Wilder West Ch. 01bySams_Island©
Chapter One: Young lovers meet the Spirit of Halloween Past
SILVERTON, NEVADA: Barbara hurried to her hall locker to trade her algebra book for her economics text; they only had 5 minutes between classes. Her best friend Gina was already there waiting for her. "Well?" Gina asked.
"My folks said yes," Barbara answered with a small, wicked smile.
"This is going to be the best Halloween yet," declared Gina, her own smile growing.
"I am a little worried about the location," Barbara admitted. "Sure it's Halloween, but that place may be too creepy to relax and, um, party."
"Creepier than a graveyard? Creepier than a funeral home?" her girlfriend asked, referring to the sites of their last two Halloween parties.
"Okay, those were spooky, but neither had a reputation for being haunted."
"Well," Gina laughed, closing her locker as the next class bell rang, "if any ghosts do want to join the party I hope they have big cocks." Even after all these years Gina could still shock Barbara, whose jaw dropped until she too started laughing as the girls headed down the hall to their next class.
For the girls' boyfriends, Paul and Jerry, it was gym period and they were running warm up laps before heading off to their respective sport conditioning sessions. Silverton High was too small to support big team sports like football or baseball, but its basketball team was often a contender in the state tournament and Paul was its Captain and Point Guard.
Jerry was several inches shorter than his friend and they looked a bit like Mutt and Jeff as they ran side by side, but no one would make such a comment where Jerry could hear it. He may have been one of the shorter Senior boys at 5' 7", but every inch of that height was covered in muscle and the smart money said he would repeat as a Nevada State Champion even though he was wrestling two weight classes higher than last year when he'd pinned his opponent in the first minute of the championship match.
"Fuckin' O'Reilly's!" the long-legged basketball star said with admiration. "Good one, Jerry. That place gives me the creeps just driving past it. The girls are going to be shaking in their boots."
"Shaking OUT of their boots, I hope," the wrestler laughed.
"And everything else," Paul agreed; the two boys bumped fists.
"Hey," Paul said. "That place is pretty old and run down; it's not going to collapse around our ears, is it?"
"No," Jerry reassured him. "I went in and checked it out..."
"You went in to O'Reilly's!?" Paul interrupted.
"Yeah," the wrestler said with a sort of faraway sound. Shaking his head he continued. "Maybe I was just worried about the cops catching me trespassing, but I swear I was on edge the whole time I was in there; like someone was always standing right over my shoulder -- and it was high noon with the sun pouring through the windows that weren't boarded up."
"You always were a crazy motherfucker. That's why I let your short ass hang out with me." Paul was probably the only boy in school who could say something like that without finding himself face down in the dirt.
"I just seem crazy because you're such a pussy."
"A pussy, eh? Well you know what they say; you are what you eat. Asshole."
Laughing, the two star jocks pulled up in front of the gym, ready to split up. "Oh, hey!" Jerry remembered. "I did find out one cool thing. The old place has electricity."
"No shit. Turns out that since it's actually county property and on the list of Historical Old Rundown Buildings or whatever that list is, the utility company provides the power for free." Jerry's dad was the town's lead electrician and had records on all the government buildings.
Jerry was a pretty fair electrician himself. He might have dreams of Olympic wrestling glory in the back of his mind, but he knew that in the end he'd have to have a day job and he'd been hanging around his dad's shop his whole life. "The wiring is old and there's no meter, so I guess it got hooked up back in the '50s or even earlier and no one knows or cares that it's on the grid."
"So, what are you thinking?" Paul asked jokingly. "Stereo, bar fridge,...?"
"No, the wiring's fucking old, I wouldn't want to push it too hard, but I do think we can get away with a couple of small space heaters set on low so we don't freeze our asses off."
"My friend, sometimes I fear you are too practical and will completely civilize any fear of ghosts right out of the place. On the other hand," he added with a leer, "if the girls don't have to stay hidden under the blankets to keep warm we're going to enjoy a much better show."
The two bumped fists again and headed off to the basketball court and wrestling room; Jerry imagining Gina's long legs wrapped around Paul as his friend pounded her and Paul having a vision of Barb's big tits bouncing underneath her while Jerry took her doggy style. "I love Halloween," two horny 18-year olds thought.
