The Erotic Haunting of Miriam

Dave sat in the upstairs’ studio, watching the night clouds scurry across the face of the moon. Around him was paintings, many paintings, all done my Miriam’s hand. He had watched her paint most of them, the fine delicate hands creating such beautiful works of art. Surely that was what they were, even to Dave’s untrained eyes. Of course some of them would have made him blush if he was still a young man with a body. But he couldn’t think of them as dirty pictures, no matter how he had been brought up. The curve of a back, the slender arms help in a graceful arch, the soft tendrils of hair caressing an elegant neck while the model looked back over her shoulder with a demur look—it was too exquisite to be anything but art. And Miriam had painted this, had captured perfectly the soft morning light on the silky fine skin—so real it was as if the viewer could reach out and stroke the model himself.

Dave was a bit unnerved by her talent, was not sure what to make of her just yet. Never before had he ever known so talented a woman, in life or in death. He did not want to spook this new woman, did not want to make her uncomfortable—he certainly didn’t want her to leave after being along for so many decades. But there were times while he watched her paint that she would turn suddenly and stare at the very spot he was standing. Then running a nervous hand along the back of her neck she would turn back to her work. Part of him was thrilled that she could sense him, but then he would be scornful of himself for wanting some sort of contact with her. What could come of it? Fear on her part and dismay on his. No, it was best to watch and hope he did not disturb her too much.

As he lounged there he became aware of a disturbance in the energy; he was always attuned the mortals in the house and could sense their presence and emotion. With out evening trying he could track Miriam as she went through her day; could sense when she was pleased or annoyed. And now she was extremely upset. He floated down to her bed-room; a place he rarely visited in order to give her some measure of privacy even if she was not aware of it.

She was still asleep, but caught in the grip of some sort of nightmare. She thrashed a bit, her long red curls tangled in her slender hands, a soft moan escaped her lips. Dave felt helpless standing their watching but not being able to help, not being able to wake her up. Out of habit he lean down across the bed and stroked her fore head with his ghostly hand. The second his corporeal hand touch her skin there was an instant jolt, almost like a bolt of lightening running through him—and he had the impression of being far away in some dim hazy light. He jumped back stunned and unsure of what had happen. Miriam seemed more frantic now and he wanted so badly to do something, anything to ease her suffering. This time being more prepared for the shock he slowly reached out to her again. The jolt came again, but did not startle him; for a second everything seemed normal but then his vision began to fade and a gray smoke enveloped him. Slowly he began to hear a sound. Unfamiliar at first but then he recognized it as the pounding of the surf, so long unheard by his ears. Looking around he began to notice shapes forming out of the gray mist. Dim, rickety beach houses loomed out of the fog to his right and to his left he was beginning to make out the crashing of the waves. He looked down and was surprised to find his body seemingly solid, he ran his hands down his arms and was shocked to actually feel the prickly texture of his gray woolen army coat! His pleasure was cut short though, with the appearance of Miriam running from the line of houses. Her red hair streaming out behind her as she ran, her face twisted in fear and she was screaming as she ran—heading straight for the crashing waves. Instinctively Dave reached for her, catching up with her as she was just entering the surf. His arms reached around her waist as she fought against him, madly, blindly—her arms flung out towards the open sea. And that was when he noticed the other figured. A tall man moving slowly out into the white caps. Miriam was screaming for this figure to stop and come back, not to leave her —her face wet with tears and slat spray as she fought against Dave. He was not sure what was going on here—was this her nightmare? A brief flash drew Dave’s attention away from Miriam and back to the man further out in the surf, but he was no longer there. Miriam went slack in his arms and he drew her up close to him, cradling her and briefly enjoying the sensation of having arms hold with again. She sobbed against his chest, and he stroked her hair, the damp curls so soft beneath his fingers, oh god, to have hands that could touch again. He lowered his check to her fore head and murmured softly to her. At the sound she startled. She jumped back as if burned, confusion written across her features. She seemed as if she was about to speak but then he felt him self wrenched back to reality. In a spilt second he was thrown out of her dream and found himself back in her bedroom.

Miriam bolted upright in her bed. Her chest was heaving, her hand held over her heart—feeling as if it would leap out of her body. Her eyes scanned the room, panicked and unsure of where she was at first. Slowly she clammed down and realized it had been a dream, and she was back in her bedroom in her new house. It was the same nightmare that had plagued her since she was a child. She had not had it in nearly over a year, but that did not lessen the intensity of it, the fear and sadness it left. She fell back onto her pillows wondering what would have set the dream off again. And then it hit her, the dream was different this time. There was a third person there a man who had caught and held her. That was the first time that had happened. She was sure of it, she could still almost feel those strong arms around her now.

She sat up again; perplexed wondering what could the new diversion in the dream mean? She shivered, closing her eyes she could almost make out his features again. Deep brown eyes, black hair falling over a wide intelligent fore head, chiseled looking check and jaw bones, very masculine.

She kicked off the quilt and drew her robe over her silk teddy; she certainly wasn’t going to get back to sleep again tonight. Sighing she changed into an old T-shirt and decided to head up to her studio. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could capture the sensuous cure of the dream man’s full lips.