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Restless Souls

By: epiphany65



I debated about what category to put this story in. I almost put it in Erotic Horror because it contains elements of the supernatural, but it's not scary. Essentially it's a love story about the ghosts that haunt us all. I hope you like it. 

-- e65

###

"I know you're going to love it here in Gilcrest Falls, Mr. Baldwin. It's a beautiful town."

Craig Baldwin looked up from the duplicate copies of the lease that were spread out before him on the kitchen table. He smiled at Earle Jennings. "I know," Craig said. "I grew up here. My mother lives over on Fillmore Street."

"Oh, so you should feel right at home then," Jennings said. "You said that you're a writer?"

"Yes," Craig said with a nod. "I've written a novel, and a collection of short stories. I'm working on a new novel now, which is why I've moved back here. I'm hoping a small town will help me to concentrate."

"Well, if you came back here to write, I'm sure you'll find this an ideal setting," the realtor said. "As you probably know, this is a quiet town where not much seems to happen, so you'll get plenty of peace and quiet."

Craig smiled politely and nodded again. He stole a glance at his watch, hoping to finish the transaction quickly. He looked across the kitchen table at Earle Jennings, waiting for him to speak.

Earle Jennings fumbled with the gold-coloured pen in his hand. He was a portly man a few inches below six feet, with thinning black hair that was greying in spots. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose as his green eyes darted about for an instant. "How long have you been away?" he asked as he handed the pen to Craig.

"I've been in Sedona for the past ten years." Craig looked back down at the papers before him and added his signature to the lines at the bottom of each. "Is today the thirteenth?" he asked, looking back up.

"No. The fourteenth," Jennings corrected with a curt shake of his head. "July fourteenth."

"Shit, I should have remembered that," Craig said with a rueful laugh. "It's Woody Guthrie's birthday. If it weren't for him, Bob Dylan would be running a furniture store in Minnesota."

Jennings gave a polite nod and glanced at his watch.

Once Craig was finished adding the date beside his signatures on the documents he looked back up at the real estate agent. He reached his hand out to return the pen to him.

"You can keep it," Jennings said as he plucked his copy of the lease from the kitchen table. "I have two boxes of them back at my office." He gave a nervous laugh and picked up his briefcase from the table where Craig was sitting. "Well, if you don't have any more questions, I suppose I should let you get settled in," he said as he slid the lease into the briefcase.

Craig placed the pen atop his copy of the lease. He was surprised to see that Jennings had disappeared when he looked back up. When he turned to his right he saw the realtor advancing towards the door. Craig stood up and followed him, puzzled by the man's abrupt departure. "Thank-you again, Mr. Jennings," he said awkwardly. 

"You're very welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay here. Welcome back to Gilcrest Falls, Mr. Baldwin."

Craig braced his hand on the edge of the open door, watching the portly man hurry to his black SUV in the driveway. It started with a roar, and within seconds Earle Jennings was gone. "Strange fellow," Craig muttered to himself as he closed the door.

It wasn't quite four o'clock yet, and Craig began wondering how he should spend the rest of his day. He knew what he should do: write. That's what he had returned to Gilcrest Falls intending to do. But for the past several months that endeavor seemed more like a chore with each passing day. Most would call his predicament writer's block, but to Craig it seemed more like author's impotence. His laptop had become his nemesis, and knowing that his publisher had set a date for him to submit his second novel began to fill Craig with dread.

Craig began to pace towards the living room, thinking, as he buried his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. After having lived in an apartment for a decade the two story house he had just moved into seemed cavernous. That would hopefully change once he had gotten the rest of his belongings moved in. The moving company was due to deliver the rest of his furniture, as well as almost everything else he owned, the next day. Until then, all he had with him was what he was able to pack in his car, including his nemesis: an Apple MacBook.

In the living room, sitting towards one end of a oak coffee table was the laptop. Craig walked over beside the coffee table and looked around the barren room. Earle Jennings had explained to Craig the first time he had shown him the house that it had become unexpectedly vacant when it's former resident had died. That was ten months ago. Now the real estate company was eager to rent it, rather than let it remain shuttered for another winter. As a result, they were willing to give Craig a good rate on a year-long lease. As an added incentive, the house came with some furniture, including the coffee table.

Craig began to wander through the house, just as he seemed to be wandering through life lately. Leaving the living room and walking into the downstairs hall, he entered a small room next to a half-bath on the south side of the house.

During his first visit to the house with Mr. Jennings, Craig had decided that this room would make a perfect office, and a place to write. The room had a window that looked out on to the driveway, and another that had a view of the yard. Beside the window facing the driveway was a large wooden desk. Craig thought it might be oak, or perhaps mahogany. Jennings had told him that the desk would be remaining in the house. This is one of the things that appealed to Craig, and helped to convince him to rent the property.

Craig stared at the desk, imagining his laptop and printer on it, hoping that his writer's block would soon pass. As he thought, Craig's eyes soon were drawn to the other window to his left that faced the yard. On the floor in front of the window Craig noticed an object, and stepped closer to examine it. When he bent down he discovered that it was the shattered pieces of a black glass orb, held within a white mesh bag. He picked it up to examine it.

There were other such objects hung in windows throughout the house that Craig had noticed when Jennings had shown him the house for the first time. The only difference being that those glass orbs were a brilliant blue, rather than black, like the one that Craig was now holding the pieces of. Thinking nothing more of it, Craig placed the broken shards within the bag on the desk and left the room. He would dispose of it later, he decided.

Now that Earle Jennings had left, and Craig had the house to himself, he decided that it would be a good time to bring in the other things that he had packed in his car. His cranberry PT Cruiser could not hold many of his possessions, but he had packed a few suitcases and other essentials that he did not want to entrust the movers with.

Craig dashed out to his car in the driveway and returned carrying two suitcases. As he passed by the kitchen table he glanced down at the lease, still sitting there where he had left it. Craig froze, feeling his pulse quicken as every nerve in his body seemed to fire. His hands went limp as he dropped the suitcases to his feet. As adrenaline raced through his veins, Craig reached for the lease and picked it up. His eyes grew wide and fear welled in him. Scrawled across the bottom in blue ink below his signature was GET OUT!.

