The Phantom and the Psychic: A Paranormal Erotic Tale
By: Sophia Jones
Copyright 2013 by Sophia Jones
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Acknowledgements
My deepest gratitude goes out to D.B. Sieders who helped me revise and edit this story; your efforts have made it a better tale.
*****
“Are you my psychic?”
The petite, curvaceous brunette arched a slender brow and graced the man with a smile. “I’m a psychic, yes. You must be Mr. O’Toole. I’m Alyssa DeAngelo.” She stretched out her hand to the elderly castle owner, her bewitching smile still in place.
O’Toole fumbled with the ornate handle of the heavy wooden door before he managed to clasp her hand in his.
Dominic shook his head, surveying the scene with equal parts amusement and disdain. Old fool’s clearly smitten.
“Come in, Ms. DeAngelo, come in.”
Through the open entranceway, Dominic savored the glimpse of blue Italian sky and lush green hills visible beyond Castello Rocha’s paved courtyard before O’Toole ushered his guest in and hefted the door shut. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be free of this infernal castle!
Enclosed in the dark interior once more, he turned his attention to the woman.
“Please, Alyssa’s fine. Ms. DeAngelo is my grandmother.” Her voice was rich, husky. The kind of melodious, sinful tone that would have given him a cockstand centuries ago.
“Well, if your grandmother is as fine a lass as you, then she must be a beautiful woman indeed,” said O’Toole with a flirtatious grin.
Dominic snorted. “Say what you mean, O’Toole. You’d like to plant yourself between those luscious thighs and die a happy man.”
Neither the man nor the woman acknowledged him. No surprise there, though unexpected disappointment stabbed through him.
“Bah, some psychic you are,” he muttered, his tone dismissive and angry. A part of him had hoped ...
She laughed. “Mr. O’Toole, how does an Irish sweet talker like you end up owning a castle in Italy?”
The old man’s merry eyes turned wistful, then sad. “Through my beloved. We always talked of moving to Italy one day. Buy a hotel, kick back and let the tourists make us rich.” His voice broke, and Alyssa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He continued, “Well, my Mary, she passed away before we could make any of that happen. But there was the insurance money, and nothing left for me at home ...”
She finished where he faltered. “So you bought this beautiful, old castle to honor the dream you two shared.”
O’Toole nodded. “Aye, this beautiful, old, haunted castle.” He looked undone, his body slumped in defeat.
Hand remaining on his shoulder, she led him through the dark foyer and into the somewhat brighter great room. Still sullen, Dominic followed, hovering behind the pair. Muted sunlight crept in from a dozen large, dusty windows, revealing high arched ceilings, elaborate crown molding, and an immense chandelier. She guided the old man to a maroon divan, then sat down beside him.
In a gentle voice, she asked, “Do you have any more information on the murders?”
O’Toole shook his head, “No, just what I emailed you. It started with my very first guest. Young, healthy lad. Found him dead the next day, his door still locked from the inside. Had to bust it down.”
“Right, no marks on his body, no signs of a struggle in his room,” Alyssa confirmed. “The police said it was a heart attack.”
“Aye, and then a woman, exactly the same thing, in the same room a few weeks later. Two people dead of heart failure. That’s when I closed down for the season. Maybe forever.” Despair laced his words.
She reached for O’Toole’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here to help.”
Dominic interjected, voice heavy with scorn, “I’d like to give you something to grope, you fraudulent wench. Sure you’re here to help ... to help relieve the old bastard of the last of his money.”
She turned O’Toole’s weathered hand over, and traced her pale little fingers over the deep grooves and fine lines. “Did you know palm reading isn’t about predicting the future?”
O’Toole shook his head, seeming content with his hand resting in hers. And why shouldn’t he be? Dominic looked back through time, to his days of flesh and blood. When was the last time I held a woman’s hand?
She continued, interrupting his musings. “It shows the past. See here? That’s your heart line, your love line. Yours is deep and long. I can see how much your Mary meant to you.”
Dominic harrumphed, inexplicable anger filling him. “I’ll give you deep and long. How ‘bout my hard cock pounding into you, punishing you for being a wicked woman who takes advantage of helpless old men?” He moved from his place behind them to materialize in front of the woman. “Look at you wench, in that scrap of scarlet fabric. Why, it barely covers your arse!” His gaze trailed up her long, shapely legs to the place the material stopped, high on her thighs. Instead of disdain, longing washed through him. Disgusted by his own neediness, he dragged his eyes to her face ... and felt his heart break.
“Christ, such beautiful brown eyes,” he muttered in a whispered rasp. Dominic reached out a phantom hand to caress the woman’s cheek, only to pull away in utter shock.
He’d felt ... something. Heat. Delicate silkiness. God’s teeth, I haven’t had the sensation of touch is six hundred years!
Alyssa jerked her head up, and for a moment it seemed she stared right at him. Dominic froze, a burning, elated hope shooting through him. Could it be? But no, her gaze wasn’t focused on him, but through him, and soon enough she dropped her head, continuing to speak to O’Toole.
