by Sally Odgers
"Come off it. I'm onto the scam."
"I'm unaware of a scam. This is my graveyard. I'm a ghoul. The last one here.” He'd have to move on soon, pickings were down to bones and it was hard to suck marrow from old ones. But he had nowhere to go.
"Ghouls are no more real than vampires."
He stared at her, realizing with amazement he was becoming aroused. How long had it been since the last female ghoul left? Years. “Both are quite real."
She snorted derisively.
Feeling a chunk of tissue come off his left leg, he reached down, retrieved it and stuck the glob back on. Lack of nourishment made for poor adherence.
"Your costume seems to be coming apart,” the woman said.
"I am coming apart. I don't need clothes because ghouls are cousin to djinns, so we are creatures of fire."
"Sure you are."
"I still don't understand why you hunted me down. Who are those you refer to as ‘they'?"
"My so-called friends, who aren't friends at all. They got one laugh from scamming me already this evening. You're their second try."
He thought she sounded less sure than before. “My name is Tremorg. I would never agree to engage in a scam against you."
"Um, I could be mistaken.” To his surprise she moved closer, reached and touched his arm. “Oh! I guess that really isn't play dough."
"You touched me.” He all but crooned the words. No one had touched him for so long he'd almost forgotten the feeling. His lust for her increased. He'd never before been attracted to a human female. Perhaps because he'd never been this close to one.
"Well, yeah, so I did. Look, Tremorg, I'm sorry if I got this all wrong. Let's just forget—"
"Would my touch frighten you?"
She took a step backward, away from him. “Um, let's not find out, okay?"
He sighed, watching her slow retreat. “You're the first human I've ever talked to, so thank you. I'm well aware you find me repulsive. All humans feel that way about ghouls."
She paused. “Weird, yes. Repulsive, no."
Her words warmed him so much he was hard put to control a jet of flame. “Is it possible you might come back here another night to talk to me again?"
"Here?"
"This is my home."
"Man, you really have a ghoul fetish."
"Will you?"
Jolene hesitated. Now that she was sure Mags, Aaron and the others hadn't been any part of what she'd found in Woodland Weir, what was she doing lingering here with this weirdo who thought—or pretended to think—he was a ghoul? She needed to get out and never come back. Yet he sounded so lonesome. She knew all about lonesome. Besides, he hadn't tried to harm her.
"Maybe,” she found herself saying.
"I'll be waiting. Would you give me your name?"
He'd told her his. What harm would it do? “Jolene."
Later, on the street side of the fence, she strode briskly away from the cemetery, his plaintive, “Farewell, Jolene,” echoing in her head, uncertain whether or not the moonlight had revealed an erection just before she'd turned away from him. Or it could be he'd plastered that green stuff over his ding-dong, too, making it appear bigger?
How Mags had laughed at her use of that word. “Ding-dong? What a dork you are, Jolene. Big or small, fat or thin, long or short, a cock's a cock."
* * * *
A week later, Jolene made her way down the dark streets toward Woodland Weir, convinced she was as batty as naked Tremorg, self-styled ghoul. Whoever he was, he could be a rapist and killer. But if so, he'd already missed a chance at doing her in.
Yeah, but why give him a second one, fantasy lover or not? He was tall and dangerous, if far from handsome. Had it been the moonlight that made him look green or did he use some kind of dye? Whatever, he intrigued her. She wanted to learn more about him, why he'd chosen such a weird imposture.
Lonesome, he'd said. So she'd be doing him a favor. Herself, too, if she was honest. How long had it been since anyone had begged for her company? Or wanted her around at all? How about never. Even when her parents were alive, it was obvious they didn't care about her. “Defective,” she'd overheard her father say more than once. Her mother had never argued. She had no one, now, not even great-aunt Lucy up north, who'd died last Christmas.
When she slid down from the maple tree inside the cemetery, Tremorg was waiting, his long hair hiding some, but not all, of his bare body.
"If I had the power of my cousin djinns, you wouldn't have to climb a tree to get in,” he said. “I'd waft you over the fence.” As he spoke he edged away from the street, deeper into the dark cemetery.
Jolene followed, smiling at the mental picture of her heavyset self flying through the air. “Ghouls must have some powers, though.” She wondered what imaginary abilities he'd think up.
"Not any you'd care to know."
"Nice evasion."
Evasion? This human woman called Jolene kept saying things he didn't understand. Not that it made any difference—against all odds, she'd come back to him. Flexing his fingers, careful to keep the talons retracted, he fought the urge to touch her again. Too soon. Ah, but it was hard to wait.
"You can't know how happy I am to see you again,” he told her.
"Yeah, well, I know lonesome isn't good. I guess you don't meet many people in an old graveyard."
"The few that visit come during the day when I sleep. They wouldn't care for a ghoul's company anyway."
"Aren't there any other ghouls around?"
"Not at Woodland Weir. Nothing much to eat here."
