It was a Dark and Stormy Redux

"Lunchables," I told them and got blank looks. "A simple way of making snacks," I tried to clarify and got indulgent smiles in return. "Sandwiches?" I pursued. "From your Earl of Sandwich?" Still no recognition.

"Must have been after your time," I decided. "Didn't Uncle Sol ever mention sandwiches?"

"Oh, yes!" Lizzie brightened up.

"As 'e described them, 'owever," Jacquie explained, "it would require two men... and we are but two women. Alzough, I zuppose we could manifest..."

I was confused for a moment, until the stupid part of me decided to get out of the way.

"Oh... um... that's a different kind of sandwich," I told them. "In food, it's some kind of meat between a couple pieces of bread. It's gotten a lot fancier over the years. But, never mind. This is great, and I will be able to do even better, once I can get to town and a grocery store. I'll have to take a closer look at Uncle Sol's bunker... see what he's got for refrigeration and the like."

"When did you zink you would be going to town, M'sieur?" Jacquie asked as I continued to eat.

"Mndy," I answered with my mouth full. Realizing my lack of etiquette, I washed it down with a slug of wine and tried again. "Monday," I told her. "Tomorrow. I have a ten o'clock meeting with the lawyers about this property. And yes, Countess, I have decided to keep it. I don't know what all that's going to entail, but believe me, I won't be trying to be rid of you."

"That is wonderful!" Lizzie exclaimed. "You will have plenty of time to fuck us senseless! Would you require any additional sustenance, Master Edwards, before we start? Again?"

"Um, no... just a little more recuperation time," I answered, wondering what keeping both of them sated was going to mean. "And if you could, it's 'Mike'... not 'Master Edwards' or 'Monsieur'. I would prefer it if you would just call me Mike."

"Old 'abits die hard, M'sieur Mike," the Countess smiled. "But we can try."

"Master... um... Mike," Lizzie drawled coyly. "Do you perchance enjoy navigating the windward passage?"

"Um... what?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"To play backgammon?" the Countess asked.

"Oh, yeah! I like the game," I told her. "I'm not as good at it as some of my buddies at work, though."

Both women began giggling. I wasn't sure why, and I'm sure my confusion showed.

"Not zat kind of backgammon, M'sieur Mike," Jacquie tried to explain. "Stosunek analny?" she asked. "Rapports sexuels anaux?" I shook my head and shrugged. "Anal intercourse, to be vulgar," she clarified.

"Oh." I'm not sure I blushed, but my face certainly felt like it was heating up.

"I've, uh... never tried it," I added. "I mean, not counting getting it up the tuchus back there a while. But not for lack of interest, mind you... just, no girlfriend with interest. I'm not sure I'd know what I was doing."

Again, both women chuckled.

"You may rest assured, M'sieur Mike," the Countess smiled, "that we will be more zan willing to give you any necessary instruction. Alzough, I don't believe you will need much, as talented as you are."

* * * * *

Fucking a ghost senseless is not an easy task. In fact, it can be borderline lethal. To the fucker, not the fuckee. In this case, they damn near killed me.

It was after dark before they let up. They had this amazing ability to revitalize me after each time I passed out. And there were many. I think we experimented with every combination of person and orifices possible. I got an incredible education and they got sated. Almost. Apparently, a ghost's capacities are nearly limitless.

They let me sleep awhile after the last round, which was fucking and cumming in the mouth, pussy and ass of each of them. I have never had that much sex in my life, and their ability to overcome any recovery my body needed completely blew me away. When I did wake up, I was starving.

They hit me with more of their go-juice magic and got me functional enough that I could raid the bunker again, taking notes this time, and put together both a shopping list and a decent dinner. It was at dinner that they informed me that they were coming with me in the morning.

"Um... not to put too fine a point on it," I observed, "but a couple of gorgeous naked white chicks are going to get noticed. And I doubt I can pass you off as co-workers."

Time for you to learn some more, M'sieur Mike, I heard in my head as I watched the Countess fade out. I mean, literally disappear. Fade out to transparent nothing.

Although we are still corporeal until midnight Monday night, she added, we can be invisible. You might have to hold a door open longer, but we can accompany you with no one being the wiser. And we can talk to you without them knowing. We will not be a liability.

