2 comments/ 12464 views/ 2 favorites Ghostlover Ch. 00 By: Tarbut Here are the memories of Elizabeth [surname deleted], who had a boyfriend she did never kiss, but after his demise she wildly copulated with his five ghosts, even after her getting married and bearing children, until she died at 102. * It all began the evening in which I heard a rifle crack. After a few minutes, dad went in and told me, "Don't worry, darling, I've just shot dead a wild boar which was getting near the poultry pen. I'm taking a spade and bury it." "Why don't we dress and eat it, dad?" "There is an Echinococcus outbreak among the animals in the wood. Eating their flesh would be very risky. The best solution would be burning the carrion, but we're going to face a harsh winter, and we cannot squander firewood." Dad went out with the spade, and I went to my bedroom; I took out a letter from my bosom, written by my boyfriend Paul, who wrote that he was going to work in a shipyard as an accountant, and was going to meet me that night, in my bedroom, before catching the train to London. I was nearly aroused by his letter, and wildly fantasized about what we would do together that night. Paul was a young man who studied in an Edinburgh boarding school while I was growing up, and when he ended it and came back to town -- I was smitten by him. He was tall, learned, polite and sturdy, as his boarding school required both learning and strength. Hadn't his family gone bankrupt, he would have soon joined a good university, but his current priority was finding a job. Dad hired him for a few months; he reorganized our accounts, and inventoried all our property. When he was done, Dad fired him. Dad was kind of a gentleman: he simply stated that Paul had worked very well, and he just dismissed him because his task was completed. But the real reason is that he became suspicious of us, and when he knew I was smitten with him, he kept reminding me that his family was brought to bankruptcy by Paul's father's alcoholism. "His father's problem, not Paul's", I replied, but he rejoined, "Alcohol dependency runs in families, and I'm not going to take the risk. Please, ask his mother's neighbors what are they forced to witness each night. I want a healthy, not an abusive husband for my daughter." I didn't listen to him -- while he was working in our house he could have drunk either our beer or our whisky, but he didn't, so I assumed that he was clean. But that night, in which the rifle cracked, Paul didn't materialize. I thought that he either couldn't evade my father's watch, or that he was forced to take an earlier train than anticipated, so I didn't worry about him. But a few nights later, I saw the semblance of Paul in my bedroom, as I went to bed. I tried to hug him, but I felt that he lacked his body -- he was just a ghost! "What has happened, Paul?" "The hog dangerously nearing the poultry pen that your father shot dead a few nights ago -- it was me." "I'll kill him." "Sorry, but revenge won't help me now. By the way, your father was genuinely worried about your health." "I don't think you've inherited alcoholism from your father." "It isn't just an alcohol-related problem. I've caught syphilis." "The venereal disease?" "Which is up to now, Anno Domini 1894, incurable? Yes. Had you become my wife, you would certainly have caught it. So would have our children." "Did Dad know that?" "He saw me getting out from the practice of a venereologist -- a specialist in such diseases." "What did Dad do of your body?" "He didn't use the spade he had taken - he dragged my body to the manhole of an old cistern, and dumped me into it." "And you'll keep haunting my house until you'll be removed from the cistern and properly buried and mourned, won't you?" "Yes, Liz. Although I haven't been fully honest with you, I still deserve a proper burial." "Paul ... could you still infect me with the disease?" "No. Not in my ghostly form." "Paul ... my life has ended the very evening Dad shot you dead. I swore I would never love anybody but you, and I'll keep the promise. You concealed your illness from me, exposing me to grave danger; I won't remove your body from the cistern." "Why?" "Because I'll never have anybody or anything sweeter in my life than your ghostly presence." "You're crazy. You can't deprive anybody of his grave! Jews -- I met some in Edinburgh -- say that burial is the charitable act par excellence, since the dead may not even know what is being done to him, let alone reciprocate!" "Jews are right, but look at my neck. What you see encircling it?" "A necklace -- made up of pearls." "Pearls are secreted by oysters when a foreign body enters them. What is an illness for the oyster is beauty incarnate for a woman. You are my favorite pearl, Paul. I won't lose it." "Measure for measure, as the Bard put it. My illness could have caused you lifelong pain, so you now want my pain to be your solace." "Not just solace, not just pain. Couldn't you become somewhat denser?" "What you mean?" "Our vicar keeps telling tales of 