Spirit (9 page)

He took me in from head to toe, smiled, and asked, “You okay? Blood pressure gone down?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t exactly boisterous. In fact, it was feeble, lame, and a little forced. Truth to tell, I wasn’t feeling all that amused.

“What the hell happened down there, Sam? Any ideas? And I love your shorts.”

“Thanks. I had to empty the other ones.”

This time my laugh was a little more unrestrained. “I know what you mean.”
I really did too.

Sam crossed the room and perched his ass on the foot of my bed. I wasn’t sure if I felt encroached upon or the luckiest dude in the world. When he leaned back on one arm, trapping my legs between his hand and his hip, I decided to go with lucky.

When he ran a cool hand over the hair on my shin and said, “Fuzzy legs,” I figured even lucky didn’t quite cover it.

I waited for my toes to stop curling. “You keep doing that and you’ll be in big, big trouble, mister.”

So Sam stopped. That’ll teach me to open my big mouth.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the breeze from the window cool his face. I wondered what he came to say, although I had a pretty good idea. I wasn’t wrong either.

“How long have you known your house is haunted?”

I stole one of Timmy’s guffaws. It didn’t sound much better coming from me than it had coming from him. “Oh, please, Sam. It was a jet. A low-flying jet. A
really
low-flying jet.”

Sam’s eyes went to half-mast as he studied my face. He wasn’t buying it. “And it was flying through your basement?”

“Well—”

“So you don’t believe in ghosts. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. I mean, yes. I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Yesterday it would have been the truth. Today I was lying through my teeth.

Sam gave me a cockeyed grimace. Skeptical. A little amazed. He knew I was lying as well as I did. “Neither did I an hour ago,” he said. “Didn’t believe in ’em at all.”

“And now?” I asked.

It was Sam’s turn to shrug and say, “Well….”

Then the two of us couldn’t help it. We both spit up a chuckle. A look of wonder came over Sam’s face that I suspected could be found on my face as well. We both seemed to be asking ourselves “What really did happen down there?”

As if tired of the subject already, Sam gazed around the room, taking things in. The posters on the wall from a couple of my video games that had sold reasonably well. The two dormer windows looking out over the neighborhood, showing the streetlights and an occasional porch light shimmering in the distance. He eyed the construction of the room with a vague smile on his face, seeming to like the way the top half of the bedroom walls slanted in, making the room look like a garret, which in truth I guess it was. Sam’s room, located closer to the center of the house, had no such distinction. The sloping walls had been one of the reasons I chose this room to be my own. I loved the old-world feel of it. The quaint warmth of the slanting oak walls and hardwood floor. The tiny fireplace off to the side I never used.

Sam seemed to appreciate the lines of it too. He scanned the room thoroughly, and the last thing he rested his eyes on was the baby monitor sitting on the nightstand. I could see him holding his breath for a moment to better hear the sound of Timmy and Thumper softly snoring through the rush of static and white noise.

Finally, Sam’s eyes traveled back to my face. He sat up and rested his warm hand on my knee.

He gave me a quizzical look when I jumped in surprise, although I tried not to. “You mind?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

A smile played at his mouth. “I’m a little creeped out. I need to feel another human being.”

I smiled. “Feel away.” The minute the words were out of my mouth, my cock shifted among the crumpled sheets. Thank God, Sam didn’t notice.

His eyes were on mine. His smile had faded. He looked somber again. “This is where Paul and Sally lived. This house. Timmy lived here too, right?” His hand was a warm reminder of how it feels to be touched by another man. I found myself wishing I could touch him back, but there was no graceful way to do it. Not without appearing to be a desperate slut.

So I nodded instead. “Yes. Timmy lived here for a while after he was born. He was just a baby when your brother left. After a few months of being alone in this big old house with a baby and no husband, Sally called it quits. Everything reminded her of Paul, she said. She wanted out. Fortunately, I wanted in. I loved the house. I eventually bought it from her without thinking twice.”

“Have you been happy here?” Sam asked, his hand sliding away from my knee and resting on my ankle. God forgive me, I was a little disappointed it wasn’t sliding up instead of down. More than a little actually.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve been happy here. Like I said, I love the house. I love working in the backyard.”

