Taken by a Dead Man

I can't say that a ghost of any sort has been appearing in my room for the past few weeks, for I fear that no one would believe me. It's 1945; nobody believes in ghosts anymore, nor would they believe that specters exist either, nor ghouls, nor phantoms, nor even restless spirits. No. People are far too focused on more important things than fiction these days. Such silly thoughts wouldn't dare intrude the mind of the sane. Why, if I were to try to tell anyone that my family's new house has been inhabited by another soul, the television would most likely be to blame. "Too many ghost stories, Jenny", they would most likely say to me. I certainly couldn't tell my dear mother or my older sister that I fear our new house was not completely empty when we moved in. "Crazy", they'd call me. Although, perhaps it's not entirely impossible? After all, this house used to belong to a young man who had tragically died in a terrible fire. It wasn't until the house was restored and cleaned that my mother and my sister Margaret could move here for better work opportunities since our father had unfortunately died while he was deployed.

Ah, but I fear I must be rambling now. I've got to explain myself and this ghost nonsense that I'm speaking about.

It's only been a month since we've come to live in this house. It's a cozy little victorian-style with modest sizings and a close location to the city. It is nothing too special, nor is it anything so grand, but it allows my mother to head off costlessly to teach at the local school, and it allows my sister to ride her bicycle to the tailor shop she works at without worrying about the distance. That leaves me alone in the house to tend to the chores and to take care of the shopping while they're busy bringing the money in.

I've come to notice that every time I'm in that house alone, I seem to get this...strange feeling. It's hard to explain, but I never feel quite truly alone in that house even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm the only living, breathing soul there. The feeling especially gets worse when I lie down to rest or settle in for bed for the night. When I wake...Well, I suppose all I can say for now is that I wake feeling...hot.

I would find my heart beating just a bit faster than normal, and would I find my skin nearly burning to the touch. My face would grow flushed, the back of my neck a little clammy, my breasts just a smidge more sensitive, and I often found a strange heat growing a bit lower than I'm comfortable saying so.

Dare I say it, but it almost seemed as if I'd wake with a start because something—whatever it may be—would cause me to get terribly, terribly aroused. Any time that did happen, I would grow a little shameful to be perfectly honest. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I would often climb into bed while I'm alone in the house and...touch myself. Surely it wouldn't be so terrible if it were just a little bit, I'd often think. Surely nothing bad would come of it, and I was simply just curious. It did feel good, I was afraid to admit. Because of this, however, I feared that perhaps I'd be touching myself in my sleep, and that would be what's been causing me to wake feeling so flustered.

I couldn't imagine just how awful it would be if I were to unknowingly do that while sharing a bed with Margaret in the middle of the night. I swear on my own grave that I only masturbate while completely alone in the house, and damn my own soul if either my mother or my sister were to find out.

I digress.

One morning in late September, I was busy tending to our small garden and picking some fresh zucchini to use for tonight's dinner. Mother and Margaret were out working for the entire day, so as usual, I was left to tend to the chores. It was hot outside, barely a breeze to be felt as I wiped the small traces of sweat from my forehead. After I was finished, I took the vegetables inside to be cleaned, and after that, I tended to my usual routine; I swept the porch, cleaned the kitchen, hung the laundry, tended to a loose button on my dress, checked the mail, fed the chickens, dusted the mantel, cleaned the windows, and by the time that was all finished, I felt as if I wanted to sleep for nearly a decade. My apron had gotten a little dirty and the curls in my hair had begun to fall out of their place.

I decided that I could finish the rest of the housework later, and for now, I'll run a bath while playing a June Christy record as some background music.

I hummed to the tune as I slipped out of my dress and released my dark hair from its curls, allowing the waves to fall down my shoulders. It always felt nice to feel my hair brush against my bare shoulders, as I always keep it up in properly rolled curls and off my neck most of the time.

After brushing out the remaining curls, I slowly sunk into the warm water with a quiet sigh. Sunlight shone through a small, high window and lazily reflected off the bathwater.

I simply sat there for a little while, relaxing in the steamy bathroom while I allowed the water to soothe my skin. I hadn't had a single spot on my body, save for the small beauty mark on the corner of my upper lip; not a freckle, nor a blemish, nor even a stretch mark was present anywhere else. I did notice that my time in the garden had darkened my warm ivory skin by half a shade, it seemed.

