Necromantic (5 page)

Actually, yes
, a voice in my head replied. I would have at least kept a few photos of Harold around to remember him by. From the looks of this floor, he had done his best to turn it into a bachelor pad. It was slightly insulting...not to mention just a tad pathetic, considering his age.

Oh well, there would be time later to grill him on that and other things. I continued to explore what used to be mine. Despite my annoyance at finding my presence virtually expunged, I’ll admit I felt a slight thrill in exploring. Chalk it up to the youthfulness of this body, perhaps.

I considered heading down to the basement. It had been unfinished during my lifetime, although we had always talked about turning it into a rumpus room...or maybe a play room if there had been any children. Correction on that last one;
I
had planned to make it into a play room. Come to think of it, Harold had never really had much commentary with regards to that.

I was thinking these thoughts, and starting to get angry again when a smell hit my nose...more of a stench, actually. My God, what was it? I knew I was out of practice with my sense of smell, being that I had no physical nose in the beyond. Still, unused to it or not, what came wafting out from the direction of the kitchen should have been bad for anyone unfortunate enough to have nostrils.

I stopped and listened for any movement from above. Not hearing anything, I decided to investigate. Harold had never been much of a cook, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, I hadn’t exactly been a culinary wiz either, but at least I could put together a meal in a crock-pot without setting off every smoke alarm on the block.

I entered the kitchen and turned on the light. It was comfortably similar to how I remembered it. A new table set sat off in one corner, but I could have otherwise last seen this room yesterday. The smell came from the sink. I walked over to it, then quickly realized I was standing there naked, right in front of the kitchen window. If the next door neighbors were awake, they’d be getting quite the show. I smiled at that. Let them watch. If so, it served the little tramp right to be slutting it up with a man old enough to be her father.

Glancing downward, I shouldn’t have been surprised at what I saw. The sink was full of dirty pots and pans. When was the last time he washed these things? I was about to turn away when something else caught my eye, causing me to take a closer look. Mixed in with the dishes were a few items that seemed out of place. I didn’t know how other couples did things these days, but during my lifetime I didn’t often keep brass urns in the sink. Adding to that weirdness was an ornate dagger that seemed ill-suited for cutting steak. There was also a variety of other odd equipment mixed in amongst the rest.

I leaned down and sniffed. Sure enough, the stench was coming from these items and not from the dishes themselves. What the hell? That’s when I remembered Harold’s little
hobby
. Heck, I was surprised I hadn't thought of that immediately. It was the entire reason I was here to begin with.

A thought struck me. I had no idea what he had done or how he’d done it, but perhaps it would behoove me to worry about things other than how he had redecorated. Maybe it was his lies about the vasectomy or just my women’s intuition, but I opened the cabinet closest to me.

A couple of boxes of cereal stared back. Trix might be a part of this balanced breakfast, but I highly doubted it was used in anything more sinister than promoting tooth decay.

I tried another...dishes, then another...a spice rack. There had to be something here. I kept at it. Cake mix, more plates, cans of soup and chili...this was pointless! There was nothing here that...then I opened the last cabinet. At first, I thought I had found another spice rack, but my brain quickly registered that no chef on Earth...at least no sane one...had ever cooked with these types of spices. Glass jars, more suited to an apothecary than a kitchen, stared back at me. Bizarre smells rose from them, fortunately muted by their lids.

I pulled one out, wondering what it was. I looked at it and let out a bark of laughter. On the top of it, printed out via a label gun, was a sticker that read “Dirt from a Fresh Grave.” Whatever voodoo Harold was up to, he wasn’t above adding a little modern spin to it.

I pulled out more and read them. Holy shit...he actually had Eye of Newt. Where the hell did he buy these things? There was more...blood root, knot weed, twitch’s grass, belladonna...

Wait a second!

Didn’t Harold say something about belladonna earlier?

I tried to remember what it was when suddenly I was hit with a wave of vertigo.

