The Red Velvet Suite

This story was previously posted on this site. It's not an entry in the Halloween contest. It's back by request of a reader. I hope you enjoy.

~Molly

*

"You don't believe in this 'ghost' crap, do you?" Geoff asked me as we strolled to my car.

"I don't know, Geoff. I've seen a lot of weird things out there," I answered non-committally. I put my bedroll and overnight case in the trunk and took the camera equipment from him. "I just like to keep an open mind."

"And in the meantime I'm heating up left-overs while you're out ghost-busting. That's just great. I hope a really big ghost scares the shit out of you." He shoved the remaining equipment at me and stalked back to the house in disgust.

"You'll live," I called over my shoulder as I slammed the trunk lid down.

I was starting to feel a touch of excitement and refused to allow his little tantrum to strain my mood. He was always behaving like a spoiled mama's boy and when I didn't give in to his whims he held out on me -- sexually; and he'd been angry with me a lot recently. I realized just how sick of him I was becoming as I climbed behind the wheel of my prized, classic, candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine and fired her up.

I shoved all thoughts of dousing Geoff with honey and staking him out on an anthill to the back of my mind to feast upon later. If I didn't hurry I was going to be late picking up Ted. I wondered what kind of clothing he would be wearing today. The last time I took him somewhere he was decked out in a black fishnet wife-beater tank, a hot pink jacket, and pink and black tiger-striped spandex pants. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

Ted was the research assistant for Professor Grable in the parapsychology department at the local university. When the professor had announced this little project to his team, Ted had suggested inviting me. I was squeamish at first. Frightening thoughts and disturbing childhood memories tickled at the corners of my mind. But the more excited Ted got, the more he wheedled me into accepting. So there I was, packing my things into my car for a weekend of ghost hunting. I had to laugh at myself. It was all too funny.

Ted was sitting on the steps of his apartment building when I arrived. He was elegantly dressed all in black with just a touch of mascara and lip-gloss, his things stacked around him. He peered over the top of the book he was reading when I pulled up. His face split into a wide grin as he stood and waved.

"You're right on time, girlfriend," he called when I opened my door. "I can't wait to get started." He gathered his things and loaded them into the trunk. "How's Geoff taking it?"

"With his usual amount of exultation," I said with a roll of my eyes. "He'll get over it. Ready?"

Ted ran to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. "Baby, I was born ready!" He waggled his hips in a funny little dance. "Let's go!" Ted sat down and slammed the car door a bit too hard for my liking. "Just what's going on between you two anyway. Is the honeymoon over?"

"What honeymoon? You have to get married to have a honeymoon and, if I ever get married, it won't be to him. I think he's getting ready to move out anyway. He'll probably be gone by the time we get back on Sunday. If not, I'll toss him out on his lazy ass."

"It's about time, girlfriend. I never could stand that colossal prick." Ted was being all too pleased with himself as he adjusted and smoothed his outfit.

"Well, if it's any consolation, he can't stand you either. He hates all queers." I shot him my sweetest smile.

"Hey, do me a favor after you dump the homophobe, tell him I'm hot for his bod and wanna suck his dick." Ted laugh maniacally at his own joke. "Man, I can't wait to get there. This is so cool! Hit the gas, will ya? Let's see what this hotrod can do." His voice ended the sentence in an enthusiastic squeak.

It was hard not to be infected with his enthusiasm. This was the kind of hands-on research he loved doing. He and I had been friends for most of our lives and he loved to put me in situations that would make people stand back and scratch their heads. It all started when we were kids and his cousin, Martha, was babysitting us. Martha decided with it being so close to Halloween that we needed a good scare so she conducted a séance. I suppose it really wasn't much of a séance since she had absolutely no idea what the hell she was doing, but the end result was pretty bizarre. I had ended up on the floor convulsing in a fit of some kind.

Four doctors and two CT scans later no one could find a thing wrong with me and Martha was never allowed to sit with us again. To this day I have never talked about what happened to me that night and just thinking of it now gives me the heebie-jeebies.

