The following story is an original work. It may not be reproduced or published elsewhere without the author's permission.
To obtain permission or to get more info, contact Scuttles@ScaryPlace.com.NOTE: This story contain mature content of a sexual nature. If you are offended by such content, please do not read
The Spirit of the Momentby Tom Hanslits
Copyright 2003 All rights reserved
An angry wind preceded the night as the darkening sky pursued the sun westward. Tattered fragments of clouds tumbled haphazardly through the diminishing light, tormented endlessly towards the horizon by the relentless wind. The trees suffered the most, their creaks and moans echoing down the valley as their eerie song was dragged away on the icy fingers of the unrelenting wind.
Typing nonstop for nearly four hours, Stephen rose to stretch and find a morsel to eat. He knew it was a hopeless cause; he'd not been to the store in four days. With any luck, the milk would not have soured yet. He could throw together some hot chocolate in the microwave and fend off the steadily creeping chill invading the house.
What an ugly night, thought Stephen as he peered through the curtains, past the tree that partially obstructed the view from his study.
On his way to the kitchen he checked the thermostat, seventy degrees right on the money. Wondering why he couldn't seem to get warm, he tapped the thermostat even though he could hear the furnace running. The chill permeated everything and seeped into his joints and bones, a shroud of eternal cold enveloping his body in its' icy grip. Pulling his robe closer with a shudder, he checked the milk. It wasn't sour. That simple fact made him smile.
Armed with a tall cup of hot chocolate and a renewed passion to find warmth; he returned to the study to finish his story. It was supposed to be a thriller, but was turning out to be horror. It's peculiar, he thought, that the evening was turning out like the story. It's no more than coincidence, he concluded as he dismissed the thought.
The clicking of the keys found a natural rhythm with the tree branches of the ancient elm, as they slapped wickedly against the side of the house. Stephen found a zone and began typing like a man possessed. The evening wore on and he paid little heed to the hands as they progressed across the face of the grandfather clock outside the study door.
As the clock chimed out the arrival of midnight, Stephen looked over his shoulder to see the clock. This can't be right. I haven't been here for ten hours straight with only one break. That's impossible.
Ripping open the drapes, he stared into his own reflection. It was pitch black outside and there was no trace of the stars or the moon. The light from the room reflected brightly in his eyes, a stark contrast to the black void outside his window.
Studying the contours of his reflection, he noticed that he looked drawn. It's just the glass, he said to himself. I can't possibly look that bad. He rubbed vigorously at his eyes and stared again.
The same.
Running up the stairs, he flicked on the bathroom light and leaned over the sink to study himself in the mirror. "My God," he said aloud. "You look like shit." Rustling through the medicine cabinet, he was unable to secure any form of preventative medication. "Damn," he shouted to the mirror. "You need to get your sorry ass to the store the first thing in the morning."
Slamming the cabinet door, he went immediately to bed. The covers seemed overly cold and he couldn't relax. As much as he tried, that perfect, most comfortable position eluded him. What's happening to me? This isn't normal. I better try to get in to the doctor when I'm in town tomorrow. I don't feel well. It's more than this awful weather I just know it.
Stephen spent the night in fitful sleep. Barren, desolate, frigid landscapes littered the few horrific dreams he did have. In spite of the cold, he rose abruptly, sweating profusely. While wiping his brow his mind began to wander. I can't believe how thirsty I am. I need water. I must have water.
Grudgingly, he threw back the covers exposing himself to the surreal chill, and slipped on his robe. His bare feet rejected the contact with the coldness of the hardwood floor. Abruptly he fell back into the bed as if he'd been burned.
Finding his slippers, he continued. The small light he used to illuminate the upstairs hall cast grotesque shadows as he hurried by. He watched them grow and shrink in distorted patterns ending only after they'd slithered to the edge of the total darkness, being sucked into the blackness by an unseen force.
Shading his eyes from the impending light, he flipped the switch in the bathroom. Peering through the slits between his fingers he found the tap and ran cold water, filling his glass. Dowsing the light he lowered his hand and ravenously gulped, two-handed, at the contents of his glass. His throat was still parched after he consumed the entire amount. Afraid to drink more he stood silently and listened to the storm that had engulfed the valley.
