by Christian, M
What the seventeen year-old girl did not count on though was the old man's agility and his damn quick way with ropes!
* * * *
In the second decade of the new century a carnival such as Preesons' never stayed in one place too long. The stories about the odd man in the box and the ladies who met him retreated like so much locomotive steam as the popular carnival jumped from town to town. Business was good, as good as could be expected with movies an all-too-new and all-too-present-booming entertainment.
Counting ragged receipts was one thing for the prematurely graying magician, but it wasn't long until he tired of procuring lovelies for Ed. Of all things the carnie owner was jealous, jealous that his once ashen, slightly mysterious looks had gone to seed with the tensions of running his enterprise and jealous of how quick women took his money for his odd 'request'. These ladies, some not even prostitutes, would barely ever even bat an eye his way unless more silver was forthcoming.
In his roiling rage, soon Preeson allowed the unthinkable! The very thing the family Seasons warned could never pass; Preeson began to let Brother Ed out on his own!
While no lady was actually hurt during Ed's midnight wanderings and he'd usually be content to trawl only once or twice a week, Preeson still turned a mighty blind eye to the idea of a sex-cursed zombie walking into the latest town to steal some time with an underage lass or a budding bride-to-be! Rumors abounded, stories followed, there was even once a reporter who managed to catch up with them in Oregon, but Preeson managed to dissuade actual fact into innuendo so he could spend the few days with his carnival, bilk the marks for as much as possible then be on his way as the story of 'the man who visited' became part of the folklore, a 'maybe it was, maybe it wasn't' fright time story one would tell their children as they walked the midway or made their way back home.
Preeson sold the carnival and all its possessions to Arny "The Little Wizard" as his last bequeathed request to his best worker, in that dusty hellhole season of '48. Arny took to Brother Ed as he did the acquisition of the rest of his old boss's carnival, dropped the 'Little' from his name and Brother Ed soon had a new owner and friend. The Wizard came to understand and subsequently sympathize with his new, most famous charge more then the men who had owned Brother Ed ever could. The Seasons's men had brought prostitutes and joked as Brother Ed took his need, Preeson grew resentful, too horny for his own good and let the zombie loose on his own, but The Wizard felt a kinship to Ed. He knew he owed it to this 'man', his alter ego, to provide the best he could on the special nights when the moon was full and The Wizard could take his time to find a lady.
And while prostitutes would suffice, 'real' women, not those 'in the show' were what The Wizard wanted for his best friend.
Of course there was simply no way a woman who had been tied down, forced to copulate with a zombie wouldn't tell her tale. But with his skill with ropes, his still flexible sinewy muscles and carnie wit, The Wizard found he could procure women about as easily as he could dispose of them. Even with those who managed out of the bonds from time to time (usually after Brother Ed had had his way) The Wizard was there to dispose of a flaying, running girl before she got past his trailer door.
With Brother Ed satiated – at least for that month – Arny could sleep contented knowing he had provided his cursed partner with the very best he could afford and allow. Sure he would have loved to have done more for Brother Ed but it seemed that as the years slowed The Wizard down they had also slowed the curse in Joshua McKinney; one woman a month seemed enough for him now.
* * * *
They came to the front door of the trailer, these two old men, one dead, one close enough he smelled of it. The Wizard opened the door for the zombie shuttering next to him, the single stone step challenging most of Brother Ed's brittle resolve. But for what lie within scared and unknowing on The Wizard's bed, the zombie would muster the strength. He had done so all these decades on the nights of the first full moon as he would continue to do until no one came for him anymore, to open his box. The Wizard practically beamed as he stood in the doorway, watching the achingly slow progression of his friend, executing tight paper steps down the hallway to the woman-child who lay beyond.
This was truly the very best part of the anticipation The Wizard knew, as he stood there in the hall, unzipped his fly and released his now raging member. As old as he was, The Wizard would still sport quite the erection as these scenes unfolded: the girl began to thrash as she saw the bedroom door open even wider and assumed the 'game' was now afoot; then there was that quick squeaky sensation of the bed moving, then muffled squeals, the bed rutting against the wood floor once again and the sensation of utter horror seeping through the walls as the girl tied to that bed saw Brother Ed and realized she would not be indulging The Wizard's need this night...but something quite a bit more sinister!
