Necromantic (7 page)

I slowly slid off the bed. Fortunately, Harold didn’t so much as budge. I tiptoed across the room and out the bedroom door. I wasn’t sure what my real goal here was, but at least I knew not to waste time wondering whether the wallpaper had been changed in the intervening years. First things first, though. I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. By the time I arrived, I was already breathing hard. I was definitely missing Julie’s lithe body. Whoever Harold dragged me into next, I just hoped she was in decent shape. This body felt like it was only a few packs of cigarettes away from a heart attack. I stopped short at that thought and had to suppress a giggle. How weird would that be if she died and I met her on the other side? Talk about awkward.

So, I fucked my husband while possessing your body. How’re things with you?

I pushed that thought away. Hell, hadn’t weirder things happened to me already? Remembering my
mission
, I walked over to the cabinet where I knew Harold kept his supplies. Opening it, I quickly found the jar labeled “belladonna.” I wanted to try and gauge how long my seven hour jaunts would last. I prayed that I had at least a few more. Much to my pleasant surprise, though, I found the jar almost unchanged from my prior trip. Apparently his recipe, or whatever it was, called for a pinch at most. At that rate, I could rack up the extra frequent flyer miles for quite some time.

That brought to mind another question, one that I was really curious to know the answer to. I searched the kitchen, looking for something that would enlighten me, but found nothing. I was about to give up when I remembered Harold’s office. What I was looking for was sure to be there. That I hadn’t thought of it immediately probably said volumes toward my need to get my head screwed on straight.

Still making it a point to keep quiet, I stealthily made my way toward it. Fortunately, the door was unlocked. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not like he had anyone else living here to snoop on him.

I opened it and immediately saw what I needed. Harold’s cell phone lay on top of his desk. Picking it up, I marveled at it for a moment. It looked like one of those iPhone things that had come out a year or so before...well, when I died, I guess. I had no real idea how to work it. My last phone in this mortal coil had been an old dinged up Blackberry. Still, I didn’t need to do much with it. There was one big button on the front, so I pushed that, hoping for the best. Luck was with me. The screen lit up and showed me exactly what I was hoping for...the date: Saturday, October twelfth. Finally, I had a reference point.

Harold had been saying that he brought me back on a weekly basis, but I had only his word to go on. If I could establish a pattern to our summonings, for lack of a better word, that might be useful. How? I wasn’t sure yet, but they say knowledge is power.

The phone had also given me the time. There wasn’t much left before I was whisked away back to the beyond, but maybe time enough for one more place to explore. I considered this for a moment. I had looked through the entire house, only finding some ingredients in the kitchen. Surely there had to be more to this magic thing than that. But where? The garage? Doubtful. Harold had always liked to park his car in there. A quick look out the window confirmed that the driveway was empty. I doubted there would be much room for a ritual in there with his big old sedan - assuming he still drove one - parked in the middle of it. That left only...

The basement! Hadn’t I been considering that last time too? Albeit, I was only wondering about how it had been decorated. Still, it seemed like the perfect place. For what, I don’t know. But in the horror movies that I had watched as a teenager, it always seemed that the secret was kept down in the basement. So, what the heck?

The only thing was, I needed to be quick about it and quick wasn’t exactly this body’s specialty.

* * *

The basement stairs were next to the kitchen. I went to open the door leading to them and found it locked. That was a little odd. Still, it wasn’t a deal breaker. I knew Harold. He liked his routines and always put things in the same place.

Sure enough, I was right. We had always kept a junk drawer in the kitchen. I was happy to see it was as junky as ever. Lying in it, the same as when I had been alive, was a key ring. Good to see there were some things I could always count on.

I unlocked the basement door with maybe fifteen minutes left in my current visit. It was just enough for a quick peek, maybe more. I flipped on the switch next to the stairs and saw a dim light from below. The lighting in our basement had always sucked. It used to creep me out at night. I had always bugged Harold to fix it, maybe install some fluorescents, but apparently, he had never done so. It would be just my luck to fall and break my...well, Darla’s neck on the way down.