A clap of thunder startled him. It was so powerful that the windows shook all over the house. Turning to leave and watch the storm from his bedroom window, Stephen stubbed his toe on the doorjamb. Cursing and thirsty, he made his way to the window and pulled open the drapes. He was met with total and utter darkness. The sounds of the storm raged around the house, yet he was unable to see anything. He yanked the drapes closed and flopped down onto the bed.
Exhausted and bewildered, he crawled back under the covers and sought the elusive sleep that he needed. Unearthly visions and the same bleak landscapes returned to disturb his attempt at restful sleep. He decided to join the dreams and see where they might lead. There could be a good story in all of this.
Immediately, he found himself outside his home, looking down the valley. It wasn't the same. The trees were burnt and twisted, replete with spiders and various dark birds he couldn't identify. Their shrill caws pierced his ears like hot pokers. The vision reminded him of a forest of ancient gnarled hands erupting from the grave, grasping and clawing at the night sky, pulling it towards the earth like a death shroud being drawn over a desiccated body.
The imagery was too powerful; he awoke in the same sweat soaked state he'd arisen from only hours earlier. This time he noticed his breath in the dim light, as he sat in the darkness. Racked with dread and the sudden cold, his body shook violently until the dread and the cold subsided. I'm not crazy! This is still a nightmare. When I wake up I'll have a good laugh about this whole thing.
The grandfather clock chimed the hour. It was five AM. He stared into the empty hall and debated whether he should rise to great the miserable day or attempt more sleep. Wiping the sweat from his face with his tee shirt persuaded him to get up and get moving.
With breakfast finished and the storm diminishing, Stephen headed to the garage. The trip to town would take at least an hour and a half after the rain and winds from last night. He enjoyed the solitude of deep country living except for the roads after inclement weather. During the harshest winter storms he'd often been isolated for two or three weeks before the roads could be opened.
Coaxing the engine to life, he made a mental note to replace the battery when he reached the village. The general store had a small supply of automotive batteries and he'd noticed the type he needed the last time he was there.
The reluctance of the car perturbed him as it finally relented to his persistence and emerged from the garage. It had never given him this much trouble before. Convincing himself that it was weather related; he wheeled the car around the side of the house and onto the rutted driveway.
Drawing to a stop, he took stock of the drive and pondered several alternate detours into the surrounding fields. He couldn't recall his property ever looking so run down. It gave the appearance of being abandoned.
Stepping from the car he noticed a shutter hanging by a single hinge and the front porch railing leaning undignified and separated from the planking, the spike nails grasping desperately to the last remnant of good wood. That was one hell of a storm, he thought. I'm not going to fix this. I'll find a carpenter in the village and have him come out the first good day in spring.
---
Stephen stopped his car on several occasions to negotiate deep ruts and expansive puddles. It was at these times he noticed how long the grasses had grown. Even though it had been bent and thatched under the weight of the winter snow and ice, it was still longer and more unkempt than usual.
Have I been so involved with my work that I never noticed the growing decay? I've never let that happen before. I need to get myself together and fix this place back up. This is embarrassing. The townspeople already think I'm a bit odd, but this is bordering on eccentric. Stephen let his thoughts ramble here and there as he picked his way down the drive to the main road.
Finally reaching the end of his property, he approached the main gate that closed his drive from the only road in to the village. Rolling to a stop, he walked around the front of the car and tried to open the gate. Someone had chained and padlocked the gate to the steel post that supported the fence along the road. "What the hell?" he shouted to the wind. "Who could possibly find this funny?"
After several unsuccessful attempts to free the gate from the chain he slammed his body into it as forcefully as possible. The results were dramatic, at first estimate he had a massive contusion from his shoulder to his elbow and perhaps three cracked ribs. With his back to the gate, he slid gingerly to the soggy ground. It didn't matter anymore. He was cold, injured and out of ideas.
