The Old Mansion On Ninth Street

The legend of the Old Snickers Mansion, and its Ghost

This is my entry into the

Literotica 2021 Halloween Story Contest

. I hope you enjoy it!

It's not always easy to be the Old Mansion up on Ninth Street. For one thing, my memory is not as good as it used to be, probably because I have so much more to remember (or to forget!), but also, I have all the usual complaints of advancing age. Women (or is it men? -- I forget) are always complaining about their internal plumbing. I realize it's annoying for humans, but what about me? I've got plumbing complaints galore. First, there's the men who seem unable to judiciously aim their urine at my large toilet bowls. Some of them clearly need washers to control their streams.

Let's not forget all those constipated people (politicians are the worst) who are always clogging the toilets. At least after a good clog, they're no longer full of shit. No, you're right, they're still full of shit. Indiana has some mighty shitty politicians. Then there are the idiots who try to flush tampons down the toilets. I suspect they're the daughters of said politicians. And, of course, there's the drunken women who lose their earrings (and in one case even a wedding ring) down the sink drains, and for those events, a plumber needs to be called.

The structural woes are legendary. There's the old, decaying pipes, a mixture of copper, iron, and plastic pipes filling up my basement; the heating ducts covered in asbestos back when humans thought that was a smart thing to do; and please, please, please don't get me started on termites. I also detest field mice, cockroaches, and the arch enemy of any God-fearing old home, those damnable squirrels!

I'm giving the wrong impression. I'm not a grumpy old mansion filled with hate; rather I'm filled with love, lots of love over the years, much of it expressed physically and lovingly in any of several of my many bedrooms. There are also the people who just prefer dark corners of various rooms. Every time a couple gets it on in my mansion, I get a tingly feeling, and if the woman has a genuine climax, I feel it all the way to my cedar siding!

It's been a while. Old Man Snickers' daughter, Sondra, now Sondra Souleiado since she married, moved out of me, long ago. When she was in her twenties, however, every Halloween she'd throw a wild party, and all sorts of twenty-something people would show up, for the top shelf booze, and the delicious snacks, the great music on the sound system, and the rather spectacular decorations. Sondra went all out!

Sondra's party atmosphere, plus I guess the special nature of Halloween, led to quite a bit of sex. Men and women hooking up for the first, or the tenth, time in one of my many bedrooms, or cheating on their girlfriends or boyfriends, or just simply swapping partners, I tell you it was wild, and if they did it in a room with mirrors, I got to see (and of course hear) everything! It was quite thrilling for an old mansion like me.

Sondra herself, however, was not a happy person, and she moved out of the house in her early twenties, and she almost never returns. She's not close to her father, and everyone thinks she's nuts from the times she was constantly ranting and raving about ghosts. I could have told everyone what happened with Sondra, to cause her essentially to lose her mind, but nobody asked me. Anyway, she's married now, so I hope her sanity has returned, and that she is back to being the wonderful Sondra we all knew and loved before the ghosts intervened in her sweet mind and body. It was one ghost in particular, I believe.

Speaking of sexual escapades within my walls, one time a woman got it on with two men at once, but I blush even to think of it, and trust me, you do not want to see an old mansion blush. People tend to call the fire department when I blush. Not good. It is, however, fascinating (and super-hot!) to watch a woman in the middle of a spit roast, all the more so if the woman is Nancy Eber, let me tell you! More recently there's Michelle Deutsch, and she is just an angel on legs, in my humble opinion. The men she wraps her legs around agree enthusiastically, I'm sure!

Mostly, however, I'm just ignored, and taken for granted, except of course by my owner, Old Man Snickers, and his extended family, especially on special occasions. The highlight of the year, for me at least, is the annual Halloween party. Old Man Snickers' grandson Peter, now twenty years old, is planning to recreate the magic of Sondra's parties. He has one hell of a party planned for this year, and it will start tomorrow evening! I can't wait.

** THE NEXT DAY, OCTOBER 31 **

I'm excited. Peter's been decorating me for several days already, and I am truly spruced up! I have never looked so good before, nor so scary! The adorable little trick or treaters that stop by (they all seem to think I'm haunted, and you can see the fear on their faces when they come to the door; it's so cute!) are given a choice of premium candy, or of course a full-size Snickers candy bar, a long tradition started by Peter's grandfather.

