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Ghost House
by Balaak (feedback@couplesxxxreview.com)

***

Science meets the supernatural. (MF, rom, oral, 
supernatural, occult)

***

I received the life insurance payments last year.

My wife had died, struck down by a drunk driver. I'm 
not sure how I was able to continue living those nine 
months, but I know that the struggle was on breathing 
and moving and trying to avoid the crushing grief that 
welled up in pitiful sobs that made the struggle to 
breathe even more difficult.

We had maintained double policies on each of us as a 
plan for either of us to be self-sufficient in the 
event the other died. Some people might think three-
quarters of a million dollars worth getting rid of your 
spouse, but for us, this was a matter of family 
concern. Sure, the expense took a good portion of what 
we would have saved, but the payoff gave me the bitter 
present of affording what we had dreamed of, together.

We had wanted to retire to a forgotten town where the 
real estate was cheap and the people few. Many people 
dream of big things; we dreamt of comfort and 
relaxation. Annette had agreed that a dying town would 
give us the peace and quiet that the big city never 
could. So with a full bank account, I went to fulfill 
our dreams.

Really, I think I came here to die.

The real estate lady was pleasant, and murmured her 
apologies for my loss. She showed me several homes that 
could not raise my interest. I didn't care for the 
small-town interest in the oak fad that had gone out of 
style in the early 1980s. I was shown a few homes where 
she bubbled over with high expectations, twirling in 
the living room and presenting me a view of an 
entertainment center.

Was I supposed to be impressed with someone else's 
particle-board laminated piece of furniture?

Out of frustration, I settled on a narrow two-story 
house that was overgrown with vegetation. Well, maybe I 
didn't settle. This house I sit in right now is what 
Annette would have picked, I am sure. Would she have 
considered it our dream house? No, not at all, but with 
what there was to choose from, this would have been it.

The first time I saw the house, pulling up in the 
agent's car, I was drawn to its loneliness. While there 
were houses on either side, the vegetation choked it so 
that only a small path through the waist-high iron gate 
allowed access. It was old; all the houses here are 
old. But I saw a kinship with my soul that had me 
choosing the house before I stepped foot in it. I know 
that sounds like something meant for a tale, but it's 
true, that's how it happened.

A funny smell assaulted me when I entered. A sickly 
sweet smell that reminded me of natural gas or very old 
pet stains. It was laid out in a jumble, not like the 
newer homes built in subdivisions where the floor plan 
has been survey-tested by a million people. Of course, 
in 1910, I doubt anyone took surveys on where they 
wanted their bedrooms.

The second floor held two bedrooms that I would never 
use. Fortunately, there was a door to the second floor 
stairwell that looked like a closet. I went up there 
when I bought the place. The door has remained closed, 
since. 

The furnace and water heater were down in the basement. 
I did not like the basement.

My aversion to it wasn't due to any safety issue. The 
basement was fully enclosed with no exterior exits or 
windows. No, what I didn't like about it was what was 
down there. A clump of soiled sheets were left in one 
corner of the main basement. Back around the stairs was 
a wooden wall separating a small portion of the 
basement with a crude door set in the center. Don't ask 
me why there is a crude door on a strange wooden wall 
down in my basement. I couldn't tell you.

There is a latch on the wooden door and on first glance 
I got the impression it was meant to keep someone in. 
In that small room is a square iron door, about three 
feet off the ground, set into the cement of the back 
wall. It reminded me of an old furnace door, or the 
hatch to a crypt. The door was about the size of a 
coffin. I especially didn't like that door. The 
brainless agent just walked right up to it and opened 
it. The rusty squeal hurt my ears but I moved forward 
to see inside.

Apparently, someone had used it to burn something. 
Ashes filled the bottom of the crawl space. I did not 
like it. Just looking into the darkness of that space 
made me dizzy. I turned away and made my way up the 
stairs.

I knew that I would not be using the basement, so the 
strange area would not have to concern me. I took the 
house.

That was three months ago. Now, more than ever, I feel 
I am here to die.

My neighbors are old or quiet. During the daylight 
hours, I occasionally hear the sounds of life outside, 
and I am encouraged that mankind is the pinnacle of the 
food chain. I comfort myself with the knowledge that 
science explains everything and that smart-looking 
eggheads tell me on TV with a wag of their heads that 
there are no such things as ghosts. Yes, during the 
daylight, I am sure nothing hides in the shadows of my 
home.