I nearly dropped the container in my hands as the room spun around me. What the?! Without warning, the kitchen lost focus around me, as if I were seeing it from a great distance...as if the eyes I was looking out of were more like smudged windows.

Just as quickly as it had started, it ended. However, it was enough for me to realize what it was...that last part had confirmed it. Whatever extension had been placed on the spell, it was wearing off.

Damn it! Not now! Not...wait...it was mandrake! Harold said he accidentally used mandrake instead of belladonna.

An idea hit me. I quickly began pulling the remaining jars out of the cabinet, scanning each of the tops in turn. No...not that one...not that either. Where the hell was the fucking mandrake?

That’s when I saw there was one last jar left. Hopeful, I pulled it out and looked at the top. Goddamn it! No label.

Wait! Maybe that’s why Harold had made the mistake earlier. I quickly opened the jar. Inside was a fine powdery substance, obviously a ground up version of the plant. Holding out hope, I opened the belladonna to examine it. Sure enough, they looked nearly identical.

Another wave of vertigo hit and again I felt myself slipping away. It lasted longer this time before finally passing. I didn’t have much time left.

What I was about to do was risky. If I was wrong about it, then there might be no coming back at all...or maybe something worse would happen. I had no idea. The whole sorcery thing was complete gibberish to me.

Moving quickly, I dumped the belladonna into the trash can. I then poured half the contents of the unmarked container - hoping against hope that it was mandrake - into the first one.

“Fingers crossed,” I muttered to myself before quickly closing all of the jars and replacing them.

I had just closed the cabinet door when another wave of nausea hit me, nearly driving me to my knees as I briefly lost control of Julie’s body.

Julie!

I couldn’t let Harold find her in the kitchen. He might get suspicious.

Regaining what little control I had left, I raced to the stairs. I looked up and felt like I would puke. Not good. My time was nearly up. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I pulled myself up the stairs on hands and knees and somehow managed to crawl back to the bedroom.

It was touch and go for a moment there, but I at last managed to get the door open. I lurched across the room and hopped back into bed with Harold. That’s when I remembered why Julie was there. She might be suspicious if she awoke to find him out cold. If so, she could start asking questions.

Thinking quickly, I pulled the sheets from his still-sleeping form. He rolled onto his back, and I immediately lowered my head to his cock. Neither of them could be allowed to suspect a thing. Taking Harold’s still flaccid member into my mouth, I began to suck him off. Within moments, he began to harden and I felt his body stir.

Just then, I felt myself losing focus. I was leaving, being sent back to whence I came. Just as I was being sucked from Julie’s body - which in turn was still sucking my husband - I managed to notice the clock. It read 2:43 AM...seven hours! Harold’s mistake had more than doubled my time on Earth.

I was sorely tempted to smile, but before I could do so, I was gone.

Chapter 7

Damn whoever created the afterlife and its fucked up sense of time. It could have been five minutes or five hundred years for all I knew. Either way, I waited impatiently to see what would happen next. For all the peace that surrounded me, I was on edge. I even wound up snapping at my sweet Uncle Edgar when his spirit...floated (I guess) over to catch up on things. It’s hard to explain. We all know that feeling of wanting to crawl out of our own skin. Well, try experiencing that when you don’t even have any skin. I’m still not entirely sure how these things work, but I would have gladly traded the annoyingly placid
bliss
of where I was for just haunting a house. At least that would have helped me pass the time. Hell, at the very least, I would have known how much time I was passing.

All the while, thoughts raced through my (figurative) head. I was left wondering whether Harold had discovered my ruse and had decided to punish me by leaving me where I was. At the same time, I questioned why I was even having those thoughts. Wouldn’t he be delighted to know he had accidentally made progress and cracked the three hour limit? Wasn’t it one step closer to the outcome he said that he was ultimately working on?

That right there was the problem. For some reason, I found myself doubting him. His potential lies about wanting children kept sticking in my craw (or whatever passed for it here). Was there anything else he was keeping from me? Perhaps, even now, he knew of a way to bring me back and was holding out on it. But for what reason?

