followed her lead, his own hips moving back, withdrawing his penis from her. She pushed forward, taking it back inside her, until he came back down on top of her, balancing above her on his elbows. “I want to be inside you in every possible way.” At this, she opened her lips to him, taking his tongue into her mouth. His thrusts continued, his hardness moving in and out of her with agonizing slowness, while his tongue mirrored every motion of his hips. She clenched his cock with her inner walls, tightening and releasing. Her nails, suddenly sharper, scraped his back and found his rear end. She pulled him against her pelvis, ordering him to go deeper. His thrusts quickened, pounding into her. Her nails sank into his backside, and he ground against her clitoris in response. She let out an unearthly cry when she came, a sound like a caterwaul. The spasms of her pussy around his cock pushed him to his own release. He came, filling her with his essence, bathing her with it deep inside. Her legs shook, but she kept them wrapped around him, not wanting him to withdraw, wanting to keep him inside her as long as she could. But something was happening to her. A desire as sharp as hunger, as painful as frigid cold seized her. She needed more of him, to come again and again, until she passed out from exhaustion. She dug her nails into his back and let out a breath that sounded more like a hiss. He raised his head up to look at her face. “Anya?” She answered him with a throaty growl. **** Vincent looked down at Anya. He’d just made love to a beautiful virgin, an innocent. He was the first man she’d ever had inside her, the 16
Season Spirits first man to bring her to orgasm, the first man to taste the sweetness between her legs. And now, before his eyes, her face had changed. Her hair fanned out against the pillow in wild snarls. Her emerald eyes had changed, the dilated pupils narrowing until they became the eyes of a cat. She opened her mouth to let out another growl, and he saw two pointed teeth, not fangs like his, but the razor sharp incisors of a predatory feline. He didn’t have to look at her hands to know her nails had turned to claws. The scratches she’d left on his back stung in testimony to their sharpness. He’d done it. He’d awakened her. And now she was feral, clawing for more. His cock grew hard again almost instantly. She reached down and grasped it, pushing it inside her and letting out a purr of satisfaction. Without thinking, he shoved his cock into her as deeply as he could and then pulled out. When her claws dragged down his back, he thrust back into her. She bit down on his shoulder, pumping her hips against him, milking his cock. If they didn’t slow down, he’d come and it would all be over before he could satisfy her. He didn’t want to think of what came next, of biting and feeding from her. For the first time in five hundred years, he felt more like a man than a vampire, and he wanted to make that feeling last. His relief when she stopped was short lived. She moved away from him, and to his shock, turned over on her stomach. “Take me this way,” she growled. “From behind.” He wanted to refuse, to return his mouth to her clit and make her come again, but when she positioned herself on all fours and looked at him over her shoulder, the word no left his vocabulary. He knelt behind her and grabbed her hips. With one thrust, he buried himself inside her, until his sacs hit her clit. She moved her hips back, grinding against him. He moaned and withdrew his cock. Helpless, he pumped into her with a force that made the bed groan beneath them. She reached between her legs and formed a circle with her fingers, stroking his shaft with every outstroke. He clutched her pelvis with one hand and found her clit with the other, rubbing it furiously. 17
Season Spirits She spread her legs further, lowered the upper half of her body down to the bed, pushing her hips higher. He deepened his thrusts, using both hands on her clitoris, and holding her hips tightly against his when he finally came deep inside her. She came when he did, her pussy convulsing around him, her wetness mixing with his. He ran his hands down her back. She glistened with sweat. He could feel the scratches on his own back healing already. Panting, she withdrew from him and turned over to face him. Her eyes were back to normal, as were her teeth. A glance at her hands revealed human fingernails. “What just happened to me?” She looked up at him, wild eyed. “It’s like I became…” “A cat?” He lay down next to her, taking her in his arms. If his undead existence ended by morning, he would accept it as the price he paid for this night. He’d rather face death than feed from Anya without telling her everything first. She’d given herself to him as no other woman ever had. He owed her the truth. “Yes, a cat. It’s like I was…” She curled up against him, taking his heart into her keeping forever with that simple gesture. He tightened his hold on her. “It’s like I was feral or something,” she concluded. “I think you discovered your true nature. Have you ever heard the term ‘Bastet’?” “Like the Egyptian cat goddess Bast?” He nodded. “Bastets have the bodies of humans, but the souls of cats. They’re the children of the goddess Bast.” She was quiet for a moment, considering. “That could explain why I love Egyptology so much. You don’t know this, but I work in the Egyptology department of a museum downtown.” She was about to say more when the lights suddenly came on again. She looked at Vincent, and her eyes swam with fear. He realized with a sickening shock what the sudden return of light revealed. His fangs had grown with their passion, becoming two massive prongs, ready to impale human flesh. The woman he’d fallen in love with saw him as he really was, an undead monster, the ruse of a Halloween costume with cosmetic fangs crumbling to dust the way his corpse would at dawn. **** 18
Season Spirits Anya sprang from the bed, tearing the sheet off with her. She wrapped it around her, hiding her body from him. His heart contracted with pain. The body she’d shared with him, allowed him to explore and delight in, she now kept it from his eyes, as if he were an intruder out to harm her. Which is exactly what he hadn’t meant to do. “Who are you?” She backed away, eyes narrowed, shoulders tensed. Her mouth twisted into a grimace of revulsion. “What are you?” “I’m Vincent St. Angelo. I was born in Italy.” He drew a deep breath. “And I’m a vampire.” What purpose would be served with denial? The truth was there, staring back at her. She shook her head. “No, no way. There’s no such thing.” But even as she denied it, he knew she believed it, on some level too deep for her to process yet. But soon enough, she would. And it would be over. He’d lose her love as quickly as he’d found it. “I was made in Venice, as a young man. I had a blood disease, there were no methods of treatment then, no wonder drugs or chemotherapy…” He had to make her understand. “Becoming a vampire was the only way to avoid death.” She covered her ears with her hands, the sheet dropping to reveal the tops of her breasts. He relived taking her breast into his mouth, suckling, being more sated by her than any living blood he’d ever had. “I don’t want to hear this. Just stop talking and get out.” She pointed to the door, the one he’d carried her through on their way to making love. “My maker loved me like a son. He couldn’t let me die, and I didn’t want to meet my end at the age of thirty. So he turned me.” “And you just hop from house to house on Halloween, shelling out this story and performing random deflowerings?” Her voice broke. “Get out. I never want to see you again.” “Anya, you have to believe me. I meant you no harm. I feel something for you that I haven’t experienced in all my centuries of life.” Her face turned to stone. “How many centuries have you lived?” Another painful truth. “I was made five hundred years ago tonight.” She backed away again, this time until she hit the bedroom wall behind her. “And I let you touch me…” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I let you have sex with me…” “It wasn’t sex. It was making love.” 19
Season Spirits She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I let you…” Her face blazed scarlet. “I let you come inside me. My God.” Her bitter laugh sliced through the air. “I might even be pregnant with your demon spawn, or whatever it is that you undead blood suckers call your children.” “I can’t father a child.” This was true as far as he knew, but could he be sure? She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “God only knows what I’ll catch from sleeping with you, the risks I took with my health tonight.” She stopped, her eyes widening. “You did this to me.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. He went on guard. “I did what to you?” “You turned me into that…that thing, that cat thing, whatever it is that came over me when we were in bed. You did it!” She clutched the sheet, her knuckles turning white. His voice was low and defeated when he answered her. “You were born a Bastet. I merely awakened you to your true nature.” She laughed again. “How the hell would you know anything about me?” His next words sank inside him like cement to the bottom of the ocean. “Because my maker told me. You were selected for me this night.” Her face went blank. “Selected?” “Every hundred years, on the anniversary of my birth into vampirism, I have to empower my blood again.” Her eyes were hard as she stared back at him. “Where do I fit into this?” The truth would make her hate him forever. He’d die with the sun, having known his fated love for only one night. She’d carry her loathing of him inside her forever. He’d carry the memory of her face with him for whatever eternity awaited him on the other side of the crypt. “Only the blood of a virgin can empower me.” He paused, committing every detail of her to his memory, knowing she’d force him to leave as soon as he finished speaking. “You were the virgin. My maker chose you for me. It was he who told me of your Bastet nature, and how I had to awaken you as part of my empowerment.” **** Anya’s mind reeled. In the course of a few short hours, she’d met the man of her dreams and lost her virginity in what must’ve been the 20
Season Spirits most mind-blowing maiden voyage in recorded history. Now she’d discovered she was part feline, and that the man who’d made love to her as if his life depended on it actually did have his life on the line. Something still wasn’t adding up. “But…you never drank my blood.” He shrugged. His still nude body distracted her. This man was far too gorgeous to be five hundred years old. “I was to awaken you before I drank.” “And you did. But you never bit me. You never even tried to take my blood.” She relaxed her guard just a little. “What gives?” He exhaled. “I couldn’t take your blood like a ruthless predator, not after what we shared and everything I’ve come to feel for you.” She took a small step forward. “So when exactly were you going to do it?” His eyes met hers, burning into her the way his body had burned into hers a just few short minutes before. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it unless you consented. I could’ve used my powers to lure you into bed tonight, but I fell for you the minute I saw you. I only wanted to make love if it was what you wanted as well.” She puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “Well, after what we just did, I hardly qualify as a virgin.” He dismissed her words with a gesture. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who took your virginity. Your blood would still empower me. Besides, I was to awaken you first. And Bastets only awaken through making love.” She felt her heart soften a degree. He could’ve taken advantage of her so easily, but he hadn’t. That didn’t exactly put her at ease, but it was a start. There was one thing she had to get out of the way. “Were you planning to kill me? Is that part of the deal?” “Never.” He shook his head. “You must believe me, Anya. I’d never do anything to harm you. I only take the lives of those who hurt others. Criminals, murders, child abusers.” She sat down on the corner of the bed. Undead creature of the night though he was, she believed him, something in her gut told her he was being honest. “What happens to you if you don’t get virgin blood tonight?” He shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter.” 21
Season Spirits She leaned forward, touching his shoulder. The simple skin on skin contact made them both jump. “After everything we’ve been through tonight, I think I deserve an honest answer to my question.” He put his hand over hers and gently guided it away from his shoulder. “I die when the sun rises. My body will turn to dust, and my soul will depart this earth forever.” A cry of anguish escaped her lips before she could stop it. “I can’t let you die!” He tried to smile, but it faded like mist. “You have no choice in the matter, my love.” Anya threw the sheet aside. “Like hell I don’t.” She climbed into the bed next to him. “Where do you need to bite me?” He laughed, this time with real amusement. “That’s not exactly the way it works.” “Then how does it work?” She touched his lips with her fingers. “I was afraid sex would hurt, but you made the pain pale in comparison to the pleasure and beauty.” He kissed her fingertips, and she continued, love for him overflowing inside her, replacing the anger, fear, and doubt that had tainted the past moments. “I trusted you with my body to do that. I trust you to do this, too.” She replaced her fingers with her lips. “I can’t let you die. You mean too much to me.” “And you to me.” He turned her over on her back. “You are the love I’ve searched for since my life began, since it ended and began again.” He smoothed his hands over her breasts. “It begins again tonight, with you. This is my true rebirth, being born into your love.” He took her nipple in his mouth, bringing it the same tumult of sensation he’d brought before, but slower, achingly slow. She sighed, wrapping her legs around him, losing herself in him and the feeling of her breast in his mouth. “I love you, Vincent.” She ran her fingers through his hair. She’d been waiting for him her entire life, and now that she’d found him, it didn’t matter what he was. He was her love, and she didn’t care about anything else. “And I love you.” He abandoned her breasts to press his lips to hers. “You are my love, forever. Not just tonight, but for as long as my immortal heart beats.” She moaned, feeling him harden between her legs. “I want you inside me.” She touched his erection, guiding it to her. “Please.” 22
Season Spirits He slid inside her, centimeter by aching centimeter, until he couldn’t be in her any more deeply, until he was so deep that he touched her very soul. Then he began to move, and the universe shattered around her. “Drink from me, my love.” She turned her head, offering him her neck. “Let me give you life, as you’ve given mine to me tonight.” He stilled his thrusts, holding her face between his two hands. “We are bonded to each other until the end of time.” He kissed her again. “My life is your life.” “And mine is yours.” Her eyelids fluttered shut. “Drink.” He sank his fangs into her neck, and she shivered, first with pain, and then, as his slow suction began, with ecstasy. She felt his heart beating in time with her own, his life flooding her veins. He began to move inside her again, still drawing blood from her neck, the combined sensations more than she could bear. She ran her hands down his back with a light touch, her orgasm building as the blood pulsed through her and from her, into him. He pulsed into her, the hard length of him beating like a heart inside her, bringing her closer, closer… She came, her voice rasping out his name. He withdrew his fangs from her neck, leaving a searing pain behind, and shuddered as he came inside her, whispering of his love to her even as he filled her, kissing her wounds until they healed. He collapsed on her breasts, resting his head on one and his hand on the other. She knew in that moment that a white picket fence and every day marriage wasn’t her destiny. This man had crossed time and space to be with her. He was her fate. She would love him until the day she died. **** “This still doesn’t explain that whole cat episode.” Vincent raised his head to look at her. She’d never grow tired of looking into his eyes, catching the northern lights in their azure depths. “Silas could explain this to us further. He’s something of an expert on these matters.” “Silas?” “My maker.” He rolled off of her and out of her. She sighed with regret. She wanted him inside her, joined to her that way, forever. But as soon as he took her in his arms, pulling her against his chest, she felt no regrets, nothing but the bliss of being loved completely. “So, when do I get to meet this Silas character?” 23
Season Spirits “After I’m done making love to you again.” He stroked her breasts with his hand. “I’ll never tire of this, or of you.” “But we’ll have fun wearing each other out in the meantime.” She planted a quick kiss on his lips. She needed to ask him those dreaded relationship questions. But what do you say to a five hundred year old vampire, she thought, my place or yours? “What happens now?” She averted her eyes, letting her fingers trail over his chest. “With us, I mean.” “I can think of a few hundred things.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I have an entire century ahead to discover them.” She laughed. “Maybe you do, but I’m still limited to a mortal life span.” He considered her words. “For now.” She arched her eyebrows. “Are you suggesting I join you in this immortality gig of yours?” His mouth turned up at the corner. “You could certainly do worse than an eternity with me, my love.” “How would we fill all that time?” She giggled at the devilish look in his eyes. He pulled her on top of him. “I’ll speak to Silas about this. Surely he wouldn’t wish for me to lose you, not after spending five centuries looking for you.” She placed a leg on either side of him. “Better be careful, I feel another feral fit coming on.” He caressed her thighs. “I rather like your feral fits.” It would be too easy to get caught up in passion again before she got the answers she needed. She caught his hands in hers. “What about when morning arrives?” He sighed deeply. “I return to my crypt until sunset comes again.” Squeezing her hands, he continued. “We have every night together until the end of the world.” “And every day apart?” She echoed his sigh. “How will I survive my nine-to-five world without you?” “You’ll count the minutes until dusk, knowing every night will be the fulfillment of your wildest fantasies, that you’ll be loved as no other woman has been loved since the dawn of time.” He released her hands and pulled her down to kiss him. “And what if you make me a vampire? What happens a hundred years for tonight, when we both need to guzzle some virgin red?” 24
Season Spirits “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as you say here in the twenty-first century.” He eased her away from him and sat up abruptly. “But for now, I must ask for a raincheck on your feral fit, despite the extreme pleasure it brings me.” She stared at him, baffled as he put his clothes back on. “Where are you going?” “To see Silas. We both have a lot to ask him if we’re to be married before Yuletide.” She’d heard him wrong. There’s no way he said…“M-m-married?” He buttoned his shirt at the speed of light. “Surely you expected me to make an honest woman of you.” She threw a pillow at him. He caught it deftly and put it on the edge of the bed. “Honestly, no. I wasn’t expecting a proposal out of this.” He stepped over to the bed. “My love, this is forever. I want you to be my bride, my wife, my soul mate. Please tell me you’ll consent.” Her heart spilled over with love for him, enough love to last as long as they both managed to love. “Of course I consent.” “Then put on that delicious catsuit and come with me.” **** She joined him outside, fully dressed in her costume, her hair and makeup repaired to the best of her ability. He stood on her front steps, wearing his black trench coat again, the wind catching it and the ends of his black hair. He looked like night personified, her knight, her future husband. And she’d worried about not having a date for her party. When he saw her, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful, my love. I can hardly wait for Silas to see what his little plan has wrought.” “As long as he doesn’t bite.” She took the arm he offered her and followed him down the steps. He glanced back at her and did a double take. “You’re not wearing your glasses.” She grinned. “Don’t need them.” “But what about your poor night vision?” She looked up at him, her eyes luminous, catching the light and reflecting it. “I can see everything perfectly.” The future, her life filled with Vincent and love. Forever.
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Season Spirits
New erotica author Roxanne Rhoads is passionate about her writing Roxanne has been a closet writer for years but has just recently started publishing her work. She writes everything from articles, to poetry, to web content. Her writing has appeared on many websites including justusroux.com. She has been published in Playgirl and Forever Underground magazines and in several e-zines. Currently she is a writer and editor at tit-elation.com and a columnist at sexkitten.net. Specializing in paranormal erotica, she is currently working on several stories plus there are a few out there still looking for a home. Keep an eye out for her upcoming work. It is sure to be full of steamy and exciting encounters.
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Eternal Passion By Roxanne Rhoads It was the week before Halloween and the city of New Orleans’ Halloween festivities were already in full swing. New Orleans is one city that loves Halloween, and treats of the holiday like a second Mardi Gras. The residents love to party and even a week before Halloween people were already running around in costume. The haunted city full of magic and ghosts had kicked everything into high gear for the tourists. Everywhere I went haunted history tours were taking place; The Ghost Tour of the French Quarter, the Haunted Garden District Tour, the Spellbound Tour, the Voodoo and Cemetery Tour and the one I was most interested in, the Vampire Tour. Walking through the dark streets of the French Quarter during the Vampire Tour made me think about the reason I was there. As always it was Quillon. He was the reason I did everything. Almost every choice I made for the past 15 years was because of him, even the career I had chosen. Yesterday I had been in Paris. I heard his whispered beckoning calling me. This morning he had called to me in my dreams to come to New Orleans. “Bonjour, mon petite cherie. Come to me, I need you here in New Orleans.” As always, since I was 10 years old, he was just a shadowy figure in my dreams whispering of longings and ancient secrets. I 27
Season Spirits never saw his face, but his voice lingered in my soul. He was an invisible guardian, calling to me, leading me around the world, and watching over me wherever I went. I could feel his presence at times lurking in the shadows around me, but why I never saw him I don’t know. I had followed that voice all over the world, wherever he beckoned. Everywhere I went, I found out more about him, about the myth and legend of Quillon the Vampire. Sometimes I felt like it was all a game. Other times I felt he had a purpose for me. My grandmother whispered stories of Quillon to me when I was a child. She told me he was a guardian of our family and legend said he was one of our ancestors. He watched over and protected our family and he was the reason many of our family members were rich and successful. As I grew older I grew obsessed with him. I studied our family’s history but could never find any trace of him. I’d read every book on vampires, whether it was myth, legend, or fiction. I’d also watched every movie made on them. I even became a parapsychologist so I could study the supernatural. I’d come face to face with ghosts, witches, and humans with strange talents. I had even come face to face with several other vampires, but never my elusive Quillon. The vampires I had met were not bad. I met a group of them outside L.A.; they called themselves the Vampire Vigilante. They only preyed and killed humans that were criminals: rapists, thieves, drug dealers and that sort. I trailed several vampires that were not so kind, but I never got close to them. I only got close to the many blood drained corpses they left behind. I guess vampires and humans are the same in some ways, there are bad ones and good ones, and some in between. Quillon had haunted my dreams since I was a child. He had always been there. Even before my grandmother started telling me the stories, he had lurked in the shadows, whispering to me. I felt him close to me in my times of need. He was my protector, my dark guardian angel, my passion. He was the reason I was now walking the dark streets of the Quarter on this tour. I very much doubted I would find a real vampire in New Orleans during Halloween, but you never know. Vampires seem to be drawn to irony, and it would be ironic to find real vampires blending in with all the craziness of the Halloween festivities. They even hold a Vampyre Ball here every year. The tour was somewhat interesting but focuses mainly on the fiction of Anne 28
Season Spirits Rice’s vampires. If any real vampires lurk in the shadows of New Orleans they were not going to be pointed out to me on this tour. **** I left the tour and roamed around the city on my own. I felt like a vampire sometimes. Following the supernatural means being awake when most mortals are sleeping. I search for answers at night and sleep most of the day. When I look in the mirror I see a pathetic creature, pale white skin, dark circles under my eyes, and long auburn hair. I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed a day in the sun. I looked like a creature of the night. Footsteps suddenly startled me out of my revere. I turned around but saw no one. So I continued warily along. The streets were beginning to get dark and foggy. I found a better lit street and turned onto it hearing the pulsating music coming from a nearby building. I found the building, a club and walked into it quickly, having heard another footstep right behind me. Walking through the door, I collided with the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. His tall frame and muscular build made me feel small, but his beauty had me awestruck. “Oh, I am so very sorry.” I stammered as shockwaves rocked my body. “It is all right, I was in your way. Are you in a hurry? I hope not, I’d like to buy you a drink,” he said with a slight French accent. “I was just in a hurry to get off the streets,” I said as he guided me to the bar. “I can understand that. A beautiful little thing like you should not be on the streets alone,” he said then turned to order my drink. I studied him while he leaned against the bar. The lamp from above the bar bathed his porcelain skin in light. His face was the color of smooth cream and the dark hair that hung in silky waves to his shoulders was a wonderful contrast to his pale skin. I was so lost staring at him I didn’t even see him move to hand the drink towards me. I gasped when I felt him touch the bare skin of my arm to get my attention. His full sensuous lips formed a seductive smile as he handed me my drink, a Bloody Mary. “My name is Christien. I used to live here in New Orleans, now I am here on business and I couldn’t stay away from all the Halloween fun.” His voice was deep and musical. It made my nerve endings tingle. Something was so familiar about this man. 29
Season Spirits “My name is Liz Beth, I’m here doing some research for my job,” I replied. He started to say something, but “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails came on, he placed my drink back on the bar and pulled me to the dance floor. Our bodies moved seductively to the dark, pulsating beat of the song. Electricity flowed all around us as heat was flaring up inside me. Before the song was even over he led me out of the bar and around the corner to his hotel. As soon as he shut the door to his room, he lifted me and carried me to his bed, then, laying me down upon the bed, gently undressed me. I felt so dizzy and out of control. I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel. I wanted him so badly, I wanted to feel him inside me, and I wanted to taste him. He exuded so much power it made me weak. His hands moved over my naked flesh as our lips connected passionately. His kisses sent heat and electricity moving throughout me. His lips blazed a trail down my body. He parted my thighs and tenderly explored the heated folds of soft flesh with his tongue. I arched my body against his mouth as his tongue swirled and dipped pushing me over the edge. Colors twirled in my mind making me dizzy with desire. A moan escaped my lips as I climaxed. Christien positioned his body between my legs. I didn’t notice him remove his clothes but he was nude, I could feel his pulsating cock pushing against my hungry folds of flesh. I opened to him, welcoming him inside me. He plunged into me with a force I hadn’t expected. Deeper and harder he pushed. Our bodies merged and moved together as one. I moved my hips, pressing against him. Craving more and more of him. I wanted to feel his shaft buried inside me as deep as possible. His lips met mine again and his tongue explored my mouth. I could taste myself on his lips. Every thrust sent me closer to complete ecstasy. My body rocked and quivered under him as I came over and over again. His fluid thrusts turned frenzied as lust and need took over. I felt him stiffen and tremble as a hot rush filled me inside. He collapsed beside me and cradled me in his strong arms. In the morning I awoke dazed, confused and alone. The first thing that came to mind was ‘one night stand’ and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I then rolled over and found a note on my pillow. 30
Season Spirits Liz Beth, I am gone for now, but not to be forgotten. Meet me at the corner of Bourbon and Canal at sunset. Yours, Christien His handwriting was very old fashioned and elegant, unusual for such a young man. I didn’t dwell on his handwriting; I couldn’t wait to see him again. He had me totally mesmerized. I didn’t know anything about this man, except that I wanted him, I craved him. He was a stranger to me, yet he seemed so familiar. He held me in a trance. One part of me could not believe that I was having a wild affair with a complete stranger. It was so unlike me. I had to shake myself and remember that I still had to focus on why I was in New Orleans. It was time that I found out more about Quillon and what he wanted from me. I returned to my hotel and unpacked my things. I called Carrie, my research assistant at my tiny little office in L.A. She was a college student and I let her stay at my apartment above the office since I was never there. In exchange for room and board she kept track of sightings and reports on paranormal activity and kept an eye on the place while I was gone. The office didn’t look like much, but I did have a lot of expensive equipment that I didn’t want stolen— that was the reason I needed to call her. I wanted to make sure my equipment arrived safely from Paris. I had it shipped to my office instead of dragging it to New Orleans with me, since this was a Quillon excursion, I didn’t figure I needed my ghost hunting stuff. After speaking to Carrie and confirming that my equipment arrived safely and that everything was fine, I spent the day doing research at the library and rummaging through piles of old books trying to find anything I could about vampires and Quillon. All I found was a dusty old handwritten manuscript written in French. From the title I could make out that it had something to do with vampires, but I wasn’t sure what. Most of it was faded and unreadable but I checked it out anyway. I figured I could go through it and see if I could find something legible. 31
Season Spirits I found myself going back and forth thinking about Christien and Quillon. One moment I would be concentrating on Quillon, the next moment I would have a flashback from the night before about Christien and my knees would get weak. I felt myself being torn between a shadow and a stranger. At sunset I met Christien at Canal and Bourbon. From there he took me on a carriage ride around the city. He was very knowledgeable of New Orleans history and told me many stories tour guides could not. He also told me about all of the Halloween festivities that would be going on that weekend. “I would be honored if you would attend the Vampyre and Dark Masquerade Balls with me this weekend.” “They sound like fun, but I don’t have any costumes,” I replied. “This is New Orleans. There are plenty of places to buy extravagant costumes. I will take you so we can pick a few out.” He had the carriage take us to several costume shops. The first couple didn’t have anything that suited me. The third store had a one of a kind gothic style ball gown made with iridescent black satin and lace. It was perfect for the Vampyre Ball. When I tried it on, I couldn’t believe my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a beautiful vampire princess. I walked out of the dressing room to show Christien. He gasped. “That gown was made for you. You look stunning.” The dress hugged my upper body and accented my full cleavage. The lace up corset style top made my breasts spill out over the top of the gown. It fit like a glove and really did seem as though it was made for me. The iridescent satin glimmered and changed color as I twirled in front of the mirror. Christien walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I grumbled as Christien purchased the gown but he insisted that it was a gift. “I will get more pleasure looking at you in that dress than you will wearing it. Think of it as a gift to myself that you get to wear,” he said. The shopkeeper wrapped the dress up and we were on our way. At the last store we went to, I was enthralled by a large pair of black wings and a feathered black mask. The wings were made with real feathers that were so shiny they seemed to glow in the light. “You like the wings?” Christien asked. 32
Season Spirits “Yes, but what would I wear with them?” “Let’s see if we can find something?” he said. We scoured the store until we found a sheer black dress and matching heels. Christien joined me in the dressing room as I tried them on. The dress hugged every curve of my body and my nipples teasingly shown through the sheer fabric. “You will be my dark angel at the ball,” he whispered in my ear. His warm breath sent shivers of anticipation through my body. The dress made me feel dark and sexual. I wanted him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I could feel his erection pressing against me. I knew he wanted me too. He slid the straps of the dress off my shoulders and pulled the dress to the floor. I removed my underwear and stood in front of him with just the black high heels on. “You are so beautiful,” he said to me as he removed his own clothing. He pressed his naked body to mine. I was already wet with anticipation. He turned me around and pressed me against the mirror. I watched his reflection as he moved to enter me. He was as hard as steel. His strong hands gripped my waist as his large cock parted the wet folds and he plunged into my moist heat. I watched our bodies blend and move, entranced. My hard nipples pressed against the cool glass as I arched my ass so I could take more of him inside me. He thrust in and out of me, hard and fast. The heat built and built until we both exploded. We got dressed and purchased the dress, wings, and shoes. I swear the guy behind the counter winked at Christien as he handed him the bags. Surprisingly I didn’t feel embarrassed. I was still glowing from that unexpected rendezvous in the dressing room. After that Christien had the carriage take me to my hotel. “I have a lot of business meetings this week, but I will try to see you as much as possible. I will be in touch, my love,” he said to me. Cool hands moved over my breasts teasing my nipples to erection. A warm mouth closed over one of them. I felt sharp teeth graze the tender flesh. Warm sensations flooded my body as the cool hands moved between my legs. My nether lips were parted and a finger plunged inside me. The finger probed my pussy as a thumb 33