After some time in the water, I absentmindedly allowed my hand to slip between my legs when I suddenly got the notion to pleasure myself for a moment while I had this time to myself. With a small sigh, I closed my eyes while my fingers moved circles around my clitoris, feeling how swollen it had gotten without me even realizing. I touched it and rubbed it slowly while I spread my legs as far as the bathtub would let me.

"Mmhh..." I sighed softly, feeling a small pleasure beginning to grow. I took my time to touch myself there for a little while before my fingers moved lower and ran between my lower lips. It was always fun to tease myself this way as I've found that it would make the heat more intense. This time though, I was in no rush, and I simply wanted to take my time to feel myself. These days, it's taboo for a girl to be taking part in such...lewd acts, but of course, I was alone, and no one needed to know. It was just me all alone in the bath.

I licked my lips while I slowly pushed a finger inside myself, slowly moving it in and out. Of course, a finger wasn't big enough to properly satisfy a girl if she desired to be properly full, and although it was all that I had, it still felt so good.

I did often wonder how sex felt, though. I, of course, was only nineteen, and I hadn't found a husband, nor was I planning to any time soon unless the right man came about. I still wondered how it felt to be touched by a man's hands, and I also wondered, dare I say, what it felt like to be penetrated with a cock.

I fell into a haze. Everything around me seemed to become a blur as I fell into a deep state of relaxation while I played with myself, my fingers eventually moving back and circling my clit that had become needy for a little attention. I might have been in my little state of pleasure for around ten minutes before the heat and the pleasure suddenly became more intense. My eyebrows furrowed and my toes curled, my breath coming out a little broken as I whimpered.

"Mmh...aah..." I felt a pressure growing down there, that familiar pressure that would build up before an orgasm. It felt good, and I found myself sinking into the water and letting it build.

I sighed and moaned softly when I felt a wonderful pressure on that sensitive spot inside me. In my haze, I didn't even realize that the feeling didn't match up to what I was doing. I felt as if something small like a finger were inside me, but I opened my eyes for just a half of a second to see that my fingers were still on my clit.

In my confusion, I stopped and sat up straight. When I moved, the pleasure stopped. Perhaps it was just in my head that I felt the pleasure somewhere else, or perhaps it could be for any other reason, although it was certainly strange. I decided to shake it off and think nothing of it as I settled back into the warm water.

I almost resumed, but I was interrupted by a suddenflump. I glanced over and noticed that my robe had fallen off its hook and onto the floor in a heap. I didn't think anything of that either. Perhaps I simply didn't secure it properly when I hung it, causing it to slip off the hook.

With a tired sigh, I sank back into the water and closed my eyes while I rested my hands on my thighs and tried to get my mind back into that pleasant little haze.

I was immediately yanked out of my quiet state when I heard a faint voice say, "I'm sorry."

With a gasp, I sat bolt upright and looked around the bathroom with a start. I saw nothing, but that sound almost seemed like it was coming from somewhere inside the room. I began to feel uneasy, hoping that I was simply imagining it, or perhaps it came from the radio, but the music was still faintly playing without interruption.

Slowly, my eyes moved back over to look at my robe still in a lump on the bathroom floor, only as my gaze shifted to the side ever so slightly, I caught a glimpse of a pair of unfamiliar boots.

Blinking, I moved back against the rim of the tub and looked over once more, now seeing legs, and then a waist, and a torso, and soon arms and shoulders, and then a face.

"I didn't mean to knock it over." He said, his eyes staring down at my robe.

I felt the blood drain from my face as I gazed at the apparition, although it was difficult to stare directly at him. It was almost as if I were looking at one of those funny eye-floaties that would disappear if I'd look directly at one. His image would flicker and become hazy if I tried to look, but I could make out the face of a young man, perhaps in his mid to late twenties, I would have to assume. I could only guess that he was American as well by the sound of his accent. Of course, I must also mention that this figure was...transparent. It was almost as if someone took wind itself and shaped it like clay into the form of a man. It was only at certain movements that he made could I make out his face or other details. He cast no shadow, nor reflection in the mirror, and when the sunlight came through the window and shown on him, he would disappear completely.