"Shit!" he howled to the heavens. "I've got a car. I can just break it down. How stupid can I be?" Hearing his voice calmed his nerves and helped relieve the ache in his arm. His ribs had already stopped hurting, so he assumed they weren't cracked.
Foisting himself to his feet, he slogged his way to the car. He backed into the grass at an angel calculated to be enough to break down the gate but minimize the damage to his car. Just as he started revving the engine, someone stopped at the gate and stepped from their vehicle. Stephen watched as the older gentleman approached the gate and produced a key. An attractive woman emerged from the passenger side and stopped at the front of the car. She was in her late twenties to early thirties and impeccably dressed. He sat transfixed at her beauty as her long auburn hair whipped in the wind, lending a sensual wickedness to her lovely features.
Looking straight at Stephen, as he sat in his car, she asked, "How long has this place been haunted?"
Stephen raised a finger in protest, but the gentleman answered, "What do you mean Miss? There's never been a report of ghosts from any of the owners. Even the last man, a writer I believe, never said anything to anyone about ghosts." Removing his hat and scratching through his hair, he looked straight at the woman and said, "Come to think of it, he never said much of anything to anyone about anything. He was reclusive. A bit eccentric would be a nice way to put it."
"You old shit," hollered Stephen. "I'll give you eccentric with my boot up your backside."
The young woman turned to face Stephen again, a smirk whispered at the corners of her mouth. Stephen was in love her beauty. "I'll follow you back to my place," he called after her, as she slid back into the car.
---
Stephen could see an animated conversation taking place in the car ahead of him. He wondered why such a lovely young woman would be out with an obviously much older and definitely poorer man. The guy was nowhere near as classy as she was. He chuckled at the thought of a male gold-digger, but then realized that the guy could be a legitimate uncle or friend. "Use the clues, you ignorant slug," he chastised himself. "They were talking about houses, he's a real-estate guy." A wave of guilt swept over him as he became ashamed of his previous thoughts.
"I'm sorry my lovely stranger," he said to his windshield. "That was no way to think of a lady. Can you forgive me?"
Their car rumbled to a stop on the largest patch of dry ground they could find. Stephen pulled in along side, only partially in the mud. They were up on the front porch by the time he'd negotiated the puddles and debris scattered about the yard. "Hold on a minute," he called. "I'll open the front door for you as soon as I get there."
A delicate hand, sheathed in fine lace pulled, an errant wisp of auburn hair from in front of her eyes as she smiled at him. Turning back to the old man, she entered the house.
Stephen halted abruptly, shocked as he watched the old man unlock his house and let the two of them inside without so much as a pardon me. They didn't even knock. Pulling himself back to action, he raced up the front steps and through the door. He caught up to them in the kitchen.
"You know Miss," the old man said. "You're the first person to see this place since he's been gone."
She turned to face Stephen again, and answered, "Oh, but he's not gone, he never left." She blushed as she added, "And he's quite handsome in my opinion."
"What kind of game are you two playing here?" demanded Stephen.
She put a finger to he lips to silence him and then said to the old man, "Can you give me a moment to walk around and get a feel for the house. I'll meet you back out on the porch. I need to do this alone."
"Sure, Miss. Whatever you wish? I'll meet you outside in about ten minutes?"
"Thank you for your kindness. Ten minutes should be more than enough time. It won't take very long to determine if this is the right house for me." She leaned provocatively against the doorway as the old man left the house. Stephan thought she looked like an angel standing there with one foot locked behind the other and the tip of her shoe barely touching the floor.
They both heard the front door slam. "Well then," she said to Stephen. "How long have you been dead?"
He almost fell over backwards as he shrunk from her. "What do you mean? I'm a writer not a corpse," was his shocked reply. "I know I don't get into town much, but I'm still alive. What game are you playing at anyway?" Stephen's defenses were up and he was rapidly changing his mind about her.
"Slow down a moment. I didn't realize that you didn't know. I'm sorry that I broke it to you like that. Can you forgive me?" Innocence and sincerity drifted towards him, carried with her softly spoken words.
