Laura's descent into terror begins.
Chapter One: Not afraid of the dark
"Terror is when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there's nothing there..." Stephen King
Laura enters the dark bedroom closing the door behind her before reaching for the light switch. Her heart skips a beat as she catches a glimpse of ... something! Something is with her in the dark, just at the edge of her peripheral vision. She has never been afraid of the dark, so being in a dark room before reaching for the light switch is no big deal.
She remembers her Father telling her when she was five, "Darling, there is nothing in the dark that isn't also there in the light so go to sleep, '
mein schatz'
." This was a comfort to her coming from a man who was so tall and strong, and like a Nordic god to her when she was little and settling in for the night.
Notwithstanding that perception, she could swear that what she saw was ... was ... a pair of eyes ... yellow eyes! She is thinking it might have been a light from outside—possibly lights from a passing car—flashing against the far corner.
"What the fuck!" she thinks to herself.
She has heard the family stories when she was eight from her Grandmother Laura, pointing a bony finger in her face as she told them, but she dismissed them as just ghost tales to excite a young girl's imagination. She loved her Grandmother—her namesake—and misses her since she disappeared some years ago.
She quickly flips the switch on and looks back in the same direction, and sees ... nothing! With her heart beating a little faster, she slowly and nervously reaches back and flips the switch back off. She is breathing very shallowly through her open mouth and can hear her heart beating in her ears as she slowly turns her eyes and gazes in the direction of the 'apparition.' Again, she sees nothing ... just her and the dark!
She breathes out with an audible sigh of relief, turns the light back on and slumps into the chair beside the door to relax her heart and breathing. Laura does not give the incident another thought as she rises and walks over to the bed, unbuttons her silk blouse letting it slide down her arms and off. She unzips the side zip on her skirt and wiggles her slender hips to let it slide from her shapely form. She takes the opportunity to smooth her hands over her panties-clad derriere. Her touch feels so good and gives her a slight tingle.
Laura has had a hard day at work and she is tired. She strips off the rest of her clothes and heads for the shower. Laura is tall and slender with blonde hair and clear blue eyes. She is the Chief Financial Officer for a local bank; she has a bachelor of science degree in finance and an MBA, both from Columbia. She is determined to wash her awful day away under the soothing rain, and maybe pleasure herself a little. She smiles to think about how naughty she is touching herself.
The water runs over her body as she moves her soapy hand over her large, firm breasts. It feels
so
good to her as her hands move over her tight thirty-two year old figure. She slides her fingers over her mound to tickle her clitty. She moans softly with the self-pleasuring, as the cares of the day rinse from her body, swirl around the drain and disappear. "Good riddance!" she thinks. She shudders in a jittery little orgasm, and can still feel a little of the lingering tingle in her buttocks as she towels off. "Mmm, delicious!" she says quietly to herself.
She slips into a maroon and gold over-sized long-sleeve T-shirt left behind by an ex-boyfriend. It is soft and well worn, and she just lets it caress her body and comfort her. This shirt says Harvard across the front in their distinctive block letters, with the school emblem under them.
Laura has made a
thing
of collecting long-sleeved T's and sweatshirts from different exclusive schools. She loves to wear them to sleep in, and just to relax around her townhouse. This one is long on her and covers her nearly to her knees. As she bends to lower the sheets and coverlet, she glances into the full-length mirror behind her. It reveals her slender muscular thighs, but no hint of her shapely ass.
She pads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, pulls the cork from a bottle of Chardonnay, and then out to the living room to put on some music. She knows about wines and favors the consistently high quality of selected California vintners. French, Italian, and German wines are too 'iffy' mostly due to the changeable climate of those countries.
She likes popular music anywhere from Bruno Mars, and Usher, to Carrie Underwood and Taylor Swift. She also likes retro-French artists like Françoise Hardy and Charles Aznavour; and she likes the Baroque stuff: Bach, Telemann, and Scarlatti. But tonight, she is giving herself to Mr. Vivaldi and his
Four Seasons
. She wants Antonio's amazing sound in her ears and washing over her body as she relaxes.
The wine is crisp and the violin concertos lively, as she picks up a book she has ignored for a few days. As she reads with her feet propped up on the coffee table, she hears a creak coming from the bedroom. Laura is not easily alarmed, since she prefers reason and logic to superstition, but tonight she cannot keep her heart from skipping another beat from the sound. She decided to get up and look around, but just as she rises from her couch, her cell phone rings.
"This is Laura!" she says into the speaker.
"Hey baby, what's goin' on?"
"Oh hi David, um nuthin' just chillin'."
"Need some company doll?"
"Well, I had kind of a shitty day, and I am just mellowing before I hit the sack."
"Didn't really answer the question!" He insists.
She thinks about the strange apparition, and the noise and answers, "Um, yah! I guess so!" She is thinking that a little company might be nice with all of the startling little apparitions and creaks tonight.
"Well don't do me any favors, baby!" He chuckles. She becomes more direct and sincere with her invitation by saying,
"David I would love to see you tonight, but I am not going anywhere and not getting dressed, so you'll have to take me as is! I am wearing one of your old long-sleeve T's," then in a whisper says, "and nothing else!"
"Bangin ... see you in a few!"
"Bangin?" she chuckles questioning his choice of idioms.
"Yah, like it 'be bangin'!" he says with an inner-urban accent.
"Well, you 'be bangin'! Where the hell does a Harvard lawyer from an upscale part of Connecticut get a word like that?" She challenges him.
"This conversation is definitely ... not 'bangin'!" He says in embarrassed frustration. She chuckles at
getting
to
him.