Ghosts of Fulton House

Note - Hey, this is my first story, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

*****

Three college kids get more than they bargained for an A

"Where are we going, again?" Trent asked with the haze and sluggishness in his voice that often followed one of his 'breaks'.

"We are going to the Fulton House, one of the most haunted places in all of Cincinnati." Steph answered, practicing her on camera voice.

"Jesus, girl," Roland snapped, "the camera's not even rolling yet, curb the announcer shit."

"Don't you take your man problems out on me, Rol." Steph fired back, narrowing her eyes in the mirror. What she caught was an eye roll in return and then a hand, palm out to signal that Roland was finished.

Then, Roland muttered to himself, "when's the last time you had something up your pussy, bitch?"

"What the fuck did you just say?" Steph hissed, she gripped the wheel with white knuckle strength, half tempted to slam on the brakes and kick Roland out of the van.

"Woah, woah!" Trent exclaimed, throwing his arms up in surrender, "ladies we are probably almost to where we need to be, so everybody cool your jets. You can worry about boys later, shit.

"Fuck you, Trent." Said Steph and Roland in unison. He was correct though, they were nearly to the Fulton House. Even as she fought off the sting of Roland's remark, the first spire of the old plantation style house loomed over the oaks trees that smothered the property.

In her e-mail correspondence with the home's caretaker, Steph had been told that the home was being maintained in fair condition. With the crumbling bricks and bare roof, she could only wonder if she had been played. The shutters were all tightly affixed to the windows, each padlocked. The front doors, massive twin slabs of mahogany and stained glass, were both ornate and foreboding, and the only things not falling to shambles on the house's façade.

"Who were you talking to about this place, Herman Munster?" Trent mocked, but Steph could glean the hint of awe in his voice. It was a husk of its former glory, but you could still sense the majesty that it had once possessed.

"Sean is the caretaker's name, he's supposed to have left the door unlocked for us." Steph said and parked the van beside the front doors, "It'll be getting dark soon, let's get everything inside."

"So, let me understand something," Roland pressed as he freed himself from his safety belt, "you mean Sean isn't going to be here. At all. To help us, show us around, keep us from getting killed?"

"Yup." Was all Steph replied with before she popped the trunk and got out of the van. As she walked along side of it, the van's back door slid open and Roland jumped out, following after Steph.

"You're locking us up in some shit hole, with no supervision for a fucking grade?" The fire in Roland's voice was hedging on a shout now, he was pissed and had the right to be, Steph had never gone into detail about the full extent of the project, but she felt that it was to be expected. The class was paranormal studies, for Christ's sake, and it was a 400 level class to boot, so writing a review of a ghost movie was setting the curve low for the final grade.

Once her group had been formed, they decided to make a documentary like one of the ghost chaser shows on cable. Steph felt that with her major, radio/broadcast, Roland, a theater major, and Trent, Video production, they could blow this final project out of the water. Plus, Cincinnati had no shortage of freaky haunts to document.

They had even gone on a couple of fieldtrips as a class to places like that honky tonk bar with the portal to hell in the cellar.

One by one they moved all of the equipment into the foyer. It wasn't much, the equipment that is, just a few of those wildlife cameras, some tape recorders, a video camera and mic, and of course, plenty of lights and batteries. The foyer on the other hand was breath taking.

Cherry wood, stained a rich amber color trimmed the plaster and wood paneled walls. Double stairs looped in on themselves stretching to the second floor of the mansion.

"We will set up our HQ here," Steph smiled dropping the heavy duffle bag, loaded with flashlights and c cell batteries.

"Cool," Trent sniffled, "I'm gonna take the recorders and plant them around before it gets dark."

Before either of the other two could respond, Trent vanished into the gloomy chambers of the house, but Steph could have sworn that in the distance she saw the brief orange flick of a lighter. Her nerves spiked, if Trent was going to bake himself all night, he'd be deadweight for the project.

"Well, I guess I'm going to set the cameras out then." Roland sighed, uneager to lurk in the shrinking light of the creepy, creaky manor by himself.

"Did you want me to go with you, or you want me to stay here and check that everything has working batteries?" Steph asked.