The movers brought our belongings and stacked them 
around the house. I left the boxes where they were 
first set. I only dig into them if I need something. 
The memories of her things assault me in ways I cannot 
deal with. 

All I cared about was setting up my computer and TV. 
During the day I try to forget my grief by doing things 
on the computer. The TV is a disappointment here. Even 
with cable, there is some kind of interference that 
distorts the picture. It appears to me as if another 
channel is coming through behind whatever channel I'm 
on. Reminds me of a bad antenna. It's really bad at 
night. I can see shapes of people coming through and it 
distracts me from what I'm watching.

At first I was leaving the TV on because I started 
having nightmares, but after a few times waking up in a 
panic, I started turning off the TV before I tried to 
go to sleep. The last few times it appeared as if 
someone was close up on the screen and looking at me in 
that channel behind the cable feed. It was very 
unnerving.

My nightmares were another story.

Maybe some other person wouldn't call these nightmares. 
I remember the first one, clearly. I was almost asleep, 
and beginning to wander in those random thoughts and 
visions that are typical just before total sleep. The 
air was cool in the bedroom and the TV was off. A tiny 
shred of light came from the street lamp outside. How 
it got through all the vegetation and the cheap blinds, 
I don't know.

I felt her then. A woman. I wasn't sure I was seeing 
her or dreaming her, but she had very dark hair, curly 
and soft. For a brief second, I thought it was Annette. 
But Annette had been short and skinny. This woman was 
tall. Her curves oozed sensuality. She was wearing a 
black lace bra and panties. She wore black stockings 
supported by black garters. She leaned close over me 
and my nostrils filled with her scent. Jasmine, yes. 
Sometimes I think lilac, but it was definitely jasmine.

As she leaned over me, I moaned and turned slightly. I 
wanted to feel her. Annette melted from my mind and an 
ache grew within me that spoke of forgotten longing. My 
arms wanted to reach up. My back began to arch, and 
then I awoke. To nothing. The tears came then and I 
think I was at my closest to death. The misery was so 
sharp and painful that death would certainly have been 
a release.

There was nothing left for me. I had nothing to look 
forward to. We had not had time to have children, and 
living here pretending to be fulfilling our dreams was 
the cruelest of jokes. We thought we had been smart 
having those double life policies on each other, but we 
had been fools.

By day, as days turned into weeks, I would sit at my 
computer, scanning the news, reading about history and 
science. I would watch the day dim from my seat through 
the one window with the open blinds. Even the open 
blinds were a cruel joke in this house. I could let the 
light in all I wanted, but the windows couldn't be 
opened. Over the decades, people had painted so many 
coats of paint that not a single window in the house 
would open. All I could let in was the light. But even 
that didn't last.

Every day I would sit and experience the loss of light, 
until I was sitting in the dark. The only light came 
from my monitor. Then the house was all shadow. At 
least the front room also took light from the 
streetlamp outside, more so than the bedroom next to it 
behind all the vegetation. 

At night, when it was dark, I would hear things. 
Usually, these would be outdoor sounds. I kept hearing 
someone walking outside my front door on the porch. But 
when I would look, no one would be there. Science tells 
me that such noises must have been the contraction of 
the porch as the cool settled in for the night. Same 
with the wall heater behind me. Strange noises would 
filter up through the heater from the basement, but I 
know that can all be explained away, too. At least I 
never heard noises from the second floor. 

Science could even explain the bizarre occurrences with 
my TV each night. Without any warning, my TV would turn 
itself on every night at 2:27 am. Surely, someone was 
just getting home from a bar and sitting down to turn 
on the TV across the street or something. My TV was 
obviously on the same frequency. Of course, the house 
across the street was vacant, and had been unlived in 
for years. Someone had a super remote, somewhere.

My nightmares became disturbing and frequent, but I 
would forget most of them each time. When I was having 
them, though, I would remember. She would come to me 
after I had gotten into bed and started to drift off. I 
learned to wait until 2:30am before going to bed. I 
would go into the bedroom, turn off the TV with the 
strange second-channel apparitions looking at me, and 
settle down to sleep. No use going to bed before 2:27 
when the TV would pop on with static and noise.