'incubi' and 'succubi' -- a 'succubus' collects semen from men, and then becomes an 'incubus' to give it to women." "I can't give you real semen. I can emulate copulation, but the semen will be as ghostly as my body. It won't have any effect on you." "It could be to my advantage, couldn't it? I will never marry anyway; why shouldn't I lose my occasion to enjoy the pleasures of love scot free - without risking pregnancy, miscarriage, labor pains and delivery death?" "You may be right -- but you have to promise me that you'll see that after your death, the whereabouts of my body will be disclosed, and my body will be properly buried." "Oh, I'll ask that we will be buried together." Paul loved the idea, and kissed me. He was somewhat denser now, and I could feel his tongue wedging through my lips; I opened them, so I had my first French kiss. We kissed once, twice, three and more times ... until I felt his hand on my left nipple, touching my skin, not my clothes. "How could you do that?" I asked, and Paul answered, "Ghosts can cross walls, not just clothes." Paul continued fondling my breast, my two breasts, arousing me so much that I laid on the bed and begged for more. He kneeled on my genitalia and began licking and eating them sending me into ecstasy -- without removing a cloth from my body; had I worn a chastity belt, it would have made no difference. But I told him, "Undress me ... when I'm naked I am more excitable." He did that, he told me that he had never seen a woman as beautiful as me, he especially complimented my 42"-32" bosom and my long black hair I could cover my whole trunk with. So I removed all the pins from my coiffure, and spread my hair all around my trunk -- he loved playing with it and uncovering my body again; then he undressed and asked me to fondle his penis and eat it as if it were a sausage. I did that, loved his penis' taste, and even tried to cause ejaculation, but once it was so hard and inflated that it became wider than my mouth and crossed my teeth, palate, uvula and tongue, he withdrew it, and put it into my vagina. Although I was a virgin, I felt no pain, and I didn't shed blood -- but I felt his grand penis filling my whole body, and when he ejaculated, I felt his warm fluid soaking me all over. His saber was not just magnificent, was also masterfully brandished, and not only I felt unprecedented bliss -- I felt complete for the first time. When we both were done, I put a finger into my genitalia, and was astonished at finding my maidenhead intact. Paul smiled and said, "The basic skill of a ghost is modulating his density -- I was thick where I had to push your vaginal walls away and tickle your clitoris, thin when I had to cross your cribiform hymen. You promised that you won't love anybody but me ... but a gentleman doesn't compromise a woman's reputation." "I love you, Paul." "I love you, Liz." Paul then snuggled behind me and hugged me from behind; he fondled my breasts, and inserted his penis between my buttocks, its tip touching my anus. Although I had worked as a nurse at a doctor's, I didn't yet know what was he going to do. He asked whether he could insert the tip of his penis into my anus, and I found no reason to object; but his tip was now very thin, and his penis penetrated like a douche pipe. While he was in, one of his hands reached my vulva and masturbated me, while the other fondled my breasts; his penis in my rectum began inflating and throbbing, and arousing me. I climaxed when his penis completely and somewhat painfully sealed my anus, and discharged a pint of urine into my rectum. Paul didn't release me, didn't stop masturbating me, until the urine stimulated defecation, and I had to hurriedly sit on the chamber pot. I had never moved my bowels in front of a man since I was five, and I felt somewhat umiliated; but Paul gently stroked my cheek, combed my hair, even cleaned it with his tongue -- and I noticed that his penis was nonetheless immaculate. "Ghosts never soil themselves," he remarked, and when I was done he licked my butt clean. I'm somewhat revengeful, so I asked him to clean my vulva too -- and he did it perfectly, although I urinated into his mouth when he was doing that. Why should only he allowed to pee into someone else's orifices? Actually, he loved that act; so we kept madly making love until dawn. At dawn, he bade me farewell, and promised me to meet me again next night. I felt elated for the whole day, and I couldn't help remembering what we had done, and thinking about what we would do in the evening. That evening, he found me in the bed, naked, under the blankets. He joined me, and suckled my breasts to arouse me before making love. We did the same things that we had done the night before, and I told him that a thing I always dreamt of was having twins, nursing them and, once they were replete and I aroused, make love with him. "I can give you them." "Could you make me pregnant?" "With a phantom pregnancy, of course." I laughed so much that Dad shouted, "I've always told you that you shouldn't