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Subject: The Trinity Trilogy - The Novel 14/14
From: S THOMAS BUSH <stbush@iglou.com>
REPOST ttR14/14 The Trinity Trilogy: THE NOVEL (mf,mff,ff,mfff,fff,etc)
=============================================================================
These stories contain sexual activity between adult human beings. If this
offends you, please delete this newsgroup from your reading list. You don't
belong here. If you are underage, please don't read this.
=============================================================================
This is an abbreviated header. See the "00" posting for complete information.
Comment on these stories is invited on Alt.sex.stories.d; also, you may send
email to this address: stbush@iglou.com.
=============================================================================
92: "Reunion"
[1994] [tt4/1]
When we last posted stories on the Usenet, Janie had just taken a job
promotion which involved us all moving to Pittsburgh. Janie flew up on a
Monday morning; Judy drove her car up the next day. While Janie was getting
acquainted with the new job, Judy located an apartment big enough for the
five of us until we could locate a proper house.
Candy stayed behind with Jennifer and me; we finished packing up our stuff,
and Jennifer finished out the semester at school, including her
schoolChristmas parties. She spent many of the last two weeks at friends'
homes; the farewell tour of slumber parties.
Our stuff was divided into two parts; things we couldn't live without, and
things we could put into longer term storage. The things we needed
immediately were taken to the apartment, the rest is still in storage until
we find a house.
The real estate agent smiled at the shape we had left the house in. Candy
had rolled a coat of white paint over the remains of the Bijou. We'll
probably have the house sold in short order.
Jennifer finished her semester on Friday, the 16th of December. We piled the
last of the things we were taking with us into two cars early Saturday
morning, leaving behind only two aged mattresses and a broken end-table in
the trash.
Jennifer rode the first leg of the trip north with Candy. We kept in touch
with each other via a pair of "Power Rangers" walkie-talkies during the trip.
At the midday rest stop, when we pulled off the Interstate for lunch at
Hardee's, Jennifer decided she wanted to ride with me for a while.
We rode along in silence for a few miles, listening to a Carpenters cassette
on the stereo. Jennifer reached over and turned down the volume.
"Daddy, may I ask you something?"
"Of course, Sugar."
"Is there REALLY a Santa Claus?"
I glanced over at her and smiled. I recalled some of the elaborate ploys we
had used in the past. Among the four of us, we had generally reinforced
Jennifer's belief in Santa.
[Editor's note: Some of the ploys are detailed in the Trinity Christmas
Trilogy, which is available only to those who send a letter of comment. 'Nuff
said.]
"Sugar, of course Santa's real."
"But the kids at school..."
"Never mind the kids at school. You've read the stories, what do you think?"
She frowned in thought, then her eyes sparkled. "I think that it's magic.
If you believe in magic, it works. If you don't, it doesn't work."
"I think you've got it exactly right, Sugar. If you believe in Santa, he's
real. Those kids who don't believe -- their parents have to buy all their
Christmas gifts."
"Does Santa buy Christmas gifts?"
"Sometimes. If the elves can't make them. There are copyright problems,
sometimes."
She laughed. She turned the volume back up on the tape player, and sang
along with Karen Carpenter.
"Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near..."
--------------
We arrived in Pittsburgh at about 10 pm; we only lost our way once trying to
find the apartment building, but backtracked, and were able to follow the
instructions Janie had given us.
I tapped on the door, and it opened, and I was enveloped in Janie's warm,
loving arms. Home. Love. The world was in order again.
Judy had a Christmas tree all set up. After Jennifer had hugged Judy and
Janie, she went over and sat next to the tree, staring into the twinkling
lights, her face aglow with pleasure.
"You both must be tired after the trip," Janie said, finally, with a wicked
little grin. "Why don't we go to bed early?"
---------------
Janie pried Jennifer away from the tree, and sent her off to one of the three
bedrooms. Jennifer went right to sleep; she was exhausted from the trip.
I took a quick shower, and headed for the bedroom Janie had indicated was
ours. I climbed into the bed, and lay back on the pillow. I took a deep
breath, and felt really at home. Janie's scent -- a smell beyond the light
cologne she usually wore -- rose from the pillows, a faint odor that
enveloped me, held me. I closed my eyes with a smile.
I heard the bedroom door close, then the bed jiggled as Janie climbed in.
She cuddled up next to me, her warm, naked body pressed against mine.
"There's a man in my bed!" she whispered.
I turned to her and kissed her lips, my hands roaming over her back. One
found the nape of her neck, the other the cleft between her asscheeks. She
slid one hand down to my penis, which was rapidly approaching maximum
erection.
"...a HORNY man in my bed!" she breathed, and chuckled.
She squeezed my penis in her hand, and I caressed her ass, as I kissed her,
deeply, our tongues moving in and out of each other's mouths. She broke the
kiss and gasped, "I've missed you."
I kissed her neck, and rolled us over, Janie on her back. I kissed my way to
her lovely apple-sized breasts, drawing one nipple then the other between my
lips, sucking gently on them. Janie ran her fingers through my hair as I
tickled her nipples with my tongue. I looked up at her face, her eyes were
closed, a small smile on her lips.
I moved down her torso, tickled her navel with the tip of my tongue, then to
the dark tangle of her pubic hair. As I reached her fur-patch, she lifted
her knees, opening her vulva, releasing the sweet scent of her pussy.
I slid my tongue around her clit, then deeply into her pussy, tasting the
familiar flavor of her body. She shivered a little, as I flicked my tongue
over her labia, then deeply into her vagina again. My tongue slid back up
the slippery inner walls past her pisshole and up to her clit once again.
Moving my hand up under her hips, I tilted her pelvis forward, then slid two
fingers into her vagina, the middle finger extended, deeply enough to feel
the relatively hard cervix. The index finger was crooked back, stroking the
upper side of her vaginal wall, where I found the sensitive spot that drives
her mad.
As I pressed her g-spot, I fastened my lips around her clit, and sucked
gently on it, flicking the tip of my tongue against the tip of her clitoris.
She gasped suddenly, and she clamped down on my fingers, as her body erupted
with orgasm. Her body shook with the force of the contractions in her
vagina.
Her fingers were still entwined in my hair, and she tugged gently on it, and
I slid up her body. She wrapped her legs around my hips, and her arms around
my neck, holding me close to her. My cock was not inside her, it was trapped
between our bodies. She held me tightly in this manner for what seemed to be
an hour, but was probably a few seconds.
The bedroom door opened, then closed.
Judy's voice whispered from beside the bed. "I've missed you, too!"
Janie released me from her grasp, and I rolled over. Judy climbed into the
bed and kissed me, rubbing her full breasts against my chest. Janie clung to
me as I moved my hands over Judy's body, caressing her breasts and nipples,
then down to the moist tangle of hair below. From the quantity of liquid, it
felt like she had been having a reunion with Candy before she came in to us.
Judy broke the kiss, and kissed her way down my body, and applied her lips to
the tip of my cock, her tongue swirling around the head of my penis.
She had turned as she moved down my body, and her hips were near my head. I
slid away -- briefly -- from Janie, as I ducked my head between Judy's
thighs. As my tongue found Judy's clit, Janie wiggled up next to me again,
and she guided my hand down between her legs, my fingers slipping around her
love-knot.
Judy was taking my cock deeply into her mouth, deep-throating me, until she
started to quiver. She leaned backwards onto my mouth, just holding the tip
of my cock in her mouth. I felt a gush of cunt-honey flow down my cheeks,
and she shook with orgasm.
She hovered a moment, then collapsed forward, pulling her pussy from my
mouth, taking my cock deep into her mouth again. Janie sat up and shoved
Judy's hip gently. Judy rolled off, releasing my cock from her oral grasp.
Janie straddled my hips, and with one hand, held my cock at the entrance to
her garden of eden, then lowered herself on my shaft. Judy sat up and leaned
forward, kissing me as Janie started moving up and down on my cock.
It didn't take long for me to reach the edge of climax. I broke the kiss
with Judy, and reached up, and grasped Janie's shoulders. She stopped her
up-and-down movement. My hips lurched upwards, and I came -- hard -- in
Janie's cunt. She leaned forward against my arms as she accepted my
ejaculation, a small, satisfied smile on her face.