She would come in as I tossed fitfully. I would kick at 
the sheets and push at my pillow. I would feel the bed 
sink at my feet and I would grow still. I knew better 
than to waste my time to turn on the light - no one 
would be there. But the bed would shift and move as if 
someone - her - was climbing over me. Sometimes I would 
see her in her black lingerie. Sometimes I could smell 
her jasmine fragrance. Each time, I would sigh and feel 
the stir of an erection. My thighs would clench with an 
aching need and her perfume would make me dizzy and 
delirious. 

The first time was wonderful. She pulled back the 
sheets and pulled my underwear down. Her mouth was cool 
velvet as she slid her lips down my aching member. My 
moans grew feverish as she worked my erection with the 
most sensual blowjob I have ever had. The feel of her 
tongue and the cool air on the wet parts of my shaft 
ran tickles of lust up and down my extremities. Her 
hair brushed my thighs and my gasps became labored.

But each time after that, I would become filled, not 
with passion and the need to cum, but with dread.

The anniversary of Annette's death was nothing to be 
celebrated. All day long I cried. I finally unpacked 
her picture and set it on the box next to my bed. 
Exhausted, I went to bed early and was awakened at 2:27 
by the TV. I awoke in terror of some unseen thing, but 
realized it was the stupid TV. I fumbled for the remote 
and tried to hit the power button. For some reason, I 
kept hitting the volume. The static hiss rose and rose 
as I frantically mashed the power button. With a curse, 
I got out of bed and went to turn on the light.

Turning back to the TV with the remote firmly in hand 
and my finger on the red power button, I froze. There 
was a face looking at me in that channel distortion. It 
filled the screen. I noted that I could see eyes, this 
time, before my finger bruised itself on the power 
button. Adrenaline pumped through me and sweat broke 
out on my face.

I went into the small bathroom and washed my face to 
calm myself. I looked pretty bad in the mirror. Back in 
the bedroom, I gave one small fleeting glance at 
Annette's picture on the box by the bed. It was enough 
to cause me to double over in grief. The grief had 
lessened over time, but sometimes it came back, really 
hard. Tonight was bad.

Back in bed, I started to drift off again. But a sense 
of longing and dread filled me as the scent of jasmine 
filled my nose. The foot of the bed sunk and I moaned 
in need. Reaching blindly, I flung back the sheets to 
reveal my nakedness. I had stopped wearing underwear to 
bed a few weeks back. Her mouth descended on my 
throbbing shaft and I moaned in relief. Up and down, 
her head moved over my aching shaft, bringing pleasure 
and increasing the frustration within me.

Without conscious thought, I realized I had reached 
over and placed Annette's picture face down.

The woman in black lingerie removed her mouth and 
shifted around on the bed. Something black and lacy 
hung in front of my face. Her panties. I moaned in 
encouragement as she positioned herself over me. I 
could see her very feminine hips and her naked vagina 
poised over my straining shaft. I wanted to sink it 
into her so bad, to feel her warmth and to shoot my 
sperm deep into her. My hands reached for her hips. I 
could feel her soft skin and the garters.

Her hips lowered until I felt her wetness touch the 
head of my penis. She teased me there, for a moment, 
until I was moaning loudly in the darkness. I wanted to 
fuck her so bad. I wanted to feel what I had been 
missing this past year. With a deliberate push 
downwards, the woman sank herself onto my painful 
erection. Her heat burned down onto me as she fucked 
downwards.

A loud cry escaped me that was a mixture of pleasure 
and grief. Tears streamed down the sides of my head as 
the woman seemed to know exactly how to screw to please 
me. Her vaginal canal was hot and welcoming. It gripped 
my penis perfectly from top to bottom and milked it 
with convulsing spasms. She went from tip to root in 
eager motions. I could not believe how deep I was 
getting.

My orgasm built like the ascent of a roller coaster - 
slow, but powerful. I remembered my orgasms being 
faster in the build-up. This was agonizing. It kept 
building and building, the pressure on my insides 
getting worse by the second. The need to blast my sperm 
into her almost made me physically ill. She mashed her 
pussy down over my penis and her inner canal started 
making milking motions. The tickle to cum became pain 
and my breathing became labored. Spots swam before my 
eyes and then the sperm exploded out of me and deep 
into her. I could feel the long squirts as convulsions 
swept over me. I teetered on the edge of what I don't 
know as my orgasm and ejaculation continued until my 
balls literally hurt with the act of pushing sperm.