"Um, that's right, ghouls do eat the dead. Look, why are you doing this?"
Again, her words made little sense. “If you mean why am I a ghoul, I was born one. It's not as if I had any choice."
"Come on, Tre, would I be standing here in the middle of a graveyard at night talking to you if you really were a ghoul?"
But she was and he was. Tremorg thought over all she'd said and finally realized she must believe he was human, like her, and just pretending to be a ghoul. If he convinced her she was wrong, chances are he'd never see her again. But he didn't want to lie to her.
"Where do you hang out during the day?” she asked.
"I sleep."
"Yeah, but where?"
"In one of the crypts."
"You mean you actually bed down in one of those above-ground burial vaults with coffins in it?"
"Yes.” He couldn't wait any longer, he had to touch her. Once he'd seen a human man and woman hold hands as they walked among the gravestones, so, talons still retracted, he reached for her hand and was thrilled when she didn't jerk away as he grasped it.
How soft it felt, how excitingly alive. He sighed in pleasure. “Shall we walk a little?"
"You never did tell me if it was play dough you used or something else,” she said as they strolled deeper into the cemetery.
"I don't know what play dough is or how you think I use it."
"You must be using it or something like play dough to give your skin that ghoulish texture, like it's melting off your bones. Some fell off when I was first here and I saw you stick a green glob of whatever it is back on."
"Clumps do fall off, but I just attach them again. I think this happens because I don't get enough to eat."
"You mean you actually are homeless?"
"No. I live here in Woodland Weir. I told you I sleep in a crypt. Those who share it with me don't mind since they're dead. Not much left of them except bones.” He didn't add that one was actually undead, being a vampire. If she didn't believe in ghouls, likely she didn't believe in vampires either.
"I suppose next you'll say you ate your dead crypt-mates. Don't bother. If you're trying to gross me out, forget it. I gather you must be a fan of Poe to have chosen this particular cemetery for your ghoul act."
"If you mean Edgar Allan Poe, before my father left here, he often quoted him.” Tremorg thought a moment and then intoned:
"'Twas night in the lo
nesome October of my most immemorial year..."
"Man, do you ever have the right voice for Poe and his ‘ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.'” After a moment she added, “Do you know your hand is actually hot? Think about it, wouldn't a real ghoul's hand be cold and slimy?"
"Djinns are creatures of fire and—"
"And your cousins, you've told me more than once. So, okay, show me some fire."
"I can't do that when I'm holding your hand, and I don't want to let go, it feels too good."
"Excuses, excuses.” But she sounded pleased to him, and she didn't pull her hand free. “So you're not homeless. You said you were hungry, though. If you'd let me know last time, I'd have brought you a sandwich or something."
"I can't digest human food. And since they no longer bury the dead in Woodland Weir, my food has become almost non-existent. As I told you, that's why the other ghouls left. I wish..."
When he didn't go on, she prodded him. “You can tell me what you wish."
He saw they were near one of the graves graced by a marble bench, so he guided her toward the moonlight-silvered seat.
"If you want me to sit down, then you'll have to ‘fess up,” she told him.
He could find his way in the dark with little trouble, but was pleased when they stepped into the open and the waning moon lent enough light so he could see her face more clearly. A feast for his eyes, with its regular human features. His, he knew, were definitely irregular, a ghoulish trait.
Easing down beside her on the bench, he slid as close to her as he dared, elated when she didn't edge away. Weird, she'd called him, but apparently weird was all right with her.
"You wish...” She let the words dangle.
He took a deep breath and told her as much of the truth as he dared. “I wish I could talk to you every night because I ... I like you very much.” No point in scaring her off with all he wanted to do with her.
Jolene knew truth when she heard it. His confession was the most romantic thing any man had ever said to her, and it touched her heart. She had never quite believed the flowery lies she'd heard from guys, lies that were honeyed garbage-talk designed to convince her to spread her legs.
"What a sweet guy,” she murmured, impulsively leaning sideways to kiss him on his cheek, pleasantly warm under her lips. As she eased away, from the corner of her eye she thought she saw a spurt of flame. But when she turned for a better look, it had disappeared.
"You kissed me!” Tremorg's voice shimmered with excitement. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.
Jolene tensed, spotting his definite arousal, but when he made no other move she relaxed, leaning into him.
"Maybe not every night, Tre, but, yes, I'll come here to see you. One thing, I don't really mind your bare bod all that much, but don't you have any clothes?"
"Ghouls don't wear clothes."
She sighed. “Because djinn cousins are warm enough without them, right?"
"Yes."
"You certainly are fixated on being a ghoul."
"I can't help that."
"Okay, but I can't help seeing your erection, and it makes me wonder what else you have in mind."
"I'm a male and you are a desirable female. Naturally I want you, but I can and will control myself."
Desirable. She savored the word, almost believing he meant it, since he'd agreed to not to jump her bones. Didn't that mean he wanted a relationship rather than a quickie? At this point she wasn't going to let him know how much he turned her on. Not until she decided whether or not she wanted to become involved with him.
