Capricorn Cursed

by Sèphera Girón

  The feeling of unease continued as her thoughts about dead Kelly returned.

  There were many times that stories about Kelly swept through the town. After her parents died, she continued to live in the house. Many speculated about the reasons. Perhaps she had indeed killed them and now gloated at the thought of them every day. Perhaps she was too attached to the house to leave it. She had never been one for adventure and travel.

  As Natasha thought about it over the decades, she surmised that Kelly didn’t move because victims of abuse are often attached to things that cause them pain.

  Kelly became rather wild after her parents died. She was known to hold parties that lasted for days. Fancy cars came and went. Music and noise emitted from the house that had stood quiet since it had been built.

  Kelly died when she was old, with a pile of cats. She partied right up until that day. Her companion, Lady Marisha, who had been traveling with a circus until she discovered love in Hermana, was the one who found her.

  Funny, Natasha thought. Here they are calling her a spinster when the old lady probably had more action than anyone. People just ignored the existence of Lady Marisha. Lesbians didn’t exist back in the day.

  Madeline had already arrived. When the front door opened, she bolted in from the living room, clutching her camera.

  “It’s so weird to be here with no one else,” Madeline said. “So creepy.”

  “It is.” Natasha stared wide-eyed around the house, the furnishings still intact from the day it made history for the supposed copycat double murder.

  The air shifted around her, as if urging her inside with curling tendrils of hot and cold. The busy pattern of the carpet combined with the patterns of the raised, velvet wallpaper made her head spin.

  “You’re back.” The voice was loud in her head. Male. Stern.

  Edwin’s.

  “Oh…” Natasha sat down in the closest chair as her knees grew weak. Whisperings and whining whistled through her head as if a classroom of children were arguing. The whisperings of the house invaded all her thoughts, and she looked up at Madeline with wide eyes.

  “What is it?” Madeline asked.

  “There’s a lot of them here.” Natasha nodded. “Ask them something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe who did the murder?”

  “I’m sure they get asked that all the time.”

  Madeline looked around the room, shooting off her camera. “Do you think they would answer?”

  Natasha closed her eyes. “Who murdered you, Edwin?”

  The room grew hot. Madeline stared at Natasha holding herself. The camera hung loosely in her fingers.

  “What’s happening? The air is so thick and so hot,” Madeline said.

  “I know.” Natasha’s cheeks were burning as the air continued to swell with heat and humidity.

  “I’m drenched,” Madeline said. “Hell, it’s January. This place was freezing when we got here.”

  “It’s why there’s no point in getting air conditioning,” a voice said from the hallway. Natasha and Madeline jumped as they looked over at Mrs. Cookson, the current owner of the property. “You’ll see. One minute you’re looking for your coat, the next you want to run around naked.”

  “You scared the hell out of me,” Madeline said. “God, you’re quiet.”

  “Sorry. I tend to scare guests a lot. In a way, it’s kind of fun,” she said as she patted the bun in her hair. Mrs. Cookson was dressed in a period outfit from the twenties. The simple gray dress with a white cotton apron and her severe hairstyle. seemed a contrast to her cheerful demeanor. Natasha presumed she was in her late fifties, but she couldn’t tell.

  Mrs. Cookson had secrets. Natasha could sense it. Most people did. Natasha wondered what Mrs. Cookson had seen in the house that she wasn’t sharing.

  “Have you seen anything here?” Natasha asked.

  “Oh, certainly. In fact, I’ll tell you all about it on our tour. Would you like some coffee before we start?”

  “Tea?” Natasha asked.

  “Coffee for me,” Madeline said.

  Mrs. Cookson led them into the kitchen, which was a simple affair with a huge wood-burning oven and a microwave on the counter. The coffee and tea had already been poured into thermal canisters, and Mrs. Cookson led them into a dining room. She placed the tray on a long table covered with a flowered tablecloth with a white doily on top.

  Natasha picked up swells of different personalities throughout the rooms. Sadness was the dominant feeling, but there was a lot of anger as well.

