Ghost of a Chance

by Jo

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2012 - Jo - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/m; F/f; bond; dream; bfold; drug; ghosts; sex; cons/reluct; X

Molly lay on the bed, the Earl's bed, her arms and legs spread wide, the cords binding her cutting into her wrists and ankles. He is there - on her - thrusting into her.

It is a dream, of course. Molly was adept at lucid dreaming, knew when she was in a dream, could even exercise some control over the situation. Not this time. She looks down at the girl, bound to the bed, a band of white cloth over her eyes. Her nightgown is pulled up to her waist exposing the dark triangle between her legs. Her wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts with bed curtain cord.

Hands squeeze her breasts, caress her legs. Then he is upon her. Mary/Molly scream. A strong hand silences her/them.

She couldn't see him. In that regard she was as blind as the girl, yet she could see the girl on the bed.

The girl, bathed and dressed, serves the guests. The Earl is absent, but his wife is there. Mary moves among the guests carrying trays, invisible, just another serving girl.

He thrusts into her/them. She/they struggle, the cords biting into her/their wrists. Molly watches Mary writhe on the bed, the hand clamped over her mouth. There is a sitting room separating the Earl's bedroom from the Countess's, but the girl is inexperienced in these things and sounds do carry.

The attendant is leading the girl through the passageway. She's wearing a brown shawl over a white night dress. The white cloth is in place over her eyes. She is lost. And frightened. Why had he come for her in the middle of the night? She had heard rumors, rumors of things she didn't understand, rumors of certain favors being supplied to the guests, but of these favors she knew naught.

He is thrusting into her/them. The initial tearing pain is now a dull throb, an ache. Mary's terror blends with Molly's knowing. There is a memory of when she, too, writhed beneath a man that first time.

A panel opens, a sliver of light pierces the passageway. The attendant leads the girl into the room, bows, and leaves. A small wall panel slides shut.

There is a woman leaning over the bed. She presses a pillow on his face. He doesn't struggle, but Molly is terrified and confused. His face? A soft knock startles her awake.

She lays there for several minutes trying to hang on to the wisps of memory, but they fade until all she's left with is the feeling of his flesh inside of her. She pushes herself off the bed, pads over to the door. A tray is set on a side table. There are two small pots, one with coffee, one tea. Mary takes the coffee pot and a cup and steps back into the room.

"I had, uh, a visitation."

The Countess smiles. "I'm not surprised. That's why I gave you the gown, Mary's gown, gave you his room. I'd hoped it would draw him out."

Molly takes a sip of tea. Breakfast had been served and eaten. The other guests gone their separate ways. Mary sits with the Countess in the solarium.

"It's what you were hoping for, isn't it? This whole tour of haunted castles thing? It must be very exciting to have an actual encounter."

Molly feels her cheeks flush. "Yes, but ..."


"It was very ... intimate."

The Countess chuckles. "Well, dear, It was intimate, now wasn't it. That's the reason she killed him."

Molly takes a sip of tea and nods.

"My great grandmother was not an ignorant woman. She knew the score, the way things were between the men and the girls. But she was a jealous woman. When she found out about the affair, she drugged the Earl and then smothered him his sleep. She closed the house, sent all the servants away, all except for Mary. She moved to the summer house. Lived there for the rest of her life. Mary, poor thing, died of pneumonia, died young as I understand it."

"The police?"

"She was the Countess, dear. And, besides, they weren't as sophisticated as they are today. They assumed he simply died in his sleep - which in a way he had. But even today, it would be an easy crime to get away with. There are drugs that simulate heart failure and, sorry, but rank has its privileges. The police wouldn't look all that closely."

Molly spends a nervous day playing tourist. The memory, faded as it was, gnaws at her. After dinner and a nightcap or two in town, she walks up the hill to the manor.

She helps herself to one last brandy and settles into a chair by the fire. She can hear conversation from another room, but she has the small sitting room to herself. When her head bobs the second time, she sets the glass aside and makes her way upstairs.

She dreams of a party she had been to last year. She feels disoriented, the scenes coming in short bursts. The disappointment wakes her and she slips into the bathroom for a glass of water.

She barely makes it back to bed before sleep overtakes her. He is there. Mary is tied to the bed. His hand covers her/their mouth. Again she is blindfolded. And, again, she can see the girl on the bed, but not the Earl. She, Mary doesn't know it's him. She, Molly, knows it is even though she can't see him.

Again the flashbacks, disjointed, familiar, and yet not. And now he's thrusting into her/them. He takes his hand away from her mouth and kisses her. And it is just her, Molly. She gets no sense of the other at all.

And again the shadowy figure of a woman with a pillow. In back-to-back moments Molly realizes it's not him on the bed, but a girl and then muffled gasps. She can't breathe and the odd thought crosses her panicked brain that she'd never experienced breathing in her dreams.

And then ...

The Countess is there. She pulls the pillow from the girl's face, from Molly's face.

"Well, great grandfather, I hope you will be happy now."

And he's there, holding her by the arm. She wants to flee. Some force urges her, pulls at her, but he holds her until the moment passes. She turns to look at him, but she still can't see him. She knows it is him and she imagines the portrait. The one in the main hall. The one of the handsome young man on fine horse. The urge to flee disappears only to be replaced by an intense sense of belonging.

The Countess rearranges the pillows. She steps into the bath, washes the glass, twice. She steps over to the wall. A slim panel slides open.

Downstairs, she takes the brandy bottle, empties it, washes it, refills it, and sets it back in place.

The police are summoned the next morning. They have to break into the locked room. There is an inquest. The verdict is heart failure.

"Yes, she had been complaining of chest pains. Such a shame. A girl so young."

Everyone agrees it was a shame.

The Countess has the door repaired, but never allows anyone to sleep in the room. There were tales of ghosts and mysterious deaths and the guestbook bulges, the Euros flow in.

Molly spends her days wandering the house, never venturing too far. Once she went outside and felt herself fade. Terrified, she went back in.

She can't see him, but she knows he's there. She can feel his presence. It's faint. She has a sense he's avoiding her during the day, as he had Mary. Proper decorum must be maintained after all. And so he avoids her, avoids her until late at night when she finds herself, once again, bound and blind in his bed.