Encounter at the Haunted House

Encounter at the Haunted House

Note: There is a long set up to this story but do not worry; there is hot action towards the end.

My employer sent me to an interstate conference in the fair city of Adelaide in late 2016. It began on Wednesday and lasted till Friday lunchtime, and I decided to extend my visit by staying until Sunday afternoon. I let my South Australian friends know of my impending visit and made time in my calendar to catch up with them. Sarah was a particular friend of mine, and we worked together in Perth years ago but were never romantically involved. She was good knockabout fun and a champion drinker.

On one of our monster nights out, Sarah met this guy, Jamie, a Fly-In-Fly-Out (FIFO) worker at the Mount Argyle diamond mine. Maybe a year later, he applied for a job at the Olympic Dam in South Australia, and the two of them upped stakes and moved to Adelaide. She was a loss to our company and our drinking circle, but we kept in touch through the 'magic' of Facebook.

Between the time of their move to South Australia and my conference, I learnt that Sarah and Jamie had moved south to the McLaren Vale wine region and purchased a house with distant sea views in the charming village of Old Willunga. I knew both the area and the town itself well, having visited several times over the years.

To enjoy this laid back lifestyle, Sarah sacrificed her well paying finance job and became something of an entrepreneur and social media 'influencer'. The latter career meant nothing to me then, and it means nothing to me now. Still, she posted prolifically on Facebook and LinkedIn (and other platforms) with glamorous posts about coaching people on the paths to success.

Anyway, Sarah dutifully messaged me, expressing a desire to catch up. Jamie was away at the Olympic Dam and was unfortunately unable to meet.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked Sarah on Messenger.

"I can come to Adelaide on Friday," She replied, "I've wanted to catch up with a client in town for a while now. We can meet up after your conference ends?"

"Sounds good," I typed, "Where?"

"The Austral at say 3 PM?"

Ah, The Austral, a pub I knew well. My friend Ryan and I had many memorable nights out there when I came to Adelaide.

"Brilliant," I wrote, providing Sarah with my phone number.

I made arrangements with other friends, but my weekend was free. I planned to hire a car and visit the Adelaide Hills and the Barossa Valley, purchasing quality wines to enjoy at my mountain home in the summer months.

The conference itself was the epitome of boring, but by attending, I chalked up a full year of continuing education credits, which was necessary for my professional accreditation. I use the word attending loosely, for I simply registered in the morning after enjoying a hearty hotel breakfast before sneaking off to watch the free porn in my room, visiting the nearby pubs, and catching up with friends.

When Friday limped over the line, I made my way to The Austral and waited for Sarah to arrive. I was already several drinks in when her gorgeous self walked across the threshold. I noticed she sported a new haircut, which was cropped savagely short, swept to one side with coloured streaks. Sarah had long natural blonde hair as recent as her latest infomercial, so this new style must have been within the last few days.

I raised my half-empty glass to attract her attention, and when Sarah saw me, she shot me a radiant smile.

"So good to see you!" She beamed as we hugged tightly, "You haven't changed a bit."

"You have a new hairstyle?"

Sarah laughed freely before confirming the change was made earlier in the week.

"Do you like it?"

I did not, but I fibbed and said that it was great. Flattery can be a more helpful tool than honesty on rare occasions.

"How many years has it been since we were in a pub together?" She asked.

"Maybe ten years," I answered, "Those pubs in Perth have never financially recovered from your departure."

"The ones here have benefitted, though," laughed Sarah.

"I bet they have," I chuckled, "Have you slowed down at all?"

"Nope," She boasted, "I'm as hardcore as ever."

With the pleasantries out of the way, we got down to the serious business of drinking. In South Australia, there is this odd custom whereby a pint of beer is delivered to you in a glass that is three-quarters the size of an imperial pint glass. If you want your beer in a real pint glass, one must ask the publican for an 'imperial pint' of beer.

"Have you gotten used to this South Australia Pint nonsense?" I asked, casting a disgusted glance at my puny glass.

"Well, it's the norm here," Answered Sarah, taking an enormous gulp of beer, "When in Rome, and all that."

"Not like our Perth days," I reminded her, "When we sank hundreds of real pints each night."

"Those days were epic," Smiled Sarah, "We drank for Queen and country over there in the wild west."

"Fucking oath, we did," I said, "Looking back, I should have suffered chronic liver failure."