The belief that I'm a haunted old mansion is of course bunk. Mostly. You see, John Jacob Snickers, my owner's great, great uncle, died tragically after his wife fell victim to an intruding rapist. The rapist had tied up his wife, spread eagle and naked on the bed, and then raped her repeatedly, while John Jacob was passed out on the floor, being completely drunk.

John Jacob's wife Annelies died of a brain aneurism either during or right after the rape, and John Jacob didn't even realize she was dead when he himself woke from his drunken stupor. Seeing her naked and tied up, with a thoroughly wet pussy, he immediately fucked her. She was wet down there, and rapidly losing body temperature, but she was still somewhat warm.

The loss of his dear and lovely wife, and the realization he had engaged in necrophilia, led to the loss of his already somewhat questionable sanity, and one day he went down to the basement and drowned himself in the sump pump.

It's not easy to drown yourself in a sump pump, but apparently John Jacob achieved that task with an enormous amount of help from his lifelong friend, Jack Daniels. Ever since, Tennessee mash whiskey has been banned from the Snickers Mansion.

Snickers men now drink Bourbon, and occasionally some Scotch whisky, but only if it's of legal age, which is widely considered to be eighteen years old, even if the age of consent in Indiana (and 33 other states) is sixteen.

The rumors are that John Jacob haunts the old mansion, always looking for some Jack Daniels whiskey, and never finding any. Or maybe, he's still looking for his beautiful, long-lost wife, Annelies van Dryden. Or, of course, it could be both. Or neither. Nobody really knows, of course, not even me, the old mansion who has seen everything, and then some.

The trick or treaters have all left now, and it's only a few hours to go before the adult guests arrive for the big, blowout party! Peter has tested the sound system already, and he's just now putting on the mood music to welcome the guests. I love it when Peter plays music; he has great taste as a DJ.

The tradition is that many of my bedrooms and dark corners are used during the Halloween Parties for some hanky-panky fun. I hope it's the case this year. Usually it's just kissing, necking, hands exploring, and some undressing. Many a woman is rendered topless at these parties. Some people, however, go father. I love watching lovers engaged in love-making.

It's true I'm a house, and therefore have no mouth and cannot speak. Everyone knows, however, that walls have ears, and mirrors can see, and so I can see and hear most everything. What I'll bet you don't know is that I can smell, too! I can smell quite well, in fact; better than most people, but not as well as some dogs. Sex, real actual sex, has a distinctive smell, and one which I, for one house, really love.

I communicate with Peter via texting (a big Thank You, Steve Jobs!). I'm not sure about the details of how I am able to text, but I think it involves some kind of a new Goddess named Siri? Or maybe Alexa? I don't understand it at all, I'm just an old house after all, and not a rocket scientist, but it's thrilling to be able to speak to Peter via texting. On his phone my name is OSM, for the Old Snickers Mansion.

Peter has asked me to help him to get laid this year, so I have my work cut out for me! The man is twenty years old and terrified of sex; he's still a virgin, can you believe it?

I mean I'm a house, and an old one at that, but from all I know, which over the years has become a lot, Peter is a hunk! He has a healthy head of hair, broad shoulders, and muscular legs. He has the body hair of males of his species, but not too much; he doesn't have fur, nor resemble a bear. Okay, he wears glasses; but he removes them when he goes to kiss a girl. The girls don't seem to mind, especially not Joanie.

He has a deep voice, which is naturally mellifluous. His hands are large and calloused, indicating an honest life of hard labor, but when he touches my walls (and boy, do I love when he does that!), I can tell his hands are gentle, and reflect a delicate soul. He has a winning smile, and good teeth. He's also rich, being the heir to the Snickers fortune, so I think, all-in-all, he's a real catch.

It's just a damn pity he's so shy around women, and the prettier and the sexier they are, the shyer he becomes. I've been hiding away some very old Scotch whisky to help him get over his inertia when it comes to his opposite sex. That, plus the magic of Halloween, has given me high hopes.

People think of houses as female. In French it's la maison, not le maison, after all. In Spanish and Italian, both, it's la casa. In German it's das haus and is neuter, but then, it's German, and who cares? In Russian дом is masculine (I think), but then, that's Russian, right? Hey, I'm a house; just be glad I know English, okay?

