by Cara Vance
No. It wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t important enough. I would just suck it up and deal with it.
Or, at least I tried to convince myself of that as I lay there next to my husband.
Chapter 6
I must have lain there for over an hour, just staring indecisively at the ceiling. Harold had long since fallen asleep. I could hear him snoring next to me. Two hours gone since my deadline had expired. How many more would pass?
The waiting, in addition to my slowly building anger, was driving me nuts. Lying there wasn’t helping. I decided to get up. Slowly, so as to not rouse Harold, I slid off the side of the bed. The girl that I inhabited couldn’t have been more than ninety-eight pounds soaking wet, so I was able to do so without making much ruckus.
Standing up, I felt all light and springy. I had forgotten what it was like to be so young and toned like this body was. Heck, I felt like I could run a marathon. I looked down upon my nude form, seeing the small perky breasts and the tight body that was below it. Whoever she was, she was fully shaved. I’m sure that Harold had liked that. Feeling the tight muscles in my chest, stomach, and arms, I decided to try something on a whim...what the hell?
I hadn’t done this in a long time...heck I had never been particularly good at it even during my own teen years. Even so, what could it hurt to try? I bent down, put my hands on the carpet, and attempted a handstand. Much to my delight, I found myself upside down, supported by my arms and having little trouble keeping balance. Seems Julie had a bit of gymnast in her.
Rolling down to the floor, I spread my legs. They parted easily and I kept at it, trying to see what their limit was. I soon found myself in a full split, the carpet rubbing uncomfortably against my bare crotch.
Wish I had known this sooner, I mused. I’m sure Harold wouldn’t have minded. Oh yeah, Harold. Wasn’t I still supposed to be pissed at him? Yet here I was, doing somersaults on the floor like a little girl.
I got back to my feet and moved to the bedroom door. I stopped for a moment, realizing that aside from quick trips to the bathroom and the occasional non-bedroom fuck - during which I tended to be somewhat distracted - I hadn’t actually taken the time to explore my own house. A sense of curiosity filled me. Had Harold left our home mostly the same, or had he completely changed things around? More importantly, would my presence still be felt here?
I was momentarily tempted to find Julie’s clothes and cover up, but quickly pushed that thought away. Being naked in another woman’s body didn’t bother me. Besides, on the off chance someone saw me walking past an open window, she didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Screw it.
I closed the bedroom door behind me, not wanting to disturb Harold...although judging by the sound of his snores, he was out cold. Walking down the upstairs hall, I paused before each door, remembering how it had been, before opening it. The guest bedroom looked mostly the same: different sheets and curtains, but the same dull yellow color scheme. The upstairs bathroom had some new fixtures, but that was it. All in all, it was mostly recognizable.
I took my sweet time exploring the upstairs, trying to take everything in; although most of the changes weren’t overly remarkable. Reaching the stairs, I started down - shivering slightly as my feet touched bare wood. That was new. Apparently Harold had torn out the carpeting here at some point - not a bad touch. I turned right, toward the living room. Entering it, I found the light switch and flicked it on.
Things were different. It was obvious that a man had decorated in there. Our old couch had been replaced by a pair of black leather recliners. A large TV hung on the opposite wall. I marveled at it for a moment, noting how it was little more than a huge pane of glass. Compared to the old tube TV that had been there before, it was like a movie theater. Also changed, another guy touch no doubt, was the far wall. Gone was my little reading nook. In its place was a wet bar. Classy, Harold, real classy.
I made a slow circuit of the rest of the main floor: the other guest bedroom, our sitting room, Harold’s home office. The primary changes to these other rooms were a complete dearth of my possessions. Gone were my books, my collection of porcelain dolls (albeit I couldn’t blame my husband for that one. I had inherited them from my aunt and we both always thought they were a little creepy), just about every trace of me. It was a bit heartbreaking, but I had to keep reminding myself I had been dead and buried for years. What else did I expect? Would I have done anything differently?
Actually, yes, a voice in my head replied. I would have at least kept a few photos of Harold around to remember him by. From the looks of this floor, he had done his best to turn it into a bachelor pad. It was slightly insulting...not to mention just a tad pathetic, considering his age.
Oh well, there would be time later to grill him on that and other things. I continued to explore what used to be mine. Despite my annoyance at finding my presence virtually expunged, I’ll admit I felt a slight thrill in exploring. Chalk it up to the youthfulness of this body, perhaps.
I considered heading down to the basement. It had been unfinished during my lifetime, although we had always talked about turning it into a rumpus room...or maybe a play room if there had been any children. Correction on that last one; I had planned to make it into a play room. Come to think of it, Harold had never really had much commentary with regards to that.
