by Ju Ephraime
The weekend came and went, and Monday morning, the beginning of week five of what I had dubbed “my strange phenomenon.” I was getting dressed and preparing for two closings at work when I distinctly heard a man’s laughter. It seemed to come from the hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom, so I called out, “Is somebody there?” I was not hoping for any response, but I thought I’d try anyway. Also, it was something to do to stem the fear that already had me by the throat.
Upon receiving no answer, I told myself it might have been one of my neighbors or someone outside on the street. From inside my house, I wasn’t used to hearing my neighbors or people walking on the street outside my home, but that was the best explanation I could come up with.
I had a hectic day at work and arrived home too stressed out to prepare an elaborate dinner, so I settled a light meal. As had been my usual practice for the past two weeks, I remained downstairs and waited for John to come home from work. We had a “date” tonight, and I looked forward to it.
John made fun of me when he saw I waited in the living room for him every night now. I had never done this before, so he thought it was cute. He admitted to getting a “kick” out of the entire thing. As I sat with him having a couple glasses of wine, he said, “Have you been missing me a lot lately?”
“No more than usual,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious.”
“That’s it?” I asked him, as we made our way upstairs.
I felt ridiculous and silly. This was my doing. Had I told John the reason for my reluctance to remain upstairs without him and explained to him my suspicions about a ghost in our house, he would probably understand. But I couldn’t take the chance of him not understanding. So I had chosen to handle it this way.
***
I had purposely not taken my bath because I wanted to take a shower with John. I was excited to be showering with my husband; we had not done this in weeks.
We began fooling around in the bathroom, where I positioned my knees on either side of his hips, offering my breasts to him, like a trophy. He first pressed his mouth over the left then my right nipple, teasing them to a peak. He blew lightly on my moistened skin, causing me to almost achieve orgasm. He then carried me into our bedroom, and proceeded to make passionate love to me. I gloried in his familiar touch. I fell asleep, satiated and happy.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up freezing. The room was so cold that I had to get out of bed to turn up the thermostat, even though the temperature was very mild outside. Spring was coming to an end. I was still groggy from sleep, not looking where I was going, and almost tripped over something on the floor. John was no longer on the bed. Somehow, he was asleep on the floor.
I began to shake him, trying to wake him up. It was as if John’s body was there, but he was not. I sat on the floor, shaking and shaking him. He was breathing. His chest rose and fell with each inhalation, but seemed shallow. I took the comforter and put it over him and lay down on the floor next to him. We spent the night on the floor until the alarm woke us the next morning at 6:30. John could not understand why we went to sleep in our bed and woke up on the floor. The one good thing about this was that our bedroom was plushly carpeted, and by raising the thermostat, we were quite comfortable on the floor. At the beginning of our relationship, we preferred to sleep on the floor than the bed. The sex was somehow more satisfying for us both on the floor. Maybe he thought we had reverted to that again. There was really no time to examine the matter too closely because we both had to get ready for work.
We showered and got dressed together. We rushed into the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee and left the house together. I promised to wait up for him so we could discuss our sleeping arrangements. I promised to tell him all about it when he came home. As I drove to work, I smiled every time I thought of John sleeping on the floor. He must have fallen off the bed, I thought, although I had never seen John do such a thing before. What was hilarious was the way I so naturally made myself comfortable on the floor next to him.
Everything was almost right with my world. I worked in the yard and spent some time with my daughters in the kitchen preparing dinner. We sat and watched a movie afterward. When they went upstairs to bed, I remained downstairs to wait for John.
That night, John got home late, but I determinedly stayed awake until I at least saw his face. It proved to be no easy matter, but every time I found myself nodding off, I would snap awake, like someone had a rubber band attached to my neck. I brewed two pots of fresh coffee and must have drunk at least six cups to help me stay awake, but it did not work. I walked around the living room several times to keep my adrenaline going, but almost nothing kept sleep at bay when my brain was fatigued. I was just about to give in when the front door alarm went off.
I was ecstatic. Thank God, John was home. When he walked into the living room, I could not stop kissing him. He admitted to being surprised to find me still awake and wanted to know if I was becoming more attached to him now that we were an “old” married couple. I did not bother to respond; I was too overcome with emotion to speak without bursting into tears. Even more so when he told me he had eaten on the road. This meant we could retire as soon as we had brushed our teeth and changed into our sleepwear. I was so tired, had I even attempted to take a bath or a shower, chances were I would have fallen asleep in the tub or the shower.
We raced into the bathroom, and in record time, fell into bed. We were both too exhausted to care. John fell asleep before me, and I immediately followed. I was not aware of anything else until a hand touched me in the same intimate manner as before. The hand rubbed my clit as a finger pushed inside of me. It came out damp with my juices and spread them back onto my clit. This time there was a roughness to the touch, as if the person was annoyed with me. I tried to call out to John, but again, I didn’t have the ability to speak. Similar to the times before, I felt all the sensations, but I could not respond. I could not move my body. The lovemaking went on for what seemed like forever. The number of orgasms was too much for me to handle. I must have passed out, because my next cognitive thought when I came to at almost 5:30 A.M., Why am I not asleep?
