by Various
But the warnings and words lingered, despite her disbelief and amusement. To mock her own fear, every time a cold spot made her shiver and whenever she looked over her shoulder expecting to see eyes staring back at her, she started a little game. She hummed the theme song to Ghostbusters.
She also took to repeating the following mantra: I don’t believe in ghosts. She told herself that firmly before going to bed. However, the superstition in town must have been contagious because her unease decided to plague her dreams.
Chapter Four
Creepy and stalkerish or not, Derrick watched over Jenna as she slept. How could he not when she proved so utterly fascinating? He memorized her every detail from the sweet curve of her cheeks, which blushed a light pink, to her thick lashes that fluttered slightly as she dreamed. He wished he could touch and bury his face in her thick, dark hair spread like a veil over her pillow. He brushed his ghostly fingers over her smooth skin, and she shivered in her repose. How he wished he could feel the silk of her flesh.
Lower he trailed his hand over the skimpy silk top she wore, his chilly touch puckering her nipples. She shifted, rolling onto her back, sprawling her legs wide. He trailed his insubstantial fingers down the curve of her belly to the apex of her thighs. The crotch of her panties darkened with moisture, her unconscious arousal soaking them. He brought his face down, wishing he could smell her.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Mark’s tone conveyed disgust.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, ghost or not, Derrick whirled. “Enjoying myself. You should try it sometime. Besides, it’s not like she knows I’m here.”
A frown creased Mark’s face as he shook his head at him. “That’s not the point. It’s wrong, and you know it.”
To hide his own guilt because, in truth, he knew it was wrong, Derrick sneered. “Oh please. I’ve seen the way you watch her as well.”
“Watch, yes, but I don’t try and touch.” Mark scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I won’t deny she calls to me even in this insubstantial shape. But at least I’ve retained enough common decency to not act on it.”
“What else is there for us to do?” railed Derrick. “We’re fucking ghosts. No one hears us or sees us. And even worse, our mate has finally arrived and, instead of claiming her, I’m reduced to fucking jerking off and shooting ectoplasm instead of sinking balls deep into her like I should.” Depressed anew at the situation, he slumped on the bed, and his shoulders drooped. “I tire of this.”
Mark sat beside him. “As do I, but the alternative isn’t much better.”
“No, it’s not. I just can’t believe there’s nothing we can do. Surely there must be another way to break this spell.”
Mark stood and paced. “I didn’t want to say anything, but …”
“But what?” Derrick looked at him with suspicion. “Have you been hiding something from me?”
“Not exactly. But you and I both recognize Jenna is our mate, right?”
Derrick peeked over at the woman who slept in the room he used to call his own. When she’d arrived just under a week ago, he’d rampaged for days. The unfairness stung. How could fate be so cruel? If only he hadn’t recognized her for what she was—their true mate. Knowing that made it so hard. So frustrating. “Yeah, trust me I know who she is, not that it does us any good.”
“Ah, but while you’ve been perving, I’ve been acting and observing.”
“And?” Derrick restrained an urge to pounce on his best friend and shake him. Hurrying Mark never worked. He’d get to the point in his own sweet time.
“She senses us. I even think she dreams of us.”
“Like hell.” Derrick looked back at Jenna, sound asleep still, but a crease marred her brow, and her eyelids fluttered.
“No, I’m not messing with you. I think, on some level, a part of her senses us, probably because she’s our mate.”
“Okay, say for a second she does. How does that help us?”
“Don’t you see? If she knows we’re here, and we can communicate with her, then maybe she can find a spell to reverse what’s been done.”
The hope flared bright and shining, but only for a moment. Derrick shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Clarissa is still out there. I somehow doubt she’d take kindly to Jenna messing with her plans. I won’t put our mate in danger like that.”
“Really? Has it occurred to you that Jenna might still be in danger? She is living in our house. She’s beautiful. Female. And, if I’m right, and she is aware of something, of us, she might decide to start digging. What happens if she begins to show too much of a curiosity and Clarissa finds out? What makes you think that witch won’t try something? And here we are, stuck and unable to help.”