bring Jerome Klapka Jerome's books to bed." I repressed my laugh, and asked him, "What do you mean? I know that bitches [female dogs] are prone to it, but I don't think it may happen to me." "I can have you conceive two ghosts like me. The doctor will only diagnose a false pregnancy, but you'll eventually bear twin ghosts, and you'll be able to nurse them." I enjoyed the idea of becoming a mother, although a ghostly mother, and I agreed. After a couple weeks of wild nightly love, I missed my period. After a month, I had bouts of nausea and my father smelled a rat; he asked me if I wanted to see a doctor, and I said yes. Our family doctor visited me and told us, "The maidenhead is still intact, and a cribiform hymen like hers wouldn't have withstood sexual intercourse. Her breasts have swollen and her nipples and areolas have become darker and broader -- it may show pregnancy, but women can miss periods and feel sickness for several reasons. I'd visit her again in two months. If she is really pregnant, I should be able to discern uterine enlargement; if not, pregnancy may only be her wildest desire." Dad told me, "In my opinion, you should leave the town for a few months, until your condition becomes clear. The doctor is a prudent and discreet man, but the townspeople aren't, and we should prevent them from gossiping." "What if I am really pregnant?" "You said no, the doctor said that it is unlikely. But if you really are, we'll find a solution for you and ... my grandson." So I moved to Anne's. She was my father's sister; since she was a fresh widow, with a daughter named Mary, Dad could pretend that I moved in in order to help them. As she lived forty miles from my home, I feared I couldn't meet Paul at night, but he managed to follow me, and when Mary was asleep, we kept making love -- in a very strange way. I and Mary shared a queen-size bed, and Paul had to carefully modulate his density when he met me, as he had to be "thick" in the body parts in my bed half (in order to touch me and make love with me), and "thin" in the body parts in Mary's bed half -- or he would have awaken, or worse, smashed or smothered her. I didn't even undress, so he could instantly vanish if we were seen and I could pretend nothing had happened. Apparently it worked, and Mary never suspected anything. After two months, our doctor visited me again, and ruled out pregnancy, since my womb hadn't grown an inch since his last visit, although my belly and my bust had somewhat grown up. He didn't find any illness, though, so he diagnosed me with "pseudocyesis", and advised me to seek a husband, so I could have a real child. Since my symptoms didn't subdue after his statement, I stood with aunt Anne until the ninth month of my purported pregnancy; then one night, after long hours of love with Paul (Mary was 'sleeping' at Linda's, so she couldn't interfere), I suddenly and painlessly gave birth to two specters. They weren't the ghosts of two newborn children ... they were two adult midgets resembling Paul! They were two miniatures of Paul! I was astonished at that, and Paul explained, "Ghostly blood and human blood don't mix. You could only nourish these ghosts, in and out of your womb, but you couldn't contribute to their essence or aspect." "So, they aren't my children, are they?" "Think to them as adoptees. Actually, they are my replicas." These replicas cried, my breasts spurted milk, so I nursed them; I knew that male infants could get an erection while suckling -- but nursing two male midgets was far more embarrassing, as they rubbed their scrota against the thighs they were sitting on, and their members against my hips. Their arousal matched my excitation, as they masterfully drew my milk from my breasts, and hugged and fondled them. Then Paul opened his pants, and offered me his erect penis. I grabbed it and began sucking it -- eventually the milk oozing through my nipples was matched by the semen entering my mouth. The replicas were apparently insatiable -- they kept suckling for more than an hour, and my mammae kept producing milk; Paul put a hand on my forehead and (gently) pushed me to the mattress. I knew what he wanted, and moved my ankles out of his way, so he could penetrate me while the replicas kept suckling. The pleasure was exceedingly intense, and only when I and Paul came, the replicas came too and stopped suckling. "Thanks, Elizabeth," said all three Pauls. "You're welcome," I replied, and noticed, "These replicas deserve a name. How could we call them?" "Paul II," answered the midget at my right; "Paul III", answered the other. "There is another problem," I said, "They won't be able to live with me, and I won't be able to rear them." "They don't need maternal care, as they are miniatures, not babies. They will be content with being nursed or led to orgasm from time to time." I laughed and quoted the Gospel, "Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." "Right. During the day they'll be with me; during the night, you'll meet them." In a few days, the belly came