"I want you to give me one of those flashlights, then check the rest. If I'm staying in this fucker all night, I want lights." He sassed back before swiping a flashlight from Steph's outstretched hand.

By the time the guys had returned, Steph had all of the remaining lights, camcorder, and mic checked and laid out on the aged marble floor. She had even had time to hang a couple of the flashlights from the wall sconces near the entrance to help mark and light the area. It gave the area an eerie quality, a ring of light in the now near total darkness of the house.

"It's fucking dangerous in here, I smacked my knees on so much shit." Trent slurred, bleary, blood shot eyes squinting against the light.

"No shit, you didn't take one of these with you," Roland teased, shining his flashlight into Trent's already aching eyes, "you dumbass."

"Steph's right, you do need to get laid," Trent spat, "Why don't you prance off somewhere with one of those flashlights and go fu..."

"Hey!" Steph cut in, "it's ten o'clock, let's get started, shall we?" It was sometimes difficult to believe that these three were close friends, stretching back to middle school, now grown up and nearly graduated from college, their respective personalities had all fully formed and while they constantly bickered, their friendships were still true.

"Fine by me," Roland agreed.

"Yeah, sooner we finish this shit, sooner we leave." Said Trent.

"Great, I'm thinking we start upstairs and work our way through the second floor first, then basement, then finish on this floor. We can collect everything as we go so that when we circle back here, we can just throw everything back in the bags and leave." Steph explained, trying to hide that she herself was getting a little jittery in this place.

"Deal."

"Sounds good, girl."

"We are here, in what was once the master bedroom of the Fulton House," Steph announced once they had ascended the stairs and set up the camera in the vaulted, sparse chamber, "in 1842, Mrs. Fulton died in childbirth in this very room. Some say that she was poisoned beforehand, by a jealous lover of Mr. Fulton, others say it was merely a complicated birth claiming both mother and child."

The air was visible as she spoke while a shiver crept through their bones. The room had steadily dropped in temperature, which was strange for an otherwise balmy, May evening. Steph continued her rehearsed dialogue, fighting through another shiver, "in truth, this house held many secrets about the affairs of its inhabitants. After the Fulton family died out, many of these secrets have come to light. We know now that Mrs. Fulton was sleeping with Henry Mills, a resident smith of the house. It is speculated that Mrs. Fulton's child was in fact Henry's."

WHAM! The sound of a slamming door echoed in the room like thunder. All three of their hearts froze, Steph's mouth stayed agape and on the night vision of the camera her breathing visibly quickened, "it doesn't seem as though her husband would poison her however, as he himself took several lovers down the hall in his private study." Steph spat out the rest of her monologue automatically, perhaps in an attempt to ignore what had just happened.

"What the godamned fuck was that all about," whispered Trent, after Steph had finished, "I about deuced my pants." He panned the camera over and found Roland frozen stiff as a board beside the now shut entrance to the room. He was shaking like a leaf and even with the washed out greens of the camera filter, you could tell that the color had left him.

"I swear that I did NOT touch a thing." Roland stuttered, his hands pulled up tightly to his chest.

The doorknob rattled violently then, causing Roland to shriek and sprint behind Steph and Trent. The rattling continued and then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped and the door swung slowly open, but there was nothing behind it.

"Done!" Roland shouted, "fuck this, I'm out." With that he made for the door and bolted towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Steph called, chasing after him, leaving Trent in the room by himself, confused, jittery, and too high to do much of anything.

Steph ran down the hallway, but she lost sight of Roland's light along the way, "I already passed the stairs," she realized, yet she saw the beam of light farther along, in the home's other wing, "idiot isn't even going back down to the HQ." Exasperated and on edge she shuffled down the hallway as silently as possible. The innumerable creaks and groans of the house kept her heart on high alert and her senses reeling from the overload of unusual sounds.

She crept into the room that she was sure would contain a bewildered and probably pissy Roland, but it was empty when she turned into the dusty, old study. Abandoned and dilapidated bookshelves lined the walls, but the rest of the room was open and bare. She was alone. The door closed behind her. The lock clicked.

