Haunted

"You made quick work of that mister", I said to him in a sultry voice. "You must be pretty horny for me."

"I don't fuck around," was his retort.

"I don't believe that mister. You need to come finish what you started." I imagined that my cool invitation made the stranger's dick grow hot and hard and he was going to make me compensate him. I pretended that he threw me onto the bed and forced my legs apart and that the motel pillow which I had bunched around my pussy was his loins driving into me. I replayed in my mind the hot and heavy sounds I had heard from the lovers fucking through my wall as I put myself in their place. I was being fucked. I allowed the stranger to fuck me ravenously hard as payment for his service to a stranded damsel. It was my job to grind my tight pussy into his shaft and satisfy him.

The pillow sitting in for a stranger's hips only went so far for me. I had to get more direct to climax. I tossed the wet pillow to the side and reached my fingers between my legs. I was sensitive. I was hot and sticky wet. The most sensitive point between my legs was bathed in thick, slippery juices. I found the proud princess forcing herself between my pussy lips, engorged and begging me to handle her until she would push me over the edge. I circled and dipped my fingers deep inside my tunnel and painted my clit with the fluids oozing out of me. It felt incredible as I drifted back into fantasy.

My fingers were his throbbing prick as I forced three fingers inside of me making a lovely mess of my soaked pubic hair. I stroked my growing clit. I could feel she was hard, she felt warm and glowing. I could feel myself being pushed to the edge of orgasmic pleasure. I was about to contract in an unstoppable volcanic orgasm. I knew it would be hard not to be detected by my own screams, so I buried my face in the fragrant pillow which I had soaked with my juices and tried to muffle my sex noises.

I heard myself in the distance, moaning in ecstasy as I was being thrust through with a hard prick. I was riding a skyrocket. My orgasm was his orgasm and I coaxed him to climax by telling him, "Do it baby! Do it! There! Be a good boy for me -- come on now. Cum inside me baby." I wanted to please him and make him growl like the man I just heard humping the lady in the other room. It was a great fantasy fucking.

He creamed me. I smeared the lotion bottle's contents over my vibrating pussy, pretending it was his white-hot sperm that I had made him shoot all over my pussy and thighs. The idea of sperm being shot onto me was good for one more soft rolling orgasm that night. I was sexually exhausted, resulting in a wonderful night's sleep. I was pleased to have discovered the secret to sleeping well on the road.

I was up early in the morning and back on the road again. I was excited about the journey and eagerly anticipating the college experience - mostly. I also found myself excited, that is to say aroused, by my days behind the wheel of my gold Cougar rumbling over the interstate highways. At the end of the day, after I checked in with mom over the phone (she always asked me to double check the dead bolts on the door to make sure I was safe), I would pull back the motel sheets and settle in for some rest.

This weary traveler needed to release some of the tension that had built up in her loins over the miles of blacktop and constant road vibrations that focus at my crotch. The motels all supplied extra pillows and a small bottle of lotion in my room, which I interpreted as an invitation to rub out any tension in my body. So considerate of the motel's management.

Every night of my journey I would enjoy the company of 'Honey Pillow' as I called him, or I would straddle the edge of my mattress and push myself up and down with the one foot on the floor, always dipping into the free lotion sample to finish myself before pleasantly drifting to sleep. This nightly motel routine of pleasure spawned a silly thought; I should set a goal of orgasming in every state of the union. Thoughts of where would be the best place in each state to masturbate occupied a fair amount of my drive time through America's heartland and contributed to my readiness to spread my legs and go to town with Miss Jellybean once inside my reserved room that night.

When I called from a campus pay phone, mom was relieved (and surprised) that I had no real adventures in my travels, much less being kidnapped and raped. I let her know that Freshman Fall Orientation was on Tuesday, and I would sign up for my classes at the end of orientation. The campus was quaint, beautiful and small, tucked in a wooded vale at the foot of a towering ridge. I loved the place, and I was ready for big world ideas and philosophies and ready to start all of my life's adventures here, far away from home.