What the Wizard would love to know, but would go to his grave not knowing, was whether these women knew they were going to die? Did they think Brother Ed was The Wizard playing dead-man dress-up? Did they even conceive what it was that was actually bending down there to roll next to them? Could they even imagine what the next few minutes would be like?
Did they even ever see the flash of The Wizard's blade after the zombie got off them?
The Wizard imagined Brother Ed's movements as he heard his old bed groan with the added weight of the dead man. The living man grabbed his purple stump-of-a-cock and began pumping his fist wildly to what he imagined was happening in that room beyond. But The Wizard wasn't on himself for more than a minute when he felt a clutch across his chest. His eyes tearing, his left arm thumped his side as he heard a soft intake of female breath from his bedroom ... then the old carnie fell dead from a massive heart attack.
* * * *
"And this is where..." Benny said to the wind as Teresa Riner turned to him. "...nah forget it. Just one of those urban legends."
"Where what?" she said.
With blue eyes that lustrous Benny was hard pressed to ignore any request this woman made and truth be told he had purposely taken this moment, here in the buzz and scrape of the bulldozers below to entice the lady architect with some horrific folklore.
"Benny, we go back a long way," Teresa said. "You got some good gossip, you just got to spill it."
Truth be told, although Teresa's architectural firm had hired Benny's builders (that was actually the name of his contracting company, "Benny's Builders") for this very expensive and expansive condo site, the red haired lady had yet to be out here at the site. Now that she was, Teresa felt a strange chill she was damn sure did not emanate from the breeze blowing off the near ocean. She pulled her arms tight to herself, silently reveling in the fact that her covered, yet ample cleavage pushed up at the handsome foreman facing her.
"The way I heard it," Benny said, leaning in so close the heat between the pair was palatable. For simply too many years Benny and Teresa's firm had worked together and an attraction had always bubbled unrequited.
"There was an old trailer here, shed too I think, that the locals burned after that night."
"That night? What night?"
"The night that girl came runnin' out, the night they found the two old guys raping her," Benny said.
Involuntarily leaning even closer, the couple spied the progress of the machines and men down the hill from them. Mixed with Teresa's undetectable pheromone secretion was the sweet "Oliva Bath Perfume" she had added to her bath the night before. But that odd chill, just what was it exactly that was gnawing at the deepest pinpoint of her belly?
This combination of the woman's scents and reactions worked its unique spectrum of brightness though the stale smelling development on this California shore and down to the hidden grave not three feet from where the man and woman. Below, eight feet down just to be sure, now covered in concrete and mesh and a new condo water pipe system, lay a man who could smell the welcoming scent, even though he was in a the box that had been provided by a shocked yet sympathetic populace.
GHOSTHEATHER TOWNE
Kathy tip-toed out into the backyard in her bathrobe and sunglasses. It was a bright, warm, sunny day. All the unpacking was finally over, and now the petite brunette could finally enjoy her new home.
Sure, the house was tiny and ancient, the roof as suspect as the plumbing, the basement cracked like the driveway. But it was hers. The house, the yard, the privacy – all hers. At last freed from the smothering constraints of the parental home, the socially inhibited twenty-three-year-old could finally, truly spread her wings.
She glanced around the plank-fence perimeter of the yard, didn't spot anyone leering over the top. So she shucked the ratty bathrobe, boldly stepping out into the hot sun in just a hot-pink bikini. A butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
Kathy spread herself out on a beach towel on the grass and slathered her pale body in SPF45 lotion, wiggling her toes in delight as the sizzling sun soaked into her body, mind, and spirit. And after ten minutes of uninterrupted baking, she felt one part of her glowing body grow even hotter and damper than all the rest.
She slid a slippery hand down her stomach and into her bikini bottom. While her other hand traveled upwards, over her rib cage and into her bikini top. She shuddered, one set of fingers sifting through the soft fur of her pussy and touching puffed-up clit; the other set of dirty digits clasping tit, pinching swollen nipple.