I was drained, spent, wasted. I felt as if my limbs 
were made of lead. But the woman wasn't done. she 
pulled off and knelt over me, her mouth descending on 
my numb member. My world was spinning and I felt as if 
I were off-balance. She stroked her mouth over me a few 
times, and then I felt something I had never felt from 
her. Her teeth raked my shaft and sent shivers up my 
body. But then, needle-like teeth sank into my penis 
and pain ripped through me.

With a shriek of pain, I leapt out of bed. The sound of 
rustling leather swept from the bed and I heard a 
strange giggle. I ignored all that. I was in the 
bathroom, quivering in pain. I flicked on the light and 
looked down to see a bloody mess. There were holes 
around the middle of my shaft, oozing blood.

"No!" This couldn't be happening. Not the way I 
thought. I had done this to myself, surely. I had 
masturbated myself and then dug holes with my 
fingernails. Happens all the time on those shows where 
science debunks these kinds of things. I looked at my 
hand; it was bloody. So I had done it to myself.

But then I saw that my fingernails had no blood in 
them.

"Must be psychosomatic," I told myself, mimicking the 
scientist debunkers.

A sound drifted up from the vent in the bathroom that 
sent chills up my spine. A giggle, then a metallic 
squeal, followed by a firm clanging sound.

Dread filled me. The only thing that could make that 
sound was the weird iron door in the basement.

"No way," I said in a shaking voice. "No way!"

I walked on unsteady legs into the bedroom.

"No way!" I shouted. Anger lapped at the edges of the 
fear. I could not accept what I knew to be unreal. I 
shrugged into my pants as fast as I could, but gingerly 
when it came to covering my bloody penis.

I went from room to room turning on all the lights. The 
house was empty except for me and the boxes. My anger 
grew and my certainty that my minds was at fault. I 
knew I had to face my fear.

"There's nothing here." I approached the door to the 
basement. "Nothing."

I unlatched the door and looked down the steps as the 
fear welled back up inside me.  The only way to defeat 
the fear was to expose it, face it, and realize it was 
all in my mind. I had to do this.

Despite the waves of fear coming at me, I firmly 
stepped down the stairs. I almost ran down them. My 
skin crawled as I called out to the basement, "there is 
nothing here!"

At the foot of the stairs, I reached up and pulled the 
light string. Light pushed at the darkness in the 
basement. I repeated my claim with a gasping voice. The 
light swung above me. The only thing down here was the 
discarded sheet in the corner.

I walked over to it in anger and kicked it several 
times. I pulled at it with my foot and scraped it away 
from the wall.

"See? Nothing here!" I gritted through clenched teeth. 
The sheet was old and soiled. Curious brown stains 
blotted it in areas.

Blood?

A tapping behind me turned me around. The heater? I was 
facing the strange wooden door. It was closed. I did 
not remember ever closing it. Panic welled back up in 
me in a constant fight against my anger. Spots swam 
before my eyes. I was having trouble breathing.

No! I was going to show myself there was no reason to 
fear. There were no ghosts in this house; I didn't 
believe in them. Science had proven them to be phony, 
over and over again. I strode to the wooden door and 
flung it open as I repeated to myself in a loud voice 
that nothing was there.

The room was empty, except for the iron door.

"See?" I asked myself as my scalp literally crawled. 
"Nothing."

Yet the fear still assaulted me as I knew I would have 
to open the iron door to finish it. I forced myself 
forward. Laughter wanted to bubble out of me. I was on 
the edge of hysteria.

"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" I wheezed as fear choked 
my throat. My vision pulsed with the racing of my 
heart. I hauled on the iron door and pulled it open on 
protesting hinges.

My eyes rolled in my head as I thrust my head into the 
opening and croaked, "nothing!"

Only ashes lay in that space. The darkness in the back 
seemed to laugh at me. The fear was not gone. The light 
couldn't reach far enough to expose the back wall, but 
I could see it dimly. To touch that wall would mean I 
had reached the limit of my fear and confronted it. I 
would know then that there was truly nothing here but 
unfounded fear. I clambered up into the hole, trying to 
scream, trying to breathe, desperate to end this. Ashes 
puffed up as I crawled. I reached a hand to the wall 
and I could feel something all around me.

My hand made contact with that shadowed wall. 
"Nothing..."

The iron door slammed shut with inhuman force and 
darkness smothered me.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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