"But we always turned up for work the next day," Sarah reminded me.

"Our lot had the best attendance record."

"That's probably why the bosses indulged us the way they did," laughed Sarah.

She was not wrong. We worked hard and produced great results that the bosses regularly chucked their corporate credit cards behind the bar and gave us carte blanche at many Perth venues. Wines that cost hundreds of dollars and that were quality tipples were chugged with reckless abandon.

The bosses never accompanied us to the nightclubs afterwards, where we went into full self-destruct mode. Our team had many women that held their liquor, none more so than Sarah, the unofficial leader of the women's side of the team's drinking competition.

Oftentimes, the women would comment the following day how great the previous night was, how they 'went for it, and how they were 'going to go for it again' the next time. There was such camaraderie in the team that nights out were a joy. There was no interpersonal conflict and no dipping the quill in the company inkwell, just fun and hazardous drinking.

"God, I miss those days," I said, telling Sarah how life today is not nearly as enjoyable.

"You're not alone," Replied Sarah, looking somewhat crestfallen.

"You okay?" I asked, a little concerned.

"Yep," Sarah perked up immediately, "Let's hit this shit town hard!"

Until the point where our livers packed in, we hammered the bars and pubs of Adelaide. It was like old times but without our former comrades-in-arms. Sarah took me to several venues that I had not previously visited and sampled various locally crafted drinks from across the spectrum.

We chatted about old colleagues and reminisced about some scrapes we got ourselves into, and while that was fun, there seemed to be something on Sarah's mind. I took numerous opportunities to contrast the Sarah from then and the Sarah before me.

Hairstyle aside, she was essentially the same person, physically. Sarah was a well-constructed blonde, maybe 170 cm high, well-rounded C-cup breasts, a shapely butt, slender legs and arms. She dressed professionally in a suit of navy blue that accentuated her curves perfectly. I noticed many guys appreciatively note her presence whenever we walked into a venue.

"How's Jamie?" I asked in one random pub.

"Yeah, he's good," Sarah said, "He's now supervising engineer."

"That's great," I replied, "What's his shift like?"

"Six weeks on and one week off."

"That's brutal."

"Yeah, but the scratch is amazing," Sarah said, referring to his salary.

"And your business?"

"Yeah, it's getting there," Sarah noted, "Living where we do limits opportunity, but my media platforms keep me in touch with existing and provides new clients ."

"But great views, right?"

"You bet," Sarah acknowledged, " I've never been fitter, but..."

"But?"

"Never lonelier."

"Oh, why?"

"Many reasons," Sarah replied, sadly, "I hardly see my boyfriend, and I miss the friends I have here in Adelaide."

At this point, Sarah began weeping, explaining how isolated she felt and how much of a struggle it was to find meaning in her life.

"I should never have moved here!" She blustered, wiping her eyes, "In Perth, I had a great job, working with great people, and I had a social life."

"And now?" I asked nervously.

"I'm struggling with all three."

"How long have you been feeling like this?" I asked, suspected Sarah may be suffering from depression, an experience all too familiar to me.

"That last couple of years," Sarah sobbed, "Since we moved out of the city."

"Surely, you've discussed this with Jamie?"

"He keeps on telling me to 'lighten up' and that 'things will get better'."

When living in WA, I had two sexual partners that were previously involved with FIFO men. One of them enjoyed spending the fantastical money on the consumer trappings that lifestyle provides and slept around voraciously. At the same time, the other discovered her husband was sleeping with a female FIFO worker. Neither was happy on the inside, and it was a brave person that chose to involve themselves in the FIFO world.

"Anyway," Sarah sniffed, "Tonight is not about my problems; rather, it is to celebrate our friendship."

"Here, here," I beamed, raising my glass and thankful that she kept the lid on her little tantrum.

Later in the evening, as the sun was setting, I asked Sarah how she got to Adelaide and was told that she came by public transport. She reminded me to keep an eye on the clock so that she did not miss her ride home. I agreed but then promptly forgot as the antics of the night ramped up.

At one pub, the band played the Def Leppard song, "Pour some sugar on me", and Sarah lept from the table and onto the dancefloor. Her performance was terrific, erotic and, thankfully, restrained. Following her confession, Sarah seemed to be reborn because there was a trusted friend to talk with.

