Ghost Story
Page 1
Ghost Story
the Accidental Necromancer, Book 1
By JG Jerome
Edited by Heather Jerome
Cover by Albert Chauw
Copyright © March 4, 2020
J.G. Jerome
All Rights Reserved
A story of the Zombieverse
“Love is at the root of everything. Love or the lack of it.” - Fred Rogers.
Contents
Ghost Story
Foreword
Prologue
1 - Moving in
2 - Looks like I had a visitor
3 - Meeting my host
4 - Rebecca
5 - Rest and Recovery
6 - The Hunger
7 - Transformation
8 - Marissa
9 - The doctor is in
10 - A lazy Sunday afternoon
11 - Becoming
12 - Blowing my mind
13 - Building a Bond
14 - Shopping and Surprises
15 - Another Surprise
16 - Angels and Demons
17 - Angelus Gwenefron
18 - Getting ready to face the world
19 - Doing business with Bernadette
20 - Audrey
21 - Crushed
22 - Another twist of fate
23 - Workshop
24 - Checking out
25 - Wrapping up business
26 - Connecting
27 - Going Home
28 - Welcome home
29 - A quick call before bed
30 - Homesearch
31 - Unease
Afterword:
Appendices:
Foreword
This is an adult fantasy for mature folks that comes out of my twisted mind. They are my dreams, daydreams, and fantasies transcribed onto paper.
As such, this story includes descriptions of genitalia, descriptions of sexual activities, mixing of US and UK idioms, panamorous relationships, harem relationships, romance, bro-mance, BFFs, cursing, bathroom fondling, co-ed showers, off-beat humor, eating food while naked or partially naked, drinking, BSDM, unusual interpretations of supernatural conventions, erotic rope arts, martial arts, prostitution, going to the bathroom, the IT industry, domestic violence, cooking, construction, women trash-talking each other, and many other things that might possibly offend someone in our judgemental society. If you are offended by any of those things, then kindly close the book, tell Amazon you made a mistake, get your refund, and go forth to enjoy life elsewhere. I wish you the best.
If you’re not dissuaded, then…
Prologue
(October 12, 1891 - Prescott, Arizona)
Rebecca Silberschmid is reviewing the material in her notebook from her studies today with Mrs. Leuvenfeld.
Her mother puts down her needlepoint with a sigh. “Rebecca, dear. It’s getting late. Put away your notes and go to bed.”
Rebecca sighs in response and closes her notebook. “Okay, Mama. Remember, Mrs. Leuvenfeld is taking me into the woods tomorrow morning, but I should be back in time to help make supper.” She gets up out of her chair and kisses her mother’s cheek. “Goodnight, Mama.” She goes to father’s chair and kisses his cheek. “Goodnight, Papa.”
Her father says, “Goodnight, dear.”
Rebecca walks out of the room. Her father looks over his glasses to see if his wife is watching and then turns his gaze to enjoy the budding roundness of his daughter’s hips, tushy, and breasts as she walks out of the room. He looks back at his wife to catch her looking at him with an arched eyebrow. He lowers his eyes and goes back to reading the Book of Exodus.
Rebecca takes her notebook to her room and sets them on the bureau. She removes her dress, corset, and bloomers. She pours a little water into the wash basin on the bureau and then sponges off the sweat of the day. She picks up the old linen towel to dry herself. Once she is satisfied that she’s dry, she takes in her figure in the framed mirror she received from her Aunt Judith as a present on her 17th birthday. She shakes her head at the differences over the last year before she grabs her nightdress and drops it over her head.