I lowered her to my chest, and Judy turned around and cuddled up against us.
My wilting cock was still inside Janie as she lay on my body.
We heard the door open again, and close. The bed shook as Candy climbed into
the bed. "I was lonely," she whispered, as she cuddled up against my other
side. She pulled the covers up around us.
Janie lifted her head and whispered, "Welcome home."
=============================================================================
93: "Christmas Gifts"
[1994] [tt4/2]
A little philosophy here, if you don't mind my soapbox. I've always believed
that Christmas is for children. While the Girls and I exchange small gifts
for the season, they are just that -- small. We've probably overspent on
Jennifer's Christmas gifts, but we've agreed that's the way it should be.
Some Christmas gifts are more memorable; and these have been the ones that we
haven't bought in stores; or the same thing a million other people are
exchanging around the world.
This Christmas, the Girls gave me portraits of themselves. Before we moved
up here, they all went to a local photo shop called "You Ought To Be In
Pictures", and had glamour shots made. If you're not familiar with these,
there is a chain of similar shops in malls across the country. This
particular store is independent, though.
They arrive at the store with "clean hair and no makeup" and a cosmetologist
does a complete make-up job, and a hairdresser does their hair, and they
dress up in evening dresses we couldn't afford, and have a photo made.
They are all beautiful photographs, and for a change, I can take these to the
office and hang them on my wall. I look at the portrait of Jennifer, and
can't believe how grown-up she's becoming. I'll have to admit that when I
opened the package, I cried.
I said "for a change", because the last time I got pictures...
[1990]
We were opening our gifts on Christmas morning. Jennifer had torn through
her "Santa" presents, and then had distributed to each of us the other
packages under the tree.
I opened the first package, and there was a pair of socks from Jennifer. I
caught her up in my arms and kissed her head. The next package was marked
"From Janie", and inside was a copy of Playboy magazine. I grinned over at
her across the room, and set the magazine aside, face down.
The next package was from Judy, and when I opened it, there was a rolled up
copy of Penthouse.
I leaned over to where Judy was sitting next to me, and kissed her cheek.
The Penthouse joined the Playboy on the floor.
Another package, from Candy. When I unwrapped the paper, there was a copy of
Hustler. I frowned a bit, puzzling over the 'men's magazine' theme. But I
smiled over at Candy, and she winked back at me.
We cleared the used wrapping paper away, and I put the magazines away in the
bedroom.
Hours later, I was sitting in the living room, and glanced down at the coffee
table, and there were the three magazines again. Puzzled, because I thought
I had put them away, I got up and took them back to the bedroom. Jennifer
had too many young friends over, and I didn't want to get accused of anything
improper by their parents.
A few more hours pass, and again, I find the magazines on the coffee table.
I picked up the Playboy, and thumbed through it, reading the cartoons. I
reached the centerfold, and read the 'party jokes'. Then I flipped open the
centerfold for a peek, and almost fell on the floor.
There was Janie, in a typical 'demure' Playmate pose, her lovely body and
apple-sized breasts exposed. Examining the magazine more closely, I realize
that it is a large-sized color copy that has been tipped into the real
magazine.
I reached down for the Penthouse, and flipped immediately to the gatefold.
Judy's face smiled back at me, and when I opened the flap, her nether lips
seemed to smile, too. She was in a typical Pet pose, reclining on one side,
with one leg raised, revealing her labia.
Curious now, I opened the Hustler, and sure enough, there was Candy, in a
typical Honey pose, head tipped back, mouth open, her hands reaching down
between her legs, spreading her pussy-lips wide open.
Suddenly the Girls were huddled around me, as I kissed each one, we laughed
over how I had nearly lost the joke completely.
Somehow, Judy had wangled unsupervised access to a color copier and made up
the centerfolds from Polaroid pictures. She also had some smaller copies
made up, that I carried in my wallet for years until they wore completely
away.
Those magazines are carefully tucked away among my prized possessions.
But I'm not going to tell about that very first Christmas morning of our
relationship when I woke up alone in bed and stumbled into the living room --
and under the tree, Judy and Candy were lying under the tree wearing only red
ribbons and smiles. At least not now.
But my absolute best Christmas present was given me 12 years ago.
Think about it.
=============================================================================
94: "The Piano"
[1995] [tt4/8]
We have just moved into our new home.
It's an elderly home, built in the late 1800s as the mansion of a steel-mill
executive (I'll call him Steel Man). A grand duchess in her day, the house
stood alone on a large lot, small out-buildings for the horse-drawn carriages
and to house the horses that pulled them. Other buildings on the property
housed servants, mainly black folks who had moved north from slavery in the
south to servitude in the north.
Steel Man lost it all in the stock market crash in 1927. His entire fortune
was margined in the market, and when it dissolved, so did he. He took his
own life in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I don't know which one (or want to
know).
The house somehow fell into the hands of members of the 'far side' of the
law; it became a speakeasy in the latter days of Prohibition, and still later
became a house of ill repute. Some of the surrounding property was parcelled
out, the out-buildings torn down, and smaller homes were built up around it.
With the beginning of World War II, the main house was sold to an undertaker,
who converted the first floor to a funeral home. The home operated until
1955, when the house was again sold to a couple who restored the house to its
former glamour. The houses surrounding it were torn down and rebuilt with
more 'modern' structures. The couple raised four children in the house, two
boys and two girls. Their eldest son was killed in Vietnam.
The other children grew up and moved away. The husband died last year,
leaving his widow rattling around in the old mansion. She put the house up
for sale, just at the time we started looking for a home in our new city. Do
you realize how hard it is to find a house with at least four bedrooms?
Judy fell in love with the place immediately, and she took Janie to see it.
She too was impressed, so they asked the lady to wait until Candy and I could
see it.
She agreed, and when Candy and I joined the rest of our family in Pittsburgh,
they drove us to the house. We wandered through the rooms, listening to the
owner tell us the story of the house, and her family.
We ended up in the dining room downstairs, and the owner turned to Jennifer
and asked, "Do you like music?"
Jennifer nodded, shyly.
The owner put her hand on top of an upright piano. "Then I will leave the
piano for you. But then, it belongs here. It's always been here, as far as
I know."
We put an offer on the house; it was accepted almost immediately. Since
Janie's loan was already approved, the paperwork sailed through. The Old
Lady willingly allowed us to move in even before the property was "closed".
As soon as the Old Lady's moving vans were out of the driveway, ours were
pulling in, getting our stuff out of storage, sorting it into the various
rooms.
The bedrooms are upstairs, Janie and I claimed the largest since we would be
sharing the one room; Judy and Candy's rooms are on each side of ours.
Jennifer has her room down the hall. We've set aside a room to recreate the
Bijou, and another room is now the computer room. I have visions of building
a Star Trek-type console, but that's going to depend on my having some time
on my hands.
Downstairs is a large living room, kitchen, dining room and library. Off the
kitchen is the laundry room and pantry. There is a curved stairway leading
from the foyer to the upper level, and a back stairs that leads down into the
kitchen.
There is a small cellar, mostly taken up by the gas furnace, which obviously
was added to the house after it was built. It's been warm enough in the
house this past month, even though the wind has been blowing and it has been
snowing.
But I have a story to tell you...
Last Saturday morning, the Girls headed out to a mall for some needed
shopping, and I was doing some final touches on the house -- hanging a few
pictures, shifting furniture -- those little things that make a house a home.
But somehow, I kept being drawn to the piano.
It's an old upright piano, an antique. I don't play the piano, but I tapped
on the keys. It needs tuning, even to my untrained ear. I tapped the keys
from one end to the other. Down to the left, in the 'deep end', one key
sounded a note -- somewhat offkey -- the first time I pressed it, then there
was a slight sliding noise. The key would not sound again -- offkey or
otherwise -- but a definite 'thud'.
Curious, I set the vase and pictures off the top of the piano, and opened the
lid. I peered down into the back of the piano. Too dark to see. I fetched
a flashlight, and used it to look down inside the instrument. There, down
between the strings and the hammer was a piece of paper. Folded in half, the
paper straddled the string, the hammer striking the crease of the paper.
