phantom Lust

It was seven o’clock in the morning when the doorbell rang, waking me from a long, deep sleep. I wasn’t going to answer it but the caller was annoyingly persistent. So much for my lie in, I thought irritably, climbing out of bed and cursing whoever it was. As a trainee nurse, I’d been working for nine days in the hospital without a break, and had been looking forward to my day off. No peace for the wicked, I mused, slipping into my dressing gown. Trotting down the stairs, I checked my hair in the hall mirror. I looked like a scarecrow who’d been dragged backwards through the bushes.

“This had better be important,” I mumbled, opening the front door.

“Sorry to trouble you,” a man in a suit smiled, holding out his ID card. “My name’s Jackson. I’m from the Post Office.”
“What do you want?” I asked, as pleasantly as I could at that unearthly hour.
“I realize that this is a long-shot, but I’m looking for a Mrs Amy Hardcastle.”
“Amy ... That was my aunt,” I replied, rubbing my bleary eyes.
“I have a letter for her.”
“She’s dead,” I said, gazing at the card he was holding. “She’s been dead for years.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. She was ninety-six when she went.”
“Yes, quite. Normally, the postman would have delivered the letter.”
“Would he?” I yawned, wondering what the hell he was talking about.
“This one’s rather late,” he sighed, looking down at the tatty envelope he was clutching. “I’d like to apologise on behalf of the post office for the later delivery of this letter.”
“That’s OK,” I said irritably, wishing he’d go away. “Everything’s late these days.”
“It was posted in nineteen-fifty-two,” he announced triumphantly, pointing to the postmark. “It’s, er ... It’s over fifty years late.”
“Oh?” I murmured, my interest rising as I took the letter. “Fifty years late?”
“Must have gone astray. Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Er ... Yes, later,” I replied, longing to climb beneath the warmth of my quilt. “Thank you very much.”
“Oh, I thought ...”
“Thank you, again.”

Closing the door, I studied the discoloured envelope as I wandered into the kitchen. I’d heard of letters arriving years after they’d been posted, and wondered where on earth it had been tucked away for half a century. Taking a knife from the drawer, I carefully slit the envelope and pulled out a letter. The black had yellowed with time, but the scrawled words were just legible.

“Dear Amy,” I read, glancing up at the clock and wishing that I was still sleeping. “I’ve had a spot of bother and might not be home for several months. I’ve left a package in the corner of the left ...” I couldn’t make out the faded ink. “The left what?” I breathed. “I’ve left a package in the corner of the left ... Something, something bedroom. You’ll find it beneath the boards. Get it out of the house as soon as possible and bury it somewhere in the woods. And, for God’s sake, don’t forget where you buried it. Please, destroy this letter once read. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

As my aunt had obviously not received the instructions, so the package was probably still hidden in the house. The corner of the left bedroom, I thought, wondering which was the left bedroom. Beneath the boards. The letter was signed, Davey. I recalled the name from somewhere. After racking my brains, I remembered that Davey was my aunt’s cousin. My mother had said something about him disappearing back in the fifties, and no one had heard from him since. Dropping the letter on the kitchen table, I went upstairs and tugged a pair of jeans on and grabbed a T-shirt from the drawer. The corner of the left bedroom. Which bedroom?

My mother had moved out of the house six months previously when she’d emigrated to Australia. The arrangement was that I move in and take over the bills and the upkeep until she returned. Knowing my mother, she wouldn’t be back for a very long time. She’d informed me that she was in love with an Australian and, if things worked out, would never come back. That suited be admirably, seeing as we never got on.

At twenty-two-years-old, I was very lucky to have a house to myself. Particularly as I’d been living in a seedy bedsit for a year or so. I’d not got round to redecorating the tatty rooms, but it was home to me. Due to lack of money, I hadn’t been able to replace the ageing carpets. But it was just as well, seeing as I was going to pull up a few floorboards. Putting them back might not be so easy, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Grabbing a large screwdriver from the garage, I rolled the carpet back in the front bedroom and began lifting the floorboards. Tiredness mysteriously left me as I pondered on the package. The letter had intrigued me, and I was determined to find the package - even if it meant ripping up all the floorboards.

Having spent the best part of my day off virtually demolishing the house, I finally wandered into the lounge and flopped onto the sofa. Despondency setting in as I looked down at my filthy T-shirt, I sighed. I was becoming obsessed with the letter, the mysterious package. Where did Davey disappear to? I pondered. The package had to have been important. Asking my aunt to destroy the letter and bury the package in the woods ... It might be stolen goods, I thought. Diamonds or thousands of pounds in used notes.

