A/N: Hello, my lovelies! This was supposed to be my entry for the 2021 Halloween contest, but as usual I'm half a month late. Enjoy, regardless!
--------------------------
The ghost that haunts my house doesn't know that I can see him.
It started three weeks ago when I moved into my late great-aunt's old, rickety Victorian. I was supposed to be there to help my mom sort through the lonely old woman's antiques and collectibles for resale. Old Aunt Bess had been somewhat of a hoarder. With no kids or husband to speak of, her arrangements had fallen to the next of kin - mom and me.
It was fine at first. It was fun. I'd finished my bachelor's degree over the summer and hadn't found work yet. Finding a place to live rent-free for a few months with the promise of a big payout at the end was just what I needed. Mom was busy with her "real" job in the city, so I had the place to my own. She even said I could keep living there until it sold if I wanted. Or I could just keep it.
It smelled of mildew occasionally, but it was nothing a good aerosol couldn't fix. At night, the house creaked and thumped without cause. Whenever a summer storm hit, the wind whistling outside the walls sounded like the screams of the damned.
But all that was fine. All those details were expectable in an old house. What was not fine was the ghost.
I saw him for the first time on the third day after I arrived. At first, I thought it was an eye floater drifting through my peripheral vision. Yet when I instinctively turned my head to look, I saw the muted colors of a semi-transparent figure floating past the open doorway.
I didn't move. The figure continued down the hall, out of sight. I blinked a few times, processing what had happened. Was I seeing things? Had I been working alone in the house for too long?
Frowning, I moved to the doorway and peered down the corridor in the direction it had gone. A few yards away, I could see the shimmering image of a person as it turned and passed through a wall to its right.
I stood there, staring and processing for what felt like hours. Eventually, I concluded I had gone temporarily insane and that the strange occurrence would definitely never happen again.
The strange occurrence happened again the next morning.
I was at the stove making breakfast when it walked into the kitchen. It was closer this time; I could make out a few more of its features. The figure was taller than me and broader - masculine in its form. Its image wasn't as hazy as it had been the day before; I could see the beginnings of facial features forming and details of its clothes. It hovered for approximately thirty seconds in place before continuing out through the other side of the kitchen.
I watched this happen from the corner of my eye. I was terrified to look directly at it. What if it was some kind of evil spirit? What if it got pissed if I stared at it too long?
I decided that my best course of action was to simply ignore the ghost until I figured out what to do. That's how I solve most of my problems, anyway.
Now it's become a constant battle as the spirit gains more and more clarity. It's definitely a man, and he's wearing some sort of flannel shirt and jeans. He's broad in the shoulders and has medium-length hair. I haven't looked close enough to examine his facial features, but from my brief peripheral glances, I can tell they've come into focus, too.
I'm standing at the stove again one morning, debating whether I should invest in an exorcist, when the ghost walks in.
This is a pretty normal event, and I carefully keep my eyes trained on the scrambled eggs before me as his outline pauses in my peripheral vision. Though it's hazy, I can see he's looking at me. I ignore it until, suddenly, he speaks.
"Can you see me?"
His voice at first sounds muffled, like sound does when you have water in your ear. A few syllables in, it suddenly pops through, clear as day. He's got a bit of a southern drawl, and his voice is low and husky.
Faced with the horrifying realization that the ghost is both sentient and vocal, I focus harder on my task. My hands are shaking and I hope he doesn't notice. Just ignore it, and he'll go away.
"Guess not..." he mutters, apparently to himself. He sounds disappointed. I expect him to leave, as he usually does. Instead, he hops up on the kitchen table, still facing me.
"Gotta say... you're a lot easier on the eyes than ol' Bessie was. Might make things a little more interesting around here..."
I fight not to make a face as I spoon my eggs onto a plate. Not only is my ghost aware he is a ghost, but he's also a creep. Super. Great. Awesome.
I turn towards the table, carefully keeping my eyes lowered so as not to accidentally meet eyes with him. I realize I'm going to have a problem. He's sitting right where my plate will go.
Casually, I fish my phone out of my pocket and pretend to check it. Then, acting as if I have an idea, I take my plate onwards into the living room. I plop down on the old leather armchair and set up my phone to watch some inane YouTube videos. Anything to hold my gaze so it doesn't fall on him.
I don't realize he's followed until his voice comes from beside the chair.
"I'm not entirely convinced that you can't see me, darlin'."
I spoon a bite of eggs, eyes riveted to the Fail Compilation I've pulled up to watch. I'm turned sideways, my phone on the side table next to the chair. The ghost is lingering behind me.
"Maybe we'll just have to test out my... hypothesis..."
I dislike the sound of that.
The ghost haunts me for most of the morning as I go sorting and sifting through my aunt's closets. He seems to get bored around lunchtime and I don't see him for a few hours.
Mom calls a little after one o'clock, and I try to subtly slide a question into our conversation.
"Hey, Mom, did Aunt Bess ever mention anything weird happening around the house?"
"Weird like how?" she asks.
"I don't know... like, weird noises?" Like the voice of a ghost talking directly to you?
She laughs. "Ada, that house is over a hundred years old. It's gonna make all sorts of noises as it settles. You're much too old to be scared of ghosts."