I went to my toolbox, and got a long-reach gripper, and pulled the paper from
the machine. I turned it over in my hand, and dust flew in the air. It was
an old piece of hand-written musical notes on pre-printed sheet music. The
title was "So Deep, My Love".
On the front, written in a flowing hand, were the words, "Don't ever forget
me, J."
I looked down into the piano again, and aside from dust, there wasn't
anything else extraordinary. I closed it back up again, and set the vase and
pictures back into place.
The sheet music now intrigued me. I went to my trusty Apple and booted up
the Music Construction Kit program. I don't play an instrument, but I can
copy the notes into the computer program. Note by note, I punched the sheet
music into the computer. When I reached the end, I clicked on "play".
Mind you, an Apple IIe computer doesn't sound like a piano, but the program
gave me an idea of the melody. Almost too good an idea. The song began to
play over and over in my head, annoyingly.
It was still running through my head when Janie and I retired that evening...
It had been a tiring day at work, and the trip home was taking forever. It
was dark, and a dense fog had drifted in from the river, and visibility was
extremely limited. I was creeping along the streets, which were only vaguely
familiar since I was new to the area, and the fog obscured details.
I turned onto our street, and spotted the bulk of the house through the fog.
I pulled around the drive, and noticed that someone -- probably Candy, I
thought, smiling -- had replaced the front porch light with a red bulb. I
parked the car; subconsciously registering the absence of the Girls' cars but
not consciously thinking about it.
I grabbed my briefcase and hat, and climbed out of the car. The back porch
light was not on, so I walked around to the front door. The door was
unlocked, and I pushed on through it into the foyer.
The house smelled of cigarette smoke; this startled me immediately, since
none of us smoke, and Janie is adamant about not wanting smoke in the house.
There were other scents, as well; a cloying perfume, a tinge of sweat and
body odor... I looked into the front room; the furniture was different. If
it hadn't been for the old piano in its familiar spot, I could swear that I
was in the wrong house. But my mind was a bit foggy. Home?
"Hello?" A female voice behind me. I turned around. There was a woman on
the stairs. She was dressed in a filmy nightgown, which was almost covered
with a fringed robe. Her face was heavily made up, and a cigarette dangled
from her hand.
"H-hello..." I stammered.
"You're a little early."
"Where's Janie?" I asked; somewhat flustered. If anything, I was late.
"Janie's... busy," she said, with a sly smile. She walked on down the
stairs, and stepped up in front of me. "Have you been here before? You
don't look familiar."
"I live here..."
She smiled; I had the fleeting thought that her makeup might crack. "You
can't be a copper; I don't know any coppers with beards." She reached up and
stroked my chin, gently.
I stepped back, slowly. "Where's Candy? Where's Judy?"
"I don't know a Candy or Judy... Helen's not busy, and Yvonne should be back
soon... and of course, I could be persuaded..." She gave me that sly smile
again.
My head was spinning; from the smoke, or the perfume...
A door opened upstairs, and there were whispers in the hallway. A man in a
suit and hat appeared at the top of the stairs. When he spotted me, he
reached up and pulled his hat-brim down over his eyes. He quickly descended
the stairs, and rushed out the door.
"Who..." I began, but the woman put her fingers over my lips.
"Don't worry, honey, the Mayor's a regular customer." She turned and looked
up the staircase. "Janie, you have someone here asking for you."
I heard a door open upstairs, and a woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Helen, I was calling Janie," the older woman said.
"Janie, Janie... all I ever hear is Janie," Helen whined.
Another woman appeared behind Helen; a slim woman, almost a head shorter than
Helen. She peered around Helen's shoulder. "Who is it?"
The older woman stepped aside so that Janie could see me; and vice versa.
The smaller woman stepped from behind her friend; the body was familiar,
apple-sized breasts on a small form, looking a bit out of proportion. Her
small frame was draped with an almost transparent gown, the darkness of her
pubic hair showing through clearly.
The hair was different; cut short, and curled around her face; the face was
not my Janie, but close. There was a familiarity about her smile.
"I don't believe I know you," she said, softly. She moved smoothly down the
steps. "But I think I like you." She reached up and touched my face. "I
like beards." She glanced over at the older woman, and said "Mama Mae, why
don't you take his coat and hat?"
She looked deep in my eyes; her gaze was entrancing. The older woman -- Mama
Mae -- pulled off my overcoat and took my hat. Janie took my hand and led me
up the stairs, and down the hallway.
A door was open to our left, Janie pulled me inside. She closed the door
after us, and leaned back against it, arching her back, pointing her tits at
me.
"Like what you see?"
I was lost; my mind was as fogged as the world outside the house. Memories
of my life before this moment were gone. Janie reached up and pulled the end
of a bowknot at her throat. The knot untied, and the gown dropped to the
floor. She was naked before me. My eyes drank in her body. My penis began
to expand in my pants.
She glided across the small space between us. She reached up and wrapped her
arms around my neck, holding her naked body tightly against mine. Her lips
sought mine; her tongue slid deep into my mouth. She tasted of mint
toothpaste and Listerine.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her close; her form was deliciously
familiar to me; her skin smooth and soft and warm. My hands wandered down
her body, cupping the cheeks of her ass, my fingers slipping into the cleft
between them.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, then tilted her head backward to look into my
face. "Are you sure I don't know you?"
She stepped back, and reached for my belt. She quickly undid my belt and
trousers, letting them drop to the floor, and pulled down my undershorts,
revealing my fully erect penis.
She held my cock in her hand, peering closely at it, turning it to the left
and the right. She looked up at me. "Can't be too careful," she grinned.
"Get undressed," she said, and stood up. She stepped to the bed and climbed
in, pulling a sheet over her.
I quickly removed the rest of my clothing and climbed into the bed. We moved
togther to the center of the mattress; she pressed her body against mine
provocatively, then rolled over on her back. I rolled over on top of her,
and my cock sought out her pussy. With a quick roll of her hips, she drew me
inside her, and she wrapped her legs around my ass.
"Oooooh," she breathed, "you're so big..."
She closed her eyes and pushed her head back into the pillow. She tightened
her grip around my ass with her legs, grinding her hips into mine.
I began to move my hips as her grip loosened; with each stroke, she gave a
little moan - a small cooing sound like a captured pigeon.
She opened her eyes, and they twinkled in the dim light. She pushed back
against my shoulders, and I pulled back. She pushed me further back, my cock
popping out of her pussy. As I stood on my knees on the bed, she twisted
around, moving to an all-fours position in front of me. She dropped her head
and shoulders to the bed, tilting her ass up toward me, her pussy open and
wet.
I moved forward, sliding my cock into her open hole. As I entered her, she
lifted her head and shoulders, and pushed back against me. I grabbed her
hips, and pulled her back, ramming myself into her.
My hands slid up her body, and I leaned forward over her, my fingers seeking
the soft pillows of her breasts. I grabbed a nipple with each hand, pinching
the tips between my fingers as she moaned with pleasure.
Her pussy quivered around my cock. "Fuck me," she whispered.
I moved up, sliding my hands back to her hips. I began to stroke; long, deep
strokes, and she moaned louder with each stroke.
"Yeah," she gasped, "Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me." She was moving with me,
backwards on each stroke; there was the sound of our bodies slapping
together, and the creak of the bedsprings, and music...
Music?
I could hear a piano -- the piano downstairs. Someone was playing the piano.
But it was in tune. It sounded good.
The music jolted me; it was the song I found.
"Don't stop!" Janie cried, pushing back against me. "I'm gonna come!" We
moved together again, and she crooned, "Ooooooohh. Yeah! It's so good! I'm
coming... I'm coming. Yeah. Yeah! Oooh!"
She pushed herself up to a kneeling position in front of me, her pussy
gripping my cock firmly. I reached around her to grab her tits again. She
twisted her head around to nuzzle my neck.
She pulled away from me, long enough to push me down to the bed on my back.
She climbed across my hips, impaling herself on my cock again. She sat on my
hips, my cock completely inside her, and grinned down at me. "Now it's your
turn." She began to bounce up and down on my cock, her breasts bobbling up
and down with her movements, she was squeezing the muscles in her pussy,
massaging my cock with each bounce.
