0 comments/  5175 views/  1 favorites

Lovers From Beyond 1.01

By: latinplayer



While the sun was out, and appeared somewhat robust and able to take on the morning landscape, the crisp breeze had contrary ideas, and was doing it's best to bring shivers to the numerous pedestrians at the immense and grassy park in La Jolla.

Among the many visitors that morning, most of whom were gawking and taking pictures of the small herd of sea lions that squawked or flopped about on their bellies on the nearby rocks, or another portion of the crowd that instead perched precariously on the edges of the unstable sandstone cliffs to have their own pictures taken, were a pair of the affluent area's longtime residents. These were Eleanor and Victoria, both several years past the half-century mark, and both in desperate need of male company, as Eleanor's husband had abandoned her for a younger woman some years before, and Victoria's would have done the same, save that she found out about her mate's affair ahead of schedule, and with the help of her maid and butler, she had her man's personal items waiting for him on the driveway upon his return from the office.

Eleanor had movie star looks, with rich blonde hair, full natural lips and handsome cheekbones. She also displayed a busty front, an ample rear, and a general air of aloofness that made observers question whether she were some type of celebrity, the wife of a politician, or some other sort of important woman. Victoria, on the other hand, had her lush red hair pulled back into a knot, to show off her beautifully rosy cheeks. Her breasts were even more delicious than Eleanor's, but she kept them more conservatively concealed, and although her robustness gave her an approachable and warm demeanor, she could also act quite queenly when and if she so chose to.

Knowing full well the capriciousness of the weather, the two women had smartly thought ahead and worn sweaters that morning, as they took their customary weekend walk around the beautiful park. Victoria enjoyed the serenity of the palm trees and grass, and if tempered, the sounds of small children playing gaily with their parents, while Eleanor, on the other hand, preferred the tumult and clamor of the ocean waves crashing on the beachside rocks, just a short distance from the edge of the park.

They'd spotted a small pack of male surfers, or more accurately, boogie boarders, floating out among the waves, and while warmer weather might have raised the two women's hopes of seeing chiseled chests and washboard abdomens on bronzed skin, the truth was that such inclement temperatures as were common that morning invariably led to these younger men being covered from neck to ankles in bodysuits. Both women frowned at their misfortune, and quietly moved on.

They next came across a short, stout Mexican woman, who had a sizable collection of hand-fashioned bracelets and anklets made of cheap metals or beads, all of these trinkets for sale and sprawled across a park bench, but this held their interest very briefly. When the two bored women saw half a dozen artists standing before their easels and contemplating the cove, they flocked over to critique their handiwork. Having attended numerous art shows together in the past, as wealthy and uninspired older women are prone to attend, both Eleanor and Victoria instantly classified the amateur artists' skills as being well below their level of enjoyment, and they were at the point of detaching themselves from the tiny group of spectators when yet another of their usual partners in crime could be see waving and power walking in their direction.

"Katherine, where have you been?" Eleanor greeted, in that exuberant and somewhat snobby voice that guaranteed drawing the attention of some of the people around her. She played the part well, as her arms were outstretched wide to gather in the new arrival, and her illustrious embrace, of course, was more for show than it was for joy.

Obligingly, Katherine withstood the kisses to either cheek, returned the same, and went on to repeat the greeting with Victoria. Katherine's hair was a more mundane color of brown, streaked with gray, and cut short and sassy. Her figure was lean, and while her curves were not as pronounced as that of the other two women, she was unquestionably athletic and muscularly toned, and therefore, she could still be viewed as an attractive woman, if one were attracted to such a type.

After their salutations, the three women formed a compact and more or less confidential triangle between themselves.

"I've been so busy." Katherine started off, widening her eyes a moment later. "And you wouldn't believe some of the things that have happened to me."

"Let's have a chat, shall we?" The ever-pompous Eleanor suggested, and in a royal manner, she led the other two women toward a nearby, and pleasantly vacant, green little roofed structure where park visitors could sit and contemplate the ocean, or the park, or whatever it was that their hearts were so inclined to contemplate.

"We haven't seen you in over two weeks!" Victoria squealed, as the three of them took their seats.

"I know, I know." Katherine nodded.

The more regal Eleanor placed herself across from the other two women, as if she were part of their trio, or perhaps wasn't, in the eyes of a casual observer, and a moment later, she crossed one leg over the other and struck what might be deemed to be arrogant pose. "Yes, tell us what you've been doing with yourself. Victoria and I were about to start a rumor about you running away with one of your landscaping people and heading off to Cancun or some other such sun-drenched place."

Victoria giggled. "Just like Eleanor and her valet!"

"What valet?" Katherine asked, looking suspiciously and directly at Eleanor.

Not expecting Victoria to have blurted out a secret as intimate as that one, Eleanor's cheeks understandably flushed.

"Oh, come on!" Katherine insisted. "Spill the beans, or I'll have to get Victoria's second-hand version, and I'd much rather hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

Eleanor sighed. "Fine, I'll admit it. I went through a particularly dry spell a few years ago. I was forty-five, if I remember correctly, and I'd gone up to the Pacifica in Del Mar for their happy hour. I may have had one drink too many, because I ended up making a proposition to one of the valets that was working that night."

"You didn't!" Katherine gaped back.

"I offered him five hundred dollars a week, plus the conditional use of my BMW," Eleanor set her next two words up perfectly, like a studied actress. "For sex."

Victoria squealed.

Katherine covered her mouth in disbelief. "You didn't!"

Having heard the story before, Victoria recovered from the shock first. "Tell her what the valet was like."

"His name was Gregory." Eleanor thought back wistfully. "And he had the long, lean body of an athlete. He was a long distance runner, I believe, and he was nearly six feet tall. And his endurance, my darlings, was to die for..."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, he was guilty of being of the temperament of a typical young man in his early twenties." Eleanor shook her head, just slightly and not upsetting her lady-like demeanor. "He decided one night that he was going to show my car off to his friends. He ended up trying to scale a center divider with it and somehow managed to destroy both the front and rear axles in one fell swoop. The insurance company covered the loss, so it wasn't a complete disaster, but alas, I had to let my poor little valet go."

Katherine considered Eleanor's beauty and figure. By far, she was the most attractive of the three women, and for the life of her, Katherine could not see Eleanor at a loss for male companionship, at any point in the past, ever. There was one question about Eleanor, that had been nagging her for some time now, and before she could consider the tactfulness of it, she went ahead and voiced it. "Have you ever had plastic surgery?"

"Good heavens, no!" Eleanor balked. "Have you seen recent pictures of Donatella Versace or Jocelyn Wildenstein? They both look like something out of The Island of Doctor Moreau! Why would you even ask that?"

Katherine shrugged. "It's just that your boobs look so perfect."

"You wouldn't think so, if you saw me taking my bra off." Eleanor joked. "But they are all natural. Why are we getting so far off the subject, anyway? We were about to find out where you've been hiding yourself for the last two weeks."

Katherine smiled.

It must be mentioned here, that while Eleanor inherited her wealth through her family, and Victoria had attained hers from marriage, Katherine had earned hers the old fashioned way; through hard work, perseverance, and the manipulation of real estate.

Much of Katherine's holdings had made a tremendous amount of money for her, as they were located in the outlying and low income districts near the metro area of San Diego. She'd been in possession of said real estate at a ripe and opportune moment, right before the announcement of a downtown ballpark had skyrocketed home prices through the roof. Wisely, Katherine held on to these properties until the market peaked, at which point she sold them all off, and in layman's terms, she made big bank. Or alternately, she made a grip of money. Or something to that effect, you get the picture.

"Well," Katherine began her explanation. "I told you both that I'd purchased an apartment complex that was in default, in one of the bad parts of town, right?"

Both Eleanor and Victoria confirmed this.

"I went down there, and I took my small army of landscapers, general contractors and clean-up people with me, and because I got the complex for such a good price, I gave the place a facelift worthy of a prime-time reality show." Katherine boasted. "I kicked out the criminal element, which opened up a handful of apartments, and I didn't even have to raise the rent, which made my current tenants that much happier."

"But how are you going to pay for all of those renovations?" The always practical Eleanor asked.

"Oh, that was easy." Katherine replied, waving offhandedly. "The new tenants moving in are going to pick up the tab over the long term. And I'll still make a handsome profit off the complex, if I decide to sell early. However, I think I may hold on to the property a bit longer, in light of what's happened there recently."

"Go on, go on." Victoria urged, having little patience for droll financial details.

"I had my property management people take over to fill up the vacant apartments." Katherine continued. "And that's when the trouble started. There's one apartment in particular, in that entire complex of twenty-six units, that simply no one wanted to rent. It's a really nice place, too, with two levels and two bedrooms, and it was renovated as nicely as the rest of the complex. And believe it or not, it's unit number Thirteen."

The occult number drew Victoria in closer. "You don't say?"

Eleanor's brow creased. "Why would no one want to rent it?"

"I asked myself that very same question." Katherine stated. "My property manager told me that prospective renters didn't feel comfortable in that place, and she even had a couple of her agents that refused to take a single step past the threshold. I didn't know what to make of the story, at first."

"What happened next?" Victoria asked, knowing well of Katherine's proclivity toward bull-headedness. When Katherine wanted something done, she hounded her people until it got done, or else heads would roll.

"I went down there to see for myself." Katherine answered. "I did a walk-through, and I didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Afterwards, I ran into the woman that rents the apartment next door, and when I asked her about it, that's when I found out that number thirteen is haunted."

"Haunted?" Eleanor cried out. "You can't be serious! You're not seriously entertaining the notion of there being actual ghosts floating around and giving people the willies?"

"She said willies!" Victoria chuckled. "I can't believe it! She actually said willies!"

Eleanor rolled her eyes at her, but in a most dignified way.

"The first thing that ran through my mind was, these people have got to be pulling my leg." Katherine said. "As for myself, I didn't believe the rumor for a second, and I asked Orlando, my head landscaper, if he wouldn't mind spending the night in the apartment just to prove everyone wrong."

"And he did it?" Victoria asked, growing more engrossed by the tale. "He really went ahead and did it?"

"He agreed to it, yes." Katherine nodded. "But he called me that same night, at about one o'clock in the morning, to tell me that he couldn't stand being in the apartment one moment longer. He claimed that he heard voices, and heavy steps going up and down the stairs, but what really set him on edge was when he saw a shadowy man walking into the bedroom he was sleeping in. Orlando freaked out, and he begged me not to fire him, because he thought he was letting me down by not keeping his promise to stay the entire night."

"I would have fired him." Eleanor crossed her arms, and uncrossed her legs. "For being an incompetent."

"So there really is a ghost in number thirteen?" Victoria asked.

"I still didn't believe there was." Katherine went on. "And I was even more adamant about proving it, so I decided that I was going to drive down there with my sleeping bag, and I was going to spend the entire night in that apartment by myself!"

Victoria gasped.

"You didn't." Eleanor made an incredulous face.

"Oh, I most certainly did." Katherine countered. "I found out which bedroom it was that Orlando had gone into, and I marched right up there and threw my sleeping bag down on the floor, and out loud I dared the ghost to show its ugly face!"

Victoria shivered, and looked about ready to stand up and start running off through the park in a panic.

The more hard-nosed Eleanor wasn't as easily spooked. "So you spent the night there, nothing happened, and that was that. Correct?"

Grimly, Katherine gazed back at her. "Not quite."

"Tell us what happened." Victoria urged, looking very similar to a small girl hiding scared under the covers, but asking to hear a scary story anyway.

Katherine took her time in relating her answer. "I left a hallway light on, and I tried to go to sleep right away, but..."

"Oh, don't tell me you got the willies just because somebody else did." Eleanor made a face.

"No, I didn't get the willies." Katherine countered impatiently. "I had all of these bills to take care of, and I'd forgotten to upload the figures onto my laptop before I left the house, and I was trying to estimate all these numbers in my head while I was trying to go to sleep at the same time. I don't think I dozed off until half past ten."

"And nothing happened." Eleanor concluded.

"Shhh!" Victoria shushed her. "Will you stop interrupting her, and let her tell the story!"

"Nothing happened." Eleanor shrugged, but even though she was pretending not to be, she was as fascinated as Victoria was to hear what took place. "Do go on, dear."

Katherine leaned forward, and dropped her voice by a couple of notches, and beside her, Victoria leaned in as well. "I may not have told you this before, but I'm a very light sleeper. I don't know how many times I've been woken up when I hear a dog barking outside my house, or a car rushing by on the street, and I have a lot of trouble going back to sleep afterward.

"It must have been a little past one in the morning, but I'm not one hundred percent sure, because I was too scared to check the time. I woke up the moment I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I was sure I'd locked the door downstairs, and I couldn't imagine who it might have been, unless the security guard from the complex had let himself inside and was coming upstairs to check on me. So I sat up, in the near dark, and waited for whoever it was. I swear to the both of you, that I was looking right into the hallway, where I'd left a single light on, and I heard the steps going all the way to the top of the stairs. Then the steps turned and started toward the bedroom I was in, and I swear, there was nobody visible in the hallway the entire time."

Victoria now looked ready to jump out of the little green structure in fright, and possibly run right into the ocean, if she could avoid the sandstone crest and the smooth boulders between her and the beach.

"Darling, you were hallucinating." Eleanor refused to believe her.

"How do you hallucinate something you can't even see?" Victoria grimaced.

"I was so terrified that I couldn't move." Katherine went on. "I couldn't even open my mouth to scream, and these heavy footsteps walked right into the bedroom I'd been sleeping in. Whatever it was, whoever it was, I felt it pause and take a long look at me lying there on the floor. I didn't know if it was going to try to kill me or what, and I couldn't even lift a finger to defend myself, because I was so scared."

Victoria stood up, wide-eyed and ready to run away screaming.

"Will you please sit down?" An irritated Eleanor scolded her.

Trembling, Victoria complied.

"What happened next, dear?"

"This... This thing was just standing there, and staring at me." Katherine replied. "It might have stared at me for five full minutes, and then it started to walk in my direction. Suddenly, the top half of my sleeping bag was thrown aside, and I could sense this thing, this ghost, dropping down onto its knees right in front of me."

Eleanor leaned closer. "Now, this is getting interesting."

"I was wearing a long sleeping shirt that night." Katherine admitted. "And although I don't like advertising this, I usually go to sleep without wearing any underwear." She clammed up a moment later.

"Come, come, don't you know it's not polite to keep us in suspense like this?" Eleanor said.

Victoria went one step further, and nudged the storyteller's shoulder. "Well?"

Katherine gulped, and after taking one quick glance around to make sure no person was eavesdropping on the private conversation, she leaned forward a little more. Apparently, she was still having trouble making the words come out.

"Well?" Victoria urged.

"It licked my pussy."

Victoria squealed.

"Must you always be so crass?" Eleanor shook her head in disgust.

"Vagina, vulva, clitoris, whatever you want to call it." Katherine visibly blushed. "The ghost licked it, and it licked it so long and so well, that eventually I stopped being afraid of it, and I started to respond like any normal woman would. I started moaning so loud, that I woke up the neighbor next door, and she thought I was being murdered or something. The next thing I know, the security guard is downstairs pounding on the door, and I'm barely able to get up and make it down the stairs, because my legs are feeling all wobbly, and I have to open up the door and tell him I'm all right, and that I was having a bad nightmare, when I've got all this cum running down my legs." Katherine hid her face with her hands from the embarrassment.

"And I fancy you thought it was some handsome young buck pleasuring you?" Eleanor teased, as she was sure her friend was joking with her. All that was missing now was the punch-line.

"Young man, old man, how should I know what it was?" Katherine snapped back. "I told you, I never saw the thing! I only heard it stomping up the stairs like some kind of serial killer, and I am not making any of this up!"

"So it could have been a woman?" Victoria asked.

"If she walked like a man, and threw her weight around like a man, I'm sure it could have been." Katherine's sudden fury at Eleanor fluttered away with another cold gust of wind. Unlike the other two, she was not wearing a sweater. "You're the first two people I've told this to, and I'd appreciate if you don't go and blab it around to everyone you run into."


Lovers From Beyond 1.01



"How does this explain where you've been for the last two weeks?" Eleanor asked.

Katherine looked first to Victoria, and next to Eleanor, and for the first time that morning, she was fighting back a mischievous grin. "I couldn't believe what had happened to me that night. I thought I'd imagined it, so to prove to myself that it had really, actually happened, and that I wasn't going crazy, I went back to that same apartment. In the last two weeks, I've gone back five times, and the same, exact thing has happened each and every time I've spent the night there."

"Do you really expect us to believe that you've been getting some kind of phantasmagorical fellatio from a ghost in an apartment in the ghe-tow?" Eleanor questioned.

"I don't expect you to take my word for it." Katherine opened her mouth to let out a long sigh, and afterward, she was indeed smiling. "I'm challenging the both of you to jump into my car, as soon as the sun goes down today, and to spend the night in that same apartment with me. And it's not pronounced ghe-tow, darling, it's pronounced ghetto."

In a very rare occasion, the well-mannered Eleanor found herself at a loss for words.

Victoria, however, wasn't quite so intimidated, as with her cheeks blushing, she said, "Eleanor, I'll go, if you go!"

Later that evening, the apartment complex's chocolaty brown exterior was revealed by the swinging glare of the headlights on Katherine's Toyota Rav 4. The miniature Sport Utility turned into the narrow drive behind the apartments, and after driving past several of the large buildings, the car pulled in at a slant into one of the few open spaces.

Neither Eleanor nor Victoria had ever been in such a lower class neighborhood in their entire lives, and understandably, both were hesitant to walk away from the relative safety of Katherine's car.

"Can we even step out of your car without being accosted?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, I suppose you can stay there in the front seat for the entire night." Katherine teased. "Maybe you can count how many transients come by with their shopping carts, and climb in to sift through the garbage in the dumpsters right over there." She pointed toward the little dumpster housing, sitting just a few yards behind her car.

"Oh, dear God." Eleanor grimaced. "Please don't tell me they have transients here."

"They have oodles of them." Katherine replied, exiting her car and heading to its rear end, where she opened up the back hatch.

Timidly, the two other women left their seats, and rushed to join their partner.

"If you keep acting like that, you're only going to draw attention to yourselves." Katherine observed their hastiness. "Act casual. Pretend you're out shopping at Tiffany's or something."

"Easy for you to say." Eleanor said. "You actually like working around these people."

"They're people, just like you or me." Katherine shrugged. "The only difference is that we have a little more money in the bank than they do."

"Oh, I beg to differ." Eleanor countered. "There are worlds of difference between myself and the people that live in this neighborhood."

Hoping to avoid being drawn into yet another lengthy debate over social classes with Eleanor, Katherine instead sought to lighten the mood a little. She studied Eleanor's and Victoria's choice of attire; both women were wearing cashmere tracksuits, Eleanor's colored in an ominous black, which suited her brooding character perfectly, while Victoria's was colored in a pretty and soft pink. "You ladies look as if you're ready to run a marathon back to La Jolla."

Victoria, who hadn't said much during the entire ride, finally spoke up. "You don't really think we'll be accosted, do you?"

"Not unless you plan on standing out here all night." Katherine kidded. "Now, grab some of this gear and follow me to the apartment."

Eleanor suffered through the indignity of having to carry, on her own, Katherine's loaner sleeping bag, while the least physically inclined of the three, Victoria, was nearly huffing with exertion after lugging about her own sleeping bag, and a rolling tote that scraped along the ground, because she hadn't managed to get its tiny wheels to extract.

Katherine led the two women to a darkened patch of the complex, counting down the doors to number 13, and after fumbling through several keys on her collection, she unlocked the front door and motioned her tiny entourage inside. Luckily, the utilities were included in the price of the rent, and thus never needed shutting off in the vacant apartments, resulting in electricity and hot water being only a switch or a knob turn away. As soon as the interior lights went on, the newcomers were instructed to settle themselves on the floor of the living room, while Katherine went back to secure her vehicle, and to retrieve the trio's dinner, which consisted of Panini sandwiches, a tiny side salad, and a light wine.

Eleanor almost gagged when she realized they were going to be eating with plastic utensils and drinking from Styrofoam cups.

Strangely enough, Victoria was the first to breach The Subject. "How will we be going about this... this thing we're doing tonight?"

"I know what will happen if I go upstairs." Katherine stated. "Which of you girls would like to go up first, to see if I'm telling the truth, or not?"

"I couldn't." Victoria shook her head.

Eleanor, seated on the carpet, crossed her arms defiantly. "I'll go first, just to prove you wrong. All you have to do is tell me when it's a good time to go."

Katherine checked her watch, and shrugged. "It's a little past eight, but I have no idea what kind of hours the ghost keeps."

"A very likely story." Eleanor huffed. "To cover your tracks when the ghost doesn't show up at all."

"Go upstairs now, if you like." Katherine suggested, already feeling a bit ruffled from her friend's attitude.

"Maybe I will." Eleanor said. She glanced around the room. "Where is my travel bag, with all of my night clothes in it? Did you forget it in your car?"

Katherine shook her head. "I didn't see it, and I checked the entire car before I locked it up."

