The Erotic Haunting of Miriam
folder
Drama › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,917
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Drama › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,917
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 3
Despite himself Dave watched the workers with an intense curiosity. It was the noise that had brought him back, for many long years the house had sat empty, and Dave began to withdraw almost into the walls of the house itself. With no occupants to keep his interest in the living he began to drift back into himself and recall all the long years that his sprit had been earth bound to these walls.
He thought back among the residents of this old farmhouse where he had spent eternity. First had come the carpetbaggers feeding on the decay of the south. His grief was still fresh and he hated them, blamed them for his death and the death of his comrades, the destruction of all he had held dear-- he blamed it all on those first Yankees owners. Oh how he had went through the house with his anger rattling the windows and shaking the floors. He howled his frustration in the middle of the night, delighting in waking them at all hours with the banging of doors and the eerie sound of his ghostly boots stomping through the house. But after many decades and many changes of ownership Dave had became aware of the futileness of his actions. He even saw them as childish in a way, like a small child throwing tantrums.
Then came a young family and he couldn\'t bring himself to scare those little fresh face tykes. Though he did enjoy playing little pranks by hiding their socks and schoolbooks in unlikely places and rearranging the photographs on the mantel. Gradually the family became aware of his presence but unlike past residents, they were unafraid of him, and referred to him as their ghost. He was amused by their adoption of him, and in returned found missing hairbrushes and lost earrings. He felt a kindly benevolence towards them and simply enjoyed watching the family grow. They became a surrogate family, a replacement for all he lost. He watched each milestone, the first steps, first day of school, he worried when they were teenagers and came in late, and if he could of, would have shed tears along with their living parents when each child in turned married or went off to college.
He watched them, like an unseen family member; until the very last when the young mother was now old lady. He sat by her bedside when she breath her last. Her sprit didn\'t join him in his long vigil in this house, and he was happy that her soul would not join his in this lonely place of an afterlife, but hopefully was in heaven. She was a good woman and deserved happiness and rest.
He often wondered why he was here and why there was no other spirits here; surely, he was not the only soldier to die tday.day. What had happen to their souls, did they go on to a heaven or hell? Why was he still here; was it because of the locket he had hidden in the basement wall? Was that keeping him chained to this house, keeping him from moving on? But he had no more answers than the living did.
The grinding whirl of an electric saw brought him back to the present. Dave cocked his ghostly head side ways, amazed at this new fangled cutting device. The inventions of this age never ceased to intrigue him. He circled around the man, not sure if he should be annoyed or amused at the high pitched whine it made. Such an intense sound from so small a machine. A yellow cord snaked away from the machine and through the open door leading up into the farm house; Dave followed it along still feeling a bit uneasy with all the changes that had been done to the house.
The tacky old carpeting had been ripped up and the old wood floors polished to a gleam. Broken windows had been replaced, and new windows added to let in more light. Many walls had been knocked down to turn smaller rooms in to large open rooms that flowed one into another. The stairs were replaced, going now all the way up to the 3rd floor attic where the greatest changes had been wrought.
The small dividing walls that once made up the servant rooms had all been knocked down. The ceiling was ripped out to expose the supporting beams and added an extra 4 feet of ceiling space. Great French style windows were added to all sides and a new wood floor was laid down. The red brick wall was left exposed along the north and south walls, but white washed paneling was added to the east and west where the windows let in the most of the sunlight. Where there were once several dark cramped rooms there was now one immense light filled room running the full length of the house.
What the new owner intended for it, Dave had no idea. But it was where he spent a good majority of his time now. He would stretch out his ghostly form along the wooden floor, and watch the sun rise on one side of the house and fallow its path through the sky till it he could see it set through the west facing windows. It was like an anchor, its immense weight holding him down, keeping him tethered to this one place. He could almost fancy that he felt it warming the floor; the heat creeping into him, warming him, making him feel almost human again. But the sensations of hot and cold no longer existed for him. He could only recall what it was like. Recall the bitter chill of winter snows; the biting wind cutting through his shabby clothes and the brutal southern summers where the heat was like a smothering blanket. And after 140 years he could still remember it, and the lost of physical touch tortured him every long hour, through out eternity he would mourn it\'s lost.
For days he would stay there hearing the rattling and humming of the workers, all their fancy electric tools making such a racket. The pounding of the hammers echoing through the great empty room, he could feel the very vibrations moving through the walls and floors. He could sense the men in the rooms below, could feel their life force. With out even looking he could stretch out his energy and tell where each man was. Their living energy making little ripples like pebbles tossed into a calm lake. He tracked their movement through the house, and listen to their jovial banter; their voices deep southern rumbling accent that time had not changed.
