Phantom Yearning: A seductive ghostly presence
A night in a haunted house brings on unprecedented chills
This was going to be a night to remember. Staying overnight in a haunted house was a dream come true for me. When the owner of the Taylor-Right mansion contacted our paranormal investigation group, asking if we would like to do an investigation there, we had jumped at the opportunity. The preliminary meeting was today, during the day, so we could get a feel for the place in the daylight. Tomorrow night would be lights out. Us alone in the dark of the great house.
The walk-through went great. We had a group of five attend. Our paranormal group was on Facebook, so aside from the three core members, we never knew for sure who would turn up.
Besides myself, David Concord, the core members consisted of my sister, Courtney, and her boyfriend, Sam. The additional two that joined us were somewhat regulars. We had completed about fourteen investigations with them out of the fifty-three we had undergone.
When we arrived the following night, a sixth person was waiting inside the house for us. He introduced himself as Charles and I was immediately enamored by him. Sleek black hair, crystal blue eyes, and full lips. My gaze wandered over the rest of him. He was lean but muscular.
My type.
When it came to splitting everyone into groups, I chose Charles to go with me. I wanted to get to know him better. We started in the basement. Courtney and Sam took the upstairs bedrooms, the other two, the main floor which consisted of the main parlor, dining room, kitchen, and library.
Charles led the way down the stairs into the dark basement. I had given him an EMF detector. We immediately started getting spikes, the needle bouncing into the red.
"What do you think it means?" Charles asked.
"Either the unit is broken, or something is causing the needle to jump. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual." I ducked beneath an overhead beam. A rustle in the corner attracted my attention. Probably mice. I headed that way to check it out. Charles was right behind me. I directed my thermal camera into the dark. I was right. Mice.
"Let's head back this way." Charles pointed to an opening in the brick wall encasing the main part of the basement. "I thought I saw some shadows moving in there."
The space behind the opening was pitch black. I shone my flashlight into it. The floor was dirt, the floor joists covered in spider webs. "Kind of dingey in there."
"Yes, it is." Charles touched my shoulder. "I don't like it. Can we go somewhere else?"
I nodded. "Let's check out those rooms over there." At the far end of the basement were two doors. One contained a storage room. Old paint, jars of nails, and an assortment of broken pottery. I opened the other door. The room was full of dusty, old furniture and personal items.
Charles headed for a bedframe, running his fingers along the headboard. Next to it was a desk. He slid open one of the drawers and rummaged through it. All the items, old pens, ink pots, and paper were still contained within. Charles removed a stack of paper and flipped through it. Halfway through the stack, a letter presented itself.
I peered over Charles's shoulder to get a better look. My chest pressed against his back. I might have been mistaken, but it felt like Charles leaned into the contact.
It was a love letter; unsigned
"Sounds like someone's love was destined to be unrequited," I said. The tone of the letter was of love and passion for someone the writer thought unattainable.
Charles sighed and placed the stack of papers including the letter back into the drawer.
"He was heartbroken." Charles turned to face me. I was already so close, our noses almost brushed against one another. His breath was soft and subtle on my lips. In an instant, I reacted. I pushed Charles back against the desk and enveloped his mouth with my own.
Against all odds, Charles responded favorably, reaching up to wrap his arms around me. We sank into the depths of each other's desire. Lips—tongues, mingling—sharing. The taste of him was pure—clean, without the hint of anything—he tasted like fresh water from a spring.
Charles moaned softly against my lips, his fingers raking into my hair. I clung to him, pulling at the bottom of his white button-up shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his tweed pants.
He released my hair and dug around at the front of his pants, unfastening them. He spun in my arms and dropped his pants to the dirt floor. He leaned over the desk.
As chance would have it, I had some condoms in my wallet. Charles gazed over his shoulder at me as I released my cock from my jeans and rolled a condom into place. His brow was furrowed, quizzical as he watched me. Maybe he was used to guys fucking him raw.
Not going to happen.
I pressed my cockhead against his hole. The lubricated condom was going to have to do the trick. My need for someone's ass had never been this great before. I tempered my urge to thrust into him, slipping in as delicately as I could manage.
Charles reached back for my hip as I closed in against his ass. He was mewling, sweet as honey. He clawed at my skin and panted my name. I slipped out, then in again.
The sound that erupted from his throat made my heart stammer.