  Most of the anger was masculine.

  Most of it seemingly from Edwin himself.

  “What do you want?” Natasha asked him in her mind. There was only heat again, and she willed him away in her mind so she could enjoy her tea. A cup rolled across the table and fell onto the floor.

  “That would be the children,” Mrs. Cookson said as she settled into a chair.

  “Sit.”

  Madeline took one of the cookies Mrs. Cookson offered and prepared her coffee. “Children?”

  “No one’s proven there are really children. Sometimes I think it’s the Proctor children enjoying a happy childhood instead of the grim lives they ended up living once Edwin married Marguerite.”

  “What was her deal? Why was she so evil?” Madeline asked.

  “Was she evil?” Mrs. Cookson asked. “Or was it the way of her country? To punish so severely.”

  “I’m not convinced it’s really the way of any country. To lock up grown people because they drop a dish or look at a boy in church? There’s more to it,” Madeline said.

  The air grew more menacing, and the undercurrent of rage surged through Natasha’s being. “Uh,” Natasha said as she stood up. “Let’s change the subject. The spirits aren’t amused.”

  “You do have to be careful what you say in the house. Sometimes accidents happen.”

  With that, Mrs. Cookson mimed zipping up her lips and waved for them to follow her lead into the front room.

  Natasha and Madeline finished their coffee, leaving their cups on the table.

  Mrs. Cookson began the tour, leading the ladies through the 11 rooms in the two-story house. She explained where walls had been installed or moved to allow the house to be more functional as a bed and breakfast.

  “It’s an odd business, this bed and breakfast stuff. You don’t want too many weirdos coming through, yet at the same time, you don’t want to sit around with an empty house and no one to pay the bills. You can tell by how the air changes so quickly that the furnace goes nuts trying to keep up.”

  “Is this Kelly?” Natasha asked, picking up a picture. A woman with sullen eyes stared back at her. The hurt and despair in those eyes pricked her through the heart. She remembered passing those eyes on the streets so many decades ago. The same eyes as her father, except his held hate and disdain. “She was beaten a lot,” Natasha said as she put down the picture.

  “Some suggest she was disciplined harshly,” Mrs. Cookson said, pointing into the air.

  Natasha nodded, understanding her gesture.

  “Right. Funny how sad she looks and yet she’s in the middle of a party,” Madeline observed.

  Natasha looked again and noticed with a jolt that there were other people in the picture as well. A pretty blonde clutched Kelly’s arm, and she looked to be about 20 years younger than the mature Kelly. There were several handsome, strong-jawed men and a person whose gender was difficult to determine. Natasha figured it must be a transvestite. The picture had been taken in the living room downstairs. The same living room where the father had been murdered. The stepmother had been taken out in the kitchen.

  “There’s a lot of grief in this house. Well, more than three people.”

  “Four,” Madeline reminded her. “The first wife, the second wife, Edwin and Kelly. “And that’s what people know about,” Mrs. Cookson said. “Some say things went on in the basement. People who crossed Edwin or owed him money. There was
even talk of some kind of torture equipment down there.”

  “Probably Marguerite tying Edwin to a spank table and letting him have it,” Natasha joked. Mrs. Cookson looked crossly at her.

  “Don’t you dare,” she warned. “Don’t mock him. “It’s okay,” Natasha said. “I can handle him.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Shortly after that, Mrs. Cookson came to the end of her stories and was yawning. “It’s so late, ladies. I really need to get to bed.”

  “You can sleep in this place?” Madeline asked, rubbing her arms, which were peppered with goose bumps.

  “Of course. I live here, don’t I?” Mrs. Cookson smiled, and for a moment, Natasha wasn’t sure if the woman wasn’t a reincarnation of Kelly herself.

  “Were you ever connected to any of them?” Natasha asked.

  “Oh Lord, no. And thank goodness,” she whispered. The lights in the room flickered.