"Yeah..." I reply. I don't have the balls to tell her I am literally seeing a ghost. "You're right."
"Your name is Ada?" a distinctly masculine voice whispers in my opposite ear. I have to clench down to avoid jumping out of my skin. I still shiver, though. "Ada, Ada, Ada. I know you can hear me, little girl."
Carefully ignoring him again, I finish my talk with Mom and get back to work. He disappears again after a while, seeming to be leaving me alone for now. I don't see him again until I'm carrying a box of jewelry down the long hallway from Aunt Bess's old bedroom.
He's standing in the hallway ahead of me, arms spread out, blocking my path. I glance up quickly and catch the wild grin on his face.
"I know you can see me, Ada. Nowhere to turn now."
I try to contrive a reason to turn back, but I know that would be suspicious as fuck. I have to power through. I can't let him win. I need this place. I was intending to live here for a bit while I figured out work stuff. I can't do that with an asshole ghost hanging around.
I have to convince him I can't see him. It's the only way he'll leave me alone.
Steeling myself, I march forward. He's a ghost, right? I should pass right through him. I'll just push through as if nothing's there.
The box in my arms makes contact first, phasing right through him. I try not to smile. Then, I make the worst mistake I've made yet.
"Ada..." he whispers, just as my hands are passing through his chest. The sound is forlorn and longing, unlike the curious, somewhat teasing tone he's spoken in so far. It's so unexpected that I instinctively glance up to meet his eye.
It's the first time I've seen his face. His blue eyes glow with a faint luminescence. He's got a sharp jaw covered in five o'clock shadow. His hair is curly and needs a trim, falling loosely past his ears. Who knew that my uninvited guest was sort of... handsome?
I see the spark of recognition and delight enter his gaze as I stare for just a second too long. Dropping my eyes again, I push forward and pass through him. He feels like a cool mist sliding lightly over my skin.
"I saw that," he breathes. I continue down the hall, speeding up slightly. "You looked right at me, woman. Now talk to me!"
Refusing to acknowledge my fuckup, I instead get back to work. I see him checking in throughout the day, watching me silently for long lengths of time, before disappearing again.
He's gone for several hours and I think maybe he's finally given up. It's after 8pm and I start to settle in for the night. I'm covered in sweat and dust and desperately need a shower, but I suddenly find myself with another pressing need to address.
I'm not sure why I'm suddenly horny as all hell. I've heard before that fear can be an aphrodisiac. Maybe my constant stress throughout the day needs release.
Down to nothing but my t-shirt and undies, I sprawl across the top of the bedspread and pull out my phone. A quick search of Literotica.com later, I have a short, smutty blurb to help me along. Before a minute passes, my hand is down in my panties, going to town.
It doesn't take long before I can feel the current rising, that floating, sweeping feeling of climbing towards a peak. My eyelids flutter slightly as I inch ever closer to completion...
"Am I interrupting?" the ghost asks in my ear.
He's appeared, lying at my side on the bed, hands casually behind his head. It seems whatever seriousness possessed him earlier has disappeared and he's back to his usual cocky attitude.
Hand still in my underwear, I debate my options. I really can't let him know I see him. He thinks he's got me - that I wouldn't dare masturbate with him watching. Joke's on him - I'd dare. I'm covered. He can't see anything but maybe a moist spot on my panties and my nipples making tiny tents in my shirt. Maybe I should just fake an orgasm and bolt.
I commit to the task, turning on my side away from him and propping the phone up against the pillow so I can play with my breasts through my shirt as I pretend to read it. The ghost is silent behind me.
Then, in the corner of my eye, I see him leaning up to look over my shoulder at my phone screen. We're almost in a spooning position.
"The hell are you reading?" he grumbles. I fake a soft moan, intending to wrap this up in a big, believable way. The ghost doesn't seem to be watching me anymore, his eyes on the screen.
"'
He threw me onto the bed, ripping off all my clothes, and plunging his manhood into me'
," he reads aloud, making the situation get more awkward by the minute. To my surprise, he laughs.
"Ain't there a few more steps in there? And his 'manhood' - I never -!" He dissolves into a fit of laughter, truly and completely killing my mood. My hand slows, then I remember I'm supposed to be giving a believable orgasm performance. I move my fingers an inch higher, swirling unexciting circles on my mound and sparing my clit the dry torture.
"You need something better to Jill off to, darlin'?" he asks, finally drying up. Suddenly, his voice lowers and turns gravelly.
"How 'bout I just tell you what I'd do to you if I could touch you?"
A jolt courses through me. I'm not sure if it's from excitement or fear or shock at the implications of what's about to happen. He'd made some creepy comments earlier, but I didn't think he actually found me attractive.
"Suppose it won't matter," he says casually, teasing, "since you obviously can't hear me or nothing."
I try to steady my breathing, then remember I'm supposed to be in the throes anyway, and let it get erratic.
"If I could get my hands on you..." he begins, low and soft in my ear. "I'd throw you on the bed like in your little story, sure. I'd get my fingers under these silky pink panties of yours and rip 'em clean off you." I feel a spasm between my legs as my body starts to pay attention.
"I'd grab you by the ankles and pull you to me, spreading you wide so I can look at you properly. I bet you've got a pretty, pink pussy just drippin' for me, don't you
Ada