I reached up under his shirt, toying with his nipple, my other hand on his hip, my cock pumping into him. I rocked him time and again against the hard, wooden desk, his soft grunts filling the small room. He gripped the far side of the desk and lowered his head onto its surface.
Taking the hint, I increased my pace, pounding him harder. Each thrust escalated my lust for the guy who had so readily offered himself to me. It was not the way I had expected the night to go. No complaints from me. We could back to ghost hunting soon.
I was close.
I reached around his thigh, taking his cock into my hand. It was semi-hard, its substantial length knocking against the drawer of the desk. My gut churned, desire cycling through it. Maybe I would have the chance to feel it inside me, caressing my hole.
My attention snapped back. Charles was pushing back against me, angling his hips, sinking me deeper, jostling his insides. He was crying out, frantic, wanting more. I gripped his shoulders and drove into him hard. The desk rattled and creaked with every frenzied thrust.
Hammering into him, I climaxed, releasing shot after shot of cum into the condom, blackness, and sparks of light alternating behind my eyes. It was the release I had been craving for a while. Hookups had been few and far between in the past weeks. And this one was special.
As I slipped my cock from him, a gust of cold air rushed past my cheek, infiltrating my ear. It almost sounded like a voice.
Charles stood up and turned toward me, his features pensive. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah." I looked around the room. There was no window in the room. There was nothing to explain where the rush of air had come from. Nothing to produce that sound. If I had to guess, the sound had been very like a man's voice saying, "Charles."
"It said my name."
I disposed of the condom and refastened my jeans. "That's what I heard too." I gazed down at Charles's cock. It had waned; his body's response of desire replaced by goosebumps.
Charles pulled up his pants. It was bittersweet seeing that gorgeous cock disappear. I longed for it—in my mouth—in my ass. Anywhere. But we had encountered a ghostly voice. I wanted to continue investigating. We left the room, scanning the rest of the basement. Charles stayed behind me, commenting about how the readings were still high.
Out of the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw a shadow. A shadow person—in the shape of a man. I aimed my thermal in the direction I had seen him. Sure enough, there was a human-shaped cold spot motionless in the corner of the basement behind the furnace.
"Charles … look at this."
Charles crowded in against me, looking at the thermal reading. "Is that a ghost?"
"Might be. Could just be a cold spot in the basement." As I said that, the shape disappeared and the door of the room we had come from creaked closed.
I spun to look in the direction of the door, frantically searching the area with my flashlight. There had to be an explanation. I scanned around the basement. No open windows. Nothing to cause a draft. I approached the door and swung it back and forth on its frame. It would take a fair amount of effort to shift the door. The hinges were rusted and tight.
The word, "Charles," echoed throughout the basement.
Charles gripped my arm. "Let's get out of here. Switch with a different team."
"Sure." I headed for the stairs. I took one last look around before we ascended to the main floor. I unclipped my walkie-talkie from my belt and called for the other teams to meet us back in the front entry. Once together, we all outlined what if anything we had experienced in each part of the house then went our separate ways. Charles and I took the top floor.
He lingered near the bedroom door at the top of the stairs then followed me down the hall toward the bedroom I would be staying in tonight. I wanted to check it out first. See if there was any paranormal activity. My sister said they hadn't picked up on anything.
Charles busied himself looking in the closet and through the dresser and bedside tables. He had turned the malfunctioning EMF detector off and tossed it back in my bag in the front hall. It was obviously on the blink. Either that or every place we went was rife with spirits who were choosing not to make themselves known to us.
"Hello," I started. "My name is David … and this is Charles. We aren't here to hurt you or interfere in any way. We just want to know who you are."
I knocked on the wall beside me. "Can you copy that?"
Charles gazed around the room as if anticipating a response. He went over to the door and closed it. "You can knock on the door."
Sure enough, a light knock could be heard coming from the door. When the handle rotated and rattled, I nearly leaped through the window. Slowing my breathing, I raced over to the door and flung it open. There was no one there. "Thank you," I said while closing the door.
As soon as it was closed, the knocking started again. This time Charles opened it. A blast of air swept over us. Charles took a step back. "It followed us up here."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you not hear that?" Charles stared at me. "It said my name again."
"I didn't hear it." I sat on the edge of the bed. "Let's try the spirit box. Maybe this spirit has more it wants to say to us."
