Spiritual Crisis

"Oh yes," I hissed. "Thank you." The hand moved lightly, and the fingers tentatively caressed my manhood, but I was surprised when the hand stopped stroking me. I felt her weight on the bed and she gripped the base of my cock. I was suddenly aware of her legs draped over either side of my thighs.

It can't be, I thought. Is it possible? My heart thundered in my chest. I couldn't catch my breath.

"Oh God," I moaned, as I felt her lowering her pussy onto my cock. My head was engulfed by her lips. I closed my eyes and saw her straddling me. Her hand held my cock while she was inserting it into herself. She was looking down at me with eyes that burned with intensity. As she slowly buried my cock in her soaking wet pussy, she closed her eyes and threw her head back. Her free hand rose to caress her own breast as she began to ride me. I reached out and put my hands on her hips. It felt so good to be held in her tight grip as she lifted herself and then plunged back down onto me. She rode me with intensity, as if she had been desperate for pleasure. She thrashed and bounced on top of me with a fury.

The hazy images I saw around us became disorienting the longer I held my eyes closed. I opened them, but I avoided gazing directly at her. I recalled how her form was fleeting if I tried to focus. I could still feel her fucking me with wild abandon, but I could not see her. Once I had reoriented myself, I closed my eyes again. She was now reaching one hand between her legs to rub her clit while she fucked herself on my cock. I couldn't take it much longer, and I felt my climax building. I was heaving up from the mattress to bury myself deeper into her. She was biting her lip and her face contorted in an apparent orgasm.

It was bizarre, because I could not hear her. I felt our flesh slapping together, but there was no sound. I saw her crying out in pleasure, but there was no voice. I could not smell her sex. It was a jarring reminder that this image before me was no living person. I felt a tiny welling of fear. What if this picture of a young woman actually concealed something malevolent? I thought of the legends of the succubi and I felt a rising panic that maybe I shouldn't have done this.

But it was too late. I felt my groin throbbing with the orgasm and my cum was already splashing inside her. Her eyes flashed with triumph as she made me come.

"Oh fuck, fuck," I cried out. It was in pleasure as well as in panic as this unnatural beauty drew my seed from my very balls. She rode out my orgasm on my pulsing cock as I grunted, thrust, and gave her all of my load. As the feeling subsided, I saw her smile and lift herself off of my shaft. I opened my eyes, and I could see my cum splattered in long streaks across my body. It dripped down my side onto my bed and glazed my cock.

"Oh my God," I said, "that felt fantastic."

I felt her lay down beside me and put her head on my shoulder. I focused on the ceiling and ran my hand over her form next to me. I had caught my breath.

"Can you hear me?" I whispered tentatively. There was a small nod of her head on my shoulder.

"Can you speak? There was a pause, and she shook her head.

"Are you . . . are you a ghost? A long pause. She shrugged, but then she nodded almost imperceptivity. My goosebumps were back.

"Am I . . . am I in danger? She shook her head emphatically that I was not, and she planted a kiss on my cheek to reinforce the point.

I kept asking her questions. With a nod or a shake of her head, I was able to learn much. She had lived in this house and died here. It was a long time ago and previously she had tried to scare people out of living here. She had been the cause of the misfortunes during construction, the sounds I heard, and the broken air conditioning. She denied hurting any of the workers during the building. Apparently, they were just clumsy. She had never tried to communicate with another living person before. She shrugged when I asked why she was still in the house and not at rest.

It seemed she grew tired of my questions, because she put a silencing finger on my lips. She removed her finger, and I felt her plant a kiss on my cheek and lay her head down on my shoulder. I was feeling spent and exhausted. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep with her nestled against me.

Over the next few days, I continued to feel her comforting presence in the house. Sometimes, I thought I could see her out of the corner of my eye as I say on the couch. Sometimes, I felt her sitting next to me.

We had sex almost every night that week. She would come and lay a gentle hand on me to get my attention while I was getting ready for bed. I would strip off my clothes and she would start to touch me. It was easiest when she was on top. In other positions, if I tried to hold my eyes closed to too long to see what I was doing, I started to get disoriented. But with my eyes open, I sometimes suddenly found that I was holding onto nothing.

