Jack-O-Lantern: Haunted by You
Michele Bardsley
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Copyright ©2006 Michele Bardsley
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ISBN (10) 1-59596-558-0
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-558-5
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Haunted by You
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” lied Twila Montgomery. The elderly, but spry Elwood Parson had been walking his huge, floppy-eared Golden Retriever, Mitsy, along the lake shore when he’d spotted her hauling suitcases into the cottage. For that matter, I don’t believe in love, either. Oh, hell. That’s another lie, she thought ruefully.
“No one’s stayed longer than a night or two,” he said, grinning. Twila stared at his stained teeth. Good heavens! His dentures needed an emergency dip in Polident.
“Honeymoon couple,” he continued, nodding. “Jonathon and Millie Dutton. Jonny’s brother figured himself in love with Millie. So, he followed them all the way to the cottage. Jon got it in there -- Pow! -- bullet to the skull. No one knew what happened to her. The night after the murder, people started seeing the Bride walk from the middle of the lake right to the back porch. Y’know they dredged the lake. Didn’t find a thing.”
Twila held on to her temper. Mr. Parson was the fifth person today to regale her with tales of the Bride, whom she’d seen with her own eyes ten years ago thank you very much, though the other stories lacked his bloodthirstiness. “I’m sure she’s as lovely a person in death as she was in life, and we’ll get along just fine.”
He peered at her with rheumy blue eyes. “Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”
Oh, for the love of Pete! The ol’ ornery goat was teasing her -- probably had nothing better to do. Everyone who lived on the lake seemed to be seventy or older.
Twila worked up a decent smile for her new neighbor. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish unloading my car. It was a long drive and I’m very tired.”
“Sure, sure. Y’know, today is the fiftieth anniversary of the murder.” He looked at her, squinting. “Yep. Fifty years ago exactly.”
“Thanks for sharing that information with me.” She was sick to death of hearing about the tragic deaths of the newlyweds. Obviously nothing interesting had unfolded at Miller’s Lake since then. Still… fifty years ago today? How was that for timing? Sheesh.
Mr. Parson whistled for his dog. Mitsy romped up from playing in the water, shaking her wet fur as she danced around her master’s feet. “We’ll see you at Marv’s barbecue tonight, right?” He pointed to the left. “Three houses down. Has that ugly red roof -- some feng shui thing his wife commissioned.”
“I was planning on turning in early,” said Twila. “Maybe another time.”
“If you change your mind, bring a bottle of wine and can of bug repellant. The skeeters like sweet things like you.” He ambled down the stone path that snaked to the crusty beach.
She rolled her eyes. Desperate as she was for a social life, she had no intention of partying down with a bunch of senior citizens. She wanted peace and quiet. No complications. No drama. She’d had enough of that shit.
Twila had spent her most memorable summer at Miller Lake. Her parents, already teetering on the edge of divorce, had taken separate vacations. Dad had gone on some sporting adventure in Canada and Mom had spent two months in Asia trying to find her “spiritual center.” So, at the age of sixteen when going to the mall had been her life, she’d been shipped to Auntie Pearl’s podunk cabin in Nowhere, USA. There she met Kyle Danport, who’d been better than any mall. Her first kiss (and all those thereafter) had been administered by Kyle and he’d been the first boy to ever get to second base with her. Hell, he’d almost gotten to third.
Ten years later, with her life crumbling around her -- dumped by her cheating boyfriend, fired by her lecherous boss, evicted by her bitch landlady -- she decided returning to Miller Lake was just what she needed. She didn’t care that she had to rent the “haunted” cottage, either.
Sighing, she turned her gaze to the lake, pinpointing about where she and Kyle had been in the rowboat when the ghost had drifted by. The Bride wasn’t the only one searching for something, maybe anything, to feel whole again. I hope you’re gone, Bride. I hope you found what you were looking for.
* * *
She swam in the sun-warmed water of Miller’s Lake, delighting in the naughtiness of a late afternoon skinny-dip.
She felt a big, male hand slide up her calf… buttock… then pop. There he was.
Rivulets of water dripped down his face and rolled into the corners of his smile. “Look what I found! A mermaid!”
“I don’t have a tail.”
His hand found her buttock once more. “Oh, yes you do. A very lovely one.”
She splashed him, giggling. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her into his arms. They tread water together, naked flesh rubbing against naked flesh. Her nipples pebbled against his chest.
Nuzzling her temple, he dragged his stubbly chin down to her ear. He nipped the lobe, then flicked the shell of her ear. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her breasts against him. She ran her fingers through his wet hair. “Let’s make love.”
Grinning, he cupped her face. “Sweetheart…”
“Can’t tread water that long, huh?”
“I happen to be standing on a very big rock.”