A squirrel busted a nut up in one of the big, old oak trees, watching the lewd, semi-nude young lady blatantly rub her buzzing button, roll the tingling tips of her breasts. She arched her back, rubbing faster, squeezing and pinching harder, the gentle breeze and beaming sun, her unabashed outdoor exhibitionism, cranking up the internal eroticism a hundred-fold.
Kathy was beyond reproach now, the floodgates open, finally free to fully explore her seething sexuality. She plunged two fingers into her juicy pussy and pumped, squeezing her boobs so hard her nipples almost shot airborne. Her breath came fast and shallow, her clit swelling to the size and ripeness of a cherry tomato under her buffing thumb, her nipples brimming with pure electricity as she desperately fingered them. Until–
A chill shot through her. And Kathy's body went suddenly cold, numb. Like she'd been immersed in ice-water. Don't stop, something told her, keep jilling. Something not quite of her mind, but in her mind, a voice inside her that wasn't hers.
She tried to pull her hands away from her breasts and pussy, but couldn't. The something was stopping her, holding her in the self-satisfaction position. Possessing her.
The young woman concentrated in a panic, struggling mightily to regain control of her body and brain. And then her mind snapped, and the thing broke away from her like water from a lashed towel. She bolted upright, watching wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the something settled onto the grass next to her, like white smoke, in human form.
"Why'd you stop?" it asked. "We were having fun."
Kathy shoved her sunglasses right up over top of her head, squinting to get a clearer picture of the thing on the grass. It was even paler than she looked, and felt.
"Name's Anne," the vaporous entity said. "I haunt this place."
* * * *
They ended up in the basement, the dark background serving to better illuminate things.
"I need you to get back at my cheating deadbeat of a husband," the long-haired, busty, chunky, and pushy apparition declared.
Kathy hugged herself tighter in her bathrobe. "You-you mean he-he killed you? Right in this house? And-and you want revenge?"
"Hell, no!" Anne snorted. "That bastard's too lazy to kill a cigarette. I tripped on that torn carpet upstairs and took a header off the second floor landing. No, I'm not haunting this crummy house because Sid offed me. I'm haunting this crummy house because Sid didn't get me off."
As Kathy silently cursed her real estate agent, the pissed-off spirit explained how her husband, Sid, had failed to properly satisfy her the one and only time he'd tried. And then cheated on her with a succession of women. She'd known on her wedding night that she'd made a mistake in marrying the bum. But she'd been young and foolish, in love. And the product of a family so religiously-grounded she'd been forbidden from having her cherry popped until Sid popped the question.
"Now, maybe he didn't like the wedding present he unwrapped that night," Anne said, hourglassing her plump hands over her plump figure. "Though I can't see why the hell not. But dammit all, that asshole owed this dutiful virgin at least one earth-splitting orgasm, don't you think!? Instead of giving all those bimbos what little pleasure I should've been getting."
Bottomline was, Anne wanted the big O in death she'd been denied in life.
That's why she was still around and haunting. She needed a living woman to possess, a living woman's body to use to seduce and have sex with Sid, experience the kind of manmade orgasm she'd saved up for her entire short life.
"Only thing is..." She glanced slyly at Kathy. "I need a willing host in order to leave the house, hunt Sid down, and get the guy to bang my gong like Chuck Barris. Because the further away I get from my unhappy haunting grounds, the weaker my powers of possession become."
Kathy gave her head a shake. "I'm-I'm not going to have sex with your ... husband," she declared. "That's crazy!"
"But it won't really be you," the wispy wanton argued. "You'll be there in body, yeah, but not really in ... spirit. I'll handle all the heavy lifting. All you have to do is relax and go along with it." She grinned. "We'll both have a good time."
Kathy folded her arms across her chest and huffed, "I'm not doing it. You said you needed a willing host. Well, I'm not willing."
* * * *
Anne's campaign of terror began that evening, at dinner. Salt and pepper shakers inexplicably tipped over, the gravy boat capsized all on its own, and milk was spilt with such frequency that Kathy almost cried over it in frustration. Nothing too ghastly, just incredibly annoying.