But I digress. Anyway, there I was returning to the jaws of whatever was out there, driving through the open countryside. It was a brilliant fall day with just enough autumn spice in the air to set the mood. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were singing joyously in the change of seasons. Little did those misguided little birdies know but the weekend was about to get a little freaky.

I decided to distract my thoughts from my memories. "So why you all decked out? I thought this was a working weekend. You look like you have a hot date."

"Grable told me he's bringing the new psych prof with him. I heard he's a real hotty. A girl's got to look her best, you know." Ted pulled down the visor and preened in the mirror. He fluffed his lanky hair with his fingertips and turned back to me. "You look like you could use a little touching up yourself, sweetie. That man of yours is really dragging you down."

My wounded woman's pride demanded retribution. "Fuck you, sista! At least I don't have shitty-looking stringy hair hanging in my eyes."

"No, yours is frizzy and could use some hot oil." He laughed at the expression on my face as I snapped my jaw shut.

It seemed to take forever before Ted told me to slow down. He was looking for the turn we were to take. His directions had taken us down a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. It hardly seemed like a road. There was barely enough room for two cars on its narrow expanse. The brush on both sides was overgrown and seemed intent upon reclaiming the ground that man had carved out of the wilderness.

"There it is," he screeched as he impulsively aimed his extended arm across my vision.

I swatted at his hand as it hit me in the face. "Are you trying to kill us? I'm driving here," I complained as I rubbed my injured eye.

"Sorry," he grinned. "That's the turn."

I looked to my left and didn't see a place to turn. I stopped the car. "Where? I don't see a turn. All I see are woods and brush."

"Right there!" he chirped as he stabbed out with his pointer again.

This time I ducked. I shot him another dirty look before craning my neck to study the area again. There was nothing there but brambles and brush. But, squinting my watering eyes, I finally saw what looked like it might just be a broken spot in the over-growth of brush. "Are you shitting me? You want me to drive

my

baby through there? Are you insane? It's bad enough just taking the gravel road but now you want me to drive through the middle of a bramble patch?"

"Well, it's either that or we carry all our stuff more than five miles over steep hills and rocks." He grinned again knowing that I was nearly fit to be tied.

"You asshole! You might have warned me. I could have gotten Geoff's crappy old Blazer for this trip. Do you realize just exactly what kind of car you are sitting in?" My grandfather had given me that classic candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine as a high school graduation gift fifteen years earlier, just to piss off my mom. She had nearly had an apoplexy when she saw it, stating that it was far too expensive. Beside that, she thought it was too dangerous for a kid my age. Gramps just laughed at her and handed me the keys. That's the way with wealthy Irish grandfathers. They love to do sweet things for their only granddaughters, especially if it annoys their own children. It's the game they play.

We sat there for a few minutes as I white-knuckled the steering wheel. Without looking at him I knew he was grinning at me. "You carry the heavy stuff," I said. I shut off the engine and opened my door.

"Okay," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "If you feel safe leaving it here...I hope someone doesn't come along and steal it." He started to get out of the car.

The sound that came out of my throat next was similar to that of a rabid wolf. "I hate you," I said quietly as I closed my door and cranked the ignition round.

He was laughing when he got back in. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me as I meticulously squared my car into the narrow opening of the thicket. With excruciating slowness, I gradually eased my beloved show car along what could only be described as a narrow footpath. With each screech and squeal of woodland branches against her flawless paint, I came up with a new and more creative expletive to hurl at Ted's head. He laughed his ass off.

"You love me and you know it," he said between gasps.

"You are going to buff out every inch of this vehicle when this weekend is over, you brat. You just better hope those scratches don't go too deep. I will draw a pint of blood out of you for every one of them that needs repainting."

Ted laughed so hard he had tears running out of his twinkling eyes. "You don't scare me," he chirped and stuck his tongue out.

The path we were on was not only over-grown but also pocked with chuck-holes big enough to swallow a dump truck. A couple of times I was forced into the clawing brush to avoid tearing up my suspension as we crawled up one steep hill after another. After about two miles the wilderness seemed to take pity on me and open up a bit as the path got a little wider. I breathed a sigh of relief as I was able to ease my poor classic, candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine away from danger.

"That wasn't so bad," Ted intoned quietly.