I felt my balls tighten, and I reached up and grabbed hold of her shoulders,
pulling her forward. Our lips met as my balls exploded, and I groaned into
her throat, as our tongues traded mouths.
We lay together, panting, my cock still inside her, until we caught our
breath. The piano continued to play downstairs. Janie looked into my face,
watching me listen to the music.
"You like that?"
"Like what?" I asked.
"That song on the piano."
"Yeah. Nice tune."
"I wrote it." She grinned at me.
"You're kidding. You wrote that?"
She started to hum with the piano, and as she got to the chorus, she started
to sing...
So sleep, my love.
And keep my love.
You'll find my love
So deep, my love.
She rolled off me and bounced off the bed. She opened a dresser drawer, and
pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She handed it to me. "See?"
I looked at the paper. Handwritten musical notes on pre-printed music lines.
At the top of the page, the title, "So Deep, My Love."
She took back the paper, and went back to the dresser. She reached into the
drawer again, took out a fountain pen, and wrote on the paper. Then, waving
the paper to dry the ink, she came back to the bed. She handed me the paper.
I read her words in a flowing hand, "Don't ever forget me, J."
She kissed me briefly, then walked quickly to the door, picked up her gown
and ran out into the hallway.
I scrambled out of the bed, grabbed my pants, and jumped into them, and
opened the door. Nobody in the hallway. The music continued downstairs.
I went to the top of the stairs.
The music stopped. I walked down the stairs. The room was empty and dark.
I went into the main room, where the piano sat, silent. I stepped up to the
piano, and tapped a key. A much-out-of-tune note sounded.
There was a small sound behind me. I turned, and there was Janie -- my
Janie. I looked down, and saw that I was wearing my pajama bottoms, and was
holding a dusty piece of sheet music.
"Is something wrong?" Janie asked, concerned.
"No... yes... no..." I fumbled around for words.
"You were sleepwalking again, weren't you?"
"I guess."
Janie stepped forward and hugged me. "Come on back to bed, Tom."
I nodded. I set the sheet music on the piano, she took my hand, and we went
back to our room.
We lay spooned together on the bed. As Janie's breathing deepened into a soft
snore, the music ran through my head again, just as I drifted into a --
thankfully -- dreamless sleep.
As wide as the ocean,
As high as the sky,
As big as a mountain,
Wherever birds fly.
My love will surround you
Wherever you are.
As near as your heartbeat,
As far as a star.
So sleep, my love.
And keep my love.
You'll find my love
So deep, my love.
The sun shines so brightly,
The moon glows above.
Whenever you see them
Remember my love.
Don't ever forget me,
No matter how far.
My love is forever
Wherever you are.
So sleep, my love.
And keep my love.
You'll find my love
So deep, my love.
=============================================================================
95: "Bump in the Night"
[1995] [tt4/9]
"All right," I keep telling myself, "you're over-reacting."
I've been to science fiction conventions and hob-nobbed with the likes of
Stephen King and Robert Bloch. I've enjoyed their books and the movies based
on them. I've read stories of vampires, and ghosts and ghoulies and things
that go bump in the night.
But I've never been a believer in the occult, the supernatural. Ghosts.
Especially ghosts. I professed the belief that people who saw ghosts were a
bit touched in the head. Crazy. Out of their mind.
We've been in the house almost two weeks, and I've found myself sleepwalking
on more than half of the nights we've been here (as described in the story
above). I have walked into some of the rooms upstairs and felt a chill --
almost as if there was a window open.
But there is no draft around the window -- I've checked it with a flame.
Jennifer ran into our bedroom last night, saying there was someone in her
room.
I dashed across the hall to her room, grabbing a broom on the way (I can see
it now -- Man killed in home, attacked gun-toting burglar armed only with
broom), but the room was empty; the doors and windows in the house were all
closed and locked.
Jennifer slept in our bed last night.
Candy swears that she was working on her video editor last week, when she
felt someone walk up behind her and stroke her hair.
Judy, who has never had a problem with misplacing things, especially her art
supplies, is missing pencils and pens.
And Janie was in the bathtub Monday night, and the door to the bathroom,
which she says she closed and latched, swung open. By itself.
But tonight... tonight.....
We had retired for the evening; Jennifer decided her room was safe, as long
as she kept a light on. Candy and Judy slipped over to our room for a
cuddle.
Candy and Janie paired up on one side of the bed, in a sixty-nine position,
with Janie on top. Judy climbed on top of me in a similar position, and I
had my nose buried deep in her pussy when we heard a loud THUMP downstairs.
We lay there a moment motionless, then Judy rolled off me -- and the bed --
quickly. I jumped up, naked, scrambled out of the bed, and grabbed
Jennifer's softball bat. I had placed it beside the door after last night's
broomstick deal.
I quietly opened the door and crept down the hallway to the stairs. The
Girls hung back; partly to put on bathrobes, partly because they wanted me to
meet the enemy first, since I was 'armed'. But unlike the horror movies,
they weren't going to let me go into the darkness alone.
There was nobody in the front room. The front door was closed and locked. I
stepped cautiously into the kitchen. Empty. Into the dining room. Empty.
The Girls followed behind me. I went on through to the family room. Empty.
I noted that the Girls were no longer behind me. I went to the back door.
Also secure. I lowered the bat, and went to the dining room, where the girls
were congregated around the table.
Janie handed me a robe, and said, "Look."
There on the dining room table were Judy's missing pens and pencils.
"They weren't there when I went to bed," Candy said. "I cleared everything
off the table."
Judy reached for one of the pencils.
"Wait," I said, softly. I reached over and turned on the overhead light.
"Look." I pointed at the table. The pens and pencils were not just dumped
randomly on the table. They were arranged.
"They make letters!" Janie said, peering at them. "N, V, W, O, M"
"But that doesn't spell anything," Judy said, frowning.
"Random letters?" I asked. "Why arrange the pens if you're not spelling
something?"
Candy shook her head. She turned to the buffet and picked up a paper napkin.
She bent to the buffet and wrote the letters on the napkin.
"Candy," I said, "where did you get the pen?"
She looked at the pen in her hand and said, "From the table... Oh gee, I
guess I picked it up before you turned on the light."
"Where was it?" Judy asked.
"I was standing right here..." Candy moved to the spot. "And I picked it up
like this..." She held the pen out at arms length and set it down.
The pen was in the middle of the "V".
Janie reached over and turned the pen. "Now look. It's not a 'V', it's an
'A'. We're reading it upside down."
"W-O-M-A-N." Judy looked up. "Holy shit."
"Ok," I frowned. "Joke's over. Good joke, but enough's enough."
They all looked at me. I could read them after all these years. They
weren't playing games. They were innocent.
"Jennifer..." said Janie, and ran toward the stairs.
We followed, and ran up the stairs behind her. Janie opened Janie's door and
went inside, then came back out, quietly closing the door behind her. "Sound
asleep," she said.
"Go back to bed," I said. "I'll go turn out the lights."
"Alone?" Janie asked.
"I've still got this," I smiled, brandishing Jennifer's bat.
The girls went back into our bedroom, and I went downstairs to turn out the
lights. As I flipped the switch in the dining room, there was a loud THUMP
behind me. I turned the light back on immediately, looking around the room.
Then my eyes fell on the table. The pens had been rearranged. "LOVE ME"
they now spelled.
"Oh, shit" I muttered. I pushed the pens together into a pile on the table.
I turned out the light. And waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened. I turned on the light again. The pens were still in a
pile on the table.
I went back upstairs to our room. The Girls were all cuddled together in the
bed, and I dropped my robe to the floor and climbed in beside them. Judy,
naked and warm, rolled over on top of me, and kissed my cheek.
"Where were we?" she whispered.
"Shhh..." I whispered back. "Listen."
We lay there quietly, listening. The only sounds were the soft breathing of
Candy and Janie, who were asleep.
"I don't hear anything," Judy whispered, finally. She slipped her hand down
to my penis, wrapping her fingers around it.