Season Spirits rubbed my clit urging me to climax. I spread my legs wide as another finger then another stretched me wide open. Full lips trailed sensual kisses down my neck then teeth began to nibble at the soft flesh of my throat. Suddenly sharp fangs pierced my skin… I woke up drenched in sweat and trembling from an orgasm. My pussy was swollen and sore, my throat burned where the dream fangs had sunk in. I had many dreams of Quillon in the past, but never like that. They had never been so intensely sexual. Before, they were always soft and full of shadows just hinting at desire. This one was downright erotic and left me aching for more than just his fingers inside me. The dream stayed with me all day. Quillon’s shadowy figure floated through my mind making it hard to concentrate on anything but him. He stirred something in me no human was capable of, except Christien. I wondered if I would see him today. He said he had a lot of business to take care of. I didn’t even know what type of business he did. He was as much, if not more, of a mystery than Quillon. I decided to explore New Orleans some more. I visited some of the graveyards looking for my family name, but found nothing except creepy shadows flittering about. The dead were stirring impatiently waiting for Halloween. Sometimes I wished they were more than shadows, I wished they could give me answers. So far I had not found anything linking my family to New Orleans or linking Quillon to my family. I wished someone could tell me the connection. As I walked around the city I was drawn to a store that sold antique jewelry. A jeweled cross, caught my eye in the window display. It was antique silver encrusted with rubies and black onyx in a very gothic style. It would look beautiful with my ball gown. I went into the store and purchased the cross. I also found a pair of ruby earrings that matched it quite well. I was pleased with my find and was heading back to my hotel when I passed by the Park Plaza Hotel, where the balls would be held this weekend. A sign said that today was the pre-party meet and greet and that the Dark Bazaar was now open. The Dark Bazaar was where all the vendors were for the parties and balls. I decided to check it out. 34
Season Spirits I found skin paint that would make my skin more pale and give it an iridescent glow and I purchased a pair of high quality ivory fangs that would attach to my own teeth. I found a beautiful beaded hand bag and a pair of lace gloves, then I purchased some silver body glitter. I had all the accessories I needed to complete my costumes for this weekend. I took all my goodies back to my hotel and found a note on my doorfrom Christien. Sorry I missed you my darling. I had a few moments before my next business meeting and thought I would surprise you, but you were not here. I will be busy the rest of the night. I will call you tomorrow so we can get together. Yours Forever, Christien I tore the note off the door and went inside. I was sad that I missed him, but I would see him tomorrow. This gave me time to go over that dusty manuscript I found at the library. The ink was faded and unreadable in many areas and the scrawling handwriting made it difficult to read in the places that were still clear. I am fluent in French but the way it was worded made it very hard to translate. I could make out that it did have something to do with vampires and the myths surrounding them. It seemed to say that the myths were all false. Vampires could walk in daylight, they had reflections, and that crosses, holy water, and garlic posed no threat to them. Then I got excited when I found a name, C.Q. LaRoux. LaRoux was my family name. I had no idea what the C. stood for but the Q. had to be Quillon. It said C.Q. LaRoux was the member of a very wealthy New Orleans family. He was turned and the family tried to protect him from the ones that wished to kill him and because of that the family was driven from New Orleans. It didn’t make a lot of sense, many of the words were faded or missing, but I was excited that I finally found something linking Quillon to my family. 35
Season Spirits I poured over the book all night trying to find another mention of Quillon but found nothing. I did find more about myths and misconceptions. The author said vampirism was like a virus; it made the person inhumanly strong and resistant to disease and illness, but because of the high immunity and super strength, blood needed to be replenished often and it had to be living, pumping blood. The constant fresh blood provided them with immortality. I also made out something about vampires excreting human pheromones, which made it easy for them to draw victims to them. The victims were made weak with sexual desire, which left them vulnerable and open to attack. The rest of the book was useless and I gave up trying to find anything else that was readable. I ordered room service so I could have some dinner then I took a shower and fell into a dreamless sleep. * *** Two more days until the Vampyre Ball. I was getting excited. I had a feeling Quillon would be there, plus I was really looking forward to a night out with Christien. I had spent most of the day dreaming and fantasizing about him. It was getting dark out and I still had not heard from him. I decided to go out for dinner and drop by his hotel to see if he was there. I ate dinner in a quiet restaurant in the French Quarter then went to Christien’s hotel. No one answered the door. I was getting worried. I had not seen him in two days. He said he would see me today. I was starting to get a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I was walking out of his hotel, he was walking in. “What are you doing here, beautiful?” he asked. “Looking for you, what else?” I replied. “I am so sorry I have not called. I just came to the hotel to take a shower then I hoped to meet up with you. I’ve had so much paperwork and meetings to deal with. I am sorry business has been keeping me away from you. I have to get things taken care of though.” “I understand,” I said to him. “Good, why don’t you come upstairs while I shower and change? Then we will go out and have some fun.” “Sounds good to me.” 36
Season Spirits I nosily poked around his hotel room while he was in the shower. I was trying to learn more about him, but I couldn’t find anything except clothes. There was no paperwork or anything remotely personal. All the paperwork he spoke of must be at his office. He walked out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel. Muscles rippled in his chest and arms as he reached into the closet to grab some clothes. I admired his lean, beautiful body and the way his jet-black hair hung in wet waves around his face. He turned towards me to grab underwear out of a drawer. He dropped his towel to get dressed. Even soft his penis was very large. I had to turn away so I didn’t stare. Plus I didn’t want to get too turned on, I wanted to enjoy an evening out with him, doing something besides having sex. Of course we could always have sex later. After he dressed, we left the hotel and he took me to a club—so much for talking. We had a few drinks and danced for awhile. He seemed rather distant, he didn’t hold me close or press his body against mine like he had before when we danced. Maybe he just had a lot on his mind. At one point he excused himself and went to the restroom. He seemed to be gone a long time. When he came back it looked like he had blood on his lip. “What happened, you have blood on your lip?” I asked. “Oh, I just bit it,” he said as he wiped it off his mouth. I didn’t think anymore about it because at that moment he leaned over and kissed me. At first it was soft and gentle, and then his lips pushed harder with more passion. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said. “No arguments from me.” We went back to the hotel and actually talked for a little while. I discovered he was making arrangements to purchase business space and move his business to New Orleans. He was also trying to close on a house so he could move back to the city he loved. After talking we made love over and over for hours until we fell asleep curled in each other’s arms. When I woke up in the morning he was already gone. I usually wasn’t a heavy sleeper and I wondered how he always managed to get out of bed, leaving without me waking up. A note on the pillow informed me it was going to be a long day and not to worry if I didn’t hear from him, but tomorrow was 37
Season Spirits Saturday and the Vampyre Ball, we would definitely be seeing each other then. Back at my own hotel I paced back and forth. I felt like a caged animal. I was frustrated because I wanted to be with Christien. I had to find something to do. Focusing on Quillon only deepened my frustration. Both of them were driving me insane. I was drawn to mystery and excitement, but when it came right down to it I knew nothing about either one. At least I knew Christien was real. Sometimes I was afraid Quillon was only a figment of my imagination. I had to get out of that hotel room. Staying in there all day was going to drive me crazy. The shadows of the dead swirled around me constantly. They knew I could see them. Unfortunately I was not able to hear them so I tried to ignore them. I wanted to get into the Halloween spirit so I went on a few more of the spooky tours offered and visited a voodoo store. I went into downtown New Orleans for the annual Halloween in New Orleans celebration that started that day. I watched a parade and went into a few of the haunted houses that were thankfully not really haunted at all. I enjoyed myself and it took my mind off Quillon and Christien. That is until I returned to the French Quarter that night and thought I saw Christien turn down one of the side streets with a pretty blond. I pushed my way through the crowd, but by the time I reached the corner they were nowhere in sight. As I walked toward my hotel I tried to convince myself it was not Christien, or even if it had been maybe she was an old friend. He did say he used to live in New Orleans, he probably knew a lot of people here. When I got to my hotel room I went straight to bed. I didn’t want to think about anything anymore. **** I woke up in a better mood. Tonight I would be going to The Vampyre Ball and tomorrow night, the night before Halloween, we would be going to The Dark Masquerade Ball. They both sounded intriguing. I wondered if among the make up, costumes, and masks would there be any real vampires masquerading as fakes. What I really wanted to know is if Quillon would be there. That afternoon I was doing some research online when Christien called me. 38
Season Spirits “Hello, my love,” said Chris. “Hello Christien,” I replied. “I am sorry I am running late, the business meeting is taking longer than I had planned. Can you meet me at my hotel before the Vampyre Ball? I’ll hurry to get ready and we’ll just go from there.” “Okay, I’ll be all ready to go, costume and all. I’ll meet you at your hotel.” “Good, just be careful on your way here. There will be many strange creatures roaming the streets of New Orleans tonight,” he laughed and hung up. I would never understand him. I knew nothing about him, we hardly talked, only made love. There seemed to be so much about him that I wasn’t grasping. He was so familiar. I felt like I knew him. I felt so safe in his arms, yet when we were apart I went crazy. Like last night I was so full of jealousy when I thought I saw him with another woman. It probably hadn’t even been him. Was passion just clouding my senses? I took a shower and shaved my pussy completely bare. I dried off and covered my body with the iridescent white paint and silver body glitter. I twisted my long auburn hair into a fancy Victorian style with cascades of curls falling around my pale face. I lined my blue eyes with thick black eyeliner and dusted on silver and gray eye shadow. I set every thing with white rice powder and put on black mascara and deep, blood red lipstick. I slipped into my ball gown and put on my cross and earrings. I stared at my reflection in the mirror—I made one sexy vampire. Christien wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me tonight. I took some side streets through the French Quarter to get to the hotel. Most of the streets of the French Quarter were blocked off from traffic because of all the parties. People were everywhere in all sorts of beautiful and elaborate costumes. I didn’t want to get caught up in the crowds so I passed through a few alleys. While walking in one alley, a voice came out of the darkness of a doorway. The voice, a seductive mixture of French and English that sounded familiar. The man speaking was hidden by the shadows from a balcony. “Bonjour, mon cherie. What are you doing walking these streets by yourself? The streets are very dangerous.”
39
Season Spirits His voice sent a shiver up my spine. His warning left a chill in my heart. This was the second time I had been warned about being alone on the streets. “Monsieur, I am not afraid of the dark. I can take care of myself.” I replied. “Mademoiselle, do you have any idea what creatures of the night could do to you?” His hand came out of the darkness so quickly I never saw it coming. He grasped the jeweled cross, nestled in my cleavage. Heat began to move throughout my body when his hand brushed against my breast while he intimately caressed the cross. He tore the cross from my neck and vanished into the crowded streets of the quarter. That was Quillon. It had to be. Why did he take the cross? I kept thinking about him as I reached the hotel and went up to Christien’s room. He wasn’t there yet. I didn’t figure he would be. I still had about an hour before he said he would be there so I decided to check out some of the other happenings going on in the Quarter. I grabbed a drink from a liquor stand—a hurricane. They were wonderful, tasted like Kool-Aid but could really knock you on your ass if you weren’t careful. I walked around sipping my drink and admiring the costumes. There were a lot of people dressed in latex and other fetish costumes. I had heard about the Fetish and Fantasy Ball going on tonight. That sounded wild but really wasn’t my scene. As I walked around marveling at the unique costumes I wondered about the whispered warnings from the creature in the alley. I suddenly felt arms around me and I was being dragged between two buildings. I tried to scream but lips closed over my mouth. I pushed the shadowy figure away and he moved into the lamp light. It was Christien. “You practically gave me a heart attack. Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again.” I screamed at him. “Calm down, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just having some fun.” “Well, I don’t think being dragged into a dark alley is fun.” “It can be,” he said as he snaked his arms around me again wrapping me in a passionate embrace. He pulled me into a dark opening off the alley. It was a small garden that was completely 40
Season Spirits secluded. I could still hear the noise of the party goers on the streets but it felt like we were miles away. Christien pulled down his pants and sat on a bench next to a dimly lit solar light. The sight of his massive erection instantly sent moist fire to my nether regions. As I stood in front of him, he said, “Lift up your dress, show me what you have on under there.” I felt so naughty as I put one leg up on the bench and hiked my dress up to my waist. I was wearing garter style stockings with no panties so he had a clear view of my shaved mound. I licked my finger seductively and parted my pussy lips inserting one finger deep inside. He moaned softly and started stroking his long shaft while he watched me finger my wet pussy. I hadn’t ever been so bold and brazen to do something like this in front of a man before. I found that it turned me on immensely. I dropped to my knees and with my free hand grabbed his penis and inserted it into my mouth. I sucked hungrily on him taking every inch inside me. I could feel the head slide deep into my throat. I slid my mouth up and down, twisting and twirling my tongue with every upward stroke. My pussy was aching for more than just my finger. So I stood up and climbed on top of him. My gown billowed out around us, hiding what we were doing from anyone who might see. He unlaced the top of my gown and let my breasts sway freely in his face. He cupped them with his hands and eagerly sucked on them. I eased his hard cock into my hungry cunt slamming my body down on top of him. I was wild with desire and rode him hard grinding my hips against him. Up and down, I pumped, pulling him almost out of me then slamming him back deep inside. He buried his face between my breasts and moaned. I fucked him wildly until my pleasure was drenching his cock. He lifted me off him and stood up. “Bend over so I can see that beautiful ass of yours.” I bent over the bench gripping the back for support and arched my firm, round ass in the air. He threw my dress over my back and inserted his big prick inside me. It was so hot and hard I felt like I was being rammed with a hot stone. He fucked me hard and fast then filled me with his liquid fire. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said, “Every time I get close to you; I want to be inside you.” “I know, I feel the same way. Every time I get near you, I want you inside me.” 41
Season Spirits He kissed me gently and said, “We better get cleaned up and get to the ball. We don’t want to miss out on all the fun.” I re-laced my dress and tried to fix my make up in the small mirror I had in my hand bag. It wasn’t easy in the dim light, but I guess I looked presentable. We left the small garden and headed to the Vampyre Ball. The ball was a grand affair full of lavish and elaborate vampires of all types. Some were modern or Goth others were stylishly dressed in period costumes. Everywhere you looked there was white flesh and sharp fangs, though they all seemed to be fake. I retreated to a restroom to do a better job of fixing my make up and put in my fangs. I left, and as I was walking by the coat check room an arm reached out and pulled me in. I figured it was Christien again, but it wasn’t. A masked man stood only inches away. His face was almost completely hidden. All I could see were his full, sensual lips curving into a seductive smile. I noticed the cross dangling from his neck. It was my cross the stranger took from me in the alley. Fear and fire coursed through my body. My knees became weak. He grabbed me before I hit the ground. His scent intoxicated me. I felt like I was floating. “You look so enchanting tonight, Liz Beth, like a vampire bride. And you smell so wonderful, a mix of cinnamon and passion. You make me want you so.” I was powerless to do anything as he slid his hand under my dress. It was just like my dream, cool fingers slipped inside my moist hot folds of flesh as those full lips kissed my neck. I felt the sharp canines pierce into my flesh as I experienced a powerful orgasm that rocked my whole body. Then there was darkness. **** I woke up to Christien shaking me. I was confused at first and didn’t know where I was. As I became coherent I touched my throat feeling for the bite marks. There was nothing there except a slight tingling. “What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere for you? How did you end up here?” Christien asked. “I really don’t know,” I lied. He would never believe me if I told him the truth. Who would? We were at a Halloween Ball full of fake vampires and I was supposed to make someone believe I had 42
Season Spirits been seduced and bitten by a real vampire, though there were no marks to prove it. “Are you alright? Do you want me to take you back to your hotel?” “No, no, I’m fine. Maybe it was those hurricanes I drank before I ran into you earlier. They must have finally caught up to me,” I laughed, “I guess I just can’t handle my alcohol.” He helped me to my feet. At first I was a little shaky but quickly recovered. I had to find Quillon. I wondered if he was still out there, lurking in the shadows, taunting and teasing me. Christien and I went into the main ballroom and he grabbed me something cold to drink, without alcohol, and also took a plate of finger foods to snack on. “Here this will make you feel better. You probably haven’t eaten much today, that’s why those drinks hit you so hard.” “Yeah, that’s probably it,” I replied. Soon I felt better and Christien led me to the dance floor. Our bodies moved to the dark rhythm of the music while I scanned the room for Quillon. We danced and partied until the early morning hours when they started kicking every one out. I never caught another glimpse of Quillon that night. We went back to Christien’s hotel because it was closer. We collapsed into bed and fell right asleep. I was being smothered with hot passionate kisses and I could feel his weight on top of me. Something hard pulsed against my inner thigh. It was his arousal. His cock felt like cold chiseled marble as it slid inside my fiery velvet folds. I lustily lifted my hips to take more of him in. I wrapped my legs around his muscular back and pulled him closer to me. I caressed his cold hard flesh. He felt like stone encased in satin. He body was so hard, yet his skin was smooth and soft. I could feel the muscles rippling on his arms as I traced a line across them with my fingers. “Do you want me, cherie?” he asked. “Yes, more than anything.” “Do you need me as much as I need you?” “With every breath,” I answered. 43
Season Spirits “You are my passion, my love, my everything,” he whispered in my ear. My pussy pulsated around him, stretching and contracting to accommodate his size. He filled me completely. Torturing me with tantalizing sensations with each stroke. His mouth closed over my nipple and he gently bit down, drawing just a little blood that he hungrily sucked from my breast. The blood aroused his passion to new levels and he fucked me harder. He pounded into me as his mouth found my throat; his ivory fangs plunged into a vein. Pleasure surpassed pain. I felt liquid fire flow through me. I arched against him as a climax shuddered through my body. As I was drifting into darkness I heard him say, “Find me tonight. It is time.” I woke up in Christien’s bed alone. He left me another note. All it said was “I’ll be back in time for the Masquerade Ball tonight. I will meet you at your hotel.” I felt like I had a hangover. I opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, blinding me. Wow, last night had been some night. Between the two of them—Christien and Quillon—it seemed they were determined to exhaust me with pleasure…then that dream. They just get more intense. This time he had been inside me. My pussy twitched remembering the sensation of his cold cock buried inside. It had felt so real. I held him, I felt him, but I still had not seen his face in the darkness. I took a cold shower to soothe my hot, sore flesh. The shower had a head attached to a hose. I sprayed the cold water between my legs enjoying the way it streamed over my swollen lips. Though instead of calming me down it increased my arousal. I adjusted the stream to make it pump harder against my clit and I used my other hand to slide two fingers inside my bruised flesh. I masturbated thinking about Quillon’s skillful hands and Christien’s skilled tongue probing my pussy. I got off thinking about both of them making love to me at the same time. The shower left me feeling refreshed but still horny as hell. Never before had I had two lovers. I gathered my things and went to my own hotel room to get my costume ready for that evening. I ordered breakfast from room service and devoured everything. I felt ravenous. I guess lots of sex can do that to a person. I wished it were 44
Season Spirits time to go to the ball. I had to find something to occupy my time until 6 P.M. when I would start getting ready. Every nerve ending on my body felt like it was wired with electricity and I was ready to jump out of my skin. Every move I made was erotically charged. I undressed and lay down on the bed. The softness of the fabric caressed my body. I was floating on a sensual cloud. I didn’t know what was going on, my body ached to be touched, to be filled, to be thoroughly fucked over and over again. I was under Quillon’s spell. He left me so full of desire it was driving me insane. I got up and rummaged around in my suitcase until I found my latex friend and a bottle of lubricant. Searching for Quillon and investigating other paranormal happenings usually didn’t give me much of a chance for a social life so I always carried my big purple dildo with me wherever I went. I lay back down on the bed and trailed the smooth latex across my flesh, running it between my breasts and down my stomach. I grabbed the bottle of lube and squirted a little on the head. I parted my legs and shoved it into my waiting pussy. The dildo was huge and I loved the way it stretched me wide open. It gave me the cross sensations of pleasure and punishment. My head fell back against the pillow and I closed my eyes imagining it was Quillon thrusting inside me. I heard a noise and opened my eyes. The room was gray and hazy. When did it get dark, I wondered. I must have fallen asleep. As I looked around the room I noticed a dark figure standing by the door. Quillon, I thought. Then he moved into the lamp light, it was Christien. I quickly moved to cover the dildo, but he had already seen it. I felt a surge of embarrassment, but quickly got over it. “I see you missed me,” he said with a grin, “You should get ready for the ball if you don’t want to miss it.” I looked outside and noticed it was completely dark. Somehow I had really lost track of the time. I took a shower while Christien watched. As he dried me off with a towel I felt my body start to tingle again. I tried to ignore it. If we made love, we would never make it to the ball and I couldn’t risk missing Quillon. After blow-drying my hair, he helped cover my body with the silver glitter. Every stroke of his fingers on my skin was sheer torture. I wanted to push him down on the bathroom floor and ride him wildly, but I kept myself in check. Christien went into the other 45
Season Spirits room to get changed while I applied my make up and arranged my hair into long flowing waves. I slid into my sheer black dress and wings then went in the other room. “Wow, you look amazing,” I said to him. He was wearing a ruffled peasant style shirt open to mid chest, exposing rippling muscles, and he was wearing tight black pants and tall riding boots. He looked like someone straight out of the Victorian age. Just looking at him made heat rush between my legs. Why did he have to be so handsome? His long black hair hung in loose waves around his finely chiseled features. His full lips curved into a dazzling smile as he looked me up and down. “You’re a winged Goddess,” he said. “That dress hugs you in all the right places.” As he kept looking me up and down, his eyes widened and he looked up at me, “You aren’t wearing any underwear. I can just barely see your bare flesh. My little sex goddess is being naughty tonight,” he laughed and pulled me close. His strong masculine scent practically over powered me with desire. Passion was building inside me and I didn’t know how long I could control it. “I didn’t want anything in the way tonight, if we decide to indulge ourselves in a secluded garden again,” I purred against his chest almost hoping he would take advantage of me right then. He didn’t. He broke our embrace and grabbed his jacket. “We better get going or we’ll never make it to the ball.” I grabbed my mask and my bag and we were out the door. The Dark Masquerade Ball was in the same place the Vampyre Ball was held the previous evening, it looked much the same except this time there were costumes of all sorts, not just vampires. Some of them were extremely elegant, others were silly and some were extremely sexual. A very curvaceous woman walked by wearing nothing except elaborate body paint airbrushed onto her naked flesh. I stared at the painted fleshy lips between her legs and felt a surge of desire flow through me. I had never been attracted to a woman before, this was a completely new feeling. Another woman walked by wearing an open net gown, her hard nipples poking through the holes of the dress. As she passed by I caught her scent in the air, arousing me even more. The whole room was charged with sexual tension and electricity. It was making me dizzy. Christien and I found a table to 46
Season Spirits sit down at. He helped me put on my mask and then he went to get us something to drink. I scanned the room for Quillon, but everyone wore a mask except Christien. Quillon could have been anywhere. Christien returned with my drink, and then said he had seen an old friend at the bar that he would like to talk to. I said that was fine, I was going to walk around and explore. As I walked around, a man grabbed me and asked if I would like to dance. I agreed and he led me to the dance floor. He was very tall and dark skinned. I knew it wasn’t Quillon, but I didn’t want to be impolite. His large arms wrapped around me and pulled me close to him as we danced. He smelled very good and I found myself staring at the vein throbbing on his neck. I had never really noticed how blood pumped so forcefully through the body. I was pulled out of my trance when I felt his erection poking at my stomach and realized his hand was creeping up the back of my dress and caressing my bare backside. I gracefully pulled myself from his grasp and walked off the dance floor. I walked out of the ballroom toward the restroom and decided to check out the coat room for Quillon. He wasn’t there, but the naked, painted woman was and she was on all fours being penetrated by one man in front of her and one behind her. I watched in voyeuristic awe for a few moments, and then I decided I better leave before someone noticed me watching. I used the restroom then returned to the ball. The whole hotel had become thick with hazy clouds and moving shadows. It was as if a spell had been cast over the entire place. Dark shadows swirled and danced among the humans, teasing and taunting, unlacing bodices and unzipping zippers. Human flesh was being exposed, adding fuel to the fires of sexual energy coursing through the room. I stood spellbound watching bodies join in carnal passion on the dance floor. I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to find a masked man dressed all in black except for a white ruffled shirt that was similar to the one Christien was wearing. The ruby and onyx cross, hung around his throat. “Quillon?” I asked. “Yes, my love, it is I,” he replied with his smooth French accent. “What do you think of this Masquerade Ball?” “What is going on? The sexuality in the air is intoxicating and the ghosts, their forms are taking shape.” 47
Season Spirits “It is almost midnight, almost Halloween. On Halloween the dead can roam the earth in solid form for one day. They love to take advantage of having flesh by doing all the things they miss. They eat, drink, and most of all, they partake in the sensual pleasures of the flesh. Not only are the dead walking here tonight, so are the undead. I am not the only vampire here. The hotel is full of them and the pheromones are making the humans drunk with desire.” I looked around for other vampires and soon found several. A beautifully erotic female vampire was wrapping her body around the dark skinned man I danced with earlier. She sat him down in a chair and released his penis from its cloth restraint. Pulling up her dress she mounted him. She hid their union with her flowing skirts, but the movement of her hips hid nothing. I watched her bite into him and drink as she made love to him. Across the room two male vampires had a buxom brunette pinned between them. They penetrated her with flesh and fang. I was amazed, there were so many. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. The smell of blood and sex was mingling in the air and I started to feel fear. Quillon noticed. “Do not worry, cherie, no one will be harmed. These vampires are all creatures of pleasure. They will not drain and kill, only seduce and feed. No one will die, but the dead will live. Watch, as it gets closer to midnight the shadows get thicker and take human form.” I watched the shadows form flesh. They swirled and danced as body parts flickered and emerged from darkness then fell back into emptiness. Ghostly breasts rubbed against male flesh, specter penises dipped in and out of womanly openings, mortal cocks disappeared into pulsating air. It was a supernatural orgy. Quillon put an arm around me, claiming me as his own so no ghost or ghoul would touch me. I felt safe next to him, but the closer I got to him, the more the spell of passion overtook me. I stared at his face as he watched the crowd. He still wore a mask over his eyes and nose. All I could see were his full masculine lips that I longed to kiss. His hair was long and raven black, much like Christien’s. I suddenly wondered where Christien was. Had he been seduced by ghosts or vampires? Was he somewhere making love to the dead or the undead? I didn’t care; I was with Quillon. The man of my dreams, if he could be called a man, was next to me. 48
Season Spirits The clock struck midnight and the ghostly forms became human bodies. The naked bodies writhed and moved, blending and merging. I could no longer tell who was ghost and who was real. Quillon whispered to me, “Come, it is time. Let me take you somewhere we can be alone.” He led me outside the hotel where a majestic carriage drawn by two black stallions waited for us. The carriage took us to the Garden District, pulling up in front of a very old, very beautiful mansion. “This is my ancestral home. I just recently reacquired it. I wanted to have the perfect place to take you to. I want this to be our home.” The significance of Quillon’s words hit me as he led me inside. Our home. He wants me to be with him, to be his... his what? Lover? Wife? He gave me a short tour of the mansion and escorted me into a lavish bedroom. I felt dazed. He had complete control of me. My mind was not working the way it should have been, I wasn’t asking questions. Passion surged and slithered inside me, clouding my senses even more. Quillon faced me. He went down onto his knees before me, he took my hand and said, “My love, do you want to be here with me? Will you spend eternity with me, as my wife?” “No, Yes, I don’t know. I’m so confused. Before now you’ve always been just a shadow. I don’t really even know you. I haven’t even seen your face,” I cried, I was distraught and confused. “My darling, you do know me. You have known me your whole life, I have always been with you. I have guarded you and watched out for you. I have shown you the world while waiting for you to grow up and be ready to be with me. This past week here in New Orleans we have spent so much time together. We have made love over and over,” with those words, he took off his mask. I gasped, “Christien! The name in the book. C.Q. LaRoux. That’s you, Christien Quillon LaRoux. How could I have been so blind?” “Because, I clouded your senses. The moment had to be right. So now that you know, has your answer changed?” “Yes, my love, I will be yours forever.” Quillon stood up and pulled me into his arms pressing his lips to mine passionately. He kept kissing me as he undressed me, 49
Season Spirits pulling off my wings and sliding off my dress. Then he undressed himself and guided us to the bed. His hands caressed my bare skin making goose bumps rise and desire burn. Passion filled me and I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I reached out, drawing him close to me. He delicately touched my face, tracing my lips with his finger. “You are so beautiful. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will love you for eternity. You are my eternal passion burning brightly in the darkness.” I kissed his finger tip then drew his finger into my mouth sucking hungrily at it. I wanted him inside me. The urgency was building and I could feel moist heat flooding my pussy. He removed his finger from my mouth and put his weight on top of me. He looked deep into my eyes as if he were searching, “Are you sure you want this? You understand what I am asking of you? You will be like me, a vampire, forever.” “Yes, I understand completely and I want it. I want to be with you.” He pressed his manhood into me, parting my pulsating pussy lips with his hard rod. I spread my legs wide welcoming him deep inside. He thrust into my hot core sending delicious chills up and down my spine. I moaned and arched my body, pressing my pelvis to his, sucking him in deeper. Our bodies moved together in passion’s rhythm. Up and down, in and out his cock danced inside me, filling me and stretching me. My fiery sheath wrapped around his enormous cock refusing to let go until satisfied. His mouth kissed and sucked at my neck, leaving a trail of fire as he moved from one place to the next. His teeth grazed the tender flesh and my pussy tightened around him. Yes, yes, sink your teeth in, drink from me, I thought. He stopped and looked into my eyes again. Then he cut a spot on his own throat. I watched the blood spill and trickle down his white skin as he said, “Drink from me, while I drink from you.” I didn’t hesitate and wrapped my lips around the flowing wound and drank deeply. The blood tasted of metal and cinnamon. The blood increased my arousal and my need as I bucked my hips against him. His mouth was on my neck again, nibbling, teasing, then penetration. Sharp ivory pierced my neck. I felt the blood flowing from me into him, then back into me. My body rocked and convulsed in an intense orgasm, his body tensed and his hot essence 50
Season Spirits spilled into me sending another orgasmic wave through my body. Our bodies lay tangled in the dark embrace and we shared blood and ecstasy. He kept thrusting inside me as we drank from one another. Over and over we climaxed, until we were drained of energy. Afterward we curled up in each other’s arms. I asked him, “Will the change hurt? How long will it take?” “It will not hurt. After you fall asleep the change will occur. You will wake up a vampire.” The next day we started our new life together, with me as a vampire. I had all my things shipped from L.A. and moved them into the office space Quillon had purchased for me. All along he had been planning and making arrangements for us to be together in New Orleans. He knew I would never refuse his gift of eternity.