I switched the box on. The sound of static filled the room. The concept was that the rapid cycling radio stations could be manipulated by the spirits so they could form words or phrases.
Charles's name was the first word to come through. Then love, then forbidden. All in a man's voice. Then a woman laughing. A girl's voice, brother. After that, it was gibberish. I switched the unit off, and we left the room. I followed Charles as he led me to the door at the top of the stairs. He hesitated, then opened the door. It was a creepy feeling that crawled out of that room.
"I'll sleep in here tonight," Charles said.
"Are you sure?" I stepped into the room. It was icy cold. I scanned the room with my flashlight. The bedding was indented as if someone had been lying there. A perfect outline of a human; the pillow compressed. I would have to ask my sister if one of them had done it. Laid down on the bed. Yesterday, during the walkthrough, the bedding had been impeccable.
Sam's voice crackled through the walkie. "We're not getting anything. I think we should set up the static cameras and get some sleep."
I was tired, but not entirely wiped out. I looked at Charles. I could be persuaded to exert a bit more energy before I fell asleep. Instead, Charles waited for me to leave the room then shut the door. I would have preferred to set up a camera in his room to record while he slept in case something happened, but I intended to visit him later once everyone was asleep.
I didn't need what I wanted him to do to me recorded.
Once the cameras were set up, I climbed into bed. I set my alarm for an hour, giving the rest of our team plenty of time to fall asleep. I must have drifted off to sleep because I awoke to the feel of someone sitting on the edge of my bed. For a brief moment, I panicked until I realized it was Charles. He was wearing the funniest blue and white striped pajamas I had ever seen.
I rolled toward him and tugged on them. "Take these off."
Charles rose to his feet and stripped off the bizarre clothing. I held back the bedding and he climbed in beside me. I had shed my clothes for bed, except for a pair of boxers. Charles tugged on the waistband of them. I shimmied them off my hips and discarded them at the foot of the bed.
His hands were immediately on me, touching every bit of my skin. My face, my shoulders, my chest down to my abs, my hips—my cock. He wrapped his hand around my girth. His skin was cool, sending shivers down my spine. He kissed me and I palmed his fiercely hard cock, stroking it—needing it. "I want this in me," I whispered against his lips.
He drew back from my face. "I've never …"
"I'll guide you." I launched myself at his mouth.
He hadn't said no.
I was desperate for him. I rolled him onto his back and crept down the bed, kissing a line down his chest to his abs. The smooth muscles quivered beneath my lips. He ran his hands through my hair as I took his cock into my mouth. It was more than I had hoped for. The fit—the taste.
I sucked along his hard length then played with his slit, lapping up the pre-cum. Charles arched his back and groaned, his fingers tightening in my hair. I slipped back, opened my mouth wide, and swallowed him deep into my throat. I sucked him from root to tip then bobbed up and down on his shaft, his cockhead striking the back of my throat until he was wet and glistening.
I returned to his mouth. Between gasping breaths, I managed to get out the words, "I'll grab a condom." His sweet, soft response of, "Please don't," caught me off guard.
He blinked his beautiful, gentle eyes, gazing up at me. There was such innocence there. He touched my face and pulled me back to his lips.
I'm not sure what came over me, but I followed him there. Instead of scrambling through my wallet to grab a condom, I found myself straddling him and sinking onto his bare cock. I rocked my hips to take him all the way in. He was long and thick, the pressure on my gland; intense.
Someone whispered his name in my ear, and I chose to ignore it. We had already established there was activity in the house. If they wanted to watch, that was their business.
My heart thudded in my chest. The camera. It was directed at the bed. No one was monitoring the live feed but we would be reviewing the footage tomorrow.
Charles laid his hand on my chest … and I suddenly didn't care. I could always lose this recording, keep it for my personal use. To relive these few moments of bliss.
I rose and fell on his cock. Charles tossed his head back, his hands gripping my thighs. He reached around to my ass, helping set the pace. I bounced up and down, reveling in the jarring depths of his cock inside me. Flashes of light shot across my sight behind closed lids.
I opened them and looked down at him.
He was perfection.
I needed to be closer to him.
I leaned forward and kissed him. His hips angled up, hammering his cock into me. He didn't miss a beat. Perfect rhythm, his hands clutching my ass.