I slammed on the brakes. "Out! Get out of my car and walk, you flaming asshole!"

"Come on, Allinson...it's just a car."

I was incredulous. As I tried to speak I could feel myself becoming rigid with rage. All that came out was an impotent sputter. "You... I... aaa... prick!" I cleared my throat and tried again. "What do you drive? Oh, yeah, that's right. You don't have a car. When the bank came to repo it, all that was left was a twisted piece of junk. I think that pretty much says it all. Get out and walk."

He was laughing when he got out. He was like both the little brother and the little sister I was glad my parents never saw fit to grace our family with. He lived to annoy me to the point of committing a felony. Then, every time I got that angry with him and swore I never wanted to see him again, he would show up just at the moment when I most needed a friend. He was like that proverbial bad penny.

I drove for about another mile before I began feeling guilty. Berating myself for being too easy, I stopped the car and got out, lighting a cigarette. Practicing my smoke rings, I walked around the car inspecting the damage. Sure enough, she was covered in a fine mesh of criss-crossing scuffs and scratches. I swore at Ted, even though he was still too far behind to hear me and began rubbing the paint with my fingers. I put a silent curse on him, hoping his dick would fall off and his balls would shrivel up by the next full moon. And I took great delight in thinking that some would argue he didn't need them anyway. Fortunately it didn't look like any of the scratches would be permanent but Ted was going to be busy for a couple of days buffing them out. Then I thought that maybe I would let him keep his cock and balls after all.

He was still laughing when he topped the hill behind me and I had cause to rethink my inclination to recant that curse. He started jogging and called out, "I knew you wouldn't leave me," as he drew near.

"Just shut up and get in," I muttered.

The rest of the way to our destination was pretty uneventful. I maintained a stony silence as Ted giggled for no apparent reason from time to time. Suddenly the thicket opened up and a massive structure appeared before us. The car halted as I mashed my foot down on the brake pedal, causing Ted to slide forward on the genuine black vinyl bucket seat, smacking his chin on the hard dash.

I had never seen anything like it. "This is the place?" I asked, ignoring his pained whines. I was staring in awe at something that looked like it came out of one of those campy Hollywood B movies. I half expected ghoulish zombies to come shambling out of the doors and windows any minute, or Vincent Price to glide out in a blood red velvet robe. "What the hell is this place? This is straight out of Edgar Allan Poe."

What had obviously once been a grand and glorious mansion now stood in quiet and sinister condemnation over the neglect to which it had been subjected. I stared at the Moorish Revival style house that was better suited to Europe than the back roads of the mid-western United States. The windows and huge front doors were ensconced under imposing archways. The massive structure stretched to the sky as commanding towers topped with grotesque bulbous domes implied that we were insignificant and inferior in their presence.

"It's the Lovejoy Mansion," Ted said with a wink. "Drive around back. That's where Kyle should be waiting."

"And just what the hell is the significance of 'The Lovejoy Mansion'?" I demanded as the car rolled forward. I had never heard the name, much less the fact that the mansion stood less than two hours outside town.

"You'll see," he returned cryptically.

The cracked and decayed driveway curved upward along a gradual slope to disappear behind the east end of the depressed building. I was becoming increasingly agitated as we followed it. I knew it to be my imagination, but I could have sworn that the overgrowth of trees and brush that lined the drive was lunging out, like ominous grasping arms, to snare us. As we neared the end of the drive I asked myself why I didn't turn tail and run -- I had no answer.

We pulled to a stop under a sprawling oak. The tree looked to be older than Methuselah, with gnarled branches that seemed to reach out for us. "There's no one here," I pointed out the obvious.

"That damned Grable, he's probably lost again. He'll be here. Let's unload."

So we unloaded the car. As the autumn breezes stirred, the branches overhead made a groaning sound that left my hair on end. I didn't like the place. It seemed to me that even the sun shone a little less brightly there. I felt a prickly sensation at the back of my neck, like you get when you feel someone watching you. I turned more than once to look at the house with its dingy red brick and broken shutters. It was very unsettling. I was reminded of Arthur Hunnicutt as Bull Harris in that old John Wayne movie, "El Dorado." That character had put it succinctly when he had said, "I got a itch on the back of my neck like there's a injun around and I cain't see 'im."