I was becoming even more of a recluse. The comfortable feeling in the house was addictive and getting stronger. I was already a bit of a homebody, but now I had a feeling like I didn't need to go out at all. I was talking to empty rooms assuming that she could hear me. I came to realize that feeling was emanating from her, and her aura was intoxicating.

The difference between how I felt at home and how I felt other places was becoming more intense as well. At work, in the car, or when I went out to run errands, I felt terribly lonely and desperate for interaction. There was a feeling of emptiness in my chest then. When I was in the house, I felt like a pleasant companion was with me. It was jarring.

I was having trouble focusing on work. My friends started to ask if I was doing okay since I had blown them off for a few weeks.

I insisted that I was fine, but I was doubting it. One afternoon, I was sitting in a coffee shop trying to think of what I should do. I believed the near euphoria I felt in the house was unnatural and maybe even harmful if I continued to isolate myself. Being a bit of a homebody was one thing, but this was ridiculous. Notably, I was only able to focus on this question at all when I was not under her influence in the house.

I finished my coffee and went for a walk in the park. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I resolved to make firm plans for the night before I went back home. If I committed myself to seeing someone, I thought I could probably resist the temptation to stay in.

Flipping through my phone, I found Meghan's number. We'd exchanged a few text messages since we were set up but had not yet gotten together again. I decided to give her a call. She sounded pleasantly surprised to hear from me out of the blue, but she was free, and we made plans to meet for a drink at a place I like.

That evening, Meghan gave me a warm smile when I walked into the bar. She hopped out of the booth she had been sitting in and leaned in so I could peck her on the cheek.

"It's nice to see you again. I'm glad we kept in touch after the other week, but I was starting to think you weren't interested in seeing me." She had her hands on her hips accusingly, but a smile on her face.

I held up my hands. "That's my fault," I confessed. "I really wanted to see you again and I should have made it happen sooner. Forgive me?"

Meghan smiled again. "Of course. I've been pretty busy too. And you're doubly forgiven because I love this bar you suggested. Very chill. Nice atmosphere."

With that concern quickly forgotten, we had a nice second date. The chemistry from the first meeting was still there and we realized we had much more in common than a dislike of crowds. Before we parted ways again, we agreed to an early morning hike the following weekend.

September ended and the days were cooler. The leaves turned color and started to fall. We shared some nice daytrips on the weekends and drinks or dinner after work a few nights a week. Meghan made it clear that she liked to build up slowly to a physical relationship, but our pecks on the cheek turned to long kisses and our hugs led to hands exploring each other's bodies as we embraced. It seemed clear that things were become serious, but we had not yet truly defined where the relationship was going.

I was enjoying my dates with Meghan, but my encounters with the spirit in the house didn't stop. I felt very guilty about continuing to have sex with her while I was talking to Meghan. While it was true that Meghan and I had not had a conversation about exclusivity, I had certainly represented myself as single. There aren't exactly rules of etiquette out there that cover ghosts, but I didn't feel good about what I was doing. Each day as I left for work, I resolved to stop sleeping with the ghost, but at night when she touched me, I found it hard to resist. I was not in control of my emotions under her influence. The part that made me feel the worst, was that I was developing feelings for the spirit. They weren't the same as how I felt about Meghan, but they were there.

I lost my handle on the situation completely the first night that Meghan came back with me to the house. I should have considered that was inadvisable, but I was feeling good from a few beers at the bar, and I was more than ready to begin a sexual relationship. We'd taken things slow, which was no problem, but that evening Meghan had whispered in my ear that she wanted to spend the night. I was never going to refuse.

As soon as we entered the house, I knew it was a bad idea. The warmth was missing. Instead, it was unnaturally cool. Meghan was rubbing her hands together as we climbed the stairs. No matter, I tried to tell myself as we entered my bedroom, we would feel warmer together in the bed. We kissed and started to help each other out of our clothes. For the first time, we were feeling each other's naked bodies. Meghan sighed as I touched her wet sex for the first time and my cock was ready.

