Room 224

For a moment, I feel like it's over. Whatever tension I blew up with my cursed gaze is out of her system.

A hand creeps up her body.

That was a naïve thought. It never ends this fast.

I don't think she sees it—just as she doesn't see the green light in her chest expanding again.

It's only when that creeping hand grabs and squeezes her left tit that she notices she's fondling herself.

Then her other hand joins in, playing with her other tit. She massages both in unison.

She gasps as she works her tits. The gasps become little moans, and the moans become words:

"What's wrong with me?"

Her right hand rushes to her pussy. "I can't be this—"

She squeezes it tight. "I can't be this worked up."

She sinks three fingers inside herself. Her legs kick in the air.

"I can't—!"

Her fingers become a blur. Halfway to another obvious orgasm, she grabs a nearby throw pillow with her free hand. She throws her legs on either side of it, presses it hard into her crotch, and rides it like an angry bull. The poor (or lucky?) pillow soaks beneath her grinding.

"No, no, no," the guest growls in a husky voice, followed by a throaty "yes!" as she speeds up her grinding.

Her protests, praises, curses, and little noises rise until they reach a crescendo. She throws her head back and makes an orgasmic cry so loud, I'd be shocked if the other guests didn't hear it.

With that, she collapses backwards onto the bed—a bed which has seen many incidents like this one—and she drops the pillow. She exhales a satisfied intake of breath.

"Alright, okay," she says, in-between tired gasps, "alright, okay, okay. Okay."

She wipes sweat from her forehead. "Okay. Now what? What do I do now? Boardwalk. There's a crab shack. Gonna eat there. Eat there, and then check—"

She doesn't make it to the crab shack tonight.

TUESDAY.

She lies prone on a bare, sweaty mattress, her naked body half buried in the misfit pairing of the comforter and mattress cover. A tangle of ruined blonde hair sticks out from under a throw pillow—one of the few dry ones left. The room smells from end to end of overfed, satisfied pussy, a telltale sign of her party with herself last night.

The clock above the stove reads 8:12 when she stirs awake. "Ugh. What...?"

She notices her nakedness. "Wha, what the fu—"

She sits up and rubs her exhausted eyes. Then she studies the disaster she made of everything.

"Okay."

She tests the carpet with her toes, as if it's interstellar soil. Then she stands up, stretches, and looks around again.

"Okay. Alright."

She breathes the spicy air in. "Alright, sure, okay."

She fumbles with the coffee maker in the kitchen. "Grounds, and, and the water, and it could've been a Keurig machine. Gotta be old school, don't we?"

As the coffee brews, she discovers the bra and panties she'd picked out yesterday, which—

"Never made it onto me," she says.

The coffee finishes brewing. After wobbling her way back over to the pot, she fixes herself a hot mug and sips it, a look of bewilderment, weariness, and guilt on her features.

"Okay." She places the empty mug into the sink. "Okay, shower."

On the way there, she stops at the wall next to the desk. She runs her hand down it.

Her green light expands.

She grinds her crotch against the wall, humping it with animal fury.

"No, no, no."

She breaks away from the wall, leaving a wet spot there.

"No, we're not doing this again. You are on vacation, Rebecca."

Ah.

"You can do this at home all you want, Rebecca: come your brains out. But you are at the beach, and the beach is for what you can't do at home."

Despite her self pep-talk, Rebecca's hand journeys downward again. Summoning whatever willpower she has left, she flees for the bathroom.

I consider watching her again, but whatever passes for my conscience tells me to give her a break. If she wants to get out of here for the day, this weird curse of mine is not going to help her fulfill that need.

She stays in the shower a while. I overhear the hiss of the water as I retreat to a corner. At least I have the memory of her showering yesterday to keep me satisfied.

Just as I wonder if she gave into temptation, the water shuts off. Rebecca runs back into the main area, bare-assed and barely dry. She assembles an outfit, even as she fights not to play with her tits. Then she snatches up her card key and flees the room.

And I am alone again.

Not for long, though, I realize, for I see she left something important. Just as I predict, the electronic lock buzzes less than a minute later. Rebecca locates her phone. Then she's gone again.

Except for the brief period where the housekeeper comes in—and does her work quick, having recognized a presence here for a long time—I remain alone.

#

I always wonder if they will move to another room. It's happened before, where they realized they were not in control of themselves—or, perhaps, that another entity was present.