"Well, you'll just have to check again." Eleanor demanded. "I won't have anything to wear tonight when I go to sleep, because everything I have is in my travel bag." A second later, her eyes and mouth opened wide in shock. "Oh, no. I think I forgot it in the foyer, back at my house. We have to go back to get it."

Katherine had brought along a red backpack, and now, she pulled it close and began to rummage through it. She pulled out two extra long nightshirts. "Lucky for you, that I brought an extra one, just in case I got the first one, uh, all wet in the middle. Would you prefer the white one, or the pink one?"

"The white one." Eleanor pouted and took the shirt. She got to her feet. "Where can I change into this thing?"

"There's a bathroom up the stairs and to the right." Katherine pointed out. "Of the two bedrooms, the one furthest away from the stairs, on the left, is the one you'll be sleeping in."

Resolutely, Eleanor stepped toward the access point to the second floor. "Go ahead and call your ghost, or whatever you're supposed to do."

"I'll try." Katherine rolled her eyes in Victoria's direction. "By the way, aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" Eleanor asked.

"Your sleeping bag. I'm not taking it upstairs for you."

"Right." Eleanor came back, and lugged the bulky item up the stairs. She could hear Katherine's voice as she started to ascend the steps.

"Ghost," Katherine said out loud. "If you can hear me, would you be a dear and give my friend Eleanor the same sort of special attention that you've been giving me?"

What a load of nonsense! Eleanor thought to herself. She stepped into the haunted bedroom, and clicked on the lights, but shut them off a moment later when she realized the bedroom had no curtains covering its two large windows. She wasn't about to give any ghe-tow punk a free peep show, and in the dark, she tossed her sleeping bag onto the floor. She could have gone into the bathroom to change, but then she thought, what the heck, why not change in the shadows of the bedroom? Nobody was going to see her, anyway.

After shucking off her tracksuit, Eleanor stood there in her fancy black bra and panties, and while she would have much rather been putting on her silky black pajamas, she donned Katherine's oversized spare shirt instead. Next, she spread out her sleeping bag, and couldn't figure out which end was which until she noticed the slight hump that defined the bag's built-in pillow. Without bothering with the zipper, Eleanor folded the flap over and covered herself, and waited.

And she waited some more.

And almost two hours later, she was still waiting.

Finally, the woman had enough waiting, and leaving her bundle of clothes and sleeping bag behind, she stalked out of the bedroom to confront Katherine and force her to confess that she'd made the entire incident up.

"Of all the hare-brained schemes I've heard in my life..." She called out, as she started down the stairs. "I cannot believe you dragged us out here to..."

"Shhhh!" Both Katherine and Victoria shushed her simultaneously.

Eleanor paused halfway to the first floor. "What is going on?"

"Come down here, but be very quiet." Katherine said, in a hushed tone.

Sensing their agitation, Eleanor quietly finished her descent, and stepped over to take a seat next to her two buddies. She leaned close to them, and whispered, "What's going on with you two?"

Katherine kept her gaze steadily toward the tiny kitchen space. "The ghost is here."

Eleanor opened her mouth to refute this, when Victoria cut her off with a sudden and sharp - "Shhh!"

"If you keep really quiet," Katherine explained. "And I mean listening to your heartbeat quiet, you'll be able to hear it moving around down here."

"We heard it stepping in through the front door." Victoria excitedly added. "As if the ghost was coming home from work or something. And I think it knows we're here, too, because just like Kathy said, it stopped to stare at us for a really long time, before it went off into the kitchen."

"Well, I don't hear anything." Eleanor frowned.

"That's because you're not really listening." Katherine nearly glared at her.

"I think it's a man." Victoria stated. "It does sound like a man, just like Kathy said it would. It stomps around, and it bangs into things, and it just feels like a man."

"Why can't I sense anything?" Eleanor complained.

"I already told you why, it's because you're not trying hard enough." Katherine turned to address her. "I think I can smell him now, too. He stinks. Maybe he works as a janitor, or a garbage man, or something like that. He doesn't smell at all like the other times. But then again, I was already upstairs waiting for him, and it was much later than it is now."

"We should tell him to go take a shower." Victoria joked.

"Listen!" Katherine whispered, and sure enough, soft footsteps were heard moving about on the kitchen tile. Katherine half turned toward the kitchen, while staying seated on the carpet. "Hello." Her voice was direct, but friendly. "I'd like to introduce you to my two friends. This is Eleanor, and this is Victoria."

While Eleanor thought the introduction to an invisible entity was weird, and not to mention foolish, Victoria held up her hand, smiled cutely and waved.

"Hi." Victoria said merrily.

The ghost in the kitchen stood silent.

"He's watching us." Katherine informed the others. "I just know he is."

"Maybe he thinks that we're ghosts." Victoria suggested.

"What?" Eleanor asked.

"You know, maybe wherever the ghost is, he's real." Victoria elaborated. "Maybe we've gone into his dimension, like in an episode of the Twilight Zone or something. Maybe in his eyes, he's real, and we're the ghosts."

"Oh, please." Eleanor protested. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"I know what he did to me felt real enough." Katherine whispered.

Behind the three, the steps started up again. They seemed to make their way around the three women, as if in precaution, and started trotting up the stairs a moment later. It sounded as if two heavy, plodding feet were stomping their way up.

"I know why the ghost is so loud, when it's going up the stairs." Katherine discovered. "When I had the carpeting put in, I put extra padding on each floor, but not on the steps. The sound isn't being muffled as much."

"Are you trying to tell me that the ghost has the weight of an actual human being?" Eleanor asked in disbelief. "Please tell me you're kidding?"

"Well, its tongue sure feels like a human tongue." Katherine snapped back. "I can't explain everything. It didn't need to open the front door to get in here, but now that it's inside the apartment, it sounds just like a normal person going about their business."

"It's on familiar ground." Victoria suggested. "Now that the ghost is back where it spent most of its time in its former life, it's drawing power and strength from the environment around it."

"Since when did you become such an expert on the paranormal?" Eleanor asked.

"Hey, I watch that Ghost Bustin' show sometimes. And, I've read quite a few books on the supernatural, thank you very much. Maybe I don't spend my entire day preening and brushing my hair like you do."

Eleanor was about to lash back, when Katherine spoke up. "I'm going upstairs."

"Oh, no you're not!" Victoria, usually the skittish one, halted Katherine and greatly surprised the other two. "You've already had your turn. In fact, you've already had a bunch of turns. I want to go up next."

Flabbergasted, Katherine merely waved at the stairs. "Be my guest. Eleanor's been kind enough to leave her sleeping bag up there for you."

Still dressed in her pink tracksuit, the voluptuous Victoria courageously stepped over to the stairs and started on her way up. She cast one final glance at her two comrades at about the midway point, visibly sucking up a resolute breath, before she went on. Soon, only Victoria's legs were visible, and then only her pink and plaid Burberry sneakers, and finally, there was nothing of Victoria left to be seen.

Like a conspirator, Katherine leaned closer to Eleanor. "I didn't think she had it in her." She then giggled. "But maybe in a minute or two, she will have it in her!"

As Katherine said this, Eleanor noted, her eyes were lingering on Eleanor's loose shirt, and to be specific, on her full bosom, and for a handful of seconds longer than she'd considered proper. It wasn't the first time, Eleanor recalled, that she'd seen the leaner woman's gaze lingering toward her curvy figure, but she'd always just assumed that Katherine hadn't been raised as a proper lady, and that she'd never been told that it wasn't polite to stare at a person that way.

Normally, Eleanor wouldn't make such an issue of the impropriety, but she'd been at odds with Katherine for much of that day over this whole ghost nonsense, and she quickly thought up a roundabout way to strike some venom in the other woman's direction. "Actually, I didn't expect Victoria to be so brash, either." She started, raising her arms high into the air as if she were about to yawn, and at the same time, drawing the shirt's fabric close to her prominent breasts. Automatically, Katherine's gaze focused on her bust, and Eleanor closed in to snare the other woman in her trap. "Say, I've been meaning to ask you..."

"Yes?"

"Why are you always staring at my tits?"

Katherine looked shocked at being confronted so directly, and both her eyes and her head darted in the opposite direction. "I wasn't staring."

"See, I can be as crass as you are, when I choose to be." Eleanor verbally belittled the other woman. "And yes, you were staring at my tits. In fact, I always seem to catch you looking at them, and I want to know why you're doing it."

For several moments, Katherine stayed quiet. Then, she turned back in Eleanor's direction with a downcast gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm jealous of you, and your perfect body. Your figure is so much more beautiful than mine ever was. And my breasts, they can't even begin to hold a candle to yours."

Maybe it was the wine that had loosened up both her lips and Katherine's, Eleanor considered. Or maybe it was the idea of doing something provocative with the ghost upstairs. Before Eleanor could begin to articulate a reply, however, they heard Victoria's raised voice upstairs. It was loud and stern in tone, but not quite clear enough for them to be able to discern the words.

Katherine raised herself up on her knees. "Do you suppose she's all right?"

"I don't know." Eleanor replied. "But it would be just like her, don't you think, to start having a debate with somebody right off the bat, even if that somebody is from the other side. She's always contradicting what's being said, after all."

"That's not Victoria at all." Katherine refuted. "You're talking about yourself."

"Oh, really?" Eleanor shot back. "And I suppose that you think you're Mother Teresa now, after you've the dragged the two of us down here to participate in your little sex scheme with a ghost?"

"The way I see it, nobody dragged you anywhere. You got into my car on your own two legs!"

The two women glared at one another, and had they more of an audience around them, a mockery of a catfight might have quickly ensued. As it was, neither one of them felt like being overdramatic, at least not without a crowd present, and as if they were thinking with a single mind, they both turned to look up at the stairs.

"We should go up and check on her." Katherine suggested.

Eleanor started to rise. "Let's."

They both reached the stairs at the same moment, but since Eleanor suspected that Katherine might be staring at her butt if she ascended first, she stepped aside and allowed the other woman to pass. "It's your apartment, you take the lead."

Katherine gave her a snide look, and quickly trotted up the stairs.

As the hallway light was on, the women had no trouble in reaching the haunted bedroom, and they both peeked into its shadows and found Victoria standing by one of the room's large windows. The window was as wide open as it could get, and cool air was flowing inside.

"You didn't throw the ghost out the window, did you?" Eleanor kidded.

Victoria had her arms crossed over her chest, as if she were irritated. She unclasped them and slid the window shut, then turned back to face the other two. "What are you two doing up here?"

"We heard you say something." Katherine divulged. "You sounded angry, and we came upstairs to look in on you."

"Oh, that." Victoria noticed that Eleanor had reached out to flip on the light switch. "Leave the light off. The ghost should be back shortly."

"What happened up here?" Eleanor asked.

"The ghost came into the bedroom, just like Katherine said it would." Victoria admitted. "But it came in here smelling like a garbage dump, and I told it to march itself out of here until it got itself all cleaned up. I told it that I didn't want it to come back until it smelled like a perfect gentleman."

Katherine laughed. "You really said that?"

"Of course I did." Victoria confirmed. "I may be desperate for a man's company, but I'm not desperate enough to go into a garbage dump to find it."

"We should go back downstairs then?" Eleanor asked.

Victoria shook her head. "No. I think that if something is going to happen here tonight, we should all be witnesses to it. Otherwise, both of you will say I made it up."

"Even if the ghost does something erotic to you?" Eleanor asked. "You don't mind us watching?"

"Especially if the ghost does something erotic to me." Victoria quipped. "We all came here to do something together, and if the two of you want to stay downstairs and miss the whole thing, then off you go! Besides, I'm not as insecure about my body as either one of you is."




Lovers From Beyond 1.01



"I never said I was insecure about my body!" Katherine sounded genuinely offended.

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be drooling over Eleanor all the time, now would you?" Victoria shot back. "Do you really think I hadn't noticed? Well, I'll have you know, that I have just as nice a figure as Eleanor, and maybe even better!" These last few words rang heavy with the pangs of jealousy.

Being nearest the bedroom door, Eleanor caught the whiff of men's cologne first. "Ladies, I think I smell something."

The other two paused from their bickering, and soon picked up the scent as well.

"What is that?" Katherine asked.

"Old Spice." Victoria deduced. "And while I'd rather have my men with a little splash of Capri Orange myself, if this is the best cologne they had at the ghostly department store, then it'll have to do for now." She stepped directly into the center of the room. "Ghost, come here right now!" She demanded, and sure enough, the other two women sensed the phantom stepping around them and towards its cruel new mistress. Victoria addressed her compatriots. "See, all you need is a little sense of authority in these matters." She scanned around her immediate vicinity. "Now, where are you, ghost? Ah, there. I can sense you standing right there." Shamelessly, Victoria reached up to grasp the zipper on her top, and zipped it all the way open. The soft sweater was soon discarded aside, and the jogging pants and sneakers were next to go.

In awe, both Eleanor and Katherine gazed at their friend's form, now clad only in a lacy pink bra, and matching panties. Victoria was the plumpest of the three, with large D cup breasts that no longer jutted out as firmly as they once did, a soft belly that was full, but not quite unsightly, and legs that had never once been mistaken for those of a runner. However, she was far from being an eyesore, for her age anyway, as her skin was pale and creamy, and once she'd removed her bra, she exhibited breasts with very large and vague areola, and aroused nipples the size of the last segment of an average pinkie finger. Once her panties had also been removed, the two women took in a neatly trimmed and dark red tangle of pubic hair as well, and they both noted the way that Victoria placed her fists on either side of her waist, and lifted her chin in an imperious manner.

"Ghost, these are your orders." She declared. "You will service me in the same way that you serviced Katherine, whom I must declare, is much too thin to be arousing to a sexual connoisseur such as yourself, and although I can't blame you if you don't want to pleasure Eleanor, as she can be a pompous bitch on occasion, once you are finished with me, you will service her as well, but not to the same degree of quality as that which you've bestowed upon myself." Victoria then settled her voluptuous frame down on the carpet, and both lifted her knees and spread her legs. "If this is understood, you may proceed immediately."

Not more than ten seconds later, Victoria squealed in delight, as the mysterious licker got down to his task.

Eleanor didn't know whether to be angry, or aroused, as she looked over at Katherine, who had the lower part of her face covered with her hands, and her eyes opened wide and registering surprise.

"I can't believe she's doing it." Katherine whispered.

"Well, I can't believe what she just said about us." Eleanor grumbled.

For the next few minutes, both women witnessed their portly friend being savaged by a phantom tongue, and heard the increased brevity of Victoria's breaths, as well an occasional lusty moan. If either Eleanor or Katherine denied that they were getting turned on, they would have both been lying.

"You've heard that slogan, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?" Katherine asked.

"No, not really." Eleanor answered.

"It means that whatever happens in this room tonight," Katherine explained. "Is not to be mentioned to anyone presently outside of this room. Kapish?"

Eleanor nodded, just as Katherine started pulling her long shirt over her head. "What do you think you're doing?"

Katherine offhandedly threw her shirt at Eleanor. "Well, I didn't come here tonight to be a spectator, that's for sure. You can stand there and be our cheerleader, if that's what you want to do."

Katherine stepped away, leaving Eleanor to gawk at her tiny, but proud, A cup breasts, her lean waist and toned legs, and finally, her tight butt that, while no longer tight enough to crack walnuts, had still retained most of its shape and firmness. It was more of a manly shape, Eleanor considered, but without the cock that usually went with it.

Almost casually, Katherine lay down next to the panting Victoria, and gently, she reached out to caress the woman's swollen mammaries. Victoria, who'd had her eyes closed, opened them at the other's touch, and the two women, one lean, and the other portly, gazed into one another's eyes longingly.

"I suppose," Victoria said hotly. "That in the absence of a man's lips, yours will have to do for now." She reached up to cradle Katherine's neck in her hand, and brought the woman's head down to where their mouths would meet.

Passionately, they kissed, with Victoria taking an occasional break to grunt out from the pleasure that was being thrust on her way down between her legs.

And poor Eleanor, standing there quietly by the doorway, growing more aroused by the second, found herself wishing that some of the sensual sounds echoing from the cold walls were being emitted by her.

Resolutely, she said, "I am nobody's fucking cheerleader!"

She took a step forward, only to pause in something approaching terror when Victoria suddenly shrieked. Katherine had invaded Victoria's private confines with her long fingers, and as she was vigorously stimulating her, the ghost had slipped aside and upward, and had renewed its licking duties on Victoria's breasts. How Eleanor knew that the ghost had shifted its position was evidenced by her witnessing a pale sheen with a roughly human form now intertwined with the bodies of the two ladies.

"Oh, my." Eleanor gasped. "The ghost is becoming more real!"

Victoria fought off Katherine's greedy fingers, and the ghost's licking. She was still panting heavily as if she'd been running a marathon, and through her halted breaths she answered, "It's a known phenomena. If a person is apt to believe in the supernatural, then the supernatural will manifest itself more clearly. If a person doesn't believe, they won't see a thing. We must concentrate on making the ghost more real, and in effect, he will become more real."

Katherine timidly reached out to touch the phantom, who was more or less clearly outlined in the darkness of the bedroom. "I can touch it, or him, I mean. His body feels like a tiny little jolt of electricity. It's nowhere near solid, though. More like a cloud of mist."

"How do you know for certain that it's a him?" Eleanor asked.

"Dearie, he has a man's parts." Victoria replied. "I can feel them resting on my thigh." The portly woman sat up. "You must come an join us."

"How?" Eleanor asked.

"Don't be simple." Victoria scolded her mildly. "You take your clothes off, and you come over here and sit right in between us. I'm sure one of us will figure out what to do next."

"Haven't you ever played naked Twister?" Katherine asked.

"No." Eleanor answered.

Katherine sympathetically glanced over at Victoria. "We simply have to get this woman to loosen up a little."

"Agreed." Victoria nodded. "Eleanor dear, what are you waiting for?"

While a part of Eleanor would have rather made for the door to avoid the entire scene, another part of her recalled her wilder, younger days, such as when she'd asked a man to take her in the elevator of a high-rise, or when she'd seduced two men at the same time. Even as her inhibitions screamed at her to halt, she defied her own conservative nature and puller her long shirt over her head, leaving her two girlfriends to marvel at her sultry figure clad in black lingerie. 34 C - 30 - 34, were her measurements.

Katherine whistled approvingly. "You look like you could have been a centerfold, once."

"I almost was." Eleanor admitted. "When I was still in college. The magazine refused to meet my price."

"I'll bet you're right."

With as much of a regal air as she could muster under the circumstances, Eleanor reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. After this was removed, she leaned over to remove her panties, and allowed her magnificent breasts to momentarily dangle like ripe oranges. In her most sultry tone, she stood up and asked, "Where do you girls want me?"

"Ooh, you just gave me chills with that voice." Katherine blurted.

"And judging from the heat exuding from our gentleman friend's party piece, I'd say he approves as well." Victoria agreed. "I know I do. Now come over here and sit between us."

Eleanor approached the trio, and waited as they all scrambled aside, ghost included, to make room for her. She slipped down onto her knees.

"Stop right there." Katherine said, giving the blonde vixen pause. Katherine lay down directly in front of her, and close enough to wrap her thighs around Eleanor's legs. "Now, come to mama."

Eleanor thought she'd been shocked enough that evening, but this might have been the peak of her astonishment. She had never been intimate with another woman in her entire life, and her she was, with her naked thighs rubbing against Katherine's, and with Katherine staring at her as if she was about to get the best birthday present she'd ever seen.

"You used to be so wild." Victoria reminded her. "I remember all those stories you used to tell me, about how you were willing to try anything..."

Well, she could still be wild, Eleanor resolved, as she leaned forward and positioned herself on her hands and knees. Katherine could barely contain her lust, for as soon as Eleanor was on all fours, she inched up far enough for her eyes to be level with Eleanor's, and a fraction of a second later, Katherine's hands were doing their best to engulf her breasts. And poor Eleanor, who hadn't had her breasts touched in so, so long, was instantly shuddering and relishing the sensual groping like a randy schoolgirl.

"You're such a delicious bitch." Katherine envied her, keeping her gaze constantly locked on Eleanor's. "If I had a cock, I'd fuck you raw."

Eleanor became so absorbed with Katherine's fondling, that she barely noticed Victoria slipping away from her, and didn't even know her friend was gone until she heard Victoria's voice a few moments later.

"I think he's ready." She said.

"Ready for what?" Eleanor asked, only to feel a pair of very cold hands grab onto her meaty and upraised ass.

It was the phantom, she realized, ghost-handling her from behind, while Katherine woman-handled her from below. And not only that, but she felt another strong shudder as ghostly thighs moved in closer to hers. Something that was a combination of both cold and hot poked at the outer edges of her engorged pussy, and in a gently, steady motion, the ghost inserted its prick into her.

"How does that feel?" Victoria asked.

Eleanor shut her eyes and groaned with pleasure, as the prick invaded her hot insides with its strange and tingly substance. It felt like a cold popsicle, and a hot poker at the same time, and it buzzed as if it had a low wattage attached to it, and as to how it felt, the only answer she could give was, "Incredible!"

While holding her butt in place, the ghost began thrusting at her in earnest, and Eleanor moaned and groaned just as enthusiastically, until she opened her eyes and saw her enthralled audience lying below. Katherine's inflamed eyes gave Eleanor the impression that she was just as aroused as Eleanor was.