Dropping the lease to the table, Craig whipped his head around, almost expecting someone to jump out from a hiding place and announce that he had been the victim of a practical joke. As his heart and breathing accelerated, Craig began to mentally retrace his steps. He had walked by the table minutes beforehand and hand not noticed the writing on the lease. He had only been at his car for perhaps a few minutes. There was no way someone could have gotten in during that time un-noticed. Still, he was suspicious, fearful, and more than a little paranoid.

Looking around, Craig saw nothing that could be used as a weapon in case whoever had written the message on the lease was still in the house. He picked up the suitcases and cautiously walked towards the living room, scanning left and right as he advanced. His relief and puzzlement grew with each step he took and still saw no intruder. By the time he was upstairs in what he had decided would be his bedroom, Craig felt relieved. Still, the mystery of the scrawled message on the lease worried and confused him.

When he returned to the kitchen Craig picked up the lease from the kitchen table to examine the message below his signature once more. It appeared to have either been written by a child, or a right-handed person using their left hand. Craig searched his memory, trying to think of any enemies he had, or of anyone who might either want to threaten or try to scare him. No one came to mind.

"Fucking strange," Craig mumbled to himself. He dropped the lease to the table and pulled the set of keys to the house that Jennings had given him from his pocket. He locked the door, then turned the knob, tugging at it to make sure it was secure, then he went in to the living room.

Craig sat down on the hardwood floor in front of the coffee table. He pulled his MacBook towards him, flipped the lid, and turned it on. He opened the document containing a portion of the novel he was working on and began reading. Soon a smile formed on his face. He was pleased with what he had written, and told himself that he was a good writer -- when he was capable of writing.

That first night in his new house Craig got little writing done. That neither surprised nor bothered him. It was becoming almost routine for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a thought that began gnawing at him more incessantly as weeks passed: that he would have to return the advance on his novel that the publisher had given him, and stop thinking of himself as a writer. 

Deciding that he had best get some sleep because the moving company would arrive early the next morning, Craig shut off his MacBook and closed the lid. He slid into the sleeping bag he had brought in from his car and lay on the floor beside the coffee table. As he stared out of the curtainless windows at the moon, he tried to convince himself that moving back to Gilcrest Falls would bring about a turning point for him. But still, the gnawing self-doubt persisted.

###

The sun shining through the living room window woke Craig early the next morning. He groaned as he sat up. His neck and back ached from sleeping on the floor. Already he was looking forward to spending that night in his bed once more. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was twenty past seven.

Craig slid the sleeping bag down around his waist. As his eyes focused and adjusted to the morning light he became filled with the same bewilderment and panic that he had felt the previous night when he saw the message written on his copy of the lease. Turning towards his right, he was now facing the glowing screen on his MacBook. As he leaned closer, squinting, Craig saw that his laptop was on, and a new text document had been opened. It contained the message You are not welcome here, Mr. Baldwin.

After frantically climbing out of his sleeping bag, Craig pulled his laptop closer. For a few moments he had hoped that he had been dreaming, or that his eyes had been deceiving him. But as he looked at the text on the screen once more there was no way he could convince himself that he was mistaken.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Craig hissed. He saved the file and shut down his MacBook before closing it.

When he entered the kitchen and looked around it occurred to Craig that he should have gone out the night before for some food. All that he had to eat were two bags of chips and a bag of roasted peanuts that he'd brought from Sedona. Realizing that it was getting close to the time when the movers would be here to deliver his belongings, Craig decided it was best to not go out for some food.

Craig sat down at the kitchen table and began munching peanuts. Still lying there from the night before was his copy of the lease. He pulled it closer to examine the crudely written message on it, hoping to find some clues as to who wrote it. After staring at it for a few minutes he gave his head a shake. He folded the sheet of paper in half and pushed it aside, then finished eating his peanuts.

About a half hour later Craig heard the shrill beeping sound of a truck backing into his yard. He hurried to the door and unlocked it. He stepped out on to the porch and a broad smile broke out on his face when he saw the truck from the moving company in his driveway.

Two burly men wearing overalls, one carrying a clipboard, got out of the truck and opened the rear door. It wasn't long before they began moving Craig's possessions into the house one by one as he directed them as to where to put them.

Craig was surprised by how quickly the men from the moving company had unloaded the truck. Once he had signed the necessary forms that the man with the clipboard had presented him with, he stood in the middle of the living room, amid a sea of cardboard boxes. It wasn't quite two o'clock and Craig knew that he had a lot of work ahead of him unpacking everything. Rather than beginning that task immediately, he decided to go out for groceries.

It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon and Craig was glad to be out in the sun and fresh air. As he drove he turned the radio up loud and sang along to a few songs he knew. Although he had not made a grocery list, it was not difficult for him to decide what to get once he was at the grocery store, since he needed everything. That errand took him longer than he had expected, and by the time he had returned home and had put away all of his groceries, Craig was tired.

Craig opened the fridge and took out a can of beer. He pulled the tap and took a long gulp as he sat down at the kitchen table. He sighed and smiled as he licked his lips. In the distance he could hear birds chirping and cicadas buzzing. Finally, the house he had moved in to was starting to feel like a home to him.

Craig was almost finished his can of beer when he heard what he thought was a car in his yard. He got up from his chair to peer out the door. As he approached the door, a woman with shoulder length brown hair and hazel eyes opened it. She stepped inside and walked up to Craig.

"Here," the woman said as she thrust a paperback novel into Craig's hand.

Feeling bewildered and overwhelmed by surprise, Craig looked down at the book he had just been given. It was Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut. Wheeling around towards the pretty brunette, Craig said "This is my book!"

"I know. I borrowed it a few years ago," the woman with dazzling hazel eyes replied with a grin.

"A few? Closer to ten," Craig spat out.

"Ten years and eight months, but who's counting," she said. "I hope you don't charge late fees."

Craig walked towards the kitchen table and tossed the book down on it. "How the hell did you know I was here, Christine?" Craig asked, not bothering to try to mask his irritation at the abrupt intrusion.

Christine Glover sat down beside the table and crossed her legs. "Your mother told me," she explained. "I ran into her in the grocery store the other day. Oh -- and she said for you to give her a call, too."

