The wind howled through the room from the open window, the pale curtain billowing like a banshee, and I knew that she was there.
“Catherine?” I whispered, my nervous heart thundering like a thousand devils’ hooves. “Is it you?”
Silence greeted my words. Silence and darkness, pierced only by a single shaft of moonlight through the window. The candle I had placed by my bedside to guide her way had long since gone out.
“Who’s there?” My voice broke on the words. I was wondering now if it was some other intruder. “Show yourself.”
I peered into the darkness and discerned the outline of a figure in my bedroom doorway. Whoever they were, they stood stock still. Watching me? I was sure of it.
“Who’s there?” I repeated, more boldly.
A sigh, quieter than the breeze, and then: “I shouldn’t have come.” Her voice was a tendril of death, clinging to life. “I should have stayed away.”
At first I ignored the rumours. Talk of a figure seen roaming at night, coming from the direction of the church yard, ethereal and grimly beautiful. They described Catherine, but of course they would. There had long been accusations that witchcraft was being practised up at Hollow Tree Farm. No, I ignored the rumours. At first.
Then came the deaths. Odd red lesions around the throats of the victims, withering for days and then passing suddenly in the night. Witnesses swore they saw her, leaving the houses of the sick and dying. And if it was a disease then it was an odd sickness indeed, for it affected only the young men and young women, passing by the children and older adults. I found it increasingly difficult to defend my deceased friend, to honour her memory. I could not admit to myself that my former lover could be anything but a memory, for to do so would give me hope of seeing her once again.
But then there came the voices. Whispers on the wind, singing in the night. Young voices, a choir. Folk recognised the sound of their children, their brothers, their sisters; all taken by the strange sickness. I stood at my window and listened, and I knew then that it was true, for they sang her name.
Catherine’s face was even more beautiful in undeath than it had been in life. She perched at the end of the bed and watched me, unblinking, her death shroud blown by the wind so that it clung to her ripe breasts, her hardened nipples.
“I wish you didn’t have to see me like this,” she whispered.
“I love you,” I replied. “I always loved you.”
She shook her head. “You cannot love a creature of such horror.”
“And yet I do.”
I pushed back the coverlet, revealing my nakedness, and crawled over the bed to her, placed a hand against her cool cheek, let it drop to her shoulder, then her chest.
She watched me and drew a ragged breath. “Please, Abby, no. Don’t tempt me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do. Take me.”
I leaned forward and placed my lips against hers. There was no warmth in them, but I didn’t care. As she opened her mouth to mine I kissed her with such heat as to make up for us both. Her hand tentatively reached around my waist, her fingers caressing my buttocks, then gently she slipped them between my thighs and ran a fingertip through my slit.
My body shook with a shiver, the cold of her skin and the warmth of my cunny colliding in a crescendo of lust. I undulated against her, pressing my tongue into her mouth, wondering at the sharp tips of her teeth. My breath came fast and hard, and I pushed her onto the bed, crawling on top of her.
“Take me,” I said again, then gasped as a second finger slipped inside my cunt, her thumb moving at my rear, stimulating nerve endings that had almost forgotten what her hands felt like. I yelped and bucked as the long, sharp nails on her free hand pinched at my nipple. My back arched and I pulled away from her, moving forward and back against her probing fingers.
Catherine leaned forward then and her tongue darted out, wetting my belly, swirling my navel. I cried out, and she moaned.
“I’ve missed you, Abby,” she whispered, then nipped gently at the underside of my breast.
“Take me. I want to be with you.”
I met her eyes, and she nodded. Her fingers pressed deep inside me and I reared up, squealing with blessed relief. I barely felt the sting as her teeth sank into my throat, drawing blood. I barely heard the slurp as she suckled on my life juices. Faintness washed over me and I moaned as I sank against her.
“Take me,” I whispered again, and she did just that.
Written for Masturbation Monday Week 164. If you haven’t arrived here from there then a) you’re probably thinking I’ve lost my mind and that this is far creepier than my usual work but also b) you’re missing out on a whole heap of dark, sexy stories in the run up to Halloween!