Sometimes Mark and his logic sucked. “Fuck.” The word slipped from lips, not exactly eloquent, but it aptly captured his feelings. Derrick glanced once again at the sleeping Jenna and felt a helpless fury at the thought that she could be hurt. This isn’t right. It’s my duty, our duty as her mates, to protect her.
“Exactly. We need to try and find a way out.”
“Like we haven’t already?” Derrick rolled his eyes.
“Before we didn’t have a possibly ally. Now, we do.”
“Fine then. What do you propose?”
Uttering a loud sigh, Mark said. “I’m going to probably regret saying this, but we need to get her attention. Get her looking into our disappearance.”
Was Mark suggesting … “By any means possible?”
“Yes,” replied Mark through gritted teeth.
Derrick rubbed his hands gleefully. “Now you’re talking. Well then, unless you plan to join me, you might want to drift somewhere else. I’ve got some pleasurable work to do.”
But, to Derrick’s surprise, and reminding them of the days before their captivity, Mark stayed, the call of their mate too strong for even him to deny.
Chapter Five
Once again, Jenna woke from yet another strange and erotic dream, one that left her aching and sticky. Even more embarrassing, it had featured two men doing things to her that in the light of day seemed decadent and immoral—in other words, exciting.
What is wrong with me? Since when is one man not enough? A disturbing question that she possessed no answer to. Had the trauma of her ex-boyfriend’s betrayal roused some weird new erotic interest in her? No more men. Not one. And definitely not two, no matter what her subconscious thought.
Jenna swung her legs out of bed and surveyed her new, exceedingly masculine, bedroom. She planned to renovate it slowly over time, doing most of the work herself. Jenna loved getting her hands dirty, and after the mess she’d left behind, it also doubled as a form of therapy. There was a certain satisfaction in achieving something, something on her own over which she could claim pride of ownership. But who will notice?
How about the ghosts?
Jenna still didn’t believe in otherworldly presences. However, she still couldn’t seem to dissipate her sense of not being alone in the house. Maybe, if I repaint the bedroom, it will feel more like mine, and I’ll stop having these weird feelings. But would a coat of latex help curb the odd occurrences that kept happening in her new home?
For example, when she climbed the ladder to peel some wallpaper and the stupid thing tilted, dumping her. She should have hit the floor. Instead, a cold air pillow had softened her fall.
Or how about the way doors sometimes creaked open at her approach? The first time, she’d squeaked in surprise, but the cool draft that preceded the event made her decide that it was simply an air pressure thing.
When she showered, no matter how hot the water, her skin pimpled as if cold, invisible fingers stroked her. Insane of course. As if poltergeists would resort to groping her plump frame.
Then there were, of course, the erotic dreams featuring two men, dark-haired, dark-eyed and with seriously hot bodies. No one she’d ever met--unfortunately.
But by far the oddest thing, and freakiest, was how she could swear sh
e sometimes heard voices arguing. And the most fucked-up part? The voices appeared to be fighting over her. Until lately that is. Now the voices seemed to have one purpose in mind, seducing her, or so the soft hums indicated.
Crazy, yes, but until she’d moved to her new house, she’d never suffered from delusions. So, if she were to assume she hadn’t suddenly lost her mind, what did that leave?
Even as she tried to come up with logical explanations, her mind kept drifting to movies she’d seen like Poltergeist and Paranormal Activity. Fiction, 100 percent unreal, yet she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps she should invite a priest over for coffee. And hey, padre, mind bringing your bible and cross too? Maybe a vial of holy water for good measure.
Great. She was now turning into a paranoid believer, just like the townsfolk.
On her way downstairs for breakfast, a swinging chain caught her eye. Funny, she’d not really noted it before. It hung from the ceiling at the far end of the second floor hallway. The entrance to the attic she assumed, a place she’d not yet explored but now, suddenly, had a desperate urge to.