For the rest of the day, from the moment the housekeeper rushes out, to when the sun wanes down to evening, Rebecca's belongings stay put. No one retrieves them.

At 9:07 PM, the door opens, and the room lights come on.

Rebecca enters. A silhouette behind her materializes into a male stranger, his feet somewhat off balance. He looks to be around Rebecca's age, early twenties, dark hair.

"Nice room," he says.

Rebecca puts her purse and card key down on the desk. The young man walks further into the room, looking around as if he's not sure where he is.

His green light blinks and expands in sync with Rebecca's.

Now he stops, squints, and frowns.

Rebecca's mouth crashes into his. He throws his arms around her, and her him.

They almost don't make it to the bed, dipping to the floor as they passionately kiss. Hard tile, and then the carpet, almost becomes their bed.

He collapses onto the real bed. Sucking in air through gritted teeth, Rebecca springs his pants open with the work of one hand. His hard dick pops out, wobbling once before remaining rigid, and letting loose a single white drop.

Rebecca huffs and shoves the man's cock into her mouth like she's starving. He groans while she switches between bobbing up and down and licking his dick.

She locks eye contact with him, ravenous hunger outlining her features, heat turning her face pink. If lust had a picture next to it in the dictionary, it would be of her right now, eyes in slits, cheeks reddening with a cock halfway in her mouth.

Her new partner throws his head back and groans.

"K-kind of sudden?" he says.

Rebecca takes his cock out of her mouth to say, "Oh, you're not complaining," before wolfing it down again, sucking him faster now. She puts a lot of saliva into her work, making sure it's loud and nasty. And no, he doesn't look like he has any complaints.

"J-just saying, just an ob...obser—"

Then there is nothing else for him to say. Rebecca adds kisses and strokes to her oral pleasuring, moaning while she does it. There is no subtlety at all in how she acts, just passion, not to mention haste.

Just as it seems like she is about to suck him over the edge to completion, she interrupts her blowjob to remove every stitch of her clothing, though 'rip off' might be more accurate. There's no need nor want for erotic suspense here.

Rebecca leaps onto him, almost hurting him with how fast she makes impact. His cock disappears inside her. She rides him with far more dedication than she did last night's pillow, grinding like an orgasm is a vital need.

She comes three times, throwing her head back, letting her blonde hair spill out with each powerful climax Then she rolls over while he's still buried inside of her, her skin flushed dark red.

Now he is the one on top of her. He thrusts halfway in and out of her cunt at a breakneck pace, accenting it with sloshing sounds. Her pussy drenches the comforter beneath them as she lies with her arms stretched above her head, hands clenched together. She pushes her hips up to meet his thrusts.

"Ugh, oh, fuck," he says, in a way that suggests he is close to finishing.

He withdraws, picks her up like she's weightless, spins her around, and drops her. Rebecca positions herself on all fours.

He plunges his face into her sopping pussy, not with the kind of skill I might have used once—careful licks and kisses, matching his rhythm with her breathing, etc. Instead, he humps her pussy with his face. Regardless of his lack of artistry here, Rebecca comes a fourth time, pushing her cunt against him as she floods his face with a storm surge of juices.

Face dripping, he stands, grabs her ass, and pulls her against him; his hard-on penetrates

her to the hilt from behind. Her outcry devolves into moans as he slams her fast and hard.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, do it, yes," Rebecca says.

He swats her ass with an open palm.

"Yes!" Rebecca yells.

He gives her ass another smack, getting another positive yelp out of it. Then he uses her cheeks as handles to hold onto.

He growls, grinding his teeth. His thrusts shorten in speed until he stops, buried inside her.

"Fuck," he gasps, followed by an almost sing-song, "f -- u -- u -- c -- k"!

He breaks away, falling onto the bed. A trail of white leaks out of her pussy, mixed with her own fluids.

"Oh, oh wow," he says, out of breath.

He sits up now. "Um, hey, listen, there's—wait, what'd you say your name was again?"

"Rebecca," she answers.

"Rebecca, yeah. Rebecca, there's something in here."

"What do you mean, um—what did you say your name was again?" she asks, with an ironic smirk.

"Oh. Josh. And there's something else here, something that's not—"

He leaps at Rebecca as she parts her thighs. Rebecca throws her arms around him as his hard cock reenters her, spreading her folds with his shaft. He returns to his previous speed, and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him further into her with her feet.