At O'Reilly's something hung in the air. A spark almost described it, but not quite. It was more like static electricity; the potential for a spark, but still needing the finger touched to metal to make it arc. A candle about to flicker out from lack of oxygen suddenly revived by a slight breeze. A rechargeable battery attached to the charger just long enough to keep it from fading completely. The spark, the candle, the battery's name was Molly.
IRELAND - 1846: The great potato famine was wreaking havoc on the Emerald Isle and causing a massive wave of immigration to America. Patrick McCoy had special skills that meant he could probably protect his family from the extreme hardship so many of his countrymen were facing, but still the dream of the new world called out to him.
When his wife told him that their third child was on the way most people expected Patrick to put away the uncertainty of such a drastic move and to concentrate on providing a secure, stable home for his growing family. But Patrick took it the opposite way; as a sign that he Should join the wave of green flowing across the Atlantic. They should go now so that the next McCoy would be born in the United States; would be born an American. And that is how a red-haired girl named Molly, after her grandmother, came to be born in New York early in 1847.
Unlike so many of his brethren Patrick McCoy arrived at Ellis Island with some savings, skills much wanted in his adopted country, and letters of introduction to help him meet the people who would pay for those skills. Patrick was a railroad man. Not just a strong back that could drive a spike, but a sharp mind that could survey the rail bed before the tracks were laid and skilled hands that could keep the mighty steam locomotives running smoothly along those tracks afterward.
America was expanding and she was expanding along her rail lines. Even during the terrible Civil War the tracks kept growing, like spider webs stretching out trying to hold the fractured country together. Then the discovery of gold and silver in the Wild West called out to the iron horses.
When legions of Irish immigrants started pushing the Union Pacific west from the Mississippi Patrick was one of their leaders, having built a strong reputation in the American railroad world during more than a decade of brilliant, hard work. And as they had during all that time his family traveled with him as the tracks crawled across the Great Plains toward the formidable Rocky Mountains.
His sons followed in their father's footsteps and learned everything from judging the soundness of a proposed rail bed to diagnosing problems with engines just from changes in their bellows and belches. His wife managed the camp stores, finding the foodstuffs and supplies needed for an army of laborers, organizing the kitchens and laundries, and basically providing the most civilized conditions possible for this huge enterprise.
Baby Molly had grown up in rail yards and along the new tracks and now as they headed west she was a beautiful young woman serving as her mother's main assistant. In the old country she would probably already have been married for 4 or 5 years and had 2 kids of her own, but here she was as wild and free as this raw nation and had no intentions of settling down yet.
It wasn't that she didn't get offers; men had been proposing marriage ever since she'd been 13 and her body had blossomed into full, round womanhood. And she didn't dislike the attention, in fact, just the opposite. More than like it, she loved it, she craved it, she reveled in it and this was probably the main reason she turned away all suitors who became too serious.
Truth be told, Molly was a slut. A doctor of the day probably would have diagnosed her as a nymphomaniac and tried some drastic cure. But in the rough and tumble world of railroads, of strong, lonely men, there were no Sigmund Freuds trying to label all human behavior as some sort of sexual perversity. There were only men used to sharing everything, so why not share a comely lass who was such a joy after days of back-breaking labor?
Now it was 1870 and just last year the McCoys had stood proudly together at Promontory Point, Utah as the ceremonial spike was driven, joining the Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads; joining East and West. From there they had headed south; building the spurs and feeder lines to Salt Lake City and Denver. It was in Denver that Patrick McCoy finally decided to stop.
The railroad had offered Patrick a job managing all their operations in this growing western hub and his body, tired and worn after so many hard years and miles, told his wandering spirit to take the offer.
His older son kept moving south with the railroad, while his younger son switched from Union Pacific to Central Pacific and headed toward Golden California. Molly tearfully kissed her parents goodbye and headed off with her brother, thinking San Francisco better suited to her free spirit than Denver.
SILVERTON HIGH SCHOOL -- PRESENT DAY: "Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Barbara, happy birthday to you!" The crowd of students in the lunch room broke into cheers and applause as Barbara's cheeks glowed red in joyful embarrassment. Somehow her friends had managed to arrange a surprise birthday cake delivery right in the middle of lunch break.