It was that friendly sound of their easy camaraderie that brought back the memories again. He recalled that same warm friendship he shared with his fellow soldiers. The nights by the campfire, telling jokes and sharing stories of home. A powerful grief enveloped him and he let out a long keening wail for all the years he had spent alone, beyond the simple comfort of human companionship.
In the floors below, the workers stilled-the unexpected sound raising the hair on the back of their necks. Dave jerked up right. Had he done that? He must of, he hadn\'t meant to upset the workers, they were just doing their jobs; but still the sound had come from him. He must be more careful in the future not to give in to his grief.
Below the workers look at each other uneasily. Growing up they all herd tales of this old place being haunted. It had been a rite of passage for many of the kids to dare each other to walk past it on moonless nights. It was even creepy on nights when there was a full moon. But it was all just stories, Right? None of the guys working there ever actually experienced anything on those midnight dares. Something had always happened to a friend of a friend; or someone\'s older sibling. But now this, and in the middle of the day too. Who ever heard of a haunting in the middle of afternoon?
\"Ya think someone got hurt?\" One of the workers asked the others.
\"Don\'t see how, we\'re all down here\"
\"That sound like it came from the attic\"
\"One of you go up and see\" They eyed each other warily, who would go?
No one moved to the door.
The boss walked by and poked his head in, \"Get your asses moving boys, we don\'t have all year to get this place ready\"
\"Hey boss man, ya\'d hear that scream?\" One of the braver workers asked.
\"Yeah what of it?\"
\"You think it\'s the ghost?\"
\"You bunch of sissies, that got ya spooked?\" No one answered
\"Oh Christ sakes, ya\'ll don\'t believe all that shit about ghost and ghouls, do ya?\"
One of the workers shrugged his shoulders \"Well boss, where did it come from? We\'re all working down here. Aint no one up stairs\"
\"It was probably one of them damn kids across the street. You know how these old houses are, the slightest sound echoes all over, makes it\'s seem like something it\'s not\"
The workers looked at each other. It seemed like a good enough explanation. The sense of unease began to dissipate in the room. With a few shrugs of the shoulders they went back to work.
\"Ya\'ll should be more afraid of that New York woman coming down and finding her house unfinished. She\'ll put a hurtin\' on your faster than that old ghost would.\"
The men gave a heart felt chuckle over this observation of temperamental women; especially Yankee women. They fell back into their previous mood, swapping dirty jokes and complaining about the heat. And soon the unusual wail had been forgotten.
He thought back among the residents of this old farmhouse where he had spent eternity. First had come the carpetbaggers feeding on the decay of the south. His grief was still fresh and he hated them, blamed them for his death and the death of his comrades, the destruction of all he had held dear-- he blamed it all on those first Yankees owners. Oh how he had went through the house with his anger rattling the windows and shaking the floors. He howled his frustration in the middle of the night, delighting in waking them at all hours with the banging of doors and the eerie sound of his ghostly boots stomping through the house. But after many decades and many changes of ownership Dave had became aware of the futileness of his actions. He even saw them as childish in a way, like a small child throwing tantrums.
Then came a young family and he couldn\'t bring himself to scare those little fresh face tykes. Though he did enjoy playing little pranks by hiding their socks and schoolbooks in unlikely places and rearranging the photographs on the mantel. Gradually the family became aware of his presence but unlike past residents, they were unafraid of him, and referred to him as their ghost. He was amused by their adoption of him, and in returned found missing hairbrushes and lost earrings. He felt a kindly benevolence towards them and simply enjoyed watching the family grow. They became a surrogate family, a replacement for all he lost. He watched each milestone, the first steps, first day of school, he worried when they were teenagers and came in late, and if he could of, would have shed tears along with their living parents when each child in turned married or went off to college.
He watched them, like an unseen family member; until the very last when the young mother was now old lady. He sat by her bedside when she breath her last. Her sprit didn\'t join him in his long vigil in this house, and he was happy that her soul would not join his in this lonely place of an afterlife, but hopefully was in heaven. She was a good woman and deserved happiness and rest.
He often wondered why he was here and why there was no other spirits here; surely, he was not the only soldier to die tday.day. What had happen to their souls, did they go on to a heaven or hell? Why was he still here; was it because of the locket he had hidden in the basement wall? Was that keeping him chained to this house, keeping him from moving on? But he had no more answers than the living did.
The grinding whirl of an electric saw brought him back to the present. Dave cocked his ghostly head side ways, amazed at this new fangled cutting device. The inventions of this age never ceased to intrigue him. He circled around the man, not sure if he should be annoyed or amused at the high pitched whine it made. Such an intense sound from so small a machine. A yellow cord snaked away from the machine and through the open door leading up into the farm house; Dave followed it along still feeling a bit uneasy with all the changes that had been done to the house.