Charles gasped my name, filling my throat with sound. He grabbed me and rolled us both until I was on my back, my legs spread. His cock, having sprung free, was reintroduced to my hole. I wrapped my legs around his thighs, my knees riding the clench and release of his ass muscles. The skin on his thighs was smooth—soft as velvet. I stroked my hands up his spine and clung to the back of his neck. He nestled his face against the skin beneath my ear.
The bedroom door rattled, the handle turning back and forth with urgency.
"Ignore it," Charles whispered. "It's no one important."
The bed began to vibrate as Charles drilled into me, rumbling against the wooden floor planks. Jostling us. It didn't throw Charles off in the slightest. He took my hands in his and stretched my arms up over my head; his lips and tongue ravaging my throat. He sucked my earlobe into his mouth, gusts of panting gasps heating me to my core.
I squeezed Charles's hands and flooded the space between us. Charles jerked and grunted, then a rush of warmth filled my ass, each pulse thrilling me as he coated my insides.
He kissed me slowly as his body calmed, then smiled against my lips.
"I'm glad I met you," Charles said.
I brushed some hair that had fallen forward away from his eyes. "Me too."
Charles extracted himself from between my legs and lay down beside me. He tucked in against my shoulder and draped his arm over my chest.
"Can I stay?" he asked.
I turned and kissed his nose. "Of course."
Sleep descended on me after that. I was awoken by pressure against my thigh. Charles was no longer in my arms. He was sitting on my bedside re-dressed in those ridiculous pajamas.
"What's wrong?" I touched his arm. "Come back to bed."
Charles opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He visibly sighed. There was a look of deep regret creasing his features.
"Did you not want to …," I started.
Charles's eyes popped open. He set his hand on my thigh and shook his head. I could see he was struggling to speak. The unwilling sound was finally released. "No, I wanted to," he said.
"Then come back to bed." I held back the bed covers. Charles hesitated, then undressed and crawled into bed, and curled up against my side.
I swept my hand down his body and caressed his cock, stroking him until it responded. Charles moaned against my shoulder and rocked his hips, fucking my hand. I shifted until I was facing him and took his mouth. Kissing him was different this time—more desperate. His overwhelming response told me I would never see him again. It was like a goodbye.
I slid between his legs, hoisting them apart, my cock hard and seeping. I guided it toward his hole and slipped in. Slow and easy. He was as tight as the first time I had fucked him. His fingernails clawed at my back as I sank in fully against him.
I was more gentle this time—less urgent. I wanted this to last. I caressed his hole with my cock; soft—gliding, all the while watching his eyes. There was wonderment there. Charles licked his lips between tiny gasps, undulating his hips to meet mine.
Charles touched my face. "You've been perfect."
Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I was right.
This was goodbye.
I held Charles, bringing him as much pleasure as I could, clutching him tight to me, not ever wanting to let him go. The moment he crested, his face almost appeared to shimmer, my name on his lips. I spilled into him, each thrust meaning we were closer to the end of our time together.
Wrapped in each other's arms, Charles's lips kissing my shoulder, we fell asleep. I dreamed of him. Dreamed of making love to him. Dreamed of a life together with him.
I burst into quiet tears upon opening my eyes the next morning to find the space beside me empty. I rolled into my pillow, soaking the linen. It wasn't until my sister knocked on the door, calling my name that I composed myself, wiping the tears off my face.
Upon leaving, I peeked into the room Charles had insisted on sleeping in. It was empty. No evidence that Charles had ever been there. I left the door open and headed for the stairs. I heard the door click closed behind me. I turned to look at it and swore I saw a shadow pass by the small crack at the base of the door. I almost went back but my sister called for me to hurry.
Later that day, we started to go through the feeds. I discreetly tucked the camera from the bedroom where I had stayed back into my bag. If anyone asked where it was, I'd make up some sort of excuse, like I had decided to jerk off or something.
No one asked and I didn't bring it up. There was no evidence of a haunting on any of the other cameras. Aside from the evidence I had witnessed, the investigation was a bust.
Once everyone was gone, I connected the camera from the room I had stayed into my computer. I started to zip through the footage. The first part was me being restless, then finally settling in and falling asleep. After twenty minutes of that, I sat straight up in bed and appeared to be talking to someone. I peered at the screen. My lips were moving. I was definitely talking to someone. But there was no one there. I must have been dreaming.
