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Subject: The Haunting (A Deliciously  Feminine Story)
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ASSM archive note ------

Uther Pendragon says:
"The real title is 'Bed And Breakfast' and the author is RC."

------ end note


Since the unusually strong response regarding THE TRIM KITTY, I thought
some of you might be interested in this deliciously unusual tale of a
haunting. Amityville Horror it isn't though.  Imagine being in a New
England bed and breakfast inn and finding out your room is haunted!  As
with TRIM KITTY, I did not write this, and I'll bet most anything a
woman did!  I downloaded it a year or two ago from Compuserve's HSX200
forum, Fantasyland library.  I have a collection of what I considered
great sexy prose from that library and will post some from time to
time.  Three stories I wrote and posted here (STARRY STARRY NIGHT,
CANYON SURPRISE 1, and CANYON SURPRISE 2 - THE LUNCH) were originally
posted in that forum.  As here, there are some very good writers that
regulary post to Compuserve.

As always, if you are offended by graphic sex, are under 18, or are
afraid of ghosts, then don't read this.

THE HAUNTING

Vacation time.

I drove slowly through the small New England town, gazing at the
brightly colored leaves being driven before a gusty wind. There was my
destination, a large house on a corner. A nice, big, old house, the kind
they don't build any more. I parked in the driveway and rang the bell.
An elderly woman answered the door. I told her who I was, and she smiled
and showed me around. I was amazed at how well-preserved the old place
was, it was like stepping back into the eighteenth century. After
several minutes, we were joined by a gentleman who introduced himself as
the lady's wife, and a woman about my age, the daughter. The daughter's
name was Abigail. I thought that name was a bit silly, but it certainly
fit in with the entire setting.

We paused in the kitchen, and the older woman asked her husband which
room I'd be staying in. He said the upstairs back corner, and I noticed
Abigail's eyes widening. She looked a bit scared, and asked her father
if she could speak to him in the other room. He glared at her as if he
knew what was coming, but away they went. The older woman and I sat in
the kitchen, talking about tourism and the local scenery. I heard raised
voices from the other room. Abigails's father shouted something about
not wanting any more nonsense. The older woman turned a bit red and
looked at the floor, then apologized for her daughter's behavior. Not
having any idea what the argument was about, I just smiled and said
there was no need to apologize.

Abigail and her father came back in. Her father still looked mad, and
Abigail looked terrified. She just stared at me, her face pale. What was
the matter with her, I wondered, as her father carried my bag upstairs.

He set my bag down and apologized for having raised his voice. I assured
him I wasn't upset, and he left.
I looked around the room. It was large, windows on two sides. A huge
chest of drawers with a mirror stood against one wall, the door for the
walk-in closet was in the other wall. The bed was gigantic, an actual
four-poster with a canopy. A heavy comforter was provided for protecting
myself against the fall chill. It was really very nice.

I went out and got a bite to eat, then came back and got ready for bed.
As I was walking back to my room from the small bathroom, I heard my
name being called softly. Abigail stood in a doorway, motioning for me
to come to her. Curious, I did. She still looked frightened. Before I
could ask what she wanted, she grabbed my arms and whispered, 'Don't
sleep in there. It's haunted.' Now MY eyes widened in surprise. Abigail
believed in ghosts? That, too, fit in, I decided. Maybe it was their way
of adding to the New England legends a bit.  I smiled gently and pried
her hands off of my arms. 'Abigail, I'm sure everything will be fine.
I'm just staying for a week, and I'm sure I won't be bothered by any
nasty ghosts or anything.' I was smiling, but my smile faded as she
grabbed me again. 'No, no, you don't understand. It really IS haunted.
Many years ago, when this place was first built, the owner's daughter
was arrested. Then she was executed. Her ghost haunts that room, her old
room. You just CAN'T stay there, you CAN'T!!' 

She was either serious of a very good actress. But once more, I removed
her hands and assured her I would be all right. I turned to walk to my
room, then a thought struck me. I turned back. 'Abigail? What was she
executed for?' Abigail stared at me, and I could have sworn I saw tears
forming. 'Having sex with another woman', she said, and she closed her
door. I just stood there staring at the door. Executed for being a
lesbian? That didn't make sense. But maybe back then, lesbians were
thought to be as unusual and dangerous as witches or something, and I
knew full well what had happened to suspected witches. I was a bit
thoughtful as I closed my door and climbed into bed.