"Come down here." Katherine ordered.

Eleanor complied. It was too much for her to even attempt to kiss Katherine, as her mouth was opened wide, and her breaths hearty and lustful from the multiple assaults she was enduring. This didn't falter Katherine in the slightest, as the leaner woman was more than content to lather her kisses on Eleanor's cheeks and throat, and once she snagged a breast with her lips, it was as if she were attempting to devour it.

As for the ghost, well, who knew what was really going on its head. It probably thought it had hit some kind of jackpot by getting a chance to cavort with what most wealthy men wouldn't hesitate to reign in as a trophy wife.

Eleanor's inevitable and throaty orgasm erupted onto the side of Katherine's face, and Katherine sought to somehow control it by embracing Eleanor's sultry body and squeezing it tightly. Still, the ghost maintained its fervor, prolonging the climax far longer than any mortal man could, and finally Eleanor could take no more of the abuse and she threw herself to one side to catch her breath.

Katherine, as if she meant to follow and mount the woman like some sort of predator, reached out with a slender arm, and twisted onto her side, only to sense the ghost pouncing on her next. One of her legs was yanked up and into the air, while the ghost sat astride her remaining prone thigh and penetrated her from the side.

"Oh!" Katherine cried out sharply, as the phantom impaled her and successfully marked her as its next target.

Ghostly hands ran the length of Katherine's middle and clutched at her small breasts, and ghostly fingers even dared to press into the startled woman's mouth and demand attention. Katherine closed her mouth over them, licking at them and running her tongue all over their tingly lengths. The ghost then tightly gripped her abdomen, and resumed the hurried throttling it had commenced on Eleanor just moments before.

Victoria noticed that Eleanor was watching the bizarre frenzy with more than a little fascination. "Do you think a ghost can have an orgasm?"

"I certainly hope it doesn't have one too quickly." Eleanor admitted. "I'd like to get in line and go on that ride again!"

"Not before me!" Victoria grinned, after which she crawled over to Eleanor's side. "I want to try something. Kiss me."

"I can't. You're my best friend. I wouldn't feel right about it."

"Fine, then let me kiss you." Victoria didn't wait for a reply, as she moved in and planted her lips firmly on Eleanor's.

Eleanor tried to be passionate about it, but she couldn't. She soon gave up trying. "I'm sorry. I told you, I can't."

"I know." Victoria replied. "I can't either, not really. I just don't see you as a sexy woman. I mean, you have a great body and everything, but I only see you as my best friend, the same way that you see me. But with Katherine, there's something different. I was so jealous that she wanted you, and not me, for all this time, and for some reason, the thought of making love to her would always get me excited. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Perhaps she reminds you of a man, more than I do." Eleanor suggested. "She does to me, and with the right haircut and wardrobe, I'm sure she could even pass for one."

"Do you really think that's it?" Victoria asked. "I'd like to kiss her again, but I don't want to leave you out in the cold."

"You won't. Go ahead and have your fun."

A naughty look crossed Victoria's eyes. "I dare you to put your hands on her."

"I couldn't." Eleanor shook her head. "I've never done that to a woman before."

"I have." Victoria revealed. "With my French maid, shortly after I kicked my Harry out. I couldn't see myself cheating on my husband with the butler, even though Harry had already cheated on me with his whore of a secretary. So I chose the maid instead." She grasped Eleanor's wrist and led her closer to the steamy action. "Come on."

Katherine, still lying on her side, bit at her bottom lip with her eyes tightly shut, as the ghost engaged in long and deep strokes and continued to ravage her body. It seemed as if she was barely controlling herself from screaming out loud.

Playfully, Victoria lay down just behind Katherine, and reached around the woman's middle to tease her nipples. Katherine had to momentarily displace the ghost, as she turned over on her opposite side, but the moment she was settled, it went back to work on her. The two women played with each other's breasts, giggling and smiling at one another, until Katherine pulled Victoria close, stifled her moans on the other's shoulder, and shuddered in an explosive climax. She tried to outlast the ghost, too, but as with Eleanor, the ghost's stamina proved too much for her. Katherine cried out, "Enough! That's enough! I can't take any more!"

As Victoria wasn't as daring as Katherine, nor as glamorous as Eleanor, it was with a great amount of determination that she sought, for once, to outdo them both. "Ghost," she demanded. "Lay down right here, in the middle of this bedroom."

The ghost complied, and although Victoria tried several times to mount the not-quite-solid form, each time she ended up smacking her rump on the carpet. She admonished the other two ladies for her failure. "You're not concentrating hard enough!" She tried a couple of extra times, until she finally gave up. "Oh, fiddle!"

As a last recourse, Victoria lay down on her back, and ordered the ghost to do its worst. Of course, the ghost took up the mandate, for what else did it have to do, besides mope around the apartment all night and haunt the place?

"I want a good thrashing, do you hear me?" Victoria told it. "I want to be able to look at these two sluts directly in the eye tomorrow, and tell them that you gave me the best you had, and that I took it all when they couldn't!"

What Victoria asked for, she certainly got, for the ghost well knew a goading when it heard one. The ghost pulled out all the stops, pummeling recklessly at the resolute woman while it pinned her by the shoulders, squeezing harshly at her breasts, and then employing its trademark lick on them, and when that failed to bring her to a climax, it even threw Victoria's legs up on its shoulders and exposed her wet cunny and her curvy posterior to the scrutiny of her other two associates-turned-lovers.

Katherine gawked openly, and Eleanor looked over frequently, while she pretended not to.

Finally, just when things had reached a fevered pitch, and Victoria's breasts were bouncing about like runaway beach balls, all three women felt something snap. The ghost pulled away, seemed to waver while on its knees, and finally it fell over on its back and vanished. A long, trailing moan could be heard in its wake.

Katherine had covered the bottom half of her face with hands. "I think she killed it! I think she killed the ghost with her pussy!"

"That's impossible." Eleanor refuted. "A ghost is already dead. It cannot die twice."

"Then what just happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened." Victoria sat up, and rubbed her sides and lower back. "I've just been fucked silly, that's what. I had so many orgasms, that I lost count after twenty-two. And, I've acquired a bad case of rug burn all over my back on top of all that!"

Both Eleanor and Katherine giggled.

A moment later, a loud knocking could be heard from downstairs.

"I suppose that's the security guard." Katherine wondered. "Coming to check on what all the ruckus is about."

"Well, you'd better go and answer the door, then." Victoria replied. "Before he kicks it down and sees us all naked like this."

"Where is my shirt?" Katherine asked, as she glanced around at the carpet in the dark bedroom.

"If you were as brazen as you like to think you are," Victoria dared. "You would go downstairs and answer the door in the nude."

Katherine considered this, smugly. "I could do that a dozen times before you'd even step out of this bedroom without any clothes on."

In unison, both ladies turned to look at Eleanor, whom they'd both originally thought would be the boldest of them all, but in fact, had turned out to be quite the opposite.




Lovers From Beyond 1.01



"Oh, no." Eleanor began backing away. "I know what you're thinking, and I'm not going to do it. I will not, under any circumstances, be answering any doors while I'm naked."

In the end, the security guard, who fortunately happened to be in his early forties, tall and reasonably well built, was stunned to find not one, but three unclad older women on the other side of the apartment door. In fact, anybody who might have usually seen the guard following his predictable rounds, would have commented that said guard was not to be seen for the rest of the night.

Just a few days later, as we come across the very affluent, and very crowded, business district of Prospect Avenue in La Jolla, we find two very lovely older ladies sitting in one of the area's many sidewalk cafes. One, the redhead, is robust and with a healthy glow about her cheeks, and wearing a nicely cut Malandrino bustier dress, streaked with black and splashed with purple, and revealing an ample, but not too showy, amount of cleavage. The second woman, the blonde, with her wide-brimmed, charcoal-colored straw hat, her dark sunglasses, and a form fitting strapless black dress that also attractively enhances her gorgeous breasts, is beautiful enough to warrant a second look, as if she were one of those celebrities that are occasionally spotted in town.

The two women are taking in the sights, sitting suspiciously close to a valet stand, where half a dozen young, and mostly strapping, men are engaged in picking up or dropping off luxury automobiles. They also have three cups of hot java sitting on the small table before them, and of those three, one is still full and getting colder by the minute.

"Here she comes, finally." Victoria points out an approaching form. "I still can't believe you never suspected that she was bisexual."

"Let's not mention that too openly." Eleanor tips her glasses down to confirm the identity of the newcomer. As soon as Katherine is acceptably near, Eleanor stands up and holds her arms out, in her usual, grandstanding sort of way.

"Sorry I'm late." Katherine says.

"I hear that being late is becoming fashionably acceptable once again." Eleanor quips, as she kisses, and in turn, is kissed by Katherine.

Katherine steps around the table to receive a similar greeting from Victoria.

"Why are you late this time?" Victoria asks.

Katherine nearly blushes. "I was taking a drive through a certain part of town last night, and I happened to stop by a certain apartment complex..."

The other two women lean closer as if the three of them are conspirators.

"You'll never guess who's back."

"Oh, my." Eleanor starts fanning herself with one of the café's menus, as if she's suddenly feeling hot.

"Are you sure?" Victoria whispers.

"Of course I am." Katherine replies. "And in his own special way, our friend has let me know that he would like to see the three of us again."

"He licked your pussy again." Eleanor states with a grin.

"I can't believe it!" Victoria squeals. "Eleanor really said pussy!"

"He surely did lick my pussy. And, I discovered something else that the two of you might find interesting." Katherine pulls out her cell phone, and activates the speaker function. She clicks a number from her many speed-dial selections, and as the phone starts to dial out, she sets the phone in the center of the table, where all three can clearly hear the conversation that is about to take place.

"Who are you calling?" Victoria asks.

"The custodial supervisor that formerly took care of a certain apartment complex, which I now happen to own." Katherine states.

The call is answered. A gruff male voice says, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Vargas." Katherine greets. "This is Katherine. I spoke with you earlier today, and I have two of my associates with me now. The story you told me this morning was so fascinating, I was hoping you'd tell my friends about it, and this is why I have you on speaker right now."

"You want to hear about the haunted apartment again, right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. Well, I'll tell you what I told you earlier. Three young guys were renting the place, and all three of them were in the Navy. I guess they were the kind that party a lot, and according to the rumors, they had women coming and going at all hours of the day and night. I didn't see too much of these guys myself. Anyway, all of these guys are in their twenties, between twenty-one and twenty-five, I'd guess, and they all work in the same division for the Navy, where they take care of garbage disposal. One of these guys has some kind of fetish for cougars."

"Please explain what a cougar is to my friends."

"Sure. A cougar is an older gal, maybe in her forties or fifties, or thereabouts. And from what I heard, this one guy just loved dating these women, even though they were like twice his age. He had a fetish for them, like I said. I think his name was Gabriel Hernandez, but from what I've heard, people called him Gabe for short."

"And what happened to Mr. Hernandez?"

"It's a real heartbreaker. He partied too hard one night, and he ended up totaling his car on the freeway. Right into a median. Died instantly."

"And what happened after that?"

"That's where things get creepy." Mr. Vargas continues. "The poor kid had been dead for a couple of months, when his roomies start hearing him coming home from work, and starting to cook up a canned soup like he usually did for dinner. Then they start hearing footsteps going up and down the stairs, and when they're watching TV, the remote control always clicks on to the Ultimate Fighting shows, and guess whose favorite shows those were? The roommates think that Gabe's ghost has come back to haunt the apartment, and they get scared shitless. Pardon my French. They both left the apartment at the same time, even though it was still early on their lease, and they both lost their security deposits, but they didn't care about the money. So from where I'm sitting, they really believed what they were saying about the place being haunted."

"Thank you, Mr. Vargas. I'll be letting you get back to whatever you were doing now. I appreciate your time."

"Sure, no prob. Just keep my janitorial service in mind, will you, if you get a hold of any more apartments?"

"I will, I promise. Goodbye." Katherine hangs up her phone, and sticks it back into her pocket.

In unison, all three women, Eleanor, Katherine, and Victoria lean close, as if whatever their next words are, they are meant only for themselves, and for no one else.

Of the three, only one speaks. It is Katherine. "So, what are you naughty ladies doing tonight?"



Lovers From Beyond 1.02



My wife of six years and I had a good falling out, ever since we'd lost the two story house in Murrieta, California. The matter of divorce kept coming up between us, from either her lips or mine, and I can tell you for certain that our best years were behind us.

It was with a low heart that I rented out a small, two bedroom cottage in one of the crappier neighborhoods in San Diego, and ironically it was this same area that we'd both abandoned a few years earlier, when our fortunes and prospects had been much higher.

Of course, I wasn't the only white collar worker to my lose my well paying job during the economic downturn. Nearly a third of the employees at the computer plant were laid off at the same time I got my notice, over eight hundred souls in total. I wasn't the only person in the world to lose my house either, as plenty of other families suffered similar devastation at the hands of the big banks. But all the same, both from my wife's perspective, and from that of her merciless and bitter side of the family, I was one hundred percent at fault, and many times over, and I felt as if I was the only person on Earth being humbled by it all.

I scrambled about for a few months, while searching for a new line of work, at a time when the scarcity of jobs was at its greatest, and the lack of steady employment further depleted our savings into the high triple digits. It wasn't that long ago when both my wife and I enjoyed bank accounts comfortably set in the high four digits, and we were both contributing regularly to our nest egg, but like the house, all that is gone now.

Getting hired usually meant you knew somebody already employed where you were snooping around for a job, and through an odd combination of both perseverance and blind luck, I ran into an old friend. I told my buddy about my plight, he gave me a good reference to his manager, and that's how I was called in for an interview at the Do It Yourself Warehouse. Never mind that I'd already been trying to get a job there for several months already.

After going through numerous hoops, including multiple, on-the-spot interviews, a barrage of supposedly meaningful testing and an embarrassing urine analysis, I was given the thumbs up. My new job was to unload trailer trucks during the graveyard shift, and to roll the pallets out onto the sales floor, stocking whatever merchandise needed to be stocked into the racks, then cataloging and storing whatever remained into the upper shelving found all over the store.

It wasn't as profitable, or as glamorous, as my previous job. Far from it. And since my wife had become spoiled previously, by having a nice sum of cash made available to her after each and every paycheck, she understandably vented her frustrations on my person and was constantly bickering with me. I was reminded of just how great a disappointment I'd become, nearly every time I lay in bed with my wife and made a sexual advance toward her, by watching her turn a cold shoulder in my direction.

The house we were now living in had been built way back in the nineteen-fifties, as a smaller companion to the much bigger, three bedroom structure that dominated the much wider patch of land directly in front of it. It sat there like an afterthought, colored a pasty green, with the backside of the larger residence visible from its cozy living room window, and an alley corrupted by trash and graffiti visible from the even cozier kitchen windows in the back. As mentioned previously, this cottage consisted of two small bedrooms, of the bare minimum ten by ten variety, a rectangular living room of about twenty by ten, and if you were to cut this distance in half, you'd roughly have the dimensions of both the crowded kitchen and small dining area. The doors and windows were all barred, due to the crime infested elements of the neighborhood, by iron bars that remained strong despite showing flaky black paint and frequent flashes of rust.

The property to one side was structured in the same manner, with the only real differences being that the main house and its companion cottage were both hued in a mustard yellow, and the main house had a sizable covered patio in its backyard. The house on the opposite side was blocked from view by a tall, wooden fence, and a single file grove of short, bushy trees, and it barely contained several guard dogs that barked, growled and lunged at the wooden boards in a terrifying manner whenever I made my way to and from my vehicle.

In no uncertain terms, my wife informed me that she was not about to stay in what she had labeled an atrocity of a home for much longer, and as she constantly threatened to move out and live with her parents, or one of her high-maintenance sisters, I had to tread around her lightly or risk having her frequently repeated threats come to bear fruition. Perhaps she missed the 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer' portion of our wedding vows, that presently felt as if they were both ancient and nebulous, and somehow no longer held any relevance to our modern plight. Perhaps we were destined to split apart at some time in the near future, but at that moment I wasn't in such a great hurry to find myself living alone, and having no one to really talk to, or to prepare a warm plate for me when I arrived home from work.

As stated before, I worked graveyard hours at the time, and my usual shifts started at eleven or twelve at night, and lasted until seven or eight in the morning. I'd taken to sleeping during the heart of the day, leaving my wife and I about as far apart as two people can get when they're living under the same roof. I'd get up around four or five pm, usually at a good time for an argument to erupt between us, and my wife would go to bed at eight or nine pm, at which point I was left to stare at the clock until it was time for me to leave for work.

After about two months of this routine, strange things started to happen. I won't make an attempt to sway your thoughts about these incidents. I'll just state the facts as how I saw them with my own eyes, or felt them with my own senses. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I will leave up to you.

My wife has a bit of a phobia when it comes to sex. Irrationally, she checks to make sure that all the doors are locked, so that nobody might walk in while we're involved in the act, and she checks to make sure that the curtains are shut all the way across the window, to make sure nobody might have a peek at us going at it. Finally, she turns out all the lights, and closes the bedroom door to ensure that we both have complete privacy. She does this every time, before we proceed any further than walking into the bedroom holding hands together.

To be honest, she even has a noticeable discomfort about performing the act while there is still daylight outside, so it was with some effort that I managed to coax her into performing oral sex on me deep into one afternoon. All was going well, until my wife got the sudden impression that we were being watched, and this disturbed her so much that she immediately halted her actions, and went around the house convinced that there had been some sort of breach in her safeguards. She found none, but rather than admit that she might have gotten a touch of paranoia, she insisted that she'd sensed someone in the house, and no manner of pleading proved enough to induce her to resume her part.

As it was a pleasant week, I nearly got lucky a second time just a few days later. My wife and I were lying in bed, nude, and in the midst of foreplay, when she sat up and commented that there was a man standing in the living room. How she could see this in the dark, with the lights shut off and the curtains drawn, was beyond me, and hoping not to be left out to dry again, I volunteered to go out and take a look around. Of course, there was no one about, but just the same, my wife was already getting dressed by the time I went back into the bedroom.

While cursing her in my mind for her fickleness, I asked what this man looked like, and got this for an answer; he was a tall fellow, with his head shaved and a goatee, and he was walking through the living room moving his head as if he were listening to music through earphones. He wore no shirt, revealing a strong physique with muscles, tattoos and scars, and he wore baggy red pants, and was either barefoot, or wearing light colored sandals. Also, my wife divulged, the man was the color of a strong coffee.

A bloody good description, if you ask me, and I began wondering if I should shut the cable off to prevent her from sitting in the house all day and watching reality shows and the like. We had a good argument then, where I, admittedly with no evidence, accused my wife of sleeping around behind my back. This resulted in her becoming angry enough to order me to empty out the second bedroom, which we'd previously filled a good portion of with our furniture and boxed items from our old house in Murrieta.

The rest of the afternoon I spent clearing out the bedroom, and moving most of the boxes and miscellany into various closets or into the living room. Although we had no second bed frame, we did have a couple of extra mattresses that my wife could sleep on, and while I guess I could have given her my bed frame, out of chivalry, I initially held back from doing so because I was hoping she'd reconsider and come back into my bed.

As per our usual routine, she went to sleep at her usual time of around eight or nine, and I waited for a couple of hours until it was time for me to go to work.

We hardly spoke to one another after that. We could have been complete strangers, to an outsider looking in, as I was always asleep during the day, and my wife would spend a large part of her day out of the house, usually wandering off to her mother's to gripe about me, or otherwise going out shopping with the spendthrift bitches that were her sisters.

On one occasion, I had the night off, and during the wee hours, I was sitting at the kitchen table and looking at pictures of bikini-clad women on my laptop, when I caught the distinctive smell of marijuana wafting through the house. Of course, I was no stranger to weed, but I hadn't smoked it in years, and as far as I knew, neither had my wife.

I wondered what my wife would be doing lighting up at three o'clock in the morning, and I went over to reprimand her, but I opened the door to the second bedroom only to find her still fast asleep. Even stranger, the smell wasn't coming from her bedroom, my nostrils informed me, but from the living room instead.

After checking to make sure all the windows were shut, which they were, I walked around the living room and tried to localize the smell. There was one corner where the odor was the strongest, but unexplainably there was no source for the scent whatsoever. I began to consider whether or not I was losing my mind, as I returned to my laptop.

A second later, as I again became engrossed in wet tee shirts and thongs, I happened to glance from the joke that was the dining area, over to the living room and directly to that specific corner where the smell of marijuana was emanating from. In a vague and shadowy guise, I saw a black man sitting back in a plush recliner, with his legs stretched out on the footrest, and smoking a good size blunt. This man looked just as my wife had described, with a shaved head, a tidy goatee, and a dark-skinned body with prominent muscles and visible dark tats and scars.

The moment I stood up, the vision disappeared, and again, I found myself questioning sanity once again. Not my wife's this time, mind you, but my own.

At about this time, work started getting a little slower, as it was late fall and approaching wintertime, a period of the year when there is very little construction work going on. As a result, my shifts got shorter, and my days off increased, and in order to keep myself from going bonkers, I stuck to my routine of sleeping during the day, and I kept myself awake nearly the entire night.