to normal proportions, but the breasts were fiercely lactating, had grown to 45", and I agreed to nurse two babies (in the flesh!) whose mothers couldn't nurse them. The children loved me and my milk, so it took 36 months to wean them. I've been told that women without a husband risk developing an unhealthy attachment to the children they nurse, but it was not my case, since the Pauls kept satisfying me at night, and at times even during the day. After weaning these children, I kept lactating, but I learnt how to conceal that during the day, so I could go back at Dad's, and learn that there were some handsome and well-off guys who were going to ask my hand in marriage. I talked about it with Paul, who said that he wasn't jealous, and thought that I needed real children, not just phantom pregnancies. I didn't really love any of my suitors, but I knew that I could sleep with them, and that the Pauls would have given me pleasure in any case. So I picked Arthur, the owner of a big farm, who wasn't disappointed at discovering that I was a wet nurse; he only feared that lactation could interfere with conception, but a few months later our doctor proved that it wasn't the case: I was pregnant -- for real! But it was Paul who told me first, the very night I conceived, and he even proposed me to host another couple of ghosts in my womb, together with my child, during this pregnancy. As he assured me that nobody would be harmed, I accepted, so I didn't just give birth to Angela, my and Arthur's daughter, but also to Paula A and Paula B, Paul's miniatures -- of the opposite sex. My love life with Arthur was quite normal -- I only wanted the missionary position, in order to easily get pregnant; but when Arthur was away (he got up at about 4.00 every morning, as he had to manage a big farm with lots of cattle and sheep) I had wild orgies with Paul and his miniatures. It usually went as such: the Paulas, the female replicas, sat on my thighs, latched on to my breasts like leeches, and rubbed their genitalia against my femurs. As they aroused me, I laid supine, exposing my rectum and vagina to enemy fire. So the lesser Pauls drew lots to choose orifices, and one of them sodomized me, while the other (nearly) raped me. Now it was the turn of Paul, my original lover, who first kissed me, and then let me suck his penis. The Paulas swapped my tits, while the Pauls exchanged my orifices: Paul I went to my vulva, Paul II to my anus, Paul III to my mouth -- don't worry, "ghosts never soil themselves". The next turn, the Pauls moved to the next orifices; then the lesser Pauls exchanged places with the Paulas: they [the males] sucked my tits, while I was engaged in a threesome with the Paulas -- I ate the vulva of Paula A, who in turn ate the one of Paula B, who in turn ate mine. This triangle required external support to avoid falling, and it was the greater Paul, Paul I, who kept them in place while his penis was tightly inserted into my rectum. After the first orgasm, the Paulas swapped places (so I ate Paula B's vulva, and so on), and so did the Pauls (therefore, the one at my right breast went to my left). It took a few hours to perform all that, and when we were done, I bade farewell to all them, nursed my children (I had a child a year for 30 years), and began my daily grind. My husband Arthur died in 1930; luckily, he never gambled on the Stock Exchange, so our farm supported us throughout the years, and when Britain joined the European Common Market in 1973, agricultural subsidies made us rich. Now it is 1978, I'm 102, and although the Pauls have kept me in good shape throughout the years, the doctor says that I won't live for long. So I've been reminded my promise, to have Paul properly buried, and I'm asking my heirs to have him disinterred, and, if his family doesn't object, to have him buried in my cemetery, as near as possible to my tomb -- the closest place, at my side, has been taken by my husband's tomb. Don't be harsh at my father's memory: he killed Paul because he knew that he had syphilis, and had he let him enter my bedroom that night, he would have transmitted it to me. It was a kind of self defense, since it was an incurable disease in 1894. Ghostlover Ch. 01 Jane occasionally read Literotica, and when she read "Ghostlover Ch. Zero", a bell rang. "John, there is a real problem with this story!" "Darling, it's just a ghost story." "I'm afraid not. Can ghosts change their sizes, or the size of their body parts?" "Ghosts are fictional beings. Authors can endow them with whatever characteristic they like." "John, a literary tradition may be as binding as a handbook of biology. There isn't much leeway for the authors of a ghost story. Apparently, ghosts preserve the semblance of the dead, and cannot sire with women – if they do, they employ human semen wilily collected, and the children aren't the ghosts' exact replicas, but resemble their human parents." "Perhaps the author of the story was so reckless as to write a ghost story without reading any beforehand." "Good