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Season Spirits
Home Bound ISBN 1-59578-164
Freelance writer, Monica is trapped in her home by acute agoraphobia. Tired of being alone, she finds an online escort service that seems less sleazy than most and dares to hire a companion for an evening. Ryan is a college student trying to keep financially afloat. Working for Labors of Love sounds like an easy gig. Can a relationship based on a business contract blossom into real romance? Can Monica overcome her paralyzing panic attacks and venture into the outside world when true love is at stake? Available at Liquid Silver Books Read an excerpt at: http://bonniedee.com
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Season Spirits
The Straw Man By Bonnie Dee “Happy Halloween. Beware of bats tonight, children, lest they scoop you up and carry you away,” Marie cackled and grimaced frighteningly. She wiggled her toes in her tight shoes, glancing down at black leather points that clamped her toes into unnatural positions. Her feet were killing her. “Thank Granny Goodwitch for the pumpkins, kids.” Don Weiderman nudged his awestruck six-year-olds. Kevin’s mouth snapped shut and he ducked behind his dad. Lydia dutifully whispered, “Thank you, Granny Goodwitch.” Marie smiled and cackled again. God, she wished this Halloween season was over. “Thanks. Come again.” The Weiderman twins clambered into the pickup and their father shut the door behind them. They peered out through the rear window at Marie. “Thanks. It always makes it real special for the local kids, coming out here to buy their pumpkins,” Weiderman said. “It’s a pleasure to do it. Looks like the kids’ll have good weather for trick-or-treating tonight.” They both looked up at the clear, blue sky overhead and the flock of Canada geese winging high above. Their loud honking was the only sound to disturb the quiet. “Shouldn’t be too cold either,” Weiderman said. Marie shifted uncomfortably in her long-sleeved black dress and wished it was at least a little cooler. The sunny day was unseasonably hot 53
Season Spirits for the end of October. “Be sure and bring the kids out tonight. I look forward to seeing them in their costumes.” She waved as the Weidermans drove off, the swell of an orange pumpkin visible above the tailgate of their pickup. It was bittersweet, living in a small town where you knew everyone and they knew you. The years slipped by but the patterns remained the same. The children grew and changed but everything else remained the same—exactly the same. Or so it felt to Marie today. She sighed and sank down on her folding chair at the edge of the field next to Sam the Friendly Scarecrow. He wore an ancient black fedora cocked at a jaunty angle and a shabby, black topcoat that hung on a T-frame. Beneath the coat was a blue, cotton shirt and navy pants plump with straw and tied at the cuffs. Old brown work boots were attached at the bottom of the pants. She looked up at the primitive face scrawled on white muslin and thought she hadn’t done a very good job of making him look friendly this year. His eyebrows were thick and fierce, his eyes up-tilted at the corners, his nose a straight slash and his mouth a grim line. He definitely appeared more severe than friendly. Maybe the face she’d drawn was due to her own bitterness. She snorted at her cynical self-analysis and kicked off her shoes. Taking off her witch hat, Marie brushed her hand through her snarled blond hair, letting the breeze swirl over the sweaty back of her neck. She remembered years when poor shivering tykes in Spiderman bodysuits or shiny pink princess gowns begged for their candy with their teeth chattering. She was glad the children would have good weather this year. There was nothing more magical than roaming the streets at night dressed as someone else. When she was a kid, Marie thought it was more exciting than Christmas. She gazed across the pumpkin patch toward the rattling, dry stalks of corn whispering their secrets to one another. There were a lot of pumpkins left and she wished she’d transported more to market. The number of direct-sell customers was down this year and the produce was practically useless after Halloween was past. She glanced up at the scarecrow. “Well, another summer over. We may actually have enough to pay the taxes and heat the house this winter. Maybe even eat, woohoo! A Cancun holiday is out, however.” Sam frowned down at her. 54
Season Spirits “Yes, I know, ‘Embrace the land and it will bear fruit.’ Sometimes I’d like to sell this place, move to the city and never see anything except asphalt and cement again.” She gazed across the fields at the stand of woods that marked her property line. Gold, orange and an occasional scarlet maple flamed in contrast to dark green. One of her neighbors was burning leaves and a smudge of smoke blossomed against the sky, smelling like fall. No, she wouldn’t really give up this land, this life, but lately that need for a change took hold of her and shook her like a north wind rattling the eaves on a blustery day. “I should put in sunflowers next year. They’re a big seller.” She pictured a sea of yellow faces turned to the sun, moving in unison to track the passing of yet another day. The image depressed the hell out of her. “Next year. Will anything be different? Will anything ever change? Or will I still be sitting here talking to you?” She glared up at the scarecrow. He gazed impassively back at her. “Stupid, useless thing. You can’t even keep the crows out of the corn. What good are you?” She rested her chin on her hand, her elbows on her knees and stared glumly ahead. She had to get out more, this talking to inanimate objects was getting ridiculous. But at only thirty-two she already felt worn out, too exhausted to face the dating game. She had tried all the unattached, local men she knew and no one was the one. Now she rarely went out with anyone except her female friends. Meeting someone at a club in the city was even worse. You set yourself up for a one-night stand not a relationship, and at this stage in her life Marie was ready for the real deal. She looked up at the straw-padded body and stern face of the scarecrow. “If you were a real man, you’d know that I just insulted you. You wouldn’t stand for being called useless and you’d come down from there and show me just how useful you could be.” If you were a real man… She pictured her ideal lover. Physically strong and well-muscled but not muscle-bound. Dark hair and deep brown eyes were her favorite. She glanced at her stuffed man again. Those tilting, almost Asiatic eyes were extremely appealing, but the mouth she had gotten all wrong. What she’d drawn was a mere slash. What she wanted was a pair of full, soft lips perfect for kissing. In fact… 55
Season Spirits She went and found a permanent black marker at the farm stand then returned to stand on her chair beside the scarecrow and work on his face. Making the lips fuller softened the cold, disapproving line of his mouth. She drew longer lashes around the eyes and blackened the irises, leaving only a single white spot to make a sardonic twinkle. A faint dash on either cheek marked the cheekbones. When she stood back to regard her artistry she was pleased. He was hot for a scarecrow. And, oh my god, how pathetic was that? But in the privacy of her mind, Marie could fantasize all she wished. It wasn’t enough that her dream lover should look a certain way. He had to have the right personality; good-natured but not bland, sometimes serious but never dull, toughness tempered with a sweet vulnerability when you least expected it. She wasn’t asking for much, just a little of everything. Marie sat in her chair, her black dress absorbing the sun’s heat and making her warm, sleepy…and horny. She drifted into a fantasy. He found her out in the field with a twisted ankle, scooped her up and carried her toward the house. She was embarrassed to be a damsel in distress but also extremely aroused when he lifted her in his strong arms and held her against his rock-hard chest. He laid her on her bed, removing her shoes and stockings—yes, stockings not sports sox. It was a period piece. Maybe he even unfastened garters first. His gentle hands slid down her calves to cradle her ankle, turning it slowly from side to side, asking if it hurt. She bravely told him that it would be fine. He carefully put a pillow under her legs and asked if there was ‘anything else’ he could do to make her feel better. She could almost hear the snare drum roll at the cue. “Well, if you’d really like to soothe my pain, handsome stranger…” There was a hungry gleam in his dark eyes as he patiently worked his way down the long row of buttons on her elaborate gown. He peeled away layers of clothing to reveal her flesh. His hands caressed her naked skin from her shoulders, over the plump mounds of her breasts, down her rib cage and stomach. They stopped when they reached the triangle of dark hair marking her sex. He framed it with his splayed hands and she waited, breathless, for him to continue. He seductively stroked her inner thighs and gently parted her folds to reveal the pink bud of her clit. His exotic eyes feasted on the sight of 56
Season Spirits her spread open before him then he slowly leaned down to touch her with his mouth. A car horn honked and Marie almost fell off her chair. Her eyes flew open and her hand dropped away from between her legs, where she had been rubbing idly through the fabric of her skirt. She crammed her feet back in her shoes and stood up to greet her customers, putting the witch hat back on her head. “Welcome to Granny Goodwitch’s pumpkin patch…” She went into her spiel, her voice aged and cracking. The family wasn’t one she knew. The children were young and scampered through the pumpkins choosing and discarding one after another, looking for the ‘perfect’ shape and size. It’s like picking a Christmas tree…or a man. After the family made their choices and left, Marie turned the sign on the stand to ‘Closed.’ She returned to the garden to fold up her chair for the day. She considered her erotic fantasies. They were getting out of control. She lived too much inside her head and her hand reached to satisfy her too often. Sighing, she stared up at her stuffed man. “It’s all your fault. If you were real, I wouldn’t have to make up this stuff.” The gangly figure regarded her with a cool expression. A wave of intense yearning swept through her. She was tired of fantasies and longed with all her heart for a real man to hold her, his scent, his touch, his heavy body covering hers. She craved the intimacy of sex followed by cuddling and whispering together. She simply wanted a man, the perfect man for her. “I wish you were real. I wish I could have someone…just for a night.” The moment the words left her mouth the light breeze blew into a gale. The air around her shimmered strangely although the sky was as sunny and clear as it had been all afternoon. An icy gust whipped dust hard against Marie’s face and swirled her long skirt around her legs. She shielded her eyes, looking for the source of the sudden wind, but just as quickly as it had risen, it died. She turned in a circle. “What the hell?” A flock of birds flew overhead in the bright sky but no other movement disturbed the stillness. “Weird.” Marie shook her head, folded her chair and carried it toward the house. **** The first rush of trick-or-treaters came long before sunset. They were the little ones, petite ballerinas and pint-sized superheroes. Marie 57
Season Spirits gave each an enthusiastic compliment about his or her costume and a handful of candy. She always bought chocolate bars. She remembered from her childhood that they were like diamonds among the rocks of Bito-Honeys or Tootsie Rolls in your trick-or-treat bag. Most people living out in the country didn’t get many kids. It was easier for the parents to go to subdivisions where the children could race from house to house on their own with the parents following leisurely after. But Marie was Granny Goodwitch. She had lots of little fans that came especially to see her. Dressed in her costume, she entertained them with silly jokes told in her cackling voice. Kids knew her as Granny Goodwitch all year long when they caught sight of her in town. Her fame extended far beyond the Halloween season. As it grew later, the kids grew older. Many teenagers wore goth black with thick eyeliner and fake silver jewelry. Some girls dressed in the slutty pop singer uniforms of a cleavage-baring crop top and tiny skirt. Hulking boys in baggy jeans often wore a cheap, plastic mask on top of the head and pulled it into place at the last minute as quick proof of intent. “I’m here for candy, not to mug you.” The awkward, gangly teens weren’t adorable like the sweet little ones but Marie found them touching in their own way. They were supersized kids reveling in the last hurrah of being a child, gluttonously collecting shopping bags full of candy. At last her candy stash ran dry and her patience wore thin from answering the doorbell all evening. She flipped off her porch light and changed from her witch’s dress into a stretched-out tank top and sweats. She washed off her age makeup to reveal her own smooth, oval face and brushed the snarls out of her shoulder-length, honey blond hair. She had just stretched out on the couch to watch the black-and-white, classic version of The Fly, when there was another knock on the door. “Christ. Get a clue,” she muttered. “No light means no candy, stupid.” But the knocking went on and on. Steady and even, in perfectly spaced intervals, knock, knock, knock. It was kind of creepy. The hair on her arms prickled. She sat up straight, trying to remember if she’d locked the door. The knocking grew louder, more insistent. Marie stood up with a sigh. This had better not be some stupid teenage practical joke like a flaming bag of poo. On the other hand, she thought with a shudder, flaming poo would be preferable to being raped 58
Season Spirits or murdered. She flipped on the porch light and opened the door a cautious few inches, ready to say, “I’m closed for the night. No more candy.” Standing on her doorstep was a tall, lanky man in a long dark coat. His face was angular with high, prominent cheekbones. He had dark brown, almost-black hair and slanted, almond shaped eyes that gazed at her intently as if he knew her. For a split second she felt she knew him too, but she couldn’t place the face. “Yes? Can I help you?” She closed the door another half-inch, ready to slam it shut if he did anything weird. “May I come in?” His voice was low and husky and sent an unexpected shiver of lust through her body. It vibrated from her belly to her core like tickling fingers. “Um, no, you can’t. Do you need something? Is your car broken down? Lost a trick-or-treater or something?” She scanned his body. He was wearing an old-fashioned long coat at odds with his threadbare navy pants and the scuffed work boots on his feet. “No.” “Look, I can call a wrecker, a friend or family member…the police.” “No, thank you.” He shifted from one foot to the other as if uncertain of his balance. Marie felt a creeping sense of déjà vu as she continued to stare at him. It wasn’t until her eyes focused on the fedora hat clutched in one hand that the light flashed on. Her eyes widened. He was wearing her scarecrow’s clothes. Why was he wearing her scarecrow’s clothes? Maybe he was a wandering vagrant, a bum who had exchanged one set of rags for another. “Well, what do you want then?” She closed the door even farther, talking to him through a scant few inches of open space. A puzzled frown knit his straight, dark brows, as if the answer was obvious. “I’m here for you,” he said simply. As if on cue, the wind rose. It swept through the door and blew through Marie’s thin top, raising gooseflesh on her arms and bringing her nipples to two sharp peaks. “You’re…here for me,” she repeated. “Oo-kay. Bu’bye now.” She shut the door quickly, blocking out the stranger and the strange wind. She turned the lock. For a moment, she stood with her hands pressed against the solid wood, listening to the ominous silence then she spun around and dashed across the house to the window that looked out across the fields. In the 59
Season Spirits moon’s pale glow, glimmering through scudding clouds, she saw the round curves of the pumpkins on the ground and the ragged silhouette of corn stalks waving in the breeze. She focused on the ‘T’ made from two boards nailed together. It was empty of the straw mannequin she had made. Her heart pounded. This guy was a loony. Who took scarecrow clothes and wore them? She jumped as the steady, insistent knocking started up again. She went to the phone and lifted it to dial 911, but paused with only two of the digits dialed. Her finger hovered over the ‘one’ as she thought about what had happened earlier that day. Standing there in the field daydreaming, she had wished for a lover like the one in her imagination. She had looked up at the scarecrow and said “I wish you were real” then that weird wind blew up from nowhere. If this was a movie, it would add up to magic. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, but set down the phone. Walking slowly back to the door, she stood on her side of it and listened to the repetitive thumps for a moment. “Stop! Stop it!” she finally yelled and the knocking instantly ceased. “What do you want?” The muffled voice on the other side of the door replied, “You.” “Do you know how fucking creepy that sounds?” Her voice was shrill and hysterical. “Go away!” “I can’t,” came the calm reply. “Not yet.” “What do you mean, ‘you can’t’? Turn around and walk away. Now, or I’m calling the police!” “I’m supposed to be here. You asked for me.” Marie was stunned. Horror and an awful excitement coursed through her. She thought about the classic story, The Monkey’s Paw with its ‘be careful what you wish for’ motif. She pictured the man’s angular face and realized who, or rather what, what he looked like. After all, she had drawn the primitive image herself. “That’s crazy,” she murmured then raised her voice and said haltingly, “What am I, uh, supposed to…do with you.” There was a long pause then that delicious, warm, rough voice answered, “Whatever you want.” Marie felt a hot blade of lust stab through her at the suggestive words. All reason and logic fled and only erotic images tumbled through her mind. Her sex tightened and released wetly. She laughed aloud. “No, no, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. Nuh-uh.” “Please let me in. It’s already getting late.” He sounded urgent. 60
Season Spirits “What does that mean?” “There’s not much time.” Marie frowned. She opened the door and peered through the crack. “Not much time?” He stood on her porch, broad-shouldered and sharp-angled, looking at her with those exotic eyes. She felt herself melting. It was the dark chocolate eyes that did it. Between one breath and the next she suddenly and completely believed that he was what she thought he was. The magic must be working on her, too. “You only asked for one night.” He moved a foot toward the door. As if under a spell, Marie swung the door open and stepped back to let him in. A rain-scented wind blew in with him, bringing a scattering of dried leaves into the front hall. Moving trancelike, she quietly closed the door behind him. He looked around the room, examining everything in sight then turned his gaze on her and smiled. His smile was warm, welcoming and familiar. Marie’s heart leaped. She felt like she’d known him her whole life, like he was a treasured friend. Her fears and doubts blew away like so many fall leaves. She didn’t stop to consider or second-guess as she let this stranger take her in his arms and kiss her. Maybe her capitulation was part of the spell. He bent his head and covered her mouth with his—it was warm and soft. Her arms went around his neck and pulled his mouth even tighter against hers. She felt like she’d been fasting for years and was suddenly served a five-course meal. He kissed and kissed and kissed her, his tongue ranging over the landscape of her mouth, tasting her and teasing her tongue to respond. She breathed in his warm, male musk, the slight moldy odor of the clothes and the dry, dusty scent of straw. His hands grasped her rear and pulled her tight against him surprising a soft moan from her. There were far too many clothes in between them but she could still feel the bulge in his pants through all the layers. Marie stepped back and pushed the open coat off his shoulders. He shrugged his arms out of the sleeves and it dropped heavily to the floor. 61
Season Spirits She unfastened the buttons of his shirt one by one to reveal the flat plane of his chest and his taut stomach. A sprinkling of hair led from his navel down to the waistband of his pants and she shivered at the thought of where it led. She peeled the shirt back and stripped it off him like a wrapper from a piece of trick-or-treat candy. Beneath it the lean muscles of his shoulders, chest and abdomen were encased in smooth, hairless, tan skin that felt like silk under her stroking hands. The ache between her legs increased and her panties dampened. He cupped her face in his warm palms and leaned in to kiss her again, softly and gently. She opened her mouth beneath his, pressing her hands flat against his chest and feeling his steadily beating heart. “So soft,” he whispered. “Just like I thought they would be.” He nibbled on her mouth with little kisses. So hard, Marie thought, smoothing her hands over his chest. Just like I dreamed about. Aloud she murmured, “I can’t believe I’m doing this. This can’t be happening.” “Why not? It’s what you wanted.” His hands dropped from her face and went around her back, pulling her to him once more. His deep voice was so intimate and the gleam in his eyes so hungry that Marie felt limp as a scarecrow herself. Only his strong arms held her upright. She held onto his shoulders and looked up into his eyes, frowning. “What is your name? I mean, what should I call you.” “You know.” He smiled. “You named me.” “Sam?” He nodded. “Oh my God, I can’t believe—” He leaned in and covered her mouth with his and her disbelief was suspended once more. She threaded her hands through his thick, dark hair, relishing the feel of the thick, silky strands and the vulnerable neck beneath. He pushed the loose straps of her tank top off her shoulders and caressed her skin. He kissed a path from her mouth down her throat to the hollow where her pulse pounded. He sucked on the flesh there a moment then, humming a satisfied little “Mmm,” pulled away and lifted the hem of her shirt up over her head. Marie raised her arms and let him take it off then instinctively crossed her arms over her bare breasts. 62
Season Spirits He tossed the shirt aside and gently moved her arms to gaze avidly at the small, pale globes with their dusky, pointed nipples. He kissed the swell of each breast then nuzzled her left nipple like a seeking infant before sucking it into his mouth with hungry authority. Her eyes closed part way and she moaned her delight at the strong sucking sensation. She thrust her chest toward him encouragingly, enjoying the sight of his generous mouth wrapped around her breast. When he let it go with a pop, the nipple and aureole were glistening wet and red as raspberries. He turned his attention to her other breast. While Marie enjoyed Sam’s ministrations, she ran her hands over his strong shoulders and upper back, amazed at the living flesh. Her logical mind reared its annoying head once more asking how this was possible. But she pushed the frantic, questioning voice out of her mind and tried to concentrate only on the delectable sensations in her breast, which tingled straight down to her sex. His hand moved down between her legs, rubbing her lightly through her cotton sweats. The delicious friction made her even wetter. She ground herself against his hand, letting out a long, low moan. She wanted to see the rest of him now, wanted him nude before her. She pushed him away from her breasts and bent to unfasten his pants. The loose-fitting trousers dropped easily over his narrow hips and down to the floor. Her throat went dry at the sight before her. Whatever Sam had been before, he was all man now. His cock thrust out, thick and long, from a dark nest of pubic hair. Beneath the huge, rigid shaft swayed a heavy pair of balls. It was the kind of equipment that filled Marie’s fantasies. And why not? If this was an erotic fantasy brought on by eating too many mini-Mars bars, why shouldn’t it be perfect? She reached down and grasped him. His organ was ridged with veins, pulsing with life. It twitched eagerly at her touch and somehow managed to grow even harder. The head was smooth and purplish-red, already dripping in its eagerness for her. She wanted it in her mouth. Now! Dropping to her knees, she encircled Sam’s shaft with her hand and guided the tip to her mouth. With her other hand she cradled the hot, heaviness of his sac, hefting it and toying with the egg-shapes inside the soft skin. Her lips closed around him and her tongue sampled the salty, smoothness of his cock. She sucked him in deeper and deeper as he gasped his pleasure. 63
Season Spirits Glancing down, she realized his trousers were still pooled around his scuffed work boots. She withdrew his cock from her mouth, eliciting a small cry of protest from Sam, and began to unlace the boots. There was no doubt they were her father’s, salvaged from the basement and used to give her mannequin a pair of feet. But now they were tied over a real man’s feet. She felt vaguely submissive, kneeling before him and removing them like this. The position gave her a stab of déjà vu. She thought of how often she had sat at the feet of the scarecrow on her metal folding chair, waiting for customers, daydreaming and gazing out across the pumpkins and rows of corn. When she looked up, he was staring down at her, eyes glittering with lust. She quickly pulled off his boots while he shifted his balance from one foot to the other. Then he stood before her completely naked, long, lean and muscular—the man of her dreams. She returned her attention to his cock, grasping it firmly and moving her hand up and down while sucking the satiny head into her mouth. She hadn’t given a blow-job since her brief relationship with Nathan a couple of years ago. She discovered that her body remembered sex—the movements and feelings associated with it—much better than she could remember Nathan’s face at this point. It was kind of sad that he had left so little impression on her. Sam’s hands entwined in her hair, holding her head steady as he thrust into her mouth. “That feels so good,” he whispered. “I didn’t know how good it would be.” She was touched by his awed tone and at the realization that he was, to all intents, a virgin. It gave her a sense of power. She wanted to make this blow-job memorable. Slipping her mouth from his staff, she dropped lower and licked his balls. Grazing her finger over the sensitive strip between balls and anus made Sam suck in his breath sharply. She scratched him there lightly then circled her finger around the puckered hole, making it contract. She sucked his balls into her mouth gently one after the other while he groaned. After several moments of ball play she pulled away. “You like that?” “Oh, yes,” he gasped. She resumed sucking his cock, harder now, grasping his shaft with tight fingers and moving briskly to bring him to climax. 64
Season Spirits Helpless against the force of her will, he thrust his hips, filling her mouth deeply with each push. The pace increased and his control slipped as he moved faster and faster, holding her head steady and fucking her mouth. She was excited by his unbridled desire as he plunged into her again and again. She used her teeth to keep him from going too deep and making her gag. He hissed when they scraped against his cock. Then he came with a hoarse cry, throwing his head back and pumping into her mouth. Marie’s jaw ached and her knees were sore from kneeling on the floor. She felt more than tasted the burst of warmth at the back of her throat and swallowed it down. She let go of his penis and put her hands at his hips to steady him. His thighs trembled and knees sagged. He breathed raggedly as he came down from his orgasm. “Thank you.” His eyes opened and he looked down at her again, brushing his hands through her hair and caressing her upturned face. Sinking down to his knees in front of her, he gathered her into his arms and held her close. “My pleasure.” Marie pressed her mouth against his shoulder, reveling in being enfolded in a lover’s embrace for the first time in a long time. She buried her face into his warm skin and breathed him in. They clung together for several long moments, then Sam rose, took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. He scooped her into his arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. “I’m the one that should be doing things to you. This is your night. Where shall I take you?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tight. “Upstairs. My bedroom’s on the right.” He carried her up the stairs. With her bare feet dangling over his arm, Marie felt like a little girl. It was sweet and comforting to be carried like this. She was aware of the side of her breast sliding against his bare chest. Each delicate touch sent waves of desire coursing through her. She was still wearing her sweatpants but that was all she had on. As they entered her bedroom, she flipped the light switch and the orange glow of her bedside lamp bathed the room. She had decorated the room in shades of dull red and earthy brown, which made the room seem warmer on this blustery night.