One week, I had three straight days off, and each of those nights, I could hear my wife tossing and turning, and even moaning in her sleep. Out of concern, I went to check on her, using the light from my bedroom to illuminate into hers. She'd kicked off her covers, and was lying on her side, facing away from me and wearing the set of loose, satiny blue pajamas she always wore to bed. From the purrs and moans she was making, I assumed she was having some sort of erotic dream, and as soon as I thought that, I resented it, because of the way she'd barred me from sleeping with her.

I checked on her the second night as well, with the same result; my wife rolling about passionately on the low-lying mattresses, and me left wanting with my cock in my hand, figuratively speaking of course. Or literally, if you like, since I went back to my computer and rubbed one out, done out of spite, a short time later.

When the pattern repeated itself on the third night, I didn't even bother leaving the dining nook. She could have her sensual dreams, I thought, as I was having my own sexual fantasies with the pretty girls on my computer.

The following week was a rollercoaster of one day of work, followed by one day off, for seven straight days. It was a pretty stupid schedule, if you ask me, but I guess such creative decision-making is why middle management gets paid so much higher than the rank and file.

I was sitting there, looking up softcore porn yet again, because some of the harder stuff I just can't tolerate, when I happened to glance over at the living room. There was that same phantom black guy, lying back on his ghostly recliner, and having himself another joint, and a moment later, the recliner straightened up and he got to his feet. He reached up to the waistband of his baggy red pants, and slid them down until they were loose enough to drop to the floor.

I've got to stop here for a moment, because you're going to think I'm leading you on, or about to give you the punchline to some horribly twisted joke. I swear, what I'm about to tell you is the truth, or the truth as I saw it that night, anyway.

I've never been around too many naked black guys to say whether they're hung better than any other race, and I've never been around too many naked guys of any race to make a reasonable comparison. But I've got to tell you, this guy's limp cock had to be at least eight inches long. It looked like a big friggin' piece of salami.

I watched as this black guy casually stepped out of his red pants, walked out of my sight, and over toward the bedrooms. Of course, I jumped out of my chair and rushed over, but by then, he'd vanished into the shadows.

I went in and checked on my wife, without turning on her bedroom light and waking her up, which undoubtedly would have resulted in what you'd call an Armageddon-type argument. She was sleeping peacefully at first, but as I'm watching her, she starts rolling around and making those sex noises again, as if she was having another erotic dream.

I guess I'd gotten jealous at a figment of my own goddamn imagination, because I went ahead and turned on the light in the second bedroom, and my wife snapped awake and began to give me such an earful that I almost wished I hadn't done it. She was so mad at me that as revenge, she kept waking me up the next day, and I was in a bad way when I set off to work the next night, when midnight finally rolled around.

I took some sleeping pills in the morning, to make sure I'd get some shut-eye, and once I woke up around four in the afternoon, the first thing my wife said was that there were a few pieces of mail that had been left in our post by mistake. I saw the address on these letters, and since they were from the little cottage next door to mine, I went ahead and took the short time to walk them over.

I guess curiosity got the best of me, because when I laid eyes on the old lady that lived next door, and noticed that she was the amiable and talkative type, not only did I give her the letters, but I also struck up a polite conversation with her. As pleasantly as I could, I asked if she'd known the previous tenant that had rented the place I was residing in now.

He was a bad sort, she said. He was always selling drugs to the high school kids that walked through the alley on their way home. The police were always coming by and trying to bully their way into the house, but for whatever reason, they were never able to catch him in the act. The kids all called him Big Tef, she said, because he was like Teflon in that no charges ever stuck to him. He'd gotten his due in the end, the older woman revealed, as she mentioned that he'd been gunned down just a few months prior, while he was driving around in his fancy Cadillac and showing off with his ladies.

I went back home, and when I tried to explain all of this to my wife, she somehow twisted it all around and made it sound as if I was trying to kick her out of the house, when what I really wanted was for the both of us to get the hell out of there. She slammed the door on me, and in frustration, I went into my bedroom for a nap.

The early hours of the next morning found me doing what I usually do, which is to look up pictures of pretty women in skimpy clothing, as they're always smiling in my direction and they never, ever make me feel like an ugly piece of shit. I'd found two models I could get myself to nut to, and while I was trying to decide which one would be that night's wet dream, I glanced over and saw Big Tef, just as he was getting to his feet and dropping his red pants again.

This time, Tef scared the crap out of me, because he was staring directly into my face for a few long, tense seconds. Then, he started pulling on that water hose of a dick of his, until he got it good and hard like a billy club, and he sauntered off toward the bedrooms. Toward my wife's bedroom, to be specific.

I felt a cold and creepy sensation surround my body as I followed, and this time, Tef didn't disappear, but he went all the way through the living room, and turned into the second bedroom's doorway. I was scared out of my mind, but I managed to walk over, and after I turned on the light to my bedroom, to shine out and into the other, I saw this Big Tef guy just standing there, right over my wife's mattresses, and looking at me as if he was waiting for me to show my face. He still had his large dick in his hand, and he was stroking it to keep it from going soft.

Yeah.

Now, about the rest, my wife told a different story to the cops, but that's not what really happened. I did not set anything up, and after the cops had checked it all out, and after they'd taken samples from her insides, they ended up agreeing with me. This is what took place that night, from my perspective.

My wife was lying there, sleeping peacefully, when Big Tef went down on his knees beside her, and started feeling her up. He started rubbing on her back, and later moved on to her thighs, and she was responding to it as if she was having one of her erotic dreams, and I'm starting to realize that Tef must have been responsible for my wife's dreams all along.

I tried to go in and put a stop to it, but it was as if my whole body was stuck in place. I couldn't move forward, or back, and I couldn't even lift my hand up to turn on the bedroom light and wake my wife up. I was frozen solid, it seemed, or I had somehow become mesmerized by the big black gangster.

I watched this guy Tef, as he started feeling up my wife's ass, and when she turned onto her back, he started working on her tits. With a growing disgust, I watched him rip open her pajama top, which sent the little blue buttons scattering all over the place. By this time, I'm thinking that maybe my wife was mesmerized too, because even though her blouse being wrenched apart should have been enough to startle her awake, she still looked to be fast asleep. She never wore a bra underneath her pajamas.




Lovers From Beyond 1.02



Tef is manhandling my wife's tits, while I'm standing in the doorway frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He's leering into her face as he's squeezing and groping, and then he turns and starts looking over at me, with a smile full of gold-capped teeth.

In dread, I start wondering what is going to happen next, and Big Tef might be anticipating the same thing, as he draws back onto his knees. He reaches out with those muscular arms of his, snagging his fingers into the edges of my wife's pajama bottoms, and with a malevolent patience, he proceeds to draw the pajamas away from her body. He smiles at me again, like a kid who knows he's getting away with something, and that there's nobody around that can stop him, as he grips the edges of my wife's panties and very slowly, very patiently, he pulls them off.

My wife may have felt some subconscious discomfort then, as she rolled to her side and absently reached out for the covers, but Big Tef merely reached out to her shoulder and thigh, and rolled her back. Then, as if he knew his ruse could be coming to an end at any moment, he gently lifted each of my wife's legs and placed them on his shoulders.

Helplessly I watched as he guided that monster cock of his into my wife, and I heard her scream as she opened her eyes and discovered what was happening to her. Big Tef's hand clamped around my wife's mouth, stifling her first scream and preventing any others from being ejected, and he started thrusting into her like a wild dog. He jostled her back and forth roughly, giving her two thirds of his length and being unable to squeeze any more of his giant cock into her, and in my mind, I can still see the terror in my wife's eyes as she's lying there with no recourse other than to wait the torture out.

Abruptly, Tef pulled back, leaving my wife so stunned that she didn't even have time to scream. She scrambled over onto her hands and knees, and was about to scramble away from him, and having her in this position might have been what Tef wanted all along. He shoved her face down into the mattress, pinning her with his weight until he'd penetrated her again, and again he brought his cruel hand around to cover my wife's mouth.

She was able to raise her head, though, enough to discern me standing there in the doorway and watching the entire rape take place before my eyes, and witnessing me not doing a damned thing to bring a halt to it.

Tef reached his climax, with one hand curled under my wife's chest and groping around all over her breasts, and the other hand still keeping her mouth shut. He stayed there, using the time to catch his breath, and I swear, even though he was the ghost of a dead man, that I heard him panting. And smiling, he's still smiling at me, this whole entire time.

Finally, he lets go of my wife, and he casually pushes her aside as he rolls away from her, and she's so distraught that she starts screaming out loud and doesn't even notice the man vanishing away into thin air.

I feel a short wave of nausea come over me, and right after, I notice that I'm able to move again, and I barely have the time to step aside when my wife comes crashing out of the second bedroom. She lashed out at me with her nails, screaming out something incoherent about me having been at fault, and a moment later, she's in the living room with the phone in her hand, and screaming at somebody on the other end.

The somebody she'd called was the emergency operator on nine-one-one, and a few minutes later, the police were pounding at the door. Between my wife's yelling, my senseless babbling, and their own growing anxiety, I really couldn't blame the officers for not understanding what had taken place. They put me in cuffs and took me in for questioning, and while I could have made a sensation of the whole thing by telling them the truth, I decided to clam up and let the cops try to put things together on their own.

They couldn't, of course. There was no semen ever found inside my wife, not from an out of control black thug, not from me, and not from anybody else. All the signs were there, though, that pointed to her having had sex with someone sporting an extra large penis, or an extra large dildo, but thankfully, there wasn't enough evidence to incriminate me into being acquainted on a cock to butt basis with Bubba in Cell Block D.

She must have been trying to get revenge on me, my lawyer argued, by faking a sexual assault on herself and trying relentlessly to have me imprisoned. The motive was clear; it was her anger at having to abruptly adjust to a lower income lifestyle that clearly, she did not agree with. It was the money, or the lack of it, the lawyer kept repeating, until the judge finally bought the spiel and dismissed the case, resulting in my acquittal.

I kept my mouth shut until it was all over. And after that terrible night, I have never again spoken with my ex-wife.

Whether you believe me or not, that's up to you. But as far as I'm concerned, that second bedroom in that ugly little, pasty green colored house is genuinely haunted. And the guy that haunts it, he's known as Big Tef. The reason they call him that is that he always manages to get away with something, and whether it was in his previous life, or in the afterlife, nothing, and I mean nothing, ever manages to stick to that guy.



Lovers From Beyond 1.03



Bill Tiers was completely alone now, and he was scared shitless.

"Guys?" He voiced out into the darkness, feeling the tension gripping his throat like the cold, clammy hand from a dead man.

There was nobody in the small, abandoned medical room, or anywhere around it for that matter, and he well knew it.

He opened his mouth, hoping to call out a second time, but only a strangled, mewling and pathetic noise issued from his vocal cords. The unmistakable murmur of a softly drawn breath jostled a shiver from him, and slowly, the man turned his head and pierced deep into the black. He could see nothing, of course, but he could feel a very real, very palpable presence there, standing just a few yards away.

It was his own stupid fault for being there, Bill knew, for having gone ghost hunting that night after he'd promised himself so many times that the last time was really, really going to be the last time. It had been months ago, he recalled, when he'd gotten spooked so badly on one of the crew's outings that he'd been threatening to quit nearly every single time now.

But no, Hank and the others had convinced him to tag along, and looking back on things, he had to admit that there was a certain thrill, a certain rush of adrenalin and sexiness in searching out the spirits of the no longer living. He got caught up in that feeling yet again. Yeah, that's exactly what had happened, he understood.

Hank was the jock of course; the guy who was continually prodding and poking away at phantoms, daring them and oftentimes insulting them to come out and show their ghastly faces on video. Hank was the guy whose face was in front of the camera nearly eighty percent of the time. He was the leader of the troop, always brazenly walking into the darkest confines and holding an EVP recorder out before him like a magic wand. Mr. Sex Appeal, he also was, because he possessed the handsome, boyish looks that the female viewers were always clamoring for.

George was the camera guy, although he'd been nicknamed Buttons by the small crew. Buttons was responsible for the sudden jerks and swerves that propagated the TV show, the guy who was always repeating the same two useless phrases over and over like a broken record. They were 'Oh, my God.' and 'Did you hear that?' Never anything more creative or intelligent than that, and perhaps that's all the audience was willing to accept from him.

The last two people on the team were Susie, the blonde with the pretty face who was monitoring the handful of cameras they'd set up earlier, and next to her was a second cameraman, Eli, otherwise and good-naturedly known as the token black guy. The two of them wouldn't move from the abandoned hospital's lobby, unless they caught sight or sound of something unusual, and in tandem, they would both head out to investigate, and since they weren't the stars of the show, their findings would always be negligible.

As usual, anything and everything hinged on Bill, the isolated man gulped. Bill was the person the TV audience never, ever saw. He was the guy armed with only a mere flashlight, the guy who would walk a few rooms ahead of the ghost hunters, or stand way down at the end of an obscure hallway. Bill was the man who would slam doors shut or knock over chairs, or flash a filtered light across a wall just as the team was approaching.

Bill had gotten pretty good at his task, too, as he could produce some very convincing orbs on occasion, just by cupping his hand around the end of a flashlight with a colored lens on it. Also, Bill's frame made for casting a pretty good silhouette from elevated windows, if he darkened his flashlight just so and propped it up between his feet. By spreading his feet quickly, and allowing the flashlight to drop down, the camera would record what looked like a fleeing specter. It was all done to sensationalize events, of course, to keep the viewers tuning in every week, and this in turn led to his crew getting their paychecks on time.

There was a downside to Bill's job, however. He always had to be far enough away not to be seen or heard by any of the sound recording equipment, otherwise he would ruin the entire take and they'd have to do the scene all over again. He was the man who had to crawl into some very tight spaces, or climb up onto precarious perches, in order to make the team's exploits that much more convincing. And if anybody were to run into some unwitting vagrant taking a snooze, or some druggie having himself a fix, chances were that it wouldn't be Hank or Buttons, or any of the others, but it would be the intrepid Bill Tiers instead coming face to face with danger.

That night was supposed to be like any other night, Bill lamented, as he heard that same subtle breath again, but this time from a different direction. It was closer to him now, he was sure of it, and the realization made him cringe into a corner of cobwebby and long unused cabinets. He shuddered.

It had started off like any other night, with Hank and Buttons prodding and poking around all over the hospital, while getting some good footage that would be spliced and edited into a coherent stream later. This was the point when Hank usually decided what type of alleged supernatural events he wanted to film, and Bill was soon given various instances to fake.

The first few events had gone off without a hitch, with Hank giving a continual soliloquy about the hospital's lurid history of electroshock and experimental medicines, and the cruelty of its staff towards those with unfit minds that had once been imprisoned there. Homestead Valley, California, that was where the hospital was located, but Hank had already come up with a catchy label for it.

"More like Dead Valley," Hank's voice had echoed down the long hallway, his voice piercing far into the darkness to where Bill stood. Bill could just imagine Hank staring into the night-vision camera and nodding. "Yeah, that's it. This place is more like Dead Valley Hospital."

Bill's job had been to step over a short stretch of crusty linoleum tiles, while wearing shoes with heels hard enough to guarantee that the camera's expensive and sensitive microphone would pick up his movements. He'd seem the glimmer of Hank's flashlight, and he'd already leaned his weight forward to take that first step. That's when the real ghosts had shown up.

The first one unleashed a not quite faint and incredibly diabolical laughter, sounding like a cross between Batman's nemesis, The Joker, and some hyena gone insane.

Bill thought back, but no, he couldn't recall Hank having told any of the others to issue such a disturbing cackle, nor did he believe that either Eli or Susie had a larynx strong enough to make such a noise. He caught murmurs of Hank's nervous voice, still a reasonable distance from where Bill stood, and possibly after emitting his own anxious gulp, Hank must have decided to go on with the show.

Bill scrambled across the hallway, and into the doorway of the old infirmary, and that's when the next horde of phantasms took their cue. They were like a miniature stampede, running, laughing and screaming, just a few yards from the short route Bill had just taken, and disconcerted, Bill had swung his open-mouthed face over to see if one of them was following him into the medical room.

He saw one all right, a real, honest to goodness ghost.

It was some sort of vague creature, pale white and nearly transparent, and it seemed to be wearing a white cloak over its shoulders. The ghost was so tall that only the bottom half of its head was visible in the doorway, and its facial features were as blurry and formless as the rest of its body.

Of course, Bill had freaked, and in a frantic dash to get to the opposite side of the nurse's station, he'd upended not one, but two old metal gurneys that had been left behind for decades. He'd also upended himself, and in the flurry to recover, he supposed the clamor he was making would cause the extremely sensitive microphone on Buttons' camera to blow up right in the cameraman's face. Without the luxury of an active flashlight, only by barging into the cabinets on the far end of the room did Bill discover that he'd reached the opposite wall, and he rapidly maneuvered his body to face the threat he'd seen at the door.

The specter wasn't only still visible, but it had stepped inside the door now, the top of its head nearly grazing the ceiling and the thing probably standing at eight feet tall. His next impression was that he was looking at an albino version of the Moth Man, perhaps his second cousin the Dove Man, and this terrifying image coupled with his ludicrous interpretation made Bill blurt out his own diabolical hyena laugh as he snatched in the dark at whatever lay on the cabinets' countertop. His fingers blindly grasped at ancient paperwork, and fumbled past some jar which he knocked over and which made an unholy clamor all its own, when his reason finally started to kick in.

What if he accidentally closed his grip on some old, rusty scalpel? He speculated. Gangrene and Tetanus, Bill used the words to steady and calm his rampant thoughts. And what was rust again? Only ferric oxide, of course! High school science at its finest! He thought to himself.

He focused on the phantom standing before the only way out, surprised to discover that it had vanished. Not quite relieved, Bill's head darted left and right, in case the thing was sliding up next to him. But no, he seemed to be alone now.

Using the respite to catch his breath, Bill groped into his cargo pocket for his flashlight. It was a six inch, tactical LED deal, with about a dozen little bulbs that were practically guaranteed to bewilder the most powerful of phantasms, and he'd barely encircled his hand around it, when he heard a new uproar from the hall outside.

It was Buttons and Hank, both men screaming their heads off, and apparently running in a direction contrary to the one Bill was standing in.

Bill took a wary step toward the door, only to quickly cower back when he saw a plethora of mental patients in pale white hospital gowns traveling past. They loped, they stumbled, they rolled along on wheelchairs, these ghosts of the deceased insane, and they mumbled or chuckled or drooled as they went. There were dozens of them, it seemed, all headed down the hall toward Buttons and Hank.

Looks like you've got your hands full there, Hank, Bill thought, clamping a hand over his mouth before another eruption of hyena laughter spilled out of him.

All thoughts of turning on his ultra flashlight were gone, as he wanted in no way whatsoever to draw attention to his precarious spot. Instead, Bill tried his best to bring his breathing and heartbeat under control, and to avoid chuckling like a loon, even after the ghost of an angry old woman clambered along past the doorway, with a bag of insulin swaying about wildly on the tall rolling stand she was dragging along.

Like a loon!

The ghastly parade continued on down the hall, as if more concerned with appearing on camera than in doing any actual haunting, and Bill rambled through his options for an escape route. Most of the entrances had padlocks and chains on them, and had had such measures for many years, except for the main entry they'd used to come in, where Eli and Susie were stationed. That meant that the entire horde of doom stood between him and the most logical way out. Breaking a window wouldn't work, because there were metal grates on the windows on both the first and second floors, and the third floor was just too far up. Climbing up onto the roof seemed feasible, but he figured any fire escapes had long since been secured, and his only other option seemed to be waiting up there until the sun came up. Could the ghosts of mental patients climb up onto the rooftop and wreak their unholy havoc on top of the hospital, he wondered?

That was when Bill figured out that he wasn't completely alone in the infirmary.

"Guys?" He'd asked, just a couple of moments ago.

The presence hovered near him, and if Bill could have shrunk into the tall cabinet behind him, he would have. His hand encircled his little, powerful flashlight, and he wondered if ghosts would call other ghosts to join them, once they had their prey cornered.

"I've got a flashlight." Bill said, as he pulled the high-tech device out. "And I'm not afraid to use it!"

He really was turning into a loon, he thought. He had to get out of that building before whatever psychosis he was going through became permanent.

Bill pushed down on the rubber-covered button, only to discover that the flashlight no longer functioned.

"Well, that fucking figures." He mumbled, stashing it back into his pocket. No way he was leaving the light behind, as he'd paid too much money for it. Next, he faced in the direction he assumed the spirit was standing. "Listen, whatever you are. You don't want to mess with me." Right after he said it, he fully considered how confrontational his words might have sounded to a phantasm. "Look, I'm not any kind of tough guy. That would be Hank. If you're looking for somebody to tussle with, he's your man. I'm more of a pussycat."

The presence made no move, neither fore nor aft.

"Okay, what you really want to do, is to go into the light." Bill nodded, hoping he sounded convincing. "That's right. You want to head into the light, and then you'll carry on, or move on, or whatever the hell it is that ghosts are supposed to do."

He could sense the ghost taking a step closer to him.