The doorbell rang again, although this time I was pleased to find Christina, my best friend, standing on the step. She looked me up and down and laughed as I brushed the dust off my T-shirt. My jeans were dirty, my hand’s grubby, and my face black. God only knew what she thought I’d been up to. Inviting her in, I wondered what she’d say when she saw the bedroom floors. I should say, the lack of bedroom floors. I was going to have to get a man in to replace the boards. It had been easy enough to rip them up, but to them back?

“Tara, what have you been up to?” Christina asked, following me into the kitchen.
“Read that,” I said, pointing at the letter and switching the kettle on as she sat at the table.
“Who’s Davey?” she finally frowned, her dark eyes looking up at me.
“My aunt’s cousin,” I replied, pouring the coffee. “The letter arrived this morning - fifty years late.”
“Fifty years?” she giggled.
“That’s the post office for you. I’ve pulled the floorboards up in all the bedrooms and found nothing.”
“You won’t find anything in the bedrooms,” she said, as if I was stupid.
“What do you mean?” I asked, tugging my dirty jeans off and stuffing them into the washing machine.
“It says that the package is beneath the boards in the corner of the loft above your bedroom. Obviously meaning your aunt’s bedroom.”
“Loft?” I echoed. “No, it says the corner of the left, something something, bedroom.”
“L.O.F.T,” she spelled out, raising her eyes to the ceiling. “Loft, as in attic. In the corner of the loft above your bedroom. You’ll find it beneath the boards.”
“Shit,” I breathed. “I’ve wrecked the bloody bedrooms trying to find it. I thought it said left.”
“No, no,” she giggled, brushing her long black hair away from her angelic face.

A wave of excitement crashing through me, I ran out to the garage and dragged the ladder into the kitchen. Christina looked at me as though I was crazy as she sipped her coffee. Having ripped the bedroom floors up, and then gone out to the garage in my panties, I supposed I was slightly mad. And when I stuck the end of the ladder through the washing machine door and flooded the kitchen ... But I was sure that the package contained something important. Why would Davey have asked aunt Amy to hide it in the woods if it was of no importance? Dragging the ladder up the stairs, ripping the wallblack in the process, I propped it against the wall on the landing. Climbing up to the hatch, I pushed it open and peered into the darkness.

“I need a torch,” I said as Christina stood at the bottom of the ladder. “I can’t see a bloody thing.”
“You need a psychiatrist,” she laughed as I descended the ladder. “And a carpenter,” she sighed, gazing through one of the bedroom doors at the floorboards stacked in the corner of the room. “And a washing machine repair man.”
“The machine leaked anyway,” I grinned.
“Whatever this package is, it won’t be there after all these years.”
“It might be,” I said enthusiastically, grabbing a torch from the hall cupboard and climbing the ladder.
“Tara, you can’t go up there in your panties.”
“Of course I can,” I returned. “I’m not going to filthy another pair of jeans.”
“If the package is there, it’s probably not worth anything. It might be nothing more than ...”
“It might be money,” I called as I hauled myself up into the dusty attic. “Thousands of pounds in used notes. I’ll be able to buy a new washing machine and ...”

“Used notes? So used they’ll be out of date, not legal tender. Look, I’m working at the pub tonight so I’ll leave you to your treasure hunt. I’ll ring you later.”
I heard her footsteps start to recede.
“OK,” I called, shining the torch around the dusty attic. “If I strike it rich, I’ll let you know.”
She closed the back door behind her and I was alone.

Tentatively walking across the attic, I knelt in the corner above the main bedroom and looked at the boards. They were nailed down, but I was becoming adept at ripping up flooring. Lying down, I dragged myself across the dust-covered floor into the corner. The eaves of the roof closing in on me as I reached out, I felt a loose board. That must be it, I thought excitedly, managing to lift the board. Cobwebs trailing across my face, I reached down the hole and groped about. Unable to feel the bedroom ceiling, I retrieved my hand and slithered further into the corner. The package had to be there, I was sure as I again reached beneath the boards. I was in the corner above the main bedroom, definitely the right place. Managing to get my lower arm beneath the boards, I felt something soft. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t move. It didn’t feel like the black wrapping of a package. It was velvety, sort of ...

“Shit,” I cursed, realizing that I’d got my arm stuck. The torch rolling away from me as I struggled to free my arm, I rested my head on the floor and sighed. There was no point in getting stressed. If I relaxed, I’d be able to pull my arm out. Breathing in the dust, I twisted my hand and again tried to pull my arm out of the hole. If only Christina hadn’t buggered off, I reflected, fearing that I might be stuck there all night. Or longer. If I was there for several days, or weeks ... It didn’t bear thinking about.