Even in my state of semi-awareness, three things struck me immediately. I was back to that beat-up exhaustion I had felt three weeks ago. John was asleep on the floor, and the framed picture of him was once again face-down on the nightstand.
I lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with what I finally had to acknowledge as a fact—whoever or whatever was in my home had either never left or was back with a vengeance. And that someone or something had resumed his violation of my body. The presence of my husband in our bed was no deterrent. He had just moved John to the floor without him being aware of it.
I was once again back to my dilemma – how to break the news to John. How to tell him that while he was asleep, someone had been molesting me, no doubt, John would think I was losing my mind. So, it was critical to solve this problem on my own or at least try to. The bit of information I had seemed sketchy to me, so sketchy that even I had a problem accepting it. Therefore, I had serious reservations about relaying it to someone else -- someone who had not gone through what I’d been going through for the past several weeks now.
The next morning, I was no closer to solving my problem, but whatever was happening to me had ratcheted up a notch. I was aware of the perpetrator. When it had first started, I was not clear in what was going on. These recent episodes left me with little doubt that I was having sexual intercourse regularly with a sex maniac, while my husband was in the room.
I was able to go in to work that morning, but only because I pushed myself. I was back to feeling sluggish and lethargic. I did not work in the yard that afternoon. I gave up trying to push myself. That night I stayed up waiting for John. When we eventually went to bed, I was kept up all night again by my visitor, and did not fall asleep until almost daylight.
My life was being taken over. I no long
er waited up for John. One day blurred into the next, and soon I began to look forward to those orgasms. I had still not told John what was happening to me. I was ashamed because I had become addicted to the multiple orgasms, even though I knew I shouldn’t be. It appeared I had no control over my body’s reaction to the stimulation. I could not wait to get into bed to experience again the passion that only the night could bring. Had it been left to me, I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed in the mornings.
Soon my work began to suffer. I was not able to function because I was exhausted and looked like “something the cat dragged in.” I wore heavy makeup to hide the dark circles underneath my eyes. I had lost a significant amount of weight. My body was not able to process any of the meals I had ordinarily enjoyed and that I sometimes still prepared for my family.
I lived on black coffee, and had developed a nervous habit of biting my nails almost into the quick. My fingers became very raw and irritated. But the pain did not seem to bother me. The deeper I bit into my flesh, the better I felt. It became so bad that I could not use my hand in water. The cuts would sting when I tried to prepare the meals, so I had taken to wearing gloves around the house. I feared I had begun to accept the changes which my body was going through. A side of me, the sane, sensible side, wanted to fight it. But there was no denying the sexual pleasure I experienced, night after night at the hand of my mysterious lover, could not compare to anything I had experienced with my husband. It had ruined me for him.
The few times John made any advances toward me, I complained of having a headache, which he accepted without pushing the matter. I lived for my night pleasures. Nothing else mattered to me but the way I felt when I was with my unknown lover. Yes, I had begun to think of him as my lover because he made passionate love to me on a level that left me exhausted but wonderfully satiated.
After about two months of this mindless, mind-blowing nightly lovemaking, I began to remain in bed all day and all night, not leaving except to take a shower. I no longer visited the kitchen except to refresh my coffee, and then I would get right back into bed.
My housekeeping suffered. I no longer cared how filthy the house was. I neglected the lawn, which had become terribly overgrown. Whereas before it would have bothered me, I paid it no mind. The worst thing about this was the fact that John and I no longer had sex. I paid no attention to him and could not care less about spending time with him. We had become strangers. Some days, we hardly said two words to each other, and I seemed to like it that way. In some way, I was happiest not talking to John. The situation was no better with my daughters. I had always enjoyed spending time with my girls, and over the years, it had evolved to a strong bond of friendship, as well as a mother/daughter relationship. I used to encourage them to discuss anything and everything with me. Now that openness was gone. Not because we had disagreements, but I just ignored them, along with everything else. I had withdrawn into myself.
My life had undergone a complete change. I woke every morning in pain, although at night, the pleasure was out of this world. But in the light of day, my body began to rebel against the onslaught.
CHAPTER FIVE
One morning, almost two months into my new life, I got up so sore. I thought I would take a tub bath to see if it would ease some of the pain, which seemed to be a constant part of my life now. I had hoped I could remain in the water and not feel too much discomfort, although lately, my entire life had been one big blob of pain. Even my underwear were so irritating and painful, I had stopped wearing any. I needed to get out of the house to keep an appointment with my doctor, and I refused to leave the house without underwear. Such bold and daring behavior was not just me. Also, going around without underwear was a most unpleasant experience; I felt as if everyone knew I was naked underneath my clothes.