"Oh, shit." He mumbled, his back so tight against the cabinet he was surprised he didn't have splinters all over his shirt. In exasperation, Bill gritted his teeth and spat out, "Look, if you're going to kill me, just go ahead and do it! Just... Just do it quickly, okay? Don't make me suffer all night, because that's a really cruel thing to do to me. You know I can't get out of here because there's only one real way out, and you know all your ghost buddies are standing out there in the hallway, right between the only exit and me. So, whatever you're going to do, just do it and get it over with!"

The ghost swept forward, forcing Bill to close his eyes and cringe. He braced himself for the worst.

Something cold and frightening came up near his face, and he shuddered. He even moaned a little, and he wasn't too macho to admit that later, if he somehow got out of that gruesome hospital alive.

Bill felt the coldness pressing against his face, against his mouth, and his lips felt the very distinct outline of a single finger pressed on them.

Like a loon!

The finger withdrew, slightly.

"You want me to shut up, huh?" Bill chuckled darkly. "You want me to keep quiet while you murder me? Well, bullshit to that! I'm going to holler up a storm! I'm going to make such a ruckus that I'd be raising the dead, if they weren't already raised in this place!"

The ghost battered him against the ancient wood of the cabinet, hard enough for Bill to hear parts of it crack against his weight. What felt like two hands were up in front of his mouth, covering it entirely, and trying to prevent any further noises from blurting out of his throat.

Though his body was racked with fear, Bill's senses began to perceive something else. The ghost was trying to protect him from the other maniacs roaming the hospital. And there was more, now that he could hone in on it. There was some kind of sympathy evident, some kind of motherly warmth there. He was sure of it.

Bill spoke in a more subdued tone. "You're not trying to hurt me?"

The ghost grabbed at his hand, and tugged, much stronger than he ever imagined a ghost could. Bill's arm stretched out, and got pulled toward the door.

"You want me to come with you?" Bill asked.

The ghost tugged at his arm again, and even though he couldn't see a thing in front of his eyes, this time Bill followed.

They went into the hallway, making a turn that would lead them even further from the only viable exit, and further disheartening Bill. Why hadn't the ghost killed him in the infirmary, when it had the chance? Was it leading him somewhere else so that it could kill him, a place where his body would never be found? Or worse, where it would be found in a dozen bloody, little pieces?

Inadvertently, he kicked something bulky and made of metal, and the first thing that came to mind was some old, industrial bedpan. The ghost halted and seemed to quickly sweep over him, as if attempting to hold him back from kicking the unseen item twice. Once the echo of his collision had died away, the ghost took up the lead again.

They came to another stop, and this time, the ghost carefully led Bill's arm out, and placed his hand on the edge of a rail. Bill clutched it, realizing that they'd come to the top of a stairwell, and that the ghost wanted him to descend the steps. He'd been half fearing that the ghost was leading him into an open elevator shaft, and he wouldn't have even known it until he'd taken that fateful first step in.

What was that joke? Watch that first step, buster, because it's a long way down!

Like a loon!

"So, you want me to go down the stairs?" Bill asked. "Is that it?"

The ghost was holding his free hand now, but it was nowhere near as insistent as it had previously been. And the hands, Bill noticed, they were much smaller, and felt much softer than his. They were a woman's hands, he was sure of it.

Bill gulped, and started down the stairs. He trampled over papers, and over a couple of things that cracked like glass. He used both hands to maneuver a turn, never letting go of the rail, and he continued down another set of steps until finally he stood at some lower level Hank hadn't taken them to earlier.

"What is this, a basement?"

In reply, the ghost took his hand again, and started escorting him down a hall. There were gurneys here and there, and the ghost did its best to lead Bill around them, but more than once, he stubbed his toe, which wasn't so bad because of the thick shoes he'd put on. Stubbing his fingers, on the other hand, had him waving his hand in pain and uttering some pretty vile curses, albeit at a very low volume.

After what seemed an eternity, the ghost halted and did something strange. It turned him toward what he thought might be a wall, and it seemed to be embracing Bill from behind, and pushing him forward at the same time. The fear began to course through him once again, of elevator shafts or industrial incinerators, and he reached out and found the edges of a doorway. He gripped both edges of the doorframe, and braced himself for the tug of war of his life. The ghost simply held Bill, neither pushing him forward, nor letting him go free.

Bill smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, feeling how dry it had gotten. "So, you want me to go inside this room? And you're not trying to kill me?"

The ghost tightened its embrace of him, and now, he could swear he felt boobs pressing against his back.

After releasing a long breath, Bill slackened his arms, and allowed the ghost to push him into the unknown. He waved his arms around, cautiously, and in case there were any solid objects within range, but there didn't seem to be anything anywhere near him.

"Okay, so what happens next?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

He got one anyway.

"You'll be safe here." A woman's raspy voice drifted over, sounding as real as if another person was standing just a couple of feet to his side.

"Who said that?"

"My name's Julia, but most of the candy-stripers just call me Jules, or Julie." The woman replied. "You got a smoke?"

Did a ghost just ask for a cigarette? Bill wondered. He grasped his head in both of his hands, because he really, really felt like he was losing his sanity. In an abandoned mental hospital, of all places. Oh, doctor, get the padded jacket for me, will ya? 




Lovers From Beyond 1.03



Like a loon!

He tried to speak, only to feel his lips flapping away uselessly. Concentrating, he tried a second time. "How, how do you, uh, know that I'll be safe here?"

"The nuts don't like this room." Julie replied. "They stay away from here."

Well, that makes perfect sense! Bill thought. Perfectly natural, because nuts in a nut factory are naturally abhorrent to certain rooms due to... Hell, he couldn't even begin to figure out what the reason was. He'd just about given up on trying to figure out how he was able to speak with a ghost, on top of that.

What would Hank have done in such a situation? He'd have said 'Just wing it and get the shot.' That's what he'd say, Bill knew. And so, he started winging it.

"Why do the other ghosts stay away from this room, and you don't?" He asked.

"Because I'm not a nut, like the rest of them."

Bill opened his mouth to reply, when he felt a strange shudder course past him, like an invisible wave of energy. "What was that?"

"That was midnight." Julie answered. "That means that we're in the same place now, because I brought you into a spot where the energy pools around and makes magic happen. You're in the ghost world now."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll show you." Julie's footsteps were clearly heard, as she stepped over toward where the doorway was. "Close your eyes for a second, because the lights can be a little bright in here."

Close my eyes? Bill thought, puzzled. He was already standing in a pitch-black room! What the hell did he need to close his eyes for?

"You got your eyes closed?" Julie asked.

Bill went ahead and humored the ghost, even though he didn't see any point in closing his eyes. "Yeah."

Suddenly, the color behind his eyelids went from a deep black, to a bright red, as if some strong lighting had just been turned on. This instant illumination disconcerted him, as much as the idea of having a conversation with a ghost did, but he fought back yet another rush of fear, and waited until his eyes had acclimated themselves to the change.

After about a minute, Bill lifted his eyelids, and took in a small, nearly empty room. The walls were a bright, glossy white, and the floor was covered in small blue tiles. In the center of the room was a small reservoir for collecting water, and along the wall, were hung three industrial hoses clamped upright by thick metal guards. The hosing stations were each a couple of feet apart, and they appeared plenty functional and very unlike the other, more decrepit parts of the old hospital he'd seen earlier.

Slowly, Bill turned around and took in the sight of the ghost that had brought him into the room. She stood at maybe five foot four, wore a white doctor's frock over a white blouse, white pantyhose and white sneakers, and on her head, she had on an old-style nurse's cap. The woman beneath the uniform looked to be in her mid-forties, with a countenance that looked both stern and wise, red hair styled into a bouffant, and lips tinged in a simple, soft red. She had a motherly look to her, somewhat attractive, but she also looked dejected, and tired.

Bill gulped. "You're real."

"We're all real here." Julie nodded. "We're all the same here."

"You mean, even me?"

Julie nodded again.

"Am I a ghost?" Bill asked, mentally tracing his steps in trying to figure out when he had crossed over from the land of the living. Had Julie really pushed him into an elevator shaft somewhere?

"I can't really answer that." The nurse shrugged. "You are and you're not. You're in an in-between place where ghosts and living people are both real."

"Why'd you bring me here?"

"Because if I hadn't, the ghosts would have found you sooner or later, and they would have killed you." Julie explained. "Then you would have become one of them, and you'd be haunting this place forever. "

"So, I'm still a real person here? And so are they?"

"Right." Julie nodded. "And, you can defend yourself."

"Why would I need to defend myself?" Bill asked, as he rushed to the door and looked out. His eyes took in a well-lighted corridor, with long light enclosures, bright white walls, and simple, speckled brown floor tiles that were twelve inches across. He could see doors with nametag sliders on them, announcing the purpose of the room behind them, and a handful of extra gurneys lined up against the walls. He was not in the present, he realized, as he darted back into the room and shut the door behind him. He turned to address the nurse, who was leaning lazily against a wall and reminiscing something or other. "Are you saying that the ghosts will try to attack me?"

"They will, only they're not ghosts here. They're all as real as you are. It's not as scary as it sounds, though. If they were old and feeble when they were alive, they'll be old and feeble in this place. You can push them out of the way, or outrun them if you have to. There are a couple of real creeps in here, though, that you'll want to steer clear of. They will rip your heart out and eat it right in front of you, if you give them a chance to do it."

Bill shivered. "I want to get out of here."

"You can't. The magic will hold you here until it goes away. Once the sun starts coming up, you'll be back in your world, but until then, I'm afraid that you're stuck with us."

Bill tried to grasp as much of the information as he could. "Okay, so why won't the ghost people come in here, into this specific room?"

"This used to be a washroom." Julie pushed herself away from the wall and took a few steps toward the center of the room. "We'd wash off bedpans and gurneys in here, anything made out of metal that had gotten any sort of bodily fluids on them. In sixty-seven, they stopped using this as a washroom, and whenever somebody died in this hospital, their body was brought down here until the coroner could come by and pick it up.

"The people that died upstairs, I guess they didn't know they were dead, as their ghosts were confused and standing beside their bodies, right next to their beds. They'd watch as the doctors examined their corpses, and they came along as their body was rolled into the elevator, and moved down here. When the gurney their body was on was wheeled into this room, that's when they figured out they were dead, and they didn't like knowing they were dead, so they don't like to come in here."

Julie pointed high up on the walls, where two prominent air vents were seen. "This place has good ventilation, so all the gases a dead person gives off are quickly blown up and out through a shaft that leads to the roof. That's why they started using this room to keep the dead patients, so they wouldn't stink up the whole place. Besides, the service elevator is just a few yards down the hall." She laughed. "One time, the orderlies were wheeling a body out, while a deliveryman was bringing in a dolly full of milk crates. You should have seen the look on that poor man's face. What about that smoke?"

"Sorry, I'm not a smoker." Bill shook his head. "What about you? What's your deal?"

Julie sighed, and stepped further away from him. "I was working with a new girl, and we'd been asked to sedate a patient on the third floor, so he could be moved into another room. It seems he'd decided to redecorate the walls with his own feces, and the orderlies were assigned to clean the room up. I asked the new girl to prepare a syringe with one of the benzodiazepines were we using back then, and either she didn't put enough in, or she used something else entirely, but I didn't have time to supervise her because I was busy helping hold the patient down. The girl gave me the syringe, I administered the shot, and we waited a few minutes for it to take effect.

"The patient was faking it, and when two of the orderlies moved away to get the straight-jacket ready, there were only two people still left holding him down. Well, the man turned on the both of us, and he managed to grab me. He bit me in the neck, deep enough to severe my carotid artery, and I bled to death before anybody could get the bleeding stopped."

"That's... That's horrible." Bill grimaced.

"You're telling me." Julie said. "I guess my death really caught me by surprise, because I wasn't ready to leave my life yet. I've been haunting the hospital ever since." She turned to face Bill. "You're not the type that gets a kick out of looking at dead bodies, are you?"

"No! Why would you even ask me that?"

"It's one of the few tricks us ghosts can do." Julie elaborated. "We can choose to appear like we normally did in life, like I am now, or like we looked at the moment we died, and scare the crap out of living people. Would you like to see what I looked like at the moment I passed away?"

"No!"

Julie grinned a mischievous, malicious grin, and for a moment, Bill wondered if she was going to do it anyway. Her countenance soon softened, however.

"You're the squeamish type, aren't you?" Julie asked. "Not the type I'd expect from a bunch of Scooby Doo ghost hunters. That's when I died, by the way. In nineteen-sixty-nine, the first year that cartoon came out. So, I've been roaming the corridors here for over forty years. How do I look for an eighty-five year old woman?"

Quietly, Bill took in her form. She had a pleasant enough look to her, when he didn't consider that she'd been dead for longer than he'd been alive. And under that loose hospital frock, he knew that Julie had some kind of sizable boobs, because they'd been pressed tight against his back earlier.

"You look okay, I guess." He squirmed, because flirting with dead women was definitely not one of his stronger suits.

"Pfft." Julie scorned. "I would have preferred to bring that man named Hank down here instead of you, except he's nearly young enough to be my son."

Bill was just realizing that Julie had been insulted by his off-handed remark, and tactfully, he decided to change the subject. "I've always wondered about this. Can you tell me how a building gets haunted in the first place?"

"Maybe because a lot of people died inside it?" Julie shrugged. "Satanism was pretty popular here in Homestead Valley, around the time that I was killed. Maybe someone did a ritual here in nineteen-sixty-six, and that's when the ghosts started becoming trapped."

"Why nineteen-sixty-six?"

"Because that's the year on all of the calendars I've seen here." Julie admitted. "This in-between place hasn't aged since then. No matter what year any of these ghosts died, we're all present in nineteen-sixty-six. I can show you one of the calendars, if you'd like to see one."

Bill had a better idea. "You said that if a ghost pushes me, I can push it back, right? I want to go out to the lobby, and see what my friends are doing. Maybe they're in trouble."

Julie scrutinized him for a long pause, as if she hadn't expected Bill to have any guts at all. "In that case, why don't you follow me?"

They left the former washroom, and crept up the flight of stairs they'd used previously, and the whole time, Bill was trying to decipher exactly what sort of pocket dimension they were now in. The stairs were clean and well lighted, the handrail might have needed polishing, but otherwise everything was fully functional and matched the era Julie had mentioned. It was as if someone had taken a snapshot, or better yet, a virtual tour from a specific date in 1966, and made it three-dimensional.

Maybe he was a virtual person? Bill imagined.

The two didn't stop at the first floor, but at Julie's suggestion, they kept ascending the steps until the reached the second floor.

Bill had a thought. "Will the ghosts come after you?"

"Oh, they do sometimes." Julie admitted. "They even manage to kill me every so often, if enough of them corner me and gang up on me. When that happens, I always black out for a while, and later, I find myself standing inside the infirmary and scratching my head at what took place. I couldn't begin to explain why that happens. Maybe the universe just has a twisted sense of humor."

Bill stared into the older woman's face in disbelief.

"If any of the nut-bags start coming after us, you really need to get your motor running." Julie grimly explained. "If they kill you, your body will be found in your present, but your soul will end up here, in the past. And let me tell you, haunting old buildings is not all it's cracked up to be."

Bill peered down the hall, making sure no dead souls were on their way to maul him. "What happens next?"

Julie stepped forward and took the lead. "I'll walk you to another stairwell, one that lies just past the lobby. We'll go down and take a peek, and see if your friends are still inside the hospital. If they aren't, I guess we'll just find somewhere else to hole up until morning. Or maybe we'll go back to the washroom, if you want to wait down there. That's usually the safest place in this entire building."

Bill nodded and followed, although a part of him wished they'd never left the washroom, and another part of him wished he'd never left his motel room that night. He found himself cursing Hank for having talked him into taking part in the ghost hunt. He also hoped he wasn't about to become the newest resident in the haunted hospital.

Next, he thought of Julie. Bill could barely stand the thought of staying inside that building for the rest of the night, let alone for forty years. How did Julie pass her time? Waiting tirelessly in her little nursing station, or staring out a window somewhere? What kinds of things could she possibly contemplate for over forty years?

In his mind, Bill considered what he'd miss the most, if their roles were reversed. He'd miss having contact with other people, miss hearing people laugh, or watching them smile after he made some off-color joke. He'd miss holding a woman's hand, or having a woman slide up next to him, and leaning her head on his shoulder as they gazed into a sunset somewhere along the crew's many stops all across the country. And poor Julie, poor, poor Julie, had been trapped in that decrepit old building for such a long time.

She'd been staying away from him, he sensed, ever since she'd become a corporeal creature. But when she was a ghost, when he couldn't see her, hadn't she'd been covering his mouth, or holding his hand, or pressing her body tightly against his? Granted, Julie didn't have a whole lot of choice in her actions, and the situation was one of peril, but Bill had truly felt a motherly sense of protection coming through, a maternal kindness. Ever since she'd introduced Bill into that strange limbo universe, however, she seemed to have become really shy. 

And her reaction to that comment Bill had made about her looks, well, that only proved his point; that Julie was very lonely, and yearning for human interaction. She probably hadn't spoken with another human being for ages, and here was dumb Bill, thinking solely about himself and his predicament, and too naïve to understand the signs she was giving off.

He could change that, he thought, and a sly grin started forming on his face. He'd picked up a lot of snappy pick-up lines and salacious witticisms from watching Hank preying on women in bars all across the country, and the devil in him decided to use some of those lines on Julie. The thought of messing around with the ghost of an older woman was even more appealing, when he considered that it was something Hank could not lay claim to, and that hunky bastard did love to brag about his physical conquests when they were on the road.

Bill took in the back of Julie's marching form; she was several inches shorter than he was, and her waist was a little thick, but he didn't mind that so much. Her posterior looked meaty and sensuous, as it swayed back and forth with her strides, but he could not bring himself to visualize the woman wearing anything else other than the antiquated nurse uniform she was wearing.

What were sexual mores like in the late sixties? He wondered. That was when the whole hippie movement was going on, right? And hadn't the older, conservative types hated that, the people that were around Julie's age? What would she think of him, if he started flirting with her?

There was only one way to find out, Bill knew. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, how old did you say you were?"

"Twenty-five." Julie replied, and he caught a trace of humor in those words. "Don't tell me that women in your time give up their ages without a fight."

"Well, I'm thirty-two. And I have no problem with admitting that to people. So, how old were you, when you became a ghost?"

"I already told you that. I was forty-five when I died."

"Wow." Bill kidded. "That's only a couple of years past the age of the dinosaurs."

Julie's head turned to the side, long enough to give him a short dosage of the evil eye. "I see that good manners are no longer in vogue."

Bill already had his next line ready. "So, what do you dress like, when you're not at work?"

"Like your mother does." Julie snapped.

The sharp retort nearly made him laugh, and it threw his remaining lines into confusion. He'd managed to tick Julie off, he knew that much, and while this wasn't completely unexpected, it did make him adjust tactics. In his mind, he groped at how a stud like Hank might quickly regain control of the situation.

"You know what I heard," Bill began. "I heard that after a certain age, when women haven't gotten laid in a long time, they just forget how to kiss. I heard they start to get cobwebs down there."

That did it. Julie spun around and openly glared at him.

He'd been expecting it, though. Bill grabbed the nurse by the shoulders and pushed her against the corridor wall, next to some bulletin board with a picture of a red Volkswagen pinned on it, and under it, half a sheet of paper on which was scribbled the headline 'Slug Bug For Sale'. He came in close to Julie, much closer than he'd dare if this were a woman he'd run into at a bar, and he ended up with his chest pressed against Julie's head, and her boobs mashed against his abdomen.

Julie stared up into his face, disconcerted because she was so angry at being teased, and all of a sudden she had a man's body squashing her into the wall. And that look Bill had on his face, she hadn't seen that look on a man's face in ages. She shivered.

Bill brought his mouth in closer, only to have Julie quickly turn her head aside. This didn't deter him, as his lips grazed against her cheek, before he began planting kisses on the older woman's face and neck. He clasped both her hands with his, and stretched their arms out to either side as he continued his sensual barrage. Julie's smell penetrated deeply into his nostrils; she smelled of herbs and spices, of the woods, and of smoky leather all at the same time. He even paused from his kisses to take in more of the strange, nearly masculine fragrance.

"What is that perfume you're wearing?"

"It's called Cabochard." Julie sounded breathless for a moment, before she chuckled nervously. "It's for a strong woman, or so the advertisement said."

Her head was still facing sharply away from Bill's. "So, it's true. You have forgotten how to kiss." He pulled his head and chest back to gauge her reaction.

Julie's cheeks were blushing, cute, rose colored blossoms, and her mouth was open slightly, exuding quick breaths. Still, she refused to face him.

Slowly, Bill released her hands, and stepped back to encourage some space between them. He'd probably gone too far, he realized. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have teased you, either. I'm sorry." When Julie did not reply, but quietly lowered her head, he assumed he'd really offended the woman. Who was he kidding? He was no Hank, he was just the lackey who made noises in empty buildings and pretended to be a ghost for a stupid TV show. Suddenly embarrassed, Bill decided he should leave. "I'll find my own way back to the lobby, I guess."