I kissed her, our tongues meeting and dueling, as life returned to my penis,
coming to full erection in her hand. I pushed my hand to her crotch, and
slipped a finger along her wet slit. Her clit was almost hot to the touch,
erect, demanding.
"Mmmmmmm," she moaned and moved her leg across mine, opening herself to my
hand. I slid my finger past her clit, and up into her pussy.
She moved again, sliding over me. She reached back and guided my cock to the
entrance to her pussy, then slid backwards, impaling herself on my erection.
"So nice," she breathed. Then the muscles of her pussy began their nifty
yoga 'trick' as they began to 'swallow' my cock.
Judy pushed her upper body, supporting herself by her elbows, planted on my
chest. She held my face between her hands, and smiled down at me.
In the dim light in the room, I gazed up into her face, which seemed to
change -- a different look to her eyes, an unusual way she held her mouth.
She was... someone else. I blinked my eyes. Judy was back. I had imagined
it... didn't I?
I was nearing orgasm. Judy's pussy squeezed and swallowed and held me, as
she stared down at me.
I closed my eyes as my balls tightened.
"Come in me, baby," a voice said. It wasn't Judy's.
I opened my eyes quickly. Judy's face. God, I'm going mad... My balls
erupted. Judy leaned forward and kissed me as I ejaculated inside her.
I glanced over at Candy and Judy, spooned on the other side of the bed, with
Candy behind, one hand around Janie's waist, sleeping.
Judy rolled over between Janie and me, her back toward me, facing Janie. I
spooned in behind her, and she pressed her ass against my softening cock.
Judy began breathing evenly.
I drifted into a light sleep, until there was a loud THUMP downstairs. I sat
up in the bed. I looked over at Janie, softly snoring.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed to get up and investigate the noise
downstairs. Then stopped. Wait a minute. Judy and Candy weren't in the
bed. Puzzling over this, I stood up and headed for the door.
I grabbed the softball bat next to the door and walked downstairs naked, and
checked the front door. Locked. Living room, empty. Kitchen, empty.
Dining room, empty. I flipped on the light. The table was bare. The pens
were gone. I turned out the light, and THUMP.
I turned the light back on. Still the same. Am I losing my mind? The
blower from the furnace started up, and warm air blew from the grating behind
me, warming my naked butt.
I went back upstairs, and peeked into Candy's room. She was asleep in her
bed. I went down to Judy's room. She too was curled up in her bed, but she
raised her head. "If you want to fuck, you don't need a bat, Tom."
"Didn't we just...?"
"Just what? Fuck?"
I nodded. She shook her head.
"I think I'd remember..." she slipped a hand under the covers. I saw her
knee lift, as she felt herself. "No, I haven't made love tonight. But I'm
not ruling anything out..." She smiled and crooked her finger.
"Not just yet, Sugar," I sighed. "I've got to do something."
Judy pulled the covers up under her chin and smiled. "Wake me up when you're
ready, then."
I walked back down the hall and put the bat back into our room, then went on
down to the computer room, flipped on the Apple, loaded AppleWorks, and
started telling this story. Even now, nearing the end of it, I'm not sure
how much was real and how much was a dream.
"Over-reacting," I keep telling myself.
THUMP.
"Over-reacting."
I think I'm going to go wake up Judy.
=============================================================================
96: "A Chill in the Air"
[1995] [tt4/10]
I _was_ overreacting, to an extent.
I told you in the last story about the THUMP in the night that we'd been
hearing. It turned out to be a blocked burner in the gas furnace, which
ignited late, causing the sound. We got a heating expert out to clean the
thing, and we're sleeping somewhat easier now.
Well, the girls are, anyway.
I continued to sleepwalk. I've found myself in the dining room with an empty
coffee mug in front of me; or sitting in front of the piano; or wandering
down the upstairs hallway.
This past week, I was sleeping in Candy's room. I was lying on my back;
Candy was draped halfway over me, her head nestled on my shoulder. I awoke
when a hand grasped my other arm.
I looked up, expecting to see Judy or Janie.
Nobody there.
But I still felt the hand. It squeezed my upper arm.
I moved my arm, and the pressure released. I reached over and turned on the
bedside lamp.
Candy raised her head. "What's wrong?"
I looked down at my arm. There was no outward sign on my arm.
"Nothing, I guess," I mumbled. "Sorry to wake you."
Candy squeezed me a little, and said, "That's all right, Sweetie."
I reached up and turned out the lamp. Candy slid up and kissed me, and while
we kissed, she moved her body over mine, straddling me.
My penis was awake, too, and Candy wiggled her hips until her pussy caught
the tip of my cock, then she slid back on it, drawing it inside her.
"I'm definitely glad you woke me up," Candy grinned at me. "I want seconds."
We rolled over, still joined at the groin, and I began to make slow, even
strokes, just moving my hips. Candy's pussy squeezed my cock on each stroke,
as she met each movement.
Slowly, our breathing deepened and quickened, until Candy breathed, "Oh...
ummm." She held her breath, as her pussy contracted around my cock, and her
body shuddered.
I held still while she climaxed, then with a kiss, I began my movements again
until I was at the edge of ejaculation.
Candy's hand stroked my ass as I came, my cock fully inside her, the hardness
of her cervix against my cockhead.
I lifted my head for another kiss, and she held my head with both hands. We
kissed long and deeply, and her hand caressed my ass.
No, wait. Both of Candy's hands were holding my head.
I broke the kiss and looked back over my shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Candy frowned.
I rolled over and lay on my back. Candy cuddled up to me, and I slipped my
arm around her shoulders. "Have you ever felt someone in this room and
there's nobody there?"
"Um..." She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. "You won't laugh?"
"Me? I asked you the question. Why would I laugh?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes. I thought I was going nuts. There was one
time when I thought you had come in to cuddle, 'cause I felt a hand on my
butt. But there was no one there."
"What else?"
Candy sat up and turned to face me. "The bathroom door to your room. It ...
opens. Then it closes."
I pushed another pillow between my head and the headboard, so that I was
sitting up a little. "Janie has mentioned it, too. I haven't seen it,
though."
Candy turned her hips around, so that now she was sitting in a lotus-position
beside me. She dropped one hand on my chest, and toyed with the hair there
as we talked.
"Tom, did we move into a haunted house?"
"I don't know if I believe in ghosts," I said.
"Ow, not so hard!" Candy said, suddenly.
"What?"
"You pinched my nipple. Ow!"
I reached over and turned on the light. Candy blinked in the light, then her
eyes widened.
"My nipple is still being pinched. Ow!"
I looked; her right nipple was taut and erect, the other flaccid.
"Ow!"
I reached over and stroked her breast, taking her long nipple between my
fingers.
"It's stopped," she sighed. "Shit! Are we supposed to be frightened?
Should we worry?"
"Assuming it's ghosts..."
"As opposed to what? Psychosomatic? My tit was being pinched. HARD!"
"As opposed to anything. Let's assume it's a ghost. What do we do?" I
looked at her expectantly, and dropped my hand from her breast. She picked
up my hand and put it back.
"Call Ghostbusters?" she smiled.
"Be serious."
"Well, there are psychics, and paranormal experts. Or we could research some
ourselves..."
"Let's try to do it ourselves," I said, firmly. "I don't want to go outside
-- at least not yet."
"Agreed." Candy nodded, "What do we do first?"
"Let's try this..." I sat up, and addressed the empty space. "Please,
whoever you are, we want to be friendly. We love this house, we don't want
to change the house. We want to be friends with you."
There was silence; I didn't expect otherwise, but...
I turned out the light, and Candy and I cuddled up together under the covers.
We slept soundly -- and dreamlessly -- the rest of the night.
=============================================================================
97: "Dust"
[1995] [tt4/11]
Janie scrolled the last lines off the screen. She turned in her chair and
looked over at me.
"You know, of course, you're making us sound like an episode of The Twilight
Zone." She smiled; a strange little smile with a little puzzled expression
mixed in.
"But you can't deny it happened..." I smiled back at her.
"True. But the dream stuff only happened to YOU. I didn't experience the
story about the piano, and that business about the moving pens..."
"Well, it is a sex-stories posting. If I were writing for the X-Files group,
I'd leave out the sex and go for the weird stuff."