“And see this line here? It’s your life line, and from it I can see you’ve had a long journey, a determined journey. You’re not a quitter, Mr. O’Toole.” She released his hand and stood, pacing back and forth in front of the grand stone fireplace. “After reading your emails, I wasn’t sure if I could help you. The deaths could have been natural, just horrible, tragic coincidences. But the moment I walked into this place, I could feel evil lurking here.”
Still shaken from earlier, Dominic choked out a bitter laugh. “Evil? That’s going a bit far.”
O’Toole gasped at her announcement. “Yes. Yes. I never would have bought the place, if I’d known its history.”
She nodded. “Can you take me to the room?”
Worry settled over O’Toole’s features. “Are you sure about that, now? Could be dangerous.”
Alyssa smiled. “We should be fine. After all, both occurrences happened at night, while the victims slept. And let’s not forget, they were alone.”
O’Toole dipped his head in a hesitant nod. “I’ll need to retrieve the skeleton key. I’ve had the room locked up tight, since the last, uh, occurrence. Pardon me, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” She gave him a nod and another soft smile, and she
returned to her place on the divan.
Once O’Toole’s back disappeared around the corner, Dominic settled in beside her. He had to touch her again, to see if that first experience had been real, even as he cautioned himself not to get his hopes up. “Ah, just you and me now wench. What shall we do to pass the time?” he asked, stretching out a hand towards her.
Alyssa turned to him. “Well Casper, for starters, we could work on your vocabulary. ‘Wench’ is horribly outdated, you presumptuous asshat.”
*****
Alyssa burned with anger from the phantom’s insults, her fingers actually trembling with rage. “You think I’m here to take advantage of that poor old man? He’s already been through ..."
Invisible hands clasped onto her shoulders, interrupting her rant. White hot energy sizzled at the points of contact, and she cried out in shock at the waves of pleasure-pain rolling through her being.
Immediately the hands dropped away, and that floating, masculine voice from earlier was now a broken whisper. “Forgive me, madam. I pray I didn’t hurt you, but Blessed Mother of God, you know I’m here.”
After long moments, she recovered from his touch, and stood, stepping away from the divan. Her anger melting away, she answered, “Yes, I can hear you, and I can feel you, but I can’t see you.”
“I gathered as much,” the phantom replied from very nearby. He’d followed her.
“Tell me your name.” Knowing a spirit’s name gave a person power over them. She knew he wasn’t the initial, looming evil she’d sensed upon entering the castle, but he could still be dangerous.
“I am Dominicus Romano. During life, I was a servant of the church.”
Alyssa snorted. “That’s quite a mouth you have on you, for a priest.”
“I was not a priest. I was a solider for the church, six hundred years ago.” Voice heavy with repentance, he continued, “But aye, madam, I have no excuses for my sorry behavior. I’m a damned soul, and the worst of my hell is boredom. Forgive me for entertaining myself at your expense.”
She couldn’t see him, but imagined him bowing. She took in the heavy regret in his tone … and believed him. How many souls had she helped to find closure through the years? Dozens. They all spoke of the endlessness. Of their eternal, listless existence, devoid of human interaction and love. She imagined herself in his situation, here in this castle for six centuries. Trapped. Alone. Unable to move on and find any peace.
She responded, “Apology accepted, though you have to know, I’m truly here to help Mr. O’Toole. I would never exploit him. That’s not who I am.”
“I believe you, madam.” His answer was quiet. Solemn.
“Call me Alyssa, please.” She found herself wanting to hear him say her given name. Though his words regarding Mr. O’Toole had enraged her, his other comments in that deep, sensual baritone had affected her. She was honest enough with herself to admit they made something stir hot and low in her belly. Anger evaporated, and another primal emotion took its place.
“Very well, Alyssa, then you must call me Dominic,” the phantom entreated in a husky rasp.
A smile touched her lips. "Your English is excellent."
"The priests I once worked with were from England. And this castle has been owned by many people through the years, people who spoke a variety of languages. I listened, and learned. Not much else to do."
Mr. O’Toole returned before she could respond. The castle owner held up a large metal key. “Here we are, Alyssa. I don’t mind telling you, though, the thought of going into that room terrifies me.”
She turned to the old man. “It’s okay, Mr. O’Toole, if you’d rather stay in the hall. I promise not to spend much time there. I just need to do a quick walkthrough to get a read on the place.”
“I may be afraid, dear, but I’m not a coward. There’s no way I’m letting you in there by yourself.”
She nodded, and took his arm as he offered it. The two made their way down a long hallway, cobbled brick beneath their feet, high stone archways overhead. She thought it very likely Dominic followed them, but she couldn’t know for sure since she heard no words from him. They passed a half a dozen doors before Mr. O’Toole stopped in front of one, and reached in his pocket for the key.
Even before the gentle old man had the door all the way opened, she felt the cold, dark entity inside. It was a consciousness. It watched them, there at the doorway, and waited ...