"Fuck me," she says, her voice husky, almost not hers. "Fuck me, dammit. Yes, do it, fuck me!"

The space around their bed is a green miasma that looks like a dance floor. Josh pounds away, his cock squishing through the mixture of his and her juices. She bucks, growls, curses, tosses her head to and fro, and begs for "More, more, more!"

"I'm telling you, something's weird," Josh says, thrusting.

"I know. I know!" Rebecca says.

"Then why—"

"I don't care, just fuck me!"

Josh continues his work, struggling to hold back a climax by the look of it. Rebecca's tits roll with every impact. She grabs and squeezes them as her breath quickens until she comes again.

Josh speeds up. Rebecca pushes forward, moans getting louder.

"Oh, oh, shit," Josh says.

Rebecca cries out. Josh's face contorts. He opens his mouth but there is only silence as he comes a second time, emptying the rest of his balls in Rebecca.

"Oh, man," Josh says, rolling off her.

"Damn," Rebecca whispers.

He and Rebecca both pass out.

The digital oven clock reads 11:02 when Josh awakens. He looks around and scratches his head. Then he looks over at Rebecca, still asleep.

He works his way out from under her to hoist his boxers and pants back up. He hurries toward the door.

Before he reaches for the handle, however, he turns around.

"I know I'm not alone in here. Just wanted you to know that. But I'm out."

And he is.

Funny, I always thought it was customary to stick around until the morning, at least. All the same, I believe I understand why he rushed.

Meanwhile, Rebecca continues to sleep.

WEDNESDAY.

It's morning before she returns to life again. She sits up, opens her eyes, stretches—and looks in surprise at her nudity.

"Wha? Why am I...? Oh."

With a sigh, she gets out of bed and reaches for last night's shorn clothing.

She touches her pussy.

There's another pause, some hesitation—and then she inserts her fingers.

She slides them in and out for a few seconds. The light makes her fingertips glisten—Josh's parting gift after their encounter.

Rebecca sniffs them. She inhales them. She sticks her cum-covered fingers in her mouth and holds them there while she plays with herself.

"Yes." She sucks her fingers dry. "Mmm, yes. No."

She removes her fingers—from both openings. "No, no, no."

Rebecca finds her phone on the desk. She grabs it and punches in numbers.

An unfamiliar, female voice answers, a voice I can hear as well as Rebecca's.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jessica," Rebecca says.

"Hey, are you alright? You don't sound good," Jessica says.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm in my hotel room at the beach," Rebecca says.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean 'you're not sure?'"

"What I mean is, whatever it is, I don't think it's something I can explain. I might need your expertise."

"Oh. Something not of this world, perhaps?" Jessica suggests.

"That might be it. You free anytime soon?"

"I can make myself free and be there tonight. I'll take a sick day tomorrow. They owe me one, anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"You know I'm not going to avoid a distress call, especially when there might be supernatural stuff. I'll be there tonight. Count on it."

#

After Rebecca hangs up, she showers, dresses, and flees the room.

It's midafternoon when she returns. Part of me expects her to have another man trailing behind her. Instead, she brings in with her a small brown paper bag and places it on the dining table.

"Let's at least take a closer look at you," she says.

She removes the object—a box—from the bag.

Pictured on the box is...well, a dick.

At first, I'm surprised and confused that there's a picture of a dick on the box, and I have to look twice. Because it looks a lot like a real dick. Why would there be a real dick inside of a box?

When I look closer, I realize the texture is slightly off. Ah, it's a dildo then.

Now Rebecca reaches inside the box. And now I can say, with a great deal of confidence, that whoever designed this knew what they were doing. It's got a red ring separating the head from the shaft. The shaft itself is quite veiny, with little bumps and contusions. It has a scaly, wrinkly scrotum for a base, which allows it to stand.

"Should I name you something?" Rebecca says. She almost laughs at that.

She gets up and fixes herself a glass of water. After emptying it in one swallow, she returns to the table.

She stares at the rigid thing. She touches it, running her fingers down the shaft.

Her other hand closes around a clothed breast.

Her phone rings.

"H-hello?" Rebecca stammers when she answers.

"Hey, Rebecca, just wanted you to know I'm on the way," Jessica says.

"Oh, hey, Jessica." She glances at the toy. "Where, um, are you?"

"About an hour from the hotel," Jessica says.

"Oh. An hour?"

