A Mind of Winter

As the hot water flowed over my skin I tried to figure out where those marks could have come from. There was no way they could be fingerprints. Maybe I had fallen strangely when I collapsed the previous day, and something had pressed into the skin of my breasts. That didn't sound very convincing, even inside my own head, but it was a hell of a lot more believable than the idea that someone's fingerprints had somehow been branded into my flesh. By the time I had finished my shower, I had managed to put the marks out of my mind, and when I glanced at my reflection in the mirror as I dressed, I saw that they were beginning to fade.

The rest of that day followed what would become the typical pattern of my days at Carleton House. As per Dr. Andrews' instructions I stayed the entire day shut up in my room. Nate was sent up to bring me first breakfast, and then lunch, which he did with much grumbling about the unfairness of such menial labor. Nate had apparently been attached to another pair of subjects in the group, and was no longer my official buddy. That bit of news made me suspect that being confined to my room for the entire day was going to become a regular practice, and I was right. At dinner that night, when I was finally allowed to leave my room, Andrews told me that he wanted me to spend my days in my room for the rest of the study. I didn't argue with him because I knew from the look on his face that it wouldn't do any good.

On most days, I alternated between bouts of pissed-off anxiety and moroseness. I wanted nothing more than to tell Doctor Andrews that he could find himself another guinea pig for his little study, but I couldn't forget how much I needed that money. 'Four thousand dollars' became a kind of mantra whenever I was feeling particularly upset. I didn't faint again, and although my head would sometimes go through bouts of aching and I would occasionally be seized by fits of shivering, the pain that had crippled me when I first arrived at the house didn't reappear.

Much to Doctor Andrews' disappointment I didn't provide any reports of supernatural activity. My journal entries basically consisted of an account of my days, which were none too exciting considering the fact that I spent almost all of my time confined to my room. The only strange things that had happened to me since my arrival were the appearance of those marks on my breasts, and a half-remembered nightmare, neither of which I thought the good doctor needed to know about. When the first week ended and no one in the house had reported anything unusual, Andrews began to look rather downcast, which cheered me up a bit. Hopefully this whole study would end up being a total waste of his money.

I was beginning to feel hopeful that Carleton House was just your normal, everyday house, albeit one that looked as if it had been decorated by a blind Satanist. No ghosts, no ghouls, no spiritual vibrations. Those bad feelings that I had been having on the way over and the ones which seized me every now and then during the days didn't mean anything. Maybe whatever it was inside of me that told me when I was heading into trouble had stopped working. In any case, nothing happened after that first night, which led me to believe that there was nothing unusual about Carleton House.

On an evening at the beginning of the third week, I arrived at dinner about twenty minutes late. I traveled the house by myself now, despite Dr. Andrews' initial command that everyone must have a travel buddy. The doctor didn't really seem to care anymore. In fact, he didn't seem to care for anything much just lately. All the enthusiasm he had exhibited on our arrival had vanished. I was also beginning to wonder if he was sick, because, physically, he had changed a great deal since we arrived at the house. His hair seemed to me to have acquired quite a few more streaks of gray, and the lines of his face had deepened and increased in number. Dark circles permanently ringed his eyes, and his walk had become stilted and slow, the walk of a much older man.

When I walked into the dinning room, the others all raised their heads from their plates to look at me, and I was shocked to see that they all looked rather ill. Their faces were pallid, and all of them had lost weight, enough so that their cheekbones protruded slightly, and their eyes had sunk back into dark hollows. Why hadn't I noticed it before? Maybe it was because I was usually the first person to arrive at dinner, and I rarely looked up from my plate when the others walked in. I never really talked to them, and they never tried to talk to me, but now that I saw them all together, I was amazed that I hadn't picked up on how tired they all looked. Maybe there was some kind of bug going around that I had yet to catch.