"Great, now I'll have both of you nagging me," Craig lamented. He took another swig of beer, feeling the can begin to bend in his hand.

Christine laughed as she got up and walked towards the fridge. "She also told me that you ask about me when you call her -- that's so sweet of you, Craig," she cooed. "Mind if I have a beer? Thanks."

Craig could feel an odd mixture of anger and love welling within him as he watched his former girlfriend make herself at home in the house which was not quite even his home yet. "I've asked a couple of times if she's seen you and how you were -- that's all," he replied dismissively. "Hand me a beer, will you?"

Christine reached into the fridge again and passed Craig a can of beer. She sat back down and took a drink from the can she was holding. "I guess I shouldn't feel bad that you don't keep in touch with me when you only call your own mother every few months, and only visit her on Christmas," she said.

"You're exaggerating, as usual," Craig shot back. "I call her and visit more often than that."

Christine shrugged and took another pull from the can. "I suppose we can't expect you to grace us with your presence now that you're Mister Hotshot Author," she taunted.

"Look, Christine, what the hell do you want?" Craig barked.

"To see you. Why do you think I'm here?" Christine's smile faded as her eyes left Craig's and she brought the can of beer up to her full lips once more. "I've missed you, Craig," she said in a near whisper.

"Yeah... I've missed you too," he admitted as his voice softened. "I've thought of calling, or e-mailing, but, well -- you know..."

Christine nodded. "Yeah... I know what you mean," she sighed.

Craig leaned against the kitchen counter, looking around as he tried to think of something to say to break the awkward silence. When Christine spoke again, it came as a relief to him.

"So, when did you move in?" she asked, sounding cheerful again.

"Last night," Craig replied. "But my stuff only got here this morning. The place is a disaster area. I haven't even begun unpacking yet. I'd just gotten back from getting some groceries before you showed up."

"Well, how about I help you then?" she offered.

"No, thanks, that's okay."

"You're not getting rid of me that easy, Craig. You should know me better than that," she said. "So, since I'm here, let me help you move some furniture or something. At least show me around the place, for god's sake."

"Okay," Craig relented as he pushed himself away from the counter.

Christine trailed behind Craig, following him in to the living room. She let out a low whistle as she looked around. "Crap, you've got a lot of stuff to unpack," she said as she surveyed the boxes that were strewn about the room.

"Yeah," Craig said with a sigh. "I figure it will take me a few days to get everything done."

As Craig spoke, Christine walked across the living room floor towards a window facing the road going by the house. She pointed towards a blue glass orb in a white mesh bag hanging from the sash. "Where did you get the witch ball?" she asked, turning back towards him.

"The what?" Craig stepped closer to her as he furrowed his brow.

"This -- it's a witch ball," she explained, pointing towards the blue glass orb. 

"Oh," he grunted, giving the blue glass ball another look. "They came with the place. I never brought them here. What are they anyway?"

Christine took a step closer to Craig and began explaining. "They originated in Europe ages ago. People used to hang them in their windows to either ward off evil spirits, or attract good ones," she said. "A spirit would become enchanted by the colourful glass and become trapped in them. If it captured a good spirit, the glass would turn white. But, if an evil one, or a demon, was drawn in and caught in it, then it would turn black."

Craig took a step back and sat down against the arm of his sofa that had been placed at a haphazard angle by the men from the moving company. "I've got a black one." he droned. His voice was quiet, but thick with tension.

"What?" Christine spat out incredulously as her eyes widened.

"I've got a black one," he repeated. "Well, kind of -- it's broken."

"Better call the Ghostbusters," Christine said with a laugh. . "Why? Is that bad?" he asked.


Restless Souls



"Well, according to the lore, the witch ball turned black if it trapped something nasty," she reiterated. "But if the ball was broken, the entity could escape and cause all sorts of trouble."

Craig felt a chill course through him as he recalled the message written on the lease, and the text file he'd found on his computer that morning. "Do you believe in ghosts, Christine?" he asked.

"No. Of course not," she said. "I'm a sane, rational woman."

"That's a pleasant change in you," he scoffed.

"Places aren't haunted, Craig, people are haunted," Christine replied, ignoring his barb.

"Well, I think I have a ghost here," Craig said, sounding very serious.

"Yeah, you do now," she said with a laugh. "Me!"

Craig winced, knowing that on some level she was perfectly correct. "I mean a real ghost," he said. "Like the kind that those ghost hunters look for on reality shows. Here -- let me show you something."

Craig opened his MacBook on the coffee table and showed Christine the text file that he had discovered that morning. Once he had done that, he brought her in to the room where the desk was so she could see the broken black witch ball, then back out in to the kitchen. There, he presented her with the lease so she could see the scrawled message at the bottom.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, giving her an expectant stare.

Christine frowned and gave him a sympathetic look. "As a skeptic, I can't say that any of this is proof, Craig," she said. "How do I know you never wrote this on your lease, or made that text file? Do you see what I mean? Look at it objectively."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed with a frown. "But the broken witch ball..."

"It's just folklore," she interjected. "Just like broken mirrors, black crows, horse shoes, rabbit's feet, or any other good luck charm or ill omen. It's not proof. It's not rational. I don't mean to sound harsh, Craig, but you can see where I'm coming from, can't you?"

Craig begrudgingly nodded. "Yes, I can," he said. "But, you know me, Christine. I'm not the type to just make this stuff up. Something weird is going on in this house."

"Well, this house does have it's share of weird baggage and rumours," she said.

"What?" Craig blurted out. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't the real estate agent tell you about who used to live here?" she asked.

"No. He didn't tell me anything, except it's been empty for almost a year after the former resident died," he said.

"I guess they don't like to talk about those sorts of things," Christine said. She sat down at the table and gestured towards the fridge. "Get me another beer and I'll tell you."

Craig quickly brought out two cans of beer from the fridge. He handed one to Christine and sat down adjacent to her. He opened the other can and took a sip as he leaned closer, eager to her what she had to say.