Lovers From Beyond 1.03



He'd taken about a dozen strides, when he wondered if he should thank Julie for having helped him out earlier, but when turned around to do so, he discovered that she'd vanished. He could have still used her help, he knew, as he resumed his stroll.

"What a night, what a night." He mumbled, as he came to another stairwell. Hoping he wouldn't end up descending into a bloodthirsty pack of ghosts-turned-flesh, and end up getting chased all over the hospital by them, he took a deep breath and took the first step down.

"Bill, wait." Julie's voice called out to him.

He turned back, unnerved that the woman had crept up to only a few feet away from him, without him even knowing it. Or perhaps, she'd just materialized there.

"I was married, back in 1969." She said. "I just didn't wear my wedding ring while I was at work, because I didn't want to risk getting my finger pulled off by one of the crazy people that stayed here. I suppose my husband's been dead for a long time now."

"Well, I never said thanks for how you helped me out, so thanks for that." Bill said. "And I'm sorry if I was a little forward with you."

"No, you were right." Julie had that uncomfortable look on her face, and she quickly turned her head aside. "I have forgotten how to kiss a man, and how to act around a man, because it's been so long since I've been with one." She chuckled. "And my Terry, he wasn't a terribly romantic sort, anyway."

Bill hardly knew what to say next.

"Will you," Julie looked squeamish. "Will you try again with me?"

There was so much desperation in the woman's voice, so much loneliness, that Bill gave up on any thoughts he had of upstaging Hank. This wouldn't be a passionless, one night stand, he promised himself, it would be two human beings coming together, fusing together to produce a brief, but at the same time eternal, expulsion of love and tenderness. At that moment, he felt more like a romance novel hero than he ever had in his life.

Bill stepped over, looming next to the expectant nurse like a promise of bliss. "Are you going to kiss me like an old lady?"

"I'll show you how old ladies kiss." Julie crossed the dwindling divide between them, grasping at Bill's collar and jerking his head down.

The woman's lips pressed hard on his, bringing a sensual heat into his mouth that gave him goose bumps, and he deliberated over pinning the nurse against the wall again.

Instead, Julie pushed him, and he suddenly found his own back pressed against the hall, and her smaller body pressed steamily against his. Their kisses became a wrestling match, their heads armaments that warred against one another, and heat began to sizzle from where their lower halves touched.

Julie drew her head back, her eyes wide, her lips quivering with desire. "Who's against the wall this time?"

In reply, Bill reached around the woman's back and grasped the great swells of her butt. He squeezed a buttock tight in each hand, and was rewarded by a full, lusty moan from Julie. She forgot her kisses, as he kneaded and her played with her ass, and she simply set her head against his chest and let the carnal sensations course through her like small tidal waves.

"Not bad, for an old lady." Bill kept up his teasing.

"I'll show you an old lady." Julie grunted, snatching at Bill's wrist, and directing him over toward the stairwell. She nearly started dragging him up the stairs. "Come on!"

"Where are we going?"

"The faculty lounge on the third floor." Julie replied.

Like a pair of horny teenagers, the excited couple throttled up the stairs, and on down the first long hallway they came to. They passed an older black man in a janitor's suit, who wielded a mop and broom and glanced back at them in irritation.

"You watch you're step over that'a way, I just mopped up and it's still slippery..."

His voice was cut off as Julie detoured Bill into a side door with an opaque glass window on it. The glass rattled as the door slapped shut.

Bill took in the wide room; to one side, he saw a wide table with a polished wood top, and on it, an old-style coffee maker, alongside a small assortment of ceramic mugs, and a nondescript box of pastries. Two large round tables, also with polished wood tops, took up the center of the room, and toward the far end, sat a couple of long and identical couches, each one a dark and leathery root beer brown, and both showing signs of wear on the armrests.

A studious looking man stood by a window, wearing a dark gray business suit nearly entirely covered by a smock similar to Julie's, and he glanced at Julie and Bill with a look of casual interest, and lastly, a portly woman sat on one of the couches. She was probably a secretary, Bill guessed, as she wore a dutiful coat and skirt of dark brown polyester, and an orange blouse with some sort of large ribbon on its collar.

"Both of you, get out of the lounge!" Julie ordered, quickly scampering over and pushing at what Bill assumed was a doctor. "Get out, get out!"

"What's gotten into you, Julie?" The man allowed himself to be herded toward the door.

"Nothing yet!" The secretary belched out a loud, raucous laugh. "But just give her a minute or two, and you'll have your answer!"

"Doctor Wellman, you need to leave." Julie was adamant as she pressured him toward the door. "I need to have this room to myself so I can talk privately with my new friend. Go to your office and finish your coffee there."

"Talk, she says." Wellman smiled. "Julie, you look like you've just seen a live one."

The portly secretary was already on her feet, and striding across the room. "Let's go, doc. I've been wanting to give you an oral exam for a bit, if you know what I mean."

"Oh?" Wellman's eyes rose. "Well, in that case, I'll meet you in my office!"

Bill jumped back and yelped as the man vanished before his eyes. "Didn't expect that." He mumbled in his defense.

The secretary came in close to Julie. "Are there any more live ones in the building?"

Julie nodded. "I saw at least two more."

"Well, maybe I'll go downstairs and snag one for myself." The secretary replied, with a smug, mischievous look on her face. "After I examine the good doctor, of course."

The portly woman vanished a second later.

Bill had been trying to make heads of tails of the situation, but now that he and Julie were the only occupants in the lounge, he hurried over to the long row of windows. Something very much like daylight was pouring through them, but the only thing visible on the opposite side of the glass was a blur of colors. Barely, he could discern a parking lot and a grassy field past it. "What happens if I open a window?"

"You'll see the same mix of colors you're seeing now." Julie informed him. "If you do manage to set foot outside, you'll reappear inside the old washroom. We've all tried it, plenty of times."

"I wish I'd brought along a camera with me." Bill sighed. "I wonder if a camera would even work in here, wherever we are. How many ghosts are in this hospital, anyway?"

"Oh, quite a few of them." Julie stepped up behind him. "The doctor tallied up at least thirty patients, and eight staff members, when he took a census once. Some of the ghosts don't allow themselves to be seen right away, so we end up having new ones pop up every once in a while."

"New ones?" Bill huffed in fascination.

Julie swept her hands up Bill's back, from behind, and she reached around to both caress his chest and to press her large breasts against him. "Is that all you want to talk about?"

Bill smiled. He had one of Hank's lines ready to launch. "Let's head over and have a seat on the couch. You can sit on my lap, and we'll talk about the first thing that comes up."

Julie's hand had crept down to his crotch. "Too late. Something's already up. I'll see you on the couch, mister."

Julie vanished, and Bill pretty much found himself running over to the lounge door. He turned the lock on it, hoping no enraged lunatic patients would come up there and interrupt them, although he knew they could very well pop into the room at will if they so chose to, before he scurried to the back of the room. In his mind, he wondered what Hank would do in such a situation, and knowing the younger man's inclinations, he figured Hank would strip down naked, set himself into some erotic pose, and give any potential sleeping partners the come hither.

He wasn't wearing that many articles of clothing anyway, Bill considered. A tee shirt, jeans and boxers, basically, and in the span of the next minute or two, he'd shucked everything off and set his attire in a spot where he would be sure to reach it if he was in a hurry. After taking a deep breath, he set his nude butt down on the dark brown leather couch, finding it cold, sticky and loud, until his buttocks warmed the spot up, and after that, the couch was merely sticky and loud.

"This situation is weird, weird, weird." He commented, to nobody in particular.

The lights in the room went off, a motion that threatened to break Bill's resolve, and even though there was plenty of pleasant, soft illumination coming from the windows.

"That was just me turning off the lights, so don't get the jitters." Julie's soft voice drifted through the room. "I'm not the kind of girl that likes strutting around a room and showing her bare hiney to the entire world."

The timid words made Bill realize something else. Maybe what was acceptable in Bill's day wouldn't fly with an old fashioned woman from the sixties. To play it safe, he decided not to take the initiative, but instead, he'd follow Julie's lead.

She appeared, boldly nude, but nevertheless covering her large breasts with her crossed arms. Brightly visible through the glare from the windows were the woman's wide hips, and a crisscross thatch of orange pubic hair. Noticing the direct illumination, and becoming unnerved by it, Julie rapidly stepped over to take a seat beside Bill, but as she began to lower herself onto the couch, Bill caught her by the waist and tumbled them both down on the couch. The end result, after a few seconds of tugging and moving about, was Julie lying on top of Bill, her arms still crossed over her breasts, and Bill's hands at her waist keeping her in place.

"Your elbows are digging into my stomach." Bill mentioned.

The couch creaked and groaned, as Julie rocked first to one side, then to the next, as she pulled her arms free. She draped her arms down Bill's sides, and her big boobies were once again pressed against him, but this time, they were enticingly naked.

"That's much better." Bill grinned.

"Of course you'd say that." Julie hinted at a laugh, but she was clearly nervous. "You know, not that many men have seen me naked. I had a couple of lovers before I was married, and then I only had my husband for many years. I did have a crush on a couple of the doctors here, because they were always so smart, and then I took a liking to one of the orderlies, because he was so big and strong, and handsome..."

She was rambling, Bill realized, as he took in the orange-red tresses of her hair, no longer bound up, but hanging on either side of her rounded face like a parted and pretty, semi-crimson cascade.

"And I know some of the other staff members participate in doing the dirty business with each other, and even with some of the patients here, if you can believe it, but I could never do that. I haven't been nude with anyone in over four decades, and..."

"Julie." Bill said, but she kept on droning along. He tried again. "Julie!"

She paused. "Yes?"

"Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"Oh, I'll kiss you." Julie focused down on him, and she drew her body upward by a few inches, so that her eyes would gaze into his directly. "I'll kiss you all right."

She brought her mouth down onto his, like a clumsy lid that needed to be adjusted over and over as it searched for its perfect fit. A few times, that fit was found, or nearly so, before it proved a false seal, and the search fervently continued.

Between their bodies, the heat grew into something volcanic, as lusty pants and groans began to fill the room. Bill's forehead and cheeks were being smothered by Julie's hair, and he loved the way her hair teased and drifted across his skin. Julie's body was becoming so enraptured by the fire they'd created, that she was compelled to lift herself up on her hands and knees in order for some of their combined heat to radiate outward.

Bill seized his chance, his needy hands abandoning her waist and gripping the great pendulums of her breasts. Whatever long restricted passions were coursing through Julie's enthralled being blossomed into sensual explosions, merely from the feel of Bill's hands on her flesh, and she shivered and held herself in place as wave after wave of climax ripped through her body.

Taking advantage of her heightened sensitivity, Bill furiously fondled and groped at her breasts, prolonging the nurse's ecstasy, and forcing a gang of moans to erupt from her gaping mouth. It took many long moments until Julie's first orgasm subsided.

"Hey, you forgot all about me, didn't you?" Bill reminded her.

"Oh, no." Julie replied, her cheeks as red as her hair now, and perhaps even more so. "No, no, no."

She sat up, long enough to grasp about behind her until her fingers enclosed around Bill's fully erect, and fully willing member. Slowly, she lowered herself onto it, gasping and moaning as Bill's manhood gradually penetrated her moist folds.

"No more cobwebs." She groaned, before she settled over him and began a paced and rhythmic erotic ride.

Bill was barely getting over the fact that she'd climaxed after he'd manhandled her breasts, when his hands acquired their own sentience and went into overdrive. Not only did they tease and provoke the nurse's boobs, but they also ran down her sides and across the soft contour of her belly. His fingers slid over the meatiness of her thighs, several times producing grunts from her, before they went around and grasped the broad expanse of her ass and caused Julie to expel another flurry of sensual poetry.

And it was like a song, wasn't it? Bill considered. A sweet, sweet song of love and elation, enough to fill volumes with its bliss, were it possible to confine the carnal sensations into simple, mundane words. Enough to fill countless shelves, perhaps even entire libraries, if the impressions were to be communicated properly, if they were expressed in the same manner that he was experiencing them.

Instinctively, Bill halted Julie's movement, and pushed her away and onto her feet. She stood there, possibly bewildered, but she came right back down again a moment later. This time, she was on her back, and Bill wasted no time in dividing her legs, and slipping into the glorified confines of her being.

Julie gasped, held his shoulders tight, as Bill sought to infiltrate deep within her, hoping to once again draw out her climax. He succeeded, becoming bathed with Julie's essence through her hot breaths, becoming further tantalized by the feel of her nails gripping onto his shoulder blades. Her seductive reactions lifted him up to his own erotic peak, and when he could hold it back no longer, he paused and allowed his body to burst forth with his own torrent of love.

They held each other, they kissed like lovers, long after the physical intimacy was over, long after it would be sufficient for an ordinary one night stand. And they would have kept on going, had they both not become aware that they were being watched.

"Bravo, Julie. That was a splendid performance."

It was Doctor Wellman's voice, and both Bill and Julie scrambled up to their feet, with Julie concealing her plump form behind that of her newfound lover's.

Not only was Wellman in the lounge, but so was the secretary and the janitor, and several other people Bill hadn't run into before. He counted six people in the room, besides Julie and himself.

"What are you all doing in here?" Julie blasted, her breasts still full and hot against Bill's back. "This isn't some kind of peep show!"

"I apologize, Julie, but this is highly important." Wellman answered. "One of the orderlies, Watson, has managed to lead two of the other live ones down to the shrine."

"What shrine?" Bill asked.

"Well," Wellman explained. "We've always suspected some sort of occult dealing as the reason why we've been trapped here all these years. I don't know too much about these matters, except that after we'd explored the entire hospital at one point, we came across a small collection of animal bones and burnt incense behind one of the boilers in the basement. We didn't know what to make of the find, but none of us were able to displace it, as it kept returning to its former state no matter how hard we endeavored to dismantle it. It had no altar, and no demonic graffiti, but regardless, we've all taken to calling it the shrine."

"And what's happening to it now?" Julie asked.

"Watson led the two men to it." Wellman repeated. "The men are taking it apart, as we speak. They're destroying the shrine, Julie, and as soon as soon as the men started touching it, we could all feel the curse around us start to weaken."

A pretty black nurse cut in. "It's true. I was helping Watson lead these people down there. When I realized what was happening, I hurried over here and started telling everybody."

"What is happening?" Julie asked.

Wellman was smiling. "The curse is about to be broken, Julie. We're all about to be released from this place. We're all about to go free, to wherever it is that we go next."

"I didn't sense anything!" Julie countered.

"That's because you were busy, getting busy." The secretary chimed in.

"It's happening!" A new voice called out. "I can feel it happening right now!"

"I thought I would be here forever." Julie mentioned, and to Bill, it almost sounded as if she was disappointed. "I can feel something happening to me!"

Bill felt his body being turned aside, and Julie went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kissed her, feeling her arms reach around his nude frame and grasp him fiercely, as if she refused to let him go.

Then, abruptly, Bill's reality shifted, distorted like a TV with a bad signal. Julie's sweet lips were on his, and a moment later they were gone, and his arms that were formerly holding her against him, now held nothing.

He turned toward where Doctor Wellman and the others had been standing, but they were gone, too. A sharp pain cried out in Bill's head, and he felt as if somebody had put his head in a vise and was pressing it flat. A second after that, his stomach revolted, and he clutched at it. The light from the windows darkened into blackness, and a lurch of vertigo made him feel as if the world had gone into a tumbler. He closed his eyes, but that wasn't enough to quell the commotion within, and without his body.

Moments later, Bill dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Bill!" Hank's strong voice cried out. "Bill!"

The beam from a sturdy flashlight poked in through a large hole in a door, where an opaque piece of glass was once mounted. The beam had scanned across the wide room, exposing litter and a few old pieces of furniture, before it had settled on a prone form lying way back and near the farthest wall.

"Bill!" Hank shouted one last time, using his free hand to reach through the open space to fumble with the door lock. "The lock is jammed." He claimed, but if you knew Hank's proclivity to being a showman, you might find yourself questioning this last statement. Hank moved back suddenly, accidentally bumping into the cameraman, who'd been standing directly behind him. "I'm kicking the fucking door open!"

"You're on tape." Buttons informed him.

"Fuck the tape." Hank said dramatically. "Bill's in there, and I think he's hurt!"

Hank slammed his heavy, steel-toed shoe right under the doorknob, splintering wood and wrenching the cheap metal latch apart. With the strong shoulder of a former college football player, Hank shoved the door open and hurried through the room.




Lovers From Beyond 1.03



Buttons and the camera followed close behind.

"Bill!" Hank yelled, one last time, before the cameraman focused in on their missing crew member, who curiously, lay there naked and unmoving in that dark, decrepit room.

Hank crouched and checked the prone man's wrist. "He's got a pulse." Next, he leaned in close to Bill's nostrils. "He's still breathing."

Vaguely recalling some high school medical class, Hank sat the unconscious man up, keeping his head lifted aloft, and hopefully, his airwaves clear. Lightly, he began slapping at Bill's face.

"Bill, can you hear me?" Hank spoke out, extra loud for the camera's mike. "Bill, it's me, Hank!"

Bill groaned.

"Don't say a word, Bill." Hank warned. "Just concentrate on getting your thoughts cleared up, while we get you out of here. We'll have plenty of time to figure out what happened once we get the hell out of this place!"

Hank used his considerable strength to lift Bill into a standing position, and in a clumsy fashion, they both staggered toward the door.

"I can't wait for you to explain what happened to your clothes." Hank shook his head, before he looked directly at the camera and gave it his hunky smile. "Normally, I wouldn't be caught within a mile of a naked man."

Buttons backtracked as they moved along, and expertly, quietly, he put an extra bright spotlight on the two men's faces.

It was a cue for Hank to start talking, and Hank took it. "Well, we have now found our missing technician, Bill. He was assigned to set up some thermal imaging devices, and to scan this end of the hospital with an EMF meter, but we lost track of him with everything that was going on earlier. We found him knocked out, and way up on the third floor, when he was supposed to be down on the first level. What happened to your clothes, Bill? What happened to you?"

By this time, Bill had wised up to what was going on. The show must go on and all that, right? "I don't know." He shook his head. "I can't remember a thing."

"I'm sure some of it will come back to you, once we get you out of this crazy place." Hank nodded, before he turned back to the camera. "What a spectacular night we had here, at the Dead Valley Hospital. We recorded some really spooky sounds, we got chased around the hospital by phantoms, we found the site of an ancient demonic ritual, and we demolished it, and we even thought we'd lost one of our crew! Whoo! That's what I'm talking about!"

Still woozy, Bill was just realizing that he'd been keeping his right hand clenched. The reason for that, he quickly understood, was because he had something in it. It felt like cloth, and he wondered if he'd been savvy enough to latch onto an article of his clothing before he'd fallen unconscious. Perhaps he was holding onto his crumpled up boxers, he imagined, and he grinned as he thought of Buttons filming Bill as he brought up the underwear to scrutinize it, if in fact that's what he was holding. It wouldn't ruin the take, he knew, since Hank was busy helping him down the stairs, and wasn't speaking at the moment.

Bill brought his hand up near his chest, discovering that he was not holding his boxers, as he'd first suspected, but a nurse's cap instead. It was fairly clean and in pretty good condition, and he guessed it to be from the late sixties, and that it had belonged to a certain, forty-five year old redhead he'd recently had the pleasure of bumping into. Or instead, had that been an eighty-five year old redhead?

The phrase made Bill chuckle, 'bumping into'. He'd bumped into her all right, and man, wouldn't he like to bump into her one more time.

He laughed out loud this time, briefly shocking Hank because he hadn't been expecting it. Bill laughed like a man in dire need of an exorcist, or like a patient who hadn't gotten his medication on time would have, in a mental institution like the Homestead Valley Hospital, back when the place was still open. He laughed like, well, you guessed it already...

Like a loon!



Lovers From Beyond 1.04



Cynthia Sotero's father had always been overprotective of her. Ever since she could remember, her father had kept a watchful eye over how she dressed, who she spoke to and who she hung out with. She supposed that a lot of it had to do with the way her mother had run off with her father's best friend, while she was still in high school.

High school was an especially tough time for Cynthia, as she had all of these changing hormones and fascinations with boys, and her father was always there, cutting her off from communicating with the opposite sex and even prohibiting her from having a boyfriend.

Even though her body was filling out nicely, Cynthia's father insisted that she keep it covered up, and looking back on matters, she realized the truth of it. What father in his right mind wouldn't be upset at seeing random perverts ogling her body wherever she went? She was a young lady now, her father would sometimes remind her, and young ladies did not walk around half-naked like some of the pop singers and celebrities she watched on TV.

Of course, Cynthia eventually rebelled, and one afternoon after classes, the recently turned eighteen year-old had fooled around with one of the more handsome of the high school's football players. Imagine the poor girl's shock when she went to school the next day, and all of the jocks were leering at her and commenting about her behind her back. Judging from the quantity of people spreading rumors, she imagined that the boy she'd messed around with had probably started bragging about his latest conquest as soon as he'd finished zipping his pants back up.

Cynthia was crushed. Everyone around her knew what she'd done; her classmates, her acquaintances, even a teacher's aide she barely spoke to, and they all knew what she'd done down to the minute details. Since she had very few close friends that she could confide to, she ended up breaking down and confessing her sin to her father. The man was upset, but forgiving, and he embraced his daughter and held her for what seemed like an eternity.