"When did I die?" he snapped. Go ahead and answer that if you can Miss Smarty-pants.
"I have the clipping from the Chicago Trib obits right here. That's how I found the house." She fingered through her clutch until she seized the news clipping. Handing it to him, she stepped back to give him space.
Snatching the remnant of old newspaper from her fingers he turned it over and around until he was able to read it. The date and paper banner was stapled to the clipping. His already ashen features paled even further as he paced through the dining room. He collapsed into a chair and stared at her and then the clipping.
Struggling to make sense of the situation he began to analyze the clipping. It was worn and dated. It wasn't a recent forgery, if that was her game. Memories of the unending cold and utter darkness tickled the fringes of his reality. Finally he looked up, his face drawn and desperate, "So it's true?"
"It's true. I'm sorry to see you like this, especially since it's my fault, but you've been dead for five months now. Was today the first time you left the house?"
"Huh? What? Oh yeah, it was. What do you want from me?"
"I have to make this quick. We can fill in details later, but I have to have an answer now. You have eternity, I don't. I apologize for the abruptness of what you're about to hear. Well here goes. I want a companion, but I don't want a man living with me. I've been searching a long time for the right house with the right ghost. Would you consent to be my living partner?" She sighed deeply when she finished; a great anxiety was lifted.
"What in the hell are you talking about? Your partner?" Confusion contorted Stephen's face.
Undaunted, she charged ahead, "Yes, my partner. I don't want to live alone, but I need to be alone. I can see ghosts," she said as she motioned a hand towards him, "and I need a place to be away from them all. I still want someone to be around, yet live men don't understand this ability and they think that I'm crazy."
"Why can I still function as if I'm alive and how does that help?"
"I don't know the answer to the first part of your question, I've never understood that part of it, and I've already answered the second part. Do you still eat?"
"I guess. I had some hot chocolate last night, or what I believe to be last night. I was writing a story and a terrible storm came up. I kept getting colder and colder. Finally I came downstairs and fixed myself some hot chocolate. I needed groceries and some repair work to the house, so I started for the village when I got up this morning. That's when I ran into the two of you. So you're telling me that between the storm and this morning, it's been five months?"
"Yes."
Abruptly Stephen jumped to his feet, exclaiming, "I'll do it! There could be some great stories to come out of this. My name is Stephen Hemphill. Maybe you've heard of me?"
"Who hasn't, besides that old Realtor?" she chuckled. "You're untimely passing caused quite a literary stir."
Excited by his enthusiasm, she continued, "You know, we could collaborate on any new stories. I could say that I found them with other manuscripts when I started to renovate your, my, house. You'll still be writing and even more famous posthumously. I'm sorry, that was indelicate."
"What good would it do me to get my nose out of joint. What more could happen to me?"
"I'll explain that as we get to know each other better," she said, heading for the door. "Oh, by the way, my name is Angelique." She cast a flirtatious smile his way as she disappeared around the corner.
---
Angelique was in and out of the house for several months. Her schedule had her running all over. When she wasn't traveling, she stayed home and didn't venture outside of the house. She hired villagers to maintain the property and the house was shaping up into a real show place.
Her self-induced seclusion puzzled Stephen, but these occurrences weren't often and only lasted three or four days in a row. During these times, she seldom left the master suite. Stephen was writing prolifically in spite of her idiosyncrasies. His output had tripled since she arrived. He adjusted to his death and became comfortable with his new role in the world.
True to her prediction, a manuscript of short stories became an instant best seller. Stephen was elated to find his public still clamoring for his work. Angelique was pleased to see him happy and adapting so quickly. Their relationship gradually was developing into a romantic friendship.
"Stephen, how are you feeling?"
"I don't understand? I'm dead. I don't feel anything."
"You should still have an emotional connection with the world as it moves about you. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Well not really. I do feel things. Since you brought it up, I, err . . ."
"What's wrong?" she asked as she cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand.
Stephen flinched away as if he'd been slapped. "That's what's wrong!" he flared. "I'm a man and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. I don't care if I'm dead, I think that I love you."