"Make a wish, baby," said her boyfriend Jerry. Barb gathered her wits and took a deep breath to blow out the 18 small candles. As she leaned over and extinguished the flames every boy and quite a few of the girls in the room admired how her healthy "lungs" inflated and her full lips pursed in a tight 'O'. Some girls were envious, but none were really jealous; Barbara McCoy was known as a genuinely kind girl who was nice to everyone and hadn't let her radiant beauty go to her head.
Her life-long girlfriend Gina hugged her close and whispered in her ear, "I hope it was an adult wish since you're one of us now." One of the things that had first united the four friends was that all of their birthdays were in October, making them the first legal adults among their classmates, with Barb's birthday being the last of the four.
"Very adult," the redhead whispered back with a giggle.
Then Jerry was taking her in his powerful arms and kissing her deeply. Caught up in the moment the girl began to melt as she always did from the heat of his passion. Suddenly she remembered where they were and pushed him away with a light punch on his chest. "Stop that!" she said, swiveling her head around to see who had seen them. Unfortunately it appeared to be every kid in their small school.
Jerry, Gina and Paul all broke out laughing at Barbara's discomfort. It always amused them to see how shy and reserved their sexy friend was in public while knowing just how really hot she was in private. There was nothing fake about it, Barb just really did think it was bad taste for people to have big public make out sessions. She knew it made others uncomfortable and she was naturally respectful and empathetic of other people's feelings.
The rest of lunch hour was taken up by sharing out her birthday cake and acknowledging the well wishes of everyone who stopped by the table. Then the October Gang headed off to the only class they all shared -- Senior Study Hall.
They were supposed to be working on their various Senior Projects or term papers or college searches, but today the only subject on their minds was Halloween.
"I wasn't sure they were going to say yes," Barb was relating to the others. "'Why do you want to see that weird movie again?', my mom asked." The town tradition among Silverton High students was to watch 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' on Halloween at the town's small Bijou theater before heading off to whatever parties were happening.
Mrs. McCoy had never seen Rocky Horror, but she'd heard the tales of freaks in costumes reciting all the lines, throwing things at the screen and other strange behavior. The rumors of drug and drink abuse associated with watching the movie were really what had Barbara's parents most worried. In the end, however, they gave in to their daughter's wishes; acknowledging that she actually was an adult now and most importantly that she'd never done anything to make them fear she didn't have the sense to keep away from bad situations.
Now, if they had seen her last Halloween, holding hands with Gina across a casket in Thompson's funeral home as Paul and Jerry took them from behind they might think differently about letting their daughter go out again. To be fair, however, Barb had only had one glass of champagne that night, so she really was sensible when it came to avoiding stupid decisions based on drugs and booze.
"Is it true what they say about O'Reilly's?" the curvy redhead asked.
"Which part?" responded Jerry.
"Yeah," added Paul. "The ghosts, the possessions, the abuse...?"
"It's all true," insisted Gina, with a glint in her eye. The statuesque blonde leaned forward, resting her elbows on the library table, which squeezed her small, round breasts together in her low-cut sweater. "O'Reilly's Sanitarium: go there because you're crazy or go crazy because you're there?"
O'REILLY's SANITARIUM - 1922: "Patient Jane Rostick has recurrent episodes of psychoneuroses," Dr. Gabriel Franck dictated to his secretary Frances. "These episodes are marked by high levels of anxiety and manifested by uncontrollable desires to masturbate." The doctor noted that the woman's cheeks reddened as she took down his notes. He took it as a sign of the woman's natural embarrassment with the subject and mentally applauded her for her reaction; if only Mrs. Rostick could learn to have the same healthy dislike for the self- destructive behavior of self-pleasuring.
Frances Redmond felt herself flush at Dr. Franck's words and forced herself to concentrate on getting his words down in the Gregg shorthand she had learned working for the Army in the Great War. However, it wasn't her "natural embarrassment" with the patient's "sick" behavior that made her blood rise; it was the memory of watching through the window in the door of Jane Rostick's cell as the voluptuous mother of two played with herself.