65
Season Spirits “So this is where you sleep.” He deposited her gently on the antique coverlet. “I’ve thought of you at night, wondered what you were doing when you weren’t with me.” Marie’s curiosity was piqued. “You were aware? Before tonight?” “Aware?” He looked thoughtful. “Yes. I knew you, and I knew the field around me, but now…there’s so much more inside me.” She tried to picture the rudimentary thoughts he might have had and what it would be like to have those thoughts burst into full bloom, complex and colorful. “Why did it take so long, I mean, between my wish and you showing up at my door?” “You asked for one night.” Brushing the hair from her forehead, he stroked her face and gazed into her eyes. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it then pressed it over his thumping heart. “Feel it? It’s bursting for you.” The sappy words sounded earnest and true coming from him. Marie smiled. He put her hand down and reached for the waistband of her sweats. She lifted her hips so he could slide them off her. Lying before him naked, she resisted the urge to cover her pussy. His eyes feasted on her body, making her feel beautiful. He touched her all over, stroking her hair, cupping her face in his palms then running them down her neck to her chest and breasts. He fondled them lightly before moving down to her belly. It twitched as his fingers skated over it and Marie anticipated his touch on her eagerly waiting pussy. His hands lingered, toying with the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. She shivered as he came close to the sensitive bud of her clit but didn’t touch it. He ran his hands down her smooth legs all the way to her feet. Picking one up, he wiggled each toe then ran his fingernail up the arch making her squirm and laugh. “They’re so perfect,” he said, kissing her foot before setting it back on the bed. He nudged her legs apart and knelt between them. Looking down at her pussy spread open before him, he appeared as awed as a child presented with an amazing toy. Marie wondered if he knew what to do with it. What kind of knowledge had been poured into his newly created brain? She pushed 66
Season Spirits out of her mind the more salient question of how he had become a sentient being. Sam soon showed her that he knew exactly what to do. He leaned down between her legs, separate her labia and kissed her. He caressed her with his tongue, achingly slowly from her slit up to her clitoris. Marie gasped. Her stomach muscles jerked and her thighs tensed as his tongue swirled around the sensitive nerve bundle. It felt so much better than what she did with her hand or a vibrator. Stopping to look up at her with those dark, almond eyes, he grinned smugly. He might be a freshly minted man but he had a typical male’s ego about his ability to light her fire. He licked all around her clit without touching it, refusing to give what she so desperately desired. He moved farther down instead, bathing her labia and slipping his tongue deep inside her. She writhed beneath him and finally begged, “Please.” Then he moved his mouth up to the bud of desire, teasing and tickling it delicately then lapping over it hard. She thrust against his mouth. Energy sparks shot through her nerve endings, awakening every inch of her body. She tingled with escalating desire that slowly coiled inside her until it filled her whole being. Finally she could contain it no longer and it detonated like a bomb. She came with a primal wail that made her glad she had no neighbors. Glorious light flashed behind her closed eyelids. Her torso arched off the bed and she felt like she was flying, weightless and free—flying then free-falling back to the bed with a bump. She gasped a wordless exhale and her body spasmed through the aftershocks. She was aware of Sam kissing her thighs, her stomach and gently petting her like she was a shivering racehorse that needed calming. When she finally opened her eyes and looked down at him, his chin rested on her belly and he gazed up at her with a satisfied smile. “Still think I’m useless,” he asked. Her mind was blank for a moment then recalled her comment earlier in the day spoken to an inanimate Sam. She smiled at him sheepishly. “No. Not useless at all.” He crawled up her body to kiss her mouth and she tasted herself on his tongue. After several deep kisses, he drew back to look into her face once more, examining every feature as though memorizing her. Down below she could feel his hard cock, pressing into her thigh. 67
Season Spirits Sam traced a hand over her forehead, her upturned nose and firm chin. He touched the sharp line of her cheekbone and the soft curve of her cheek. Then he ran his thumb over her lips. Her mouth opened automatically under his touch and her tongue tasted the salt of his skin. His hand was real. His caressing thumb was real. He was so real. She had another of those jolts where her logical mind slammed into place telling her this was impossible. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this man. Magical, fantasy lovers did not exist. Her first assumption had been right and he was some vagrant who had simply borrowed the clothes hanging in her field…and she had taken him to bed! “Are you really—” He laid his finger over her lips. “Don’t.” He shook his head and bent to kiss her. “I’m here. That’s all that matters.” He kissed from her lips along the line of her jaw to nibble her ear lobe then he licked the soft skin just beneath it. She laughed and clamped her cheek to her shoulder to stop him. “It tickles.” He growled and tried to burrow past her defenses to attack her vulnerable neck. She shrieked and wiggled. “Stop!” Laughing, he abandoned her neck and moved his mouth down to her chest and then to her breasts again. After sucking at each nipple for several moments, he pulled back to gaze at them. “I love these.” Marie smiled. He sounded so reverent. “They love you back.” She put her hands on his shoulders and tugged. “Come up here.” He moved back up her body. She could feel his penis nudging insistently against her pussy seeking entrance and she reached down between them to guide it into her. “Ohhh,” Sam gave a protracted sigh of fulfillment as he was enveloped in her heat. Marie enjoyed the stretching sensation and the warmth and vitality of a live cock entering her body. It had been a long time since she’d had anything except her vibrator inside her. “Oh yes,” she breathed, arching her hips to meet his deep thrust. He pulled out very slowly, breath hissing at the contact. Then, staring down into her eyes, he filled her once more. 68
Season Spirits She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him in. Her hands stroked down his wonderfully hard, smooth back, cupped the swell of his butt and pulled him tight into her. He didn’t withdraw for a few seconds, simply stayed inside her while she clenched her muscles around him. He shifted slightly from side to side, stimulating the lips of her vagina surrounding his shaft. Finally he slowly withdrew almost his entire length before repeating that long, aching slide back into her depths. Marie lost track of time as they continued the languorous pace of their lovemaking. She was dimly aware of the howling wind outside and the rain dashing against her windowpane. Sometimes the glass rattled in the frame from the gusts, but in the soft nest of her bed, in the warm glow of the lamplight, she and her lover were safe and warm. She looked up into Sam’s angular face. His eyes glittered beneath half-closed lids. His mouth was slightly open and his chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily in time with his thrusting hips. Breathing. He was breathing, she marveled. His thrusts increased gradually. She arched up beneath him on each stroke. Suddenly the lazy rhythm became more urgent. He drove into her with an intensity that made him grunt. The sound thrilled her on a primitive level. She moaned in response, eyes closing as she gave herself completely to sensation. Again she felt the tension coiling slowly tighter, incited by the pressing of his cock deep inside her. He hit just the right spot over and over and her excitement mounted. “Oh god!” She clutched his sweaty shoulders, digging in her nails. Arching into him, she came once more, the rollercoaster seizing and plunging her through a dizzying ride. She gasped and cried out. At almost the same moment, Sam came, his harsh cry a deep, reverberating in counterpoint to her high wail. Inside her, his cock pulsed. Her body clutched and held it fast and her arms and legs grappled him to her as if she would keep him forever. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. She continued to hold him while their breathing slowed and steadied. Then he rolled off of her, bringing her along with him, then resting together in contented silence. 69
Season Spirits Marie lay at his side, an arm flung over him and her head pressed to his sweat-slicked chest. She listened to his steady heartbeat, an echo of the drumming rain on the roof. She idly traced her finger in concentric circles around his aureole. He shivered at her tickling touch. “I’ve been so lonely for such a long time. I’ve met men, gone out on dates, but there’s just no one who…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. Interests me, excites me, touches me? “Is right for me. Tonight has been just what I dreamed about. You’re exactly who I wanted.” With Sam she felt she had found that connection she’d been searching for, something transcending words or physical attraction. Although they’d barely spoken, she already knew who he was. “Real men aren’t perfect. You mustn’t expect them to be,” he warned her. “I know that. Perfection would be boring. I want someone to challenge me, even fight with me sometimes. But I also want someone who understands me, who really knows me.” “I do,” he whispered, touching his lips to her hair, “But this can’t last.” “Why?” She sighed. It already felt like a dream even as he held her tight in his arms. “How long…?” “Sometime before sunrise.” “What if I stay awake?” She rolled onto her stomach and regarded him, folded arms resting on top of his chest. “What if we make love right through ‘til morning? Maybe then you wouldn’t have to go back.” He smiled but his eyes were sad. He stroked her cheek and avoided her questions. “We still have time. Is there any special fantasy or desire you want fulfilled?” Suddenly all the wild, erotic daydreams Marie had spun and embroidered with lusty detail seemed superfluous. “No, nothing special. Just talk to me and then make love to me again.” “All right.” He lifted his head from the pillow and kissed her. “Tell me, have you considered planting flowers in the fallow field? You can earn more selling flowers than produce these days.” Marie laughed. “We’re talking farming? That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Besides, how do you know that? Your experience is kind of limited.” “I know everything you know.” He added with a mischievous smile, “And a hell of a lot more.” 70
Season Spirits “Oh, really? What’s the capital of, uh, South Dakota?” “Pierre.” He answered promptly surprising her since she didn’t know the answer. “What’s my favorite color?” “Blue.” She named her own favorite. “Wrong. It’s green. I have opinions of my own, you know.” “All right.” She sat up cross-legged and pulled the sheet up around her naked shoulders against the slight chill in the room. “So, you think you know everything I know; what was the name of my favorite doll when I was six?” “Patty.” Her eyes widened. “Now that’s just scary.” Actually she thought it was kind of sweet that he knew that kind of personal detail about her, even if some magical force had fed him the information. One of his hands stole under the sheet and up the inside of her bare leg. “How do I prefer sex, top or bottom?” She laughed in surprise. Sam had seemed content with her taking the lead at first so she thought maybe the latter. Then she remembered how confident he had been moving on top of her only a few moments before. “On top. You like to be in control.” He shook his head. “Either. Both. From behind. Kneeling. Sitting. Standing. Up against the wall. Over a table. In a tree.” He dropped his voice to a velvety growl. “Any way at all, as long as it’s with you.” Considering he was only created to please her it didn’t mean much and yet the compliment sent a thrill through her. “A tree, huh? I’d like to see that.” “We can go outside right now if you want. But it’s a little wet.” He grinned at the understatement. Rain was still lashing against the windowpanes. “How about on the dining room table then,” she said huskily. “I can make us something to eat first and then you can sweep the dishes off the table and have your way with me.” “Sounds like a plan, as long as you do the cleaning up afterward. Or…” He cupped her face and kissed her deeply once more. “We could stay right here. I like being in your bed.” “I like having you in my bed.” In fact, she wished they could stay here forever, in this precious moment of this particular night with the pouring rain making their cocoon of warmth seem all the more cozy. Marie crawled on top of Sam, sliding sinuously over his skin and the erotic foreplay began all over again. 71
Season Spirits As the clock marked the hours ‘til dawn, they made love again and again. Between encounters they lay and talked, sipping wine and eating snacks Marie brought up from the kitchen. It was exactly the kind of night she’d dreamed of. Their small talk was easy and comfortable, their banter silly and fun. She felt like she’d known Sam her whole life. The last time they made love they were too sleepy to rouse from their spooned position. He entered her from behind, moving gently against her back and kissing her shoulder as he clasped her tight against him. “Love you,” he whispered and it sounded like the breeze rustling through dry corn stalks. “I won’t let you go,” Marie murmured fiercely. “Keep making love to me and it won’t end.” He pressed into her over and over, stroking her clit until she came with soft, whimpering moans. He entered her once more deeply and shuddered against her with a contented sigh. They lay in drowsy comfort afterward. Despite Marie’s intentions, she fell sound asleep in his arms, lulled by the warmth and his beating heart. When she woke, she was alone in the bed. Pale gray, pre-dawn light filled the window. She sat bolt upright. Her hand swept over the depression in the bed next to her, feeling for residual body heat but there was none. She jumped out of bed, threw on a T-shirt and jeans and raced downstairs and out the front door. The storm had stopped and the ground was muddy, the grass wet and cold on her bare feet. She tore around the side of the house and her eyes went straight to the scarecrow post in the pumpkin field. Her stuffed mannequin was back in place. It hung exactly as she had left it yesterday afternoon. The clothes were sodden and drooping from the night’s downpour, flapping in the morning breeze. Marie ran to the scarecrow and clutched the soggy coat. She thumped her hand against the figure’s straw-filled chest. “No!” Throwing her arms around its legs, she pressed her face into the pants. They smelled like musty, wet straw and the rough material scraped her cheek. The front of her T-shirt quickly soaked through. Hoarse sobs wracked her body. After a while she stood back and gazed up at the cloth mannequin, still clutching the fabric of its pants. 72
Season Spirits The scarecrow’s crude face stared impassively down at her. Her heart broke. “Please. Please bring him back.” She prayed to the nameless power that had brought her lover to life. “Please, please… ” Her mind dissolved into wordless begging as she sank down on her knees in the mud at the base of the pole. She remained there for a long time in a near trance, crying and pleading, her forehead bowed to her knees. When she finally came back to herself, her hands and feet were freezing. She raised her face to the morning sun and its rays blinded her. Rising stiffly to her feet, she rubbed a hand over her eyes, gazed around the pastoral landscape and then at the stuffed mannequin once more. The events of the previous night seemed preposterous. She was awake now and in control of her fevered emotions. Whatever had transpired or she had dreamed was past. Her one perfect night was over. She turned her back on the scarecrow and walked toward the house. **** The bright leaves of October changed to brown then cold winds stripped the trees bare, leaving black branches like jagged bones against the sky. Like a faded photograph, all color was leeched out of Marie’s world as she sleepwalked through her days. She harvested the last of her crops, stripping the earth then plowing it under to lie dormant until spring. Soon the land would be lifeless, blanketed in white, but eventually the new season would come, and fresh green would spread across the fields in the yearly affirmation of life. Too bad her heart couldn’t recover so easily. It felt icy cold and she didn’t think it could ever be revived. A month passed during which Marie did nothing but work, eat and sleep. During the day she could almost convince herself that the whole encounter with Sam had been some kind of surreal fantasy, but in her bed at night she knew that wasn’t true. She could feel the impression of his body on her skin. Closing her eyes she could smell and taste him and remember how his muscles felt beneath her hands. Most nights ended with her hand between her thighs giving herself comfort, tears wetting her cheeks afterward as she cried herself to sleep. She went out to the pumpkin patch one day to take down the scarecrow for winter as she normally would this time of year, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it. She stared dry-eyed into the markerscrawled face for a full fifteen minutes before turning away. 73
Season Spirits One afternoon in late November, the phone rang. “Marie, I know you’re there. Pick up! I haven’t spoken to you in over a month. This is getting ridiculous…All right. Fine. Don’t answer, but I’m coming out there this evening. Bob’s old college friend, Marcus is visiting and you’re going out with him. That’s right, it’s the dreaded blind, double date. Don’t argue, just get dressed and we’ll pick you up at 7:00 for dinner. Don’t panic. You’re not signing your life away. It’s just a date. Remember those?” Marie sighed. She couldn’t put Linda off forever and it sounded like her friend wasn’t going to give her much of a choice. She picked up the phone and called back to tell her she’d be expecting them. The evening was everything Marie had expected from a blind date. It was awkward, strained and more long than fun. She asked Marcus about his life and his marketing job, but while he explained his work, she zoned out and mentally giggled at the idea of “Marcus from Marketing.” The guy seemed nice. She was sure that if she bothered to get to know him, he would be, but he wasn’t what she wanted. She knew what she wanted and could never have again. Marie smiled, nodded and commented at all the right places in the conversation, but when she and Linda went to the restroom, her friend smacked her in the arm and said, “What’s up with you? You look like somebody ran over your dog.” “I’ve just been a little…depressed lately.” “Well, get a prescription and snap out of it. You’re scaring me a little.” “I’m trying. Give me a break.” Marie faced the mirror and applied fresh lipstick so she wouldn’t have to look at her. But Linda was like a hound on a scent. “There’s something going on here. I know the usual brand of melancholy Marie and this isn’t it. What happened?” Marie shrugged. She was a horrible liar and knew it. Linda’s eyes widened. “A guy! You met somebody and didn’t tell me? Where? When? What happened?” It was an impossible story. Marie distilled it down to the essence. “It was a one night stand. I hoped it could be more but…it couldn’t.” “Wow, he must have been really good to get you so worked up. In all the years I’ve known you I’ve never seen you really crush on a guy. Why didn’t it work out?” Marie shook her head and checked her eyeliner. 74
Season Spirits “Did he turn out to be a real prick or something?” Linda leaned back against the sink, arms folded, watching Marie. “Why couldn’t something come of that one-nighter?” “No, he wasn’t a prick, but it wasn’t meant to be.” “Meant to be? Fuck that. It’s such a cliché. If you’ve finally found someone you want, you have to do something about it. That’s always been your problem, Marie. You wait for things to happen to you. For god’s sake, make something happen for a change!” “How?” Marie couldn’t explain the impossibility of her situation. “There’s always a way. Now there’s a cliché I believe in. That and ‘a bird in the hand…’ You’ve got to prove that lightning does strike twice. Contact the guy. Make it happen again. Carpe diem and all that.” “For someone who doesn’t believe in clichés, you sure like to spout them.” Marie snapped her purse closed. “Look, we’ll cut this evening short,” Linda said, pushing off from the sink. “Get you home and on the phone to this guy, pronto. Okay? Make it happen!” Marie smiled, overwhelmed by her friend’s enthusiasm. “Okay.” At the very least, she was getting early parole from an unwanted blind date. **** Marie thanked Marcus for the nice evening, apologized for bailing early and got out of the car. She stood on her front porch watching until the red taillights disappeared. She repeated Linda’s advice aloud. “Make it happen.” She went into the house, tossed her purse on the hall table and kicked off her shoes. Make it happen. She had tried to convince herself for over a month that the whole experience had been a dream. It was ridiculous. The imprint of Sam’s body on hers was too fresh, too real. It had happened and she’d be damned if she let such bliss slip away without protest. She relived every moment of that magical night and for the thousandth time tried to figure out how Sam had been brought to life. What entity or elemental force had given her that gift? How and why had it happened? “What do you need, huh? What do I have to give to win him back? Blood sacrifice?” she said aloud. Seized with the thought, she went to her computer. She searched online for All Hallows Eve and read everything she could about the 75
Season Spirits ancient Celtic festival of Samhain when the souls of the dead mingled with the living. On that day all manner of beings are abroad: ghosts, fairies, and demons--all part of the dark and dread. She learned about the harvest spirits, also called fairies, which had extra power on that night. There was folklore concerning witches transmogrifying people into animals and stories about deals with the devil but nowhere did she find anything that told how one could force a transformation. But she knew the druids were big on blood sacrifice and it seemed a likely offering. Marie wasn’t about to sacrifice an animal, let alone a human being, but she figured her own blood was hers to do with as she wished. She read up on druidic rituals, found an American Indian prayer to the spirits of earth then she took a sharp paring knife from the kitchen and some dish towels to staunch the wounds afterward and went out to the field. Kneeling in front of the scarecrow on the muddy earth and feeling like a complete asshole, she closed her eyes and fabricated a prayer. “Faerie Queen, Pan, Earth Mother, Great Spirit, whoever the hell granted my wish, I beseech thee. Please.” Her voice choked with tears. She took the knife and made a careful cut across her palm. It hurt like hell and blood welled along the slice. She held her trembling hand toward the navy pants and smeared them with her blood. “Please, whatever higher power or elemental magic made this happen, fix this!” She transferred the knife to her injured hand. It slipped in her slick palm. She grasped it tightly and cut into the flesh of her right palm, repeating the anointing of the scarecrow. “I offer this blood sacrifice to earn my, um…boon. Please grant me this request. We only had one night. It wasn’t enough. Please, please, give him back to me. I want a new life. I want a change.” She wrapped her stinging hands around the wood post, letting the blood seep into the wood, and continued to pray, plead and cry. She pressed her forehead against the pole, squeezed her eyes tight shut and concentrated on believing in what she was asking for. Whistling wind filled her ears. At first she didn’t know if it was real or blood rushing from her head as she started to lose consciousness. “I believe. Come to me.” Her aching hands slipped off of the bloody post as she fell. There was a crash of thunder and a lightning flash that glimmered even through her closed eyelids. 76
Season Spirits Marie lifted her head and looked up at the bedraggled clothes hanging on the wooden frame. They moved and shifted in the unnatural wind, seeming to take on life, but when she reached up to touch the cotton pants, they were still only stuffed with moldy straw. “Please!” she yelled, her cry rising to the midnight sky. She called it aloud and then mentally over and over until she passed into an exhausted trance. Eventually she slipped into unconsciousness at the inanimate feet of the scarecrow. **** When the first rays of the sun touched her stiff, cold body, she shifted and woke. Please was her first waking thought and she realized she had never stopped repeating it even in sleep. Please, I don’t want to search for a companion, a partner, my perfect other half. I’ve already found him. Please. A muffled groan made her sit bolt upright and snap her head around. Lying on the ground not far from her was a man’s naked body. She did a mental inventory; long and lean, tan skin, dark hair. He lay on his side with his back turned toward her in the same fetal position from which she had just uncurled. Marie scrambled on all fours to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back in the dirt, leaving a bloody handprint on his arm. “Sam?” He groaned and his eyelids flickered once before opening. He stared up at her blankly, struggling to focus. “It’s me. Marie. Something happened. You’re alive! See!” She took his hand and brought it to his chest so he could feel the thumping of his heart. His dark gaze wandered from her face to the rose and lavender sky arcing overhead. The sun breached the horizon and every gold limned, frosted blade of grass around them. It was going to be a crisp, clear autumn day. “I’m here,” he rasped. He looked over at the post. The old clothes were still hanging there but with no straw stuffing inside them. “You’re real…again.” She clung to his hands as though he might slip away. “Do you remember what happened?” “No. I don’t remember much of anything.” His eyes traveled back to her and a warm smile curled his mouth. “Except last night. I remember every minute of that.” 77
Season Spirits She didn’t bother to correct him. For him no time had passed. Her eyes scanned his naked body, drinking in the long, lean muscles and then returned to the exotic yet familiar features of his handsome face. “You must be freezing. Let’s get you inside.” She tugged on his hands, helping him to sit. When she winced slightly at the pain in her palms, his eyes dropped to them. He turned one hand palm upward and touched the crusty cover of congealed blood along the cut. Marie realized she never had wrapped it as she intended. “What happened?” “I gave blood,” she cracked. “But I didn’t get juice and a cookie. Instead I got you.” She hugged him to her. He buried his face in her neck, kissing it. They clung together for several moments and she breathed in his scent, hot male with a hint of straw. “I remember,” he mumbled against her skin. “You were calling for me over and over. I heard you...and then I woke up.” “Yes.” He pulled away from her and took her hand, once more tracing the line in her palm. “You gave part of yourself for me. A sacrifice.” “It wasn’t much, only a little blood.” “But it binds us forever,” he said quietly. “Like a vow.” Forever. She liked the sound of that. He leaned in and kissed her. His mouth was soft and warm and wet. Her eyes closed and she reveled in a kiss that seemed to go on forever. Her arms wrapped around him and her aching hand roved up and down his back, unable to settle. She wanted to feel all of him, all at once, to touch him everywhere and verify his reality. She wanted to get him into her bed and warm his cold body with her own. Marie broke free of the embrace, stood and helped Sam to his feet. He seemed stiff and uncertain on his legs, and shifted from foot to foot, looking down at them as though unable to believe they were his. She put an arm around his waist, resting a hand against his naked hip and together they ambled toward the house. They paused on the front porch as she opened the door to the house. “Are you ready for this?” she asked. “For life?” “Definitely.” He glanced sideways at her and grinned. He entered the door. 78
Season Spirits Marie took one last look at the empty clothes hanging on the T out in the dead garden and at the brown, stubble field beyond it. They looked desolate now but they would be green again in spring. Things did change. Her life stretched out before her brimming with possibilities, her land, her home, her man. She had altered the pattern of her life and anything could happen next.
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I enjoy writing and have done it for sheer entertainment value. I enjoy poetry, short stories, and longer works. I enjoy suspense, Paranormal, Alternative Religion and Wicca, Fantasy and Science Fiction. My website: http://bridghidparkinson.blogspirit.com Send comments to:
[email protected] Previous Release from Midnight Showcase: http://www.midnightshowcase.com/e-sweet_revenge.htm “Phantom Vindication” in Sweet Revenge Digest 05-03 Paranormal Short Story, Multiple Authors, ISBN 1-4116-5308-4 Coming Soon: Initiation to the Legends A Fantasy Novel from Midnight Showcase! The myths spoke of a gentle dragon, Amarat, working among the people of Doval as a human, renowned as the Gentle Merchant. The legends describe how he selects a beautiful priestess to be his ‘Chosen’—Facserity—and she is revered but she never returns to the homelands of Doval. Madiri’s nightmares about dragons were frightful but she found comfort in her visions of a mysterious priest. She finds strength in the wisdom of her Elder, Kelani. It has been so long since Amarat has Chosen that even the Elders believe the legend is a fantasy. Madiri longs to find the priest of her visions and initiate to the next level of service to her people but the call from the dragon cannot be ignored. Madiri must face her fears and claim her destiny. Every legend has a beginning.
