We endeavor in this ghostly little tale to raise the arousal of a Ghost, but not put the readers out of pleasure with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with us. May it haunt your computer pleasantly, and aid your lays. Read the dickens out of it.
--(paraphrased from C.D, 1843)
*********************************************
Marla was dead, to begin with. There was little doubt whatsoever in Eleanor's mind about that. After all, Eleanor was the one that found Marla face down in chocolate vat number four. It was Eleanor who notified the constable and identified the remains. And it was Eleanor who had the unsavory task of breaking the news of the accident to Marla's closest living relative, her Aunt Petunia.
So by all measures Marla's demise was assured by Eleanor's way of thinking. As the executor of the will, she also knew that some good would come of this terrible tragedy. Since the will would give all worldly possessions, including Marla's half share of the lucrative chocolate factory that they had partnered for twelve years, to "my dearest Eleanor," Marla's death was not without profit for her best friend.
Nevertheless, she did miss her friend and bemoaned the timing of her inheritance. It was Halloween, the start of the chocolate season. The bothersome spook day was quickly followed by the gluttonous Thanksgiving, commercial Christmas, and the most sappy of them all, the lucrative Valentine's Day. Curse the fucking cloud on all her silver linings.
Closing early so as not to have the town gossip about her irreverence, Eleanor came home in a particularly foul mood. There she found that her husband, Bob, had decorated in his usual elaborate and irritating manner for the frightful holiday. He was such a slave to the distractions of idiocy, she thought as she pulled up the long driveway.
Strobe lights sat facing a cardboard coffin on their front porch. Plastic bats and streamers hung from every limb in the yard, and a fake cemetery lined the walk. How morosely appropriate, Eleanor smiled, as she contemplated the day's events.
Kicking one of the styrofoam ghosts sitting on her front step, she flung the door open, screaming "Bob!!!" in her most shrill voice. There was no sign of her silly husband except a note sitting beside two large bowls containing homemade popcorn balls reading, "Dearest Elle, please begin giving these out if I arrive too late to see the first trick-or-treaters. Love, Bob."
Eleanor made short work of the balls, crushing each with a stomp and throwing them in the trash can. Then she turned out all the lights and sat in the dark, waiting to give it to old Bob for wasting so much money on those ridiculous decorations. She tried to masturbate to calm down, but the anger in her soul kept her from cumming. Soon the frenzied day took its toll as she fell into a fitful slumber in Bob's lounging chair.
************************************
The doorbell rang, awakening Eleanor with a start. Children's voices from her porch argued whether there was anyone home. She rapped her fingers on the cushion in anger as she debated whether to bother dispersing the little candy mongers at her door. With the second ring, she was up like a shot, sending the children scurrying with her terrifying appearance at the door.
"Get outa my yard, you nasty little vermin," she shouted as she threw the door open in disgust. "I'll have you for trespassing if you step foot here again."
Eleanor glared at the disappearing figures, falling over themselves and the fake tombstones in their way. As the pack crossed the hedges, they passed what looked to be a gray statue of a woman. Eleanor peered into the darkness at what she thought was a familiar profile, but it could not be. The only woman who looked like the statue was tits up on a morgue table at the moment. And the next moment, the mirage was gone.
Eleanor closed the door and triple locked it. She was shaken, but all of her glances from the foyer curtains failed to show a return of the shadowy figure. Turning to run a bath, she heard a soft sound come from the den. The sound of scraping, then a glow of a light emanating from the den doorway just ahead of her. The flickering light couldn't be seen from her vantage point, but it's dancing beams stopped her in her tracks.
"Bob?" Eleanor's voice shook, because she couldn't have missed her husband's arrival home. Someone had lit the fireplace candle all right, but she was not at all confident it was her poor demented husband.
Eleanor took a step toward the doorway, and a pause, then another small step. She picked up the coat rack in the hall and held it before her body like a lance, not entirely sure what she would do with the unwieldy thing. Another step forward. Nothing, no sound at all. With a giant leap, she jumped into the middle of the den waving the coat hooks before her in offense or defense, whichever came first.
Before the fireplace, directly across from her, stood a gray figure placing the candle back on the mantle. It was a woman, completely naked and covered with flaking spots. As Eleanor, still clutching her fearsome coat rack, stared wide-eyed at the woman, the spirit waved a hand over the candle as if to summon it to burn brighter then turned around to confront the intruder. The gray woman was Marla.
Eleanor dropped her coat rack, gasping in horror at the pariah before her. She pointed with a weak finger at the ghost, while one hand found a speechless throat. The ghost looked placid, content, and waited for Eleanor to find her voice.
"Oh... oh my. My god, who are you? Why... it can't be you. You're... you're deader than a door nail!"
"Strange saying that," said the spirit, "since a door nail had no life to lose, and I can't seem to get rid of mine." A faint smile appeared on the face of the nude ghost.
The voice was definitely Marla's, there was no doubt. The ghost reached down to peel gray chocolate off her thigh and dropped it with ceremony in front of her. The bit of chocolate floated to the floor and disappeared.
Eleanor took in Marla's naked body in silence. God, she was gorgeous. It had been twenty years since she had seen Marla naked, but not much had changed about her body since high school. Except maybe her breasts were fuller.
"Damn, that's not fair, not an ounce of cellulite," thought Eleanor. "I wonder why she never got a man, I would even fuck her if I had a dick. If she cleaned up that is. And if she weren't dead."
They stared at each other for several moments, Marla merely waiting while Eleanor unabashedly stared at her breasts. Her colorless tits still looked youthful with smooth nipples and gentle slopes, while her pubic hair was barely noticeable between her legs. Her long shapely legs stood parted slightly in a most enticing manner and there was a tag hanging from one toe. Eleanor started at the sight, then noticed that the tits didn't rise and fall with respirations. She acquiesced to the obvious.
"Sweet Lord, you are Marla. But... how? Why?"
Marla's Ghost smiled more broadly. "I don't know, Eleanor. I'm unable to come back, unable to move on. I have a purpose and I'm not entirely sure what it is. But it involves you."
Eleanor stepped back with horror, hand on her chest. "Me? Why me, what did I ever do to you?" Her voice took on her usual biting tone, "You won't haunt me Marla Peach, I won't stand for it!"
Marla's Ghost giggled slightly. "I'm not haunting you, partner. I'm taking you." With that she held out her hands as if to draw Eleanor close.