"There hasn't been that much weird stuff."
"You don't think doors opening and closing by themselves weird? How about my
sleepwalking? I've never done that before."
She paused a moment. "Ummm. There are _some_ weird things... There are
sometimes when I feel like I'm being watched."
The telephone rang. I let it go. Jennifer answered the phone on the first
ring, usually, and this time was no exception.
She was soon at the door to the computer room, leaning in the doorway.
"Daddy, it's the real-estate lady."
I picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, Tom. I've got some bad news and some good news."
"Oh really?"
"Yes. Bad news first. Mrs. B. passed away last night."
"Oh god..." I held my hand over the receiver, and told Janie the news. Mrs.
B. was the previous owner of the house.
"Are you there?"
I removed my hand. "Yes. I was just telling Janie."
"But the good news is that the papers were all complete on her part of the
sale; we just need your signature on the proper lines."
"That's good." Visions of having to fight over an estate problem, delaying
our purchase of the house, had flashed through my head.
We finished the conversation, setting a time the next day for us to go sign
the papers. I hung up the phone.
Janie looked sad. I got up and walked over and put my hands on her
shoulders. She stood up and wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her
closely. She sighed into my neck.
"I liked the lady," she said softly.
"I know. I did too."
I held her for a long moment, savoring the touch of her body against mine.
As we stood in silence, there was a brief, scrabbling noise just over our
heads.
Involuntarily, we both looked up at the ceiling.
"Oh shit," I said. "Rats."
Janie shuddered. "Rats. Why does it have to be rats?"
"Ok, Indy," I said, chuckling. "I'll take a look in the attic."
Janie grinned up at me. "Yeah, smart guy, how do you get up there?"
"There has to be an entrance somewhere. Let's look."
We walked through the upstairs rooms, looking up at the ceiling, searching
for an entranceway to the attic.
Finally, in the ceiling of the back stairs landing, we found a square
opening, covered by a solid piece of wood.
"I need a ladder," I said.
"We don't have one, do we?" Janie asked.
"No..." I started, then remembered the tool shed in the back of the house.
"Well, unless they left one behind. Let me check out back."
I went downstairs and out the back door into the cold without my coat. I
pulled open the toolshed door, and peered inside. Damn. No light.
I trudged back into the house to find a flashlight and get my jacket, cursing
myself for acting before thinking. I tested the flashlight on the way back
to the back door. It worked.
Inside the toolshed, there was a decrepit-looking lawn mower, a pair of
hand-operated hedge clippers, badly rusted; and in the far corner, a dusty
aluminum ladder. I pushed into the shed through the cobwebs, and got the
ladder. I carried it into the house, and up the back stairs to the second
floor.
Janie was still waiting in the landing. I propped open the ladder and
climbed up, as Janie held the ladder. I pushed up against the wooden board,
and it lifted. I pushed it over to one side, and climbed on up the ladder,
putting my head up through the hole.
"See anything?"
"Cobwebs. Dust."
The attic floor was made up of rough-hewn planks laid across the studs of the
lathe-and-plaster ceiling. I pulled myself on up into the opening, and sat
on the edge, as I showed the flashlight around me.
As the light passed over the far side of the attic, there was a burst of
wings, and a flutter. I followed with the light, and saw that it was a grey
bird.
"Not rats," I called down to Janie. "A bird. Probably a starling."
"How did it get in?" she called back.
"Looks like there's a gap in the vent." I passed the light around me again.
"Doesn't look like anyone's been up here for a long time."
Down on the far end of the attic space, I could see two dark shapes. As I've
mentioned before, I'm fairly nearsighted, and I couldn't quite make out what
they were. I pulled myself up into the attic.
"Be careful," Janie called, nervously.
"I will."
I moved cautiously through the space, avoiding the bigger cobwebs and
knocking aside the smaller ones. As I got closer, I could see that the
shapes I had seen before were two chests. One was blocky, green. An army
footlocker. The other was older, a travelling chest.
I knelt beside the footlocker. On the lid, just barely legible through the
dust, was the name of Mrs. B's son; the one who had been killed in Vietnam.
Curious, I clicked the latches. There was no lock. I opened the lid slowly.
There is a definite, unmistakable scent to stuff issued by the military.
I showed the light around the top lift-out box, which contained some personal
items that had belonged to the young lieutenant. A formal photo of him in
uniform. A snapshot with two buddies in their jungle garb. Pens, pencils, a
soap carrier, some boot polish.
Most of the stuff was pushed to one end of the box, which puzzled me until I
realized that they would have had to turn the footlocker on end to get it up
here. Thinking of Judy, I picked up one of the pens, which looked like a
drafting pen. I stuck it in my shirt pocket.
I was just about to lift out the box to look in the bottom of the footlocker,
when Janie called, "Tom, are you all right?"
"Yeah," I called back. "I'll just be a minute."
I closed the footlocker lid and latched it back.
I moved over to the trunk, and unlatched it; once again, there was no lock.
I lifted the lid, and there was the faint scent of perfume. There was
something vaguely familiar about the scent, but I couldn't place it.
The trunk was filled with dresses and undergarments which dated, from the
looks of them, sometime before World War II.
"Tom!"
"I'm coming, Janie!" I called, stuffed the clothes back into the trunk and
closed the lid. I went back the way I came, and climbed back through the
hole and down the ladder.
"You're filthy!" Janie said, grinning up at me.
I glanced up. "Hang on a minute, I'd better close this back up."
I climbed back up and pulled the wooden panel back over the hole. I folded
the ladder, and took it back outside. Janie was waiting for me at the back
door when I headed back in.
"Take your clothes off," she said.
I blinked at her, then realized what she was talking about. My clothes were
covered with dust and cobwebs. I took off my shirt and pants, and Janie took
them with just her fingertips, holding them well away from her body, as she
took them to the laundry room. I put on the robe she had left me.
Janie came back from the laundry room with the pen in her hand. "This fell
out of your shirt."
"Thanks," I said, taking the pen.
She followed me up the stairs as I explained what I had found in the attic.
We went to Judy's room. The door was open, and Judy was working on a
drawing.
"Looks good, Sweetie," I said, looking over her shoulder.
"Thanks." She tilted her head back, and I kissed her.
"Here," I said, and handed her the pen.
Judy looked at the pen a moment, and asked, "Where did you find it?"
"Why?"
"I lost this pen a week ago."
"Can't be," I protested, "I found this pen in a footlocker up in the attic."
"Look," Judy said, and opened a box on her drawing table. There were five
pens in the box, and an empty slot. Judy put the pen in the empty slot, and
handed me the box. "See, it's a matching set; the only difference is the
width of the nib."
Janie and I looked at each other. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the
Twilight Zone theme music played. DEE-di-dee-dee, DEE-di-dee-dee...
=============================================================================
98: "Deja Vu"
[1995] [tt4/15]
In the last couple of postings, I've related partial stories; frankly, I did
not know that they were partial at the time I told the stories, but now that
we've been in this house longer, and doing a little research, I've come up
with what Paul Harvey would call "the rest of the story." Sort of.
As I mentioned in the last posting, Mrs. B. passed away almost as soon as she
signed the papers for the house. That in itself was spooky enough, but
combined with the fact that I've been sleepwalking -- something I never did
before -- since we moved in here, and some weird dreams I've had lately, and
some strange little occurrances, I've almost come to believe in the
supernatural.
Almost.
The mystery of the pen was solved when Candy found another pen under the
washing machine. It was this pen, an old drafting pen, that I had taken from
the footlocker upstairs and had fallen from my pocket when Janie had put my
dusty clothing in the washer. Judy's pen, apparently, was already on the
floor in the laundry room.
We went to Mrs. B's funeral, and afterwards, we talked to her daughters and
son about the house. They too had experienced doors opening and closing, but
didn't find anything spooky about it.
They did express an interest in having their brother's footlocker, though.
So we rigged up a block and tackle, and lowered the footlocker on a rope
through the attic opening. Judy glanced inside and made doubly sure that her
pens weren't inside. The son came by and picked up the footlocker the next
day.
We asked about the other trunk, but they didn't even know it was upstairs.