"The guy who used to live here before you was a man named Mattias Bertram," she began slowly. "I don't know where he was from originally, but he had an accent that sounded Eastern European. Anyway, he owned a bookstore in town that sold new and used books, and it had a large occult section. I was in there a few times. People around here didn't like him much -- you know what this place is like. Bertram was a foreigner, and he sold books on witchcraft, magick, how to cast spells and conjure spirits -- that sort of stuff. If this were the Middle Ages, they would have burned him at the stake."

"It's a wonder they didn't anyway," Craig said with a laugh.

"Well, to make matters even worse, he used to hold what he called 'study groups' here, in this house, on something called The Western Mystery Tradition," Christine said. "He used to have a sign in his store advertising them."

"Did you ever go?" Craig asked.

"Are you kidding?" Christine scoffed. "I'm a rational person, remember?" She grinned, awaiting his retort.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot -- sorry," Craig said with a laugh.

Christine smiled as she brought the can of beer up to her mouth. "Anyway, this being a typical small town, people started spreading all kinds of bizarre rumours about Mattias, and this house. They accused him of being a Satanist -- some even thought he was The Devil incarnate -- and him holding those meetings here didn't help either. There was talk of strange rituals going on here some nights. Every time a cat went missing in the neighbourhood they blamed Mattias, and accused him of sacrificing it. No kid in town would even set foot in his yard, especially on Halloween night."

"What do you think, Miss Skeptic?" Craig asked pointedly.

Christine took another drink of beer and wriggled her moist lips as she thought. "Well, Mattias was definitely one weird dude, at least by Gilcrest Falls' standards, but the few times I was in his store he was always very polite. You could tell he was erudite and cultured -- something else that made him an anomaly around here. But I never got the feeling that he was evil, or even dangerous. I think more than anything, he was the victim of superstition and xenophobia."

"The realtor seemed nervous when he was here for me to sign the lease," Craig said, then thought for a few moments. "Come to think of it, he seemed nervous the first time he showed me the house too."

"People don't like this house, Craig. It's got a spooky vibe." Christine rolled her eyes and laughed at the notion of what she had just said.

"Maybe they feel that way for a good reason though," Craig suggested.

"Because your roommate is the ghost of Mattias Bertram?" she replied sarcastically.

"Well, yeah," Craig said meekly, knowing how implausible that sounded.

Christine leaned forward. She reached across the table and gave her former lover's hand a gentle squeeze as she smiled at him. "I don't think that Mr. Bertram is the only restless soul roaming this house," she said.

Craig flinched when he felt Christine's hand on his, but he enjoyed the sensation. A flood of memories filled his mind and he smiled. Her skin was soft and warm, and her touch loving. Within seconds he could feel his cock begin to stiffen. "What do you mean?" he asked as his eyes narrowed.

"I mean you. You're a restless soul, Craig," she said.

Craig frowned and slid his hand away from Christine's. He folded his arms on his chest as he stared across the kitchen. Suddenly his self-doubt and insecurities about his writing returned as Christine's words echoed in his mind.

When Christine saw the expression on Craig's face change so rapidly she became filled with guilt. "God, I'm so sorry, Craig. I shouldn't have said that; it's not true," she said. "You're a successful writer -- all I did with my English degree was become a school teacher."

"That's a much more noble profession, Christine," he said. "All I do with my English degree is write silly stories."

"They're not silly, Craig. They're wonderful," she said. "That's why your first novel sold so well -- the same with your collection of short stories. I have both of them, and I love them. I read them over and over."

Craig's eyes widened and he felt happy again, although surprised. "You do?" he said, looking up at her.

"Yeah," she admitted sheepishly, then smiled. "Of course."

"Thanks, Christine. That means a lot," he said.

Christine cocked her head to one side and gave him a curious stare. "Why are you so surprised that I've read your books?" she asked.

Craig shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I guess I just thought that after everything -- you know -- that you had forgotten about me, or at least tried to. Mom said that you'd gotten married."

Christine's smile drained from her face and her eyes lost their lustre. She gave her head a feeble shake. "No, I didn't get married. I was engaged, but we broke up; that was a couple of years ago," she said. "I guess I'm not very good at keeping men." She gave a forlorn stare at her lap for a few moments.

"Oh," Craig grunted. "No -- don't say that. Maybe you're just not good at keeping the ones you shouldn't have met in the first place."

Christine smiled once more, pleased by his attempt to cheer her up. Him, of all people -- the one she had wounded so deeply. She thought for a few moments, growing nervous, then decided to speak her mind. "Why did we break up again?" she asked. "I mean, it all happened so suddenly, without warning. At least that's how it seemed to me. I never saw it coming, Craig. It was like you got scared and just ran away from me." 

Craig sighed and his eyes shifted to avoid hers. "Let's not get into it, Christine. Please," he begged. "That's neither here nor there now. It's ancient history."

"No, seriously. Why did you dump me?" she pressed. "It's been over ten years, Craig. Can't we have a rational discussion about it now? Why did you do it?"

"Because you lied to me about another guy -- that's why," Craig snapped. His mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed as they locked on hers again.

Christine flinched when she saw the anger in his eyes, then she shrugged dismissively. "I didn't lie to you about him," she insisted with a slight smirk. "You just never asked me the right questions. Besides, you were a real jerk back then, Craig."

"Give me a break. I was just a kid," he said.

"Craig, we were twenty-five," Christine said, then began to laugh.

Craig's laughter mingled with Christine's for a few moments as they stared into one another's eyes. Once they stopped, they stared at one another in silence, still smiling.

"It's so good to hear your laugh again," Craig said. "I've missed it."

"Oh -- is that all you've missed about me?" she retorted with a wily grin.

Craig felt himself blush and avoided her pretty, piercing eyes again for a few seconds. "No, of course not," he replied. "I've missed just about everything about you."

"Just about?" she countered as she raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"You know what I mean," he said nervously.

Christine nodded as she raised her can of beer. She gulped down the last few mouthfuls, then placed the empty can on the table. "So, are we going to sit around drinking beer, or can I help you unpack, or move some furniture?" she asked.

Craig thought for a few seconds, then said "The only thing I need help with is putting the bed together. Everything else I can do on my own."

"The bed, huh?" she said with a shrewd grin. "I should have known you'd ask me to do something like that."