Ted carried his bags straight up to the back door. He set his stuff down to push aside the over-grown ivy that clung abhorrently to the structure. As he grabbed the doorknob he discovered the door was stuck.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I'm going in." Ted grinned that clownish grin of his and I wanted to slap him.

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

"What the hell for? We get first dibs on the rooms. Come on." He motioned to me like we were going to a holiday picnic.

He struggled and pushed his bony frame against the old wooden door. It finally gave way under his assault and he let go of it. The door kept moving, opening slowly, creaking and groaning harshly.

A shiver ran down my spine. Every one of my good senses was telling me to get back in that classic candy-apple red 1965 Ford Mustang 2+2 Fastback with the 289ci V8 engine and get my ass out of there. "I don't feel good about this," I muttered and wrapped my arms around myself. "Something's wrong here."

Ted laughed. "Cool. You're having a reaction already. Wait till Kyle sees you. He's gonna freak." He walked into the dark interior and disappeared from my sight.

I decided to wait outside. The uneasiness in me was increasing by the minute and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Then there was a blood-curdling scream inside. I raced up the steps, banging my shin and nearly crashing my face on a stone column. I limped to the doorway and grabbed hold of the frame. Peering inside, I couldn't see anything.

"Ted?" I called out. There was no answer. "Ted! Where are you?"

I didn't know what to do. The interior felt as cold as a walk-in cooler. There was a mood to the place that made me want to turn and run. Sticking my head in again, I felt as if something was trying to push me back out. There still was no answer from Ted. What could have happened to him? So I took my first step into the interior of the house. My legs felt wobbly, as if I were standing on a suspension bridge. I felt as if I couldn't hold my balance. The second step was a little steadier and the third put me back on solid ground.

"Ted?" I whispered this time for some unknown reason. Something grabbed me from behind and the door slammed shut. I screamed and whirled around. And there was Ted, laughing like a hyena and pointing his finger at me. I punched him in the gut.

Stepping over Ted's prone and gasping body, I moved a little farther into the room. It appeared to be an entranceway of sorts. The floor was lined in marble and the walls were covered in cracked plaster. Chunks of it had crumbled to lie in dusty piles on the marble.

I turned back around when I heard the sound of a vehicle outside the door. I tried to leave but nearly tripped over the wheezing Ted. He grunted in response.

"Get your ass up, drama queen," I told him flatly. "You ain't hurt."

He stopped his ridiculous pantomime and got to his feet, pulling the door open. "Oh, looky," he chimed. "They're here!"

He flounced out the entrance and left me standing alone in the chilling hallway. I wrapped arms around myself and backed out the doorway. Once outside I turned and fairly ran to meet the others. The air wasn't quite so oppressive in the yard.

I saw three people getting out of the car as Ted moved to my side and wrapped his arm through mine. He leaned over and whispered into my ear. "Look at that guy, what a hunk," he hissed as he dug his manicured nails into my arm. "You just know he has to be gay."

"You wish," I told him. The man had his back to us. He had a great set of shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. He had the most excellent set of buns I had ever seen.

Watching his buttocks flex as he moved made me want to reach out and get a handful. I mean, damn! Then he turned around. I was a goner. He was an absolute dream with dark, curling hair, cobalt eyes and a smile that could melt a glacier. If this was a college professor I was going in first thing Monday to sign up for another four years. Yeah, he was a hotty all right.

Professor Grable stepped forward first. He had the strangest expression on his face as he studied me like a scientist studies the hamster he has just injected with a mysterious poison. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open like he was surprised. He reached out his hand as the drama queen made the introductions.

"Professor Kyle Grable, this is Allinson, the one with the magic. Allinson, the professor. And this," Ted left a pregnant pause and indicated the somewhat older woman behind the professor, "is his wife, Maryanne." I shook her hand as Ted quietly hummed the theme song from Gilligan's Island. I kept a polite smile on my face as I covertly jabbed my elbow into his ribs. He rewarded me with a very unladylike grunt.