Perhaps she’d find the answers hidden there. Maybe I’ll find some treasure. Or a dead body. Not likely. The police had thoroughly searched the house and grounds according to the realtor.
Or had they …
Shaking her head at her foolishness, Jenna stood beneath the trap door and pulled on the chain. Down came the folded ladder, which she opened. Taking a deep breath—I don’t believe in ghosts!—she climbed up and poked her head into the attic space.
A porthole window let a little bit of daylight in, making a flashlight unnecessary, so she clambered the rest of the way in and found the space to be huge, enough she could stand up, actually. She also discovered a bare light bulb with a string, which she pulled. The light flashed on, and then, with a pop, the bulb burnt out, but she saw enough to make her hurry downstairs to get a replacement one.
The attic lit once again, she took a moment to survey the space. She found herself surrounded by a veritable treasure trove, if you were into old junk, that was. Several dusty trunks lay scattered about the place, odds and ends of furniture too, some of it totally retro such as two vinyl-seat kitchen chairs and an old wooden vanity. Cool but not what held her interest. She zeroed in on the more recent additions such as the boxes that were relatively dust free and stacked in a pile.
Intrigued, she pulled one down before she sat and delved into the box. It held a bunch of picture frames, the images that of a family. There was a woman with long, loose hair flanked by a pair of tall, handsome men. In front of them stood a dark-haired boy with a serious mien, and in the background, head peering around a tree, another little boy with a mischievous grin. Picture after picture she browsed, displaying the boys in different stages of growth, playing baseball, tag, celebrating birthdays. In some images, the boys posed with very large dogs that bore a close resemblance to wolves. Probably a crossbreed of some type, because everyone knew wolves were too wild for domestication.
She pushed aside the pile of pictures with a frown. While interesting to browse, she didn’t learn anything other than this used to be a family home. However, unease still assailed her. Something nagged her, and it took an image of the boys, dressed in tuxes for what she assumed was their high school prom, for her to zero in on her discomfort. Why did they seem so familiar? Have I met them before?
Impossible. She’d never been to this town before moving, so unless she’d run into them in the city, then there was zero chance of that. Jenna placed all the pictures back into the box and had prepared to check out another box when the doorbell chimed.
Who the heck could that be?
Wiping grubby hands on her jeans, Jenna clambered down the ladder and scampered down the steps to see. When she opened the door to find her first casserole thrust at her, Jenna smiled and held in a giggle.
The welcome wagon had finally arrived.
Chapter Six
The welcome wagon, consisting of two middle-aged women in slacks, cardigans, and smiling faces, didn’t stay long at all. They came in for coffee, instant, which was all Jenna had. Jenna tried, unsuccessfully, to pump them for information about the house, but, while they alluded to the mystery around the house, like the townsfolk, they didn’t seem to want to talk about it.
They did, however, peer around with curiosity, but when one of the familiar drafts flowed through the room and touched them, it didn’t take long for them to make their escape. Almost in tandem, they set down their cups with a rattle, made their excuses, and just about ran off as if they’d seen a ghost. I’ll bet by dinnertime they’ll be convinced they did.
Jenna snorted. Old house with a history and bad drafts. Was this how urban legends got started? Thinking about the house made her decide to go into town, where she hit the hardware store first and picked out some paint for the bedroom. Time to turn that male space into a girly one.
Exiting the store, she placed the can of latex—filled to the brim with a lilac color--in her car. But she hesitated before getting into her vehicle. She wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. I could use some more food. She’d begun to walk down the sidewalk to the grocery store when a Halloween decoration fluttering in the breeze caught her eye. She stopped and stared at the white cardboard cutout.
More ghosts. Could the townsfolk be right?
She wanted to scoff. Seriously, lingering spirits? Jenna was a practical woman, not an impressionable young girl. Yet, the evidence that kept mounting in front of her made her wonder about the history of the house. Yes, the previous owners had mysteriously disappeared, but who were they? Axe murderers? Satanists?