And later that night, when Kathy was trying to get some sleep before her big presentation at work in the morning, Anne made the stairs creak, doors and windows bang open and closed, toilets flush. Giving Kathy a pounding headache that she carried with her to the office.
On it went, for a week, Kathy growing gaunter and grouchier from all the aggravation and sleep deprivation. Until finally, one of her co-workers made the strikingly apt comment, "Good god, girl, you're starting to look downright haunted!"
At which point Kathy stormed home, told Anne to drop the fucking toaster, and agreed to host the ghoulish sex party.
* * * *
They found Sid in a seedy bar two blocks away on Main Street, as Anne had predicted they would. The guy was propping up the brass railing, nursing a beer, checking out whatever female made the mistake of walking through the green padded front door. His eyes bullfrogged and he almost fell off his vinyl toadstool when Kathy made her entrance.
The conservative young lady was displayed for play in a thigh and cleavage-baring blazing red mini-dress, her lithe legs showcased in sheer white stockings, four-inch crimson slut heels propping her up in front and jutting her out in back. Her hair was brushed into shimmering black curtains that framed her warpainted face – black eyeliner, blue eye shadow, blush, and scarlet lipstick laid down thick and heavy.
Kathy was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory, having never picked up a strange man in a strange bar before (never picked up a man, period). Let alone with a horny ghost riding her, half-controlling her actions. She just wanted to get the filthy deed done as quickly as possible. So she tottered over to the leering man, stiff-legged as the Bride of Frankenstein on her wedding night.
"Hey, baby," Sid oiled, running a pale hand through his thinning, blonde hair. Then patting the cracked green stool next to him. "Why don't you take a load off? And I'll buy you a beer."
His face was about as smooth as his come-on, but not nearly as old. His forehead was a little t
oo high, his chin a little too low. He had smoky brown eyes – or maybe just brown eyes in the smoke – a small, compact body. He wasn't bad-looking, but in that setting, wearing that blue bowling shirt and pair of green nylon workpants, he wasn't any Brad Pitt, either. More like Woody Harrelson, by way of Steve Buscemi.
Kathy stared stupidly at him, her throat gone dry and dusty; Anne stared longingly at him, Kathy's pussy gone wet and juicy. Anne hated the bum for what he'd done – and hadn't done – to her, but she still wanted a piece of him. "Why don't we blow this dump, go somewhere more intimate?" Kathy heard herself blurt, like a neon sign.
Sid gulped the rest of his suds and then grabbed the dressed-to-thrill babe by the arm and steered her outside, over to the equally sleazy motel next door. The pimply-faced desk clerk knew him by name, and he gave Sid a key as he gave Kathy the eye.
They took their party into Room 19. Kathy felt like holding her nose at the sight of the sagging bed and decrepit table and chair, the torn velvet Elvis on the wall. But instead, as Sid wrestled the ragged curtains closed, she stalked up behind him and grabbed him around the shoulders, spinning the surprised man around with the strength of two women – both desperate, but for very different reasons.
She planted her mouth on his, and they hungrily kissed. Sid's lips were soft, and wet. And as he moved them against hers, clutched her in his surprisingly strong arms, Kathy inadvertently flushed with excitement, her body flooding with a heavy, liquid heat. But it was Anne who flashed tongue into Sid's mouth, shattering any remaining illusion of romance with the overwhelming need to be pleased.
They swirled their slippery, silvery tongues together, Kathy running her fingers through Sid's pale-blonde hair, Sid clinging to Kathy's narrow waist. Anne boldly bit into the man's outstretched tongue, then sucked on it, bobbing Kathy's head back and forth, sliding her plush lips up and down Sid's hardened appendage. He gaped at her in amazement, and she gaped back at him.
She ripped his shirt open, sending buttons spinning off in all directions along with her head. Then she tore his belt open, yanked his fly down, pulled his heavy cock out of his pants and into the open. He gulped, as she swirled her hot little hand up and down his straining member, greedily eyeing its impressive, and growing, length. She could feel the heated pulse of his passion through his throbbing cock, and she wanted to taste it.