I had just bought a house in a small Western town. It was a brand new, one story house, built on top of a block of stores that had burned down in the 1970's. After I had moved in, I tried to find out exactly what it was built on top of. No one could tell me for sure, it was either a farm store, hat shop, or a barber shop.
I had become the town's school teacher for the few students in 8th grade. It was summer time but I was planning lessons and working late one night, when I heard a strange noise in the kitchen. I walk into the kitchen and there is nothing there, so I go back to my lessons.
The next night, as I climb into bed, I hear noise in the kitchen again. I check it out, and again, nothing.
All is quiet for several months, when it starts up again. I'm sometimes afraid of the dark, but not afraid of ghosts. I've had a couple of medium experiences but prefer not to talk to the dead.
After tucking myself in for the night, I feel someone get on the bed and lie next to me. I turn, but there's no one there, but just in case, I say to the darkness,
"Hi. I don't know who you are, but you are welcome to stay here with me."
There's no sound, no movement. I shrug my shoulders, and go to sleep.
A few days go by, and the same thing happens, the feeling someone is next to me. I say
"Goodnight, whoever you are."
A few quiet days, then I hear noise again, this time from the living room.
"Hello? Anyone there?" No answer, of course.
The summer goes by with assorted noises and the feeling that someone is with me, but I don't feel it's anything to be frightened over.
School starts and I settle into my teaching role and learn how bright the kids are. We make it to winter break and I have plans to go home, back East. A storm was headed our way so I decide to get to the airport early. I gather my things and double-check for my tickets. They aren't where I put them. Where could they be? I hunt all over for them, wasting valuable time. I give up, and resign myself to having to buy them at the gate. At least my reservation is in the system.
I put on my coat and head out the door, right into a blizzard. Oh no! I groan. I waited too long. There's no way I can drive in this; the airport is 20 miles away. I close the door and take off my coat, put away my things.
The lights flicker, once, twice, then go completely off. Great. I feel my way around, not really familiar with my house yet, not in the dark anyway. I grope my way to the junk drawer and pull out a flashlight. I find the candles I use for dinners and light them, one in each room.
I've got enough batteries for the flashlight, but the candles may not last, so I blow out ones I'm not using. I change into my jammies and robe, and settle into my easy chair with my flashlight and a good book.
I can hear the wind blowing and a draft comes down the chimney. It's getting chilly. A fire would be nice. I stack some wood and light the fire. It flares and catches and throws a golden glow over the room.
I sit back down and pick up my book. Hmm, the page isn't the one I ended on. It's flipped ahead several chapters, to a steamy love scene. Must've been the wind.
I settle in and read. I don't realize how long I've been reading until a cramp attacks my foot. I stir and go into the kitchen to make some tea. It's a gas stove so I can cook at least. While I'm steeping the teabag, my mind is blank, just watching the teabag, when I feel a soft brushing across the back of my neck. Oh! I reach to brush off whatever it is... hope it's not a spider!
I sit and sip my tea, staring at the fire. You know how fires cast shadows that dance? I swear I saw one move from one side of the room to the other. Must be my imagination. With nothing to do in the silence, my mind wanders to the last time I was at home. I had broken up with my boyfriend after I caught him cheating with my cousin. It was a bad scene. I miss him, but I mostly miss the sex we had. He was wild, and he brought it out in me. We first joined a swingers group, but we both got too jealous. We tried boy/boy and girl/girl. I liked it more than he did, but we quit that too. Now here I am, a spinster school teacher in a West that isn't wild anymore.
Again, I feel a brush across the back of my neck. Drafts.
I take myself to bed and huddle under the covers. I feel someone beside me again. I feel a sudden rush of loneliness and roll into the imaginary body. I feel nothing. Just as I'm drifting off to sleep, I feel a hand softly brushing my hair. So gentle, so soft, I'm not sure it's there as I fall asleep.
I wake later on, when it's very cold in my room, I take my blankets and pillow to the fire, stoke it up, and curl up in front of it. I feel a body behind me, spooning me. I snuggle backwards and arms seem to enfold me. I sigh and drift off to sleep.
The snowy whiteness glows behind my eyelids, when I feel something sticking in my back, much like Joe's cock in the morning. No. It couldn't be, I'm dreaming. I slowly reach behind me and for a split second, I feel a cock in my hand then it's gone. God, girl, you're desperate.
I make myself get up and see what the day is like. The blizzard is over and there's a couple feet of snow. Not so bad for the West. I go get dressed, automatically reaching for the light switch. Hey, it' back on! I quickly change as it's so cold. I make oatmeal and coffee and sit at the kitchen table. I feel something brush my cheek, like a light kiss. I'm beginning to believe I have a ghost, a nice gentleman ghost. Not sure who he is though.
Once I'm fed, I go out and shovel. It's light fluffy stuff so it's easy and I'm soon back in the house, warming in front of the fire.
Since I can't go back home, I have nothing to do. Don't want to work on lessons, this is vacation after all, so I decide to write down my experiences in the house.
I turn on the computer and just start writing. As I'm typing, I feel a hand on my arm. Now, when I say I feel it, it's more of an awareness, a sensing. It's cold and I shiver but it doesn't seem to deter him. My fingers fly over the keyboard and my story comes to life. As I'm typing, a letter appears where I did not type it. I go back and delete it. A few lines later, another letter appears. Okay, I think he's trying to communicate.
I open a blank document and type, "Hi. My name is Sally. I come from Boston and I'm here teaching school. What's your name?"
I take my hands off the keyboard, waiting.
Slowly, being probably a one-finger typist, he taps out, "Hi. My name is Jim. I was born here. Your house sits on my land, where I had a shop."
"What kind of shop did you have?