According to the son, his father said he had done away with the footlocker;
he must have had a change of heart and put it in the attic. He said that
none of the kids had ever looked up there.
So, we decided to bring the trunk down and have a look. It was a bit more
difficult than the footlocker, since the handles on the trunk were made of
leather, and they looked a little fragile. We looped the rope around the
trunk, and lowered it through the hole that way.
After some struggling, and Candy continually telling Jennifer to "get out
from under that thing!", we finally got it down into the 'mud room' at the
foot of the back stairs.
I opened the lid, and we all peered inside. As I had seen before, there were
several dresses, some blouses and skirts, in designs that told me they were
from mid-depression, the mid-1930s. There were some undergarments, too.
There was also a faint scent of perfume, which was familiar to me, but I
couldn't quite place it.
Jennifer was fascinated with one of the dresses, and she slipped it on over
her tee-shirt and jeans.
We piled the clothing on the floor as we pulled it out. Under all the
clothing was a small, flat box. Candy lifted it out and opened it up.
Inside was a black-and-white snapshot of a young woman, dark-haired. She
looked vaguely familiar. There were other pictures, too. A blurry photo of
a baby, being held in someone's arms. A photo of a toddler, a little girl --
the same child? -- running in the grass. A house -- our house, seen from the
back -- in the background. A mustached man with a broad-brimmed fedora and
sharp suit smiled out at us from the past.
There was also a newspaper clipping. Candy scanned it and handed it over to
me. An obituary. A child, injured in a fall down the stairs, had died. I
looked again at the picture of the toddler, and felt a pang of sorrow.
There was a slight pressure on my shoulder. I reached up, expecting to touch
a hand, but there was nothing there. I rubbed my shoulder, and the pressure
disappeared.
Jennifer had wandered off into the kitchen, wearing the dress from the trunk.
She started dancing, twirling slowly, humming a little tune. Judy and Janie
glanced at the pictures and the newspaper clipping, then went into the
kitchen to start lunch.
The tune Jennifer was humming finally filtered through my head. She was
humming "So Deep, My Love." My mind started to cloud as I felt a rush of
deja vu. I looked again at the picture. Yes, she could have been the woman
in the dream. And the man -- the mayor? That's where I smelled the perfume
before, too.
"Jen," Candy called, "Take that off and help me put these in the laundry
room." Then to me she said, softly, "Tom, are you all right?"
"Huh? Yeah. Yeah." I blinked my eyes, the clouds dissipated. Jennifer
must have heard the song on the computer, I reasoned.
"Would you take the trunk out to the shed?"
"OK." I nodded.
I opened the back door, and pulled the trunk to the door, picking it up as I
got it out the door. It was much lighter without the clothing. I set it
down long enough to open the shed door, then slid it in amongst the cobwebs.
I closed the shed door and headed back to the house.
As I approached the house, a movement in an upstairs window caught my
attention, someone looking out the window at me. I stopped and looked up,
trying to see who it was, but the window was empty.
A shiver ran up my spine, but I shook it off. It _was_ cold outdoors.
"Must be a trick of the light," I muttered to myself, and headed back to the
house again. Janie and Judy were in the kitchen, and Jennifer and Candy were
folding up the clothing from the trunk. That left nobody to be upstairs.
I went around the corner to the half-bath to wash up. I glanced in the
mirror as I washed my hands, and realized that my shirt was covered with
cobwebs from the attic. I pulled off the shirt, wadded it up, and used it to
brush some cobwebs from my hair.
I stepped back around the corner, and sent Jennifer up to get me another
shirt, while I dropped the dirty one in the washing machine.
She came back with my new "X-Files" tee-shirt, the one that says "I want to
believe."
Do I want to believe?
Maybe if I called the FBI and they sent Mulder and Scully -- especially
Scully -- to investigate.
But as Janie called us in to lunch, I had to admit that I really didn't want
to believe in the supernatural. It makes a good movie or television show,
but as reality... no, thanks.
As if to answer my unvoiced thoughts, I suddenly felt a pair of arms around
my neck, and a kiss on my cheek, and a scent of flowery perfume. I stopped
dead in my tracks.
Janie noticed my startled look. "What's wrong?"
"Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?" A frown crossed Janie's face.
The odor was gone. Suddenly. I shook my head. "Nothing. Never mind."
Janie looked puzzled for a moment, then we sat down to lunch.
That evening, we lit a fire in the fireplace. Well, OK, we used those fake
sawdust and paraffin logs, but it was a fire. Jennifer sat -- well, lay,
actually -- in one chair, reading a Stephen King book. Janie sat on one side
of me on the sofa, her head on my shoulder. Judy was on the other end of the
sofa, turned sideways, her toes tucked under my butt. Candy was in the
recliner, tilted back, and every once in a while, I heard a soft snore from
her direction.
We had an old Moody Blues album on the turntable. While we have a cd player,
we do have a lot of vinyl albums that still get a lot of play.
We stared into the flames, watching the dance of sparks, just enjoying each
other's company and the music. Who needs television?
The sound started almost directly over our heads: it was the sound of heavy
furniture sliding over the wooden floor. I jumped up and ran towards the
staircase, Janie, Jennifer and Judy following close behind me. (Candy was
still asleep in the recliner.)
We ran up to Jennifer's room, which is where the sound appeared to come from.
Everything was in its place. Janie went into Jen's bathroom and Judy went
next door to the guest bedroom. Nothing was moved. We looked into the other
rooms. Nothing moved.
Janie stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, an angry expression on her
face.
"That's enough, dammit," she growled. She looked up at the ceiling, and said
to thin air, "That's enough. We aren't frightened of you. We like this
house, and we don't want to move, and we don't want to change things."
The rest of us stood silently, looking at Janie. Janie turned around and
looked down the hallway.
"Can't we just be friends? Can't we all just get along?"
A smile crept over my face at the Rodney King reference, and Jennifer
snickered.
There was no response to Janie's speech. Judy and Janie headed for the
stairs. Jennifer took my hand and stood still, evidently wanting to talk to
me.
"Daddy, is it really a ghost?"
"To tell the truth, Jen, I don't know. What do you think?"
She looked at the King book she was still holding. "I don't know either.
Sometimes I want to believe in ghosts and angels, but other times..."
I gathered her up in my arms and held her, as she dropped the book. She
wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, much as
she had done when she was tiny, except that when she was small, her legs
wouldn't touch in back. Her cheek pressed against mine, and I whispered in
her ear, "Don't worry, Sweetheart. I won't let anything hurt you."
As my knees started to give way, she dropped her feet back to the floor.
She's nearly as tall as her mother now, but in that gawky, leggy stage just
before the blossom of puberty. I kissed her forehead, and we headed
downstairs with the others, Jennifer holding my hand, the Stephen King book
dropped and forgotten in the hallway floor.
============================================================================
99: "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)"
[1995] [tt4/18]
When I was deciding on titles for this set of stories (even before I
wrote them, just so Shelby could have titles for the index), Meat
Loaf's song came on the radio. It's such a good title. I just didn't
know how it was going to fit into the final story.
In fact, in drawing this series to a close, I have several loose ends
to tie up.
First of all, my nights have finally settled down.
I've stopped sleepwalking and having the strange dreams. While I
still have my doubts about the supernatural, when we took the trunks
out of the house two weeks ago, the phenomena slowed. The pinching
has ended altogether, although we do occasionally feel a light caress
from time to time.
The noises of furniture moving still occur, but less frequently.
Candy's theory is that "The Pincher" (as she called him) was the
spirit of Mrs. B's son that was killed in Vietnam, and that he
followed his footlocker to his brother's home.
Since Candy's the only one of us who has not started working since we
moved, she has had time to do some research at the library in the
newspaper microfilm files.
Remember the newspaper clipping? A child had died in a fall down the
stairs. Candy found some other newspaper references to the event;
investigations showed that the child had not fallen, but had been
thrown down the stairs.
Two weeks later, the child's mother was killed when she was struck by
an automobile, a hit-and-run accident. Candy is still searching, but
has not been able to find any reference to a resolution of either
death.
This would be, according to Candy, adequate "reason" for her spirit to
be restless, so she's playing Sherlock Holmes, and trying to resolve
the deaths so that the spirit we call "The Lover" can finally be free.