It struck me as odd that Jacquie's accent disappeared when she was using telepathy. I was presuming that was what she was doing and not somehow possessing me. I was also presuming I would notice being possessed.

"I don't do well around lawyers," I told her. "And having you there might make me really nervous. I'd really hate to blow it, whatever it is that they want me to do."

Your Uncle Solomon inherited, as you will, a fairly large trust fund dedicated to maintaining the property, and it also provides for the living expenses of the property manager and family, if any, the Countess explained. They will want you to read the provisions of the trust, sign several documents pertaining to the transfer of the trust to you and designating you as the property manager. If it is like previous times, someone there will try to buy the property from you -- 'take it off your hands' is the mostly likely approach. We will be there to remind you not to agree.

The county will also try to overestimate the worth of the property, for tax purposes, I heard Lizzie's voice in my head. At least, that is what they have tried to do in the past. Master Grundy's lawyer did well to protect him. You will want some scrupulous person to make an honest assessment of its current condition. That will be difficult, if the assessor thinks there will be a commission involved.

"Okay, ladies, I got it," I told them. "You're coming along. But please... after dinner, can I get a decent night's sleep? I'd really like to be fully functional in the morning."

"By all means," Jacquie answered me aloud. "A bit of rantum-scantum to fall asleep by should do you well. We will make sure you are sufficiently rested."

It was becoming obvious that these two ladies were taking over my life. And weirdly enough, I wasn't objecting all that much.

* * * * *

In the morning, my phone's alarm went off as set. That is to say, even with zero bars and no 4G, it made its very annoying bleeping at 7am. I had actually been smart to put on a shirt to sleep in and have the phone tucked into the pocket. I woke to find myself entirely encased in white. And off the ground. I would have panicked, but the Countess had already done this to me before and now it just felt comfortable.

Not cold, not hot, not suffocating... just gently floating, like in the inside of a cloud. A cloud with the characteristics of a waterbed. In any case, as soon as I moved to turn off the alarm, I felt myself starting to descend, until I was gently deposited on top of the pile of bedding I'd put in front of the fireplace the first night and the white cloud began to coalesce. Into two corporeal yet nebulous post-mortem apparitions -- the Countess and Lizzie, both with huge smiles. Lizzie was the first to move away.

"I will prepare breakfast for you while you use the privy, Master M... um, I mean, Mike," she told me. "Your clothes should be dry by now."

I sat up, looked around to see everything but my shirt hanging by the fireplace, and realized she was right... I really needed to piss. The Countess simply watched with amusement as my bouncing morning wood led me to the "indoor plumbing"... obviously one of the more modern upgrades to the place. There was even toilet paper still on the hanger. Small blessings... but I would take them. When I got back, true to her word, Lizzie had breakfast ready.

She'd obviously gotten into a breakfast MRE -- hash-browns with bacon, peppers and onion; Zapplesauce; a brown sugar toaster pastry; crackers; peanut butter; fruit punch mix and cocoa. It definitely beat the dehydrated soup I would have been eating. The two of them split another one -- pork sausage, I think -- and all in all, it was a great start to the day. Breakfast was cleaned up via the fireplace and I got dressed. I had a couple of changes in the car, but I hadn't thought about a suit. In the end, I just didn't see it as necessary.

In addition to clothes, my backpack also had a folder with the correspondence I'd gotten from the lawyers. The Countess suggested I toss the pack in the middle of the back seat. I figured out why when, after said tossing, she and Lizzie got in the back on either side and faded to invisible. I'd have to open the back door to get the pack and they two of them could slide out. I wondered for a moment why they didn't just go ethereal and float out, but I decided it must have something to do with Quantum Ghost Mechanics or something.

I had previously put the lawyer's address in my GPS and as I approached the town, I started getting details on my destination. It wasn't hard to find, nor to find a parking spot, so we were standing outside the door about fifteen minutes early.

"Are you ladies ready?" I murmured as I reached for the knob.

We, and you, will be fine, the Countess' voice told me. But please... do not shut the door in our faces...

That got a smile from me as I opened the door and stepped in, looking around and incidentally holding the door open longer than usual.