The tacky old carpeting had been ripped up and the old wood floors polished to a gleam. Broken windows had been replaced, and new windows added to let in more light. Many walls had been knocked down to turn smaller rooms in to large open rooms that flowed one into another. The stairs were replaced, going now all the way up to the 3rd floor attic where the greatest changes had been wrought.
The small dividing walls that once made up the servant rooms had all been knocked down. The ceiling was ripped out to expose the supporting beams and added an extra 4 feet of ceiling space. Great French style windows were added to all sides and a new wood floor was laid down. The red brick wall was left exposed along the north and south walls, but white washed paneling was added to the east and west where the windows let in the most of the sunlight. Where there were once several dark cramped rooms there was now one immense light filled room running the full length of the house.
What the new owner intended for it, Dave had no idea. But it was where he spent a good majority of his time now. He would stretch out his ghostly form along the wooden floor, and watch the sun rise on one side of the house and fallow its path through the sky till it he could see it set through the west facing windows. It was like an anchor, its immense weight holding him down, keeping him tethered to this one place. He could almost fancy that he felt it warming the floor; the heat creeping into him, warming him, making him feel almost human again. But the sensations of hot and cold no longer existed for him. He could only recall what it was like. Recall the bitter chill of winter snows; the biting wind cutting through his shabby clothes and the brutal southern summers where the heat was like a smothering blanket. And after 140 years he could still remember it, and the lost of physical touch tortured him every long hour, through out eternity he would mourn it\'s lost.
For days he would stay there hearing the rattling and humming of the workers, all their fancy electric tools making such a racket. The pounding of the hammers echoing through the great empty room, he could feel the very vibrations moving through the walls and floors. He could sense the men in the rooms below, could feel their life force. With out even looking he could stretch out his energy and tell where each man was. Their living energy making little ripples like pebbles tossed into a calm lake. He tracked their movement through the house, and listen to their jovial banter; their voices deep southern rumbling accent that time had not changed.
It was that friendly sound of their easy camaraderie that brought back the memories again. He recalled that same warm friendship he shared with his fellow soldiers. The nights by the campfire, telling jokes and sharing stories of home. A powerful grief enveloped him and he let out a long keening wail for all the years he had spent alone, beyond the simple comfort of human companionship.
In the floors below, the workers stilled-the unexpected sound raising the hair on the back of their necks. Dave jerked up right. Had he done that? He must of, he hadn\'t meant to upset the workers, they were just doing their jobs; but still the sound had come from him. He must be more careful in the future not to give in to his grief.
Below the workers look at each other uneasily. Growing up they all herd tales of this old place being haunted. It had been a rite of passage for many of the kids to dare each other to walk past it on moonless nights. It was even creepy on nights when there was a full moon. But it was all just stories, Right? None of the guys working there ever actually experienced anything on those midnight dares. Something had always happened to a friend of a friend; or someone\'s older sibling. But now this, and in the middle of the day too. Who ever heard of a haunting in the middle of afternoon?
\"Ya think someone got hurt?\" One of the workers asked the others.
\"Don\'t see how, we\'re all down here\"
\"That sound like it came from the attic\"
\"One of you go up and see\" They eyed each other warily, who would go?
No one moved to the door.
The boss walked by and poked his head in, \"Get your asses moving boys, we don\'t have all year to get this place ready\"
\"Hey boss man, ya\'d hear that scream?\" One of the braver workers asked.
\"Yeah what of it?\"
\"You think it\'s the ghost?\"
\"You bunch of sissies, that got ya spooked?\" No one answered
\"Oh Christ sakes, ya\'ll don\'t believe all that shit about ghost and ghouls, do ya?\"
One of the workers shrugged his shoulders \"Well boss, where did it come from? We\'re all working down here. Aint no one up stairs\"
\"It was probably one of them damn kids across the street. You know how these old houses are, the slightest sound echoes all over, makes it\'s seem like something it\'s not\"
The workers looked at each other. It seemed like a good enough explanation. The sense of unease began to dissipate in the room. With a few shrugs of the shoulders they went back to work.
\"Ya\'ll should be more afraid of that New York woman coming down and finding her house unfinished. She\'ll put a hurtin\' on your faster than that old ghost would.\"
The men gave a heart felt chuckle over this observation of temperamental women; especially Yankee women. They fell back into their previous mood, swapping dirty jokes and complaining about the heat. And soon the unusual wail had been forgotten.