Rebecca grimaces. “Heaven help me,” she mutters. She shoves her feet into her shoes, grabs a shawl, and hurries downstairs and heads to the back door. She hollers as she grabs the lantern from the kitchen and moves to the back door, “Going to the outhouse!” She hurries to the outhouse and hangs the lantern inside before locking the door. She hikes her nightdress and takes a seat. She relaxes for a moment, and then her bowels spasm. Once she finishes evacuating, she takes a piece of newspaper from the basket to clean up. As soon as she is satisfied she is clean, she grabs the lantern and steps out of the outhouse. On the way back to the house, Rebecca stops to set the lantern next to the water pump. She grabs the bar of lye soap and scrubs her hands before pumping water over each to rinse. Her parents don’t understand, but Mrs. Leuvenfeld says it’s required to ensure her hands don’t become a fertile ground for illness. Rebecca follows her mentor’s guidance religiously.
Rebecca hurries back inside to escape the October evening chill. She puts the lamp on the hook in the kitchen and turns it down. Her mother whispers, “Leave it dear. It sounded like a good idea when I heard you call out. Goodnight, dear.”
Rebecca smiles shyly. “Goodnight, mama.” Then she hurries up the stairs. She closes the door of her room, pries off her shoes, hangs her shawl, and banks the lantern for the night. She kisses her old doll and sets it back on the small chair by the bureau. Rebecca crawls under the quilts, happy it’s not yet cold enough to warrant a bed warmer. It has been a long day of chores and learning. Rebecca closes her eyes with a smile and falls asleep.
Later, Rebecca starts awake. She thinks, ‘What was that noise?’ She turns towards the door and notices that it is cracked open. The door slowly swings open and her father’s broad profile fills the doorway. He slinks into the room holding a finger to his lips.
He stands next to the bed and bends over to grasp the quilt and sheet, slowly pulling them to the foot of the bed.
Rebecca is confused. “Papa?”
He raises his finger again and whispers, “Shhh, Becca. Be quiet.”
He places his hand on her ankle and starts to slide it up her leg.
Rebecca asks, “Papa, what are you doing?”
“Shhh, Becca. Be quiet. Listen to your papa.” He shudders as his hand slowly makes its way under the hem of her nightdress.
Rebecca is confused and frightened. She tries to get away from him by sitting up , but her father’s strong hand grabs her leg and pulls her back, as his other hand reaches out and grabs her breast.
Rebecca screams, “Papa, stop! Don’t, Papa!” She shoves his hand off her chest and kicks him in the head with her other foot. “Help!” she screams.
The door flies open, and her mother gasps. She snatches up the small chair that Rebecca’s doll sits on and breaks it over her husband’s head and shoulders. “Yacob! Get away from my daughter, you pig!”
Yacob spins and back-hands his wife in the face. “Marta, leave! This is between Becca and me!”
Marta woozily picks herself up off the floor and grabs the longest remnant of the chair. She hits him on the base of his skull. Yacob collapses onto his daughter’s legs. Rebecca scrambles to get out from under him. Marta reaches for her hand.
“Come, Rebecca. You and I are sleeping in the big bed. Bring your pillow. Come.”
Rebecca grasps her mother’s hand, and the two of them rush to Marta’s bedroom. Marta grasps the straight-backed chair that she and Yacob have used for generations to dress and undress. She tilts it to put the back under the handle to effectively lock the door.
Rebecca tosses her pillow next to her mother’s and crawls under the covers.
/> Marta wraps her arms around her shaking daughter. She murmurs, “I know this is very confusing, honey. This is not your fault. Never think it is.”
Rebecca hugs her back. “Thank you, Mama. He was touching my legs and my breast. Why would he do that?”
Marta said, “His father did the same to your Aunt Judith. I think that’s why she never married. She didn’t trust a man not to do the same to her own children.”
“Should we go stay with her, Mama?”
“Good idea. Let’s go.”
The two women get back up. Marta gives Rebecca an old pair of shoes and an old shawl. They quietly dress before Marta opens the bedroom door. They slip out the door and hurry toward the stairs. As they near the top of the stairs a roar erupts behind. Marta looks over her shoulder to see her husband grasp the back of her daughter’s neck. Marta startles and loses her balance, rolling down the stairs.
Yacob yells, “How dare you ensorcell me, witch!”
Rebecca cries out, “I did not, Papa. I did nothing! You chose to assault me!”