My tub awaited. I had not taken a tub bath in several weeks. I seemed to have developed a love for quick showers instead of the long, leisurely baths I used to take. I was too scared to remain for any length of time in the bathroom. Tonight, however, my body craved a bath. I drew a bath and threw in some Epsom salts to help me with the body aches and pains that had become a permanent part of my life.
I filled the tub three-quarters of the way and got into the water while it was still relatively hot. I had been soaking and relaxing for a good fifteen minutes, and I was about to doze off, when the level of the water increased as if someone had joined me.
I opened my eyes and sat up looking around, but I was alone in the tub. I could not see a body, but the level of the water had definitely increased instead of decreasing, which was what normally happened within minutes of my stepping into the tub. The water steadily dripped over the edge of the tub onto the floor, but I could see no reason why this would be happening. I was alone in the tub.
I scrambled out of the water, wrapping my robe around me as I exited the bathroom almost at a run. It looked as if my invisible man was no longer contented with subjecting me to his voracious sexual appetite; he now wanted to do with me the things I usually did with my husband. The entire concept was chilling and unsettling. I knew he would feel slighted by the fact that I did not want to be in the tub with him, and he would punish me tonight. A pattern had emerged in the tone of the nightly sexual escapades with my invisible man. There had been punishing sex, as if to teach me a lesson, and the mind-blowing sex to show me what he could do if I cooperated.
I would have a difficult time this night. And sure enough, I was not allowed to sleep a wink. The sex was brutal in its intensity. There was no pretense of a dream-like quality of the experience. I was still not able to move, but he had me all over the bed. When he hoisted my legs in the air and positioned me so that his thrusts hit my clit repeatedly while he massaged and caressed my breasts, I gave in and allowed myself to enjoy, what was undoubtedly, the best sex of my life. After that episode, I was not able to leave my bed for two days. John did not pay me much attention. I believe he suspected something, but he did not know how to bring it up anymore than I did. So we both succeeded in distancing ourselves from each other, not communicating as we used to, but the girls were getting worried about me. They thought I should go to the doctor because, “you looked like someone who is very ill,” according to Kelsey.
Where Kelsey was worried, Johanna was very upset with me. She felt I should have already gone to the doctor. She nagged me to go, and when I made no effort to do so, she became very withdrawn. She had taken over the dinner preparation, and for this, I was very grateful. I knew I could not have survived without her invaluable help.
“Why won’t you go to the doctor, Mama?” Johanna asked for what seemed to me like the umpteenth time.
“There is nothing wrong with me that a few days rest won’t fix,” I practically screamed at her. “No one better than me, would know if I had to go to the doctor, so drop it.”
“But, Mama,” she continued, “when was the last time you left your room? You haven’t been to work in months. You no longer spend time in the yard. The grass is overgrown, and the flowers are dying. It’s not like you to not care. I’ve left you several messages from your boss, and they’re all in the same spot on the refrigerator. He called again this morning. What do you want me to tell him when he calls again? Also, Marta’s been calling. She needs you to call her back. You haven’t touched her messages either. What do you want me to tell these people?”
“Johanna, I believe I caught a bug, but I’m getting over it now. I’ll be better soon enough, then I can return to work and take care of the lawn. If Marta calls again, tell her I’ll call her soon, okay? In the meantime, see if you can get me the number for the Chemlawn Company. I’ll call them to give the lawn a treatment. I’ll call work when I feel up to it.”
“Now I know for sure something’s wrong with you,” Johanna continued doggedly. “You’ve never allowed Chemlawn to do the lawn before. You don’t like how they do it.”
“Johanna,” I yelled, “will you please get me the number? No, better yet, call Chemlawn and arran
ge for them to do the lawn. You’re old enough to do that for me.”
My daughter left my room almost in tears. I knew I looked like “death warmed over” because I was very pale, and the dark circles under my eyes were not helping. I had lost another five pounds. At this rate, I would be reduced to skin and bones in no time.
I had never raised my voice to either of my daughters, or to my husband, for that matter. This just was not done in our home, but I was slowly changing. Slowly but surely, I was becoming someone else before my very eyes. The things I used to enjoy doing no longer had any appeal. The foods I used to love, I no longer had an appetite for. I was taking on the appearance of a ghost. And the pain—I was in pain constantly. My body was not used to such sexual abuse. The frequency of the episodes did not allow for recovery time, which I always needed, even in a normal sexual encounter. I had a problem with bruising and superficial cuts. My body ached all the time. I needed to soak in an Epsom salt bath.
The problem was that although the bath had soothed my aches and pains the last time I had attempted one, two weeks ago, I was scared to share my bath again. Still, I needed some sort of relief. Every spot on my body hurt. The night before had been particularly brutal. I even felt the pain in my sleep. It was so strong it had woken me. As usual, it took me a moment or two before I realized what had disturbed my sleep. It was the middle of the night, I lay naked in the bed, and, as had become a pattern on nights such as these, John was asleep on the floor.