Roland made it downstairs, but to his confusion the lights weren't where he remembered them being. He was certain that he needed to turn left in the foyer, but it was black as night. To the right was the faint, dying light of their makeshift base. He sprinted for it, passing the lights and making for the solid wooden door. It wasn't until he pried it open and stepped over the threshold that he realized that it was not the front door. He tripped and tumbled down the basement stairs, releasing his flashlight as he slid into the cellar on his back. He saw, for a sliver of a second, his flashlight sail overhead, then with a crunch it hit something hard and exploded. The lens popped off, killing the light and spilling the batteries. He sat there dazed for a moment, before getting on his hands and knees to grope the darkness before him for the pieces of his disassembled flashlight. Above him he heard the cellar door latch shut, "fuck me."

"Well this blows," Trent muttered, turning the camera this way and that. He used it to see in the darkness, since he himself had no other light. On the other side of the door he saw a slender figure pass. Assuming that it was Steph, he ventured into the hallway, "Steph? Pssst, Steph, where the hell are you?" He whispered, as the hair on his neck prickled.

"Treeent," came a girlish whisper from the

chamber across from the master bedroom.

"Not funny," Trent replied with a gulp, "if you jump out at me, I may hit you." He stammered, only half sure that it was Steph whispering. He pushed the camera in the room first, adjusting the display so that he could peek in without entering right away. The coast looked clear and he stepped inside, it was a sitting room of some kind. There was a fireplace on the wall, as tall as Trent and with a mirror above it, which when he saw his own reflection chilled his blood, "dammit. I gave myself a heart attack."

He approached the filmy glass of the mirror, the room behind was empty. As he stared into the glass, he heard his name whispered once more and felt a hand slip around his waist. In the mirror there was nothing, but his ear could feel the warm breath and when he looked down he could see the slender fingers scrunch his shirt and rub up his chest.

Steph panicked. The door wouldn't budge and there was no sign of Roland or another way out of the room. There came from behind her the sound of heavy breathing, but when she spun around her flashlight caught nobody in its beam. She furrowed her brow and crept forward, soon her limbs felt heavy and her breath became visible in the air before her face. It was cold now, just like in the bedroom.

Suddenly, the light was ripped from her hand and shot across the room. It rolled along the floor, shining back at her. It was difficult for her to move now, even if she weren't frozen with a crippling fear. Something hot touched her throat. She breathed in sharply, the cold air stinging her lungs as she did. Whatever it was that had her slid its warmth down her neck and settled on her breasts. She could see them moving, her shirt was indented as if there were hands groping at her.

She wanted to scream, but her lungs wouldn't let her. Only a faint noise trickled from her mouth, more a whimper than a scream. Her shirt now slid up over her body and then fell down onto the floor, her bra came off next, exposing her stiffened nipples to the frigid air. She wanted to cover herself, but her arms felt pinned where they were, up above her head, where they had stayed after her shirt was removed. She didn't know what was happening and she wanted Trent or Rolland to come in and help her. But there was

no chance of that, it was just her. Her and whatever was fondling her in the night.

She felt the button of her jeans undo itself, then the zipper slowly released and to her great shock, her legs flew up from under her. She hung suspended in the air as the denim slid across her splayed legs. The cotton barrier of her panties, the only shield that she had left from her assailant were disposed of next.

Fully nude, Steph shivered. She was cold and frightened, but she started to calm instinctively after that. Her skin was wrapped in a slithering warmth, like a thousand fingers explored her fully exposed body all at once. Soon it felt more like she was floating in water than suspended in air. Her limbs drifted lazily beside her, her knees lifting, shifting her butt upward until she was in a reclined state. Soon, to her horror, she realized that her shuddering breath came not from cold or fear anymore, but arousal.

The writhing exploration of her body escalated. Now her nipples had the sensation of hot swirling, like tongues upon them, making subtle moans escape from her. The meat of her breasts were being kneaded firmly as well, it felt wonderful. There was no pain, no fear, she felt as comfortable as if she were with an old lover. A feeling of gentle pressure slid up and down her inner thighs and unable to control it, she felt her pussy moisten to it.

She opened her mouth, and breathed out her pleasure. Her eyes closed now, Steph was fully given in to her situation. Her mouth felt hot as if something seemed to be filling it, her tongue probed to feel whatever it was, and to her confusion the air felt like jelly. There was no flesh, no taste of skin, just solid, warm air filling her mouth. She could still breathe and now sure that she wasn't in danger, she licked at the strange material, suckling on the cylinder of energy as it filled her.