point, but the five ghosts there described seem shapeshifters like me, who took on Paul's identity, and for whatever reason, decided to have sex with Elizabeth." "Hmm ... a question unrelated to that story: did you mean that shapeshifters like you may sire with women, but the offspring will be their exact replica?" "No. I didn't say that. Shapeshifters like me neither sire nor bear – they actually don't reproduce. They are the offspring of something which can be compared to a Queen Ant, and are themselves sterile. Since they are nearly immortal, sterility isn't a big problem; and, as you have seen, our society is opener than an anthill – and probably than most human societies." "Thanks, but ... if shapeshifters like you are sterile, how could the lesser Pauls and Paulas have been born by Elizabeth?" "They, so to say, ... came out of the closet. The pregnancy was simulated, and allowed them to appear and join the orgies between Paul and Elizabeth. I was 'born' in a similar way: not all human zygotes successfully implant in the womb, and I replaced one of these; as it was a female embryo, I took on a female body and adhered to the feminine gender." "Are you shapeshifters so oversexed as to join whatever orgy they come across?" "Darling ... you know that we are as sexed as the partner we pick up. And the more partners we get, the more sexed we become in order to please them all. Therefore, I think that it was Elizabeth the oversexed, and the Pauls simply pleased her. The problem is ... why did they take on the identity of a ghost, and did they eventually become Elizabeth's lovers?" "Hmm ... what does the Queen Ant say?" "What should she say?" "Human technology allows people going abroad to stay in touch with the authorities of their country, and ask for rescue. Isn't it the same for you?" "We communicate telepathically, so if we are in real trouble we can be rescued in the blink of an eye. If the five 'ghosts' of the story actually are shapeshifters, they haven't asked for rescue so far; but I know that five shapeshifters were part of an inquiry team on ... ghosts." "Tout se tient ... human scientists sometimes concoct the very subject they are supposed to study." "Nonsense. It have been they who have proved that ghosts are fictional. Something else has happened, and we must discover what." "Perhaps we should first trace the author of the story – and I'm nearly certain that Literotica webmasters won't help us – and perhaps cannot." "You're right, but there is another way to act. I don't think that there are plenty of women named Elizabeth, born in 1876, dead in 1978 after bearing 30 children, in Scotland. Even if some details have been altered, we should be able to trace her." "How do you know that she was Scottish?" "Paul studied in an Edinburgh boarding school. Even though Tony Blair studied there, the Fettes College isn't Eton. Can you book two seats in the next plane to Edinburgh?" "Why just two? Won't Veronica come with us?" "She doesn't like Scotland very much, and she has already agreed to replace us as the janitor of the Astarte Nunnery while we are abroad." "Ok, so we will save some money. But, before going overseas, we should do some research to ascertain that the 'memories of Elizabeth' are factual, not fictional. The Web could be a good starting point." Jane did that, and discovered that a woman named Elizabeth really lived in Scotland between 1876 and 1978, and had 30 children; moreover, she discovered (after a few e-mails and paying for the costs of archival research) the boarding school Paul studied in. John was convinced, and they flew to Edinburgh, where they rented a camper, so they could make love anywhere along their route. John asked, "Why are we driving straight towards Elizabeth's house? Wouldn't it be better to contact her kin before?" "What if either the cistern doesn't actually exist or Paul's corpse has already been recovered and properly buried? Better not to disturb Elisabeth's kin in these cases." After a few hours' trip, they reached Elizabeth's maiden house. It was a two-story building that had once hosted a farm, and now hosted a fashionable golf club, incorporated as a PLC. "PLC?" wondered John in amazement, "It's unlikely that a family enterprise has been incorporated as a Public Limited Company". "Right. We'd better look up the local Chamber of Commerce archives," Jane replied, and they actually showed that the PLC was incorporated in 1980, in 1981 it bought the farm from Elizabeth's heirs, and in 1984, after extensive rebuilding and landscaping, the golf course was opened to the public. "The body must have been found then," John said, "We better stop searching and enjoy the trip." "No, darling," Jane replied, "before coming to Scotland I also read the digitalized old issues of the local newspaper, and I found no news of the retrieval of a corpse here for two centuries. Perhaps we should look up the Scottish Land Registry records." John demurred, "We've already spent a lot of money doing archival research; we are now on the spot, and perhaps