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Haunted Passions By Bridghid Parkinson Early Tuesday afternoon… You can do it…its out there ready for you… The old sewing machine beat out the staccato rhythm. Sharon was attentive to the seams of her curtains, but her thoughts drifted during the monotonous repetition. You will find a man to trust…one that is worthy… Her loneliness was pervasive, but she was afraid of making poor choices just to satiate the need for sex or having an intimate companion in her life. Her friends satisfied the need for company to go shopping and her dog took up more than his share of bed space, she missed dancing and having and having a partner in the house though. The dish drainer told the tale where there was often only one cereal bowl, or a single knife from an impromptu sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. Her hesitation in personal relationships came from regrettable choices in the past. There were too many sacrifices expected for the privilege of having a partner. Her work suffered when he demonstrated the attitude that her job was secondary to his. She still maintained the apartment alone and was responsible for making meals and clearing time for the errands he couldn’t accomplish. There were also secrets that disrupted the relationship and elements of trust never returned once lost. She resented secrets, when she worked to be open. If she didn’t open herself, she didn’t risk any more trouble from nasty secrets or unreasonable expectations. 81
Season Spirits The last several months felt like she was standing in the starting gates of a race, poised and positioned with all of her muscles taught and ready to leap into action, but no gun signaled the start, she felt held back by outside forces. Having had the ready-to-spring feeling for a couple of months now, she knew the time was coming for a change, but she didn’t know when. Sharon became very frustrated with her work and her lack of a suitable relationship. She felt a sense of stagnancy, but she wasn’t willing to lie down and accept what life had given her, she was still sorting out what she wanted to change in her life and the direction she hoped to go. She had a good job in interior design; a good starting position, which she had worked resolutely at for two years. She considered applying to a bigger design house but she had a stable job and didn’t have to use her trust fund. She disliked Margaret, the owner of the shop, but this design house got her intriguing assignments in Delmarva’s historic houses with experiences she wouldn’t get in a city company. She focused on work in the older historic homes but one of the problems was, that she rarely got the good assignments because Margaret screened the customers and took them for herself. This afternoon the frustration seemed to crest when the thread broke again. She swore under her breath at the machine, her legs were starting to ache and she noticed her fists ball up, it was time for a break. She stood up and tossed her wavy hair behind her shoulders, straightened her work area—it was better to walk away, rather than let a machine get her angry. This machine had benefits for working with thick fabrics and leather, but it belonged in a museum. If it hadn’t been for old-fashioned craftsmanship, and easy maintenance, this machine would have been junk decades ago. She stretched her arms and thought about another project in the woodshop that she could use to give herself a break from the curtains. Her favorite part of interior design work was to sit down with a pad and paper to draw up ideas about what to do with the design of a room. The room set up with a client was also fun, she liked to see the customer smile as the room came together. The tough work was making or buying the items she drew, but any change of pace was welcome during the long afternoons. A co-worker named Jennifer saw her stretch and approached to talk about a design. “I’ve got a question for you…” and she started a lengthy 82
Season Spirits description of her project. Her chatty coworkers were annoying when they interfered with her getting her work accomplished. Jennifer was a problem because Sharon had a difficult time finding good traits or qualities that she admired in her. She continued describing the project, “…and I was thinking of putting a large ottoman in this corner…with a lid that can be switched around for a gaming table…with a cushion that can be removed…” She began rambling about an ottoman. Jennifer was annoying because she would try to pick up ideas from Sharon and the other decorators. Sharon was not falling for her thinly veiled plagiarisms. “I’m sorry, let me get a breath of fresh air and I’ll try to get back to you,” she interrupted with an arduous smile. Jennifer didn’t understand, even after months of similar dodges, Sharon was keeping her ideas to herself. Sharon also learned to keep her personal life to herself because the woman was a gossip, seeking any details to lend excitement to her own dispirited life. Hurrying toward the side door, she gave an extra flip to her hair as she sauntered out. It was nothing more than a bit of unspoken cattiness. Her way of showing Jennifer what healthy hair should be, rather than the over-processed, neon tangle she claimed to be fashionable. Sharon admonished herself for the trace of arrogance, she avoided crass comments, but it was difficult. Standing on the steps, triumphant in her escape, Sharon had a tiny inspiration of working in a shop of her own tickling the edge of her thoughts—a strong idea of how not to manage it firm in her mind. It was cool outside, even though the temperatures had warmed over the last few hours. Although only the middle of October, the weather could still be bitter. The clouds made the sky gray but there was no wind, and the temperature was above freezing. Where the main showroom was a large brick and stucco building, the woodshop out to the side was a noisy, corrugated steel work shed at the back of the lot that could be drafty in the winter. The shop was a reclusive hideaway free from interruptions, while in the showroom, they were in high gear for the holiday season. The woodshop was the area to make some of her valances, storage units, and special wall hangings. Everyone was working hard for fresh ideas and showroom displays when not engaged with a contract. Margaret—the owner—preferred setting up displays and drawings of ready-made items for ‘impulse 83
Season Spirits buyers’. Everyone in the showroom carried the responsibility of making them, but the commission on the showroom sales was small. Sharon longed to work on her own, so the credits and profits of her work were hers. The chilly air on her neck prickled her hair and motivated her to move. A truck pulled up in front of doorway as Sharon walked across the sidewalk. As the driver got out, he called to her, “Excuse me? I’m sorry, I’m looking for the office.” Sharon looked up and his eyes mesmerized her, a light rosy-brown shade, flecked with green. He had strong cheekbones, long coppery hair and a warm smile. She tried to ignore her sudden goose bumps. “I might be able to help you,” she said, “it depends on what you’re looking for.” Sharon’s mood might have started low, but her customer service skills were perfect and she didn’t let her frustrations show. He smiled, but seemed almost embarrassed. “I’ll be honest…I don’t know!” He started laughing. “I’m working on a project, restoring an old house. The house is now gutted and I just finished the work on the heating and ductwork. The owner is giving me broad directions about what he wants in the kitchen and bath and I am looking for ideas to make it work.” Sharon was intrigued more by the comment starting, ‘I’ll be honest…’ but she was even more curious about the old home. Old communities on Delmarva were mostly of Colonial and Victorian construction. She hadn’t yet had the chance to work on her own for one of these larger projects, so she jumped at the chance with a quick thought about keeping him away from Margaret. “Sure, I may be able help you. What kind of house is it? How old is it?” “It’s an old Colonial, built in the 1730s, remodeled forty years ago but in rough shape when I got to it. The owner buys any supplies I need to work with and for now it’s a cheap place to live. I’ve been working on it for a while with help from some contractors. I need more ideas. I’m starting to do restorative work inside and want it to look good with modern conveniences, without losing the old charm.” Sharon was impressed. The house was older than she first imagined. Most of the oldest buildings in the beach communities were protected by historic societies, some dating back to the 1600s. This house was to be lived in, unlike the old houses that were now museums or offices. Sharon became aware that her teeth were chattering. “Let’s go in, I’ll grab a catalog and you can look at a couple ideas and designs we’ve done in 84
Season Spirits house. I’m sorry, I’m Sharon Foster,” she said as she extended her hand to him. “Mike Lawler, I’m working on this place in my spare time, while I live in it. I haven’t decorated anything yet; I just have my bed and essentials in the house. It’s a bit… naked.” Sharon restrained herself from a salacious smile resulting from the quick, hot vision that came to mind—the goose bumps suddenly covering her could be excused due to the chill air. This fellow was the exact type she would like to see naked. He was well muscled, handsome and tanned, even in October. He is so good looking and I am so naughty! Sharon admonished herself for the fantasy involving his mouth and her breasts. She guided him to the showroom and knew the firmness in her sweater was not due to the stiff breeze. “What else has been done to the house?” she asked. “The stairs were reinforced, but they’re in rough shape so the steps will need replaced. The kitchen and the bathroom have functional plumbing fixtures. He just put any old cheap item in that would work for now. I’m tearing out some of the walls to get an electrician in to update the wiring. The plumbing needs to be redone. There’s an enormous bathtub—one of the old porcelain types, with claw feet on it. It could hold two people!” Sharon blushed at the immediate thought of getting into such a tub with this man—in her present state, such a thought was inevitable. He mumbled a light apology, which was drowned out by the bellow of Margaret from her office. “Sharon! May I see you?” Margaret’s tone was demanding. Sharon excused herself and went into the office. Margaret was tall and not ugly, but she was trying to dress like a woman that was at least half her age of 50 plus years. Some of the styles Margaret wore were stunning—if they had been on her daughter. In contrast, Margaret was flabby and the revealing skirts, piercings, high midriffs and low bodices were detracting and her voice was more annoying than her attire. “I thought I made it clear that all clients are to be processed through me first!” Margaret snarled in her condescending tone. This meeting would fail unless Sharon found a way around her employer’s bullying and manipulative tactics. “I thought it would be in the best interest of customer service to 85
Season Spirits greet him and start finding out his interests, considering he told me about it in the parking lot,” she said in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone. “It’s not your place to bring them in the showroom! What were you doing in the parking lot anyway?” Margaret demanded. “I was sewing for three hours straight and stood up to get some fresh air. As I stepped off the stairs to go to the woodworking shop, he pulled up in front of me. He’s not even sure he’s going to buy anything, he’s just looking for ideas because he’s working with his landlord on restoring an old house.” Sharon was very blunt but kept her mouth shut on the remainder of her thoughts. Margaret was notorious for ‘screening the customers’ and if there were handsome men that weren’t married; she would take those cases and entice the man into her bed. Sharon could not allow Mike to suffer that fate. Margaret was also inequitable with the assignments—saving the biggest spending clients for herself, while assigning budget conscious customers out to the rest of the staff. Before Sharon worked with the company, a previous decorator protested when Margaret was stingy with the assignments and then tried to mark her down on a performance review for low sales. A male decorator quit and pressed a sexual harassment lawsuit against her, but it was ‘settled out of court’. Margaret was notorious and not able refute simple facts. Sharon knew the law and company policy, and planted her case on that knowledge. She was confident with her answers and didn’t let Margaret sway her. In the end, Sharon knew she could not ethically refute her and she waited on the formal approval to assist this customer. “How is the work progressing with the Barton account?” Margaret appeared to be fishing for excuses to interrupt her with this new customer. “I’ll be finished with the curtains in an hour or less…I have an appointment with them tomorrow morning to complete the on-site work.” Sharon answered confidently, knowing this would irritate Margaret the most. “OK, you can work with this customer but make sure you’re on schedule with the Barton account,” Margaret’s tone was demeaning. Sharon went back to the showroom. She couldn’t let Margaret’s attitude get to her but it was difficult. She had to keep a positive attitude because she was only beginning to establish herself as a decorator and building her portfolio. She also wanted to avoid any semblance of the abhorrent behavior that she resented from Margaret—this customer was 86
Season Spirits a walking fantasy, she would need to be careful. Mike looked up and smiled, “Tough Boss?” he asked in a low whisper. “Oh, you have no idea,” she whispered. Aloud, she said, “Thanks for waiting. Colonial houses in the 1700s used wood furnishings and fixtures—hand carved with wrought iron accents since steel was only workable in larger environments.” “Hey! Ron mentioned having black iron or black metal handles. He wants to keep it with the period. I’m just not sure how far he wants to go with it.” Mike was smirking, but it seemed he was going to question her about her boss later. “Have you considered the woods you’ll be using?” Sharon let just a tiny bit of emphasis fall on the word wood and caught herself but tried to make it sound normal. Her mind was far away from what she was trying to work on with this customer. “Yes, Ron wants me to use a finishing method on oak to age it. We’ve got oak accents that will be done that way.” “Oak wasn’t big on Delmarva, unless you were rich and even then it wasn’t a feature of some of the local constructions until 1800. Family houses and everyday furnishings were pine or birch.” Sharon tried to imagine what this house looked like. “I’d love to see this house! Let me show you a few wall treatments that may work and you can show me the floor plans later.” “There are no real floor plans. When they remodeled it in the 50s, they turned a third bedroom into a combined dressing room and bath. It had no indoor plumbing prior to that. The house had been vacant for some time and they did a lot with modern plumbing and wiring. Ron bought it to rent it out but it showed some problems. Why don’t you come out? Some of it is still a mess—I have my bed in the formal living room because the bedrooms are drafty.” He was leafing through the catalog and talking at the same time. It was as if he was nervous and avoiding looking up at Sharon as he extended the invitation. “I have some curtains to finish this afternoon, I could meet you later, look at the house and we could get some other ideas going at that point. I have some good references about Colonial Architecture, I’ll bring them.” Mike finally looked up again. He may have simply been nervous about asking her to come to the house. “Sure, you’ll have to forgive the mess—it’s a work in progress. I hope you don’t frighten easily. I am told this house makes Dracula’s Castle look like a cozy bed and breakfast, 87
Season Spirits especially now that it’s almost Halloween.” Mike stood and walked out toward the entrance, his eyes danced and she smiled, following him out the door. Mike grinned and then said softly, “Tell you what, I’ll make dinner.” He pulled out a card with his name, address and cell phone number. “Stop by at six?” Sharon was a little startled but said, “Sure, I need to finish the curtains first. I’ll stop by my apartment to feed my dog and then I’ll come by.” She decided not to report this visit to Margaret because she knew accepting the dinner invitation was irregular, although nothing in the company policy prohibited her from accepting. If there was going to be a contract, she could set up a formal site visit later. Mike perked up. “Oh! Please, bring your dog! I’ll put extra meat on the grill.” Sharon started laughing, but she had no idea how he was going to take to ‘The Captain’. He was a tri-color basset hound with an unusual personality. She fell in love with him at a rescue event that was held nearby. He practically named himself when she was talking with a friend about the local ferry system and they were talking about the captain of the ship. The dog had perked up every time she said ‘Captain’ and the name stuck. She would call him “Cap” for short. He had the habit of sleeping all over her bed at night—to the point where he pushed her out, on the floor on occasion. He also had some atrocious manners and a few quirks that were typical of his breed. She didn’t want to take the dog on a professional visit. Mike’s eyes though, glimmered like a small boy with the prospect of a puppy for Christmas. Sharon found herself saying that she would bring the dog. “Great!” Mike said smiling as he left. “I’ll see you at 6.” Finishing the curtains that afternoon became more tedious than she expected. Margaret asked about the visit with the customer. Sharon left out details, saying only that he left without any interest in purchase or contract. Margaret seemed satisfied that she hadn’t missed anything.
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Tuesday evening… Sharon left work with relief. A small voice in the back of her mind questioned her intentions about how she handled Mike, but he appeared to be sincere and he seemed to understand that her boss was difficult. She allowed herself the little bit of extra time to change clothes and brush Cap before putting his harness on him, sneaking poop bags and some paper towels in to the pocket on his leash. He was a terrible drooler when food was involved. She was accustomed to wiping his mouth frequently, lest she end up with spots on her walls and even her ceilings. Sharon wished she could read the mind of this dog. There were times where his look was so expressive; she thought he might start talking. He was a rescue animal and went through something that must have been horrible with an older man. Older men frightened him and he would bark loudly until she got him away from the person that evoked his memories. For five minutes after the encounter, he would shake as if he was cold or having a nervous breakdown. She just didn’t know what he had been through in the past. In spite of his quirks, he was the perfect dog for her. They developed an instant bond, and it was love at first drool. Sharon had just dumped a lecherous boyfriend, so she was lonely, and Cap took care of the problems of sleeping and eating alone and also talking to herself very nicely. He had more personality than some men she had dated, and didn’t look as pathetic when he wanted a little loving. In the nine months she had him—or he had her—he became a special companion, quirky but sweet. All Sharon had to do was hint about a car ride and he became excited. He jumped into the front passenger seat and started sniffing the vents and the cracked window. The house’s address was out in the woods, away from normal civilization, but the entrance had simple access from the main highway. She hadn’t known there was even a house in this area. As she pulled up the long driveway and she understood quickly why he claimed the house looked spooky. The house looked like the front of a large brick 89
Season Spirits mausoleum, which gave her goose bumps, and being this far out in the woods was not helping. Sharon also noticed that Cap was intently watching the house as she parked. He had this quirk with his eyes where it would look as if he was raising one eyebrow and then the other, back and forth, as he looked around, studying his surroundings. Through the trees, she could see the remnants of another old brick building with some large circular stones in the front—the building couldn't be rebuilt without replacing almost everything. There was no roof and the windows were gone. It looked like Mike was using the bricks to rebuild a front patio on the main house. There would probably be enough of the old building left to make a pavilion. She took the sketchpad, her books, and the leash for Cap and got out of the car. As usual, Cap began sniffing around the area. The smell of a barbeque grill in the distance was reminiscent of summer days, not the beginning of winter. Sharon tried to close the car door but Cap was pulling her in the direction of the house. He stopped to piddle-mark a tree and she gave a backward kick to the door, to get it closed. Looking up she discovered Mike on the porch. He had changed from his T-shirt into a royal blue, button down shirt, which was untucked and unbuttoned to his waist. This would drive her to distraction. He saw Cap and exclaimed, “Oh! Look at you! Aren’t you a handsome one! Come here, fella!” Cap knew that Mike was talking to him. The dog lunged against his leash forcing Sharon to release the handle, letting him run up to Mike. He squatted on the ground to receive the hound but fell backwards since Cap was much heavier and stronger than he looked. Mike had no reservations about receiving this hound and scratched his ears while laying flat on his back in the front yard. He lay still as Cap started sniffing. Mike grabbed his leash when he sat up and tried to entice the animal into howling. The Captain thought a good howl was in order and started to sing for Mike, trotting in a four-footed joy-dance as Mike stood up. “He is gorgeous!” Mike was delighted as he watched the hound. “Where did you get him?” Sharon described the rescue operation fundraiser for Basset Hounds at one of the city festivals and he was available for adoption. She also told him about the way he picked her. “His name is ‘The Captain’, or 90
Season Spirits ‘Cap’ for short. He picked his name, too. He’s about 4 years old.” The Captain looked up expectantly and then sat down, wagging his tail. Sharon gave Mike the critical information reflected in the dog’s posture. “He’s begging…I trained him to sit for food. It’s dinnertime and he smells the grill. Are you barbequing in October?” Mike laughed. “Of course, I don’t care what time of year it is, anytime is time for a barbeque. Since I’m living here alone, it’s usually just the microwave or takeout for me. There’s no stove in the house so I have an excuse to use my little grill when I’m cooking for others.” Mike led her into the house through the kitchen door. The house was unusual, the kitchen was a prodigious area fit for appliances and cabinet space to rival restaurant kitchens, with the bare floor covered only with old slate tiles. One cabinet was a large metal box with old Formica on the top and doors, that looked like salvage pieces from an old project. There was a functional double sink next to the counter, and a little refrigerator that would have fit into her dorm room in college. An old pantry was in the corner looking like it was ready to fall apart. Mike washed his hands and picked up a tray. “Join me outside? There’s a post where you can tie up Cap.” Cap had to be held back to allow Mike to get out the door. A heavy metal pipe stuck out of the brick on the back porch, rising into the air about five feet. The handle of Cap’s leash fit over it and gave him a way to range around the porch where they would be sitting. Sharon watched Mike. His grill turned out to be a large metal drum on heavy supports, welded with metal strap reinforcements and an exhaust pipe. When he opened it, there were racks with more room than a conventional oven. Sharon noticed that Mike had leaves in his hair from when Cap had knocked him over. Once he had placed the foil parcel on the grill with two other parcels and a large cut of beef, she gave a warning, “Hold still,” and picked the dead leaves out of his hair. His hair was very soft and wavy, tied at the base of his neck. “Thank you,” he said and just smiled. “This smells wonderful, what’s in there?” Mike refused to say anything and gave a naughty grin. Sharon had no food allergies and it wasn’t likely that he’d offend her. The prospect that he cooked the entire meal by himself was a turn on. She continued to watch him. He had tied a sash around the waist of his shirt. The flat hem hung a couple inches below the sash. 91
Season Spirits Mike was lighting lanterns and a freestanding pot bellied stove that looked like it would be warm if the temperatures got chillier. Set up near the stove, was a small patio table with an unusual patchwork denim placemats. For this occasion, he set two spaces, with a cloth napkin in burgundy gingham print and a knife, fork and spoon. Glass tumblers with a matching pitcher and large earthenware plates made it an attractive setting. Sharon didn’t realize he had been watching her. “I’m a terrible decorator but my mother insisted that I learn how to sew. I ended up inheriting her old sewing machine. I decided to put it to use recycling some old clothes.” “You can sew?” Sharon hoped she was not going to offend him. She liked the idea that he could take care of himself. “Yes, I can do it, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” he smiled. He seemed to be used to the question. “This is ingenious. What else did your mother teach you?” She let her eyes lure him in as she sipped the juice he poured for her, and the gaze lasted until he put down the pitcher and walked back over to the grill. “Well, basic sewing and enough crochet stitches to be wicked at making a scarf if I am so inclined…I leave it for making dishcloths out of old shirts that I rip to pieces. She also taught me how to cook on the barbeque. We fell into that one. When I was sixteen, a hurricane blew into our region. The house was safe but we had no electricity. We had one small generator that was only enough to run the freezer and the fridge so we had a week long barbeque.” Mike looked at Sharon’s feet where Cap lay. He had his head resting on his front paws and he was giving a pleading look. “Are you ready to eat, Cap?” he asked. Cap sat up and perked up his ears. There were times where Sharon wished she had her camera and this was one of them. Mike finished arranging the foil parcels on the tray. He lifted the tray to the table. He opened a large bundle from the side of the grill, piling the contents on a regular dinner plate before serving it to Cap. “He seems to like it!” Sharon watched the dog with a smile. The plate appeared to have chicken and beef, with vegetables and rice. Cap was eating like he had been starved for a week. “It’s Chinese food that was leftover from last night with a ‘variety cut’ of beef added. It has all the main ingredients of dog food and is probably healthier for him.” 92
Season Spirits “You’ve had a dog before?” Sharon asked. “Oh, yes!” Mike said as he served the meal. “I had a German Shepherd that had a bit of wolf in him—I called him Mutt-Mutt. He looked like a regular German Shepherd but the parts of him that would have normally been brown were silver. I lost him last year; we discovered he had bone cancer. I made him comfortable until it got too bad. I lost my Mom just after that, she died suddenly from a heart attack.” “I’m sorry,” Sharon mumbled. Mike paused and nodded before he began to describe himself a bit more, “I keep what I need with me and I make trips north to make sure that Mom’s house is OK—clean up the dust a bit—I’m trying to get it all squared away to sell it, I can’t bring myself to do it just yet.” His mother’s death still had a sting to it that he didn’t seem comfortable discussing. Mike made a curious hand gesture over his food but started to eat. Sharon guessed it to be a polite religious blessing but didn’t know what his religious beliefs were. “You’re nodding…” Mike observed. “Yeah, I lost both of my parents at a very early age. My Aunt Elli raised me. She’s gone, too, but her sons—my cousins—live in town. I’m just kind of hanging on my own but I miss family traditions that we used to enjoy in day to day life, not just the holidays.” She thought she could draw him out a bit more by describing her own experiences. Mike nodded. He described the many late night dinners he cooked for his mother because she was coming home late from work, or they both worked late. Dinner was wonderful and talking to Mike was easy. She was telling him details she often wouldn’t admit to herself. She conceded that she was lured into an interior design career because she was a ‘neat freak’ and a ‘pack rat’. She wanted ways to disguise her hoarded treasures. Sharon kept the conversation light-hearted and Mike was intrigued. The freestanding stove kept the area comfortable. In spite of the large meal Mike offered Cap, he still came to beg for scraps. Sharon made him perform for Mike and Cap gave the most heartwarming looks, trying to beg for every one possible. During the meal, they had discussed multiple subjects, everything it seemed, except decorating the colonial house. The reference book and sketchpad lay next to her chair untouched. 93
Season Spirits Sharon pushed her plate back when she felt like she had just eaten enough to rival a Thanksgiving dinner. She gave pieces to Cap, who was still begging. “I need to show you the house. There’s some history here, but most people don’t discuss it in polite company. I’ll wrap this up, put it in the fridge and give you a tour.” Mike was wrapping up the leftovers in the foil. Sharon smiled, but she began getting a very uncomfortable sensation that someone other than Mike was watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The odd sensation and sense of foreboding came from the tree area behind them. She looked around for signs of anything unusual. Maybe it was the house but she was apprehensive. Sharon reached down for her sketchpad and books when Cap sprang to his feet, facing the trees, growling and barking. His hair was standing on end and he had pulled the leash to the full length allowed by the pole and almost toppled the folding table. Sharon screamed. She had never seen the dog behave this aggressively. Mike jumped to life and grabbed a wooden stick from the kitchen doorway. He had a handful of something that looked like sawdust. He ran toward the tree line and screamed, “Away!” as he threw the dust. Cap stopped growling but continued barking in alarm. Sharon was terrified and shaking. She wanted to run but couldn’t move. She reached for her sketchpad and book but was having a hard time picking them up. Mike ran up to her, reaching down to help her. He put his arm around her shoulders for comfort. Cap came to her and nuzzled her arm, he was nervous, too. She stroked the length of the dog’s back. “I’m sorry about that. In addition to being very old, the house appears to be very haunted. Every once in a while, there seems to be some kind of malevolent presence in the woods and I have to chase off bad spirits,” Mike almost whispered and made reassuring strokes across her back with his hand. “There’s a legend that original the owner of this house was once believed to have murdered one of his slaves. The ghost of the slave and the owner, haunt the house and the area around it. The slave is benign, trying to prove his innocence, but the ghost believed to be the owner is an ugly presence. I know when my skin crawls that the thing is around. Cap confirmed it. I haven’t had a dog here in the 6 months I lived here…I think I need one.” Sharon was having a hard time getting her speech faculties back 94
Season Spirits because he had just told her they had a close encounter with a ghost— and not just any ghost, a malevolent one. Not only was the house creepy, it had more than one person in it, the problem being, only one was alive. “How…do…you…” she stammered. “Deal with it?” Mike finished the sentence for her. Sharon nodded her head. She removed Cap’s leash from the pole and decided she wanted him to stay with her if he could warn her about ghosts. “That’s a bit hard to explain, but I was going to tell you a little as we toured the house, some of it you’ll see, because I don’t feel I should hide it.” Mike looked at her when she demonstrated surprise, and said, “I’m so sorry, you’re still shaking. Here, let’s go inside and we can make a fire in the fireplace. We’ll sit for a while and I can tell you about it.” Sharon nodded and they started a slow walk into the house. Mike was comforting and accommodating. She found herself relaxing as he rubbed her shoulders with his free hand. He put the leftovers into the fridge, and tucked the stick under his arm. When he leaned it by the small table, Sharon noticed there were some intricate carvings in it but she couldn’t clearly see them. They went into an empty, non-descript room with a fireplace, then into a second room with a larger fireplace and a large bed along the wall. There was a small table in the opposite corner that held a couple colored candles, a wine glass, and a few other objects she didn’t recognize, with books underneath. Sharon was still shocked from the earlier experience and it didn’t help that she saw her dog in a protective stance—one that, she had never seen before. Sharon was concerned about the haunting Mike described and she was cautious about what he intended to show her. Sharon wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. The thought crossed her mind of walking her dog out of the house and never coming back, but she couldn’t act on it. Several old lamp fixtures lit the inside of the house and Cap was calming down. Sharon thought about her experience with the ‘ghost’. She didn’t doubt they existed because she still dreamt of her parents and Cap’s reaction had showed her that he saw, or at least felt something that she needed to be protected from. Mike quietly started building a fire in the fireplace. He pulled over two small stuffed chairs and began to explain. “You’re OK. The ghost wants to create fear. Well, that’s the legend. When the owner died, he was excommunicated from his church, so the 95
Season Spirits slave community buried him when he died. No ceremony or monument—they just dug a hole and planted him and no one knows where that grave is. Hauntings are documented all through this area, all the way to the highway and on several back roads. He vowed revenge on the area inhabitants and generations of their descendants. Most people see flashing red eyes and it’s enough to scare anyone—there’ve been car accidents where people ran off the road when they saw it.” “I didn’t see eyes, but a prickly sensation on my neck started just as Cap was behaving like I have never seen before…it was enough to get me rattled, especially this close to Halloween. How do you deal with something like that? I would leave the house and never come back…that crossed my mind.” “Well, that’s the part I wanted to talk to you about. I’m glad you’re not leaving. I have some unusual religious beliefs. I am Wiccan, which is one of the Earth-based religions. Halloween is celebrated as a holiday honoring ancestors.” “I’ve heard of it,” she answered and he looked relieved as she nodded her head. “I’m not afraid of spirits. I think there are some very mean spirits, and some of the hateful people that have died, make for some bad ghosts, but I don’t believe that they can harm me. I believe that if it’s annoying or a problem, I can make it go away.” Sharon nodded in recognition. She knew that Wiccans had practical spiritual beliefs. “Otherwise, I don’t bother. There are other spirits here, I’m aware of them in the house and they can be very comforting—at least I’m never alone. I was scraping paint and old spackle off the windows and I got an impression of a woman that used to sit near the window and sew. There appears to be the spirit of a child here as well and it likes running through the house—like a normal kid.” Mike paused, as if he was uncertain what to explain next. Mike smiled but finished, “I think I’m going to check the rescues and see if I can find a dog to keep around. Cap was very protective when that started up.” Sharon was relieved. She thought he was hiding a deep secret. She explained, “I’m familiar with Wicca from college but I was always busy learning woodworking or studying to really look into it.” It was Mike’s turn to be impressed. “You like woodworking?” Sharon grinned. “Turn-about is fair play,” she said. “I do small 96