The reception area looked typical, with a dark-haired woman seated at a good-sized desk and with chairs around the outside edges of the room, with a couple of coffee tables and magazines scattered on them. What wasn't typical was the very attractive redhead in the skirt, blazer and almost-a-blouse. She was sitting in one of the chairs, obviously a client, and in stark contrast to Miss Prim-and-Proper at the reception desk. I tucked my eyeballs back in and went up to the desk.

"Hi," I greeted the receptionist. "I'm Michael Edwards, here to see a Mr. McFarland about some inheritance paperwork? It's supposed to be a ten o'clock meeting."

Ms. Snarky -- honest to God, that's what her nameplate said -- glanced up at me, consulted her desktop and motioned towards the chairs. "Have a seat, Mr. Edwards," she told me. "Mr. McFarland will be with you shortly." I did what I was told.

I was trying to figure out how to sit close to the redhead when she stood up, walked up to me, put out her hand and said, "Mr. Edwards? I am Bethany Franklin. I am an agent with Bulwer & Lytton, local realtors. I am here at Mr. McFarland's request to help out with any issues regarding your uncle's farm."

I took her hand while trying not to melt. Or burst my zipper. The Stacked Redhead had Green Eyes and Perfect Lips. I really had to concentrate on what she was saying. Then a cool breeze brushed her hair -- which was halfway down her back -- and mussed it.

Oh, shit, I thought. Please, ladies, if you can hear me, this is absolutely the wrong time to get jealous. Please...

Bethany Franklin ran her hand over her ear, straightening her hair, and Stacked Redhead had Perfect Hands, too, and Perfect Fingers. I was in so much trouble.

"Um... hello," I managed to get out. "I'm Mike... uh, Mike Edwards... oh, but you know that, because you called me Mr. Edwards... um, glad to meet you?" Sorry, but I'm nowhere near suave and sophisticated in the presence of galaxy-class knockouts. She smiled, and certain parts got harder.

"Nervous about your inheritance?" she asked. She must have read my fumbling around wrong. I guess she didn't realize she was turning me into a blathering idiot.

"Uh, yeah, I guess..." I went along with it. "I've never inherited a farm before."

"I haven't seen it," she admitted. "I've only read the property descriptions, tax appraisals and so forth, when Mr. Lytton gave me your account. But I understand it is a very nice piece of property. I'd love to visit it sometime, if it's okay with you."

Do not let that hussy anywhere near our land, the Countess warned me in my head. She is one of those realtors we warned you about... only interested in turning a quick profit...

"Hussy?" I questioned Jacquie. Actually, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Excuse me?" Ms. Franklin asked, surprised.

"Oh! Um, we'll see," I hurried to try to cover up. "I mean, we'll see about inviting you out to visit. I just got there Friday night and I'm still trying to get oriented. Uncle Sol never really shared much about what he had or what he was doing with them... I mean, it. Doing with it."

Ms. Franklin nodded and smiled, and damn! She had Perfect Teeth, too!

"Mr. Edwards. Ms. Franklin. Mr. McFarland will see you now," Snarky interrupted us.

Bethany Franklin turned towards the desk, but I caught her giving my tenting a second or third look. More than a glance. I probably would have been embarrassed at getting caught chubbing up, but I didn't have time. I turned towards the desk, also, just in time to see a door beyond it open and a man step into the doorway. I would characterize him as "gentlemanly looking," probably in his fifties from the slight bit of grey showing.

"Charles!" Bethany smiled as she stepped forward to take his offered hand. "You're looking great!"

"As are you, Bethany," he nodded, then turned towards me. "Mr. Edwards?" he asked, holding out his hand once Bethany relinquished it. I stepped forward and took it.

"Yes, sir," I told him. "Here as requested to find out what the hey is going on..." That got a smile.

"You are quite a lucky man, Mr. Edwards," he told me. "Come on back to my office and we'll go over just how lucky. I have some papers for you to sign, as well." He let go of my hand and turned to head farther into the office. I paused and motioned Bethany to go ahead of me and with another heart-melting and cock-hardening smile, she stepped in front of me. God, what an ass!...

I was smart enough to pause long enough to give Jacquie and Lizzie time to clear the door, then followed along. I followed Ms. Franklin's delectable posterior as it, and the full skirt covering it, swayed down the long corridor back to Mr. McFarland's office. I started to feel like I was following the hypnotist's watch when I got a rude awakening in the form of a slap up the back of my head. From the inside.