Her lips melted against his. They indulged in a long, slow kiss. Embers of desire flared into hot need. His hands drifted to her thighs, then rounded on her ass and squeezed. She clutched his shoulders and shamelessly rubbed her breasts against his muscled chest. Groaning, he lifted her until her breasts were freed from the water.
As he tasted those taut buds, licking beads of water from her flesh, she let her head drop back. He pleasured her nipples as her fingers sought his skin, touching whatever she could reach as he gave an inordinate amount of attention to her breasts.
Slowly, he lowered her into the water, his gaze on hers. His eyes gleamed with desire… and love. He pressed his cock between the folds of her pussy, rubbing her sweetly tingling clitoris, then he guided his cock inside her.
The water made his entry easy, but her juices already flowed for him, allowing him to plunge deep. Thrust after thrust, she clenched his cock with her inner muscles. She moaned and the breath skittered across his neck.
“Please, baby,” she begged. “Please, fuck me hard. Make me come.”
“The problem is that I’m going to come. You feel so good that I’m already on the edge.”
“Hmm.” His confession pleased her. How wonderful to be in love with a man who desired her so much, he was ready to come inside her pussy in an
instant.
“I don’t care if you come,” she said. “Fill me up with come, baby. Just fuck me.”
“Oh, God.” He plunged inside her, frantic, his eyes closed, his breath harsh.
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she rode him. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered and cunt pulsed. She loved the feel of his cock inside her. He had made sex a wonderful, beautiful act. God, she loved him. Loved him so much.
She felt the orgasm as it rolled into a wave, a wave that crested…
“Yes,” he cried. “I’m coming in your sweet, tight pussy.”
She went over, too. And for a long moment there was no one in the world except her and him.
“Do you remember, Millie?”
“Remember what?”
“Where did you bury the body and the gun?”
Shocked, she stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Yes, you do.” His voiced faded. “Millie…”
* * *
Twila woke up. The book on her lap slid off, plunking onto the wood floor. Yawning, still feeling incredibly tired, she sat up. After unpacking her suitcases, tidying the cottage, and eating a bowl of soup, she’d settled on the couch with her favorite mystery. She hadn’t read more than two words before her eyes drifted shut.
“Weird dream.” The dream had been sexual, she remembered that well enough, but the rest was fuzzy. Shrugging it off, she stretched then looked at her watch. It was just after 9 p.m. She usually didn’t go to sleep this early, but with the long drive and everything else, she was ready to call it a day.
Twila went into the bathroom and got ready for bed. The minute her head hit the goose-feather pillow, she was out.
* * *
“I missed you,” he whispered as he climbed into the bed.
“I missed you, too,” she whispered back, opening her arms. “But we’ll never be apart again. Never.”
She had been disrobed for nearly an hour, waiting for him to arrive. He had shed his clothes quickly as soon as he saw her splayed on the sheets, wearing only a smile.
He nuzzled her neck, sampling her flesh. His hands were busy with her breasts, fingers teasing the nipples into hardness. She squirmed, her body prickling with excitement.
“I never thought I’d get to do this again,” he murmured against her throat. “To touch you, to love you.”
“Ssshh.” She ran her hands over the muscled contours of his back, trying to reassure him that she was real and she was his… always his.
His mouth closed over one nipple. She moaned and sunk her fingers into thick strands of his black hair. One of his hands coasted down her thighs and stroked the slippery folds of her pussy, teasing her clit unmercifully before dipping a finger inside.
Hot shivers wound through her, a tightening rope of pleasure. She wiggled against him, rubbing her breasts on his chest, and sighed with delight. He inserted another finger, and while his mouth tended once again to her breasts, he mimicked with his fingers what she hoped his cock would soon do. As always, he brought her such joy, such pleasure. Her body was made for him, responded only to him. That was what love did to a woman, it made her weak… but it also made her strong.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He flipped onto his back, rolling her over with him so that she sat on his stomach. His eyes glittered with desire, but also with love. She never doubted that he loved her.
As she slid onto his hard, hot cock, she felt flares of lust join pangs of love. For a moment, she stayed put, unmoving, just enjoying the feel of him filling her so completely. She squeezed her inner muscles, eliciting a groan from him.
She laughed softly, then planted her hands on his chest and rode him. God, this felt good. She loved the feel of their joining, of how she connected with his body, opened the way to his heart, to his soul. He didn’t think he was worthy of her. But he was. She was the one who didn’t deserve him. Wasn’t she the one running away in disgrace?
He played with her breasts, his fingers twisting her nipples. Oh, how she loved those delicious zings created by his rough treatment. He bucked underneath her, matching her stride for stride. Her gaze met his and held as she fucked him.
She leaned forward, her knees digging into the cotton sheets as she dragged her clit against him, groaning every time his cock penetrated her swollen pussy.
“That’s it,” he cried. “Fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck me hard.”
The orgasm tore through her, leaving her breathless and shuddering. Too bad her vaginal convulsions caused his cock to slip out.