Well and truly stuck, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t move any further forward as my head was already jammed between the floor and the eaves. I couldn’t move back as my arm was lodged. Lying on my stomach, I couldn’t even turn onto my side to make myself more comfortable. “Shit,” I breathed again. I didn’t know what the time was, but guessed it was around six. Dusk would soon fall. The house in darkness, people would think I was out. An icy chill running up my spine, I again tried to free my arm. Something brushing against the back of my hand, I cried out. It was probably cobwebs, I tried to convince myself. Fortunately, I didn’t mind spiders. Which was just as well as a black spider with a huge bulbous body and long legs crawled across the floor close to my face.

I suddenly felt that I wasn’t alone as I lay in the dust and cobwebs. Was someone spying on me? A shiver running through me, I thought I heard whispers emanating from the dark of the attic. Murmuring voices, calling, crying ... Whispers from the past? From the dead? I’d watched too many late-night horror films, I reflected. But I was sure that something or someone was there. A presence? I pondered as the air turned cold and a draught wafted around my naked legs. Had I left the back door open? I was frightening myself, I knew as I imagined a ghost lurking in the attic. There was no such thing as ...

“Who’s there?” I called, trying to look round as the boards behind me creaked. Something brushing against my inner thigh, I jumped. It was probably the spider, I thought as a tickling sensation ran up my inner thigh to my panties. Spiders were the least of my problems, I knew as I desperately tried to retrieve my hand. The situation was ridiculous. The loft hatch only yards behind me, I had to escape. I needed to take a shower, have something to eat and then ...

The boards creaking again, I thought I heard heavy breathing. “Who’s there?” I called again, my heart racing, my near-naked body trembling. I might have closed the back door, but wouldn’t have locked it as I was going to take the ladder back to the garage. I wondered whether a burglar was prowling around as a dull thud resounded throughout the house. The spider, or whatever it was, seemed to be trying to get beneath the elastic of my panties. It felt like a finger easing its way between the top of my thigh and the elastic. It could have been a piece of newsblack stuck between my thighs, I thought, trying to calm myself. There were blacks and rubbish strewn all over the floor…. It could have been anything.

Again trying to turn my head, I screamed as something wiggled into my panties and settled between the lips of my vagina. Twisting my body, my legs thrashing about, I wondered whether it was a mouse looking for somewhere warm to settle. “No!” I cried as whatever it was tried to gain entry to the sheath of my pussy. It was a finger, I was sure as it slipped into my vagina and wiggled inside me. An icy-cold finger ... “Jesus,” I breathed, something hard and cold gripping my wrist beneath the boards. The sound of distant laughter echoing around the attic, the torch light fading, I shook uncontrollably as what felt like a hand tightened around my wrist.

An unfamiliar aroma filled the air as I again tried to retrieve my hand. Musky, stale, sulphury ... Blood? My panties suddenly yanked down to my thighs, exposing my buttocks, I screamed again. Panicking, I kicked out with my feet, although I didn’t know what I was kicking at. “Get away from me!” I cried as my panties were tugged down my legs. “Please, leave me alone!”

Only my whimpers disturbed the still air as I lay quivering on the floor. My head jammed, my hand stuck, something gripping my wrist ... “No!” I screamed as my legs were yanked apart and icy fingers massaged the soft swell of my vaginal lips. Someone had obviously got into the house and climbed the ladder. Looking for something of value to steal, they’d discovered my semi-nude body and decided to ... Insane laughter resounding around the attic, I gasped as what felt like several fingers thrust into the tight duct of my pussy.

“Shit,” I breathed, determined to break free as cold, wizened hands kneaded the naked globes of my bottom. I was about to be raped by the intruder, I was sure as distant laughter echoed though my racked mind. At last managing to pull my arm out of the hole, I wriggled backwards, freeing my head from beneath the eves. My arm aching, I rolled onto my back as the fingers withdrew from my vagina. The light from the torch fading fast, I could just make out the dark shape of a figure standing over me.

“Davey wants you,” a female voice whispered in my ear.
“Who ... who are you?” I asked shakily, my wide eyes gazing at the shadowy figure.
“Auntie…. Auntie Amy.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, dragging my trembling body across the floor, crawling towards the hatch.
“You’re not leaving, Tara,” she giggled. “Davey has been waiting for you.”
“No, no ...” I whimpered as unseen hands rolled me onto my back. “No, please ...”

My limbs spread, my hands and wrists pinned to the floor, I stared in horror as the figure of a naked man knelt between my splayed thighs. The lips of my pussy parted by cold fingers, I shook uncontrollably, unable to speak as the icy shaft of a penis thrust deep into the duct of my sex. Male grunting mingled with the distant echoes of female laughter as my young body rocked back and forth. I knew that the man wasn’t from the earthly world as he crudely fucked me, but tried to convince myself that he was nothing more than a common burglar.