I was thinking these thoughts, and starting to get angry again when a smell hit my nose...more of a stench, actually. My God, what was it? I knew I was out of practice with my sense of smell, being that I had no physical nose in the beyond. Still, unused to it or not, what came wafting out from the direction of the kitchen should have been bad for anyone unfortunate enough to have nostrils.
I stopped and listened for any movement from above. Not hearing anything, I decided to investigate. Harold had never been much of a cook, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, I hadn’t exactly been a culinary wiz either, but at least I could put together a meal in a crock-pot without setting off every smoke alarm on the block.
I entered the kitchen and turned on the light. It was comfortably similar to how I remembered it. A new table set sat off in one corner, but I could have otherwise last seen this room yesterday. The smell came from the sink. I walked over to it, then quickly realized I was standing there naked, right in front of the kitchen window. If the next door neighbors were awake, they’d be getting quite the show. I smiled at that. Let them watch. If so, it served the little tramp right to be slutting it up with a man old enough to be her father.
Glancing downward, I shouldn’t have been surprised at what I saw. The sink was full of dirty pots and pans. When was the last time he washed these things? I was about to turn away when something else caught my eye, causing me to take a closer look. Mixed in with the dishes were a few items that seemed out of place. I didn’t know how other couples did things these days, but during my lifetime I didn’t often keep brass urns in the sink. Adding to that weirdness was an ornate dagger that seemed ill-suited for cutting steak. There was also a variety of other odd equipment mixed in amongst the rest.
I leaned down and sniffed. Sure enough, the stench was coming from these items and not from the dishes themselves. What the hell? That’s when I remembered Harold’s little hobby. Heck, I was surprised I hadn't thought of that immediately. It was the entire reason I was here to begin with.
A thought struck me. I had no idea what he had done or how he’d done it, but perhaps it would behoove me to worry about things other than how he had redecorated. Maybe it was his lies about the vasectomy or just my women’s intuition, but I opened the cabinet closest to me.
A couple of boxes of cereal stared back. Trix might be a part of this balanced breakfast, but I highly doubted it was used in anything more sinister than promoting tooth decay.
I tried another...dishes, then another...a spice rack. There had to be something here. I kept at it. Cake mix, more plates, cans of soup and chili...this was pointless! There was nothing here that...then I opened the last
cabinet. At first, I thought I had found another spice rack, but my brain quickly registered that no chef on Earth...at least no sane one...had ever cooked with these types of spices. Glass jars, more suited to an apothecary than a kitchen, stared back at me. Bizarre smells rose from them, fortunately muted by their lids.
I pulled one out, wondering what it was. I looked at it and let out a bark of laughter. On the top of it, printed out via a label gun, was a sticker that read “Dirt from a Fresh Grave.” Whatever voodoo Harold was up to, he wasn’t above adding a little modern spin to it.
I pulled out more and read them. Holy shit...he actually had Eye of Newt. Where the hell did he buy these things? There was more...blood root, knot weed, twitch’s grass, belladonna...
Wait a second!
Didn’t Harold say something about belladonna earlier?
I tried to remember what it was when suddenly I was hit with a wave of vertigo.
I nearly dropped the container in my hands as the room spun around me. What the?! Without warning, the kitchen lost focus around me, as if I were seeing it from a great distance...as if the eyes I was looking out of were more like smudged windows.
Just as quickly as it had started, it ended. However, it was enough for me to realize what it was...that last part had confirmed it. Whatever extension had been placed on the spell, it was wearing off.
Damn it! Not now! Not...wait...it was mandrake! Harold said he accidentally used mandrake instead of belladonna.
An idea hit me. I quickly began pulling the remaining jars out of the cabinet, scanning each of the tops in turn. No...not that one...not that either. Where the hell was the fucking mandrake?
That’s when I saw there was one last jar left. Hopeful, I pulled it out and looked at the top. Goddamn it! No label.
Wait! Maybe that’s why Harold had made the mistake earlier. I quickly opened the jar. Inside was a fine powdery substance, obviously a ground up version of the plant. Holding out hope, I opened the belladonna to examine it. Sure enough, they looked nearly identical.
Another wave of vertigo hit and again I felt myself slipping away. It lasted longer this time before finally passing. I didn’t have much time left.
What I was about to do was risky. If I was wrong about it, then there might be no coming back at all...or maybe something worse would happen. I had no idea. The whole sorcery thing was complete gibberish to me.
Moving quickly, I dumped the belladonna into the trash can. I then poured half the contents of the unmarked container - hoping against hope that it was mandrake - into the first one.
“Fingers crossed,” I muttered to myself before quickly closing all of the jars and replacing them.