Luckily for me, I made it down in one piece, which was good because I had no idea what would happen if I
died
while possessing someone. My initial glance didn’t confirm too much of a difference compared to when I was alive. Off in the corner, was a new washer and dryer combo; top of the line by the look of things. Aside from that, this room contained the same old storage boxes and bins as before. Shivering a little as my bare feet touched the cold concrete floor, I made my way to the far end of the basement where there was another room.

It was silent down there. Not to sound cliché, but it was quiet as a tomb. I imagined what I would do if I saw a ghost, but then had to laugh. I already
was
a ghost. Slowly, I walked to that back room, positive it would look exactly the same as out here. In life, I had discussed eventually finishing the basement and maybe turning the entire area into a rec room. However, that had never come to pass. Instead, we had used both rooms for little more than storage of old junk.

I reached the door and peeked in, dim light from the rest of the basement barely illuminating what was in front of me. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to tell that it was unlike any storage space I had ever seen.

Chapter 10

There was something drawn on the floor. I couldn’t see all of it, unfortunately, just some dark shapes that led off into the darkness before me. I only got a glimpse of a circular pattern and some lines. That wasn’t all, though. There was something in the middle of the room, something large. It was too shrouded in gloom to make out, but something about it gave me a sense of foreboding. The hairs on the back of Darla’s -
my
- neck stood up. It felt like that old adage about someone stepping on my grave.

I reached for the light switch. The room had only a single bare bulb, at least that I remembered, but it would be enough to...

I immediately froze in place and listened. Was that a noise I’d heard from upstairs? It sounded like a voice.

Oh, shit, Harold!

I didn’t matter whether or not I was just hearing things. Either way, I couldn’t chance it. Moving as fast as I dared, I ran back to the stairs, climbing them as quickly as I could. Once I got to the top, I shut off the light and clearly heard his voice.

“Darla! Hey, where’d you go?”

“Fuck,” I hissed beneath my breath, shutting the door behind me and taking care to make sure it didn’t slam. I heard footsteps from above. Harold was on the move.

Thinking quickly, I took a step toward the living room. Shit, the door! I spun back toward it. The keys were still hanging from the lock. I turned it, hearing a click, and then ran into the kitchen. I heard creaking on the stairs. No time to be careful. I threw the keys into the drawer and shut it.

Racing out, I could hear Harold rapidly descending the stairs. I entered the living room and looked around. What to do? I turned to my right, aha!

* * *

“Darla, what are you doing?”

“Just looking for a drink, lover,” I replied, trying desperately not to sound out of breath. I stood behind the bar, holding a glass and the first bottle I happened to grab.

“Scotch drinker?”

I looked. Sure enough, I was holding a bottle of Chivas Regal. Vile stuff - could never stomach it in life, but oh well.

“Sure, why...” I slurred the rest as my vision doubled. Oh no, it was starting. I leaned against the bar for a moment until it passed.

“Are you okay?” He sounded more suspicious than concerned.

Again, I had to think fast. I needed a distraction so that he didn’t notice the change. Only one thing came to mind.

I uncapped the bottle and walked around the bar toward him. “Guess I need a double...a
stiff
one at that,” I said, letting the double entendre hang in the air between us for a second.

I stepped in front of him and proceeded to pour the contents of the bottle across my breasts, letting it drip down my body.

“Care to join me?” I asked, backing up and lying upon one of the leather recliners, my legs spread. My seduction had a secondary motive. It was much less likely to be obvious that my soul was continuing to phase out if I were lying down.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Harold kneeled before me. Using his tongue, he began to lap up the scotch from this body. With every lick, his cock grew a little larger.

He began to work his way up. As he reached my breasts, another wave of vertigo passed through me. I felt myself shudder as the tethers to this earthly form began to sever themselves.

“Like that, huh?” he asked, misinterpreting my response. That was just as well.

“I want more...
now
,” I gasped, pulling him up against me.

“So do I.” He pushed forward and entered me just as the final bonds holding me to this world snapped. I felt a quick thrust from him and then I was spiraling away back to beyond the veil.