“You’ve made it beautiful. Did you plant the little trees?”

“Thanks. Yeah. The trees, the rock garden, the roses, everything. It was just half-dead grass back there when I moved in. I thought it needed a little more character than that. I guess I figured since the house was so beautiful, the grounds should be beautiful too.”

Sam pushed his damp hair out of his eyes. It was drying slowly, the color gradually lightening a bit as it did. Already, golden streaks were glistening in among the chocolate brown locks. One of the perks of living in Tucson, I supposed. Sun-lightened hair. It also accounted for Sam’s perfect tan.

He stroked my ankle with his fingertips. I’m not sure he even knew he was doing it. He had the look of a man whose mind is a million miles away.

I was surprised when he asked, “Do you think Timmy remembers living here?”

Scooting myself up a little higher on the pillow and tucking my hands behind my head, I stared at him, considering the question. Finally, I said, “Sally says no. She’s sure he was too young when they moved out to remember anything about the house. He doesn’t remember his father either. Maybe that’s a blessing.”

A muscle clenched in Sam’s jaw. I wasn’t sure he liked what I had just said. But after a couple of beats, he decided to let it pass.

“I suppose,” he said quietly. “Timmy can’t miss what he doesn’t remember.”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

A tiny smile twisted Sam’s mouth and lit his face. God, his eyes were beautiful. They drew me in every time I glanced at them. He was remembering what had happened earlier. I could see it on his face.

“You were just as shocked down there as I was,” he said. “Was that the first time something—
paranormal—
has
happened in the house?”

I was a little uncomfortable with this conversation. It made me feel like a fruitcake. Like a Bigfoot hunter, or a psychic hotline operator, or one of those goofy people who chase ghosts around the countryside, never finding anything, but still writing reams and reams of books about the nonexistent experience.

“I’m still not sure it was
paranormal.
Good lord, it could have been a hundred things.”

“Name one. And don’t hit me with the low-flying jet again. I’m not buying that one.”

I tried to consider the problem rationally. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, since there really wasn’t anything rational about what happened at all. “I don’t know. Maybe it was an electrical surge, and all the appliances were screaming for a second. Or a gas leak, with gas fumes tearing through the house like steam through a steam pipe. Or maybe it was an earthquake. Yeah, that’s probably what it was. An earthquake.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh yeah. That sounds reasonable. If it was a gas leak, why didn’t the house blow up? If it was a power surge, why didn’t the lights either brighten or blow out altogether. And you know as well as I do it wasn’t an earthquake.”

Sam leaned forward, once again placing his hand on my knee. This time he had a pretty good grip on it. All the humor in his face was gone. “If it was a utility screwup or an earthquake, then who was Timmy talking about when he said he was mad at the dark?
Who
was mad at the dark? And don’t forget the dog. The dog knew something was happening too.” Sam glanced at the baby monitor, tilting his head for a split second to better hear the sound of snoring coming through it. Both Timmy’s, and Thumper’s. “The dog hasn’t left the boy’s side since. Explain that.”

I was finally forced to shake my head. Hopeless. “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t explain any of it.”

Thinking back, I remembered Timmy talking about the man who spoke to him through the basement window. I remembered the lights going out without anyone touching the light switch when Timmy and I left the basement that morning. But those weren’t paranormal experiences, right? They were just weird stuff happening, like weird stuff happens all the time. You can’t call every odd thing that takes place a paranormal experience, for Christ’s sake. If you did, you’d be running from shadows for the rest of your life.

Sam got my attention by tapping my knee. “I think we should ask Timmy some questions tomorrow. Ask him
why
he said what he said.”

We had tried asking him about it tonight, and he had ignored us. Ignored us completely. When we kept harping at him to tell us
who
was afraid of the dark, he started to cry, so we backed off. I had every intention of
staying
backed off. I had no intention of making him cry again.