Season Spirits cabinets and some decorative items on a scroll saw. A few wall hangings and room dividers that I made sold fast, despite the high price the boss marks on it and Margaret is always pushing me to make more. She has to have the extra displays to sell in the showroom.” “Speaking of your boss, I didn’t hear what happened this afternoon but I take it you didn’t have a good meeting. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.” “It wasn’t you. When a customer walks in, Margaret will greet them and assess the customer. If she doesn’t want to take the case, then she’ll pass the assignments for the rest of us to take over. She takes all the rich or good-looking ones for herself. She’s such a…bitch. She’s fifty plus years old and has two grandkids. She dresses like a hooker and comes on to any male client with a low body fat ratio.” Mike started laughing so hard he had tears rolling down his face. “So, because I came to you in the parking lot and engaged you before getting to the showroom, she had no way of ‘screening me’ into her lair.” It was Sharon’s turn to laugh aloud. “That’s how we describe the bedroom of that dragon!” “Hey, easy, don’t make disparaging comments against dragons in this house! They’re gentle creatures in comparison to what you describe!” Mike was laughing. Sharon found herself laughing even harder. She looked him in the eye and knew she had nothing to fear from him. Still giggling, she tore herself away from his gaze with a smile. The fear was gone but her intrigue in this man flared. She fingered the books in her lap and realized that she had spent almost two hours with him, and hadn’t broached the subject for her original purpose in being here. She looked around the room and pulled the books toward her chest as a distraction. Mike was still smiling. He looked into the fireplace, almost as if he was nervous about the humorous conversation. Sharon followed his gaze. The fireplace was large and made of brick with an old wood mantel that had large sections of missing paint. “Wow, some of this paint hasn’t been removed since Eisenhower was in office. Are you worried about lead based paint?” “Yes, I was making sketches of the original interior windowsills, so I can replicate the sills and remove the old woodwork entirely. I’ve got respirators upstairs I’m just removing the old walls and I vacuum with heavy filters. This way I’m sure I’ll be getting rid of the lead paint. The floors will be last, they’ve never been painted, so they’re getting a light 97
Season Spirits sanding to level everything out and then a coat of sealant. Check this out...” Mike walked over to the fireplace. The way the bricks had been mortared around the fire chamber Sharon knew that the fireplace was not completely original because the enclosure wasn’t from the Colonial period. The bricks on the lower hearth were original; they were uneven and black in places from hundreds of years of use. Mike pointed to the floorboards. “Square nails,” he said. “You don’t find them much. The attic also has the original lapped joins in the roof timbers.” Sharon nodded but looked around to Mike’s bed. It was queen sized and with simple sheets, a large down comforter and several handmade blankets. She noticed that behind Mike’s bed there was an unusual screen or room divider. It had been made by hinging together some of the old doors that appeared to be from the house. This was an interesting feature. She didn’t want to be caught staring so she forced herself to look at other features around the room. “You like that? It works to keep drafts off me at night and covers up the stand where I keep my computer and TV. I boarded up the doorway behind it and put plastic over just to eliminate the drafts. The place is in rough shape. Let me show you the rest of the house.” Mike took Cap’s leash and hung it on a hook attached to the side of the fireplace. Cap was now sprawled on his back and the extra folds of skin around his face made him look like a mutant. “This dining room was the original kitchen, before the big kitchen was added on in the early 1800s. This has a fireplace but it’s useless for real heat. I did some duct work for the new furnace through the old crawlspaces and we installed a propane furnace in the basement.” Sharon was confused, “Crawlspaces? It doesn’t look like there are any areas that you could hide much in this house. The Colonial constructions were very straight forward.” “During the Civil War there may have been some additions. We think the part on the side was added between 1800 and 1820. I read about some of the legends in this area. The house was supposed to be part of the Underground Railroad but the fleeing slaves were terrified of it. This was dangerous a territory because Delaware was a Union state. A crawlspace goes from the basement all the way to the attic and the supports would have enabled someone to walk up like a ladder. There were some changes over the years and the passageways were good for the ducts.” 98
Season Spirits Sharon was even more intrigued. The house had a checkered history. “Is the upstairs OK? Could we go up?” “Sure, just to warn you though, it’s a little weird up there. Leveling the house had a strange effect on the upper flooring but that's fixable. There are some uneven surfaces. It’s a little bit unnerving at first, but it is safe.” Mike led her through to the stairway. “I don’t think these are the original stairs but the wood might be original. Look, square nails. The wood is so worn that each step dips just a bit in the middle and Ron thinks what we need to do is replace the steps.” In looking around the structure, she noticed uneven surfaces and the splintered wood on the front edges of the steps. She couldn’t see two parallel lines in the house, especially on the stairway. She knew this part of the structure wasn’t original because Colonial staircases were smaller, with narrow steps. Sharon explained to Mike that the original stairway would have been smaller and curved, often set in a corner or next to an interior wall. “They added the new kitchen, and changed the stairway to the new focal point of the home.” Mike knew nothing about an original stairway. They made their way upstairs and to the right was a large dressing room and bathroom. The bathtub was stunning on the far wall, it was enormous and Sharon found herself blushing again as she revisited her afternoon fantasy. It was deep enough that she could have water up to her armpits and bubbles up to her chin. The porcelain appeared to be in perfect condition except the outer edge and the feet had chips out of them. The floor on the far wall, under the tub, was reinforced with large beams. The other fixtures were expendable. The plumbing was also pieced together and came up the far wall next to the tub. Sharon didn’t understand plumbing, but she knew the tub was salvageable with refinishing. She forced her attention to the walls. With the exception of the far wall, all of them had old plaster and large pieces of it were now falling away. The ceiling beams were intact but the plastering slats and beams were exposed. She reached for her sketchpad and made some sketches of the main features of the bathroom with notes. Mike’s clothes hung on a contraption of pipe that dangled from a large beam in the ceiling on small chains. His wardrobe was bright and contained several long shirts with straight hems. There were also several 99
Season Spirits crates in the closet for work clothes. Sharon didn’t want to appear to be gawking. The room behind Mike had a leaning floor, but the room was open and the far wall had a single door to the other bedroom. Parts of the floor seemed unsteady and there were racks of wood, wallboard and tools. Sharon checked her reference book. A family with six children could very well have lived in the original four rooms with each of the rooms divided into two separate bays. The layout of this building, with the additions in later years, would have been a mansion and luxurious living in early Colonial times. Sharon made a few more sketches and noted the fireplaces and general layout of the rooms before turning back to the stairs. She was deep in thought about layouts and adjustments when a little blond boy came running through the room from the top of the stairs. Sharon calmly stepped out of the way from her experience in daycare during college. “Are you OK?” Mike asked. “Yeah, sure. I was just wondering if it was possible to move that doorway down and perhaps close off this area as a bedroom, when the boy came running through, I almost stepped on him.” “What boy?” Sharon stopped dead and prickly goose bumps covered her again. She realized that she hadn’t heard any sound that would have been associated with a child running through the room. The only two people here were her and Mike and Cap was silent downstairs. She started to try explaining what she saw, but she stammered over the elusive words. “A little blond boy,” Mike started, “about 4 years old, running at top speed?” Sharon nodded. “I’ve known he was here, I’ve caught glimpses of him before. I don’t know if he’s a ghost or just a memory of the house. That’s another phenomenon I’ve seen, inanimate objects hold on to happy memories. When I go to my mother’s house, there are things I feel and relive as if it was yesterday.” Sharon was getting a slight case of vertigo from the slope in the floor and the shock of another spirit crawling out of the woodwork. What he was saying made sense, the happy experiences left an imprint on the location. “Let me get you downstairs. The stairway is uneven but I’m used to it. I’ll walk in front of you, you hold on to my shoulder like a handrail.” 100
Season Spirits Mike offered. Sharon nodded and they made their way down the stairs. She felt the muscles concealed under his loose shirt, and found it distracting. Once she sat down in the living room, Sharon was feeling better. Cap had been sleeping with one of his long ears flopped over his eyes and snoring. When she reached down to pet him, he stopped snoring, but otherwise didn’t change position. “I’m sorry, I’ve never experienced anything like that before and now I’ve had two experiences in one night. I’m not sure what to make of that,” Sharon apologized. “I thought it was a little strange when I moved in here as well.” Mike smiled. “There’s a couple of more legends about the house including some Civil War history but the ghosts and strange happenings appear to originate from the Colonial period when this area was making some rapid growth.” Sharon felt more at ease. Mike gave her a few details and they spent another hour talking about themselves and their work. She wanted to talk for hours and felt that with him, it would be easy. Rather than frightening her, the house was intriguing. Sharon caught a glimpse of her watch and discovered it was almost 10 o’clock. She tried to apologize because a consultation shouldn’t have lasted 4 hours—no matter how odd the house was—and she felt it wasn’t professional. She gathered her books and Cap’s leash. Mike reached out and gently touched her wrist before cradling her hand. A force surged through Sharon as if she grabbed a live electrical wire and her breath caught in her throat. Mike looked surprised, too, but said, “Don’t apologize, I’ve enjoyed the company. I was working a supply run this afternoon when I came by the showroom. I get odd impressions that tell me to stop in a particular place; I may find something I need. I had thought because the showroom was an interior design shop, that it was related to working on this house, but I’m so not sure of that anymore. I follow my gut instinct…I think it was something about you.” Mike hesitated. He looked her in the eyes, still touching her hand. “Would you mind if I picked you up from work, we could enjoy a real pizza away from the…others?” Sharon nodded her head. She couldn’t move from the spot where she stood. “Yeah, that would be great.” She was starting to blush again. “My confession…I didn’t report this as an official consultation, yet. That 101
Season Spirits keeps you away from Margaret. Let me meet you away from the showroom, she gets nosey.” She made note of her address and cell phone number on a back piece of paper in the sketchpad and tore it out. “I get off work around 5 and can meet you at 6. The pizzeria isn’t far from the showroom.” Mike nodded. “Sure, I know where that is. I’ll walk you to your car, I don’t think there will be anymore ‘ugly buglies’ but you can’t be too sure.” The walk outside was quiet. Sharon got Cap into the front seat of the car and turned to bid farewell to Mike but he muted any words with a sweet kiss. He was polite, lifting her chin with his fingers but holding himself back, as was Sharon. It was a simple gesture but it was enough to spark her imagination once they finally said ‘good night’.
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Wednesday Morning… Sharon rose a little later than normal but not enough to be late for work. She had thought about how she handled the dilemma of meeting Mike privately. He wasn’t a contracted customer of the store and the situation wasn’t as underhanded as Margaret’s usual tactics. Once Sharon got to work, she picked up her curtains; tables and finishing paints from the showroom to complete the Barton account and piled them into a company van. When she arrived at the site, the contractor’s work wasn’t completed. The delay had been because the Barton’s daughter was in the hospital with a broken leg and he rescheduled for Friday. Sharon gave her sympathies and ‘best wishes’ and made a phone call to Margaret informing her of the change in the appointment. “Come back to the showroom,” Margaret said, “…and if you’re interested in working in an old house, we just got a client that wants a very old one remodeled. I’ll have him look at catalogs until you get here.” Sharon confirmed her interest and wondered how spooky this old house might be. Very old houses and castles might be common in Europe but they weren’t all that usual in America. When she arrived at the showroom, she tried to straighten out her appearance before getting out of the car. She was in an outfit that was appropriate for site work and felt underdressed for the consultation. When she entered the showroom she saw Margaret with an older man in his mid to late 60s. The older gentleman stood when she entered the room. Margaret was impressed. It was uncommon to see formal manners in practice, such as standing when a lady entered the room. Margaret introduced him as Ronald Petrovichi. “…he asked to work with you, too. I think a friend of yours referred him to the showroom.” Margaret seemed 103
Season Spirits accommodating—which was unusual. She went back into her office with no sign of annoyance, and she even seemed pleased. Sharon’s recognition was slow and she raised her hand to cover her mouth in embarrassment once she recognized the name of the man in front of her. “I’m sorry, Mike mentioned you last night, but he didn’t tell me your last name.” Ron was wearing a simple plaid work shirt, jeans, and no jewelry. There had been nothing to spark Margaret’s interest so she turned the case over to Sharon with the pending closure of the Barton account. The older gentleman smiled. “Yes, he called me bright and early this morning…he was in a great mood! I stopped in since I was in the area anyway to pick up supplies.” Sharon smiled but wondered how much Mike told him about her visit last night. She opened several of the catalogs with fixtures that would be of interest to him. Knowing some of the specifics he was looking for made it easy. She made recommendations of adjusting the ceiling in the bathroom to make use of the attic spaces that were otherwise blocked and she illustrated skylight windows that inserted between the original beams on the rear of the roof for more daylight. Sharon also described Mike’s suggestion of aging oak before using it to remodel the stairs or areas like windowsills, so there were fewer concerns of lead paint. Ron loved her ideas and her sketching ability. He spoke purposely now, as if he wanted to have Margaret hear, “Sharon, I think we’ll be doing a lot of work together! I have a fellow that’s living in the house and is going to be doing the main construction. You can swing out there anytime to look over the house. I want it to be livable as a two bedroom with fancy modern amenities and a fancy yard to give me some outdoor living space. Draw up those designs and I’ll swing back by this area Monday morning to take a look.” Sharon smiled, pleased that the initial meeting with Ron had gone so well. She had a couple of days now to work on sketches, with time enough to finish the Barton account. She liked Ron and was glad that Margaret appeared to be none the wiser. Sharon was delighted to slip out for a long lunch under the pretense of seeing Ron’s house. She scouted area stores that would have items of interest to a colonial project and went into local museum for additional inspiration. She found herself singing along to the car radio in a lighthearted mood. 104
Season Spirits She came back to the showroom with the sketchpad she had the night before and started making larger sketches of the rooms with detailed layout drawings. Margaret came by to inspect her work and notes, and was impressed with the drawings but otherwise showed no emotion. Sharon sensed that she knew she had passed on a large account but it was too late. Sharon was also submitting several drawings of the yard with the ideas of making a pavilion, raised flower gardens and a back deck that blended to the house with a base of red brick. She knew there was enough brick in the old building to tie these features together. The remainder of the workday breezed by.
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Wednesday Evening Sharon dashed home to change into something a little nicer for dinner with Mike. She picked out a dark green vest, crocheted by her Aunt, with a simple white blouse and jeans. She was looking forward to dinner, even though she knew it was only pizza. She gave Cap a treat of canned dog food mixed with his kibble and was ready just before the doorbell rang. She welcomed Mike into the house. He was stunning again in a green button down shirt that reflected the green in his eyes. She paused to smile and say, “Hi,” and was amused that they wore similar colors. Cap eyed Mike apprehensively but continued eating. Sharon grabbed her handbag and they closed the door behind them. When Cap realized he was being ditched for the evening he let out a long mournful howl. Sharon hung her head with a pang of regret as she stood on the front step. She bit her lip and looked up at Mike as Cap continued his cry—he always did this when she went to work, and she knew that it wouldn’t last long. Mike snickered. “I like his howl.” “He’ll sing at the drop of a hat, but it’s that long mournful cry when I leave him that gets to me.” She realized Cap had already stopped howling. They climbed into the truck and Sharon noticed it was freshly washed, not that it was dirty before, but she could tell it was a work vehicle. “Oh! It was a stroke of genius to have Ron come by the showroom—he asked for me, and since Margaret didn’t see anything in him that interested her, she decided to pass on taking the renovation herself. We had a delay on the contract that I had been working on, so when I called her with that news, she told me she had someone that had an old house and said that if I wanted the job, I could do it. I took a long lunch because I had the sketches, when I got back I started drawing this afternoon and Margaret realized what she passed on.” Mike’s eyes were smiling. “Yes! I hoped you would get the 106
Season Spirits assignment! I warned him to take off any unessential jewelry and go in his work clothes. I didn’t realize he arrived at the showroom that fast.” “Oh, yes, Margaret didn’t even think twice about giving me the assignment until she saw my drawings later this afternoon. I have some great ideas that I can show you later. I’m not sure how much of the work Ron wants you to do or to have contracted but I think you can handle most of it.” “Good, now no more talk about work! I think dinner will be a little better than Pizza but still casual, there’s a band down on the beach and the restaurant has a nice dance floor if you’re inclined. They also serve great seafood and steaks.” “I like dancing. I noticed yesterday that you’re not a vegetarian.” Sharon smiled. “No. That’s attractive to many Wiccans but I’m still partial to the ‘flesh eating’ habits I learned from my Mom. Some of my friends think I’m a barbarian. I’m a little fussy about the meats I eat, so if there’s any question about the way it was hunted, farmed or killed, I won’t eat it.” Sharon nodded and added in, “I love shell fish… shrimp, crabs and raw oysters…” Mike stifled a laugh but Sharon caught the slight innuendo and started laughing herself. “Well, yeah, that too. Oh my, is it getting warm in here?” “Yeah.” he laughed again. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny but Wiccans have a unique perspective of their sexuality because it’s only wrong if you harm someone.” Mike had a naughty glint in his eye. He pointed out the restaurant parking lot, “Oh wow, for a Wednesday night they sure seem busy.” Looking around, she saw there were a number of cars in the parking lot of The Laughing Dolphin, “It doesn’t seem too busy, it gets worse in the summer.” They had the outside pavilions closed because of the cold weather but a large indoor facility stayed open year round. Sharon was familiar with the restaurant and heard great things from people at work. When they went inside, they were seated immediately. The restaurant featured furnishings that were like picnic tables but with heavy individual chairs. Several chalkboards listed the seasonal availability of certain types of fish and shellfish. On the main board, Sharon saw the Surf and Turf special and pointed it out next to a Shellfish Special. “I like coming here. I get most of the foods I can’t make on the grill. The roasted potatoes are as close as I can come to seasoned fries because 107
Season Spirits I don’t have a deep fryer. Fish doesn’t do well on the barbeque, and I hate it from the microwave.” Mike seemed remiss about the foods he missed. “Why not?” she asked. “A whole fish sometimes does well, but it’s the heat and timing, it can be a mess, ending up mushy,” he said. “Try it this way. Put it in foil or on a pan, like you did with the vegetables—as if it was in an oven. I bake a salmon with some salt and pepper and some other seasonings, butter and onion…” Sharon watched as his jaw went slack, as if he could taste it as she described it. “Well, the menu seems a little bland…” he teased. They ordered the Shellfish special and iced tea. The conversation over dinner continued and was full of innuendoes, she ended up with a warm flush washing over her and it stayed. They took their time eating, and when they heard the band starting to warm up, Mike settled the check. This promised to be an interesting evening because in addition to some great food, the band was coming out in costume. The view was excellent from the table. ‘The Flat Earth Band’ announced themselves, and introduced the band members with rousing solos in a classic rock beat. All of the band members seemed to be around the age of 50 and they enjoyed what they were doing on stage. They burst into a rousing song with the piano about old Rock and Roll, to which Mike had to find out the dance moves Sharon was able to do. It turned out Mike was an accomplished dancer and she was pleased to show off her own talents. It became obvious by the end of the song that they were the highlighted dancers. Mike was breathless and they sat out the second and third songs, “I had no idea you could dance like that!” Sharon just smiled but said, “I had a few occasions to learn in school when I was taking Jazz and I did a little ballroom dancing in college. Some of the rock, especially classic rock, is my favorite but I’m also partial to Jazz, Blues and Broadway tunes because I went to school in New York.” “My mom loved to dance so I had lessons from her, nothing formal. I got over any embarrassment of dancing with my mother when we started entering and winning dance contests. Let me tell you…that lady could move.” Mike had a far away look to his eyes. The death of his mother still hurt him and there was no mention of his father, so Sharon thought it best not to bring it up and they continued talking about 108
Season Spirits dancing. “Ok, Ladies and Gentlemen,” The lead guitarist was breathless after another fast-paced song. “We’re old men, so we’re going to slow things down a bit for you—and us. We have three songs in this slow set. Give us a little liberty with the beat but hold that pretty lady tight and dance it slow. I think you’ll enjoy this!” The first song was old but was revived in several movie sound tracks. Mike stood and held out his hand to Sharon, who didn’t need any prompting to get on the dance floor. She wrapped her arms around his waist and ran her hands up his back. He inhaled and hugged her while they just swayed to the beat. “You know, your boss, or landlord, is my client…does that make us co-workers?” Sharon started. “That is irrelevant now.” Mike looked at her and he was smiling. “I still think it was you that the Gods were nudging me towards yesterday. It’s more personal for me than for work.” He leaned down and kissed her. He started slow but she returned the kiss. It seemed to summon a fire starting in her lips and spreading through to her feet. She flexed her fingers and ran her fingernails down his back. He broke the kiss long enough to give her a hot, smoldering look. She thought it might be best to take it easy while on the floor. She could already feel that he might be limping back to the tables once they stopped dancing. The end of the song was transitioned by the announcer who said in a low voice, “We’ve got a great crowd tonight, and a few of you have the right idea. We’re going to take a couple liberties with the beat here, but the whole idea is to keep hold of that pretty lady, just as you are now. We think you’ll like this.” Mike and Sharon were too intent on each other to notice that the announcer had tipped his wide brimmed cowboy hat in their direction. The second song started slow. As the pace picked up, the background beat lent itself to the continued slow dance. “My self-control is getting chipped away in large chunks. That’s unusual for me.” Mike seemed apologetic or embarrassed but it was impossible for Sharon to ignore the rising rigidity against her belly as he held her tight. “I’m very flattered, don’t apologize. I’m healthy, I’ve been tested twice in the last year, and it’s been just been me and Cap since then, but I kept up with birth control pills to regulate my cycles.” She volunteered the information. From the time she met him in the parking lot, she had 109
Season Spirits fantasies of seeing him stripped naked. She looked up to him, hoping to hear a similar confession. Mike swallowed hard. He was distracted and Sharon thought she might have been a little too honest a bit too early. He hesitated, “When my mom died over a year ago it was a very stressful event for me. I had just had a bad relationship hit the skids. I wasn’t eating or drinking water properly, I wasn’t sleeping well, and within a month, I was getting shaky and exhausted. The doctor ran a full line of tests on me to rule out everything—from cancer, to MS, to ingrown toenails. It was a vitamin deficiency and plain old emotional exhaustion. I’ve been working on myself since then, and just haven’t dated because I was more worried about my health and other problems. This past year, I’ve been working on the house and me.” Sharon only looked at him and smiled. “That must have been very lonely over the holidays.” “I have a couple friends that watched out for me.” Mike leaned down and kissed her again. The dance floor was starting to thin out because it appeared several people were not listening to the background beat of the music. The third song was a heavy metal love ballad. The band was taking some liberties with synthesizer but Mike and Sharon didn’t stop. Sharon leaned into Mike and rested her head on his shoulder. They were both naked emotionally and maybe both of them needed a quiet reassurance. She nuzzled up to his neck and could smell the hints of soap on his skin. Sharon was highly intrigued with Mike, but she didn’t want to scare him. The next ‘move’ would be his. She hummed along to the words of the song, which became significant. As the song concluded, he drew her tight and kissed her again. He led her back to the table and excused himself to the men’s room without further comment. Sharon’s thoughts were at war with her passions—maybe she had been too forward. Mike came back to the table, smiling when he sat down. She also noticed his shirt was untucked. “Everything all right?” she asked. The silence was unnerving and she was hoping they would get started talking again as they had before. “Definitely.” “I was a little worried, I hope I didn’t bring back any uncomfortable memories of your mother.” “No, you didn’t.” Mike was relaxed. “I miss her but I have so many 110
Season Spirits happy memories that it’s ok. That’s the reason my last relationship broke up—she thought my relationship with my mother was ‘unnatural’. But, Mom and I were best friends. We danced together, we learned religion together, and we also openly discussed things like sex. My Mom had a nice approach to the ‘I’ve-been-tested talk’ but I think you just beat her on it.” Sharon let all of her tension out in laughter. “What was her approach?” “A walk on the beach.” He grinned. “Well, at the time it was a bit hard, to ignore. The subject kept coming up and I thought you needed to hear that I’m interested, too.” Sharon giggled because some of the words came together with double meanings. “My body betrayed me. Usually I can restrain myself, but yes, I did need to hear it. One tiny problem, I have a small exhibitionist streak, and that sent chills though me because we were on a crowded dance floor.” Sharon raised her eyebrow. “An exhibitionist? Anything that could land you in jail?” “No! It’s not like that. Under the cover of darkness, I like sneaking off into the woods if I have a chance, camping or in cars on a lonely road, anything that has the threat of being caught, anything without an audience will suffice. I knew that no one could hear us on the dance floor but the effect was remarkable.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. That wasn’t fair,” she apologized. “Are you kidding? I loved it!” He had the impish look on his face again. The band soon came back to the stage with different hats and shirts. Mike stood and escorted her back to the dance floor. There were several fast songs where they got to show off. Mike was enjoying himself to the extent that when his hair fell out of the ponytail, he stuck the tie in his pocket and kept going. He looked amazing with his hair down. To Sharon’s delight, the music slowed and she took the opportunity to reach around his shoulders this time and run her fingers into his hair. They were both breathing heavy from the exertion and his hair smelled fresh—it was as long as hers was and without split ends, soft and thick with a wave to it. “That is one of my weak spots, too, but it could put me to sleep. My Mom and I used to sit on the couch and trade off hair brushing while we 111
Season Spirits watched TV.” Mike was speaking very softly. “I’ve never been to a conventional hairdresser because she used to trim my hair. I like long hair because I can grow it when some men are shaving their heads.” “It doesn’t need cutting, its very healthy.” Sharon had handfuls of hair and she looked up at him, “I can’t see you with your head shaved.” “There are other parts of me that are uncut as well…” and he just let the suggestion hang in mid-air. It took Sharon a moment to absorb that information. “I understand it is more sensitive,” she said. “In a way yes, in another way I’ve got some control.” Sharon snickered. “Except for now, not that I haven’t encouraged that.” she gave her hips a suggestive grind towards him and prayed that Cap wasn’t in the middle of her bed when they got back to her apartment. “Yeah, I do seem to be, awake tonight.” Mike leaned into her and gave her a kiss more appropriate to the bedroom than a dance floor. The idea of being in public was making her pulse run in high. When the song stopped, she excused herself, “It’s my turn for the ladies room.” The truth was, while she was in need of using the facilities, she was very aware that he was not the only one reacting to the heavy sexuality of the evening. She returned to the table to find him pouring fresh tea for both of them. “Well, you aren’t the only one that’s responding.” She grinned and took a long drink from her tea glass. A country style song started and they went back to the dance floor. This was a two-step and Sharon knew the dance well enough to be able to improvise with a few fancy steps and stay in the beat. It was like a game and they were having fun. They had the attention of the other dancers on the floor. The music slowed again to a nice swaying song when a tall man tried to break in on the dance. Sharon remained polite but said, “No thank you,” and edged closer to Mike. “Aw man, hey, look I just want a chance…” He turned and addressed Mike, “Cut a guy a break!” His tone was harsh and he was tipsy. It was as if he was ready to start a bar fight if he didn’t get to dance. “The lady said no,” Mike answered with a flat tone, and Sharon’s hair on the back of her neck stood on end. 112
Season Spirits The stranger lost interest and he shrugged his shoulders and wandered off the dance floor. Sharon made light of it. She gave a short whistle saying, “Remind me not to piss you off.” “I’m not sure you could, besides, I magicked that just a little. I think your vest is hiding my hands and they think that I’m doing more than I actually am.” Mike just grinned at her a moment. “You’re very perceptive. How did you know?” “I get prickly sensations in the hair on the back of my neck, which usually gives me a case of goose bumps. I never associated it with ghosts or magic before. My roommate in college would bring her boyfriend to the dorm for sex and they would wake me up.” she bit her lip, “their orgasms would do the same thing to me and I had to pretend to be asleep.” Mike smiled. “There’s a reason for that, people release pent up energies during orgasm. There are some beautiful Wiccan sexual rituals for couples if you’re ever inclined to try them.” The warm flush rushed back into her and she reached around his waist and under the hem of his shirt and reached bare skin. She used her fingernails with a light stroke down his spine and watched his eyes. She used the pads of her fingers in a light massaging motion as they continued to sway to the music. The announcer came up to the microphone at the end of the song, “We’ll be taking a break after this next song and we’re going to turn up the heat with a Latin Rhythm.” Mike eyed her, “You game?” Sharon nodded, “I’ll keep up!” The song was a slow but sultry beat. Since they had no dance routine worked out in advance it was more of a very spicy bump and grind than any formal Latin dance. Sharon loved the opportunity to do some brazen spins and swings. Mike had no difficulty proving that this type of dancing was arousing to him, even under his untucked shirt. When the song ended, he kissed her deeply and the crowd cheered. Mike was getting a smoldering look in his eyes, again. Sharon was determined not to tease him anymore so when they got back to the table she turned and whispered in his ear, “What do you say we get out of here and head back to my place?” Mike looked at her and nodded his head. Sharon dropped a fivedollar tip on the table and Mike matched it. Without another word, Mike 113