The entire freshman class of about eighty assembled in Tara Hall on Tuesday morning to receive our orientation and schedule of events, including the ice breaker social that night. The fact that I had driven myself from California afforded me some notoriety. I was an oddity since I was the only one from California and there were expectations placed upon me. But I wasn't sure just what those expectations actually were; perhaps I was supposed to act like a movie star? A surfer? Or too California-cool for this crowd? It may have been rumored that I ate alfalfa sprouts rather than cornflakes for breakfast. Whatever the source of the vibe, it was tinged with an 'outsider' label.

I shrugged off my intuition that I was not 'in' as merely freshman jitters. Besides, I would be busy three days a week with my work-study program. Through a reciprocal agreement, I would work at the campus library of a larger university in the city 16 miles away from the tiny hamlet that hosted my school.

First semester classes for incoming freshmen were already prescribed, but there was an opportunity to enroll in one elective course. I was inclined to declare as a linguistics major, but when it came time to choose my elective, I was advised to sign up for Professor Donn's class, <I>"Ancient Roots of Modern Mythology and Celebrations."</i> Not that I needed that advice, I had already circled "<I>Ancient Roots</i>" as just the kind of college course that pushed all of my buttons, old world, misty beginnings, legends and mythical beings from the supernatural.

I was thrilled by my <I>Ancient Roots</i> class and the fast-paced interactive teaching method used by Professor Donn with great effect. On the first day of class, Dr. Donn laid out the intellectual journey before us; she said that we would meet gods, demi-gods, heroes and heroines, figures from cultures that are barely known to us and some forays into the supernatural where we will find spirits and the class of demons known as incubi and succubae. These demons were Professor Donn's 'horny little devils', the incubus comes to have demonic sex with women and the succubus to lie with mortal men.

She went on to tell us that we would do more than study these characters from our ancient roots of mythology and celebration, she hoped that we would come to know them all -- with a possible exception for the incubi. After a slight pause, she added, "Then again, I don't really want to know who you invite into your bed chamber, that's your own business."

Dr. Donn's course wove together pre-Christian narratives from the Norse, the Celts, some Jewish and Middle Eastern mythology and a few Native American tales into an always interesting classroom discussion. The semester would finish with the pagan roots of our modern Santa Claus.

A few weeks into the semester, we were coming right up on Halloween. Dr. Donn called upon students at random and asked them to pronounce the word she had written on the chalkboard, "S-a-m-h-a-i-n." Students made attempts at the correct pronunciation, only to receive a nod from the professor as if to indicate, "nice try." The third student to be asked to attempt the word's pronunciation quipped, "I dated Sam Hain in high school. Yeah, I went to the prom with him. I lost my virginity to ol' Sam Hain." The class and Dr. Donn busted up laughing; then when we all settled back into a more academic atmosphere, Dr. Donn called on me.

"SAH-wen" I said, feeling confident that I was at least close, based on information from my wide-ranging reading choices over the years.

I got an approving nod from the professor. "I don't think that was just luck on your part. I believe you might be in tune with some of our Celtic ancestors and Samhain, the Celtic festival that we now know as Halloween, and before that, All Hallows Eve."

Professor Donn began to draw us into the ancient history of Samhain, "Our word Halloween comes from a contraction of the Church's high holy day, All Hallows Eve. All Hallows Eve, October 31^st, is the night before the day designated by the Roman Catholic Church as All Saints Day, which is celebrated on November 1^st. But long before there was a church and long before there were any Christian saints to celebrate, there was a time going back thousands of years (we're not sure how far back) when Celtic people, knew there to be two worlds: our world of life and light and the other world of the dead and dark.

The Celts had only two seasons, summer and winter. As the sun faded and ceased to give warmth and life to the harvest and the daylight dimmed and shortened, it appeared that the sunlight was dying and in danger of being overcome by the darkness as the season of death drew near. These two realms were separated by a veil, but the veil thinned as the world of death drew close to the world of life at the end of the summer season. Samhain means end of summer, it was on Samhain night that the kingdom of living flesh came perilously close to the kingdom of evil spirits and the dead."