* * *

The one good part of being back was that the physical sensations and their effect on me ceased the second I reappeared in the afterlife. The longing for them and desire to feel it again was certainly there, but the pressure against and inside of me was now gone. Its loss was replaced by the clarity of thought that was impossible when I was being impaled by Harold’s manhood.

In a place of spirits, where an old friend can seek you out at the speed of thought, finding a little alone time can be a difficult thing. Most of the dead, at least those who aren’t constantly dragged back to the world of the living to be fucked by their well-hung spouses, lose their perspective of being alive. They’re still themselves and they have their memories, but the baggage of life tends to be stripped away upon death. There’s no reason to worry and there’s little to fret about. In some ways, it’s like being in a cosmic hippie commune.

Unfortunately for me, I no longer had that luxury. When life was forced back upon me, even for a few fleeting moments, I lost that purity of being. It’s weird being the lone person in
heaven
with issues. I found it hard to talk about, even with my closest loved ones because they no longer truly understood.

Don’t get me wrong. Harold’s smart, but he wasn’t a genius. I doubt he’s the first person ever to master...whatever it is he did. Even so, I wouldn’t even know where to begin searching for kindred spirits. It’s not as if I found myself wearing a sign that read “tainted by earthly delights.”

There was at least one comfort in all of my confusion. I was fairly sure no lasting resentment was incurred by any souls that I abruptly blew off in my quest for some spiritual
me time
.

I don’t know how long I sat there thinking (figuratively, since there’s no need or way for spirits to sit). As I said, time ceases to have any meaning in that place. It could have been three seconds or thirty years. As I did, though, the picture that began to form in my mind was a puzzle, the majority of which were missing pieces. What was there, though, wasn’t entirely pleasant. Trying to sort out the jumble altogether was far too confusing. So, to help, I made a mental list of both the positives and the negatives.

The positives were pretty easy: being back on Earth, seeing my husband, and the sex (let’s not forget that).

The negatives, though, were troubling because they offered more questions than answers. For starters, there was Harold’s supposed lie about being sterile. If what he said was true - and what reason did he have to lie to Julie about it - then there had been deception from the start of our relationship. Right there, that gave me pause to believe that there were probably cracks in our foundation from the very beginning. Then there was his lie to me about kicking his little playthings to the curb once I had left. That may very well have been the case, but he was certainly getting his fair use out of them long after I had departed. Two women for the price of one, with neither of them the wiser - at least until he’d screwed up his magic formula.

Then there was his bizarre answer to my question when I was Darla, about me (as confusing as that may sound). Darla seemed at best a bar tramp and at worst an outright whore. Why hide the fact that he was a widower? Heck, if anything, that could have earned him an extra pity fuck. Also, he was overly vague about things. The whole
something like that
answer about being divorced bugged me for some reason.

What perhaps bothered me the most, though, was a realization: I had been seeing my husband for several months now and not once had he said anything even remotely like “I love you.” I had even given him a perfect opening that last time and he’d completely blown it. Come to think of it, he hadn’t given me any indication he missed me at all...aside from sexually. While I was alive, Harold had never been the most romantic of souls. Still, there had at least been the occasional mentions of such. I began to wonder if my only purpose in being called forth was because I rocked his world like no other. Don’t get me wrong, that would be pretty darn flattering had I just been a casual girlfriend, but I liked to think I was more than just a fine lay - especially to the man I shared my life with for almost a decade.

Then there was the basement. What was up with that? I didn’t know, but I decided that I was going to find out. Harold was hiding something. Fortunately for me, I had an ace up my sleeve with my new time extension. As long as I didn’t get caught, I could use some of that time to piece things together. It might take me weeks or months to figure things out, but what did that matter to the dead? I just had to be smart about it, which meant one thing: I needed to make sure that, whatever body I inhabited, I didn’t waste any time or effort screwing Harold’s brains out. Only once he was asleep did I have the freedom I needed. Had my spiritual self possessed a mouth, I would have smiled at that. It was a win-win for me. If I played my cards right, I’d get my rocks off and learn something in the process. Not a bad deal, all things considered.