I had just closed the cabinet door when another wave of nausea hit me, nearly driving me to my knees as I briefly lost control of Julie’s body.
Julie!
I couldn’t let Harold find her in the kitchen. He might get suspicious.
Regaining what little control I had left, I raced to the stairs. I looked up and felt like I would puke. Not good. My time was nearly up. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I pulled myself up the stairs on hands and knees and somehow managed to crawl back to the bedroom.
It was touch and go for a moment there, but I at last managed to get the door open. I lurched across the room and hopped back into bed with Harold. That’s when I remembered why Julie was there. She might be suspicious if she awoke to find him out cold. If so, she could start asking questions.
Thinking quickly, I pulled the sheets from his still-sleeping form. He rolled onto his back, and I immediately lowered my head to his cock. Neither of them could be allowed to suspect a thing. Taking Harold’s still flaccid member into my mouth, I began to suck him off. Within moments, he began to harden and I felt his body stir.
Just then, I felt myself losing focus. I was leaving, being sent back to whence I came. Just as I was being sucked from Julie’s body - which in turn was still sucking my husband - I managed to notice the clock. It read 2:43 AM...seven hours! Harold’s mistake had more than doubled my time on Earth.
I was sorely tempted to smile, but before I could do so, I was gone.
Chapter 7
Damn whoever created the afterlife and its fucked up sense of time. It could have been five minutes or five hundred years for all I knew. Either way, I waited impatiently to see what would happen next. For all the peace that surrounded me, I was on edge. I even wound up snapping at my sweet Uncle Edgar when his spirit...floated (I guess) over to catch up on things. It’s hard to explain. We all know that feeling of wanting to crawl out of our own skin. Well, try experiencing that when you don’t even have any skin. I’m still not entirely sure how these things work, but I would have gladly traded the annoyingly placid bliss of where I was for just haunting a house. At least that would have helped me pass the time. Hell, at the very least, I would have known how much time I was passing.
All the while, thoughts raced through my (figurative) head. I was left wondering whether Harold had discovered my ruse and had decided to punish me by leaving me where I was. At the same time, I questioned why I was even having those thoughts. Wouldn’t he be delighted to know he had accidentally made progress and cracked the three hour limit? Wasn’t it one step closer to the outcome he said that he was ultimately working on?
That right there was the problem. For some reason, I found myself doubting him. His potential lies about wanting children kept sticking in my craw (or whatever passed for it here). Was there anything else he was keeping from me? Perhaps, even now, he knew of a way to bring me back and was holding out on it. But for what reason?
It was a stupid question. Of course, I could already see one obvious reason. If I were back for good, I would no doubt put a stop to his dating life. He was a man and I knew that most men, regardless of who they were, liked sticking their pricks into as many different holes as they could. There’s an old saying: Why buy the cow when the milk is free? Right now, he was enjoying a lot of free milk from a whole mess of different cows.
♦ ♦ ♦
At last it happened, just about when I thought I would surely go insane from the wait. Reality split apart in front of me and I found myself being dragged back to Earth. I was so happy that tears would have spilled from my eyes if I had a body. In that moment, I’d have gladly confessed everything to Harold and probably would have, too, had I not immediately felt a stinging pain from behind upon awakening.
“Ouch!” I yelped, having just barely settled into the new flesh awaiting me.
“Is that you, Lydia?” I heard a voice, Harold’s, from behind me.
“Yes,” I stammered.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he said, whispering it into my ear.
Oh no! He found out!
I opened my eyes, blinking until my vision cleared. Something was different. I was naked...that was the same as usual. Glancing around, I took in as much as I could, which was pretty much just what was in front of me. I couldn’t see anything else because doing so would have required the freedom of movement...a freedom I didn’t have. I was restrained!
I was standing upright, facing a corner of the room. My arms were stretched out to my sides and I couldn’t move them. Looking to my left and right, I saw that they were bound in some sort of...it looked like surgical tubing. It was tied around my wrists and attached to hooks mounted on opposite ends of the wall...those were new. I realized that my legs were likewise bound. They were spread apart just enough to allow someone access down below, should they wish it.
In the space of those seconds, I was able to likewise give my new body the once over. It was a little rough around the edges - late thirties, maybe early forties. Not exactly a workout junkie, based on the sagging breasts and paunch around the middle. The skin was rough and pockmarked in several places. World-weary would have been the best way to describe whomever I inhabited.
I was tempted to ask Harold if he was slumming it this week when there came a sharp *crack* and pain flared from my ass. I
couldn’t help but scream, the voice issuing from my throat deep and hoarse. I suspected my host was a chain smoker, but didn’t have time to dwell upon that, as my behind was whipped once again.