“Lies, evil witch!”
“No, Papa. I did not! I won’t surrender to your lusts!”
“I would never touch my daughter! You hexed me!”
“I didn’t force you any more than Aunt Judith forced Grandfather!”
That stops Yacob cold. He hisses, “My father was a holy man! He told me that Judith enchanted him, but that God told him it was okay because Judith was part of his family!”
Marta sits up groggily at the bottom of the stairs. She shouts up at Yacob. “My Rebecca is not your daughter! Marvin Feinstein is her father! I would never have your child, you MONSTER! I had to FUCK your business partner to have my beautiful daughter! As if your seed had the power to impregnate anyone! YOU ARE WEAK, Yacob! WEAK!”
Yacob is stunned. He releases Rebecca, who immediately runs down the stairs to help her mother.
Yacob slowly stalks down the stairs. “I will get to the bottom of this.” As he reaches the bottom of the stairs he slaps Rebecca with all his considerable mass behind the strike. She flies into the corridor, nearly reaching the front door before collapsing on the floor. He follows through with the strike to backhand his wife, lifting her off the floor.
Marta bounces off the wall and falls forward to smack her head on the newel post at the bottom of the stair rail when she lands.
Yacob grabs a handful of hair on the crown of each woman’s head. “You two can stay in the cellar until I break Rebecca’s ensorcellment and you confess your lies, Marta.” He drags the two women out the back door by their scalps and drops them at the cellar doors. He opens both doors and then grabs the scalps of his two prisoners again and drags them stumbling down the stairs. He pushes them toward the back of the room towards the posts holding the house up.
Yacob just stares into the darkness for a moment, fuming at the attacks of his women. He mutters, “They belong to me.” He prepares the oil lamp hanging just inside the cellar doors. Then he pulls a match out of the box he keeps by the lamp, and strikes it to light the lamp. He finishes setting the wick on the lamp and dropping the glass in place. Then he pulls a coil of rope off a hook and uses it to tie Rebecca to one of the posts. Then he lifts Marta by her scalp and ties her to the other post.
Once Marta is secure, Yacob backhands her again. He spits, “Sleep well, you evil witches!” He douses the lamp, walks up the steps, and locks the cellar.
* * *
Three days later Yacob opens the cellar door. Marta and Rebecca squint against the bright afternoon light coming in the open doors. They are covered in filth from their bladders and bowels eventually giving up despite their desperate efforts not to soil themselves.
Yacob unties Marta. He tells her, “Get upstairs and make me dinner, woman.”
He looks at Rebecca. He considers taking his pleasure from her, but he has ropes running over her breasts and hips. He takes in the urine stains on her nightdress and the feces piled at her feet. He smirks. “You should have taken care of me when I came to you, Becca. You could have avoided all of this.”
Rebecca works to generate enough moisture to spit at him. She launches a pretty good-sized splat of spittle right into her father’s face. She holds back none of her scorn. “I would rather rot right here.”
Yacob wipes the spittle from his face. “Suit yourself.” He stomps up the stairs and closes the cellar doors.
* * *
The next day, Marta comes down late in the morning. She is carrying a bundle tucked under her arm and two buckets of water. Her whole face is purple and yellow from the various bruises she collected over the last few days. She unwraps the ropes from around Rebecca and hugs her close. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey. I brought you one of my older nightdresses. Your father burned all your clothes while we were both down here.”
Marta strips Rebecca’s old nightdress off her. She cuts scraps from the top of it, and uses one to soap down Rebecca’s soiled body. Then she takes another and rinses her daughter off. Taking yet another scrap, Marta dries her off. Then she powders Rebecca’s crack and armpits. Rebecca pulls her mother’s old, clean nightdress over her head, as Marta picks up the feces at the base of Rebecca’s post with the soiled rags.
She points at the bundle, “There’s bread and cheese there, sweetie. Eat. I’m going to rinse out the buckets. I’ll leave one for you with fresh water. The other can be your toilet.”