"You okay? Is the spirit still bothering you?"

"Bothering? No, everything's fine."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you soon. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too."

Rebecca kills the call. She gives the ding-dong another glance, and then grabs the TV remote.

As we watch the screen together, Rebecca tries not to look in the toy's direction.

#

There's a knock at the door as the sun begins to disappear. Rebecca gets up and answers it. A young woman an inch or so taller than Rebecca, with twin-braided red hair, pretty brown eyes, and skin covered in freckles, appears in the doorway.

They share a brief hug. "I'm glad you made it here," Rebecca says.

"Of course I did. Now tell me again what's going on?"

Rebecca repeats the story she told over the phone this morning—or rather, most of it. She leaves out the part about her one-night stand.

"You're sure you're not just really, really worked up?" Jessica asks, smiling.

"No. This is something different. I've never behaved like this before," Rebecca says.

Jessica steps forward, a little past the kitchen area. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Opening her eyes, she says, "Yeah, there's something here. Something, or somebody, other than us."

"How can you tell?" Rebecca asks.

From where I hover above the TV, I turn my attention to the newcomer. I would like to know this as well.

"Just the air," Jessica says. "It always feels different when there's a ghost around. Thicker, maybe; mostly, it's like you're being watched."

"And also," she adds, turning her head and blushing, "I feel a little, I guess, different too."

Indeed, her green light twinkles.

Sweat appears on Jessica's brow. "Alright, let's hurry up and get started."

She puts a blue duffle bag on the bed. She unzips it, revealing a box. I haven't forgotten how to read. I also recognize the artwork.

"I always felt so creepy about those things," Rebecca says.

"Don't worry," Jessica says, removing the board and planchette from the box, "you're in the hands of a professional."

She places the supplies on the floor. Sitting cross-legged on one side of it, she points to a spot adjacent to her and says, "have a seat."

"I don't know," Rebecca says.

"Do you want me to help you or don't you?" Jessica says. "I'd be happy to catch dinner and a show with you instead or run around drunk on the beach. I thought you wanted to solve this mystery, though,"

Rebecca sighs. Her arms drop to her sides. "Alright."

She sits on the spot Jessica points out.

To avoid igniting something between them, I focus my gaze on the board's center. They haven't started their séance, and I already share Rebecca's sentiment. In fact, I almost feel a tingle, which is out of the ordinary for me.

Beyond that, there's also a shift in the air. I'm not sure if I like it.

Jessica places the planchette on the board. "This is how it works. I'm gonna ask the entity a series of questions, and if it's willing to answer, the planchette will move to spell its responses. But you see here on the board, where it says 'Good Bye?'"

"Yeah?" Rebecca says.

"We move it there if things get a little crazy. Now, put your hand—damn."

"What?" Rebecca says, alarmed.

"I almost forgot," Jessica says, getting up.

She goes to the kitchen and fumbles around on the counter until she finds a saltshaker.

"Let's move out to the middle of the room a little bit more," Jessica says. She picks up the board and moves it. Rebecca gets up and follows.

Jessica sprinkles the salt in a circle, around a larger area of the board. "I'm creating a circle of protection," she says.

When she finishes with that, she sits back down. She closes her eyes and says,

"Oh God, oh Masters and Servants of the Light, provide us with divine protection from the Masters and Servants of the Dark. Amen."

"Amen," Rebecca repeats with a smirk.

"You don't want to try this without blessings and protection," Jessica says. "Now, put your hand on top of this thing, on top of mine."

"Okay," Rebecca says, putting her hand on Jessica's.

"Alright, here we go. Is there a spirit present in this room?"

I am not sure how to proceed. This is the first time anyone has attempted to reach out to me.

I try to think of a way to do this. I land on the idea of reaching out with my mind and seeing what happens. I visualize words.

The planchette begins to move. Whether it's under my own power or just their imagination is still anyone's guess, but regardless, it moves—toward 'Yes.'

Rebecca looks at Jessica in astonishment.

"What is your name, spirit?" Jessica asks.

Now that's a good question. Name? I'm sure I had one once. It would be unlikely that I didn't. But it's been so long since then.

But somewhere, in the murky, shattered, depths, a word forms.

The planchette moves.

F.

R.

A.

N.

K.

#

"Frank? Your name is Frank?" Jessica asks.

Is it? Or is Frank the name of an old friend? An old family member? A teacher? My barber? My murderer?