Professor Donn dropped her voice from her normal lecture pitch and spoke in a solemn tone, "Samhain is a cautionary time for us, the living. We are to be on our guard because the veil that separates us from the dead reaches its thinnest and can even part! If the veil parts, it will no longer hold back the dead and the evil spirits from the shadowy world, allowing them to roam among us on this night. If you are caught outside on Samhain, you could encounter evil spirits or demons. For on this night, time is suspended and the living can become entangled with the dead as boundaries are blurred and things seem chaotic and turn upside down."

She continued in a low voice, "To be safe on Samhain, precautions have to be taken by the living; one should take on a guise to avoid being recognized and haunted by evil spirits. If you are caught unmasked and recognized by a demon or ghost, you would be haunted all of your life.

"The home also needed protection from being visited by the unwelcome dead. By placing a burning light inside of a hollowed-out turnip; later in history a pumpkin with an illuminated frightening face was used to ward off demonic intruders. This belief in a world of the living and a world of the dead is universal across all cultures, so it was easy for the Roman Catholic Church to co-opt the ancient Celtic Samhain festival and meld it into their Christian belief system. The Church tried to make it a day to honor all the departed Christian souls, All Saints Day. This newly baptized day was used to try and cover up the pagan end-of-summer festival. But as you see, the roots of Samhain are still with us today. After all, don't we all think of ghosts, devils and witches on October 31^st rather than our saintly and dearly departed Nana?"

At the end of her lecture, she walked toward the door and turned off the lights in the classroom. "The darkness is coming; the other world draws nigh and the veil thins!" Dr. Donn whispered in a dramatic tone, "My scholars, be on your guard!" Then she gave us an assignment, "Scholars, you have an essay due next week comparing the belief systems of the Celts and the Christians. I want you to discuss the merits of each set of beliefs. Your essay must argue for the primacy of either All Hallows Eve or Samhain from your personal perspective."

The following week I turned in my assigned essay on All Hallows Eve versus Samhain; in it I had argued for All Hallows Eve. The class that morning was a lively discussion of our opinions moderated by Professor Donn. Almost the entire class had argued for Samhain as the truer form of an end-of-summer season festival that incorporated ghosts of the dead and dark spirits. I argued my minority perspective on the topic making me realize, once again, that I felt isolated and not really included in the greater student body.

After my <I>Ancient Roots class</i>, I had to drive to the city for work. I walked alone toward my car thinking about the All Hallows Eve versus Samhain discussion and my lack of belonging here, I must have been too deep in thought to notice the quick footsteps coming up behind me. I was about to pull the keys from my purse when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I whipped around to see a woman, older than the typical college student, staring into my eyes with a knowing twist to her lips. She paused. I paused, not knowing who she was or what she wanted. She placed an odd package in my hands. She dropped her gaze to my hands, touching me on the wrist. She spoke with an accent, "This is for you. Tell no one. Know that the Far-Seers will be watching." She then turned and briskly walked back through the wooded path toward campus.

Stunned by the unexpected encounter, I fumbled again for my car keys, opened the door, got in behind the wheel, and locked the doors. I took a breath as I examined what had just been placed in my hands. It was a piece of parchment, folded with sharp creases to envelop the contents and sealed with black wax. The parchment had a small bulge at its base along with some weight to it, so I knew there was something inside the folded and sealed message. With caution I broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment that had fallen into my hands. Inside was a key, one of those old-fashioned skeleton keys used to open old doors and unlock hidden things. I set the oxidized key in my lap as I unfurled the parchment to read the message that had been given me.