As she allowed her lust to take over for her, she felt a second plume of energy. This one pressed on her lower lips, spreading them apart and sliding easily inside of her wetness. She moaned, her mouth full of sparking lust. Her cunt began to fill, as if the energy was conforming to her inner walls. She felt something press on her cervix, and she gasped. Her cunt was dripping now, the ravaging energy pumped itself into her to the point that Steph felt like she would pop.

Her mouth too began to feel fuller, and the heat slithered into her throat and down into her belly. The pressure on the outside of her body retreated, and the cold air slid over her as the heat trickled away. Her body was sucking in the energy, her mouth and cunt consuming it all in and holding it until there was none left outside of her body.

Now she was floating on her own, the energy spreading in her body and tingling, touching, hitting nerves from within. Her nipples were radiating with heat now, they felt like they were on fire, but there was no pain. Her clit was pulsing rapidly, swollen and tender to the cold air. Her pussy muscles were spasming on their own, replicating the feeling of being fucked.

Even her yet unstimulated G-spot was being electrified. To Steph it seemed as though her body were actually pleasuring itself. Rippling waves of unimaginable ecstasy coursed through her, her insides felt completely full now, but she felt weightless at the same time.

"Oh, OH!" She screamed. Her limbs quivered, spreading to her chest and downward. She was going to cum. Her eyes rolled back in her head and then, "Fuck! Fuck! GAH!" Her body exploded in orgasm. She felt it from her toes to her scalp, her whole body undulating. Her pussy sprayed, something it had never done before. Thick jets of slimy jelly were pushed from her slit with every squeeze of her muscles. All the while, she felt herself slowly descend to the floor.

Each wave dropped her a few inches mirroring her descent from climax. By the time her back touched down onto the dusty floor boards her ears were ringing. Her body shivered and her muscles ached all over. The air was warm again and beneath her she felt the thick coating of gel seep across her back, ass, and legs. She lay there, unable to move as her spent body tingled in the afterglow of her first paranormal orgasm. The last bits of used up ectoplasm leaked from her swollen, tender mound and pooled with the rest.

Roland crawled forward fumbling blindly in the dark cellar until his hand rested on a leather boot. Trembling, he felt a leg, a knee, a hip, "Trent, is that you?" He whispered, staving off the urge to break down and cry.

"No, I am Seamus, the grounds keeper." Came the voice attached to the leg.

"Oh, thank god!" Rolland exclaimed, "please get me out of here."

"I may," bargained the accented voice, "but I want you to do something for me first, my pet."

Roland felt a rough, cold hand caress his cheek. As it did, it turned warm, as if absorbing some of his body heat and holding it. He felt strangely comforted by his touch and soon he was absently kissing his fingers, then pressing the tips of each to his parted lips, running his tongue over each one. Roland felt at odds with his own body. His brain screamed at him to stop, that this was weird, that this was wrong. His mind told him to get away, but his body told him to give in.

"Would you be so kind as to take care of this for me?" The voice called to Roland, who nodded before the words were finished echoing.

"Yes." He whispered, getting comfortable on his knees.

"Please, call me daddy." The voice requested, there was a tone of authority. Roland was happy to oblige, feeling his rod twitch at the thought.

"Yes, daddy," he said huskily. His hands slipped to the fly of Seamus' pants and opened it. He felt inside, his hands grasping at the girth of the cock within and pulled it out, he couldn't help but notice that it felt momentarily frigid. Once his hand was upon it though, it was hot to the touch.

Roland stroked the member in his hand, feeling it thicken to his touch. Soon it wasn't enough and he opened his mouth. The head was already wet before his tongue tasted it, and Roland happily cleaned the fluid from the cock's slit. He was slurping on a veiny cock, hot and throbbing. The first he had enjoyed in months. It felt so good to feel the ridges and taste the saltiness of a real man's cock. His new lover had an excellent member, hard as marble and hot as coal, with a steady stream of pre-seminal fluid that Roland lapped at hungrily. In the back of his mind though, Roland was conflicted that what he was doing went against his very nature.