Angelique fell into his arms and cried. "Oh Stephen, I love you too. I didn't know how to say anything to you. I've been trying to stay out of your way when I'm home, but I despise cloistering myself in my room when you are so near."
"Angelique, my love," he whispered as he smothered her face in kisses. "But I'm dead and there's nothing we can do about it."
"Stephen, my sweet innocent ghost. There's nothing to stop us from consummating this relationship. You are physically equipped to complete the task. My connection to the spiritual plane allows me all the pleasures of the act as if you were alive."
Holding her at arms length, he asked, "Have you done this before?"
"I'm with you now by my own choice. The moment is ours. Don't concern yourself about anything else. Reaching between them, she squeezed his loins and felt them stir with excitement. Stephen's guttural moan was full of lust and long months of pent up desire. His breath quickened and his heart raced. He found the living sensations amusing as desire blurred his vision.
"Come to my bed Stephen and be my lover. I need to feel you inside me." Guiding him by the hand she took him to her bedroom. By desire only, he found that the imagined images of his clothes disappeared and he was standing before her naked and erect.
Gasping at his size, she said, "You're more man than I ever could have imagined. Let me undress for you."
"Sure," he managed to gasp.
With the fluid motions of an experienced stripper, Angelique seductively removed her clothes. Finally she stood naked before Stephen, desire glazing her wanton eyes. Stephen stared at her statuesque figure. She was perfectly proportioned and completely natural. Pressing herself against him, she slipped her probing tongue into his mouth as she held his head tight, her fingers curling in his hair. They both moaned with the urgency of their passion.
Quickly she turned her back to him and pressed his arousal against her buttocks. Stephen cupped her breasts and felt her nipples harden in the palms of his hand. He presses his erection firmly between her cheeks and moved rhythmically up and down. She squealed as he playfully tweaked her nipples.
"Do you know how to do the Venus butterfly?" she asked.
"I've read about it. I think that I could do that."
"I've always wanted it done, but you're the first man that knew how." Her voice was coming in ragged gasps now. She spun around again and kissed him deeply. When she released him she fell back onto the bed and invitingly parted her legs. With her fingers, she exposed herself even more graphically and said, "I'm waiting. I want to feel your hot breath on my sex."
Stephen slid onto the bed and positioned himself to satisfy her. After half an hour she shuddered in a remarkable climax. Almost unable to catch her breath, she finally asked, "And you never did that before tonight?"
"You're only the third woman I've ever been with. Most of the time I was writing or thinking about writing. I didn't go out much. The other two women were groupies. It was shallow and emotionless, and didn't last."
"You're a natural. I've never been satisfied like that, EVER. Now shut up and let's continue before the mood is broken.
Full of pride and enthusiasm from her praise, Stephen jumped up on the bed and straddled her waist. He began to tickle her softly, yet relentlessly until she begged for mercy. They laughed until they cried and they fell passionately into each other's arms.
"Oh Stephen, you're the best. I can't wait any longer. I must have you now." She ground her pelvis to relay her urgency. Stephen responded by slipping gently between her thighs and rubbing himself up and down at the focus of his desire.
Angelique reached between them to assist. Once she was ready she thrust upward to start his entry. Pushing against her thrust he slowly brought his full weight to bear on his movements. "Oh God, you're magnificent," she cried. "Don't stop."
"It's been so long since I did this. I don't know that I can last. I love you and I want to please you."
Moaning under his thrusts, she panted, "You are pleasing me, like no other ever has. Just don't stop. I'm almost there."
Encouraged that he wouldn't finish too soon, he increased his speed and force. Angelique cried out at the increase in pleasure. "I'm ready now," see moaned. "Are you ready?"
"Yes my love, we can reach there together. Oh God . . ." he said between clenched teeth as he reached his peak. Angelique cried out at the same time. They shuddered violently at the consummation of their union. Stephen fell to the side and they embraced and stroked each other in the after glow. Soft kisses and passionate touches lingered for minutes before they both rolled on to their backs.
"Stephen?"
"Yes, my pet."