I think it's natural for a house to be female, because people (and yes, unfortunately field mice, and those damnable squirrels) are always entering and leaving. I'm definitely female. I'm right there with every sexy babe who has ever been laid in my house, and I'm hoping quite a few will experience the thrill of Halloween sex in the Old Snickers Mansion this very night!

The first people are arriving! How exciting! Oh. How disappointing; they're just four guys, the best of Peter's guy friends. Well, it's nice they came early, since it gives the party a vibe for when the real guests arrive. The guys are already drinking pretty seriously. I sent a text to Peter to hold off on the booze for a bit; I don't want his abilities impaired, when the time comes, you know? In my experience, girls like to get tipsy, or even downright drunk, but they prefer their men on the sober side of smashed. Keep your powder dry, I texted Peter. Thank goodness, he's not metaphor impaired. He's actually quite intelligent, I find.

There's my bell. I love it when they ring my bell, instead of just knocking. It's like ringing my chimes, even if the chimes are by the back door. Of course, they could just walk in; Peter left the door open with a sign to come on in. Ringing the bell, though, is a nice touch. I feel it all the way down to my sump pump!

You can even hear the bell ring, since the music is not yet that loud. It's a lovely sound, my doorbell. Oh! It's that blonde bombshell Stephanie Bravac and her husband Sam Something. They married fairly young. The word is that Stephanie was pregnant, and the marriage was rushed; however, no child ever appeared. Maybe it was a false alarm? Or maybe she had a miscarriage? Anyway, the end result is: they're married.

Sam is the Sam who owns half the gas stations of the entire county. He even sells porno magazines at the service station out by the Interstate, probably for the long-haul truckers, I'd surmise, but of course being an old mansion and stuck in the town center on Ninth Street, I really wouldn't know.

Stephanie's probably too old for Peter, and at the same time, too young for Sam Something. I think she's 23, maybe 24, and anyway, already married, not that being married ever stops anyone. Tonight, however, there's two problems: One is that she's rumored to be loyal to her husband, and the other is that her husband is right there, with her. If you have a pretty wife with the curves, face, legs, bubble ass, and boobs of Stephanie, you watch her like a hawk. I'm sure he trusts her, but Ronald Reagan himself always said, "Trust, but verify."

Ironically, Stephanie is dressed to be a scarecrow. I mean, seriously? In that outfit every male crow from miles around will flock to her, just for a little taste, you know? Well, maybe I exaggerate. Old mansions tend to exaggerate; it makes our creaky lives more fun. I think she's not even wearing a bra, and that we can see her nipples right through her costume. She must be driving Sam Something nuts. Maybe the word on her that she doesn't fool around with others is out of date? I'll have to keep a mirror on her. Several men are drooling over the sight of her, already!

Oh boy, more Halloween revelers have arrived! Zeke and Miguel have shown up, and almost at the same time, but independently, Joanie and Melissa are here. Let the party begin! Joanie and Melissa are my favorite candidates for Peter's great deflowering. I remember Melissa's eighteenth birthday, because her much older Dom is a friend of Old Man Snickers. He brought Melissa over and they ganged up on her, and she didn't mind even one little bit. I have this image of her, lying naked on her back in one of my many bedrooms (modesty prevents me from telling you which one), holding a hard cock in each hand, while Old Man Snickers uses his right hand to explore her sumptuous pussy.

When Melissa's Dom and Old Man Snickers progressed to the next stage, I got to learn what a fetching moan Melissa has. She even moaned louder when Old Man Snickers enjoyed her than when her own Dom did. I always wondered if she was later punished for having done that? You've gotta love that young wench of a girl. She's a great candidate to deflower Peter tonight. I'll keep a mirror on her, you can bet on that!

Joanie, however, is my sentimental favorite. She's smart, gregarious, and with a fierce sense of humor. She's also sexy as hell. Okay, okay, what does a house, an old mansion no less, know about a woman being sexy, you ask? Puh-lenty! Just consider her costume: Tonight, she's coming as a street-walker version of Hermione Granger.

Yeah, Joanie's boobs are much too big to be believable when it comes to Hermione, and true, they're practically falling out of her costume, and the skirt she has on? One false move and everyone will see her panties; assuming she's even wearing any. You never know with that sexpot. The long, paired braids just make everything all the more fetching. Not very much like Hermione, I guess; but remember: she's the street walker version!