Season Spirits took her hand they went out the door toward the truck. The band’s guitarist leaned against the rail outside with a beer mug held up to his forehead, cooling off. “Hey! You are leaving us already? The night’s still young!” The smile Mike gave was sufficient answer that the night was indeed still young. The guitarist extended a handshake to Mike, and then to Sharon. “Y’all did some great dancing out on the floor tonight. How long have you been doing routines together?” “Thank you,” Mike said. “Umm, this is the second day, going on forever if we keep this up.” Sharon broke out in goose bumps and Mike gave her hand a playful squeeze. The guitarist was trying hard to keep a straight face, “We’ll be here next week,” and he just nodded his head. The silence in the truck was enticing, not uncomfortable. Sharon smiled mulling over his comment to the guitarist. She was interested in Mike and had already made that clear. It was nice to have a lonely life vanishing from memory but she was afraid the bubble would burst. It seemed they made it back to her apartment in record time. Sharon got out of the truck with her house keys in hand and Mike followed. She opened the door and turned the lights on. Cap lay in his bed and didn’t even bother to bark. Mike closed the door, came around to face her, untied the duster vest in the front and then leaned forward, kissing her with his whole body. It felt like he had enveloped her in a large blanket and she could easily get lost in his touch. She was rubbing his back under his shirt and when he pulled back to look at her, she took the chance to pull the shirt off over his head without bothering to unbutton it. The sight of his naked chest had a stronger effect than she first imagined. There was not much hair but his scent and the sight of him made her pulse race. His erection strained against his jeans. He removed her vest and shirt and revealed the lacy bra that did nothing to hide the state of her nipples. Sharon almost shook with anticipation as he unfastened the beastly garment from her back. He sucked at each breast until she shivered in arousal. She was close to loosing control and this simple touch threatened to send her over the edge. Mike gave her a look to verify she was OK, and kissed her deeply, 114
Season Spirits gently guiding her back towards her bedroom. Mike stepped out of his shoes and unfastened her jeans. He slid both the jeans and her panties to the floor in a single sweep of his hands and lifted her out of them. She unbuckled his jeans and helped them fall to the floor with his underwear. He removed his socks and stood to reveal the full length of erection. It was almost an intimidating sight with the head hidden within a fold of skin. Sharon’s heart was pounding in anticipation as she stepped up to him and ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders. Taking a quick look over her shoulder to check on Cap, she noticed that they had left a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom door. Mike lifted her to him around her waist, she wrapped her legs around him while he carried her through the bedroom door to the bed, where he laid her on her back and started kissing his way down her body, taking her legs from around him while working his way down to her pussy. He tongued the curly hair and flicked around, finding her engorged clitoris and licking over it with fast and firm strokes. Sharon began moaning, heat flooding her body, the intense tingling sensations were starting already but she didn’t want it over too fast. Just when Sharon thought it would be best to stop and pull him up to her, he inserted two fingers into her body and stroked her inside while giving long licks. Immediately she began to lose control as her pulse started racing. She arched her back and opened her mouth to protest. “Let it go. Give it to me.” Mike encouraged her. “Breathe.” Sharon relaxed and pulled more air in with each breath but her breathing was getting ragged and the stimulation Mike was giving her left her feeling like she was going to explode. Her mind finally blocked out everything except what she was feeling. To make his point, Mike slipped in another finger and wiggled with short stokes. Her legs trembled when he leaned down and gave another long suck against her. Sharon could take no more and as her body suddenly tensed and gave in to a hard climax. Mike released his hold on her and kissed upward along her belly and breasts, holding her tight, not letting her calm down. He pulled her up on the bed and wedged his knees between hers and his mouth sought out each breast in turn. Sharon knew she might be capable of a second orgasm and these circumstances could do it. She drew his mouth up to hers and tasted herself in a long kiss. Mike propped himself on his arms while she wrapped her arms 115
Season Spirits around his neck. He balanced himself just before thrusting forward with his hips. She felt the head of his rod sliding into her, she wrapped her legs around him and rocked her hips forward straining against him. He rocked back and forth ending each stroke pushing against her cervix. Her heart rate had never slowed to a normal rate and she was already beginning to pant and tremble. The second orgasm could come soon and she hoped that she could take him with her. Mike was beginning to show signs that he was getting lost in her and was struggling to maintain control. Sharon felt her own spasms starting. She moaned low and told him “Go for it.” No further encouragement was necessary as he speeded up his thrusting, the energy built and Sharon had no reservations about vocalizing her pleasure. Mike’s breathing was getting deeper and he seemed to be struggling. Sharon couldn’t hold back, she moaned and wrapped her legs around him tighter as the fire started deep in her belly and spread out through her body. Grunting, he gave a last, deep grinding thrust and she felt his orgasm as if it were her own. Neither could move right away and they kissed and rubbed each other back into the real world. When Sharon opened her eyes and looked up at Mike again, he looked tousled and feral as she pulled wisps of hair away from his face. There were no words so she started kissing him and indulging in a full body hug. She had no feelings of being awkward and was content to lie still, stroking his damp skin and playing with his hair. Mike stretched himself out with a long lingering kiss to her neck and got up, finding the bathroom door illuminated by the living room light and a small night light within. Sharon took a moment to arrange the sheets and comforter and set the alarm clock because she did have to be at work in the morning. When Mike returned he held out a small hand towel. He looked a little distant but only reflective. He was smiling. He joined her at the bed and just drew her to his chest. “Are you OK?” she finally found the courage to ask. “I’m just thinking that I’m going to wake up soon and my old life is going to come crashing down around my ears again. I just made love to a Goddess, the ravaging emotions of the past year or more were drained out of me with the power of a high speed freight train and I’m feeling more peaceful right now than I ever dreamed possible.” 116
Season Spirits He lay down with her in the bed, she nuzzled against him as they dozed off.
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Thursday Morning Sharon woke in the morning just before the alarm clock was due to ring. She reached over and switched it off. Mike was next to her, asleep on his back with one arm over his head. Instead of feeling impulsive about making love to him last night, she reveled in it and had no regrets. The anticipation and stagnancy of the recent months was melting away. She glanced down the length of his body under the covers and discovered his morning erection. She rubbed over his chest with her hand, just enough to make him conscious before running her hand down his chest, under the covers, to his penis. She stroked it gently and felt it come to full hardness. She looked up at Mike to make sure he had made the journey back to the waking world. “Hmmm…what a way to wake up.” he moaned. Sharon gave him a steamy look with a naughty grin, and moved to her knees. She straddled him but did not yet take his full length within her. He reached up to her breasts and rolled the nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. She rocked her hips forward and then leaned back, sliding his length into her body. She was struggling to fit her pelvis down to meet his, grinding in a circular, dancing motion for all she was worth. She placed her hands on his chest and leaned forward to give herself better control as she started to thrust her hips forward and then back. She became aware that she might not last long as small contractions began in her belly. She pressed against his pelvis and rocked faster. There was nothing she could do to prevent a first small orgasm from starting. She was greedy for it. Mike grabbed her hips and continued rocking her. The wave of the orgasm subsided but the arousal didn’t go away. Mike began struggling again, grunting and holding back. Sharon found the strength to move faster with her hips as her muscles contracted. She wanted his orgasm again and had no reservations about working to get it. She rocked her hips faster, intent on the sensations 118
Season Spirits building inside. She began struggling to maintain the rhythm when he guided her hips with his hands. Quickly her body began the ascent towards her second climax and the crest shook her. He pulled her hips down hard and fast as he gave a final thrust upward with the deep spurts of his orgasm intensifying hers. Sharon rocked her head back and moaned. She had stiffened, unable to move, save for the spasms that jerked her body and threatened to make her collapse. Mike gathered her into his arms again. She went from being sexually aggressive to weak as a kitten in short order. He expressed his appreciation for the passionate wake up call in small kisses across her neck and shoulders. As they made their way toward normal consciousness, the early dawn light was filtering in through the bedroom window. She lifted her head and both of them had their hair askew with a pervasive smell of sex hanging in the air. “Would you care to join me for a shower?” she asked. “Yeah, what time do you have to be at work?” “Eight thirty, I’ve got two hours but that gives us time to eat and we can try to replenish ourselves and return to normal. I just don’t want Margaret to look at me and be able to count my orgasms by the size of the grin on my face.” Mike laughed. They went into the bathroom and Sharon started the water in the tub. They were both stark naked and she felt comfortable. The water wasn’t burning hot but it was steamy. She pulled out thick towels and washcloths from the cabinet and switched the water stream to the showerhead before pulling back the curtain, drawing Mike into the shower. The warm water was welcoming and she soaked down a washcloth. She used the bar of soap to get a thick lather worked up and kissed Mike on his neck before starting to rub him down with her hands. She paid special attention to his groin, washing and rinsing his whole body. Sharon delighted to his firm touch as he massaged her with the bar of soap. They finished washing with extra attention to shampooing each other’s hair and tenderly combing out small tangles. The thick towels were comforting when they stepped out of the shower and the chill air from the open bathroom door greeted them. Cap looked at them from the doorway to the living room as they dried off. “What’s the matter, Cap?” she asked. The hound just looked at Sharon as if she was crazy, yawned and walked back into the living 119
Season Spirits room. “I think he needs to go O-U-T. I’ll go take care of that,” Sharon pointed out. She tucked the towel under her arms. Mike snickered, “I thought he might have been watching and learning.” “I don’t think so, he can’t crave ice cream if he’s never had it.” Mike raised an eyebrow, “You mean his family jewels are…” “Sitting in a jar of formaldehyde in the vet’s office.” Sharon finished with a sly grin. She left the room, bundled in the towel to let Cap out. Mike snickered because he hadn’t been prepared for such a blunt answer after the way they had spent the evening. They dressed except for their shoes and ate a leisurely and chatty breakfast. Sharon let Cap in and they talked, Mike watched her with fascination as she busied herself straightening around the apartment. She paused only when she stepped in a puddle on the carpet that Cap had left in retaliation for not letting him outside when she came home. Mike started laughing because she came to a grinding halt and her face contorted in disgust. Sharon ripped her socks off and started giggling herself. “Wait… what’s so funny?” “Well, someone is mad at you from the looks of it, or he’s jealous. I also enjoyed watching you get your feet dirty for some odd reason. One minute you’re a designer, bigger than life, then you are a dancing queen, last night you were a goddess and I had most of the heavens jealous, then we sit down to breakfast talking like we have known each other forever…I’m fascinated watching you, I don’t know what to expect next.” Sharon mopped the area with a towel and applied some baking soda. “That’s not a complete summary of my life, but it’s a start. As for my ordered demeanor cracking, well that’s just life with a basset hound, they keep you humble. It’s hard to get arrogant when you’re wiping drool or cold piddles.” Mike smiled. “That I can believe. He’s a great dog though.” Cap was in the living room sprawled out on his back. His head turned toward them as if he was listening to the conversation but all the extra skin that hung around his face was being pulled toward the floor by gravity to join his ears. His feet curled into the air and his teeth were showing over a mass of wrinkled skin but the scene was far from menacing. 120
Season Spirits “My puddle puppy.” Sharon laughed. “It’s hard to believe that a dog like that is a skilled hunting breed, but if there’s a squirrel or bird in the yard, he springs to life. He must protect Mommy from the vicious monsters!” “I’ll bet he’s a good guard dog, too.” “Yeah, he barks and howls at the thought of intruders. He barks at shadows in the middle of the night, so I have to keep the blinds drawn on the front windows or he’s protecting me from traffic on the road. His alarm howl will wake the dead.” Mike was in stitches. He looked at the dog that was so relaxed in front of him and these descriptions didn’t seem to match the sweet animal he was seeing. “Just wait, he’s going to crawl in bed one night and at 3 a.m., every muscle in his body will propel him to his feet—all at once—and he’ll howl a foot away from your ear.” Mike was laughing so hard he now had tears rolling down his face. It was next to impossible for him to imagine behavior like that coming out of the animal on the floor. Sharon washed up the dishes and put them in the drainer, both bowls, both spoons and the paring knife she used on the cantaloupe. She paused to admire the contents of the drainer. Mike put on his shoes and watched as she busied herself with a couple last details. Sharon caught him and smiled. “Oh, I’m going to be working on the drawings for Ron today, do you have your phone on when you’re on another site in case a strange question comes up?” Mike shook his head. “I’m not on another site right now. Taking care of the old house and my health has been the first priority. I’ve got to tear down the old plaster in the kitchen today.” “It doesn’t sound like you’re going to have much of a functional kitchen tonight, would you care to join me here for dinner?” “Actually, I was thinking of stopping for fish, there’s a market near the hardware store and we could try the baking idea you gave me last night…I have to try it. It was weird when you mentioned the fish last night, it made perfect sense. Would you meet me at the house tonight? Bring your sketches?” Sharon forgot any fear of the old house. “Sounds great.” “Bring Cap with you?” Mike asked. Sharon just smiled and nodded. Mike approved of Cap, and just as 121
Season Spirits important, Cap approved of Mike. They left the apartment in their separate cars. Sharon just smiled and turned up the radio. She arrived at work on time and though she’d not done anything unusual with her attire or makeup, Jennifer looked at her and demanded, “Whoa! What’s his name?” Sharon tried to fake it. “Huh? What are you talking about?” “When you walk into this place smiling, there could only be a hot date that’s taking your mind off this pit. And from the looks of it, it was hot!” Sharon shook her head in disbelief. She walked over to her desk and drawing table as if Jennifer had said nothing. She wasn’t kidding when she mentioned it to Mike this morning and she would later describe for him the gory details of her less-than-civilized coworkers. Sharon was able to work in her little corner most of the day. She ordered fried rice when everyone seemed to want Chinese food delivered to the office but wasn’t interested in her meal because she knew what was coming for dinner tonight. She didn’t expect what showed up after lunch. A deliveryman came into the showroom with a large hanging potted plant. Jennifer let out a high-pitched “Ohhhhh…” and Margaret jumped in with, “Oh, isn’t that sweet.” Arranged with two white roses inside, the hanging ivy came with a beautiful red bow. Margaret and Jennifer hesitated when the deliveryman asked for Sharon. Sharon froze when Jennifer announced loudly, “I told you it was a hot date!” Sharon waved her hand at the deliveryman and he brought the gorgeous bundle to her desk. Margaret sauntered back into her office looking sour. Sharon couldn’t hide the smile as she read the card… For a special Goddess, M-. Margaret, in her overwhelming arrogance, had seemed to think the delivery could only be for her, and Sharon was pleased to have let a little air out of her phenomenal ego. If Mike had been a regular man, this could have been two dozen cut roses but his religious beliefs showed and he sent her a living plant. There was a beam overhead, near the window, which she could hang it on and the cardholder was a delicate fairy holding a large bouquet of flowers. Sharon hung the plant with decorative chain she had available from an old project. The plant hung near her desk and blocked some of the view of Margaret’s office. She put the roses and the cardholder into a 122
Season Spirits vase on her desk. She topped off the vase with a warm bottle of drinking water left over from this morning. Jennifer couldn’t resist coming by the desk to get gory details. She saw the card, but Jennifer asked, “Who is he?” Sharon stated, “I don’t think it appropriate to discuss my personal life at work.” The comment only inflamed her sordid curiosity. Jennifer sauntered into Margaret’s office and, within a few seconds, Margaret came out with same question. “Mike, he’s the one that referred Mr. Petrovichi here when they talked last week. Yes, we went out last night. The Laughing Dolphin has a good menu special and a classic rock band that comes in on Wednesday nights.” Sharon let her tone demonstrate that she considered the questioning to be an intrusion. She went back to her drawings without a glance at Margaret to give her the indication that the subject was open for further discussion. There was one small white lie about when Mike talked to Ron but that was not Margaret’s concern. Margaret let it drop and went back to her office. Sharon was irritated that she worked with scandalmongers but she resolved long ago to keep her personal life separate from the office. She didn’t care how these people perceived her because she didn’t plan on working at this design house for any longer than she had to, and she fantasized for a moment about opening her own design shop and putting Margaret out of business. A prickly sensation started on her neck again. Sharon let herself smile at last. The elusive destiny she had been looking for seemed much closer than it had been before and she was eager to discuss it with Mike. It was with that thought that the full-scale goose bumps started. “I hear you, I hear you,” she mumbled, as if she was talking to herself. She didn’t know who, or what, she was talking to but appreciated the feedback. It took a large file folio for Sharon to wrap up her drawings. She didn’t realize how enthusiastically she had worked most of the day until she took the large stack of drawings to Margaret. She had to outline some of the features of the house for her and the current state of the interior. She specified what ideas Ron might buy from their previous discussions. There was also a list of projects for the contractors. Margaret was impressed, Sharon did exceptional work on the drawings. She also made sure Margaret knew that she was due to be at the Bartons’ 123
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Thursday Evening Sharon drove home, eager to tell Mike of her experience with her co-workers over the delivery, and the experience afterward where it seemed she had an invisible friend talking to her through the hair of her neck. Cap was happy to see her and preformed a joy dance for her when she got in the house, howling and barking at full volume. Once she settled Cap, she changed out of her work clothes and into something sexier. She had a very soft sweater that wrapped around her and tied, revealing as much or as little cleavage as she desired. With a contrasting camisole, she wouldn’t need to tie the sash tight, which was a nice way to get even for the open shirts Mike wore. Cap was always eager to go for a car ride. Sharon scuffed his ears and said, “You might not like it when Mike rides with us, he gets shotgun and you get the back seat.” Cap just gave her a forlorn look with a moan. When she pulled up in the old gravel driveway that led to the house, Mike came out the door with a smile and clapped his hands to signal Cap when they were out of the car. Cap took off running and Sharon didn’t even try holding on to the leash. Mike was prepared for Cap and was able to remain standing. He was now dressed in something that looked like a short, white bathrobe but it had dark green ivy leaves decorating the collar and front yokes all the way to the bottom hem. It wasn’t buttoned, just tied around his waist with a dark green sash. Sharon walked up with the folder, full of drawings and extra paper. She smiled at Mike who reached his arms around her and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. She felt comfortable and safe. “Mmmm…by the way, you’re a trouble maker.” she joked. “Guilty,” he grinned. They walked through the house as she described the scene, “The two biggest gossips in the office just happened to be the only ones in the showroom when I got a particular delivery this afternoon. It was beautiful and they were shocked to hear it was for me.” 125
Season Spirits “Why?” “I’ve been on my own for months and no one has ever thought to send me flowers like that,” Sharon said. “I’m happy to have changed that.” He grinned. “Well, Margaret’s ego is ridiculous and she seemed to think it could only be for her at first. Jennifer busted on me as soon as I walked in the door this morning because I had that grin on my face, but I didn’t say anything when I got there so when the flowers came she yelled loudly ‘I told you it was a hot date!’ but I still put my foot down. That was what prompted Margaret to come out of her office and start questions. I gave only the barest of information and that it was from the person that referred Ron to the office. I only told one tiny white lie in explaining it.” Mike seemed pleased with himself. “I love it, serves them right!” He laid the folio against the wall in the empty room. Sharon could smell that the grill was in high gear. As they walked through the kitchen, she noticed he didn’t get finished with the work he projected but the plaster was down off one wall and the old pantry was gone. Mike stopped suddenly, “Oh, I have to show you something. Ron is coming tomorrow to pick it up and take it to a local archeologist.” He pulled out an old wood and metal strong box that was fitted with large metal clasps. It looked to be in exceptional condition. “Ron only wants to look at the documents inside, which appears to be deeds or business information but one journal is significant because it seems to be from the owner I told you about, where the legends of the house started. It’s been an exciting afternoon!” Sharon stared at the open box and the papers looked like they were ready to fall apart. “Have you done anything with it?” “No, I’m almost afraid to handle it.” “Let’s wait before we do. We can scrub up our hands after dinner. I’m hungry!” She grinned, implying more than one meaning to the word. “Where ever did you find this?” “There behind the kitchen pantry.” Mike pointed out the bare brick that was exposed with the removal of the old pantry. “It was behind the pantry wall, it used to be a type of icebox. It looks like the old man himself did it or someone hid it when the section was built. The kitchen might be older than we thought.” “You couldn’t salvage the pantry?” Mike shook his head. “No. I went through with a sledgehammer and 126
Season Spirits tore it out because none of the wood was worth saving, even for a small project.” Mike lifted the blinds of the window near the sink and pointed to the debris now in the dumpster on the side. “I thought the box was strange so I set it aside until I finished getting the junk out.” Sharon looked over the box again. The box was old and metal clasps were hand hammered. The papers inside were yellowed and the handwritten pages were barely legible. Mike drew a breath. “Ron told me to leave it alone until he could look at it. He suggested that I could try moving some of the flower bulbs since we had a warm afternoon. I thought it was a good idea because there are daffodils and tiger lilies growing in the middle of the yard with no rhyme or reason—some may be wild. I found where they were from the old growth and started to dig up large clumps and replant them a regular bed on the other side of the house.” Sharon nodded. The season for planting flower bulbs was late fall and the new beds would come up starting in the spring. “That was when my shovel hit the old mill stone. I thought it was an interesting piece for a garden, so I dug it up, but it capped the old cistern—which is dangerous—and I had to call him again about that. I was ordered to knock off for the day before I found Jimmy Hoffa.” Sharon had been hanging on every word about his adventures of the day, when he made the wise crack about the next potential discovery and she burst out laughing. “A cistern…that’s an old well, right?” Mike nodded. “Yeah, it was interesting but I couldn’t see to the bottom. I made a wish and threw a penny in just to see how far it might fall. It didn’t splash so I’m clueless on how deep it is. I’m not a dowser and I don’t have a flashlight. I got the millstone back on but it’s shaky. I’ll have to move it tomorrow for Ron. It’s not in the traffic areas so it’ll be fine for tonight.” They went outside and she found an incredible dinner waiting. Mike had found large filets of salmon that morning, which he cooked together with onions, peppers, strangely shaped mushrooms, and fresh green beans. He also made garlic bread, baked potatoes and a special parcel for Cap, which he put into a new bowl and sat on the patio next to a water dish to match. “You don’t want to know what that is,” he cautioned. “Why? It looks wonderful! It’s almost like he got 3 pounds of beef all to himself, sitting on a bed of rice…I’m almost jealous!” She looked 127
Season Spirits down at Cap who was eating noisily. It looked like Mike bought special bowls just for him when he was at the store. The hairs on her neck tingled again. “It is 3 pounds of beef—a variety cut, beef heart—Mutt-Mutt loved the stuff and he and I would make a meal of it. Most people don’t like ‘weird’ meats.” “Are you kidding? I used to fight my Aunt for chicken and turkey hearts. I’ve just never had beef heart before. I’d like to try it sometime, but this is delicious!” Sharon used her fork to point at her own plate. Mike nodded, he was delighted and said, “I think we can do that.” The conversation flowed through dinner as they discussed several aspects of themselves in routine life. Sharon described how her parents died in a car accident and Mike finally spoke of his father, who was killed in training maneuvers during active military duty but he was so young, he had no memory of him. Sharon later admitted her curiosity about why he signed the card on her flowers ‘for a special Goddess’. He scratched his head a moment and said, “It partly involves the comment I made from last night, but my beliefs are also that the essence of God and Goddess—male and female—is everywhere. People and animals hold special portions of that ‘Spark of the Divine’. God is everywhere.” Sharon got the prickly sensation on her neck again but it didn’t feel malevolent, as it had from her experience the other night. It was closer to a repeat of her afternoon experience. She described it to Mike and the sensations she just had. “Oh! Someone is talking to you!” His eyes lit up as he described numerous spirits from her parents, to spirits that have never been human, all the way up to the Devine that could be responsible for the sensation to get her attention. He also gave her a recommendation to pay attention to the things she is thinking about when she gets the sensations and keep a journal of what happened around the time of the event so she could better understand it. They went into the house peacefully this time, none of the spirits sought to disturb them. They didn’t attempt to look at the papers Mike had found; instead, they just continued to talk about things like his religion and the Wiccan customs and celebrations through the year while sitting in front of the fireplace. Sharon was fascinated that Mike celebrated eight holy days that were in addition to the regular American 128
Season Spirits holidays. Mike was happy to share summaries of the holidays and traditions. Many special events were held with waiting or study periods of a year and a day. Halloween was celebrated as a sacred day to honor ancestors and the aspect of death in the circle of life. This was called Shamhain and also celebrated as the last of the three harvest holidays. He went on to describe Yule and the opposing holiday, Litha, on the Summer Solstice. There were also three spring festivals, the last was Beltane on May 1st, or “May Day” which he described as his favorite holiday. He always found some reason to attend the spring celebrations and historic festivals that always occurred on the first weekend of May. Sharon looked up at him and asked, “Why is that your favorite?” He mumbled something about ‘dancing around maypoles’ but he had a naughty grin. “Huh?” Sharon hadn’t quite heard everything. He had mumbled almost as if the core of this celebration embarrassed him. “Maypoles, they’re decorated phallic symbols. The little kids in some of the modern spring dances, dance around them. I love watching, knowing what I know, they undo all the ribbons—undressing it.” Mike was amused by that information. He was grinning, and found it necessary to stand and adjust the front of his jeans, which he disguised under the pretense of getting up to stoke the fire. He seemed to be having a hard time getting comfortable. Sharon rose to meet him. Rather than have him continue to struggle with uncomfortable clothing, she reached for the button of his jeans when he stood, popping it open, and unzipped the fly. Mike gave no objection and licked his upper lip in nervous anticipation. She untied the sash of his robe and he leaned against the side of the mantle. She used her hand to encourage him to a full standing. She stepped forward to kiss him and they lingered with it until Sharon’s mouth began a pleasant, tingling sensation and she returned her attention to both of her hands with the up and down motion around his erection. “What are you trying to do?” Mike looked like he was enjoying this while half of his blood supply seemed to be pulsing in her hands. “Honoring a special maypole,” she said, and Mike had no answer for that. She made sure she wasn’t rough with him but she made her grip firm. The effect on Mike was making him squirm. She leaned down, pulled the skin back and started licking and sucking over the head. She wasn’t getting any direct stimulation herself, but this was getting her 129
Season Spirits aroused. Within a couple of minutes of using both hands and her mouth, Mike was clenching his hands at his side and sweating. His penis became rigid and the head engorged to the degree that the skin remained pulled back. He was trying to speak but all that came was “oh… ah… ah…” Sharon raised herself up so that the head was rubbing between her breasts and against her sternum, over the lace of her camisole, while she used her hands along the thick root. All she said was “Yes, give it to me,” and Mike grunted through clenched teeth when he released semen over her neck and chest. Sharon again felt him relax and her own body tingled. She licked the remaining droplets from the head as it retracted back into the skin. Mike shuddered and Sharon rose to her feet with her shoulders squared, feeling a sense of triumph. She displayed the sticky results of her efforts. “Great Gods, that came from me?” He was sweaty because the room was warm from the fire, as his breathing returned to normal, he watched Sharon. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the mantle and wiped her cleavage clean as she giggled. “You realize what this means?” he asked. Sharon was confused, and just gave him a questioning look with a smile. “Your interpretation of Beltane is fascinating and you’re in for trouble tonight because ‘Round Two’ can take about an hour.” Mike gave her a mischievous grin. “Hold that thought.” Sharon took a brief opportunity to let Cap outside. When they returned, Mike was already in bed, and she enjoyed undressing for him slowly. Mike made good on his sensual threat, and he watched her as if there was nothing more important to him. He took great delight in lavishing attention on her and worked for every shudder and moan. It was playtime for them. He didn’t seem to tire and he left her breathless on several occasions. If he wasn’t moving inside her, he kissed her passionately until her mouth tingled. He knew the reactions he wanted from her and he got them. His most captivating feature was the way he looked at her and smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that he enjoyed giving her pleasure, and she had no reservations in vocalizing that his efforts were successful. 130
Season Spirits Mike was poetic as he spoke to her, encouraging her to tell him more. She could believe that he looked at her and saw his own Goddess, and that making love to that Goddess was a sacred mission, an act of worship. Sharon wasn’t sure she understood the details of his spirituality but she did understand enough to think of him as the other half of whatever they would make together as a whole. She took charge and rolled him onto his back. In addition to her arms, legs, lips and hands, she focused on new feelings as she made love to him. There was new emotion and passion she discovered just by looking into his eyes. He sat up to meet her and it was as if they both let go of all the pent up arousal and frustrations, and they swam in it. Sharon ran her hands around his ribs and over his back, and he guarded her with his arms. It felt like they fused from their mouths, down the full length of their bodies. Her body began to tremble from weakness as Mike started to show signs orgasm. She pushed herself but there was no rhythm to her movements, and she cried out in answer to his grunts but his touch was still tender and gentle. Sharon was shaking as Mike lay back, holding her, and drew the blankets over them. He stroked her skin and smoothed her hair. He rolled so that she could lie on the bed, facing him. With her remaining energy, she kissed his neck and jaw, but the darkness soon enveloped her.