  Madeline and Natasha carried their suitcases to their respective rooms. Madeline chose Kelly’s room, and Natasha took Edwin’s.

  “You and I, back together again,” she joked.

  The sudden heat in the air wasn’t lost on her, but she wasn’t frightened. He could bluster at her as much as he wanted, but she wouldn’t get hurt.

  How could she get hurt? She had eternal life.

  She put on a long, white nightgown and went to find Madeline. First, she checked Kelly’s room, but Madeline wasn’t there.

  After walking through the house, she found Madeline back downstairs in the living room, clicking her camera in the corners of the ceiling.

  “What are you doing? Looking for orbs?” Natasha asked. Her sudden presence startled Madeline.

  “Yes. God, you sneak around worse than the ghosts!”

  “I didn’t sneak, but I guess I should have made more noise so as not to startle you,” Natasha said.

  “You know, there might be things here that could really be captured by proper equipment. I’m going to try to get a team in here sometime.”

  “That would be interesting. But don’t you think the more people you bring in, the more the ghosts will hide?”

  “You’re the medium. What do you think?” Natasha sat down on the couch. “Oh, it could go either way.”

  “That’s how it always is.” Madeline sat down next to her. “So what do you think? Should we try to do a séance?”

  “We can if you want, but there are no answers here tonight,” Natasha said. Madeline frowned in disappointment. “What do you mean there are no answers here?”

  “I can tell the ghosts don’t want to talk today.”

  “How? You haven’t even tried.”

  Natasha leaned toward Madeline. “In my experience, if the ghosts want to talk, they make themselves known to me. I don’t have to go through all the shenanigans of a séance and calling them. They just come. Anywhere. Anytime.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You’re not just saying that because you’re tired?”

  “No, not at all. There are things here, yes. Angry spirits and resonance, but they aren’t going to talk tonight.”

  “So this is all pointless?”

  “Yes. Today it is. Maybe we should get Gwen to draw up some astrological charts to help us determine the best time to call them. Some aspects are more auspicious than others. Maybe the birth charts of the victims in relevance to planetary alignments?”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Today I think so. Yes.” Natasha stared around the room. There were spirits here, but they weren’t going to tell Madeline what she needed to hear. Natasha didn’t feel like getting into all the details of her reasoning. The pull of Edwin was strong, and she wasn’t sure Madeline could cope if Natasha were to bring him in at a séance. Not while he was still raging against Natasha.

  “Have you gotten any orbs today?” Natasha asked.

  Madeline pressed the Review button on her camera and stared into the viewfinder. “Hmmm. yes, there are a few. There are some strange mists and things. The usual stuff I get in this house.”

  “Why don’t you just try to get some sleep? See if anything comes to you in the night.”“I don’t know if I want anything to come to me in the night. I’m kind of nervous.”

  “Then when you go to bed, tell them you don’t want them bugging you.”

  “I’ll try that.”

  “Good.” Natasha hugged her. “I’m sorry to be such a drag. But that’s how it is. We can’t always be in sync with the spirits.”

  “I know. If anyone knows that, it’s me.”

  “Then, goodnight.” Natasha stood. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  Natasha made her way back up the stairs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt Edwin’s presence follow her back to his room. She knew she had to answer to him before anything else could be done in the house.

  The room was stifling hot as she lay down in the double bed. She turned off the lamp and lay in the darkness. She wondered how a big man like Edwin Proctor could share such a bed with Marguerite, but she imagined he didn’t share it often with her, knowing his habits as she did.

  It didn’t take long for him to appear. His eyes were more piercing than they had been in life as he approached her bed.

  “Natasha,” he said, his voice a gravelly, disembodied sound. “You’ve come back to me.”

  “No, I haven’t, Edwin. I’m only here to help my friend.”

  “You don’t help anyone but yourself. You know that,” he said.

  “It takes one to know one,” Natasha whispered.

  Edwin floated over to her until he was beside the bed. He touched her cheek. “Pretty Natasha. You still haven’t aged. Tell me your secret.”