we should look at the actual reality in front of us, and not at the way it has been interpreted and written down. In a word, perhaps we should survey the estate – not just read what archives say about it." Jane agreed, and they found a way to legally enter the club – buying a couple tickets for a golf competitive round due the next afternoon. John didn't love golf, but Jane was able to survey the course and ascertain that no cistern was there; but an old building, which might have been a poultry pen once upon a time, was just beyond the course border. She asked about it to the club janitor, who answered, "It was once part of the farm, but before our rebuilding and landscaping, a group of five people forked up quite a lot of money to buy it and the neighboring courtyard." "Did they pay in cash?" Jane asked, and the janitor answered, "Right! The owners were astonished at that, and talked about it for weeks, but the law of the time didn't forbid them to accept the money." "How could I meet these people?" "They meet there on Sundays for a kind of religious rite. Nobody is allowed but them, but you could talk to them after the rite." All pieces fell into place in Jane's thought: the five buyers were most likely the shapeshifters who once impersonated Elizabeth's ghost lovers; shapeshifters prefer to pay by cash (and if they operate in countries in which a piece of ID is required to open a bank account, they may have no choice); and the only reason a group of people may overpay a poultry pen and its surroundings is to conceal a secret. "John," Jane latter asked his husband, "Would you like to park the camper in front of the poultry pen until Sunday?" "Until tomorrow morning? Ok." John filled the tanks and parked the camper in sight of the poultry pen, which had been turned into a house surrounded by a high wall. The gate had a tiny hole which allowed Jane to peep into and see the manhole of an old cistern in the courtyard. She also felt that the premises were fenced in a way only a shapeshifter like her could detect – it was the equivalent of the tape marked "Police line – do not cross," but in this case it meant "Scientific research # *******-551.5-4 underway – do not interfere." The number "551.5" implied that it was a research on meteorology, and the number "4" that only experts could raise objections; but it was customary to write a false subject number in order to deceive less knowledgeable people – in a word, an expert could prove his competence by inferring the right subject number from the limited info available to the general public. Jane contacted the Queen Ant proposing to change the subject number from 551.5 to 133 (necromancers), and the Queen Ant let her contact the director in charge of the inquiry. "Hi, Jane," he said, "What's the matter with this scientific research?" "Humans know that necromancy doesn't work. How much time have you already spent in such a fruitless pursuit?" "To refute necromancy, we need about forty years' worth of statistics. Humans have never attempted that." "Sir, we can only make inquiries with little chance of success when the dignity of nobody is in jeopardy. When there is such jeopardy, only inquiries whose likelihood of success is prima facie millions of times greater than yours could be approved – and if the success doesn't materialize soon, they are interrupted." "What's the being whose dignity is being hurt, Jane?" "Paul, the dead. He's awaiting burial since 1894, it's high time he gets it." "He's dead, so his time preference is zero. Being buried in 1894, now, or in 2021 makes no difference for him." "But as a live man he wanted being buried as soon as he was clearly dead." "Humans say that Paul's right to burial may be balanced against other interests – for example, to forward science. Human doctors perform autopsies, thus delaying burial, in order to learn more about the causes of death." "You're right, but autopsies are far more successful than necromancy, and they don't benefit just the doctor. For example, if somebody is murdered, the autopsy proves that and points to the murderer, it prevents him from gaining from the murder and ensures him punishment. Autopsies may avenge unjust death – they don't just satisfy the doctor's scientific curiosity." "Organ transplant is a way a human corpse is used to benefit the living, and not every transplant is successful." "Explantation is only performed on people who assented to it during life. Organ transplant is not a kind of legalized robbery, but a highly prized gift. Paul didn't assent to be used for necromancy, did he?" "No, he didn't." "Why did the five researchers impersonate Paul's ghosts? The stole his identity." "You must have noticed that Elizabeth's farm isn't far from a castle renowned for its works of art – and its presumed ghosts. When Paul was killed and thrown into the cistern, the researchers thought that a ghost was about to issue from him, and watched him closely for a week. Then they realized that ghosts didn't exist – they saw none in the castle, and Paul