By now, I was seriously feeling the effects of our reckless alcohol consumption. I lost count of the number of bars visited or the amount of money hastily exiting my bank account. Sarah was a trooper; I could not detect any effect on her as we powered our way through the city's entertainment precincts.

"I think I'm going to fold soon," I announced.

"No, you can't," Saram remonstrated.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling the strain, "I'm getting full."

"Because I have not kissed you yet."

"Why would a woman in a relationship want to kiss me?"

At this question, Sarah's eyes glazed over, and she became particularly alluring. This behaviour change seemed strange to me because, for years, we enjoyed a platonic relationship. Sure, when she was single back in Perth, I would have jumped at the chance to share a bed. Sarah was known to be a goer and not shy about her needs.

"Because the man in front of me likes me," Slurred Sarah.

"You'll regret it in the morning," I answered, unconvincingly because I was open to the proposition.

"Don't tell me what I will or will not regret," She scolded me, "Besides, I've wanted you for years."

Standing at the dimly lit, crowded bar where competing customers constantly jostled us, Sarah leaned in and gently pressed her lips against mine. I did not protest, nor did my cock, which quickly hardened despite the ruinous presence of alcohol in my gut.

"Mm, that was nice," Sighed Sarah, "Just like I've fantasised."

"Should have made your fantasy known at the time."

"I only realised that what I felt for you after I left Perth," Sarah confessed.

Just how much of this conversation would be remembered the next day was anybody's guess. I was sceptical about Sarah's sincerity given her confession of loneliness. To me, Sarah was a good friend, and I did not want to lose that over a one night stand that was likely to be regretted by one of us the next day.

Also, I knew little about Sarah's boyfriend, Jamie. On the handful of encounters that he joined our drinking challenges, he appeared aloof and disinterested. I had no chemistry with him and loathed his presence which seems to suck the life out of any room he walked into. While not jealous of Sarah's relationship, we had better parties when he was not present.

"And what did you feel?"

Sarah thought for several seconds before replying that she felt loss when she moved away. She went on to add that what she thought was deep friendship was love, which was rammed home by the isolation felt when Jamie was away.

"That was then," I said, awkwardly, "Here we are now, living in different states."

"I'm not expecting a lifetime commitment," She answered, "Just a weekend of fun."

Morality aside, and being profoundly impaired, I saw no barrier to fulfilling Sarah's desire, simply because it would be a one-off encounter without any repercussions.

"Besides," Sarah continued, placing her hand on mine, "I missed my ride home, so you're going to entertain me at your Hyatt hotel room."

"I see," The smile on my face was undeniable, "You are a planning expert.'

Sarah leaned in for another kiss, "That's why I was an invaluable member of the team."

We made our way back to the hotel, swaying dangerously. Once inside my room, Sarah announced she was going to be sick. I dragged her to the toilet, and she immediately dropped to her knees and spewed repeatedly. The stench was terrible.

"Have you eaten?" I asked, noting the lack of chunks.

"I had lunch," Sarah offered, pathetically, "I need to sleep."

As fucked up as I was from the brutal drinking session, I managed to get Sarah to the queen-sized bed. I stripped back the sheets, and Sarah collapsed onto the mattress. I walked out of the room to allow her to disrobe before I shared the bed.

I switched on the TV and grabbed an unnecessary beer from the bar fridge. Shortly, I heard snoring coming from the bedroom. Sarah was out for the count. Being done in myself, I struggled to finish my beer but forced it down regardless before returning to the bedroom. Sarah was fully clothed and deeply asleep.

Usually, I sleep naked, so there was a minor dilemma. In the end, I decided that I should not alter my sleeping habits, so I stripped naked, got into bed and pulled the blankets over me. I passed out in seconds, oblivious to Sarah's snoring.

At some point during the night, I recalled a vague recollection that Sarah rose from the bed, visited the toilet and partially disrobed. Lying on my side, I saw nothing. Later in the evening, Sarah actively spooned me, laying an arm across my stomach and babbling something incomprehensible in my ear.

****

Daylight peered through the curtain and stung my brain. Through the fog of alcoholic poisoning, I could no longer sleep. Exiting the bed to take a much needed post-night-out piss, I felt groggy but was unable to regain sleep, so I left Sarah to it. I turned on the kettle and almost drank the entire stock of tea and coffee condiments.