Craig shifted in his chair, feeling his mouth tighten. "Do you want to help me or not?" he said defensively.

"Oh, relax, Craig. I'm only teasing," she said as she got up from her chair. "Where is the bed? I'll help you with it."

"It's in my room," he told her.

Craig lead Cristine upstairs to the bedroom on the right. It was the larger of the two, and had windows facing west and north. Leaning against the wall were a mattress and box spring. On the floor beside those were the other pieces of Craig's bed, next to a bureau and several boxes.

"Oh, there are witch balls in the windows in here too." Christine stood in the middle of the room, looking left and right, looking at the blue glass orbs hanging from the window sashes.

"Yeah, at least they're still blue," Craig remarked with a weak laugh.

It took little time for Craig and Christine to assemble his bed, and he was grateful for her help. He thought that he could have done it on his own, but it would have been a struggle. Besides, he was glad to be able to spend some more time with his former girlfriend.

Once they had finished, Christine stood beside the bed, hands braced on her hips. She surveyed the room again, especially the blue witch balls gleaming in the windows as the sun hit them. "So, is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, then let out a brassy laugh.

Craig felt his cock twitch and begin to stiffen as he listened to her, and ran his eyes down her curvy body. Her posture made her firm breasts push out at the green t-shirt she was wearing, and her jeans hugged her hips and firm ass. Memories of the times that they had made love returned to Craig and he wanted her more than he had ever had since they had separated. He moved closer and placed his hands on her waist, smiling.

"I don't know," Craig drawled. "Was there anything you had in mind?" He pulled her to him, so his hard cock was pressing against her.

Christine let out a giggle as her hands slid up Craig's back. She shifted her hips, rubbing herself against his hard shaft, feeling it grow to it's full size. "Calm down, Craig," she teased. "Jumping into bed won't fix anything. Let's take it slow, okay?" 

"Okay... I'm sorry," he mumbled as he shrunk away from her.

"Hey... it's okay," Christine said softly. "It's just that I've been single for a long time, and I'm kind of nervous, you know? Besides, you and I have a lot of baggage, and I don't want to screw things up. Plus... I know you'll never be able to completely trust me again. I can't blame you, but that's a huge wall for us. Does that make any sense?" Her voice was tinged with compassion and sadness, but her brown eyes radiated love as she spoke. She kissed his cheek softly as she ran a hand over his back.

"Yeah, too much," he said, sounding sad.

"I'm not saying that I don't feel like you do," she said, then pressed herself harder against his erection and smiled. "And that includes how turned-on you are right now."

Craig's eyes left hers and roamed down to the front of her t-shirt. He smiled when he noticed her nipples pushing out from the green material. They were thick and looked very hard. "I thought you were just cold," he said as he stared at her breasts.

"No. I'm, uh, hot," she said in a silky voice. "And if I don't leave soon, I'm afraid we're going to do something we might regret."

"Okay, I understand," he said dolefully as he let go of her and took a step back.

Christine gave him a regretful look. "I'm sorry, Craig. I do want to see you again though. Would it be okay if I came over another day?" she said.

"Of course," he said emphatically. "Anytime!"

Christine chuckled at his obvious eagerness. "Yeah, you're thinking with your dick right now," she joked. "But, seriously, I don't want to be a pest. I know you've got writing to do, and I don't want to interrupt that. When is a good time to stop in?"

"Well, I don't think I'll be getting much writing done for a while," he told her. "I need to unpack, and get the house in order first. I'll be doing that for the next couple of days, maybe more. You can stop in tomorrow, if you want."

"Okay, I will then," she promised. "Thanks."

Craig lead Christine back down the stairs, then to the back door. They said nothing as they walked because each of them was lost in thought. When they reached the door Christine reached for the knob, then froze. A smile crept over her face as she turned back towards Craig. She cupped the nape of his neck in her palm and pressed her mouth to his. Her supple, moist lips parted and her tongue teased his. She pulled him tighter to her as she sucked on his lower lip, then tugged at it as she eased back.

"I love you," she said in a husky voice as she looked into his eyes.

Craig stood in stunned silence, feeling his cock throb. By the time he had opened his mouth again to speak, Christine was walking down the steps. He watched her walk towards her car, his aching heart pounding in his chest.

###

Despite being in his own bed once more, Craig had a restless night. He woke a few hours before dawn and masturbated to thoughts of Christine. He hoped that it would help him to fall back to sleep, but all it did was make him long for her more, and the thought that the contentious issues of their past made a reconciliation seemingly impossible filled him with sorrow and regret.

When the first rays of the morning sun shone through the window facing his bed Craig decided to get up. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the witch ball hanging from the window sash. He felt a certain amount of relief when he saw that the glass orb was still the brilliant blue that it had been the previous day.

Once had had showered and eaten breakfast, Craig decided that his first task of the day should be to set things up in what would be his office. After all, his whole purpose in returning to Gilcrest Falls was to finish his novel, and he must not lose sight of that.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Craig saw Christine's red Honda Civic enter the yard. He was sitting at his desk in front of his MacBook. To his left was a mug of coffee, his second that morning. To his right were his cell phone, and a stack of papers, which was the uncompleted manuscript to his novel.

A smile appeared instantly on Craig's face and his pulse quickened when he saw Christine's car. He quickly got up from his swivel chair and hurried to the back door to greet her. She was standing on the porch, smiling, as he opened the door.

"Good morning," she said. "I hope I'm not too early."

"No, not at all. I've been up for hours," he replied.

Craig turned and watched Christine as she walked towards the kitchen table. Her oak-coloured hair was pinned back on the sides, and she was wearing a a navy blue t-shirt and a forest green skirt that left her knees bare. In her hands was a box that was wrapped in rose-coloured paper. She placed the box on the kitchen table, then gave him a smile.

"I brought you a house warming gift," she said.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to do that." Craig walked over to her and gave the box a curious stare.

"I know, but I wanted to. Besides, I'm kind of expecting you to share it with me. Go ahead -- open it," she said with an enigmatic smile.

"Okay," Craig drawled as he picked up the box.