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Friday morning Mike’s cell phone rang at 6 a.m. with its alarm feature. Sharon realized where she was when she woke up. The thick blankets were comforting, like a heavy weight on her, but the air around the bed was chilled. Mike reached a switch next to the bed and a small space heater hummed to life. He snuggled against her and they both stirred awake as the room warmed up. “Good Morning.” Mike smiled. “Good Morning.” Sharon giggled. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” “But, that’s good, I appreciate it.” Mike looked at her, “That’s a sign of trust. I treasure that because it’s your first night in this house—no fear. I’ll bet you never thought you would spend the night in an old haunted house like this.” When Sharon thought about it, she realized she had been terrified during her first visit but her feelings and passions for Mike were strong enough to banish any trepidation, and she was determined to stick with this and make the most of it. They shared a sensual bath in the huge tub where Sharon took advantage of the water and soap that made them slippery. She straddled him with her arms bracing her body on the edge of the tub and started with a gentle pump of her hips. They lingered, enjoying the sensations until Sharon’s climax began to build. Mike sucked on each breast as she shook in his arms but she refused to stop until she finally drained him once more. Mike held her as if wrapping them both in the passionate energies. He had two large beach towels ready for them and as she started to dress, he simply handed her one of his button down white dress shirts. Sharon laughed when she put it on because she hadn’t thought about a change of clothes last night. They dressed and made breakfast of bakery bran muffins that were warmed in the microwave. Mike tried to apologize for the lack of formal table but he admitted he ate many of his 132
Season Spirits meals in grand bachelor style, standing over the kitchen sink. It was a simple breakfast with fresh berries and cold milk and it was delicious. Sharon went on her way to complete the Barton account. Mike had asked her to let Cap stay with him and that they would go to the grocery when she was at work. She knew Cap was safe but she felt a bit betrayed when he didn’t even howl when she left. She finished stenciling the trim and hanging the curtains for the Bartons. Sharon was pleased to see that their daughter was already home and recovering, although her leg was in a cast, Sharon didn’t delve for details as she began to work. The new couch and chairs had been delivered, and the new lighting and carpet looked fabulous. The curtains and new pillows had been the final touch to bring the entire room together with the keepsakes that the Bartons wanted to display. Sharon finished quickly and was already in her car, driving back to the showroom when the phone rang. Mike was on the other end, the phone call choppy because of weak signal. He sounded desperate. Maybe he was breathless or scared, but she understood him. “Ron’s here,” Mike said, “We had to call the police and they are sending the Medical Examiner. Ron thinks there is a body in the cistern. He checked it with a flashlight when he got here but he won’t let me near it. He also called the archeologist who’s due to arrive soon.” “I’ll be right there! Wait for me.” she said. When Mike agreed, she turned off the nearest road to get back to the old house. She stopped first, and dialed Margaret and let her know she was on the way to the Petrovichi house. Margaret indicated that Ron had called looking for her and she had given Sharon’s cell phone number to him because of some very unusual circumstances. Margaret had no other details, other than to say it sounded serious. She explained that everything was in order at the shop and she could take the rest of the day if she needed the time for the client. Margaret’s disposition was sterling and accommodating. Sharon was astonished. She hung up the phone and wondered who she had just talked to; this was the first time ever that Margaret had shown signs of being human. The old house looked like a quaint historic home by daylight. She thought briefly that they might be just starting to uncover other sinister secrets. She saw a second truck, which was parked next to Mike’s in the driveway, so she pulled into a grassy spot near a tree that would be out of 133
Season Spirits the way of any recovery crews coming in. Mike met her at the door with a kiss and hug before he led her inside, once he took her hand, he wasn’t letting go and it was almost as if she could feel the fear in him. Ron was at a table, pondering the documents from the box. The folding table had been set up in the empty middle room and a large glaring work light hung over a beam to provide the strongest light. The journal pages had yellowed and were sewn into the bookbinding, Ron’s expression became grim from leafing through the contents. Sharon noticed that Cap curled up under the table at Ron’s feet; the dog seemed to be at ease with him. A large utility truck pulled up in the driveway, Mike went to the door and signaled to the driver. The truck bore official state markings and Sharon believed it was the Medical Examiner. Mike was scattered and nervous. Sharon held his hand gently and wouldn’t let go, hoping there was a way to share her calmness. The authorities had just arrived and there was nothing more that they could do but wait. She knew it was out of their hands. “Just don’t stop what you’re doing now. I need what you are doing right now, I need it like you can’t imagine,” he answered. Sharon was caught off guard, because she hadn’t said anything aloud. She just focused of giving all the comfort she could muster. He leaned to her and kissed her forehead. When the Medical Examiner came into the house, he introduced himself as Al Furlong. He was the starting investigator sent by the police. Ron introduced himself as owner of the house, then introduced Mike and Sharon as the couple helping him with the restoration. Ron said, “I didn’t see a whole lot of detail. I think there is more than one body down there and I am just glad Mike didn’t see it before I did. It’s a little strange, what I could see with the flashlight tells me it’s old, but I didn’t want to do anything, just in case there was any official business that needs to be done first.” Al agreed, “Its better to be safe than sorry, at least I’ll be able to document the find.” Ron reviewed some of the historic information on the house and the vast legends about the murderous and insane owner of the house in the 1700s. He admitted to making phone calls to an archeologist friend to compare what is known about the house with the information of this 134
Season Spirits find. Mike stepped forward and took over the descriptions. He described that he’d been working in the kitchen when he found the documents in a wall he was clearing of debris. “I told Ron, and he told me to knock off and get some of the bulbs out of the yard that were starting to come through and reposition them in a regular flower bed. While I was digging, I hit something hard and that was how I found the old millstone. I thought it would make for an interesting feature so I dug it out but didn’t realize it capped an old well.” When Mike finished, Sharon interjected that she had been here last night but had been here for personal reasons and wasn’t involved in the discovery. She explained that she left for work this morning but came back at Mike’s request, just before Al had arrived. Ron just smiled and looked up at Mike. Al chose his words carefully “I think from your descriptions and the police notes, it’s a historical find.” Ron looked up from the table. “From what I’m seeing here, the journals tell the story. Some of the records are from his business transactions, it seems that he was shady to begin with. He built this house in 1735; he once lived in the smaller cottage and ran a lumber or gristmill. I don’t know if the problems are with his records or not paying his employees right. The records are for a ‘Joe Claxton’, the dates and payments aren’t consistent and it appears he got a large sum of money at some point but business went bad. When I got to this journal I got a shock.” Ron opened the journal, leafed through to the appropriate page and said, “The English is a mess in here, very derogatory, but I’ll read it as he wrote it, at least I’ll do the best I can.” Ron began to read, “January 25th, 1759. “It started when that Reverend Coulter got into a snit about the nigger boy that was here. He worked OK and I fed him good in return. We kept all the slaves out in the old cottage. I told the Reverend I caught him stealing but he didn’t care. He told me neither me or my family can come back to the church until proper amends 135
Season Spirits have been made. “Beth told someone at the Mercantile that I come home bloody one day. When the other slaves couldn’t find this boy I told them I shot him and stuck what was left of him in a hole. He was my slave and that was my right. They started getting all up in arms about giving the boy a proper burial and I told ‘em, I already dug a hole and put him in it. I had later that they were looking for him in the woods. They found him and dug him up. Don’t know what they did after that. “Here I told everyone that Elizabeth done packed off for Philly to be with her Ma. I gave them some cock and bull story about me and Beth fighting so I wouldn’t have no questions about her being gone. I’d done beat that woman to make her do right but women don’t think right either. They won’t find a thing. I took care of that real good. When that nosey kid come out pretending to be from the House of Records and got to asking questions, I took care of him, too. They couldn’t prove anything so I didn’t get any nosy folks around about here. Everyone is still talking and that was 30 years ago. No one will do business with me now and I got loads of lumber that went bad because no one wants it. “The fools come up and think they can tell me how to make my life. There isn’t anyone that can tell me what I can do on my own land. I can feel the pain of 136
Season Spirits the consumption real bad now. Not even the doctor will come to me. I am going to leave warning that this is my house and I aim to see that things be the way they ought to be, even if I’m gone. I’ll teach them. I’ll come back when I’m a ghost with the light of Hell burning in my eyes ifin I have to. None of them will forget me.” Mike looked up, “I think I’ve heard enough!” A sudden slam was heard upstairs sounding like a large cabinet fell over in the room above them. Cap started growling but his leash was tethered to Ron’s chair. Dust fell from the upper boards into the room. Mike and Sharon ran upstairs with Mike in the lead. A pile of old wood lay overturned in the first bedroom. Mike screamed, “Get out!” for everything he was worth. The blood vessels in his neck rose up and Sharon got a terrible prickly sensation. An unnatural shadow on the floor moved toward the stairs where Sharon stood, trying to come between her and Mike. “No!” they both screamed. Sharon was not screaming in fear, it was a command. She had found a determination within, which surprised her and she screamed, “Get out!” again. Mike flew into action when the shadow shot from one wall to the next. He pulled Sharon close, holding her protectively when two old shutters fell, followed by the sound of breaking glass as nearby window shattered from the inside, tinkling onto the patio with bits of wood from the sash. Sharon looked around once Mike turned to examine the window, it hung in tatters and most of the glass lay on the bricks of the patio below. The shadow was gone, and Cap resumed his regular barking. He turned to her, “Are you OK?” he asked. She nodded, but she was jumpy and unsure of what just happened. “That was incredible!” Mike was excited, “We barricaded it. How did you do that?” Sharon looked up, “I don’t know. I just got mad, and forced it, but I knew you were here, too. It was like a force of will.” Mike wrapped his arms around her, “I’m so proud of you. It may not be permanent but for now it’s gone!” 137
Season Spirits Sharon stuck her tongue out at Mike teasingly. She had been terrified but had taken charge. She wasn’t as rattled as she was the first night she came. They went downstairs and described the strange happenings to Al and Ron. Mike included his belief that this malevolent spirit was the writer of the journal. This was the second time that Cap had detected the presence of this ghost. Mike explained that he suspected it was coming back because they were reading the journal. He explained to Ron what happened to the window, he could make temporary repairs with plywood until the window was replaced. Ron looked up, “You two are OK?” They nodded. Silence lingered for a few moments before they found a way to get back to the original business matters. Cap settled on the floor again, content to snooze. Sharon took Mike’s hand and he smiled at her. She had taken control in a situation she didn’t understand, and it appeared she handled herself well. Al pointed to the lamp, “Is there anyway we could use this light and lower it in the hole?” Mike nodded and gathered the light from the beam over the table looping the lengths of the cord into his hand. He plugged it into an extension cord in the kitchen as they made their way outside through the back porch door. Mike described the way he found the millstone, there were a number of years’ worth of growth and dirt over the stone and it showed no signs of being moved. Al nodded appreciatively as Mike explained how he had cleaned the area with a gas weed trimmer. Sharon took his hand again, once everyone had gotten outside. With the extension cord, they were able to lower the light into the opening of the cistern. Al let out a low short whistle and called to Ron for his Polaroid camera. He took dozens of pictures, reloading film into the camera twice, and adjusting the light several times. He finally stood and brought the pictures to Ron. Ron stared at the photos and his expression was one of amazement. “Mike, I’ll understand if you don’t want to look. But, it’s very old, it has to be. It might explain some of the goings on around here.” Sharon patted the back of his hand and tried to give all the silent reassurance that she could. It was as if Ron knew Mike well and was 138
Season Spirits trying to protect him in some small way, while still allowing him to make the choice. Mike took a deep breath and stepped forward to take the photos from Ron. Sharon stayed with him because she was also curious but nothing prepared her for what she saw. She was shocked but just stood, silent and staring, frozen to the spot. In the hole, there were four bodies. One was an adult female in the remnants of a long tattered dress. Two of the corpses appeared to be older children, one male and one female. In the lap of the adult female was a child, about the size of a 4-year-old boy. It appeared that he was clinging to his mother in their final moments of life. Al advised Ron that it did appear to be a historic find. Ron just nodded. “But, I would like to get a crew out here. They have specialized equipment, the house won’t be disturbed, but the specialists will use better cameras and they would be able to view it in detail. The bodies will be removed, examined and buried. I think this solves a two hundred fifty year old mystery.” As they were standing behind the police tape, with Ron silently contemplating the options, an older man approached from the front of the house. “Ron? What did you dig up out here? Amelia Earhart?” Everyone who was standing outside released his or her tension through nervous laughter. Ron motioned him over to where they were gathered. “I’d like to introduce Edward or ‘Ed’ Abbot. He’s an archeologist and an old friend of mine from college.” Ron introduced Ed to each of the people standing with him. Al made a pointing motion to the hole but didn’t give him any other information regarding the discovery. Ed took the photos that Ron offered and was taken back by the sight enough to make an obscene exclamation before catching himself and apologizing to Sharon. There was a moment of silence. Al stood from his position at the edge of the cistern. He picked up a notebook and began to review the details while everyone waited. “Why don’t we pull the table and benches around on the porch?” Ron offered. Mike set the four chairs around the porch table. He remained standing and picked up some of the glass shards and wood fragments from the broken upstairs window. Al took a deep breath and began to review the information he had on the find. “Adult Female…age unknown, rough guess, 30. Appears to be a Colonial woman, sitting position, she has an apparent bullet hole to the 139
Season Spirits head, frontal lobe.” Al pointed to the photo and then marked the position with a finger on his own head just above his eyebrows. “She was looking up when she got that one. There is a small boy in her lap, approximately three to four years old. The fifth or sixth rib and both nearby vertebra broken, consistent with a gunshot but the skull is intact when I inspected.” Al pointed out the features in the photos. “Young Female. Dress is consistent with adult female, early teens, gunshot wound to the head. She is seated with a teenage male to her right. Faces angled toward each other, close to the same age. Brother and sister is my guess. She’s got a gunshot wound in the skull above the left ear; the boy has two in his front, right side, consistent with wounds of the older woman. “I believe they were thrown into the well first, they’re all sitting with their legs twisted and broken. They were trying to comfort each other. When the fall didn’t kill them, he shot them, over and over again. I would say he took several shots at them, multiple rounds of metal slugs on the ground, there's dust but they’re visible. I think the mother might have been the last to die; he tortured her by killing the kids first. The clothing is in poor condition, exposing most of the skeletal structures with the exception of heaviest skirts and pants. Tanned leather items like shoes and belts are in better condition but the seams are degraded. There’s a remarkable lack of degradation owing to the seal by the millstone, consistent low temperature of the cistern, and lack of water in the bottom. “The cistern appears to be a first attempt at digging a well that failed. The walls were later lined with a masonry mixture over brick. The bastard planned this and he made the hole into a mausoleum, which is why there’s no water in here. It’s about six feet across at the base, the widest point and about twenty-five feet deep.” Al looked over the pictures and made notes. “I did discover a new penny down here where did that come from?” Al looked up to Mike. Mike nodded, “I’m responsible for it, last night. I thought it was just a well until Ron came out this morning.” “You want it back?” Al asked, looking up at Mike. “Not a chance.” “What did you wish for?” Ed asked. “It was more a prayer of thanks.” Mike wrapped his arm around Sharon’s waist and pulled her close to him. “I think you should express that to her.” Ed was teasing but anything 140
Season Spirits to lighten the mood was welcome. “Oh I did, once this morning, twice last night, yesterday morning and the night before…” Mike was grinning. “And you are still standing?” Ed teased. “I’m impressed. I would have been dead when my heart exploded, the first time, but the morticians wouldn’t be able to get the smile off my face.” Al hung his head down and could not refrain from laughing. Sharon sure that she blushed to a bright crimson and the heat radiated to her feet in spite of the cooler weather. To Sharon’s relief, Mike was looking better, and even smiling. He might have been apprehensive about this because of something related to his mother’s death but Sharon couldn’t be sure. She didn’t care if they were poking fun at their newly active sex life; it broke the tension of the grim discovery. Ron held the journal up and explained, “The writer of the journal documented what he’d done to his family and a few other people about 30 years after it happened. He was nuts, completely out of his mind. The journal were his dying words to absolutely no one and from the looks of it; he was a brutal killer with a couple other unmarked graves around the property. It’s disgusting and he dares to vow revenge for his inability to live in the community!” Al took the journal and examined several other pages before saying, “I need to take this into evidence.” Ron looked pensive but nodded. He stared at the hole and it felt like everyone was waiting on him to say something. “Ed? Al? Can I discuss it with them?” Ron asked. Both men nodded affirmatively and went back to reviewing the notes and making phone calls for the crews. Ron led the way into the house. He sat in one of the small chairs in the living room. Sharon sat in the other chair and Mike busied himself by straightening around the bed and fireplace. Ron looked into the fireplace and laced his fingers together on his chest. He just stared, unmoving. Cap leaned against the chair and rested his chin on Ron’s lap. Not once did Cap bark during the time the crews had been present, and his only outburst had been when the ghost was present upstairs. Mike asked, “Uncle Ron? You OK?” Sharon froze. She hadn’t known that Mike and Ron were related and 141
Season Spirits this was taking her by complete surprise. The confused look on her face spoke for her. Ron looked at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, I guess I should explain. He’s been calling me ‘Uncle Ron’ since he was an itty bitty thing and truth be known he’s the only family that I have left, too.” Mike leaned against the fireplace and gave Ron a hand motion that he had the floor and could proceed with the details of the story. “We aren’t related by blood, it’s better than that. His Ma, Lori, started working for me just after his father died and my wife was taken by breast cancer ‘bout the same time. I’d bought this house before then and was trying to rent it out but the tenants kept tearing it up. I’m sure you saw the state of the second cottage. After a time, we just closed it off and it was almost 15 years before I came back to it. My wife and I never had kids. I was already getting up in age but I took to little Mike right off. Lori was a very dear woman, bought a house near my store with the insurance money from her husband’s death. She worked hard and the store grew with little effort out of me, so I made her a partner. It’s still the largest Farm and Country store in these parts and I expect it will be for many years to come. Mike started doing custom cabinets and construction work from the store when he was in school and that started selling like hot cakes. He and his Mom were studying their religion and they treated me like I was ‘Dad’ instead of some ole stodgy boss. It felt good to be important to them. I kept trying to tell Lori to get him a haircut but with it grown out like this, he still looks good. He takes great care of his hair and there is no one that could confuse him for a woman. Wait till you see him grow out his beard.” Ron was reflective. He smiled at Mike. “Anyway, Mike was the one that found his Mom when she passed on. He’d been living with a girlfriend for a few months and he didn’t hear from Lori for several days. He was getting jumpy because she didn’t even answer the phone. That girlfriend…that arrogant Nicole, said that his relationship with his mother wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal and threw him out of the apartment when he said he going look for her. He packed up that day—and went home to find his mother on the floor. She’d had a massive heart attack and died several days before and the body was in a bad state. Mike almost had a nervous breakdown but he couldn’t have prevented it. There was a weakness in her heart and it was just a ticking time bomb that finally blew. I took care of the arrangements for him and made sure there was some clergy available for help. 142
Season Spirits “He worked with me some more at the store, taking on bigger contracts and he had inherited Lori’s share because he took on her work. He got sick over it, very sick. He was depressed and miserable living in his mother’s house so I sent him here to give him a chance to get away from things. Just to work on the house as he can and take care of himself, nothing more. I send him a check, like I did for Lori. He’s been working on this house a few months, now.” Mike had tears rolling down his face as Ron told that story. He’d been leaning against the doorframe with his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. It was as if having Ron drag his past out into the open made him relive the experiences. Sharon had known the superficial facts but had a greater respect for him as these details of his life became known. “But you know…this is the happiest I have seen him, even when his mother was alive. You guys can talk and neither of you say a word. You complement each other. There are couples that have been married for 10 years that can’t pull off what you two accomplished in less than a week.” Ron stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. Sharon got up and walked to Mike, taking his hand. “I didn’t know,” Sharon said to Mike. “That was why he was so protective of you this afternoon. I thought he knew a little too much to be a plain old landlord.” “Well, that brings me to my dilemma.” Ron said. “I’m an old man. I have my house that’s big enough for me, and a couple extra bedrooms for visitors. It would be great for visits with you and the kids…in time.” Sharon’s head was reeling and the hairs on her neck prickled. “This has made me realize I am ready to hang some things up, too many hassles and I’m 73 years old. I was getting this place ready to sell it, maybe put it in a trust fund and live off the interest. I was going to give Mike full control of the store, but I like working there to be honest. What I’m thinking of doing now is signing the house over to you, Mike. It would be yours when I’m gone, anyway. I’ll send over the usual check from the store and you can come back to the store when you’re up to it. There’s a lot of acreage and Sharon, you could even set a design shop out by the main road with your trust fund. I think we ought to erect a small monument or garden over that cistern. Their names were in the journal.” Ron was talking to her as if she and Mike had been married for a long time. Ron knew information about her trust fund that she had yet to discuss with Mike. 143
Season Spirits “Don’t worry your head about it, dear. Mike has gotten used to me by now, you see I do it, too. I’m not into the ceremonies and traditions that he and his mother did, but there are certain things I know.” Ron tapped a finger to his forehead as he stood. Mike’s robe lay on the floor behind the chair. Ron pulled the green sash out of the loops. He took their joined hands and wound it around with a bow over their clasped hands. Mike broke out with goose bumps. “I’ll give you a year and a day and then we’ll make it official. You have lots to talk about and I’ll be back on Monday. Sharon, I like your drawings, tell Margaret to go jump in the Bay. You two can make this house into anything you want.” Ron left, walking out of the front door, whistling. He seemed relieved. Mike smiled, but an open question was still hanging. Mike took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. His emotions lay bare but he smiled. She looked up at him and understood they had walked very different paths in life and in spite of their hardships, found a way to trust and give to each other. There were no secrets. “Yes, I’ll stay,” Sharon said.
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