For some reason, I didn't sleep well that night. I had all sorts of
strange dreams, obviously caused by Abigail's wild tales. I dreamed of a
ghostly woman standing by my bed, just staring at me. Her hair was long
and dark, her eyes were deep and sad. She was quite beautiful in my
dream. Her dress seemed to glow with a dim light, her skin was pale, her
arms long and slender. I tossed and turned and kept waking up, looking
around for things I knew deep down weren't really there. I wondered what
that young woman had thought, so many years ago, when they came and took
her away. From this house. From this very room where I lay.

The next morning, when I came back from the bathroom, I thought
something was strange. I stood there for a moment, looking around the
room.  There. That was it. My suitcase was open. I had packed everything
neatly in the order that I would be wearing them. Now all my panties and
bras were strewn about the top of a jumble of clothing stuffed into my
suitcase. I got a bit angry, knowing Abigail had done it while I had
been in the bathroom. I dressed and went downstairs, determined to speak
to her. The elderly woman was in the kitchen making breakfast. Other
guests sat at the table, chatting easily. I asked offhandedly where
Abigail was. To my susprise and concern, the woman said Abigail had left
an hour ago to do an errand in the large city fifty miles away. It
hadn't been Abigail. I looked at the old woman, wondering if she would
have had some reason to go through my things. But she didn't seem to be
acting like she was hiding anything from me. The husband? No, he didn't
seem the type to cause trouble where none existed.

As I did my sightseeing that day, I kept thinking about Abigail's story.
When I got back into town that evening, just for laughs, I stopped by
the small library and asked the librarian of he knew anything about the
story of the house being haunted. I didn't mention I was staying in the
room in question. 'Ayuh, the old place, haunted it is. Young girl, many,
many years back. Perverted, she was. And they got her.' He seemed
satisfied about that. What an asshole.

I asked if he knew anything about the girl, what she looked like. He
thought for a moment, mumbled for me to wait, and shuffled away. After
five minutes or so, he was back, carrying a faded copy of a faded
portrait. 'Her folks had this done before she went bad, don't ya know.
They was real well-to-do, hadta show everbody how purty their daughter
was.' My face paled as I looked into the eyes of the young woman I had
seen in my dreams. Shakily, I thanked him and went back to my car. I sat
there for a while. I don't really believe this, do I? Maybe the girl was
a lez, maybe they did execute her. But that place isn't haunted. It
can't be. There's no such thing as ghosts.

But then why did I dream of the woman who's portrait I'd seen?

I took a deep breath and started the car. I drove back to the house in
time for dinner. There were six other guests. But as I ate dinner there,
I was sort of quiet. The woman and her husband watched me curiously,
while Abigail looked concerned. 

Back upstairs at bedtime, I hesitated at my door. Then I snorted.
This was silly. There's no such thing as ghosts. I took a deep breath
and went into my room. I didn't notice Abigial peering out of her
doorway. I straightened up my suitcase and climbed into bed. I lay there
looking up at the canopy for quite a long time, knowing there were no
ghosts but unable to fall asleep. Finally, in the wee morning hourse, I
fell into a troubled sleep. I dreamed. Someone was kissing me, holding
me. Lips against mine. It was rather erotic, I thought dimly. Soft skin
against my body. A hand against my crotch...

My eyes flew open and I sat bolt upright. The room was quite cold, I
noticed. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking like a leaf. My eyes
darted around the darkness, seeing nothing. Of course. There was nothing
to see. I settled down finally and lay back. But sleep didn't come until
just before sunrise, and I awakened feeling groggy. I found a pair of my
panties on the bed. I knew full well I had put ALL my clothes in the
suitcase the night before. I thought back to my dreams and didn't know
whether to be angry or scared.

I was silent at the breakfast table. The husband was gone, and the older
woman watched me out of the corner of her eye. Abigail stared at her
plate and said nothing. The other guests chatted gaily, unaware of what
was troubling me.

As I drove around the countryside that day, I thought and thought. There
HAD to be an explanation. There just had to be. But I didn't know what
it was.

That night, before I went to bed, I plucked up the courage to ask the
older woman a few things. She was locking up for the night, her husband
had gone upstairs several minutes before. Abigail had been upstairs for
a while. 'Alice?' She turned and, seeing who it was, paused. 'Yes, dear,
what can I do for you?' 'Alice, I have to ask you something. I don't
know how to do this...' 'Young lady, I know what you're thinking. My
daughter is not crazy.  She's a might uppity, but she don't lie to no
one.' I stared at her as I realized she was more or less saying she
believed what Abigail had said about the place being haunted. My eyes
widened, and I felt my face paling.