I was just sitting down when Doctor Andrews cleared his throat. "Now that we are all here, I have an announcement to make." His voice was a lot feebler than I remembered it to have been outside the house. We all waited for him to continue, which he did after a lengthy pause. "I will be leaving Carleton House tomorrow afternoon. There has been absolutely no progress in my research, and I have fallen ill. I don't think that staying here is making me any healthier. If any of you would like to come with me, I will pay you half of your promised salary. If anyone wishes to stay, I will of course pay them the full amount promised at the close of the fourth week." The others had suddenly perked up, and identical expressions of relief had appeared on all of their faces. I, however, was not feeling so cheerful. I couldn't leave now, no matter how much I wanted to do so. Two thousand dollars was not enough, I needed it all. Apart from not having a place to live, I had racked up quite a list of debts as I floated from place to place trying to find a job. People just didn't want to hire me. I was too weird.

Doctor Andrews cleared his throat. "Will anyone who wishes to leave raise his or her hand?" Everyone at the table raised a hand, everyone but me. They all turned to stare at me with incredulous expressions on their faces. Even Doctor Andrews looked surprised. "You wish to stay, Miss Morgan?"

"No, I don't," I said, looking down at my plate. "But I need the money."

"I see. Well, I'm afraid you will be here all by yourself. You'll have to prepare your own meals, and take care of your own housekeeping. You'll be quite isolated."

"I think I can deal with that," I said, not sure that I could.

"That is up to you Miss Morgan. I promised four thousand dollars to subjects who completed the study, and I will not go back on my word."

"Good to know," I muttered, pushing my food around with my fork, no longer hungry. Silence fell around the table, punctuated only by the sound of knives and forks scraping against china. After about five minutes, I stood up and walked out of the room. My head had begun to hurt for the first time in several days. It was as if my body was punishing me for not escaping this place when I had the chance. As I made my way back to my room, I tried to ignore the panic growing inside of me. Tomorrow, I would be here all alone. I hadn't experienced anything that could justify the dread I felt at that prospect, but I felt it all the same. Maybe it was that dream I'd had on the first night, or the one from when I was recovering from my faint. The remnants of those dreams were playing tricks on me.

I reached my bedroom door, and turning the silver handle, I slipped inside. As I flipped the light switch, and then turned the lock on the door, I suddenly realized that the room felt much colder than usual. The air conditioning must be working in overdrive. I stood in the middle of the room, indecisive about what I was going to do next. It was really too early to go to bed, but I didn't feel much like reading or doing the book of crosswords I had brought along with me. Maybe I could take a bath. That might help with my headache. I wandered into the bathroom and took a look at the large white tub standing on its old-fashioned clawed feet. I hadn't used it yet, probably because I had always found those old tubs vaguely creepy. I was really getting pretty cold, though, and a soak in a tub full of hot, soapy water sounded like just the ticket.

I turned the tub's brass taps, and adjusted the temperature until it was just short of scalding. Then I went back into the bedroom to wait for the tub to fill. I checked the thermostat on the wall, and it said that the room was now about fifty-eight degrees. I had no way of adjusting the temperature from here, though. I would have to talk to Andrews about that before he left the next morning. I went to the armoire and picked out my favorite set of pjs, an oversized t-shirt and a pair of worn out plaid boxers. I set them on the bed and then walked back into the bathroom to check the progress of the tub. It was just about full, so I shut off the taps. I began to undress as quickly as I could. The cool air made goose bumps rise on my skin. It felt more like twenty-eight degrees than fifty-eight, but that was probably just my imagination. For one fleeting instant, I could have sworn that I felt a light puff of wind brush over my torso, but then I lowered myself into the tub, and intense heat immediately drove away the cold. It felt divine, and I tilted my head back and gave a soft groan of pleasure as the hot water lapped at my skin.

I just lay there, eyes closed, letting the water relax my muscles and drain away the lingering ache in my head. At first, I thought of nothing, my mind a blissful blank, but after awhile, my thoughts began to coalesce into fantasies. Maybe it was the heat, or the pleasure of being almost weightless in the water, but I felt a heat growing between my legs that had nothing to do with the water temperature. My mind began playing out an elaborate fantasy, a fantasy which seemed to come out of nowhere. It was as if someone was playing a movie in my head.