We were sliding into the bed, when Meghan suddenly yelped in surprise.

"Ow," she said with annoyance, "I don't like that."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said with concern. "What did I do?"

"You pinched me really hard."

"I don't think so. Maybe by accident?"

"OW! What the fuck?" I held up my hands to show I had not touched her. I could see panic rising in her. I felt a sick knot in my stomach. The ghost. I tried to reassure Meghan, but she was freaking out.

"What is that? Ow!" She was shaking as scrambled up and struggled into her clothes. I tried to calm her again, but she flew out the room and down the stairs. I heard her stumble on the last step. She sobbed as she ran out the door. I tried to follow, but she shouted at me to leave her alone. I didn't know what else to do other than to let her go.

Meghan would not answer my call the next day. At home, I could feel that the spirit was still upset, as the chill remained.

For a few days, I was depressed all the time, both in the house and at work. One night I felt a tentative hand on my arm and playful fingers on my body. I brushed them away and rolled over in the bed. The anger and frustration I felt was enough to overcome the spell she seemed to put on me. I was entering a negative spiral of emotions. I had to do something to change the status quo.

I decided to do some research about the history of the house, hoping I might be able to figure more about the ghost. With more information, I thought I might be able to unravel the knot I was in. While I had learned a great deal about her, it was not enough to go on. Meghan continued to avoid me.

After a few Saturday mornings spent reading through digitized microfiche newspapers at the local library and requesting old county records, I identified a possibility. A twenty-year-old woman named Emily Carter had tragically perished in a fire in 1954 in the upstairs bedroom -- my room, I realized with a chill. This must be her. I soon learned more information that supported my suspicion.

I was walking home from work one afternoon when I noticed an elderly woman struggling to carry some groceries up the front porch of the house across the street. I had not seen her around previously, but I also did not know all of my neighbors yet. I decided to offer her a hand bringing the bags into the house. She gave me a kindly smile and welcomed the assistance.

"Thank you, young man," she said gratefully in a reedy voice. "My name's Edith. I've been having trouble on the front stairs lately. I've been putting it off, but someday soon I'll have to have a ramp put in."

As we carried the things into her kitchen, I realized she was about the age that Emily Carter would have been if she had not died tragically. I felt tremor of excitement and curiosity.

"Have you lived here long?" I asked, faking nonchalance.

"Yes, all my life," she answered pleasantly. "You've just moved in across the street?" Ha, I thought! She must know something.

"I have," I answered. "I wonder, do you know much about my house?"

Edith sighed. "I know it's been empty for too long. I was glad to see when they fixed it up and it's nice to see someone living there again."

"Was there a fire there? I read something in old records about an accident, but I didn't know that when I bought it."

She looked down at the ground. "Yes. Yes, there was. I lost my best friend."

My heart rate surged. This woman definitely knew Emily Carter. I anxiously wanted to pry further, but I was conscious of a need to be sensitive and respectful.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to upset you." I was desperate to know what she could tell me, but I held back.

Edith smiled at me. "It's quite alright. It was so long ago. If you are living there, maybe you should know the story."

"What happened?" I asked.

"It was a cigarette, they said. Emily had taken up smoking. I think she did it to upset her parents." Edith shook her head in bewilderment at the memory. "They were so controlling, but then it was a different era. Anyway, her cigarette started a fire and she didn't get out."

"What was she like?"

Edith raised her head to look at me. Despite her weathered face, I saw that her eyes twinkled at the fond recollection. "Emily was a feisty one, especially considering the times. She couldn't wait to get out of her house and out from under her father's rule. She was twenty when it happened. In another six months, she would have had the money saved up from working to move out."

"What did they disagree about?"

Edith chuckled. "Boys mostly. They wouldn't let her date, even after high school, so long as she lived there."

"That seems pretty crazy. Even as an adult?"

"Their house, their rules I guess," said Edith with a shrug. "Like I said, it was a different era. But it was hard on her. She was boy crazy and I don't think she ever went on a date or so much as kissed a boy."

"She never kissed anyone at twenty years old?"