Marta hurries upstairs as Rebecca tears into the food. She barely has enough saliva to soften the bread and cheese to swallow it. She eventually gets a couple of bites down. Marta hurries back into the cellar with the two buckets, one of which has a cup in it.
Marta whispers, “My unfortunate husband should be back shortly. Stay down here. Drink water. Eat. I have a couple of candles in the bundle. There’s a blanket and a pillow for you, too.” She kisses Rebecca’s cheek. “Be strong, honey.” Marta hurries up the stairs and closes the cellar door.
Before Rebecca can finish her food, the cellar doors open, and Yacob comes down the stairs carrying a length of chain. “Left hand.” He holds a shackle up and clamps it on Rebecca’s wrist. He bolts the shackle closed and pulls two wrenches from his pocket and tightens them in place. After the shackle is bolted securely, Yacob wraps the other end of the chain around the post three times and bolts it into place.
“This is better than you deserve, witch!” He grabs the candle, blanket, pillow, and the last of the bread and cheese. “Thank you for holding my lunch.” Then he leaves the cellar and closes the door.
Rebecca screams, “Papa!”
Shortly afterward, Rebecca hears yelling and screaming upstairs.
* * *
Late at night six weeks later, Rebecca is lying at the base of the post. It is early December, and it is cold in the cellar. There is frost on the stones of the cellar walls. Her mother has been absent for two weeks. She was very ill on her last visit; she took the water bucket but never returned. Rebecca herself suffered a fever for several days before she started to shiver from the cold. She hears a beastly roar in the distance. It sounds like it’s calling her name. Rebecca rests her head on her knees with a gentle smile and falls asleep.
She never wakes up.
1 - Moving in
The year of my divorce was probably the worst in my life. My wife and I had just bought a ‘weekend getaway’ house in the historic district of Prescott, Arizona. Three weeks after we closed on the property, I was notified I had six months before I was getting laid off. Then I ended up getting ill, spiraling down until I had pneumonia. A month later, my sister was diagnosed with cancer. Two months later, I was on a road trip to start turning over my duties and finished before we expected. I was able to return home a day early. My wife’s phone went to voicemail the night before. When I got home, the car dropped me off in the driveway. I found the front door unlocked. I walked in to find my wife swallowing the pool boy’s cock while the gardener fucked her from behind.
Apparently, I was the problem. S
he handed me divorce papers before I finished packing my stuff into my CRV.
A year later, when my divorce was final, I ended up with the little house in Prescott. Two years later I have a couple of ‘work from home’ jobs, and I have finally saved enough to renovate the Prescott house. The original structure burned to the ground at some point in 1892. It had been rebuilt a year after the fire, and the last addition was in 1937 to leave the little monstrosity that I live in. There have been some renovations done over the years, but they were done cheap and half-assed. The end result is reminiscent of a bunch of boxes taped together with a small front porch added on. I’ve been chipping away at it over the last two years, but I want it done right. I found drawings of the original pre-fire house. Ideally I want to restore it to resemble the original structure. So, I have been saving up for it. I’ve got the permits, I’ve got the contractor lined up. I finally got agreement to my plans from the historical society, and I’ve packed up most of my belongings into a storage facility.
I have been looking for an apartment for six weeks. Prescott always has more demand for apartments than there is supply. I applied for a couple and even thought I had one lined up, but it fell through at the last minute.
There is always an ‘apartment for rent’ sign at the Doric Apartments. It’s a big older building with four big Doric columns at the entrance. It’s close to Courthouse Square and about a block north of my house on the corner of Aubrey and Cortez. I’ve avoided the Doric Apartments because the reviews I’ve read on it are kind of … well, weird.
I’m at the point that I don’t care.
I call Wednesday morning and make an appointment to look at the available apartment just before noon. I walk between the namesake columns and meet the manager in the small office inside. She’s an emaciated elderly woman that reeks of stale cigarettes. If she’s smiled in the last twenty years, I’m sure it was completely by accident.