<I><center>We are privileged to extend to you an invitation to attend this season's Halloween party.</center>

<center>If you choose to honor us with your attendance,</center><center>Please confirm your intentions by using this key to open the east side door of the old church,</center><center>Atop the rise on New Grange Road.</center><center>One-and-a-quarter miles west of the Sylvan crossroad.</center><center>Attendees will find further instruction there.</center>

<center>Scroll 1780</center>

<center>Attendees will adhere to The Solemn Code:</center><center>Tell no one of this request.</center><center>Guising is mandatory.</center><center>Masking of the face is required for the protection of yourself and others.</center>

<center>We wait expectantly for your acceptance and arrival.</center><center>Know that the Far-Seers are watching.</i></center>

My mysterious invitation was hand-written using an elegant calligraphy formed with quill and ink. My spine tingled. This was exciting and a bit creepy all at once. I had been invited to a party, maybe I was not the outsider I thought I was.

Based on the invitation alone, I would have to go -- how could I not?

I also had to get to my job. About halfway into the city I blew through the intersection with Sylvan Road. I had the urge to turn around and travel up the road to find New Grange Road and the church; but I didn't want to be late for work. This mystery would gnaw at me until I clocked out and I had the chance to come back this way by myself tonight.

A nervous excitement welled within me as I worked my shift at the university library. I kept stealing away and hiding in the book stacks to reread my invitation, trying to understand just what was being requested of me. I must have reread the invitation at least twenty times in my five-hour shift. The more often I read it, the more I became confused as to what I should do. I really wanted to go to this party, and it seems like the way to RSVP was to take my key to the old church and find further instructions. I hoped it would all become clear after I took the next step.

Once my shift was finally over, I could feel my heart racing as I headed back toward campus. I would not go direct, I had to detour to find the old church atop the rise. Once there, would I have the courage to use my key and open the darkened church's east door?

I pulled off New Grange Road at the top of the rise where there was an old white church with a wide gravel patch for parking. I could not be sure if this building were still used in Christian worship, it was hard to tell in the late dusk. I let my headlights play upon the building while I lingered behind my locked car doors watching to see if anything happened. I tried to decide if I should leave the safety of my car and place my key in the side door in front of me.

After a few moments, I concluded that this was either an elaborate hoax or an opportunity for exotic adventure. If it was a hoax, then I could laugh it off. But I'd forever be kicking myself if I didn't take the chance to go to a Halloween party preceded by a hand-written parchment invitation with old keys and locks leading to more secret instructions. My heart was made up, I threw open the car door and looked to either side of the building for spooky trouble, seeing none, I thrust the key in the keyhole and turned it.

With an easy click, the bolt retracted from the door frame. My guts remained locked tight. I pulled the doorknob to see what waited inside. It turned out to be a narrow closet with closely spaced shelves which were illuminated by a burning kerosene lamp hanging on the back wall. On each narrow shelf was a single scroll tied with a black ribbon. I wasn't sure what this meant nor what I should do now that I opened the closet with my skeleton key. I stared inside at the bound scrolls illuminated by the amber light of the lantern. I stood for a moment or two trying to calm myself when I realized that there was a unique number on each scroll.

Oh! The invitation said Scroll 1780. I scanned the shelves and plucked the scroll inscribed with 1780 from its place and rushed back to my car. I felt chills creeping across my flesh. I was uncomfortable lingering any longer on the side of this rural road at night. Tucking my new instructions into my purse I headed back to campus.

The first line on my invitation said to tell no one. My dilemma was where could I read a parchment scroll without having roommates or anybody else ask what I was doing? I found a secluded spot under a security light at a gas station that was closed for the night. There in privacy, I opened Scroll 1780. It was a map to a farmhouse with instructions to start from that house on foot, cross the road to a graveyard where I was to use my key to unlock the wrought iron gate and enter, locking the gate behind me.

Upon entering the graveyard, if I was challenged by the question, "Where are you traveling to on this night?"

I was to reply, "I am traveling to save the light."

Emphasis was again placed on The Solemn Code of conduct; tell no one of your travels, one must appear in guise and for the protection of oneself and others, the face shall remain masked while on the premise of Schattental Farm. This secret invitation stoked my imagination.

What was this all about? The mystery was hitting all my fantasy buttons and firing my imagination. Who was behind this? How many received one of these elaborate party invitations? Was this a college event or something larger? I was curious and I was committed to The Solemn Code -- but I still had not figured out the required face masking for the protection of myself and others: protection from what?