"What...what happened last night?" Asked a disorientated Sarah, emerging from the bedroom with a sheet wrapped around her body around 7 AM.

"Uh, you missed your ride home!" I answered calmly.

"We didn't...did we?"

"You'd know if we had," I answered, a little annoyed with her questions and struggling to regain my sanity after that nightmare evening of drinking.

"Any coffee?"

"On the side table," I answered.

"Oh, thank you!" Sarah said after slumping on the couch next to me.

I smiled and noted the absolute exhaustion in her eyes.

"So, you slept as well as I did?" I asked.

"To be fair, I haven't hit the town that hard in years."

"Like the old days," I said, smiling, "But we've become older and less tolerant."

"That hit me like a ten-tonne heavy thing," Struggled Sarah, taking a sip of coffee, still wrapped in the blanket.

"You kept it together," I said, still feeling the effects of the night before.

"Did I embarrass myself?" Asked a pained Sarah.

"Not that I remember," I lied.

We took consecutive showers, and after mine, I began to feel human again. The amount of water I consumed was phenomenal but helped me to recover.

"Shall we go for breakfast?" I asked when my stomach growled a little after 8 AM.

"Sure."

Following a greasy breakfast of bacon, eggs, mushroom, beans and hashbrowns, I felt fully human again and able to drive, remembering that I planned on hiring a car.

"What's on for the weekend?" Asked Sarah after draining her third espresso.

After explaining my plan, Sarah suggested an excursion to the McLaren Vale region. I was not altogether unconvinced since that wine area is my favourite.

We grabbed a taxi to the airport, whereby I collected my hire car. Twenty minutes later, we exited Adelaide and cruised south; Sarah directed me to a transport hub carpark when she left her car yesterday. I was given her address in Old Willunga, and we made our respective way there.

The house she owned with Jamie was indeed impressive. Brand new, architectural designed and with remarkable views of the valley, I complimented Sarah on her good fortune.

"Shall we visit some wineries?" She asked.

"Sounds good to me."

During that afternoon, we visited local wineries, and I placed several orders for my mountain home in New South Wales. Sarah slowly and painfully came out of her funk and gradually resumed her usual self.

"I don't want to risk a drink driving charge," Said Sarah as we arrived back at her home, "Let's get a taxi to the village."

I paid for the fair, and we had dinner at the local pub. The weather was fantastic, and we decided to walk back to Sarah house on the hill.

****

The evening was balmy, the clear sky dotted with wispy clouds zipping through the air wafted by the light breeze with a waxing moon providing the light source. It was the moon's luminescence that guided us along a lonely dark road back to Sarah's house.

"What's this place?" I asked as we strolled by an overgrown property, very derelict and situated on a large block without adjoining properties on all four sides.

"Oh, that's the haunted house."

I snorted in derision.

"That's the local rumour," She said, "It's been abandoned since the 1930s."

The house appeared structurally sound, but the windows were busted, and there were scorch marked bricks around them. Oddly, there was no graffiti, probably because of the intense overgrowth of plants, trees and weeds.

"It's a big place," I noted.

"No one wants to purchase it."

"Haunted?" I asked, "In what way?"

"The legend changes depending upon who you talk to, but essentially a fire broke out killing the entire family, and the ghost of the matriarch resides there, trapped in perpetual grief."

"Really?" I asked, sceptical.

"Well, It's what the locals say," Laughed Sarah, reacting to my expression.

The pile reminded me of the Tale of the Borley Rectory. There were similarities in the gothic construction design, and it was clear that fire had broken out on the ground level facing the street. There was an eerie atmosphere to the property that was both offputting and curious.

"Let's go in," I suggested.

"No way," Replied Sarah, horrified at my request, "It's haunted, and we would be trespassing."

"Given how isolated this place is, no-one will know we've visited," I rationalised as I walked towards the rusted steel gates.

"You're fucking mad."

"Come on, live a little," I teased as the original rusty padlock crumbled when I grabbed it.

I pushed on one of the gates, but it refused to swing open; then, suddenly, the hinges of the granite post gave way, and with an awful groan, the gate collapsed inward.

The noise was horrendous, but the tangle of vines, weeds and branches were so thick that they broke the gate's fall on the cobbled driveway.

Sarah's heart almost leapt from her mouth, and her pulse raced hard.