"Well, that's not exactly right," Edith said a bit distantly, with a shake of her head. She was inwardly smirking at something and seemed to be lost in a memory for a moment. I cleared my throat softly and the sound seemed to bring Edith back to the present. She paused, darted her eyes back to me, and then sighed. "She was so close to getting her independence when it happened," she said and then ruefully shook her head again.

"That's a bitter irony."

"Yes," she agreed, "but as I said, it was a long time ago. I'm happy to see you putting her house to good use. If anything, seeing it empty was always a reminder of the tragedy. It was boarded up for a few years after the fire. Her parents never repaired it and they moved out. Sometime later it was sold, but it always seemed to fall into disuse." She shrugged and smiled. "I hope you'll fill it with life."

"I hope so too," I agreed. Edith reached out and patted my hand and smiled.

"Well anyway, I must be putting all of this away." She gestured at the groceries on the counter. "I can manage from here. It's been a pleasure to meet you, though. It was so nice of you to lend a hand and listen to an old woman's stories." She shooed me toward the front door. I assured her that it was my pleasure to help, and I made my way out. As I crossed the street, I looked back over my shoulder to see her still staring out her door. Except, Edith wasn't watching me, she was looking sadly up at the second story window I knew to have been Emily's room. My room.

It was all starting to make a lot more sense now. I was now certain that I was sharing my home with the ghost of Emily Carter. It was time to reach out to her again.

That night, I lay in bed apprehensively waiting to see if Emily would come to me. I was still feeling the heavy press of sorrow in the house. It somehow felt colder, although I had checked the thermostat and found the setting should have been comfortable.

I wanted to be with her that night. After putting a name and a story to the face in my visions and the body in my bed, I felt closer to her and wanted to ease her hurt feelings. I also wanted to know her better. I wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, but it felt right in the moment.

The answer to my troubles could not be so simple as cutting off my contact with Emily. I had to find a way to help her without driving myself literally insane through isolation. I wanted to be there for her. I could not abandon her after being her first human link in decades, but I also knew that I needed and wanted a living partner. I wanted Meghan.

I jumped when I first felt the touch of her hand on my elbow. She was there. I next felt her rubbing her hands softly on my groin. The unseen lips kissed my neck. We made love and she climbed off and lay down next to me. The unseen head was resting on my shoulder and an unseen hand was resting on my chest.

Now, with her head on my shoulder, I was ready to ask her about what I had learned.

"Are you Emily Carter?" I whispered in the dark of the room. I felt her tense next to me. Slowly, I felt her nodding her head. "I did some digging in the library. Do you . . . do you remember what happened here?" She shivered and nodded faintly. Her hand clenched on my chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I said regretfully after feeling her emotional reaction. "It must have been awful." Another shiver and another nod. "I just want to know you. I'm trying to understand." Her hand unclenched and she rubbed it soothingly on my chest. She was telling me that it was okay to ask.

"There's something else, too," I said. "I met Edith." I felt Emily tense and her head swiveled against my shoulder as if she were now staring at my face. "Edith told me a bit about you. About your life here. And about . . . what happened to you. You were good friends, weren't you?" Emily lowered he head back to my shoulder. She nodded slowly again, and I felt her hand move as if to wipe her eyes.

I went on. "I don't think Edith meant to tell me about it, but she seemed to imply that something happened between you. Like . . . maybe a relationship?" I paused to see how she would react. I decided to test out a theory that had been forming in my head since I had noticed a wistful look in Edith's eyes earlier that day. Emily neither nodded nor shook her head. I took the lack of denial as a form of admission under the circumstances.

"I am pretty certain you are attracted to men," I said. "Right?" She nodded and rubbed her hand on my chest again. I felt her kiss my neck.

"But something happened with Edith? Your friend?" She nodded. "Do you like women the same way you like men?" She shook her head. "Maybe it was an experiment?" A nod again. It all made sense to me now.

"Did you like it?" I asked. She nodded. "But that wasn't really what you wanted, was it?" I probed further. Emily shook her head. The hand on my chest slid down my flesh until her fingers brushed my cock. I smiled and chuckled a little as she touched it. "That's what I thought," I sighed.