Was the answer more scientific in nature? Did she need to look in another direction such as who was the builder? Had they followed code? Perhaps it had plumbing problems. She knew it had drafts. As for the vivid dreams and hallucinations, perhaps she should have a mold specialist brought in to check the place for toxicity. But ghosts? I am not a superstitious villager—yet.
Placing thoughts of ghosts and shoddy contractors to the back of her mind, Jenna entered the general store and bought some food. She placed her groceries in the trunk of her car, but then, instead of getting in and driving off, Jenna decided to go find out some of the answers to the questions that plagued her. She headed to the large stone building that housed the municipal offices, court, and town library.
Stepping from the bright sunlight into the gloomy library, she couldn’t help but blink. Then sneeze. This whole town seemed to thrive on things of age, she thought wryly, as the musty, dusty smell of books and paneling that needed a thorough cleaning tickled her nose.
The place loomed around her, larger than expected, and Jenna peeked around at a loss. Where to start?
“Can I help you?”
The query out of the blue when she thought herself alone made Jenna squeak and jump. Heart racing, she whirled to confront the source of the voice. Standing behind a massive wooden desk, piled high with books, which was probably how she missed spotting her in the first place, the librarian appeared as though she should have retired fifty years ago. Frail and hunched with pure white hair coiled in a bun, her bright eyes were the only lively thing about her.
“Oh, hi. You startled me,” she said.
“So I see. Sorry about that. Was there something you needed help with? Looking for a specific book?”
“Kind of. I’m actually looking for anything you’ve got on the house and owners of 132 Changeling Drive.”
At her words, the librarian practically bounced in excitement, and Jenna feared for her poor heart. “You’re talking about the Wolfgang place. Oh, what a story that home has. You know you could have talked to anyone on the street and they could have told you the story.”
Jenna didn’t retort that folks just about crossed themselves when they heard where she lived. Apparently, she’d found the one townsperson who didn’t fear the house.
“Did you know the previous owner?”
“Just about everyone in
town did. Derrick and Mark were quite popular, especially with the young ladies. When they went missing, the whole town couldn’t stop buzzing about it. Many feared foul play because where one went, the other did too. Whatever happened, happened to them both.”
“I heard they lived together?”
“Yes, but not in the way you think. They were practically brothers. When Mark’s parents died in a car accident while he was young, Derrick’s parents took him in and raised him as their own.”
As they spoke, Jenna followed the librarian to the far end of the library to a modern computer station that looked out of place in the wood paneled and distinctively old place. With surprising speed, the old lady pulled up several windows each featuring newspaper articles.
Jenna mentally chastised herself for assuming that the librarian’s age and appearance placed her in the category of ignorant and senile.
“While I locate the books on the house, why don’t you peruse the articles about the boys. I have some newspapers scanned detailing the scandal. Quite the stir it caused, I tell you. So many rumors and theories, none of them ever proven, of course. But I’ll let you read about it for yourself.”
“Thanks.”
Seating herself in the straight-backed, wooden chair, she used the mouse to scroll the page and read the first article.
Foul play or Mishap?
Two local men are missing following Halloween. Best friends Derrick Wolfgang and Mark Lupinier have been officially declared missing by police. While initial interviews seem to indicate the pair has not been seen since Halloween, it’s unknown exactly when the inseparable pair disappeared. According to friends and family, it wasn’t unusual for the two men to go on camping trips of a week or more, but usually they left notice. Travis Jhinn, owner of the Dale Mines and employer of the men says he hasn’t seen or heard from them in at least a week, unusual behavior for the reliable pair. According to police reports, the house appears undisturbed. An insider claims the police found camping gear in the basement, the fridge fully stocked, and, more disturbing, cells phones and wallets left behind. At this time police haven’t declared foul play but are asking the public to call if they’ve seen or heard anything.