'My room.....', I whispered. She shook her head. 'Don't you worry none,
young lady. Mary ain't never hurt anyone, an' I don't 'spect she'll
start with you.' And with that, Alice said good night and left me
standing there alone.

Mary.

That was the name on the portrait I had seen. A cold breeze seemed to
blow through the hallway, and I shuddered, looking around in panic. It
was hard to go upstairs, hard to open my door and go inside. Once again,
I didn't notice Abigail peering out of her door at me. I undressed and
lay down. I wouldn't sleep tonight, I'd stay awake and wait for
something to happen. I was too nervous to sleep anyways. I lay staring
up at the canopy, hearing every sound, every rustle of the wind. In
spite of my attempts to remain awake, I soon grew drowsy. Dozing, I
thought I felt the bed move. I wondered if I was dreaming I felt
something soft and warm against me. Hmm, it felt so nice on a chilly
night like this, to have someone next to me, keeping me warm....

I sat up, trying unsuccessfully to scream. A pale glimmer seemed to
vanish as I stared in horror at the comforter moving itself back into
place. As quietly as I could, I ran out of my room. Finding Abigail's
door, I knocked softly, my knees knocking more loudly. After a few
minutes, a sleepy Abigail opened the door. I pushed her aside and ran
into her room, crying. She turned on a small light and sat on her bed. I
sat in a corner on the floor, staring into space, knees drawn up under
my chin. Crying.

'You saw her.' She was not asking. I nodded, terrified. 'Do you believe
me now?', she asked angrily. I nodded again. She took a deep breath and
shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry. But no one
believes me, everyone thinks I'm nuts, my Dad thinks I aught to be put
away...It just gets annoying that no one but Mom believes me, and she
won't say anything.' She looked at me. 'We usually don't rent that room
any more. That used to be my room when I was little. As I got older, I
started thinking weird things, nobody could figure out why. I started
thinking about other girls. Like, having sex with them. I was maybe
fifteen or sixteen, and I asked Mom what was wrong with me. She told me
the story and said I would no longer sleep in that room.  Dad almost
blew his top, saying we were both crazy, it was all nonsense.'

'But I've seen her. I've - I've.....been with her.' She looked at the
floor, her face turning beet red.
I stared in shock. 'Been with...Been....Oh, my God.....'  I leaned back
against the wall, wondering how why I had picked this particular bed and
breakfast to begin with. Abigail looked at me closely. 'She didn't hurt
you, did she?' I took a deep breath and shook my head. 'Not physically.'
I managed a very, very weak smile. Her expression changed, becoming
wary, almost angry. 'Did she - was she in bed with you?' I stared at her
as I thought of the comforter smoothing itself, of the pale shadow which
had swiftly vanished. Of the sensation of something soft and warm next
to me. My face gave her the answer. Her eyes narrowed. 'Get out', she
hissed. 'Go back to your room, HER room.' And Abigail pulled me to my
feet and pushed me out her door, slamming it behind me. As I stood there
wondering what had upset her so, I could have sworn I heard her crying.

I slowly went into my room, MARY's room, and lay down. I was not going
to undress tonight, I decided. I was going to just lie on top of the bed
and try once more to stay awake. So there I lay, tuned in to every tiny
sound, no matter how faint. As the night wore on, the room grew colder.
I so wanted to crawl beneath the warm comforter, but my resolve held. I
lay waiting, still not quite willing to believe this was real. I guess I
did doze off a little. I gradually became aware that the room was
completely silent. No sounds of the breeze outside, no sounds of the old
house creaking or settling. Total, unearthly silence. My eyes darted
around wildly. Pitch blackness. I strained to see, I strained to hear,
anything, anything at all.

Finally, I heaved a sigh of relief as I saw a glow by the door,
imagining it to be a light from the hallway shining under the door. But
the glow seemed to move. I looked on, terrified, as the glow seemed to
float towards the bed. Towards me. I tried to get up, tried even to sit
up, but I was paralyzed with fear. My mouth was dry, my heart racing.
Oh, God, this is just another bad dream. Oh, God, please...... The air
beside the bed seemed to shimmer, to gain form, to become almost solid.
And there, standing right next to me, was the faint form of the original
occupant of this room.

Mary's ghost stood beside me.