"I will always be here to protect you." Her father swore, as he kissed Cynthia's forehead and tried to explain to her that some boys would be like that, and that as men they might be even worse. Incidents like that were why he'd always watched out for her, he explained, and for the first time, Cynthia really understood what he meant.

He ruffled her hair and sent her off to her room. "Besides, I don't think there's a boy on this planet worthy of my little princess."

She'd smiled at that statement, and her father's beaming face at that moment was one of the fondest memories she had left of him.

Shortly after she graduated from high school, Cynthia's father died in a car wreck while he'd been driving home from work. She'd been hired on as a cashier at a retail store, and although she tried to brave through the loss, for the next several weeks Cynthia would abruptly start crying whenever she saw someone who looked like her dad, or whenever one of his favorite songs filtered out over the store's loudspeakers. Her manager felt dearly for her, but the choice was made clear to Cynthia that either she resigned from her position, or she would soon be dismissed, because of the intolerable scenes she'd been causing with the customers.

She resigned, and as she continued to live in her father's house, she felt that she could sometimes sense him walking about the home, from the master bedroom over to the kitchen, and sometimes even in the garage, where he used to tinker with his car on his days off.

Being a man of considerable forethought, Cynthia's father had gone to some lengths to ensure that his daughter would be taken care of in the case of some unexpected calamity. After the man's untimely death, his insurance policies paid off the mortgage of the home, as well as providing for funeral expenses, and through his will, he'd passed all of his financial assets over to Cynthia. She wasn't left with a ton of money, but if she budgeted herself competently, she knew she could make her inheritance last for the next several years.

And then, Cynthia made the mistake of telling her mother how much money this was. To her surprise, the woman not only moved back into the state, with her latest suitor in tow, but after professing overwhelming anxiety for her daughter's health and welfare, her mother also bullied her way back into the house. She took the master bedroom, of course, and within a week or two, she began hounding Cynthia for spending cash for her so-called expenses.

Cynthia gave her a small sum, only to watch her mother squander it within a few short days, and sure enough, her mother was standing before her with her hand held out and asking for more money the following week. Cynthia refused, and fighting quickly started up between the two.

She never knew if her mother had initially plotted with her boyfriend to do this, but shortly after their arguments became an ongoing routine, her mother's boyfriend started making blatant sexual advances to her. He'd taken to walking into her bedroom with his shirt off for no good reason, or to placing his hand on the nape of Cynthia's neck while she was preparing food in the kitchen. These actions made her feel uncomfortable at first, and eventually she began to feel so dirty that she had to take extra hot showers to make the creepy sensation go away.

And once, her mother's boyfriend even exposed himself to her, while she was in the backyard watering her small patch of flowers. She turned the water hose on him, but all he did was laugh and go back inside to change his clothes. Cynthia was so distraught that she went into the only place the intrusive man hadn't infiltrated and soiled yet, and that was her dad's garage. She was sitting in her father's old car, crying her eyes out, when just for a moment, she thought she could smell her father's favorite cologne in the air. Cynthia looked around, but she didn't see anybody else in the garage, and she later dismissed the incident as being brought up by her anxious imagination.

Unexplainably, her mother's boyfriend woke up late into the night, screaming and cussing up a storm, and he stormed out of the house as if he'd seen the Devil, and never came back.

Once Cynthia's mother had gotten over the shock the next morning, she began pointing the blame finger at her own daughter. It was Cynthia's fault that her boyfriend had run off, she proclaimed, because Cynthia had been making sexual advances at him, and had been doing so ever since her mother had moved back into the house. And then, of course, the issue came back to money. Who was going to keep them living in comfort? Her mother asked. Who was going to pay the bills from now on?

Angrily, Cynthia retaliated by reminding her mother that her boyfriend hadn't paid for a single thing yet, and that Cynthia alone had been taking care of everything, as all of the checks for the utilities were being made out with Cynthia's signature on them. She called her mother a greedy sponge, only to get a sharp and humiliating slap across the face. Cynthia ran off to her bedroom, locking the door behind her, and again, she bawled her eyes out.

As she lay on her bed, still crying, she distinctively felt someone standing next to her. Cynthia turned around quickly, wondering if maybe her mother or her mother's boyfriend had somehow gotten into the room, but she was alone. Still, that feeling of being watched persisted, and Cynthia sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out where it was coming from.

A moment later, she felt a presence stirring nearer to her, and although she was afraid, she still thought it might have been some kind of trick her mother had come up with, and she was unwilling and defiant to let her mother's tactic bear fruition. She held her ground, and remained firmly seated there, on the edge of her bed, even as the presence moved in closer, and took a seat next to her.

It was a warm and comforting feeling that she got from this unseen phantom, and unexpectedly, the presence reached up and placed an arm around her shoulders, just as her father had sometimes done when he was still alive. Could this be a trick of her mother's? She wondered. Or was this really the ghost of her father, protecting her just as he said he always would?

"If you're my dad, prove it." Cynthia challenged.

In reply, the ghost gently turned her head, and kissed Cynthia on the forehead.

Suddenly terrified, Cynthia ran out of the bedroom and out of the house, just as her mother's boyfriend had done. She was pacing back and forth across the front yard, with her arms crossed defensively against her chest, when her mother poked her head out the front door to ridicule her.

"Don't tell me you're seeing things now, too?" Her mother rolled her eyes, before she lit up a cigarette and went back inside. Referring to Cynthia, and her newly absent boyfriend, she added, "I think you've both gone batty."

It had to be some kind of plan her mother and her mother's boyfriend had cooked up, Cynthia decided. They were trying to scare her out of the house, so they could have it all to themselves. Her mother was probably calling her boyfriend right at that moment, to tell him that the plan was working, and that Cynthia was standing out in the yard scared out of her wits.

Well, she wasn't going to be intimidated so easily, Cynthia thought to herself. With growing resolve, she marched back into her house, and right into her bedroom. Again, she locked the door, and this time she made sure nobody was hiding in her room, and that there were no hidden devices anywhere to make her see or hear things, and as far as she could tell, there weren't any.

Cynthia was at a loss for words and thoughts. She was certain she'd find some kind of incriminating evidence in her room, because that was the only rational explanation that she could think of. Unless... unless the ghost of her father really was haunting the house.

"Dad, if you're in here, do something." She challenged.

On her nightstand, her father's picture fell over on its face.

Cynthia shuddered as she went over and scrutinized the picture. She checked it all around, looking for some kind of spring or device that might have knocked it over, but she found none. On a hunch, she took the picture over to the dresser, and cleared off a good portion of it's top with a sweep of her arm.

After setting the picture on the top center of the dresser, she retreated a few steps back, and said, "Do that again."

The picture fell over on its face a second time.

Cynthia gasped, and right after this, she heard a sharp splinter of glass. She turned back to her nightstand, where the noise had come from, and discovered that the picture of her mother now had a web of cracks on it.

While Cynthia wasn't ready to admit that the spirit of her father was roaming around the house, she did acknowledge that something strange was going on, and it was with some nervousness that she eventually went to bed, and much later, fell asleep.

The next morning, Cynthia found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, with half a pot of coffee and a full mug sitting beside her. Apparently, she hadn't gotten much sleep either, because her eyes had deep bags under them, and as she lit up a cigarette, she started complaining about having had nightmares.

"What kind of nightmares?" Cynthia asked, as she started up breakfast for herself.

Her mother laughed. "All kinds. I dreamt that the ghost of your father was trying to strangle me, for one."

"Oh." Cynthia said, hoping to hear more, but that was the extent of her mother's revelations.

That night, Cynthia slept soundly, but her mother didn't. The same strange nightmare from the night before haunted her mother that night as well.

In the morning, Cynthia found her mother sprawled out and sleeping on the living room couch. The woman's hair was a mess, and there were several cigarette butts sitting in the ashtray on the coffee table, along with yet another half-empty pot and full cup of coffee.

Cynthia went on with her business, and as she felt ready to give another try to being employed, she went back to visit her old manager and asked for her old job back. The manager was dubious at first, but decided to give Cynthia a shot anyway, since cashiers were always in high demand at the store, and Cynthia had been a more or less model employee while she'd been working there.

Feeling good about herself after her interview, Cynthia splurged on the biggest hamburger meal on a fast food joint's menu, although she only ended up eating about three quarters of it, and only about half the fries. As she was finishing up her lunch, she got a call on her phone, and she recognized her home phone number on the phone's small screen.

"I'm leaving." Her mother's bitter voice said. "I can't take this place anymore. I've already packed up my things, and I'm going back to live with my boyfriend. I'd just like to get some money for a bus ticket."

"What happened?"

"Oh, it's these damned nightmares." Her mother revealed. "Every night, I keep dreaming that your father's still in this house, and that he's trying to kill me. Call me a loon if you like, but I haven't slept well for three nights now, and I'm pretty sick and tired of it. If I don't get out of here, I'm going to end up setting this place on fire."

Cynthia agreed to help, and the next day she drove her mother to the bus depot and saw her off. Cynthia waved, but her mother merely looked back at her from the high window with something like undisguised regret, as if Cynthia was a big pile of money that she was voluntarily walking away from.

A small part of Cynthia was disappointed to see the woman go, as it meant she'd now be living alone with a ghost in the house. Her worries were in vain, however, as no new and supernatural events announced themselves, and once she started working steadily again, a lot of things returned to a normal routine.

It all changed, however, when Cynthia met a young man at work. His name was Kyle, and he worked in the back of the store, where he inventoried merchandise and brought it out to the floor when the stock on the shelves was running low. Kyle asked Cynthia out, and she agreed, and they ended up having such a good time that they went out on several dates after that. Cynthia was starting to like Kyle, and one night after they'd been to the movies together, she didn't turn him away at the door, but invited him inside. They made love, right there on the living room couch, and since Cynthia was starting to have fond feelings for this young man, she was looking forward to his next call.

But Kyle didn't call. Instead, he'd moved on and left the lovelorn Cynthia without so much as a wham, bam, and thank you, ma'am. And poor Cynthia was reminded of the incident back in high school, when she'd been spurned in a similar way.

She was so upset, and some would say her lamentations were so profound, that her state of mind caused the ghost of her father to recall a time when he was still alive, and when he'd made a prophetic promise to his daughter that he'd always protect her.

Afterwards, like an invisible judge and jury, the ghost would carefully scrutinize each and every suitor that came to Cynthia's door. And unfortunately, in her desperate search for love, Cynthia was willing to try on all sorts of hats while looking for the perfect one. When it became apparent, to the ghost at least, that Cynthia would never find what she was looking for unless she adjusted her line of thinking, the ghost decided to take on a more proactive role, and to discourage his daughter's would-be lovers before they got the chance to tear another gouge into her already scarred and tender heart.

Some suitors the ghost frightened even before they crossed the threshold, by embracing them with his cold arms and giving them such chills that they started spouting all over themselves and making excuses about something important they'd forgotten to do earlier. These left, and never came back.

A few were more insistent, such as the pervert who tried to install a battery operated, miniature camera inside the bathroom while he was pretending to use it. The next time this man came over, he again excused himself and went into the bathroom, intending to remove his tiny camera from the low shelf he'd concealed it under. He was surprised to find it gone. A moment later, he was startled when the toilet flushed of its own accord, and he flipped the lid open just in time to see his expensive little toy spinning around in the water and disappearing into the plumbing forever.

And the last one, the bad boy who was all chivalry and smiles out in public, but hateful and violent in private, especially angered the ghost. This one had pushed Cynthia around in the house, and called her names, and poor Cynthia had no way to defend herself against this kind of monster. The ghost tried its usual tactics to get rid of him, but the bully was so self-absorbed that he failed to notice what was going on around him.

The final straw occurred one night, when this scoundrel started punching Cynthia on the back and shoulders, and the wounded young woman fled into her bedroom and locked the door. The man was about to kick the door open to continue his violence, when the ghost's fury took over, and it was then that the phantom found out just how physical he could really become. The ghost tackled the bully onto the floor, and proceeded to give him such a thrashing that it left him not only too terrified to ever return to the house, but with the bruises and wounds a hoodlum might expect to receive from a bunch of rival gang members.

Inside her bedroom, Cynthia cowered against a back corner and listened as all of this took place. She heard her cruel lover crying out in pain, and begging for the ghost to stop striking him, and finally, she heard the man's heavy plods after he was allowed to get up. He quickly ran out of the house, and thankfully, he never tried to make contact with her again.

By this time, four lonely years had gone by since her father had passed away, and there was a realization growing steadily inside of Cynthia, that perhaps the elusive perfect man she'd been looking for wasn't so far away from her after all. Perhaps he'd been around her all this time, and situated right under the same roof that she was.

That night, Cynthia decided to model her sexiest lingerie in her full-length mirror, and right after that she started trying on her most provocative outfits, which she was sure her father would have reprimanded her for, if he were still alive. She dressed up in sexy sundresses, tight blouses that gripped her full breasts like a second skin, skirts that hiked up almost to her panties, and shorts that she could barely get her ample butt into.

The ghost, of course, was curious as to what was going on, and suspected that yet another suitor was on his way to the front door, and would have to be dealt with soon. He was slightly confused when no date actually showed up, and equally baffled when the phone didn't even ring later, due to some unforeseen cancellation or whatnot, and finally, the ghost was extremely puzzled when Cynthia went to sleep alone that night.

The following night, Cynthia tried on even more outfits, but without the hindrance of any underwear to hamper her from putting things on and taking them off. She even stood before her mirror and posed in semi-naughty, but otherwise innocent, ways. She cupped her C cup breasts in her hands, as a man would if he were standing directly behind her, twisted and gazed at her size twenty-six waist, and her size thirty-two posterior, and between her frequent changes of clothing, she sometimes even did this in the nude.

"It's okay, if you watch." She said out loud, but the ghost, understandably exasperated, fled from the room and went into the garage.




Lovers From Beyond 1.04



The ghost was even more shocked when it later discovered that Cynthia had decided to sleep in the master bedroom that night, and that she was wearing only a skimpy and lacy, powder blue camisole and matching panties under the covers.

The evening that followed, as Cynthia shaved her legs in the bathtub, she had another naughty idea. She'd never before shaved her pubic hair off completely, only trimmed it down on occasion, and since she knew her father would never spy on her while she was in the bathroom, she went ahead and did it. Wouldn't he be surprised later? She thought devilishly.

When she tried to step into the master bedroom that night, dressed in her clingy while lingerie, she discovered that something invisible was barring the doorway. It was her father's ghost, and he was trying to keep her from spending the night on his former bed.

She knew that he would try to stop her at some point, because that's what he would have done if he were still alive, and her reaction was to strip down right there in the hallway. Fully nude, Cynthia stepped forward, knowing full well that her father's ghost would rather shrink back than come in contact with the flesh of his naked daughter. The ghost moved away quickly, and she imagined her father being both stunned and angry as she waltzed into the bedroom, pushed the covers aside and lay down on his bed.

The ghost was indeed angry, and wondering if perhaps Cynthia was trying to drive him out of his own house with her explicit actions. He found himself in a frenzy of confusion, and darted about the house that night, from the living room to the garage, over to the bedroom, and back again.

The ghost paused at the edge of the bed a few times while Cynthia slept, wondering if he should do something drastic to get her to leave his bed, such as scaring her or jolting her awake. It just didn't feel right for her to be lying there in the nude, on what used to be his bed!

In frustration, the ghost reached out and yanked the covers back, but instantly regretted doing so, for in the thin glow from the nightlight, he could see his daughter's naked and voluptuous body on the bed. Her back and butt showed soft tan lines, and she groggily rolled over and absently reached for the covers, giving him yet another look at her full breasts and shockingly, a glimpse of her clean-shaven mound. The ghost took several steps back in shame.

"I know you're there, I can feel you." Cynthia's eyes fluttered open. "And I know that you're looking at me."

The ghost of her father started away, thinking surely his daughter was trying to get rid of him. Why else would she be doing the things she was doing to him? It had to be because he was scaring away all of her boyfriends!

"Dad, please come back." Cynthia called out.

The ghost turned back, as he sensed a gentle plea in the young woman's voice.

"I have to tell you something." She insisted. "But I don't want to yell it all the way across the room."

Full of doubt and uncertainty, the ghost stepped closer. As he approached the bed, he snatched up the covers and tossed them over Cynthia's legs.

His daughter made no attempt to cover herself up further. "Dad, I've been looking for Mr. Right all this time, and I finally found him. You're my Mr. Right. I love you, just like I did before, but I love you in a different way now, too."

She waited for some kind of response from him, expected it, really, but when nothing fell over in the room and startled her, she brazenly continued. "I know you can touch things if you really want to, and I want you to touch me. I know you're probably not ready to hear this, but I want you to make love to me. I want this more than anything I've wanted before in my entire life. I can wait... until you're ready. I'll be right here on this bed waiting for you."

The ghost fled.

Days passed by. Then weeks.

Cynthia kept sleeping in the master bedroom in the nude, and every once in a while she asked out loud if her father's ghost was still in the house, as she hadn't heard a peep from him ever since that one fateful occasion.

The ghost went to her side, deep into one night. He watched over Cynthia's sleeping form for several hours, and considered how the young woman was no longer the cute little girl he envisioned from the past, and had somehow blossomed into the beautiful and sensuous creature lying before him.

And the ghost was lonely as well, as he was seemingly stuck in this dimension, with no one to talk to, and no way to figure out what was to come next in his bizarre existence. All that remained were hazy and fleeting memories of the past, and the one solid thing in his mind, the one tangible thing that was keeping him from losing his thoughts altogether, was protecting Cynthia.

"I know you're standing there." Cynthia shifted around to face him.

She tossed the covers aside, and underneath, she was nude as usual.

"If I could touch you first, I would." She grinned. "But I can't even see where you are." She patted her thigh. "Touch me here."

The ghost looked over the daughter's form. She was on her side, with one arm propping up her head, her full breasts dangling, and in the waning light, the ghost could see the deep contour where her waist ended and her broad hips began.

"I won't bite you." She joked.

If he were in the flesh, he would have undoubtedly refused. But he was no longer a man, or at least not a living one at any rate, and as far as he could recall, there were no guidelines prohibiting the disembodied from engaging in amorous activities with the bodied. Or maybe a ghost just didn't have the same inhibitions that a living person did?

If a ghost could sigh, he was sighing now, and with more than a small amount of trepidation, he reached out and slid his hand across his daughter's thigh.

Cynthia gasped, and the ghost pulled its hand away as if he had done her harm.

"I felt it." She said. "I felt your fingers there, and they were cold and warm at the same time. And it left tingles all over me." She shifted around on the bed, lying on her back, and as the ghost watched, she turned her legs toward him and spread them wide. "I can't wait any more. I want to feel you inside of me."

The ghost of her father could only stare at the seductive vision before him. He became aroused, in a way that he'd never imagined a ghost could feel, and he looked down at his ghostly clothing, which resembled the way he usually dressed when he'd been incarnate and about to go to work. He wondered if ghosts could even take their clothes off, when he imagined himself naked, and he suddenly noticed that his clothing had all vanished. He was now nude, and the erection he saw jutting out from his abdomen was as strong and firm as those he'd had when he was encased in flesh.

And as badly as his daughter wanted him, he realized that he now wanted her.

He slipped onto the bed, nervously, grasping and producing shivers from Cynthia as his hands touched both her knees. The ghost might have even been holding his breath, as he allowed his hands to slip down the young woman's inner thighs, but he stopped himself just short of her blossoming middle. With an attentive care, he leaned forward over her and softly, gently, invaded her moist insides with his ghostly cock.

Cynthia sharply cried out, her body erupting into tiny, delicious spasms at the eerie contact, yet she made no attempt to break their strange union. And her father's ghost, feeling and craving the grip of her solid body around him, shuddered in a ghostly way as well. As their lovemaking began in earnest, and Cynthia's pleasing breasts swayed back and forth from her father's steady rocking, she uttered those moans and squeals that no father should ever hear escaping the mouth of his own offspring, and the former man was surprised that for a young woman whom he'd always thought of as being timid and humble, Cynthia's groans were deep and guttural, fierce and full of lust.

Cynthia's climax was as grand and spectacular as the movement of a mountain by a man, and as she convulsed in the deepest throes of her excitement, her sensuality and responsiveness may have penetrated the veil between the living and the non-living, for the ghost of her father found himself infected by her wanton cries, and having a ghostly orgasm as well.

When their bonding was complete and exhausting, the ghost pulled away, only to have Cynthia sit up and plead for his return. "Please don't go. I want you to lie down on the bed, so that I can sleep next to you." She lowered her head in regret. "It will make me feel as if you never left me."

The ghost walked over to the opposite side of the bed, and although he didn't think he needed sleep, as he never recalled having slept as a ghost before, he nevertheless lay down. Cynthia fell asleep some time later, and the ghost, wide awake as he always was, caringly placed his hand over hers, and relished the heat emanating from her warm body. He too, was reminded of the time when he was still alive.