didn't bring forth one. They felt pity for Paul and for his girlfriend Elizabeth, and wanted her to know what had happened to him, and bury him." "But they didn't take into account that disclosing her that he had caught a venereal disease would have led her to deny him burial – and to conceal her father's murder. Now you know why humans think that lots of details about one's life should be kept private." By the way ... how did they know that Paul had caught syphilis?" "You must already know the answer: they were able to read Paul's engrams – his memory as a collection of data stored in his brain – before rot began. Not only did they learn about his health, but also about his biography and personality. Impersonating him thereafter was, as humans love to say, a child's play." "I don't think they'd behaved correctly towards Elizabeth." "They wanted Paul to be properly buried, Elizabeth to mourn him, and ... to learn how a human would react to a ghost, if he or she would see one for real. Elizabeth's reaction was quite unexpected, and they found worthwhile to keep studying her behavior until her demise." "That's why I didn't find any info about this part of the inquiry – it was classified under the heading 'Psychology' in lieu of 'Pneumatology'." "Yes. Had you guessed that, you would have learnt what I'm telling you without coming to Scotland." "I'll be more careful. But the researchers lied to her, and for 86 years. What did they do after her death?" "Necromancy books say that the most suitable corpses are the ones of people who have died young and have been really disappointed after death. Paul was multiply disappointed – killed young, insulted and hidden by his murderer; his surviving fiancé refused to bury him and was ready to find solace at the hands (so to say) of five 'ghosts' impersonating him even in bed; after the death of Elizabeth, her kin disbelieved her and didn't even try and search her estate before selling it. It seemed to be a perfect candidate for necromancy, and in 1981 we began experimenting with him." "What are the results so far?" "Pretty well disappointing. The inquiry is due to end in 2021." "What's your opinion on the immortality of the soul?" "We have been observing humans for twenty-six centuries, and haven't been able to prove the existence of the soul so far." "The actual existence of ghosts and the effectiveness of necromancy are based on the belief that there is actually a soul. If you can't prove that, you can't prove that necromancy works. No experiment was needed – just formal logic sufficed. You're wasting time and resources in a fruitless pursuit, and hurting the dignity of a being who once upon a time was alive, and desired to receive a funeral after death. Such a desire can be construed in all humans – and there is no reason to think that death nullifies the will of a person." "I understand. But there is a problem – the promises of necromancy were so big that the five researchers were promised that the inquiry won't end before 2021. If I were you, I'd wait another 13 years before burying Paul." "You're crazy – or you fear being held accountable for approving flawed research, and for hurting the dignity of a sentient being." "13 years are next to naught in the life of nearly immortal beings like us, or of one already dead like Paul." "You don't understand. Continuing the research until its due end would imply that Paul or any other being can be sacrificed for the sake of science – even though science itself can gain nothing from their sacrifice. Stopping that research, even just a second before its natural end, would prove that this is not the way we inquiry about the universes beyond ours, and that the dignity of their inhabitants is prized by us. I'll appeal your decision before the Higher Ethical Committee." "You won't succeed; by the way, you are enjoined not to disrupt the experiments, so you may not try and enter the property." "I may not," Jane mulled, "But John can." The next morning John waited for the five shapeshifters, dressed like business men, to assemble at the property gate, and introduced himself as a metapsychics enthusiast who had read an article the local newspaper had devoted to them a few years ago. "Dear sir, we have a rite to perform," one of the shapeshifters answered, "Would you be so kind as to interview us later?" "Could I watch your rite?" "Why not?" So John saw that the five shapeshifters sat around the cistern manhole, tracing circles around it, around themselves, and around him, telling him, "These circles are for our protection. Don't venture out of yours until the rite has ended." After that, the shapeshifters began warbling ancient spells in several languages; when they stopped, one of the shapeshifters said, "You can get out of the circle." "Has anything happened during the rite?" John asked, and one of the researchers replied, "We should read the recordings of the instruments in the house to answer your question. It takes about a week to do that – that's why we are performing the rite weekly and not