I stared at her, feeling the tears building. I thought for an instant of
Abigail's mother saying Mary had never hurt anyone. I sincerely hoped
that that was true. Her image floated there next to me, seeming to stand
on the floor without really touching it. Her long gown, her dainty arms,
her slender figure. She looked exactly like the portrait I had seen at
the library. Only her face was different. In the portrait, she had been
a smiling, happy young woman. Still young, her face now looked very sad.
She was looking at me, not moving, just standing, floating there
watching me. I had no idea what to do. My mouth worked woundlessly. I
shuddered from fright as I again wished this was all just a dream.
Finally I managed to croak one word. 'Mary?'

She seemed to move closer, looking at me intently. Then a faint sound, a
faraway whisper, came to me. 'You are not Abigail.' The fact that a
ghost had just spoken to me took my breath away, and all I could do was
shake my head no. Her features became sadder, as if she was resigned to
her eternal fate. She seemed to sigh, and, before my eyes, Mary's image
evaporated.

I lay motionless until I was absolutely sure she was gone. Then I jumped
out of bed and ran to Abigail's room. It was locked. I knocked softly,
insistently. After a while, Abigail opened it, peering at me with sleepy
eyes. I pushed past her again and ran into her room. That's when the
tears started in earnest. I huddled next to her bed, my tears staining
her comforter as I cried with my face buried in the warm fabric. She was
silent, standing by the door, confused. Finally she closed the door and
came over to me. I looked up at her, gasping, crying. 'She was there.
She talked to me. I heard her, Abigail, Mary talked to me. Oh, God, am I
going crazy? A ghost talked to me.' It was quite a while before I was
calm enough to think clearly.

Abigail sat on her bed. I knelt beside it, whimpering. 'What did she say
to you?' Abigail's voice was very quiet. 'She...' I sniffed. 'She said I
wasn't Abigail. She stood there next to the bed and said I wasn't
Abigail.' She absently handed me a Kleenex. Her eyes were fixed on
something a thousand miles away. 'She wanted me.......' And a tear
trickled down Abigail's face. Then she took a deep breath and turned
back to me.

'Listen to me. Promise me you won't say a WORD. To ANYONE. EVER.' I
promised.

Abigail told me that Mary never appeared anywhere but her own room. When
Abigail was younger, and that had been her room, Mary had visited many
times, and Abigail had become quite fond of her. As she had told me
before, Abigail had - been with - Mary quite often. Abigail had learned
lesbian sex from a ghost. And when her parents realized something was
amiss, they had moved her from the room and forbidden her to ever go
there again. The room was not even rented unless they were full. Abigail
missed being with Mary, and was jealous that I was in the room.

I fell asleep on Abigail's floor. Abigail was awake the rest of the
night, staring at the cieling, thinking.
Neither of us talked about it the next day. But that evening, as I was
standing in front of my door, trying to gather the courage to enter, I
heard Abigail softly calling me. I joined her in her room. She was
blunt. 'I want to sleep in that room tonight. I want to see Mary again.
You can sleep here.' I tried to remind her of her parent's orders
against her going in there, but she cut me off. 'It's NOT a crime any
more, God damn it! I love her! I love her....' And Abigail started
crying. This was unreal. Abigail was in love with a ghost.

After a few moments of awkward silence, I said she could indeed sleep in
that room. 'But I am too', I said daringly. I trembled as I realized
what I had just said. What was I THINKING? Was I really going crazy? But
way down in my mind was the memory of a soft, warm body next to my own.
She looked at me, blinking away the tears. Then she giggled. 'OK.' And,
holding hands, Abigail and I went purposefully into Mary's room. I
undressed to my panties and bra, as did Abigail. She was really quite
pretty, I noticed for the first time. Her young body was well-toned, her
face young and innocent.

Like Mary's portrait.

We lay down, careful not to touch each other. I could feel my face
burning as I wondered why in the world I was sleeping with a woman. But
sleep wouldn't come. We lay there silent, waiting. Waiting. Long
afterwords, we dozed off. Something awakened me. My eyes flew open. A
soft glow seemed to fill the room. I turned to ask Abigail if she was
awake. My eyes widened in shock. The comforter on her side was pulled
away, revealing her now-nude body. Her body was enwrapped by a faint
glow which seemed to resemble a woman's body. As I stared, the form
became more distinct, more recognizable. Mary was on top of Abigail,
kissing her wildly. I could see Abigail's hand in the air near her
waist, her finger moving back and forth, around and around, and realized
with amazement that that finger was rubbing against Mary's phantom clit.

