Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (32 page)

“So, what’s your book about?”

“Haunted houses of the Midwest. There’s some interest in turning it into a reality series, so they want me to get footage for a sizzle reel. Whatever that is. My grandfather tells me I’m an idiot for not taking a closer look at your cottage.”

“Daniel knows more than I do about the history of this house — he wrote the original book on it.”

“As he’s never let me forget. And then I stopped in at the Trading Post and J.J. Told me you’re living in a ‘ghost house with ‘tude’. So I was hoping I could spent a few days here. Bring in camera equipment, infrared, that sort of thing.”

“Are you crazy? You can’t stay here. You’re way too hot.”
Shit!
I clapped my hands over my mouth again. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud! Damn alcohol. Jeez!

“I mean, this place is way too small.” The state of Wisconsin was too small. Okay, now my face was absolutely burning. And I knew he could see it, because he was laughing at me.

“Y’know, last time I tried to flirt with you, I got my hand slapped. And the time before that, you accused me of being gay.”

“Well…” I couldn’t really argue with him. But what was I supposed to say? I’m being visited by an evil spirit who makes me horny? That if I don’t have sex with a live man soon, I’m going to go stark raving mad? “A woman’s allowed to change her mind. And you’re pretty damn cute in that shirt.”

“Don’t get my hopes up if you don’t mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it.  More than you know.”

He blushed. Ah-hah! Finally. I made him blush. Score one for me.

“I think you’re kinda hot, yourself.”

I perked up. “Really?” That was promising. “Here’s to mutual hotness.”

We clinked glasses, his eyes lingering on mine. “But there’s more to a relationship than just heat,” he continued. “Heat, I can get anywhere. But I’m at the age now where I want the whole enchilada. So don’t play this game if you can’t handle the consequences.”

A tingle ran up and down my body, as I contemplated Paul becoming a part of my life, not just my bed.

Chapter Forty

Half a bottle of bourbon later, we were getting pretty friendly. We both liked the same things, (funny movies of all genres, classic black & whites and anything with Harrison Ford or Cary Grant), hated the same things, (hack-and-slash films), and were turned on by the same things (honesty, intelligence, integrity, humor). Over the course of the evening, I found myself moving closer and closer to him. Before I knew it, one of my hands was on his thigh, while the other hand stroked his arm, working its way up to his broad shoulders…

I yanked my hands back and sat on them. “Sorry. Sometimes they have a mind of their own.”

“That’s okay. I never mind an attractive woman manhandling me.”

“But if a chick’s doing it, wouldn’t it be womanhandling?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those w-o-m-y-n feminists?”

I laughed. “No. I think I’m more of a gay man trapped in a woman’s body,” I said, as my hand found its way back to his thigh.

When he didn’t stop me, I tossed all sense of decency to the winds and straddled his lap, kissing him. I kept expecting him to pull away, but instead, he undid my shirt, unhooking my bra with an expert twist of the wrist.

Soon, the floor was littered with clothes, as we explored each other’s bodies. Now this was much better than any dream could be. It made me wonder why I had been in a self-imposed celibacy for so long. But that was back in L.A., and the men there were totally different from the man who was currently doing such lusciously wicked things to my body.

I briefly thought about moving venues, but Tillie had been quiet for so long, I was pretty sure she wasn’t watching me. Hopefully, she had fallen asleep. If ghosts even slept. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was interrupt the flow.

Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, decompressing. But I was still insatiable. I couldn’t keep my hands off him. And the more I stroked his body, the more aroused he became. Before I knew it, we were in the throes of ecstasy once again.

“I have something for you.” Paul lay on the couch, glistening with sweat.

“Again? What are you? Superman?” I leaned over and kissed him.

“Give me a few hours to catch my breath, woman.” He kissed me back. “No, I mean, from Daniel. A present. I dropped one off at the library before I came here. And the other one’s for you. It’s in my satchel.”

I pulled my clothes on and opened up his satchel. It was Daniel’s book, the soft leather binding supple to the touch.

“He said you’d know what to do with it.”

“Do I ever.” I put it on display, on the mantle, next to the portrait of Lisette. By the time I finished adjusting the placement, Paul was dressed and making a pot of coffee.

“You’re domestic, too?” I teased, walking into the kitchen. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Just moved to the right town.”

“I guess I did.” I said, smiling to myself as I set two mugs on the table.

Later, after the coffee had percolated…

“So, about this ghost thing,” he said, sipping his coffee.

I dragged my mind back to the conversation we had been having, before we became so pleasantly distracted.

“I want to see if I can catch your ghost in action,” he continued. “Temperature dips, whispers. You’d be amazed what an infrared digital camera and recorder can pick up.”

I laughed. “You’re not going to need all those fancy gizmos. As far as ghosts go, mine completely lack any subtlety.” Kinda like me.

“I have to be honest. I’ve never seen any sign of a ghost here. I mean, it was before I got all the cool equipment, but still. When I was a boy, my family used to have tea with Tillie every now and again, and I’ve never picked up on any type of spirit emanations.”

“Did she take you on a tour of all the rooms?” I asked.

“Yeah. What with my grandfather’s book and all, she was determined to prove to my family that her cottage was ghost free.”

Somehow I seriously doubted she’d shown him the entire house. “So you know about the secret room in the cellar?”

“What secret room?”

I grabbed a flashlight. “Get your camera and get ready for the big time. This is going to rock your sizzle.”