Surely it wasn't a ghost I was looking at, I thought to myself. Perhaps the heat of the day was simply making my head a little crazy.

I found myself staring at him, completely and utterly dumbfounded, and as I watched as his figure moved, I shifted against the tub and wrapped my arms around myself. I don't believe I was even breathing, almost afraid that if I moved, something would happen. I was completely frozen in place.

"You can see me?" Was the next thing he asked me, and now that I was aware that he was speaking directly towards me, I gasped and curled up, covering my face and trying to hide as best as I could.

"Y-Yes...please...g-get away! You can't be real!" I cried as I curled up a bit tighter. I felt a rush of cold air as something moved past me, causing me to shiver and move further down into the warm water with a frightened whimper. Nervously, I opened my eyes to see that he had moved over to the foot of the bathtub. "What are you...? What do you want from me, specter? Please...please just leave me alone." I whimpered as I rubbed my eyes, unbelieving of what I was seeing.

I watched as he slowly leaned forward. The image of his face moved in and out of focus, but I could feel his eyes on me. "Oh, please don't be scared. I don't want to hurt you. I am sorry, I...simply wanted to watch you. You're beautiful."

I stared up at him in disbelief, or at the parts of him that wouldn't shift out of focus. I stayed as low as I could in the water, as that was the only thing that was actually protecting me at the moment. "Who...y-you're a...you're...y-you're not..."

"Alive?" He interjected. "Ah, yes, well...I know. I died earlier this summer when my gas stove suddenly caught fire in the night. I really don't mean to spook you, little lady. I suppose it simply comes with the job." His voice was faint and echoey, but it sounded warm as well.

It took me a moment to work up the courage to speak to him. "E-...early this summer? Why that can't be right. This house was restored in 1944 a year ago."

He tilted his head. "1944? You're telling me it's no longer 1931?" A laugh echoed throughout the bathroom. "Well, well, I've lost track of time, haven't I? Well, I'm sure I didn't miss out on anything big. I at least hope that damn Depression is over. My name is Jeremiah. And you're...?"

'Depression' he said. I had to assume that he hadn't a single idea about the war we had just finished fighting, but I didn't bother to mention it.

"Um...J-Jeanette. O-or Jenny. Um...why are you here? What do you want?" I asked as I folded my arms over my chest and pulled my knees up.

"Oh forgive me, but...I just love watching you. I didn't think that you'd be able to see me this time of all times, but I'm certainly happy that you can. I've been dying to—I mean, wanting to talk to you for a little while, miss Jenny." His figure vanished for a moment before reappearing at the side of the bathtub closer to where I was, causing me to flinch for a second. "I don't frighten you, do I?"

I hesitated for a moment as I tried to look at his face. He didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me. He certainly didn't act like any sort of evil force that stories make ghosts out to be. "No...at least, not anymore. But...what do you mean by 'this time'? Have...have you watched me in the bath before?" I asked, a sudden blush coming to my face, realizing that this man might've been watching me masturbate.

He flashed me a bashful smile. "Sometimes. And...you're quite responsive to touch in your sleep."

I furrowed my eyebrows as I stared up at Jeremiah's transparent figure with a shy gaze. "What ever do you mean? Did you—" I suddenly stopped and blinked, realizing all the times that I'd wake up feeling hot and shaky. It must've been him touching me this entire time, and it must've been him that I felt in the bathtub just a minute ago. I quickly shook my head. "Why, that's impossible! Ghosts can't...they can't touch anything."

"Oh?" Jeremiah's mouth shifted into a smile, and I watched as the flickering image of his hand extended toward my face. I gasped as I felt a cool yet pleasant sensation hit my skin.

"O-oh..." I shivered as my head tilted ever so slightly. "How strange..."

"Yes, it doesn't feel like a living man's hand, I know. But...it feels good, yes?" The ghost asked me as he tilted his head.

I felt his feathery touch move down to my neck and I shivered. "Yes...it does. Could I...?" As I trailed off, I timidly reached out to touch his arm, but it was as if it was a complete illusion. The image flickered for a moment as I tried to touch it, and all that I felt was air. "Oh?"