“No,” I finally managed to whimper as he yanked my T-shirt up, his freezing hands kneading the firm mounds of my breasts. This wasn’t happening, I thought, my body flopping back and forth like a rag doll. This couldn’t be happening. I felt a hand groping beneath the man’s swinging balls, fingers parting the tensed orbs of my buttocks, probing at the resisting ring of my anus. An icy finger thrusting deep into my tightening rectum, I screamed again. This was no mortal intruder, I knew. I was being molested, sexually abused ... Raped - by a ghost.

Unseen hands turning my head to one side, I almost choked as the swollen knob of an erect penis drove into my hot mouth. Moaning through my nose, I squeezed my eyes shut as the cold knob slid back and forth, repeatedly gliding to the back of my throat. I didn’t want to see who or what was kneeling beside me, mouth fucking me. Again, wicked laughter echoed in the distance, gasps of male pleasure resounded around the attic. I’d seen films about ghosts raping women. But that was fiction. It wasn’t possible, was it? This was a dream, I thought, my lips rolling along the cold shaft of the penis fucking my mouth. I’d wake up in my bed with a start. I’d look around the room and breathe a sigh of relief.

The finger leaving the sheath of my rectum, my body convulsed wildly as a bulbous glans stabbed at the tender muscles of my tightly closed ring. My buttocks pressed against the floor, there was no way a man could enter me there. A rock-hard penis thrusting in and out of my vagina, it just wasn’t possible to penetrate the tight sheath of my bottom. A solid penile shaft slipping past my defeated anal sphincter muscles, driving deep into the dank heat of my bowels, there were no physical bounds to those who resided in the ethereal world.
Cold liquid filling my vagina, spurting between the stretched lips of my pussy and spraying my inner thighs, I knew this was no dream. My heart banging hard against my chest, my mouth suddenly awash with cold fluid, I coughed and spluttered as gasps of male satisfaction filled my ears. I could hear the ghostly sperm squelching within my pistoned vaginal canal; feel the cold liquid dribbling from my bloated mouth and running down my face. My anal duct suddenly filling with freezing liquid, lubricating the thrusting penile shaft, I shuddered as teeth sank into the elongated teats of my soft breasts.

I didn’t know how many unearthly beings were abusing me, satisfying their craving for crude sex. Teeth, fingers, tongues, hands, penises ... Not one inch of my trembling body was neglected, left unsullied. My breasts painfully bitten, the eerie laughter growing louder, battering my tormented mind, the attic suddenly fell silent. The penises had left my sperm-brimming orifices. The phantoms had gone. Finally managing to prop my trembling body up on my elbows, I listened to the deafening silence of the dark.

Sperm running down my chin, oozing from my inflamed sex holes, I dragged myself across the floor to the hatch. I had to escape before they came back, I knew as I slid down the ladder and fell onto the landing. Clambering to my feet, I switched the light on and gazed down at my sperm-matted pubic curls. My inner thighs sticky with the product of male orgasm, the taste of sperm lingering on my tongue, I staggered down the stairs to the kitchen.

I couldn’t believe what I’d been through as I flicked the light switch and filled a glass with water. Quenching my thirst, washing the dust and sperm from my mouth, I banged the glass down and ran my dirty fingers through my disheveled hair. Fear was leaving me rapidly. The doorbell rang, and I felt a grin start to creep over my face. Walking through the hall, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. The sperm covering my face had mingled with the dust, leaving tell-tail trails down my cheeks, my chin. Pulling my T-shirt over my head, I gazed at the teeth marks surrounding the dark discs of my areolae. Pressing the palm of my hand against the smooth plateau of my stomach, I felt movement within my young womb. Chuckling, I finally opened the door.

“Christina. I’m glad you’ve come back.” My voice sounded oddly husky.
“My God,” she gasped, looking my naked body up and down as she stepped into the hall. “Tara, what the hell ...”
“I found what I was looking for,” I interrupted her, closing the door. “Come and see.”
“Look at the state of you,” she said, following me up the stairs. “Why are you naked? What happened?”
“Go up to the attic,” I murmured as she stood at the foot of the ladder. “I want to show you what I’ve found.” “Tara, I really don’t want to ...”
“Just have a quick look,” I smiled.
“This had better be good,” she sighed, climbing the ladder.

Following her, I gazed up her short skirt at the tight material of her panties. She was young, attractive, fresh, ripe ... We spent a couple of hours in the dark of the attic. She fought and screamed, of course. She lashed out, her naked body writhing, her long legs kicking ... But she was no match for us. By the time I returned to the kitchen, my stomach had ballooned. There was movement, kicking - and I knew that the time was near.

I never did finish training as a nurse. My mother didn’t return and I never set eyes on Christina again. But I knew that she was all right. She had plenty of company, friends in the attic. Sitting at the kitchen table writing this story, I wonder whether it will ever be found beneath the board in the attic. Perhaps my daughter, Lucinda, will discover it. Or, when she’s older and has daughters of her own, one of the little devils might venture into the roof of the house.

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