It was a stupid question. Of course, I could already see one obvious reason. If I were back for good, I would no doubt put a stop to his dating life. He was a man and I knew that most men, regardless of who they were, liked sticking their pricks into as many different holes as they could. There’s an old saying:
Why buy the cow when the milk is free?
Right now, he was enjoying a lot of free milk from a whole mess of different cows.

* * *

At last it happened, just about when I thought I would surely go insane from the wait. Reality split apart in front of me and I found myself being dragged back to Earth. I was so happy that tears would have spilled from my eyes if I had a body. In that moment, I’d have gladly confessed everything to Harold and probably would have, too, had I not immediately felt a stinging pain from behind upon awakening.

“Ouch!” I yelped, having just barely settled into the new flesh awaiting me.

“Is that you, Lydia?” I heard a voice, Harold’s, from behind me.

“Yes,” I stammered.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he said, whispering it into my ear.

Oh no! He found out!

I opened my eyes, blinking until my vision cleared. Something was different. I was naked...that was the same as usual. Glancing around, I took in as much as I could, which was pretty much just what was in front of me. I couldn’t see anything else because doing so would have required the freedom of movement...a freedom I didn’t have. I was restrained!

I was standing upright, facing a corner of the room. My arms were stretched out to my sides and I couldn’t move them. Looking to my left and right, I saw that they were bound in some sort of...it looked like surgical tubing. It was tied around my wrists and attached to hooks mounted on opposite ends of the wall...those were new. I realized that my legs were likewise bound. They were spread apart just enough to allow someone access down below, should they wish it.

In the space of those seconds, I was able to likewise give my new body the once over. It was a little rough around the edges - late thirties, maybe early forties. Not exactly a workout junkie, based on the sagging breasts and paunch around the middle. The skin was rough and pockmarked in several places. World-weary would have been the best way to describe whomever I inhabited.

I was tempted to ask Harold if he was slumming it this week when there came a sharp *crack* and pain flared from my ass. I couldn’t help but scream, the voice issuing from my throat deep and hoarse. I suspected my host was a chain smoker, but didn’t have time to dwell upon that, as my behind was whipped once again.

“Harold...what...,” I gasped, struggling to hold back tears, but I already knew what he would say. He had been aware of my deception from last time. He knew I’d snooped and messed around with his ingredients. He knew...

“You think you can just make me cum like that, like I was a teenager,” he whispered in my ear. “That was naughty, Lydia, and now you have to pay the price.”

That was it?!

*CRACK*

Fuck, that hurt. Or did it? Amidst the pain there was an excitement building in me too. My nipples hardened and down below, I felt moist - and getting wetter by the second. This body was reacting to the punishment. Whoever this was, she was used to it...she
liked
it.

*Smack* The belt - I realized that was what he was using - whipped around my side and lashed the tips of my breasts, reddening them. It hurt, but I still found myself becoming more and more turned on.

“You’ve been bad, haven’t you?” Harold admonished. I couldn’t see him from my vantage point, but judging from the tone of his voice, I had little doubt he was sporting a massive erection. It was only a matter of time before he used it. Despite the pain, my uncertainty, and the annoyance I felt, I found myself looking forward to it. The amusing part was that I was even naughtier than Harold knew; which just served to turn me on that much more.

“Yes, d...” I quickly bit my tongue. I had almost answered
daddy
. Good thing I caught myself. That would have surely been a giveaway to my activities from last time. I quickly corrected myself, “Yes...
sir
.”

“Sir? Do I look like your father?”

I almost laughed at the irony, but another sharp smack against my ass silenced me.

“Sorry (
what the fuck did he want me to say?
) um...master?”

“Better,” he replied, pressing up against my backside. I was right about his current condition - his hardness poked against my ass cheeks, demanding entry. In my current state of bondage, there wasn’t much I could have done, had he pressed the point.