I was lying on the huge four-poster bed in the next room. I was naked save for the silk scarves tied to my wrists and ankles. The ends of the scarves were all secured to a separate bedpost, so that I lay spread-eagled on the bed, my limbs stretched to their limits. My head was propped up on pillows, and I watched as a man walked slowly towards me. I had never seen him before. He had long blonde hair, shining grey eyes, and his skin was so pale that it appeared almost transparent in the moonlight that was the only source of illumination. He wore old fashioned clothes of black and silver, garments that looked as though they would have been very fashionable a couple centuries ago

I realized that I was incredibly afraid of this man, yet at the same time, I was terribly, desperately aroused. My pussy was swollen and throbbing, and moisture had already begun to dampen the sheets beneath me. As the stranger drew nearer, I tried to get away, but the scarves held me pinned to the bed, completely helpless to do anything but await my fate.

In the bathtub, I crept a hand down to my pussy and found the bud of flesh nestled between its lips. I began rotating it slow, languid circles with two of my fingers.

When the man was near enough to touch me, I ceased my struggling. I waited, prone and terrified, wondering what he was going to do to me. He laid a hand on my trembling belly, and I gasped at how cold it was. He ran his fingers over my skin, and wherever he touched, gooseflesh rose in his wake. His hands went up to cup my breasts, and he squeezed them hard enough to make me cry out in pain. This made him smile, a cruel smile that sent a bolt of fear lancing through me, but then his thumbs began to brush back and forth over my nipples, and I forgot all about fear. I arched up off the bed, releasing a mewling gasp of pleasure as my nipples hardened and swelled, and the throbbing between my legs intensified until I thought I would burst. I had never felt so aroused in my life, so desperate for relief.

I moved my hand faster now, frowning in concentration as I tried to bring myself to orgasm. I was more than ready for the release, but it wouldn't come. I worked myself harder, adding another finger to the pair already on my clit, and sliding another two inside of me to glide in and out of my pussy. I moaned and twisted in the water, and increased the pace of my stroking, but still I couldn't come.

Then his hands were gone, and I cried out both in protest and relief. I looked up at him, tears rolling down my cheeks, and with my eyes, I begged him to grant me relief. He smiled his cruel smile again, and then laid a hand on my pussy, cupping it in his cold palm. I whimpered, and he gave a squeeze, sending a jolt of sensation through me. I almost came, right then and there, but the man shook a finger at me, as if remonstrating with a naughty child. "Oh no, Penelope Morgan. You are only allowed release when I give you permission." His voice was like a winter wind, and his words filled me with dread. My tears fell faster, even as my pussy ached for attention.

I began to cry softly, hardly aware of the warm tears coursing down my cheeks. I couldn't come. For some reason, I just couldn't manage to do it. It hurt, it hurt so badly to want to come this much and yet to be unable to do so. I was almost brutalizing my poor pussy in an attempt to reach orgasm, and water had begun splashing out of the tub as I thrust my hips, rammed my fingers in and out of myself, and rubbed desperately at my swollen clit.

His hand left me, and he climbed up on to the bed. He positioned himself between my splayed legs so that his head hovered over my pussy, and I cried out in terror. A moment later, an icy tongue began to stroke its way up and down my slit. The chill of his flesh revolted me, but at the same time, it felt incredibly good. His tongue teased me, licking at my opening, but not passing through it. I moaned and tried to raise my hips to entreat him to dip inside of me, but I was bound too securely to do anything more than jerk my hips a bit. Just when I was sure that I could bear it no longer, his tongue forced its way inside of me. I cried out in ecstasy and revulsion as I felt him begin to lap at my wetness.

I was moaning so loudly now that my voice echoed throughout the bathroom. It took me a moment to realize that I was no longer touching myself. Both of my hands were clutching the tub's white porcelain sides so hard that it hurt.

He wasn't gentle. He sucked and licked and nipped so fiercely that the pleasure almost bordered on pain, but if he had tried to pull away, I would have died. He had not yet touched my clit, and the little bud was throbbing so hard that it seemed almost alive, almost as if it was screaming for his attention. And then he gave it. His mouth clamped down upon my clit and he began to lash it with his tongue. He bit at it and sucked it with his cold mouth until my screams rebounded off the bedroom walls. If he didn't let me come soon I would go insane. I fancied that I could hear my sanity creaking under the strain that he was putting on it. There was no way I could go on like this, no way...

