Haunted

My mother had the gift, too.

She didn't talk about it when I was young. But we didn't go certain places very often. We avoided cemeteries, and old churches. She felt more comfortable in new buildings, like malls and the townhomes we settled into on the edge of each village and hamlet my dad moved us to for his job. Sometimes, we would be driving on a road at night and she would shiver going around a curve or along a dark stretch of highway.

When I asked if she was okay, she would nod and tell me "I'm just remembering someone, honey." I didn't know what she meant. Until it happened to me.

My first time was just after I started to bleed. I was about 13, and I knew what to expect when I found the rust-coloured spot in my underwear. My mom had told me about pads and cramps and hot water bottles. What she didn't tell me was that I'd be seeing people who weren't really there.

I was walking down the street, heading home from school, feeling sort of grown up now that I'd had my period, and I felt something brush by my arm. I swiped at my sleeve and figured it was some kind of bug, or maybe the wind. But then I felt a chill at the back of my neck and I shivered.

Standing in front of me was a child. She shimmered like a ghost from the movies. I didn't feel scared. I reached out towards her and she wavered as though she would disappear. But she stayed, and I saw that her dress was wet and she had moss tangled in her hair. She opened her mouth and I waited to hear what she had to say. But it was filled with leaves. She closed it again quickly and disappeared.

I went straight to my mother about it when I got home, and she sighed.

"I was hoping it skipped you," she said.

"What is it?" I asked her. She sat me down and explained that women in our family could see people after they passed on. No one knew why we could see the spirits, she told me. It had just been that way for many of us.

"Why did she look like that?" I asked.

"I think they sort of, I don't know, freeze or something, the way they looked when they died." She shuddered. "Sometimes it's awful."

"Do they want something from us?" I asked her.

"I don't know, honey. Sometimes they try to speak. Once and a while I hear a whisper. Mostly, I just try to let them know I see them. I think they want to be remembered."

It didn't happen a lot. Not every time I walked by a cemetery or a mausoleum, or a hospital, or an old home. But every so often, I'd feel that cool air on the back of my neck and shiver, and brace myself to look for the poor soul who wanted to be seen.

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We met in the usual way, at a party. I noticed you across the room, talking to someone, a little animated and laughing.

"Who is that?" I asked a friend.

"Oh, he's a friend of Ben's. I'm surprised to see him here. It's kind of sad, really. His wife left him, suddenly, last year." She shook her head. "He's a nice guy, I think."

I lost track of you at the busy party but ran into you on the deck at the back of the house. The party had spilled out into the fresh air. People were sitting on lawn chairs, smoking cigarettes and chatting. I was warm from dancing and stepped out to cool off.

"Here, watch your step," you said to me as I came through the patio door. You held out a hand and guided me down the steps to the deck. I thanked you and then, when you looked at me, you didn't let go of my hand.

We ended the night tangled up together on the street outside. My cab was on its way and you were keeping me company. We'd been laughing about something - I don't remember what - and then you leaned in to kiss me, putting your hand on my cheek. It was a good kiss. It was the kind of kiss, I thought afterwards, that you tell your children about.

We saw each other a few times over the next couple of weeks. A drink at a pub one night, a walk by the river one morning, and one afternoon we met for lunch.

We'd been chatting about places we had travelled. I told you about the time I'd visited the Golden Bridge in Vietnam; you opened your mouth to say something, and then closed it again. I looked at you and waited, wondering if you'd finish your thought. After a moment of fidgeting with the cutlery, unfolding and folding the napkin, you seemed to decide.

"I always thought I would travel with my wife," you said, and looked down at the table. I sat still, waiting to see if you'd say more.

"She left me a bit more than a year ago," you said, and I reached for your hand.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I don't actually know," you said. "We were happy, I thought. Really happy. And one day I came home and found her gone."

"Did she leave a note?" I asked.

"No," you said. "Nothing. Never even called. Didn't even take her clothes with her. Just took her purse and car and drove away." You looked away then, your eyes a little wet. I squeezed your hand.

The server arrived with drinks and a basket of bread, breaking the moment. We moved on to other subjects, a little awkwardly at first, but then more naturally as the conversation turned to movies. You suggested we go to the one out that week featuring a house full of ghosts haunting a family in a small Midwestern town.

"I hate scary movies!" I said. You laughed.

"We can snuggle during the scary parts," you said, and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

There was a chill across my neck just then, and I looked around to see a man standing outside the restaurant. His arms were stretched wide and his mouth open, head tilted to the sky. He was wearing a suit in tatters, bloody down one side. He lowered his eyes and looked at me. A shiver went through me, and I nodded at him so he knew I'd seen him. It seemed to be all he wanted.