I watched as the onscreen me reached out, tugged the air, then opened the covers of the bedding. Then I slid over as if letting someone into bed with me. I rewound the feed and replayed it. There was a faint shimmer beside the bed, then it disappeared as I closed the bedcovers.
I lurched forward, leaning on the desk. What the hell? I was kissing the empty air. In the full thralls of making out with someone. Except, there was no one there. Had I dreamed the entire encounter? I zipped the footage back and rewatched it. I looked awake.
Sleepwalking?
Sleep kissing?
I watched as onscreen me threw the covers back and shifted down the bed. I appeared to concentrate on one area of the mattress, my head bobbing up and down.
I jammed my hand into my hair. This couldn't be happening.
I gripped the edge of the desk as the image of me straddled empty space, reached back, directed a fictitious cock into my ass, and sank onto it.
I zipped through the next part. I remembered every detail of what had happened next. How I had kissed Charles and clung to him. How I had fallen asleep with him in my arms.
On the screen, I was sleeping again. This time a soft image appeared on my bedside when I sat up. Barely there—a figure. The flickering image of someone in blue and white stripes.
Before I had a chance to establish that it was Charles, the figure disappeared. Again, my screen image continued to talk to him. I capped my mouth with my hand, my breath shallow. My heart was thundering in my chest, terrified by what I was witnessing.
Charles hadn't been there—but he had.
Then we had made love. Truly. That's what it had felt like. There was an emotion in the way Charles had held me, the way he had called my name.
I flicked the footage off and opened Google. I typed in Taylor-Right home residents. I must have scrolled for a good half hour before I found what I was looking for. An image of the house, looking like the late 1800s. A family lined up outside their home for their photo. Halfway along the second row of people—Charles, looking as innocent and wide-eyed as I remembered him; a young man in his early 20s. I opened the website containing the photo.
Charles Taylor. Born 1856. Died 1881.
Murdered.
I scrolled further, my hands sweating. Charles Taylor, murdered by his stepbrother Daniel Right … or so it was assumed. They hadn't found the body for some fifty years.
I clapped my hand over my mouth.
He had been buried in the space on the other side of the brick wall in the basement. No wonder Charles had wanted out of the basement after peering into the dark, dank space.
There were no other details.
I picked up my phone and called the owners of the Taylor-Right mansion. While talking to them, they filled in some of the details. It was rumored that Charles and his stepbrother Daniel had entered into an illicit relationship; even fallen in love. When they were discovered and confronted, it was believed that Daniel had killed Charles and hid his body under the family home. It wasn't until some plumbing needed to be repaired that they had found Charles.
I slumped back in my chair, staring at the photo of Charles and his family. If you looked closely, you could see that Charles's pinky finger was touching the pant leg of the young man next to him—deliberately. The side glance and secretive smile from the young man who must be Daniel Right spoke volumes. They had been in love. And Daniel had killed him.
I stretched out on my bed and closed my eyes. The bedroom I had slept in must have been Charles's. The icy cold room, Daniel's. Daniel's voice had been calling Charles's name. Daniel jiggling the handle of Charles's door—knocking—wanting to be let in.
Daniel vibrating the bed as Charles sought comfort from me.
My bed dipped and I opened my eyes. His eyes were as startling a blue as I remembered. His smile was timid, and his body shimmered in and out of existence.
"How?" I reached out to touch him but felt only cold air.
Charles opened his mouth, but only a gasp of sound came out. He gazed down at his hands then back into my eyes. He licked his lips and tried again.
"Can I stay?" It was a soft whisper, but Charles had managed it. Miles away from his home and he had somehow figured out how to connect with me. His body solidified. This time when I reached for him, he was there, fully present in my room.
I tugged at his blue and white striped pajamas. "Take these off."
A smile tugged up on his cheeks. He was beaming. After stripping off his clothes, Charles joined me on the bed. We didn't sleep that night. I made love to him all night long. During times of rest, we spoke about his life—my life—how we could spend the rest of it together.
Charles had left Daniel behind at the Taylor-Right house. The young man he had been in love with. The young man who had killed him and continued to beg for his forgiveness.
Now, he was with me.
As the years went by, I became the strange, unattached old guy that rarely left his house. There was happiness inside my house. In that house, we could be together.
Charles stayed with me, my love—my life, until the day of my passing.
Now we're together.
Together—forever.
PHANTOM YEARNING; Copyright © 2022 by JT Fader