You might suspect that the next night would have proved awkward for either Cynthia or for the ghost, but this was not so. Cynthia stepped into the master bedroom wearing only a deep red bra and panties, and after sensing that the ghost was near, she made her way directly onto the bed. She positioned herself on her hands and knees, with her meaty rump held high in the air, and salaciously invited the ghost to join her.

If there was any hesitation from the ghost's end, we shall never know, as the phantom exhibited no apparent misgivings, nor really, could he, as he took his place on the bed behind her. The ghost's erection was stiff and ready, and while his instincts clamored for him to give in to his sensation of lust, the ghost forced these feelings away and placed his hands on the great swells of Cynthia's butt.

Cynthia shuddered from his touch, and moaned.

This only emboldened the ghost further, as he circled his hands over her fleshy globes, and sometimes squeezed them, before he gazed over at his daughter's lean back, and at the thin red fabric of her bra. He was enticed by her seductive form in a way that he never would have allowed himself to feel, if he were still a living, breathing man, and he brought his hands up to caress the small of her back, and the sides of her rib cage, and finally, he cupped Cynthia's covered breasts.

Cynthia moaned louder, as her phantom lover groped her from behind, and she yanked away at her bra until her breasts spilled out like small, juicy cantaloupes. The ghostly hands soon returned to massage her swells, tingling at her aroused nipples and hot areola, until her own inflamed passion took over. She straightened up so quickly, she was surprised she didn't bump her father right off the bed, and in erotic frenzy, she pulled her panties down to her knees. After, she went back on all fours.

In a similar wanton state, the ghost pressed in close to her backside, and guided his erection firmly in place. Ghostly hands traversed the divide between Cynthia's meaty rear and her swaying breasts, and again Cynthia's heavy moans echoed off the bedroom walls. As had happened after their previous encounter, both former man and current woman found themselves well satisfied after the erotic coupling took place.

The next evening, Cynthia was asked to work late. By the time she arrived home, she was too exhausted to do anything more than take a shower, and curl up on the bed. "Sorry, dad." She yawned. "I've got to go in early tomorrow morning, too. But we can still cuddle, if you want."

The ghost kept a respectful distance from his daughter that night, and although it felt a certain stirring within its loins at lying next to Cynthia's voluptuous and lingerie clad body, it did nothing more than keep her in a loose embrace.

When Cynthia got home the next afternoon, she took a quick shower and changed into a dark blue bikini. Over this, she put on a loose blouse and a pair of gray cotton shorts, and once she'd stepped into her sandals, she went out to the backyard. She was planning on lounging on one of the pool chairs to get some sun later, but first, she wanted to water her flowers a bit.

Her father had watched her arrival with more than a mild interest. He'd watched her change into her swimwear, and right after, into her casual outfit. Then, he had followed Cynthia outside to observe, and that was when his growing arousal threatened to take him over. He felt playful and alive, and even a little more real after the two sexual encounters, and as a result he felt like goofing around with his daughter.

The ghost turned off the water hose, much to Cynthia's annoyance. After this, the ghost would tussle his daughter's hair, or unexpectedly smack her on the bottom.

"What's gotten into you?" Cynthia smirked, as she'd never witnessed the phantom being so animated before.

The ghost stepped up right behind her, reaching around her sides and cupping both of Cynthia's perfectly round breasts. She quivered at the tingling touch, and felt herself getting excited as the roaming hands went further down on her body, and groped her through her clothes. This went on for several minutes, until she was standing there panting with her own want.

She felt a tug on her blouse, pulling her in the direction of the house. "I'm not going inside yet." She denied the ghost's desire. "I've still got to pull all these weeds out before they mess up my flower bed. You're just going to have to wait."

After shutting the water off, she surveyed her flowers and found the spot where the weeds were at their worst. She crouched down, and just as she did so, she felt the ghost pummel into her side. She fell over, and felt the ghost's form climbing on top of hers.

"What do you think you're doing?" She asked, giggling.

Her reply came in the form of a cold breath coming down on her face, and a moment later, ghostly lips pressed against hers. This was the first time her father had dared to kiss her, and his desire and passion was so strong, that Cynthia gave in and allowed him to have his moment.

Her arms went up around an invisible waist, and she found the torso to be firm and tangible, nearly as if she was holding a real person, and out of curiosity, she reached between their two forms. She found the ghostly erection, as real as the rest of the quasi-solid phantom, and that was the moment when she realized that the ghost meant to take her right there in the middle of the backyard.

No sooner had she wondered if any of the neighbors were home, than she felt her legs drawn up and into the air. Her cotton shorts were rolled up around her knees, and her bikini strings were pulled on both sides, and a second later, the flimsy fabric was gone from between her legs.

She braced herself for what was about to happen to her, and barely stifled a moan as she felt herself bring penetrated. As if her father had gone berserk with lust, she felt his manly hips grinding and smashing into her softly curved ones, and it took all of her effort just to keep her mouth closed and not cry out in a way that might send the occupants of the neighboring residences outside to take a look. What would they have seen, she asked herself, but a young woman lying on her back, in the grass, and with her legs high in the air and her mouth clamped shut as she was being ravaged by something that could not be seen.

Cynthia grunted and ripped out two great bunches of grass with her hands, as her climax spilled out all over her body, but the ghost kept up its relentless pace further, until she began pushing him away. As if understanding this, the ghost withdrew, but only for a second, as he brought Cynthia's legs together and pulled her shorts completely off. He split her legs open, and leaned over her form. After, he again embedded himself into his daughter, but this time, he wasn't in the hurry he was in before. Gently, the ghost lay on her, holding her by the shoulders and kissing her, as he took up a much calmer pace.

Cynthia shivered from the cold of the ghost's lips, and later, from the tingles of his needy tongue. Finally, she felt him convulsing into his own distinctive climax. He still held her, for a long moment after this, until he finally rolled away and was gone from her senses.

The following day, while she was at work, Cynthia had a wicked thought, and many of her store's regular customers noticed and commented on her sly grin. Did she have a new boyfriend? Some of the more daring of her regulars asked, and while she was on her breaks and lunch, she found herself humming happy tunes and smiling. Even her boss was pleased to see that Cynthia was no longer the unhappy girl she'd been just a few months in the past, when Cynthia had very nearly been terminated, and when she'd been having so much trouble with all of the young men she'd been dating.

That night, Cynthia went to into the master bedroom wearing a black bra and thong, and she made a great display of taking the lingerie off, as soon as she sensed that her father had come into the room. She wanted to get him as excited as possible, so she could carry out the mischievous notion she'd had while she was at work.

Once she was fully nude, she slipped the bed covers away, lay down, and waited until she felt the ghostly form slide in beside her. She reached over, finding and feeling her father's cool form on the mattress, and caressed the taut muscles of his chest. The only difference between the ghost's body, and the body of a living, breathing man, was that she couldn't see the person lying next to her. Other than that, her father felt completely real this time.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Cynthia asked. "The more that you think about me, and the more that you want me, the more real you become. I have a surprise for you, but you have to close your eyes first. Squeeze my hand when your eyes are closed."

Wondering what was about to happen, but sensing nothing but happy thoughts from his daughter, the ghost readily complied. He shut his eyes, and squeezed Cynthia's hand. While the ghost had no real idea of what to expect, other than it might have been carnal and explicit, he was extremely shocked as he felt Cynthia's body quickly scrambling over his. The ghost opened his eyes to see one of Cynthia's thick thighs stretch out over his chest, and her meaty rear end centered itself right near his face. When his daughter's intentions became clear a second later, the ghost balked, and he reached up to grasp her by the waist to throw her aside...

But it was too late. Her hand had already steadied his erection, and her lips quickly went down and snared it into her mouth. While receiving oral sex from his daughter had been the furthest thing on the ghost's mind, for we must remember that the phantom was as conservative in his afterlife as he'd been while he was alive, he soon discovered that the warmth from Cynthia's mouth was extremely pleasing to him. The ghost was not repelled or disgusted, as he should have been, but instead began to relish and delight in the sensuous experience.

A few minutes later, Cynthia paused from her bobbing, to wiggle her delicious butt back and forth a few seconds. After this, she went back to her task. To the ghost, what she wanted was perfectly clear. But still, he couldn't bring himself to comply with her naughty request.

Deciding to prod her father even further, Cynthia slid her body back, until her rump was only an inch or two away from his face. Her pleasing curves were close enough that a ghost without a physical olfactory system could still manage to catch a whiff of her fragrant and flowery body wash, mixed in with the sweet smell of her sex.

The ghost caught his breath, as he brought up his hands to either side of her butt, and felt his daughter shudder from his cool touch. And then, tossing away his inhibitions as his daughter seemed to have done much earlier than him, he brought his head up closer, and began giving attention to her private confines in a similar manner to what Cynthia was doing to him on the other end.




Lovers From Beyond 1.04



She went through a climax of course, as the ghostly tongue probed at her, as it tasted and savored the delicious honey her body exuded. And she went through a second climax just a few minutes later, when the ghost reached around her fleshy thighs and forced his hands between the tightly pressed flesh of her breasts and his lower torso. Cynthia was nearly screaming, as the phantom hands cupped her breasts and groped at them, while his mouth delighted her from behind, both acts exhibiting an abandon she never would have imagined from her father. She became so enthralled that she nearly forgot her own erotic, experimental exercise.

She also knew that she wanted something bigger and more satisfying to fill her void, and to tingle even deeper into her inflamed insides. Determinedly, Cynthia turned her body around in a quick reversal, and without hesitation she mounted the firm shaft.

Her body shivered as if from a mild electric shock, and her entire lower half exploded in goose bumps, as she took in the entire length, and even her vulva shuddered from its contact with phantom pubic hairs and flesh. She'd managed to brave past these incredible sensations, until her father's cold hands gripped and manhandled her bouncing breasts, resulting in an entirely new and more erotic level of spasms.

Like a magnificent waterfall, she came, and she rocked to and fro in a vain attempt to make the sensation last forever. Finally, when it was clear that the best had passed them both by, Cynthia slumped forward and nuzzled against her father's ghostly chest.

Later, she sought to kiss him, finding him not shy about this at all, and they pressed their lips to one another's meaningfully and passionately. Unlike some of Cynthia's previous lovers, who reached a certain point and halted their cuddling, the ghost never once turned away, or even attempted to evade her lips. She belonged to him, and he belonged to her, and this unvoiced declaration was mutually understood. And they kissed, deep into the hours of the morning, even when the cover of night started to lighten away, and as if both were determined to sap away the energies of the other. In the end, neither admitted defeat, and a general truce from battle was declared.

Luckily, Cynthia wasn't scheduled for work that morning, and the middle of the day found her sitting on the living room couch, and flipping through the pages of a lingerie catalog. The young woman was clad only in a tight white tee shirt, which wrapped nicely around the pleasing bumps of her breasts, and around her lower half she wore a pair of soft lavender panties.

"Dad, what do you think about these undies?" She held the catalog out in a couple of different angles, since she had no idea where her father was standing at that moment. "They're cheeky!" She giggled.

In response, she felt her father's ghost come closer to peruse the picture of the model in question.

"I don't think I'm as pretty as this model is." Cynthia lamented. "And I know I'll never be as thin as her." She suddenly felt the urge to be playful. "Do you really think I'm pretty, daddy? Or do you just like touching my butt?"

The ghost leaned over and planted a small kiss on Cynthia's forehead, and they both remembered a time when she was younger, and when the man had kissed his daughter's forehead in the exact same way and caller her 'my little angel'.

Cynthia loved her father, but the abrupt sensation broiling up inside her had nothing to do with sentimental love. She wanted him in a very physical way, at that very moment, and as badly as she'd ever wanted him before. In order to make her objective perfectly clear, she tossed the catalog aside, and lifted her shirt up to reveal her superb breasts.

"I dare you to touch them." She challenged.

The ghost was taken aback by his daughter's blatant exposure, until he noticed how aroused and enticing her nipples were. He sank to his knees, drawn to the rounded little hills like a magnet, and eagerly placed his hands directly on their centers. The ghost massaged the wonderful pair of breasts, until he too became infected with their special degree of lust, and as he knew that Cynthia had pushed their boundaries to a higher level the previous night, he also wanted to impress upon her that he could kick up the ante as well.

For the first time, the ghost dared to put his mouth on those two magnificent swells, resulting in a sensual moaning and squirming from Cynthia that he hadn't thought he could ever bring about. He mouthed her sweet flesh for a few minutes, until he noticed her beginning to relax, and it was at that point that the ghost made its next move. His ghostly hand reached under one of Cynthia's upraised thighs, pushed past the growing steam of her panties, and invaded her carnal inner sanctum with two deliberate fingers. She was already sexually aroused, the ghost discovered, to the point that his invading fingers were instantly smothered, by her sultry and sticky moisture. Yet, he still managed to quickly drive her body to another abrupt and erotic eruption.

Abandoning the breasts, the ghost maneuvered Cynthia's legs toward him, exposing her wet sex to his gaze, and he wasted no time in pulling away her panties. He directed Cynthia's knees up and onto her chest, elevating her feet high into the air as he began to savor her insides with his tongue a second time.

This didn't last too long, however, as both parties knew the end game well by then. The ghost stood up, using his body to press Cynthia's knees nearly to her head, and glided his firm sex into her steamy tunnel. Most of their previous encounters had been timid and hesitant in nature, save for that one time in the back yard, but this pairing would be leaving no doubt that it was purely physical and animalistic, as the ghost pummeled into his daughter with a reckless ardor he hadn't exhibited any time before.

If the encounter had been flesh against flesh, there was no doubt that the clamor of slapping skin would have been bouncing back and forth against the living room walls, but as it was, the only sounds heard were those of Cynthia's sexual shrieks and the creaks of their actions from the complaining couch.

If a ghost could experience an orgasm, it was having one now, as the sensually intoxicated father brought himself up to an early and explosive peak. As he climaxed, he released a sexual cry strong enough to pierce through the veil of the afterlife, for a startled Cynthia heard it from the other side, and once she realized what it was, she too gasped out loud and trembled from the overwhelming rush of her own climax.

When it was all done with, the ghost stood to one side, feeling almost apologetic for having taken his daughter so roughly, and in truth, Cynthia had never expected to be tussled about in such a way. She'd always remembered her father being so mild and introspective, and never as powerful and brutal.

"I heard your voice this time." She admitted, before she retired to her room to dwell over the incident.

Later that evening, Cynthia presented herself to the living room in a splendid and very revealing white bikini. The features of her breasts were clearly defined by the nearly transparent fabric. "I got this at work the other day." She stated, as she showed off the skimpy swimwear like a fashion model. "I think I'll go outside and take a swim in the pool. You can come and join me if you like."

The ghost still felt guilty over what had happened earlier, over what should never have passed between a man and his grown daughter. None of it, the ghost thought, none of it should have passed between them.

If there were any doubts about where Cynthia's inclinations lay, however, they were all erased a second later, when she pulled her bikini bottom down and flashed her large and bare butt at him. "I'll be waiting for you."

Eventually, the ghost meandered his way out, and under the growing shade of the approaching night, he took a seat on the edge of the pool. At first, he was nervous about placing his legs in the water, and did so only after some trepidation, but when nothing unusual happened, the ghost felt comfortable enough to slip his legs in up to the calves.

"You came out." Cynthia waded over, once she finished swimming a few laps. "I can tell you're near, but I don't knew exactly where. Let me see if I can find you." She walked along the edge of the pool, stretching one hand out, until she bumped into the side of her father's leg. "There you are. Let's see if I can find something else."

Cynthia's hand slipped between the ghost's legs, and her fingers found and enclosed around the limp noodle of her father's cock. The ghost was caught by surprise, as it wasn't expecting the young woman to be receptive so quickly after their last tryst, but her warm and manipulative fingers soon brought him up to attention.

And the fingers were quickly replaced by Cynthia's mouth.

The ghost watched in astonishment, for he'd never once believed his daughter capable of such a wanton act, and especially not when the neighbors' houses were crowded so close on either side. The only thing that prevented him from putting a stop to it was that the sky had already darkened, and... He had to admit that he was enjoying what was being done to him. He forced himself to stop being such a worry-wart, even though it had always been his nature, and he even closed his eyes as he leaned his elbows back on the pool's surrounding walkway.

A few minutes later, Cynthia pulled away, and dipped into the water for a second, and when her father saw her next, she was smiling and holding her dripping bikini bottom in her hand. She dropped the item on the edge of the pool next to him with a wet slosh, and taking the hint, the ghost lowered himself into the water with her.

Cynthia steadied herself along the edge with her arms, while the ghost pinned her back against the pool wall, and once again, he took her. Not roughly or violently, but gently and caringly, and even though the ghost had returned to its usual gentlemanly demeanor, Cynthia still had a very difficult time in keeping her mouth from opening wide and crying out to the world that she was being pleasured by a phantom.

And so it went, over the course of the next month or two, with Cynthia daringly wearing the most provocative lingerie she could find, and sometimes wearing nothing at all, and her father playfully coming to her side and bonding with her both emotionally and physically. They had no set time for their amorous interactions, as they both preferred to be spontaneous and unpredictable, but there were a few moments when one or the other had to be convinced to participate.

One such time occurred when Cynthia had woken up late, and fumbled about through the house while getting ready for work. She hastily made her way into the garage, where she discovered that her car was nearly empty on gas, and since she didn't want to waste any more time by driving to the gas station, she instead ran back inside and grabbed the keys to her father's car. This second car, it might be mentioned, always had near a full tank on it, and Cynthia only drove it occasionally to keep it maintained.

While Cynthia transferred her purse, lunch bag, and sweater into her dad's car, she felt the ghost hovering nearby.

"Sorry, dad." She announced. "I've got to take your car today, because mine is low on gas. Try not to have a cow about it."

She felt his hand playfully pat her bottom.

"What?" She asked. "I don't have time to figure out what you want. I have to get going." Suddenly, there were two ghostly hands resting on her rear end, and Cynthia chuckled. "Oh, you want me to pay for using your car? And the payment is going to be my butt?"

In reply, one hand smacked her rear.

"I'm already late, so I don't think so. You're going to have to wait until I come home later."

Since Cynthia had chosen to wear a denim skirt that morning, it was a small matter for the ghost to lift it, and a second later, to lower the pink panties she was wearing underneath.

"I can't believe you're doing this." Cynthia stated, although she made no move to escape her fate. To the contrary, she even leaned forward and set her hands on the driver's seat, and left her rear end fully vulnerable to the assault. "I am going to be so late."

The ghost pressed up against her, and crossed the threshold, so to speak. Cynthia soon found her blouse pushed up near her neck, and her bra wrenched aside to allow her breasts to bounce about, and her panties twisted around near her ankles, but like a playful kitten, she heartily submitted to the endeavor.

She was panting hot breaths and crying out for more a few minutes later. "Make me late, daddy! Make me late! Oh, daddy, daddy!" And then her customary moans took over her throat, basking everything in the garage with her exuding lust and drenching the garage like a volcanic downpour of heat.

And this time, if somebody was listening intently, they might have heard the tiny and distinct sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, until they were eclipsed by Cynthia's climactic growls, and a very manly sounding series of grunts.

And yes, Cynthia was very late that morning, but luckily for her, her reprimand was much milder than the one other, more unreliable employees would have gotten.

This might have gone on forever, with both sides willing to attempt new and different placements and strategies in their carnal meetings, in their erotic ventures to find out just how real a ghost could become, except that yet another insistent young man stepped into Cynthia's life. And whereas her previous love interests had failed, and failed miserably at that, this one markedly succeeded. His name was Anthony, and he was a well-disciplined man, with a cool demeanor, lofty ambitions and the sensibilities of a mother hen. In short, he was very much like Cynthia's father.

The young woman developed a sudden infatuation with Anthony, despite her amorous affection for her father, and she so dearly hoped for her father's approval when she finally mustered up enough courage to invite Anthony over. Her date was a perfect gentleman that night, and neither did he make any disparaging remarks when Cynthia suggested that her house might be haunted, nor did he make any unwanted sexual advances toward her, although the lovelorn Cynthia very much regretted this later.

Anthony even stated that the house had a nice, homey feel to it, and much to the ghost's pleasure, complimented her father's taste for some of the improvements the man had previously made to the place.

The ghost deemed the young man a worthy suitor for his beloved daughter, and in so many actions passed his sentiments along to Cynthia, who was overjoyed that finally, after so many years of searching, she'd found the right man, or at least, the right man on her side of the dividing line between the living and the non-living.

Anthony and Cynthia were married two years later, and there was an unseen guest present at their joyous wedding, watching the proceedings with all the merriment that a ghost can exude, and afterwards, this grinning specter finally came to the realization that his beloved daughter would be in good hands, and that he no longer needed to watch over her. As his way of saying good-bye to Cynthia, the ghost walked up behind the newlyweds. They were smiling and holding hands as their picture was being taken, and the ghost patted his invisible hand down on top of their joined ones.

Anthony shuddered, and wondered where the sudden breeze had come from, but Cynthia knew better. She smiled even more widely, as the final shots were being snapped, and afterward, she turned back to where she sensed her father's spirit still stood, and whispered the words; "Good-bye, daddy."

The ghost of Cynthia's father dissipated away like the smell of a nice cologne on a passerby, and he was never heard from again.

Or... Was it?