A long, low sigh filled the room. Abigail's legs were spread wide, her
hips bucking wildly, her tongue probing the air where Mary's mouth
seemed to be. The entire bed shook as Abigail climaxed. Another moan,
and Mary's image seemed to flicker. Her head tilted up, a look of
passion on her pale features. Then, once more, she lowered her face and
resumed kissing Abigail. Without even realizing it, my hand was rubbing
my own clit. Silently, I got up and stood by the bed, watching Abigail
and her ghostly partner made passionate love. For a long, long time. I,
too, climaxed, several times, watching them please each other. Abigail
was murmurring softly to Mary, saying how much she had missed her, how
wonderful it was to be with her again. I heard Mary's faint voice in
reply, but the words were not intended for me, and I could not
understand. Finally, they lay still, next to each other, their arms
around each other. There was a long silence broken only by the wet sound
of my fingers in my pussy.

Mary say up and looked at me. I froze. 'You are Linda.' I nodded
helplessly, staring into those pale eyes. She held my gaze silently for
quite a while, and I couldn't move a muscle. Finally, she spoke
again.'Thank you for allowing us this time together. Please join us
now.' Make love to a WOMAN? TWO WOMEN? One of them a GHOST? No way, that
was WAY to unbelievable. But I found myself moving towards them, pulled
by some irresistible force, maybe even by Mary's other-worldly power. I
found myself climbing into bed with them. I lay down and waited.

A warm fog seemed to wrap itself around me. I felt my panties moving
even though nothing was touching them. My panties slid themselves down,
and fell in a heap on the floor. Something soft and warm pushed my legs
apart. My eyes widened as I felt something against my crotch. Mary was
above me, staring at me. Then she came closer. And closer. Mary kissed
me. I lay on the bed, feeling a passion greater than I had ever known
blossoming inside me. Mary's lips were soft, tender, warm.  I cried out
as I felt her finger brush against my clit. Abigail watched with shining
eyes. Mary fondled my clit, working her finger into me, then back around
my most pleasurable spot. I felt her hands on my breasts, felt my
nipples hardening at her touch, felt the moisture of her mouth as my bra
removed itself and she sucked my breasts.

A ghost brought me to several mind-boggling orgasms. My whole body
seemed immersed in a fog of total pleasure. My mind gave up trying to
think about what was happening, and I just let it happen.
My body jerked spastically, I was making meaningless noises as an
unbelievably intense climax ripped through me. I lay there, limp,
whimpering, and the fog seemed to dissolve. Panting, I turned my head
and saw Mary giving Abigail one last kiss. Then she was standing by the
bed.

'Thank you', she said again. And she was gone. Abigail and I sat up and
looked at each other. Her hair was a tangled mess. She looked
beautiful.  Wordlessly, we fell into each other's arms.

We avoided looking at each other at the table the next morning. Her
mother seemed to realize something was going on, but didn't say a word.

After my sightseeing that day, I went back for dinner. Abigail wasn't
there. The dishes having been cleared away, the other guests went into
the large living room to talk. I started for the stairs. 'Linda?' I
turned. It was Abigail's mother. I felt my face turning red as she came
closer. She just looked at me, not saying a word. Again, my face
answered any questions she may have had. When she finally spoke, her
voice was quiet. 'Did she hurt you?' I shook my head, face flaring as I
thought of what she HAD done. Abigail's mother nodded knowingly, and I
turned around again.

'Linda?' Nervously, I whirled around again, ready to defend myself
somehow against the questions I knew would follow. 'I stayed in that
room one night. A long time ago. Just to see.' As I watched, her face
seemed to lose forty years, and her eyes twinkled at the memory. Then
she shook her head, and she was just Abigail's mother again. Her face
turned as red as mine. She smiled slightly, knowingly, and slowly walked
towards the living room.

My head was spinning as I went upstairs. I lay down and covered myself
up. Smiling happily, I soon fell into a deep sleep. I was awakened by
something. My eyes opened and I saw a faint glow next to the bed. I sat
up slowly as Mary's image took form. 'You are Linda.' I nodded. And I
slid over on the bed, pulling the comforter back for Mary. She stood
there for a moment. Then she seemed to smile, and came closer. Closer.
Once more, I was enveloped by a warm, seductive fog. Between my soft
cries of pleasure, I heard another sound, but paid no attention. Abigail
closed and locked my door, MARY's door, and climbed into bed with me.
With us.

I go up to New England every year now. And Abigail's mother always makes
sure I have the corner upstairs room. It's always nice and warm, and the
company is wonderful.

THE END

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