“Get on your hands and knees. Now.”
She did as he said.
One hand wrapped around her hip and with some maneuvering, she felt his length slid into her pussy. With the other hand, he worked her juicy cunt with agile fingers. Her sensitive clit protested only for a minute. Then she felt the building of pleasure once again.
“Yes, baby,” she cried. “You know how I like that big, hard dick ramming into me.” She slammed her ass backwards, meeting his urgent strokes.
“Jesus,” he muttered, “it drives me crazy when you talk like that.”
“Yeah, it’s fucking dirty,” she said. “You like it when I talk like a whore, don’t you?”
He gave a ragged chuckle. “You’re no more a whore than I am a country preacher.” He plunged into her cunt with savage strokes, pounding her pussy hard.
She grinned as sweat dripped off her brow. Yeah, her man liked it when she talked dirty.
“Fuck me, baby,” she demanded. “I want you to come inside my pussy.”
“And I want you to come on my cock.”
“Then you better fuck me harder. You better show no mercy.”
He groaned. “Damn it, woman.” He pinched her clit, a particularly favorite joy of hers, and the orgasm burst unexpectedly. Taking advantage of the renewed slickness, and the swelling of her well fucked pussy, he shoved deeply, roughly. Then he filled her still-pulsating cunt with his come.
Moments later, they snuggled together on the bed. Her gaze traveled around the room. The little cottage was the perfect getaway. Though they could only stay for a couple of days, she would always remember Miller’s Lake. Feeling drowsy as her lover stroked her back, she blearily looked at the old-fashioned brass clock on the nightstand. It read 10:10 p.m.
Suddenly, the man she loved more than anything bolted upward. He grabbed her arms, jerking her upright, and stared at her. “Remember, Millie. It’s very important that you remember.”
“Remember what? I -- I don’t understand.” Her heart pounded as fear iced her spine. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. “Everything’s all right now. We’re together. We’re safe.”
His blue eyes went dark with sympathy. “You know that’s not true. And we can’t be together unless you remember. The gun, sweetheart. The body. You have to tell Twila where they are. She believes in us. She’ll understand you.”
“Who the hell is Twila?” Panicked, she licked her suddenly dry lips. “Gun? Body? I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re scaring me!”
She looked around the room again, avoiding his eyes. His hands squeezed her arms and he gave her a tiny shake. Her gaze landed on the clock again. 10:13… or 10:14? One could never tell with those little black metal hands.
BOOM!
The door to the cabin flew open. She knew the man who stood in the doorway staring at them with wild eyes. “Millie! You bitch!”
* * *
Twila woke up and threw off the covers, her heart raging. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the hell was going on? She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Its red numbers confirmed the time: 10:13 p.m.
Holy shit.
Rattled, she turned on the bedside lamp and sucked in a few steadying breaths. No reason to be upset, Twila. You heard the same ghost story a hundred times today. Your imagination is good and you haven’t been with a man since… well, too damned long. No wonder you dreamed of hot sex and old mysteries.
> Not exactly reassured by her internal pep talk, she opted to make some herbal tea and read for a while. In the tiny kitchenette, she put a kettle on to boil then decided some fresh air would do her good.
She’d locked the back door, a habit from the city she couldn’t break. Unlocking the door, she stepped out onto the porch and dragged in deep breaths of cool, night air.
A large oak tree leaned over the cottage like a protective mother shielding her child. The grass was overgrown and weed-littered. Hmm. Maybe someone could lend her a lawnmower. Her gaze followed the stone path to the beach and from there to the still waters of Miller’s Lake. The moon shone brightly and a light breeze flirted with the long grass and dead leaves.
Twila listened to the gentle sloshing of the water against the shore as she studied the lake. It looked as black as the night sky, but peaceful. Vaguely, she wondered what secrets it hid. Then she watched a misty glow form over the middle of the dark water. Weird fog or a trick of moonlight?
The white shape slowly moved across the lake as Twila watched. I know you. I remember you. Mesmerized now, she watched its progress. By the time the figure glided across the stone path that led to the back porch, Twila knew she was staring at the Bride. The spirit was blurred, as if someone had taken an out-of-focus picture, but it definitely had a feminine shape.
About the time the Bride reached the porch, Twila’s sense of wonderment gave way to gut-gnawing fear. What a ninny she was for standing here, waiting for it. The Bride hovered over the porch and Twila thought for sure the thing would disappear. After all, it had made its nightly journey. For whatever reason, the Bride had been caught in some kind of loop -- stuck in a circle of action that couldn’t be broken. Twila tried to think of all those ghost shows her stupid ex-boyfriend had loved so much, but nothing helpful came to mind.
The Bride continued her slow walk until she was mere steps away from Twila. Her heart jumped to her throat. The woman’s face was vaguely discernible, but her eyes -- those were as haunted as any gaze she’d ever seen. “What happened to you?” she whispered.
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