I wish there were mirrors on the floor, but alas, until there's some good fortune with a false move, I'm in the dark as much as everyone else, when it comes to Joanie's panties. A big advantage for Hermione, I mean Joanie, in my book, is that she's got a crush on Peter! This is just what the doctor ordered: A sexpot with a crush on Peter. Let's hope she doesn't scare him off, but then, who has ever gotten scared on Halloween? Oh, yeah; Everyone!

The floodgates have opened. The whole place is filling up with revelers. Peter's party is going to be a smashing success. Oh, goodie: they're all heading over to my tiki room! This is a party hearty, let's get drunk on our asses, kind of crowd. Tonight, will be memorable, for sure!

My tiki room: I had one before it was fashionable, even before Walt put one in Disneyland or the Magic Kingdom. Mine is filled with Polynesian liquors and delicacies, but without singing robot birds. You want some tequila? Come to my tiki room. Mezcal? Come to my tiki room. Genuine Barbados rum? I've got it in my tiki room. Beer, wine? Hell, no. No Scotch whisky, no Irish whiskey, no Canadian Rye whiskey, no Bourbon, and no Aquavit. If my room had those, it wouldn't be tiki, now would it? It does have plenty of Okolehao!

My tiki has over fifty different kinds of rum. The Old Snickers Mansion takes its booze seriously. These party goers have already started the Great Halloween Drain of my liquor supply. No worries, though: Old Man Snickers has standing orders for replacement booze. Good thing, too, because Sam Something is hitting the bottle fairly hard, and it's only 9 o'clock in the PM!

Sally, Susie, and Marcia are all here, now. They're all pretty girls, and they are

bona fide

good time girls, too. Oh my, they just pulled three guys onto the dance floor. AC/DC music will do that to a girl; it's great music to dance to. Peter had a vertical pole installed in my ballroom; maybe Susie will do her famous strip tease later, if the guys pour enough booze down her throat. Susie has great boobs. All the guys think so, and probably all the guys have seen them already, too. She never lets the guys taste her boobs, though. With Susie, the guys can look, sure, but they cannot touch. Susie is not what you'd call a private, shy girl. Marcia, on the other hand, has a talented mouth, famous in three counties. She has mastered her gag reflex; and then there's Sally.

Sally does not beget superlatives. She simply has a quiet way about her. If she sets her sights on a given man, let's say Harry, like last year at this time, the guy just doesn't have a chance. She'll have him eating out of her hand. If she's in the mood, and he takes her somewhere quiet and alone, she'll also have him eating her out. Sally just simply loves oral sex, especially if she's the recipient of it. A man who gives good cunnilingus is a rare animal; they all want blowjobs, but they're men, so typically, it's all about them. You know, if Peter could get Sally alone and somehow manage to get her undressed enough to eat her out, then after her first real orgasm, she'll destroy his virginal status in a heartbeat. I'd bet my chandelier on it.

Okay, here it is. Well, that didn't take long. Jane and Philip have hooked up, and Philip is looking for an empty bedroom. Scuttlebutt is that Philip has been after Jane for ages, but she has resisted, remaining pure, saving herself for marriage. Tonight, however, Jane is already drunk, and she seems to be quite randy! Maybe this is Philip's lucky night? Time will tell.

All my bedrooms are empty, Philip -- you don't need to be so fussy; It's only 10:00PM, after all. You and Jane are the first. Jane might be having second thoughts. She seems a little reluctant; but then, she's the nervous type. She must know she wants it too, but she wants Philip to work a little harder to get it. After all, if she's going to put out for him, make him her first, she wants to make sure it means something. Women are like that.

So, she's resisting. He actually has to pull her into the bedroom. She's crying a little. Ah, he's kissing her, and whispering reassuring sweet nothings to her. They really are nothings, too. That's exactly what she means to him: Nothing. Forget your hopes and dreams, Jane. The best you can hope for is to get an orgasm out of it. Pretty unlikely, too, from what I hear about Philip's technique, but then Halloween is a time for surprises, of course.

Philip's got Jane naked now; it's the first time a man has rendered her stark naked. She had always been too shy, too nervous, to be naked in the back seat of a Camry, or any other car, short of a Tesla Model S. Jane has a nice little body. Perky boobs, and hard nipples. The girl is a prize. I'm enjoying seeing Jane gradually, almost painfully gradually, let Philip remove her clothes. Oh my: Jane's raised her hips, and Philip is gently pulling off her panties, and now, now, we have nudity in bedroom #2!