Craig tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside, nestled in shredded paper that resembled straw, he saw a bottle of white wine. On either side of that were two wine glasses, below which was a corkscrew. He took the items from the box and placed them on the kitchen table.

"Thanks, Christine," he said. "And of course I'll share the wine with you."

Christine giggled as she picked up the wine bottle and moved towards the fridge. "I'll put it in here for now to chill," she said, then turned back to him after she closed the fridge door. "I wasn't sure whether or not you had a corkscrew, but I thought I should get you one anyway -- to replace the one I left in your heart."

Craig have her a faint smile and laughed softly. "Thanks -- you're too kind," he said.

"So, what have you been up to this morning?" she asked.

"I got things set up in my office, and I've been doing a little writing," he told her.

"Can I see?" she asked, sounding eager and curious.

"Sure, if you want."

Christine followed Craig through the hall and into his office. She looked around, surveying the small room, then noticed the broken black witch ball lying on a chair in the corner across from the desk. "So that's the broken witch ball, huh?" she remarked. 

Craig nodded, giving the shards of black glass a wary look. "Yeah. I should throw it out," he said. "But just touching it gives me the creeps."

As Christine was about to reply her words were interrupted by the sound of Craig's cell phone on his desk ringing. He picked it up and answered it. "Oh, hi, Mom," he said as he rolled his eyes at Christine.

Craig wandered out into the hall to finish his conversation with his mother. He paced about as they spoke. Once he had finished with the call he returned to his office. When he entered he halted and grew anxious. Christine was standing beside his desk, reading the manuscript to his unfinished novel. She looked up from the sheet of paper in her hand and smiled.

"Ah, that's not finished," he said hesitantly. "I wish you wouldn't read it yet."

"Craig, this is beautiful," Christine gushed.

"It's not finished -- not even close. I'll let you read it when it's done," he said.




Restless Souls



The Pebble in His Shoe -- I think that's a great title for your new novel," she remarked as she placed the paper in her hand atop the others on the desk.

"It's only kind of a working title," Craig said self-consciously. "I might change it."

"Don't -- I think it's perfect. It's a metaphor for an ex-girlfriend, right?" she asked as her brow furrowed.

Craig gave a sheepish nod as he buried his hands in his jeans. "Yeah, it is," he told her.

"Well, write about what you know, huh?" she retorted.

"Something like that," Craig muttered.

Craig's gaze shifted about the room as he grew uneasy with Christine's pointed comments. Eager to change the conversation, he said "Have you eaten yet? It's getting close to lunch, and I wouldn't mind having something to eat."

"Sure, that sounds good," she replied.

Once they were in the kitchen Craig busied himself making ham and pastrami sandwiches. He watched Christine from the corner of his eye as she got out plates, tumblers and a bottle of Pepsi. He could feel his arousal growing as he ran his eyes over her, and soon his cock began to throb.

Christine was standing beside the kitchen table, slicing a tomato close to five minutes later. As Craig passed by her on his way to the fridge she thrust her hips out, intentionally pushing her firm ass against his left hip. Craig stopped and turned to smile at her. She was standing with her back to him, pretending to be oblivious to his ogling as she continued slicing the tomato on the plate.

Without saying a word, Craig took hold of her hips and pressed himself to her firm ass. He could feel his hard cock throb as he pushed it against her rump. Her body felt wonderful and Craig wanted to pull her skirt up around her waist and bend her over the table that instant.

"Careful, I have a knife in my hands," she teased as she wiggled her hips slightly.

Craig ran his hand down the curve of Christine's right hip to her thigh as he slowly humped her ass. He no longer cared about the sandwiches they were preparing. Now he only hungered for her. "I just changed my mind about what I want to eat for lunch," he said in a husky voice.

Christine let out a sexy giggle and braced her hands on the kitchen table. She bent over slightly, grinding her ass harder against his thick cock. "You can eat me for dessert. How does that sound?" she asked, sounding as horny as he now was.

Instead of replying, Craig let out a throaty moan. He reached up and pulled her hair aside from her left shoulder as he pressed himself to her back. He kissed her neck, then ran his tongue over it before nipping at it with his teeth. When she let out a soft moan he reached around and cupped her right breast in his hand. It was firm and heavy, and larger than Craig recalled. He squeezed it hard through her t-shirt, feeling her hard, thick nipple with his thumb, then began to knead her heavy mound.

After almost a minute of allowing him to grope her and rub his hard shaft against her ass, Christine said "Okay, that's enough, Craig. Let me finish doing this."

Craig straightened his back and sidled beside Christine, admiring her. "God, you're beautiful," he said as his eyes moved over her.

Christine looked up from the table, smiling. Her cheeks were flushed and her nipples stood out against the material of her t-shirt. "Thanks," she said. "You ain't so bad yourself." She leaned into him and kissed his cheek. "You sure know how to get a girl worked-up, that's for sure."

There was little conversation while Craig and Christine sat at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches. They glanced at each other periodically, exchanging loving smiles, both enjoying the erotic tension building between them. Their libidos were beginning to race beyond their control, but until they reached that point, each of them wanted to let the teasing and foreplay last for as long as possible.

Once they had finished eating, Craig gathered up the dirty dishes and brought them to the sink. As he was rinsing them off he felt Christine's hand caress his back. He froze as a slight shudder went through his body. His cock pulsed and he turned around to face her.

"So, did you have a good sleep in that bed after I helped you put it together?" she asked in a soft, lilting voice.

Craig placed his hands on her waist and pulled her to him until she was rubbing against his hard cock. He nodded. "Yeah, it was very comfortable," he said, looking into her sultry eyes.

Christine leaned into him, pressing her soft body against his. She ran her hand up and down his chest as her hips gently swayed. "It looked like it was a little big for just one person though," she said. "Weren't you lonely?"

"Very," he said. "Some company would have been welcome."

"How about you show me just how comfortable that bed of yours is then?" she said.

Craig smiled as Christine took hold of his hand and tugged at it. She lead him from the kitchen into the hall and he walked beside her, feeling his cock throb in anticipation. Then, as they passed by his office, Craig halted, tugging at Christine's hand to stop her.

"Hold on, just a second," he said, his voice full of concern.