"You can't touch me. But...I can touch you." As I watched his arm come back into view, his hand moved from my face and I suddenly felt something soft and cool brush against my breast.

I gasped and flinched for a moment as I sunk into the water. "Oh! Oh, how strange." I murmured under my breath. It certainly did not feel like a living man's hand at all, but I still felt the pressure of something touching my breast as if it almost could be a living man's hand. I felt a blush come to my face as I gazed up, trying to get a clear image of his face. It would only come into focus if I looked at him through the corner of my eye, but I caught his smile and I watched as he pulled back for a moment.

"I'm sorry. Do you not like it when I touch you?" He asked.

I quickly shook my head as my face became flushed. "No, no! I do. You...you can do it again, i-if you'd like." I said with a shy gaze as I sat up a little straighter to allow him to see my breasts.

I allowed my head to fall back when his hand returned and caressed my breasts, causing my nipples to become a little erect when I felt the chill of his touch, but it was pleasant. His image flickered out of sight for a moment, but when he returned, I soon found that his hand was replaced with his mouth. His figure lay in the tub with me, and although I could feel the slight weight and presence of something on top of me, the water wasn't disturbed even the slightest.

I whimpered softly. "Oh my...oh goodness, oh that feels so...mmmh..." I licked my lips. I felt a strange pressure up against my clitoris as he 'pressed' against me if he really was capable of doing that. My breath came out shaky and broken while I relaxed and let this dead man touch me. It felt good. Really good.

I wish that I was able to touch him, but I knew that it was impossible, so I simply settled for resting my hands on the brim of the bathtub while I let his ghostly hands brush over my body. It was making me feel hot and flustered.

Eventually, my eyes slid shut while I let the pleasure become more intense. I felt him touch my breasts, my neck, my shoulders, my waist, my thighs. It took some minutes before I felt as if something small like a finger were inside me and I whimpered out loud. "Oh~ Ooh my I can feel you...Aahh~ Oh please don't stop, it feels so good..." I murmured. I could hear him moaning ever so softly, the sound unreal as it almost seemed to echo in my head. While I couldn't touch him, it seemed that he took pleasure in touching me. I felt pressure on that sweet spot inside me and I let out a soft moan.

"Ooh~ Aaahh~ Ooh yess...yes...please, keep going..." I whimpered, but suddenly, he stopped. I opened my eyes, seeing that he had vanished from the room, and I sat up in confusion.

I was about to call for him, but then I realized why he left when I heard the phone ringing downstairs. "Oh, that darn phone." I muttered to myself as I got out of the bathtub, quickly dried off, and slipped my robe on.

I then made my way downstairs and picked up our rotary phone. "Dubois residence. This is Jeanette speaking...—oh, hello, Miss Maisey, how are you?...—Why yes, we did receive those strawberries, thank you...—yes ma'am, Margaret is at the shop as usual..."

I'm afraid to say that I was stuck talking to my mother's friend for quite some time before the old woman finally excused herself. It was also quite hard to suddenly change my demeanor when I still felt so flustered, but thank god and above that it was simply over the phone where she couldn't see me. Unfortunately, after Miss Maisey hung up the phone, my new friend couldn't be seen anywhere. With a sigh, I simply decided to get dressed and finish up the rest of the chores and get some dinner ready for my sister and my mother.

When dinnertime came around, we all sat quietly as we ate. Mother looked a bit tired as usual. After she'd finish teaching at the school, she would head off to the tailor shop and help out my sister with whatever she needed. Mother was a simple woman who wore simple dresses and kept her face and hair as plain and modest as possible. She'd lived and raised us through the Depression after all, and while my sister and I were lucky enough to see the end of it, mother still practiced very frugal styles. Margaret, however, absolutely loved fashion and would often keep her makeup noticeable and flashy with colorful dresses and shiny shoes. Today, she wore a beautiful yellow swing dress with white polka-dots, and her blonde hair was styled in perfect victory rolls and barrel curls. I've been often told that I'm a mix of the two; I'd dress rather modestly most of the time, but when Margaret wanted to style my hair or do my makeup, I certainly would never say no.

Eventually, the meal became a little too quiet, and I became a little too curious about my visitor earlier. "Mother?"