  “Good living. Something you know nothing about. Or knew nothing about, I should say,” she retorted, brushing his hand away.

  “Come now, Natasha. Don’t be like that. We had some good times.”

  “Yes, we did. When you were alive.”

  “And we can again.”

  His essence grew more solid, and the air shifted from stifling hot to freezing cold. Natasha tried to burrow under the covers, but he tore them off.

  “Now, now, Natasha. No need to hide from me,” Edwin cooed. “It can be like old times.”

  “No, it can’t,” she said. “Unless…”

  “Yes?”

  “If I let you have your way with me, will you be certain to give Madeline her information when she comes back next time?”

  Edwin laughed. The sound was ghastly and hurt Natasha’s ears. “You always have a price, don’t you? That’s my Natasha.”

  “Everyone has a price. I don’t think it’s too much to ask, do you?” Natasha said as she sat up against the pillows. She untied the bow that closed her nightgown and spread the material open so he could see her breasts.

  “I think we can arrange something,” he said as he lowered his face to kiss her cleavage. The room shifted to hot again as his burning lips touched her flesh. The sensation was

  blissfully pleasant, and she opened her gown further. He nuzzled down into her. “Oh, Natasha, how I’ve missed you,” he sighed.

  “I doubt that,” she said.

  “I don’t miss how you liked to bite me. And you can’t now,” he sneered. “I know. See what I’m giving up for you?”

  He reached for her breasts and stroked them, teasing at her nipples until they were hard. She lay back on the pillows as he fondled her.

  “Have you ever fucked a ghost before?” he asked.

  “Ladies don’t kiss and tell,” she replied.

  “Very well.” His voice was angry, as if he had been betrayed. “Please, you think you’re the only ghost I see or feel?”

  “I’m not?”

  “I’m a medium, Edwin. I can see and feel things that would make most people freak out and die.”

  “You talk too much, Natasha,” he said as he clasped a hand over her mouth. He tweaked on
e of her nipples roughly. “You also have too many clothes on.”

  Natasha sat up and shimmied the nightgown off over her head. She tossed it to the floor. “There, is that better?” she asked, lying back and spreading her legs so he could see her pussy.

  “Much better,” he said as he bent over to taste her. The sensation of his tongue on her clit was very real, yet strangely electric. His anger made him rough, but she still enjoyed him. She raised her hips to meet him.

  “You like it. You’re quivering,” he said with satisfaction, looking up at her.

  “You always were good at eating me,” she said, forcing his face back down to continue what he’d started.

  “You were always the tastiest. So many women never bothered to wash properly back then. It was most…”

  “Enough,” Natasha said. “Get busy.”

  Edwin continued to lick her, his ethereal tongue and fingers working magic in a way his living being hadn’t been capable of. Before long, Natasha was shuddering with a climax. Her legs twitched, and Edwin stood back.

  “That was just the beginning,” he said as he lay on top of her. His spirit cock was huge and penetrated her with an icy coldness. She cried out in glorious pleasure-pain.

  “Oh!”

  There was a knock at her door.

  “Natasha?” Madeline’s voice called out. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a minute.” Natasha snapped on the lamp.

  Edwin vanished. Natasha went over to the door to let Madeline in, scooping up her nightgown to cover herself as she pulled open the door.

  “I heard you call out,” Madeline said sheepishly. “I didn’t know if you’d seen a ghost.”

  “Oh, I must have been dreaming,” Natasha said. “Don’t worry. I talk in my sleep.”

  Madeline came in and sat on her bed. The room grew very hot as Edwin’s frustration engulfed it.

  “Boy, it’s hot in here. How can you sleep at all?”

  “I’m tired. You know. When you’re tired, you can sleep through anything.”

  “Maybe you can. I’m so freaked out I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep. I keep seeing things out of the corners of my eyes. A picture fell off the wall in the living room after you left. Are you sure there are no ghosts here?”