“He wouldn’t talk about it tonight,” I said. “What makes you think he’ll talk about it tomorrow? And the last thing I want to do is scare the boy. I don’t want to freak him out and make him afraid of the dark. I don’t want him to be afraid of the house either. I enjoy having him here. I’d rather we just forget about the whole thing. I won’t have Timmy hounded. Not by you, not by me, not by anybody.”

Sam stared at me. He seemed about to argue, but then I could sense him pulling back.

He acquiesced. “Whatever you say. But if a ghost rapes me in my sleep, we’re going to revisit the issue. Deal?”

I laughed. I was tempted to say, “That would be one lucky ghost,” but I bit my tongue and opted for, “Deal,” instead.

Sam probably knew what I was thinking anyway. He had an odd grin on his face when he patted my knee for the final time and pushed himself to his feet. He stood beside the bed gazing down at me for a moment. I envisioned him reaching out and tossing the sheet aside, leaving me exposed and hard beneath him. But all he did was pull the towel off his neck and wipe his face.

Crap.

“It’s hot tonight,” he said. “Good night, Jason.”

I stared up at him, longing for him not to go. Longing for other things too. Like those rooster-covered boxer shorts to vanish in a puff of smoke. But no such luck. They stayed right where they were. I knew they would.

“Good night, Sam. Get some sleep.”

“You too.”

He strode toward the door, his lean, strong back straightening as he walked away, the boxer shorts hanging low, exposing a patch of dark hair just above the crack of his ass. The swell of his rear end, the movement of it as he walked, was a beautiful thing to watch. To get a final glimpse, I rose up onto my elbows just before he stepped into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him.

Alone, I sighed and reached over to switch off the lamp by my bed. As the darkness enclosed me, I lay back and remembered every square inch of Sam’s body he had offered up for display, the way he looked, the way he smelled, and the casual way he perched at the side of my bed. I remembered the feel of his hand on my knee. That I remembered most of all. The warmth of it. The strength. The gentle softness.

Because I couldn’t bear not to, I reached beneath the clump of sheets and wrapped my fingers around my swollen cock.

I closed my eyes and let my imagination do the rest.

Too enamored with the living, I forgot the ghost completely. Later, when I came, I imagined my lips on Sam’s throat.

In my imagination, he came with me, both of us crying out, hungrier than we were when we started. As my heart pattered down to a normal cadence, I slid a finger through the semen puddled on my chest. I touched it to my mouth, tasting it, wishing it was Sam’s.

And then I slept, with my seed drying on my lips.

T
WO
DAYS
passed. The three of us—myself, Sam, and Timmy—fell into a pattern of behavior not unlike a typical family. Naturally, Sam’s and my attentions centered almost exclusively on Timmy. Anyone with a four-year-old in the house will understand why. There is no escaping them. A four-year-old is like a tiny moon sucking everything around it into its orbit. By the sheer force of their energies and personalities, they require (nay,
demand
) total obeisance and an unswerving eye.

And while it was a full-time job keeping the kid safe from his own adventures, with every passing hour, I grew more attached to Timmy. Sam, too, seemed to find himself at odd times simply sitting back and staring at the boy, amazed by the kid’s take on the world around him. Timmy’s sweetness and innocence was astonishing, his knack for getting into trouble truly disconcerting, and the ease with which he wormed his way out of that trouble unerringly mind-boggling.

I had revised my expectation of the boy becoming president one day. Now I felt fairly certain he would become the world’s greatest con man when he grew up. Not a day passed but what I clucked my tongue and wondered just what Timmy would do next. And not once did he disappoint me in outdoing himself completely.

But what amazed me most about Timmy was the bravery with which he faced the unknown. And by the unknown, I am referring to the other member of our little household. The unnamed member. And so far, thank heavens, the
unseen
member.

But no matter how unknown or unseen that fourth housemate remained, all three of us knew he was there. Waiting. Waiting….

So yes, you see, I
had
come to the conclusion there was indeed a ghost on the premises. Why he should suddenly make his presence known now was a mystery, but there was little doubt he was here. Actually, I was rather proud of myself for not throwing my arms in the air and running screaming down the street like Aunt Pittypat waiting for the Yankees to swarm Atlanta. Who knew I could be so lackadaisical about a visitor from beyond the grave? Not me.