Author's note: More erotic than horror, and more of a stroke piece than an involved tale. Still, I hope readers enjoy it. All feedback welcome.
Excerpt from a diary
22nd March, 19--
It has taken some time for me to get around to writing this entry. Ever since the events of the night of 18th March, my mind has been in a whirl. But finally I feel able to put pen to paper and describe them, incredible as they still are to me.
Let me start with the mundane. I had arrived late in the evening in the small Worcestershire town where I was to visit a new client in pursuit of a hefty contract. The streets were cold, frosty and empty -- the winter is lingering this year -- and so I buttoned my coat up high as I hastened my stride from the railway station.
Fortunately, it was not a long walk to my destination, a former coaching inn converted into a hotel. And even more fortunately, as I entered the inn I was greeted by a roaring fire and an offer of a late supper. Both were equally welcome and I sat for some time after my meal with a small brandy, gazing into the flames and listening to the logs crackle and spit.
My journey had been tiring and I needed sleep, so I collected my key from the hotel's reception desk and set off to find my room. I quickly discovered that this former inn was a historical treasure, rich with dark-wood panelling and preserving the twisted narrow staircases of yesteryear. My room was high up under the eaves, and small but perfectly comfortable. Most importantly, it was warm.
I got into bed around 11 o'clock, determined to get a good night's rest before the next day's business. I thought initially of reading a little, but found that the brandy was leading my eyes to close of their own accord. Peacefully, I dropped off to sleep, the book slipping from my fingers.
I do not know precisely when I awoke. The inn was silent; the night sky still dark without even a hint of the dawn to come.
But the room was not as dark as it should have been. My eyes attempted to focus; there was a glow, a miasma in the air beside my bed.
I lay perfectly still; I still cannot put words around what I was feeling or thinking at that moment. Fear? Wonder? Was I petrified or unwilling to move and risk disrupting whatever it was that was happening? I think it was some mix of all of these, but there is no word equal to how this glow held me in thrall.
The motes of light hanging in the air began to move, to swirl and twist, growing steadily brighter and starting, here and there, to coalesce into shapes.
I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. I blinked; it did nothing to dispel the careening, dizzying lights.
Slowly more and more of the specks of light joined together, forming lines and curves. They moved hypnotically, sinuously, and in some way they calmed me, reassured me.
The form created by the lights in front of me was becoming clearer, more defined -- and what a form it was! Standing by my bed, limned in golden light, was a wonderfully beautiful and stunningly curvy woman. Her hair was long and curly, descending past her shoulders; her breasts were full and large and her hips wide.
I have always been open-minded about the paranormal and fond of ghost stories. I've heard too many believable tales of bumps in the night and unexplainable phenomena. But what was happening in my room seemed too strange to be true -- it must be a hallucination, perhaps a result of food poisoning, or some incipient fever. I opened my mouth to speak, to break the spell that seemed to have me in its grasp.
She smiled at me and raised a finger to her lips.
"Good evening fine sir." I still don't believe she uttered the words out loud, but somehow I heard them. Even for this part of the country her accent was strong, but her voice was lilting and I could hear the smile in it.