Pay attention to business, M'sieur Mike, I heard the Countess in my head.

"Remember that thing about possession?" I mumbled as the lawyer held the door for first Bethany, and then me -- after a bit of a pause while I shook my head to clear it and let Jacquie and Lizzie slide through first. I'm sure Mr. McFarland was finding my distraction amusing, based on his condescending smile.

Jacquie and Lizzie shut up and left me alone to ogle Ms. Franklin's bountiful assets while Charles McFarland, Esq., went over the same information the Countess had given me before, only in more detail. Little things, like my Uncle Sol actually being my Great-Uncle Sol -- my mother's father's brother -- and big things like the size of the trust and the conditions on it. Suffice it to say that it was well into eight figures and needing to work for a living had just gone right out the window. As long as I lived there, that is. The trust would cover the taxes and other legal requirements, but I only got the "living allowance" if I lived on the property as caretaker. Since I'd never heard of a six-figure "living allowance" before, I suddenly decided the place could definitely use some fixing up and I was just the guy to oversee it.

When I mentioned that to McFarland, Ms. Franklin jumped in to offer to introduce me to the various movers and shakers in the construction and farming communities, and so forth. My Inner Cynic had decided hers was an eight-figure kind of friendly, but I wasn't going to turn her down. Plus, it would give me a reason to spend time around her without giving Jacquie and Lizzie a reason to go ballistic. I had no idea what an angry ghost would be like, but I sure as hell didn't want to find out!

Mr. McFarland had a bunch of papers for me to sign, and I think he found it amusing that I took the time to actually read what I was signing. I guess most folk would jump on a chance at that kind of money without seeing what it was going to cost them, but I'd put enough years into Info Tech that I wasn't about to rush into anything. Of course, that didn't apply to redheaded perfection. If I got a chance to hit that...

Almost all of it was county, State and Federal transfer of ownership stuff. A couple of codicils caught my attention, though. The first was that I wouldn't convert it to anything other than farming or fallow. No B&B's, no subdivisions, no nothing unless it was an improvement to the primary residence and outbuildings for the express purposes of farming. That did appear to permit ranching as well. The second was that I would preserve, as much as possible, the original homestead and buildings. Improvements to the interiors were permitted. Altering the exteriors except for necessary maintenance was not. The third was that the property must never be sold. It must be passed down to a blood relative. If I was childless, I would designate an heir who was somehow related. That, in fact, is how it had gotten passed from Uncle Sol to me.

Nothing said I couldn't put in Wi-Fi and use it to work from home, should I choose to keep working. I made sure of that with the lawyer. There was also nothing to prohibit me from traveling. Continuous occupancy was not required. So if I had to travel for my consulting job, I could, as long as it was my primary residence. I made sure of that with the lawyer, also. So as far as I could tell, I was set. I could fix the place up, live there comfortably for the rest of my life and get fucked out of my mind twice a year. I didn't comment to McFarland on that last part. He did, however, make a rather cryptic comment just before we left.

"Mr. Edwards," he told me as we rose and got ready to leave, "you should know that there are some folk around here who are rather... suspicious... of anyone connected with that farm. There have been persistent... rumors... about it being haunted. They say, back to the seventeen hundreds. So if you get weird looks from townsfolk from time to time, I wouldn't pay them any mind. It will simply be country superstitions. I am sure you will be quite... comfortable... in your new lifestyle."

"I am sure I will, sir," I told him. "And I appreciate your help in negotiating all these hoops. Are you on any kind of retainer to the Trust? If not, I'd like to offer it to you. I like the idea of someone familiar with the situation keeping an eye on it."

"With the transfer of ownership, Mr. Edwards, my previous relationship with the Trust and its administration ends. I would, though, be happy to continue as your attorney, if that is what you wish."

"It is what I wish," I told him. "Draw up whatever papers I need to sign to make it official and let me know. I don't think there's a working phone at the place, and there isn't any cell service, but I remember seeing a mailbox, so you can just send them to me. Or I'll check back with you. Whatever you'd like."

"Oh, I'd be happy to run them out to you," Ms. Franklin jumped in. "It will give me an excuse to visit."

"That could probably work out well," I told her. "Let's do it that way."