daily." "You've sung some lines from ancient necromancy books," John noticed, "Are you necromancers?" "No. We are using these formulae because we think that they're effective even if they aren't recited upon a tomb. Actually, ancient necromancers borrowed them from sources unrelated to their activity." John bade farewell to them, entered the camper and let Jane listen to the tape recorder in which the shapeshifters' words were recorded. "Wonderful!" Jane said. "Not at all," John replied, "They haven't admitted to their actions." "John, even if they had confessed criminal acts, they would have flown to our universe before being apprehended. Your tape recording witnesses that the shapeshifters have lied to you, therefore they are ashamed of what they're doing – and will be challenged by the Higher Ethical Committee. The inquiry assumptions were that necromancy could be performed without violating human laws – but their lie shows that their actions are questionable at least." The recording was forwarded to the Higher Ethical Committee, which therefore convened in the courtyard and summoned the five researchers, the inquiry director, Jane and John. The head of the HEC proclaimed, "This is the first time we convene outside our universe, but since one of the witnesses, John, may not survive there, we had to convene in his planet and don the bodies, dresses and wigs of human judges in order to inspire reverence in him. Let's talk the director of the research being challenged first." "I'm only going to say that no living being is being hurt in this research. The man we're using for our experiment, Paul, has left no surviving relatives (the last of them died in 1956), so nobody is crying for him. His corpse hasn't been damaged or defaced in any way, and at the end of the research, due in 2021, we'll have him found by the police and buried." Jane replied, "Human laws say that, if you know where is a dead body, and it isn't in a cemetery, you should promptly inform the police. The researchers didn't do that, and entered into a slippery slope, stealing Paul's identity, deceiving Elizabeth, and now using him for a research on necromancy which may not succeed. We should stop this folly – the researchers' lies prove that they are aware that their behavior is indefensible." "What would humans think of us if we persevere?", the HEC chief asked, and John answered, "Since I'm human, I can say that the whole humankind would sneer at you, because so intelligent beings as you proved unable to discern factual from fictional human writings. Moreover, they may think that you're ready to sacrifice anybody, any human being, dead or alive, for the sake of science. Humans have worked very hard to prevent being so abused by their fellow humans, and they won't like to fear being mistreated by beings like you, against which they have no defense." "Is there a way to stop the experiment and save our face, to borrow a human expression?", the HEC asked. "The best way is to let the police find the corpse," John answered. "What was your plan to have the corpse retrieved in 2021?," the HEC chief asked the research director, who in turn answered, "To have the cistern collapse. The corpse should then become visible." The HEC members deliberated in a room, and after a few minutes they announced that the experiment was to stop, and that Paul would have been retrieved by the police within next Friday. The HEC, the five researchers and their directors would immediately come back to their universe; Jane would arrange things in order to have Paul found and buried. Ghostlover Ch. 01 It was quite easy: this very night she had the cistern (and the house) collapse noisily, so the golf club janitor heard the noise and summoned the police, who saw Paul's corpse and the rest of his garments. He still had in one of his pockets the letter of references written by Elizabeth's father, so he could tentatively be identified, and DNA comparison with his deceased relatives confirmed that. Elizabeth's diary was then vindicated, and her kin built a beautiful tomb for Paul, and established a trust in his name which was to give a scholarship each year to a bright student of economics. Since Paul's family was extinct, it was the only way to atone for their ancestor's crime. The five researchers were provisionally sent back on earth to testify about the building collapse (they technically were their owners), sold the premises to the neighboring golf course, which was asked not to pay them, but to give the proceeds to the aforesaid trust. The police suspected they had known all along that Paul had been buried there, but they couldn't prove that, because Paul's corpse hadn't been abused (something human necromancers are accustomed to), and while in the cistern it was covered by a thick layer of dirt predating their buying the premises (so Paul couldn't have been easily spotted even by anybody who had opened the manhole). Therefore they dropped the case. John and Jane, accomplished their mission, came home after a well-deserved location.