I knew that if we kept seeing each other, if this thing between us became as serious as it felt like it was going to be, I was going to have to tell you about the spirits.

By the time we left the restaurant, the man had gone away. I took your hand and we walked to the farmer's market.

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Things between us started to get a little weird.

It started as little misunderstandings. I thought you were meeting me at the restaurant, and instead you would show up at my work. I said 9:00 to meet for a drink, and you'd text me to let me know you were waiting for me at 8:30. You would ask me to call you from my car to make sure I was getting home, and once, I thought I saw you behind me on the street when I was shopping with friends.

I talked it over with a friend.

"It's a little creepy," she said. "But didn't you say his wife left him?"

"Yes," I said, drawing out the word.

"Maybe he's just nervous that you're going to leave," she finished.

Maybe, I thought. Or maybe she left because he got possessive. Or worse. But you were kind and caring when I was with you, and the little voice niggling away at my brain quieted in time.

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You're holding me close as we dance to Shirley Horn at a small jazz club.

"Once, I loved," Shirley sings, as you slowly draw your hand up my back to pull me closer, and bring your lips to my ear. You smell so good. There's the warm cologne I've come to like so much, and a hint of whiskey on your breath.

We spin a little as Shirley sings that love is the saddest thing when it goes away, and the words stick in my ear. But you kiss my neck, and I forget about the love that left you last year.

"You want to get out of here?" you ask me softly. I smile and nod. My dress is clinging to my curves as we move. I want to take it off and feel your hands all over me.

You live a little out of town, and our ride-share driver tactfully averts his eyes as we make out in the back seat. Your hand is high on my thigh, your knee between my legs. You are kissing me with deliberate slowness, lips lingering as you draw away, your tongue grazing mine.

By the time we get through the door of your home, I am burning with need. I need you to touch me everywhere, to tease my nipples with your tongue, to lick across my stomach, to sink into me slowly and cover me with your large, heavy body.

"Give me a moment," you say, kissing me and taking a step back. "I'm just going to get us some water." You turn and go towards the kitchen.

I stand in your living room, with its plants hanging in the window and the red cushions on the large sectional, and consider unzipping my dress. I imagine you coming back to find me naked. I imagine you standing in front of me, your mouth watering, as I wet a finger and trace it around my already stiff nipple. I close my eyes and picture you reaching out to touch my naked body.

And then I feel it. Someone is here.

The cold whisper at the back of my neck makes me drop my hand from my zipper and turn my head towards the dark corner of the room. I see a woman. She is crouching. That's unusual; it's like she's hiding from something, or someone. I can't see her face.

I begin to walk towards her when you come back into the room, glass in your hand. My face must show something, because you stop in your tracks.

"Is everything okay?" you ask. I take a breath to steady myself, and smile at you.

"Yes, it's fine," I say. You come closer to me, offer me the water. I take a drink and smile again.

"I'd like to kiss you some more," you say, putting your hand on my cheek. The heat from earlier courses back through me with your touch. You kiss me as though it's the first time again, slow but with deliberation. I press my body against yours and try not to think about the spirit in the corner of the room.

This glass of water is between us and you take it from me. You are still kissing me and leading me by the hand as we back out of the room, making our way to your bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone standing at your front door, watching us. His eyes are narrowed in concentration. He sees me watching him and his body jerks in surprise. He knocks.

"Oh, hold on," you say. "That's my neighbour at the door." You walk over to the front door and open it.

I feel that cold whisper at the back of my neck again and I see her, standing up now, a finger to her lips. Her face is frozen with fear. Her hair is a bloody mess on one side, matted and brown. Her neck is laced with bruises.

I watch her until you close the door to your neighbour. Who is she afraid of? Is it you? The little voice of uncertainty about you speaks up again.

"Sorry about that," you say, coming back into the room. "He just had a quick question." I fix my face, turn, smile and tell you it's not a problem. You get close to me again and wrap your arms around my back, pulling me in.

"Now, where were we?" you say, leaning in to kiss my neck.

I glance to the corner and find the woman has returned to crouching in the dark. I've never seen a spirit do this.

I try to let myself be distracted by your lips on my neck; your soft lips are tracing a line down my tendon to my collarbone. You're humming a little as you kiss and lick. You press your body into mine and walk me back toward the bedroom again. I close my eyes and concentrate on your fingers grazing the front of my dress, wandering over my tightening nipples. It feels so good I can almost forget about the spirit. Almost.

You unzip my dress and pull it over my arms and to the floor. You pull your shirt over your head. God, your chest is beautiful, covered in light curls of coarse hair. My legs touch the bed and you push me gently back onto it. You smile as you finger the soft lace of my panties, and then pull them down over my hips. That burning sense of need comes roaring back as you lean in, green eyes still on mine. I can feel your breath on my pussy, warm and soft, and a moan escapes me.