Jane was a young mother, pregnant with her second child when her husband Charlie left for England to fly with the British against the Germans. He had learned to fly from Orville Wright himself, and then went on to train other pilots. Knowing those skills were critical to the nascent military aviation efforts he had left his family behind to join the Royal Flying Corps and train new pilots while also flying reconnaissance missions over the trenches of France.
Jane was angry, scared, and hurt that Charlie had abandoned them. That, plus her strong libido caused her to stray after he'd been gone almost two years. The betrayal of that dalliance ate at her; beginning cycles of nervous anxiety from guilt that could only be calmed by the passionate outburst of taking an illicit lover.
When the Americans finally created their own flying units, Charlie, like many other U.S. pilots traded their British and French uniforms for American ones. It was then, in 1918, during the final summer of the War to End All Wars that Charlie's biplane was shot down. The skilled pilot managed to put the damaged craft down in a field and survived the crash landing, but two of the bullets that had disabled his plane had also disabled his manhood.
So even after her husband returned from the war Jane's strong urges went unfulfilled and again she found herself in the arms of other men, continuing her cycles of guilt and passion. It became a vicious loop, feeding on itself and increasing Jane's day to day anxiety.
She eventually found that climax through masturbation provided the necessary release for her nervous energies. This allowed her some control in staying away from other men, but her need to relive herself sometimes reached manic proportion and she would suddenly find herself rubbing her crotch at the dinner table or would have to excuse herself to the privacy of the bathroom while visitors were over.
When she unconsciously began jerking herself off during a Sunday church service her poor husband had no choice but to check her into O'Reilly's Sanitarium in the hope they could cure his disturbed wife.
Jane's addiction to masturbation was becoming more tragic. She was so desperate for the explosive release of pent up anxiety that came with orgasm that she rubbed harder and longer, which made her painfully sensitive and sore while simultaneously increasing her feelings of guilt. So it was becoming harder and harder for her to reach climax, which made her masturbate more, which made it harder to climax...it was a vicious cycle leading toward a complete breakdown.
Unfortunately for Jane the doctors at O'Reilly's Sanitarium prescribed treatments that would probably make things worse rather than better. Fortunately for Jane, O'Reilly's also had one of the world's best sex therapists on staff -- although the doctors didn't know it.
Jane was just what Molly needed. When the sexual energy in the house she inhabited was extremely high Molly could almost be conscious of herself. When it waned she also faded. Of course the asylum always had a pretty high level of sexual energy running through it, but it had been a long time since anyone so focused on sex had been a patient and Jane's arrival had been like the first bright sun of spring prompting the flowers to bloom after a gray winter.
Molly was just what Jane needed. At first the spirit simply absorbed and reflected the passionate energy from the frazzled housewife, but as her continued exposure to Jane stabilized Molly's ephemeral hold on this plane she sensed that her "energy source" was not running as efficiently as it could be. Molly was not a parasite, draining energy from hosts, but more of a symbiote, gathering her host's energy in, then magnifying and reflecting it back.
Molly wasn't consciously diagnosing Jane's problem, she wasn't thinking about it and considering a course of treatment, in fact even calling the spirit 'she' was giving it too much credit for being a ghost in the traditional sense. There certainly was a tangible feeling of femaleness to the entity, but it was really just responding and reacting like a simple organism. But its response equated to a diagnosis and its reaction to a treatment.
"Dr. Molly" realized there was no true pleasure behind her patient's passion; it was lots of smoke with very little real flame. Life energy that should have been fueling real gratification was being wasted in nervous paroxysms of guilt and anxiety. As Jane slept, helped by a large dose of Laudanum from Doctor Franck, Molly comforted her, held her, hugged her, spiritually stroked her hair and sang lullabies softly in her ear.
As the artificial calmness of the opiate wore off Jane's anxiety level began its daily climb, but not so fast and not so high. When her hands reached into her crotch, falling into what had become her daily habit to start the day, something made her stay away from her abused, oversensitive clitoris. Instead she gently stroked the petals of her bruised flower, feeling their softness and pliability. She untied her hospital gown and reached under the blouse section to massage her heavy breasts -- something she never normally did.