As Craig stepped in to his office he felt his mouth fall agape and he became filled with dread. He looked around in disbelief for a few seconds as his pulse quickened. "Holy shit," he hissed. He turned towards Christine, giving her a wide-eyed stare. "Tell me I did that," he said, pointing towards his desk.

Lying on the desk beside the computer was Craig's manuscript. It had been ripped to shreds and arranged in a cone-shaped, confetti-like pile.

"Jesus, Craig," Christine intoned as she walked towards the desk, almost cautiously. "Mattias?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Who else?" he replied. "He must be really pissed-off."

Christine was standing beside the desk, leaning over the computer. After a few seconds she looked up and her eyes met Craig's. They were filled with fear. "Craig, come see this," she said as she turned the laptop around to face him.

Craig walked over to the MacBook and looked down at the brightly lit screen. A new text file was open. It contained one terse line: Leave, and take Miss Glover with you.

"What are you going to do, Craig?" Christine asked. There was fright and worry in her voice. She ran her hand over his back, trying to comfort him.

"I don't know," he said with a weary sigh. "I've got the novel backed up on my computer, of course, but I don't know what to do to get rid of Mattias. But, now's probably a good time to open that wine," Craig said. "I could use a drink."

"You better make sure your novel is still backed up," she suggested. "If he can create a text file, he can delete one, too."

Panic filled Craig when he heard those words. He sat down in his swivel chair and frantically began searching the files on his computer. A few moments later he gave a relieved sigh. "It's still there, thank god," he said, looking up at her. "But I probably should burn it on to a CD, just to be safe."

"Good idea," she agreed. "While you do that, I'll open the wine."

Once Craig had finished burning his novel on to a CD he put the disc in a jewel case and brought it out to the kitchen, where Christine was. "Here," he said as he handed her the CD. "Take this home with you, where I'll know it's safe."

"Okay," she said. "Good idea."

Craig's gaze shifted from Christine to the kitchen table. In front of him were two glasses of wine, beside the partially empty bottle that she had brought with her. He picked up one of the glasses and said "Let's go in to the living room. It's cluttered, but the couch is more comfortable."

Christine picked up the other glass of wine and the bottle and followed Craig in to the living room. She placed the bottle on the coffee table and sat down beside him, tucking her legs under her. "To us," she said, as she raised her wine glass.

"To us," he echoed as he gave her glass a gentle knock with his own.

Craig took a sip of wine, then glanced to his left and down at Christine's lap. Her skirt had slid up her thighs several inches as she sat down, and he stared at her smooth skin. A few seconds later he reached out and slipped his right hand under the hem of her skirt. He ran his fingers along the inside of her right thigh, looking down at her smooth legs as his cock throbbed. When she parted her legs a few more inches he glided his hand up her thigh higher. Her skin was silky smooth and warm, but Craig knew that further up she was softer, and wetter. That's where he wanted to be.

"That feels so good, Craig," Christine said. She leaned back against the couch and watched the expression on his face as he stroked her thigh.

"You feel so good," he replied.

When Craig's fingers rubbed over Christine's moist lips through her panties she let out a soft moan. Craig pressed harder on her pussy, feeling her heat and wetness through the thin material covering her. He pushed his thumb to her clit and began massaging her button in a circle. Her lips felt soft and full, just as he remembered them, and he grew impatient to glide his tongue over them and taste her.

"If you keep doing that, you'll make me cum," she said in a ragged voice.

Craig pressed harder on her clit, and leaned closer to kiss her flushed cheek. "Were you still interested in finding out how comfortable my bed is?" he asked.

"Mmmm-hmmm," she moaned.

Craig stood up and took the wine bottle from the coffee table. "Let's bring this with us," he told her.

The two former lovers ascended the stairs, both filled with desire, and eager to rekindle their passion for one another. Craig stepped in to his bedroom and placed his wine glass and the bottle on the bureau. He turned towards Christine and took her glass from her hand and placed it beside his. He pulled her close and kissed her full lips tenderly as his hands caressed her back and sides.

"I want you so much, Christine," he said. "I never really stopped wanting you."

Christine's coffee-coloured eyes darted down to the bulge in his jeans. She grinned, then looked back up at him. "I can tell," she said. Now her voice was thicker. "I've felt the same, Craig. I know it sounds so silly, but you've been haunting my mind for years too."

Craig swallowed hard. His cock twitched and he wanted to undress Christine. When she leaned closer and kissed his mouth he felt his cock throb even harder. He pulled at the hem of her t-shirt. She raised her arms so he could pull it off of her. He tossed it on the bed, then ran his eyes over her.

Christine was wearing a white push-up bra that made her breasts look round and firm. Craig ran his hands up her sides and cupped her full breasts in his hands, feeling her hard nipples beneath the cotton. She reached around and unhooked it, then let it fall to the floor.

"God, you're beautiful," he said as he admired her.

Christine shrugged. "I've put on a few pounds," she said, sounding bashful.

"Yeah... where it counts." Craig cupped her pendulous breasts in his hands. He squeezed them hard, then swirled his tongue around one thick, dusky nipple, then the other.

Christine laid back on the bed, her feet dangling over the side. Her mahogany hair spread out like a peacock's tail around her. She watched as he tugged her skirt and panties down. She kicked her shoes off, lifting her ass from the bed to help him undress her.

Once she was naked, Craig ran his eyes down Christine's perfect body. He paused when he saw the narrow strip of hair above her soft, wet folds. He grinned. "That's new," he said, nodding down towards her moist petals.

Christine gave him a self-conscious look, running her hand down the curve of her stomach to her wet pussy. "Do you like it?" she asked with a shy look.

Craig gave her an emphatic nod. He knelt on the floor between her dangling legs. He clasped her hips tight in his hands and pulled her closer to him, dragging her along the bedspread. She parted her thighs and he slid his tongue up over her wet pussy, then he hoisted her calves over his shoulders. When she moaned and placed her hands on his head he pushed his tongue in her, deep. He felt her tighten around it and he forced it deeper until his nose was rubbing against her swollen clit. Her juice began to run over his face as he stroked her with his tongue as he inhaled ner musky aroma.