You part my wet cunt with your fingers and lick, your tongue gliding up until it barely grazes my clit. I gasp and arch my back, reaching for your head to bring you closer. My fingers disappear into your curls. You push your tongue into my entrance and your fingers find my clit, circling it. I feel the heat building inside me. I roll my head back, and close my eyes, and lose myself in the feeling.

You've got your fingers pressing inside me now and you're flicking my clit with your tongue, and I'm moaning and writhing and whimpering and my legs are shaking.

And then, there's a sound.

You don't hear it, obviously, because you're still concentrating on making me feel good. But my eyes fly open and I see a shadow outside your window, the slightest movement, so quick I'm not even sure if I saw it, and then I see her. The hairs on the back of my neck rise instantly. The spirit in the corner of the other room is right behind you, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

I see you, I try to tell her with my eyes.

Movement again outside the window, and she looks over, terrified, hands coming to her head and then turning back to me.

"Run!" I hear her say, in a whisper so soft, I know I'm the only one who can hear her. Who will ever hear her again.

I tap your head quickly, and you raise it, startled.

"What's wrong, baby?" you ask.

"Something is out there," I say, pointing at the window. "I heard something."

My whole body is covered in goosebumps and I see the spirit behind you, eyes still terrified.

You stand up, go to the window and look out. I can see the outline of your hard cock in your jeans.

"I don't see anything," you say.

"Look again," I say. "Please. I have a really bad feeling."

You pull on your shirt and go out into the living room. I find my dress and pull it back on, following you, afraid to be alone in the bedroom. The spirit won't hurt me; whatever she is afraid of is definitely trying to.

You open the door, telling me to stay inside, and head towards the bedroom window at the back of the house. I find a chair and curl up in it, freezing cold.

The spirit has followed me into the living room and retreated to her dark corner. Hiding again.

"It's going to be okay," I say into the room. "Thank you for warning me."

The goosebumps on my arms settle a little.

But I don't know if it is going to be okay. You've been gone for a while. Something - someone - was out there. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves.

A few minutes later, you appear at the door, looking worried.

"Cigarette butts," you say. "A lot of them. Right under the window."

"Someone has been watching you," I say.

"For a while, I think, judging by the pile," you say, locking the door. "I looked all around the house and didn't see anyone. I'll call the police in the morning. Let's just go to bed tonight." You come over and take my hand. "You okay?"

I nod. I don't feel the spirit's fear as much anymore, and the warmth has come back into my bones. I stand up and follow you to the bedroom.

In the morning, things feel better. You wake up and make some coffee and come back to bed. You're going to drop me at home on the way to the police station. You kiss me softly and promise me another night like last night, but with no creepy sounds or neighbour interruptions. If only you knew what really happened.

You're in the shower when I take our cups back to the kitchen. On a shelf above the sink, I notice a framed photo of you and a woman standing on a beach. You're holding hands and laughing. You look so happy, your face relaxed and eyes focused on her. She's very beautiful. I look closer, and my heart stops. I recognize this woman. The last time I saw her, she was crouched in a dark corner, frozen with fear, blood matted in her hair.

The screaming, terrified spirit is your wife.

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I always knew the day would come when I would have to tell someone about the gift. But I didn't know it would be like this. I didn't know it would be now.

The pile of cigarette butts lead to finding a trail of blood, which lead to some trace evidence of hair and bone fragments. The police searched the area with cadaver dogs and discovered your wife buried in a shallow grave on the back of your neighbour's property. He'd been watching you both through the window every night. All he would say about it in interrogation was that he loved her, and she told him no.

We didn't see each other for a long time. You asked me not to come to the funeral or the trial. I understood why. But you called me months later, and requested I come to your home before it sold.

"You said you saw her here?" you asked.

"Yes," I said. "She warned me he was watching us. In the bedroom."

You looked down. Took a breath. Let it out again, shaky.

"Is she still here?" you asked, looking up at me.

I went inside to the living room. I felt the feathery chill on the back of my neck, and there she was. But she seemed calmer now, hands at her side. The bruises at her throat seemed to have faded. She stepped into the light, and pressed her hands together.

"Thank you," I heard her whisper. I nodded to her, and she faded away.

"She was still here," I told you, stepping back outside. "But, she's gone now. And I think she's going to be okay."

You passed a hand over your eyes. You closed the door, locked it, and turned away. Blew out a breath.

As we walked down the long driveway, leaves crunching under our feet, I sensed a weight lifting from you. We reached our parked cars and stood, looking at each other, hands in our coat pockets. I couldn't read your face.

"Can I interest you in a fresh start?" you asked.

"Even knowing what you know about me?" I asked. You nodded.

I offered you my hand, and you took it.