"There's something that I need to tell you. It's very important."
Suspicious, he rolled up to lean on his elbow and face her. "Go on," he said skeptically.
"Remember that first day that we met?"
"Yeah."
"You asked me what more could happen after you died."
"I remember."
Well, I need to tell you. There is a certain energy that keeps a persons spirit her on earth after they died. It's very powerful and that's why you are here and why you still have all the same emotion capabilities, as well as the physical ones. It's particularly strong in creative people. You are the strongest source I've ever encountered in one hundred and fifty years. I'm one hundred and seventy-eight years old."
Stephen fell off of his elbow and went face first into the mattress. "What the hell? What does this have to do with me?" he asked as he recovered.
"I'm getting to that. Let me tell you everything about myself and how I live. I was born in 1825. My family was nondescript and we weren't educated. We moved to Chicago when I was thirteen and I finally was able to attend school. I was bright and advance quickly. My mother had home schooled me about everything that she'd learned.
I was in an accident at work one day when I was seventeen. A bale of rags fell on me and I was in a coma for several months. When I awakened I had the ability to see people like you. I was very frightened when I learned that some of the people in my life were dead. It didn't take long for me to earn a reputation for being odd and I found that I was being shunned. A very kind and middle-aged spirit invited me to reside in his home. He directed me to a stash of money he'd been saving during his lifetime. I was able to purchase the home and take up residence. Once away from the people who knew me, I was able to start a new life and pursue a higher education. I traveled overseas and finished my schooling there.
In England and France I met two very nice spirits who also led me to family fortunes unclaimed for centuries. It was then that I struck upon the idea of searching out and keeping company with spirits in trade for intellectual property or cash. It was an equitable arrangement for all parties concerned and I was becoming wealthy in my own right. I began to collect oil paintings and other art works that have become treasures over time.
When I was twenty-eight one of the spirits I'd recently taken up residence with made love to me. That was a changing point in my life. I discovered that the force that keeps you here on earth is transmitted to me when you attain an orgasm. Not only do I receive your energy, but I also remain young. I need a new supply every two to three months depending on how potent the source is."
"Just a minute! You told me you loved me and we engaged in the most private of embraces for food? You bitch!"
Sobbing, Angelique said, "No Stephen it wasn't like that. I fell in love with you. Don't you understand? I wanted to live with you forever. We were never to make love because . . ."
"Because what?"
"Because it means that you're dying. You will go to where ever it is that your soul should go when you die. I shared this magnificent moment with you because I have never experienced love for all of my life. Now that I have shared the greatest joy with you, I will experience the greatest sorrow of losing you." Angelique broke down uncontrollably. Stephen couldn't comfort her.
Looking down at her shaking form, he felt pity for her. Stephen stoked her hair and gently brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Angelique was unable to release the grip her perpetual youth had on her, and by virtue of its stranglehold she would never able to know the peace and serenity of love again.
When she finally calmed and her crying became a whimper, he asked one final question, "What's going to happen to me?"
"You'll be gone by morning. You will fade from this world forever. We can spend our last few hours together if you wish. If you throw me out I'll understand."
Embracing her tenderly, Stephen replied, "I have known love only once in my life and it was with you. I want to stay in your arms until the time comes."
"Thank you Stephen. That means a lot to me. I'll remember you always."
---
The dawn arrived on a crest of golden sunlight. Birds sang in the trees and a gentle breeze caressed the earth. Angelique opened her eyes to find her arms empty, but still formed in her embrace of Stephen throughout the night. She wept bitterly for her weakness and for her loss. She smiled weakly at the memory of her lost love. Rising, she began to pack her personal belongings and found the card for the Realtor who sold her the house.
There will be others she consoled herself. There will never be another Stephen though. She vowed never to fall in love again. From this day forward, each new conquest would serve only as a vehicle to life for her.
With her new resolve, she began to hum an old tune taught to her by her mother. Locking the door behind her, she stood at the front of the house and looked back for one last time. The cab arrived exactly on schedule and she was gone. The spirit of the moment was lost in more ways than one.
fini