The sounds coming from my mouth no longer even sounded human. My hips pumped in and out of the water, my pussy clutching desperately at nothing but tepid water.

Suddenly his mouth was gone, and I released a broken wail of despair. He sat up and looked down at me, his smile wide and diabolical, his eyes dancing with savage delight. He looked down at me, taking in my trembling limbs, the blotchy scarlet flush of my pale skin, and the mist of perspiration that had collected on my face and chest. He crawled up so that he lay beside me. He turned on his side and molded his body to mine, pressing himself against me so that I could feel the chill radiating from him, and feel the hardness of his cock against my flesh. "I think that you have had enough for now, Penelope Morgan," he purred into my ear in a voice like springtime frost. "You may climax." Then he leaned forward and kissed me, an almost chaste touch of his lips, but suddenly I was sent hurtling over the edge.

My hands clenched on the sides of the tub. My entire body went rigid and arched up out of the water. My limbs quaked, and my pussy began to convulse. The bathroom disappeared as I was sent headlong into a climax that was only a breath away from agony. My body jerked and seized, splashing more water out of the tub, and colored spots danced across my vision. Every nerve seemed to be on fire, and I screamed until my throat cracked. My breath left me in ragged bursts, and I tried to close myself to the sensations, the feeling so pleasurable that it wandered into the realm of pain. I could do nothing, however, but ride the waves of sensation to their finish. It seemed to go on for hours, but when the ecstasy finally began to diminish, I felt my consciousness beginning to dim. The last spasms of my orgasm followed me down into blackness.

I woke up with a jolt. I foundered for a moment, sure that I was drowning in the water of the tub, but then I realized that I was lying in bed. I looked around, completely disoriented, and saw that the lights in my bedroom were all burning brightly, and that a sliver of a moon was just visible outside the window. I forced myself to take several deep breaths, and then glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read 8:00 pm. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure that I had misread the glowing numbers, but when I looked again, the time hadn't changed. This couldn't be right. I had gotten into the bath at eight o'clock. I went over to my suitcase and dug out my old Timex. It also read 8:00 pm, but at the bottom, the word "Sunday" was illuminated. Shock flooded me. When I had gotten into the tub it had been Saturday. I had been asleep for twenty four hours. I had slept the day clean away. What the hell had happened last night?

My brow furrowed as I tried to bring my most recent memories into focus. They all seemed far away and hazy. I had gotten into the tub and at first I had just laid there, but then I had started to...a flush crept into my face as I remembered what I had done to myself. I shivered and shifted on the bed, noticing for the first time that I was naked. Reaching down to pull the sheets around me, I tried to recall what exactly it was that had gotten me so heated up the previous night. I was pretty sure that it had involved me being tied to this bed, which was strange, because I had never really been one for bondage play. The only other thing that came to mind when I strained my memory was numbing cold. I had no idea where that had come from. And how had I gotten into bed? Why couldn't I remember anything clearly?

I reached up and touched my head, thinking that maybe I had bumped it against the tub and passed out, but there was no lump to be found. Maybe I had passed out from the heat or something and then stumbled to bed. I shook myself and tried to put the strange loss of time from my mind. At least I hadn't drowned in the bathtub. That would have been embarrassing, although maybe then Doctor Andrews would have had something interesting to put in his book. He could have made it out that I had been murdered by the vengeful spirits of Carleton House.

Then I remembered that Doctor Andrews had left this morning with the rest of the subjects. I realized that I was the only person left in the house. Sudden shudders wracked my body, and I drew the sheets closer around me.

"There is no need to be so afraid, Penelope Morgan, I will take good care of you."

My head flared with pain, and I shrieked in surprised terror as fragments of half-forgotten dreams came rushing back to me at the sound of a strange, cold voice from across the room. I jerked around in bed, clutching the sheets to my body, and saw that a man was sitting on top of the writing desk, a man who had not been there a few seconds before. He had long fair hair and silver eyes, and his skin was so pallid that he looked almost insubstantial in the golden light from the lamps. "Who are you?" I whispered, even though a part of me already knew.