Paul got his gear from the car and we were soon descending into the dark cellar.

“I replaced the cellar lights. I can turn them on so we can see.”

“Don’t. It’ll blow out the night-vision screen.”

As we got further down the stairs…

“Definite temperature drop.” He said into his camera mic.

“Just watch where you’re going. I don’t want you to be so into taping what’s going on, you fall down the stairs.”

The camera swung over and Paul focused on me.

“Knock it off!” I said, putting a hand over my face. “Focus on the ghosts. Not me!”

He laughed. “Do you know how many people think they have ghosts? It’s usually something that can be explained away by science.”

“Then get ready to have your world blown apart.” I muttered.

“Hey! Look at that…” He said, pointing to the infrared monitor screen on his camera. “Isn’t it amazing what you can see, using a digital? My still camera picks up things like this all the time, but I haven’t quite figured out what causes it yet.”

I looked at the monitor. There were red, green and white spirit balls zipping through the screen. More than I’d ever seen before. “I hate to burst your non-believing bubble, Paul, but those are spirit balls. Proof ghosts exist. Just what you were looking for.”

“Or an interesting and amusing trick of the light.”

“What light? It’s dark down here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.” I opened the door to the secret room. “But if you think that’s cool, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

In the middle of utter blackness, the skull gleamed white, practically glowing on the altar. I turned on the camping lantern, so I could see where I was going, and Paul focused his camera on the altar as we walked closer. “Wow.”

“The first time I touched the skull, I swear I saw a face shimmer across the bone.”

“Oh, yeah?” He reached out to pick up the skull.

I grabbed his arm. “Wait! Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Really? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grown man. I don’t think I need a girl to protect me from a skull.”

I dropped my hand. “Fine. But don’t blame me if you start having erotic dreams about a long-dead, bald, tattooed man.”

“Are you kidding me? After what we just did, you’re back at the gay thing?”

“No! Nope, not me. Not at all. I’m just…”

“What? Telling me about your personal fantasies? Are you saying I should shave my head?” He laughed and placed his hand on the skull.

Suddenly his body convulsed as if he was having an epileptic seizure.

“Paul!”

He fell to the ground, eyes rolled back in his head.

“Paul! Are you all right?! Paul?!” I felt for a pulse.

He stood up and threw me off of him. Preternaturally strong. My body sailed across the room, hit the wall and slid onto the floor.

When I could breathe again, I slowly rolled onto my side, aching and bruised all over. Paul lay on his side, next to me, his hand stroking my face.

“Paul?” I looked at him and my blood turned ice-cold.  His eyes seemed to be rotating in different directions. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

“That will not be necessary,” said Paul’s voice — but not his voice. It was like his voicebox had become its own echo chamber and his voice resonated on multiple levels.

“You’re not Paul.” I whispered.

“No, my love. And I have you to thank. I have been waiting for so long. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“Lucien?” I asked, hazarding a guess.

“Yes, my love. I appreciate your sacrifice. I could not have chosen a better body myself.”

“What? I didn’t… I’m not… He’s not your body. You can’t keep him. And I’m not your love.”

He roared with laughter and every hair on my body stood on end. “I feel so strong. Do you know how many centuries I’ve waited to get my strength back? I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to squeeze you until I break you in half. It would be as easy as picking a flower.”

“Wait! No,” I squeaked. “Whatever happened to ‘my love’ I think I liked that better.”

He laughed, amused. His body was so much bigger than mine. I didn’t remember his body being that wide. When I looked at his body again, I realized it wasn’t. His body wasn’t actually touching the ground. He may have been laying down, but his body was hovering a good two inches above the floor.

Chapter Forty-One

“Oh my God, are you levitating?” I climbed on top of him, tried to use my own body to pin his down. As I looked at him, I could see Lucien’s tattoos settle over Paul’s skin. “Stop that right now and give me Paul back.” I hissed.

Instead, he stood up, shaking me off as easily as if I was a fly. Standing, his feet were still about half an inch above the floor. “We will be together again, soon,” he whispered in that bizarre, echo-y voice, as he half-walked, half-glided out of the room.

I ran up the stairs after him. “Lucien, wait! You can’t abduct my boyfriend like that. That body belongs to me.”

But when I got to the kitchen, the back door was wide open and Lucien was gone. Did he go into the woods? Or down the road? It was pitch black out and impossible to see.

“Lucien! Where are you?” I hollered into the night.

But all I heard was the sound of crickets. Paul’s car was still in the driveway. But his body was AWOL. And there were no footprints to follow.

Damn it. What had I done!?

The next morning, there was a knock on the back door. I opened it to find a mud-covered Paul, dirt and twigs in his hair, his nails torn and dirty. At least he wasn’t levitating any more.

“Thank God. I was about to call the police. Did you spend the night in the woods? Weren’t you freezing?”

He smiled, sheepish. “A hot shower would be really good right now.”

I gave him a long look. “And how many people will be inhabiting my shower? One or two?”

“Depends. Are you showering with me?”

I shook my head. “Just checking. You weren’t quite yourself when you left.”

“Yeah. That was weird, huh? What the hell was that about? I’m thinking I shouldn’t do my own mushroom picking anymore.”

That sounded like the Paul who had gone with me down into cellar, not the one who had gone back up. “All right. Get in the shower. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“You’re the best.” He said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m starving.” And he trotted up the stairs.