She shot out her arm to block Mr. O’Toole before he could enter the room.
“Now see here, girl, I already told you …”
“No, Mr. O’Toole. Neither of us is going in there.”
Her fear must have been evident on her face, in her tone, because Mr. O’Toole froze, then stepped back.
From behind her, Dominic spoke, concerned. “What is it?”
Her voice wavered as she answered. “I knew it was bad, but I hadn’t realized …” then, after a pause, “The good news is, I can tell it’s trapped. It’s bound by that room and can’t leave it.”
Mr. O’Toole looked shaken. After a moment where he visibly collected himself, he looked to her. “Do you still think you can help?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. But I’m going to do everything that I can to try. And if I can’t manage, I do have contacts, people who have other abilities and tools.”
Mr. O’Toole nodded, looking relieved. He seemed heartened by her words. “Well, okay. I’m grateful you’re willing to stick with it. Do you … are you still comfortable staying here, in the castle?”
She sought to reassure him even as she fought against the chill of evil’s presence. “Of course, like I say, it’s confined to that room.”
Mr. O’Toole gave her a small smile. “In that case, let me show you to your room. It’s getting late. You go on and get settled in, I’ll have dinner ready soon.”
“Actually, Mr. O’Toole, I’m not hungry. I ate right before I got here. Perhaps I could just retire for the evening?”
“If that’s what you’d like, absolutely.”
He led her to a room on the opposite side of the castle. Dominic remained quiet, though she was sure he stayed with them.
Mr. O’Toole wished her goodnight, and she closed the heavy oak door behind his retreating figure.
“Christ’s blood, Alyssa, what did you feel?”
She turned to his voice. “You truly don’t know? You don’t feel it too?”
“No.” He sounded puzzled, worried.
“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever sensed. Pure evil. I’m not sure why you don’t …” she paused, considering. “It’s outside of my experience, but I’ve read spirits can exist at different levels, on different planes, within the same geographic location.”
“That makes no sense. Explain yourself.”
“I’ll try. But first, you’ve been here for six hundred years, right? During that time, has anything specific, anything memorable, happened in that room?”
He remained quiet for long seconds. Finally, he answered, voice a strange monotone. “That’s where I died.”
She startled, wishing desperately she could see his face. “What happened?”
“We were called in, summoned. There was a young child, possessed by a demon. Two priests and I, we were to exorcise it, but it was too strong.”
“It murdered you,” she whispered.
“Aye. All three of us. Though only I remain here … alone. I don’t know what happened to the other two. Perhaps they moved on to their heaven.” His voice was heavy, weighed down with bitterness.
“You must have at least partially succeeded in the exorcism. That creature in there, it’s more a demon’s ghost, than a demon. It’s tied to its location. I don’t think it could possess somebody, even if it wanted to.” A thought occurred to her. “Maybe that’s why the two guests had heart attacks! It was trying to jump into them, to escape that room!”
Somewhere in front of her, Dominic roared with rage. For a moment she saw his outline, a silhouette of a tall,
cloaked man, vague and fleeting before it faded away. “My life’s purpose was defeating creatures like that,” he cried, anguished. “And now, all these years later, I learn it’s been here the whole time. Still harming people …” his voice broke off, and the room fell silent.
Alyssa waited, heart breaking for him, but after several long minutes of quiet, she was sure she was alone. Hurting for him, wishing she could ease his pain, she unpacked her small bag and pulled back the bed covers. She’d known him only a short time, but she longed for the impertinent rascal that had greeted her at the castle door with his saucy comments. Let him come back and replace the tortured soul who left me.
She crossed the room to stand in front of a floor length antique mirror. She studied her reflection in the smoky glass, took in her long, dark hair, pale skin, and stared into her own pupils, wide and black. What did Dominic see when he looked at me? Luscious thighs? He wanted to pound into me with his hard cock? Though crude, the heat of his lusty words appealed to a secret part of herself. But it was his comment about her eyes that undid her. He said they were beautiful. He’d sounded different then, not angry like before, but awe-struck. Gentle. Like he ached for something.
Alyssa ached now.
How long had it been since she allowed herself to be lost to desire? She could understand something of Dominic’s loneliness, through her years of experience with other spirits, dating back to her childhood. But she also understood because of her own isolation. She was different. Unusual. The men in her life were either strangers, or vague acquaintances. The few she allowed to grow close had all eventually fled, either discomforted by her abilities, or gripped by sheer terror because of them.
But Dominic would accept me, just as I am.
The thought fueled her need.
She lifted both hands, fingers splayed, to her throat and slowly dragged them down the silky length to her chest. She cupped her full breasts in her palms and gave each pointed tip a gentle squeeze, all the while imagining a pair of ghostly hands and a sinfully rich, masculine voice.
Frustrated, she moved her fingers to the straps of her red cotton summer dress and pulled them down her shoulders. The garment fell, briefly catching on her hardened nipples, before dropping to the floor.
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