Candy also thinks that the child's spirit is one of our ghosts, too.
The "Baby Ghost" is the one that opens and closes doors. Well, it's a
theory.
Lastly, there is the "Furniture Mover". Candy's theory on that one is
that it is the spirit of the Steel Man; the man who had this house
built, and who committed suicide when the stock market crashed in
1927. The theory is that the sound we hear is an "echo" of his death
throes; newspaper reports state that he hanged himself. We never hear
the sounds when anyone is upstairs.
Candy is continuing her research, and if there are any updates, I'll
let you people know.
As I mentioned, when I heard the Meat Loaf song, and decided to use
the title, I had thought that the story that would be connected to it
would be involving the ghosts. But as it turns out, it was more apt
for another developing story.
Late last week, we got a telephone call from Alicia.
The last time we had actually seen Alicia was way back in 1982, just
after Janie and I were married. I told the story in "The Last
Convention" and its companion stories.
Just after that convention, Alicia moved to California. We kept in
touch with occasional letters and Christmas cards, but we had not
actually talked with her since that last convention.
She was coming to visit us here in Pittsburgh. Candy, Judy and Janie
started to get excited, remembering the good times we used to have.
We straightened up the house, prepared the guest room, (although Candy
laughed that it would go unused) and generally got ready for her
visit.
We offered to pick her up at the airport, but she said she was
driving. Driving! From California! So we gave her directions to the
house from the Interstate.
Tuesday evening, the doorbell rang. We all ran to the door.
I almost didn't recognize her. I remembered the slim young woman,
with long, straight black hair down to her waist. The frail,
short-haired woman at the door was a surprise.
So was the young girl standing beside her.
We hugged our greetings. As I gathered her up in my arms, I felt her
wince in pain.
I reduced the pressure of the hug.
"I'm sorry, Tom," she whispered. "Don't stop hugging me."
Alicia introduced us to her daughter, Angelique, and we went into the
family room for a reunion conversation. Judy and Candy put the
finishing touches on supper, and we all sat down to eat. Alicia
seemed to pick at her food; Angelique and Jennifer seemed to spend
most of dinner giggling and whispering to each other.
All through it, I got the impression that there was more to this visit
than Alicia wanted to say, but the conversation was light and
friendly.
After dinner, Alicia slipped up to me and asked if we could talk
privately.
"Of course," I said, and we went upstairs to the computer room.
"Tom, this is very hard," she said, tears starting to form in her
eyes.
I leaned forward and took her hand. "Tell me."
"I've been a very spoiled little girl," she said, quietly. "My father
was an attorney. He did very well; well enough to provide for his
family in a manner -- dammit, more than that -- he was one rich
son-of-a-bitch. He set up trust funds for me and my sisters. We
would never want for money, and would never be required to work.
"That's one of the reasons I could go to the Science Fiction
conventions; it's also the reason I could go to California to try to
be an actress without starving to death.
"Just after I went to California, I found out I was pregnant. I knew
who the father was; that was not the point. He was involved with his
own family, and frankly, I did not 'need' him or support from him to
survive.
"So I had Angelique, and I tried to be an actress. I did some
television work, mostly background parts: a waitress, a nurse, a
streetwalker. I was in a Charles Bronson movie, and I even got to
wear a Starfleet uniform in Star Trek III.
"When some men found out I had some money, they made a play for me,
but I was too bright for them... well, most of them.
"Until I met Frank. I fell head over heels for Frank. He loved
Angelique, he loved me. We were married in 1986.
"He was in the music business, a record producer. He had his own
money, and he didn't need mine. We were happy. Happy. Until..."
She dabbed her eyes, pausing in her story. She looked deeply into my
eyes.
"Until one day, he came home, went into our bedroom, and blew his
brains out with a shotgun."
"Oh my god," I whispered.
"I found him. Thank god Angelique was not home.
"After the funeral, I got a call from this guy who said he was a
doctor. He asked me to come to his office to see him.
"I was dubious, but I went. The doctor showed me Frank's chart, and
pointed at a piece of paper. I read it -- twice -- before it sank in.
"Frank was HIV-positive.
"I guess he couldn't bear to tell me. I guess it's why he killed
himself.
"The doctor wanted me to be tested for the virus. He took a sample of
blood, which scared the shit out of me. Then there was the waiting.
"He called me back to his office the next week. He handed me the
results on a sheet of paper.
"I had it."
Tears streamed down her face. I took both her hands in mine, unable
to speak.
"Angelique was tested, too. She didn't have the virus. I've been
very careful, and she's been tested twice yearly. She still tests
negative.
"That was five years ago, and now... now I've got what they call
'full-blown AIDS'. Look."
She took her hands from mine, and opened her blouse. There were dark
splotches on her chest. She closed her blouse, her fingers shaking as
she buttoned back up.
"I don't have much time left, Tom. I want to ask you a big favor."
"Ask me," I croaked. "Whatever you want."
"Please take charge of our daughter."
The words struck me like a sledgehammer. 'Our daughter'.
"You mean..."
"Yes. Angelique is your daughter. I didn't sleep with anyone else
for two months before or after the time when she was conceived. I'm
absolutely positive you are her father."
"But why didn't..."
"I explained that. I didn't need money from you. I didn't need..."
"I see... I think. I just wish you had..."
"That's past. We can't do anything about that now. Maybe it was a
poor choice. But like I said, I've been a spoiled little girl, and I
wanted to do everything my way.
"But I want you to be her guardian. She has money; I've set up a
trust fund for her, like my daddy did for me. But she needs someone
she can love, and who will love her."
"What about your family? Will this cause stress with them?"
"No. Daddy died two years ago. My mother passed away when I was
seven."
"And your sisters?"
"My older sister was killed in a traffic accident last year. My
younger sister knows about this decision, and has agreed to it."
She reached down and opened her purse. She took out some papers.
"Here's her signed affidavit, saying she agrees with my decision.
Here are the legal papers that will need to be signed with a notary.
You can take them to an attorney if you want.
"And here is the trust agreement, and a recent statement on the
account."
I glanced at the papers, but I was in no state to read them. I set
them down on the computer desk, and reached over and took Alicia's
hands. I pulled her toward me, and she slid over into my lap.
I held her, she sobbed gently.
"I would like nothing better than to make love with you again, Tom.
But..."
"I know," I said... "It's okay... You know that song, the one Meat
Loaf sings?"
"I know the song. 'I Would do Anything for Love'..." She smiled,
wanly. "'But I won't do that.' That doesn't refer to Angelique, does
it?"
"Of course not. I will be overjoyed to be a father again."
We went downstairs; Angelique and Jennifer were playing Monopoly in
the middle of the floor. Janie, Candy and Judy looked at us
strangely.
"We have to talk," I said, softly.
======================================================================
This is the end of the Trinity Trilogy stories.
Alicia and Angelique have returned to California for the time being.
We are now preparing for the eventual arrival of our 'new' daughter.
Jennifer is actually rather excited to have a sister.
So the future is again in question. There may be future stories, but
whether I can commit at this time to another series, I cannot say at
this time.
I hope you have enjoyed the stories. Please write and tell us.
So for now, Peace.
Tom
======================================================================
ADDENDA: September, 1996 by your humble editor
Since Tom wrote this last story in early 1995, some things have
happened that you folks should know about.
First of all, the day before Easter, 1995, Alicia passed away in Los
Angeles. She was attended at her death by Tom and the Girls, who had
been called to her bedside by Angelique.
Her body was cremated, and the ashes scattered in a glade in Alabama
where Alicia had played as a child.
Angelique is now a full member of the family, having been formally
adopted by her father and Janie.
At about the time Tom came out of his "blue funk" over Alicia's death,
there was an explosion at a federal office building in Oklahoma City.
Now under another pressure -- the sight of Janie's face every time he
left the house to go to work -- Tom decided to retire and take up
Alicia's offer of home-schooling the two youngsters at the expense of
her trust fund.
The latest word is that now Janie is considering leaving her job, and
the Trinity folks becoming a transient, road-wandering family. We'll
see what happens next.
Shelby
======================================================================
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