"Oh god, Craig," she moaned, running her hands through his hair and clutching his head tight.

Craig reached up and began to pinch and tug at Christine's coppery right nipple. When he slipped a finger in her, then a second, she welcomed them by gripping them tight. Craig began to slowly work them in and out of her tight, wet pussy. As she writhed on the bed, Craig bent down and began to flick his tongue over her hard clit. Christine moaned louder, raising up from the bed. He bathed her pink pearl with his hot breath, then wrapped his wet lips around it and began to suck.

"Oh god... shit... Jesus," she cried out, holding his head and grinding her wet pussy against his mouth. 

Craig breathed in her wonderful scent and tasted her on his lips. When she cried out again he felt a gush of juice bathe his tongue and chin. He kept licking her clit and pumping his fingers in her tight pussy. When she came for the second time and collapsed back on the bed he raised his head. His tongue darted out, licking her nectar from his lips.

Craig tugged his sneakers off, then quickly pulled his jeans and underwear to his feet. He kicked them aside, then crawled between Christine's silky thighs. She looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a blissful look on her face and in her eyes. She reached up for him.

"I want you in me. Now," she said.

Craig watched as Christine slid towards the middle of the bed, waiting to receive him. He knelt between her bent legs, resting his hands on her knees and pushed on them to part her thighs wider. As the head of his cock slid between Christine's juicy lips he felt her wrap her legs around him. She pulled him tighter to her, and deeper inside her. Craig began moving his hips, working his shaft in and out of her. She pushed back, meeting his thrusts. 

"Mmmm... I've thought about us doing this a lot over the years," she cooed.

"Me too," he grunted.

Craig watched as Christine's breasts shook beneath him as he pumped his thick shaft in and out of her tight pussy. His heavy balls slapped against her and he began thrusting harder and faster, spurred-on by her moans.

"Oh, god, Craig... I've needed this from you for so long," she moaned. "Fuck me hard."

"I know... I've fantasized about this so many times over the years," he panted as he moved his hips faster.

Christine's fingernails ran down Craig's back and her heels dug into the backs of his thighs. He looked down into her eyes, then kissed her. Now they were joined everywhere -- just as they had longed to be for the past decade. Craig could feel her musky juice on his cock and beginning to coat his balls. He pistoned his cock faster, pushing her down on to the bed and making her cry out louder in ecstasy.

"Jesus, Craig -- that feels so good," she said in a hoarse voice. "Fill me with your cock... reclaim me as yours."

"I love you, Christine," he breathed as he looked into her eyes.

"I love you too," she replied as she pulled him lower to kiss him again.

Craig could feel himself getting closer as Christine squeezed his rock-hard shaft deep inside her. Their bodies were entwined and she was holding his shoulders as she massaged his shaft deep within her.

"I'm so close," he groaned as he continued to work his meat in and out of her.

"Cum on me," she said in a breathy voice. "I want it all over me. Mark your territory, Craig."

Hearing her bawdy request was enough to bring Craig to the edge. He slipped his cock from her. It was slippery, and shined with her juice. He gave it a few hard strokes, then watched as a ribbon of cum shot from it. It splashed over her stomach and up over her breasts. They rose and fell with her rapid breathing as his thick cum ran down towards her thick nipples. Two more quick spurts sprayed from his twitching cock. Some puddled in her navel, and the rest ran down towards her wet, pink lips. They were still parted and shiny with her musky juice.

Christine moaned and began spreading Craig's thick cum over her breasts and stomach. Her soft skin glistened with it. When she was finished painting herself with the seed of the man she had craved for so long, she pulled him down atop her. His body slid over hers, spreading their juices around. Craig could feel his spent cock slide over her dripping pussy. He was still somewhat hard, and when he rubbed over her sensitive clit she moaned, pushing up towards him to feel his shaft slide along the length of her folds and stroke her clit.

Craig caught his breath and eased himself off of Christine. He lay on his side and pulled her to him on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her moist lips. "I love you," he said.

Christine's half-closed eyes widened. She raised up on her left elbow. Her hair and breasts swayed beside him. "I love you too," she said.

Christine's soft body felt wonderful on Craig's as she lay across his chest, and he never wanted to let her go again. He ran his hand up and down her spine, making her shiver with pleasure. Then he grew surprised when she turned her head towards the window and bolted upright in bed.

"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing towards the window.

Craig sat up beside Christine, confused by her sudden outburst. "What? What is it?" he asked.

"The witch ball," she said, still gesturing with her forefinger. "It's turned black!"

Craig stared in disbelief at the glass orb hanging in the window. He rose from the bed and walked over to the window to hold the ball in his hand. Just as Christine had said, it was no longer blue, but a dark, foreboding black.

"Holy shit," Craig said as he released the ball and turned back towards her.

Christine had gotten out of bed and was standing beside him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned against him, looking at the black glass with relief. "I guess ole Mattias is a voyeur," she said with a laugh. "We must have drawn him in while we were screwing."

Craig turned and pulled her to him. He kissed her forehead. "I think it's more likely that he was hoping to jump on you when I wasn't around," he said with a grin.

Christine wrapped her arms around Craig's waist. She pulled him tighter against her soft, warm body and rested her head on his shoulder. "From now on, the only one who's going to be jumping on me is you," she said. "I've spent ten agonizing years without you, and I'm not letting you go, Craig."

###

Craig could smell the aroma of coffee wafting in from the kitchen as he sat at his desk, typing on his MacBook. The morning sun shone through the windows, and in the distance birds were singing. A few minutes later Craig looked up and saw Christine enter the room, holding two mugs in her hands. She handed one to him and stood beside him, peering over his shoulder at the screen of his MacBook.

"What are you working on?" She took a sip of coffee as she caressed his back with her other hand.

"Oh -- just something that came to me yesterday, after you discovered that the witch ball in our bedroom had turned black," he said, trying to sound cryptic.

Christine leaned closer, still staring at the screen of the laptop. "Restless Souls... what's this?" she asked.

Craig looked up at her, smiling. "I'm calling it a paranormal love story," he said.

"I hope it has a happy ending," Christine replied, looking into his eyes.

"It will -- as long as you stay with me for the rest of my life," he told her.