"I think it's time for me to leave,” she said, easing herself free and rising.
When they stopped beside the maple tree, he asked, “You'll come back tomorrow night?"
Jolene meant to say maybe again, but what came out was a too-eager-sounding, “Sure."
In the darkness under the tree, she didn't realize he'd leaned toward her until she felt the warmth of his lips on hers, the heat filtering into every cell of her body.
After the kiss ended and she'd gotten over the fence, she was still tingling from its devastating effect. “I suppose he'd call that djinn fire,” she muttered.
* * * *
The next night, she found Tre waiting by the maple. He immediately pulled her into an embrace, his lips hot and demanding, initiating a lusty response from her.
"Not here,” he said, and led her away from the fence to a small clearing amidst a grove of cedars. Jolene saw cut branches piled in the center to make a fragrant bed.
"I read in a magazine left in the cemetery that human women like scented candles and music at times like this,” he murmured as he eased her down onto the springy boughs. “The moon is more beautiful than any candle and so is the scent of cedar. Don't you agree?"
"I love moonlight."
"And cedar?"
"It's okay to lie on.” Oh, what the hell, she might as well let him know she was flawed now, before this went any further “I can't smell the cedar. Or anything else."
He stared at her for a long moment. “So that's why."
"Why what?"
Instead of answering, he kissed her. Undone by the fiery current thrumming through her, time and place faded away until only Tre existed. She was more than ready when he entered her. A stab of surprise pierced her at his size—from her other few and unsatisfying quickies, she had no idea any male was this large. He filled her to perfection.
Only after the most satisfying sex of her entire life, did she realize she hadn't asked the crucial question. “Um, you wore a condom, right?"
"What's that?"
Jolene sat up. “You're kidding, right? Unless maybe you call them rubbers or dead squirrels or something. Those things guys put on their ding-dong"—she reached to touch his so he'd be sure what she meant—"before they have sex."
He grasped her hand, holding it there. “That feels good."
Already he was hard again. And he wasn't wearing anything on his ding-dong. At least it wasn't her fertile time of the month. “Damn it, Tre, you better not have any kind of disease."
"If you mean human diseases, ghouls don't get those. How could we eat your dead if we did?"
"You're not a ghoul, you're just pretending you are."
"If you could smell me, you'd know I was telling you the truth. Our scent is repulsive to humans."
Jolene wanted to smack him. She'd trusted Tre with her deepest secret—how dare he use it against her? “You're lying to me."
He dropped her hand, she snatched it away and he stood up. “Look at me and ask yourself a few questions. How many humans are green? Eat the dead? Carry fire within them so need no clothes? Are able to lose parts of themselves and be able to stick them back on and use them? While some human homeless may sleep in graveyards, how many actually live there year after year?"
She sprang to her feet, looking around for her clothes.
"Don't cover up your lovely body,” he begged and reached for her. His arms closed around her, his mouth finding hers.
Her struggle to free herself soon switched into a frantic response she couldn't control. Never had any guy made her crazy for him like this. Before she realized what was happening, they were twined together on the cedar boughs again.
Later, when she'd dressed and they walked toward the fence, Jolene warned herself this better be her last visit to Woodland Weir. Tre was way too weird to get any more involved with, never mind the out-of-this-world sex. Never mind that she was still high and hot with the feeling he was still inside her. The guy was a certifiable nut-case. Ghoul-crazy.
By the maple, he said, “See you tomorrow night.” Not asking, assuming.
Still on his side of the fence, she decided equivocating was prudent. “The weather man predicts rain."
"We can use the crypt."
"I don't find crypts romantic.” She swung herself up into the tree, and crawled onto the branch that dipped over the fence, where she called to him, “Let's wait and see."
Her two week vacation from the library where she worked as an aide started tomorrow and she'd tentatively planned to take a bus to Ojibway and finally claim the legacy her great-aunt Lucy had left her. The lawyer had sent her a key so she could get in.
As she recalled from childhood, Lucy's house wasn't anything fancy, plus the Upper Peninsula was a depressed area, so the house probably wasn't worth much. But if she sold the house, she might be able to buy a car. Her old one had bit the dust a year ago and she didn't have the cash to replace it.
If she did go up there, she'd get away from temptation by getting out of town. Something to think about.
Once in her little cottage on the alley, Jolene hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. After stripping, she realized she still had the feeling something was inside her. Using her thumb and forefinger she probed and found she was right. Good grief, what was it? Tugging gently, she pulled it out, shrieking when she saw what she held.
Tre's green ding-dong. Not a sex toy, but the real thing, in the flesh. Not covered with any fake stuff, either. A real ding-dong, larger than any she'd seen before. Shuddering, she crossed to the sink and dropped it into her tooth-brushing glass. Its green head rose obscenely above the rim, an uncircumcised foreskin clinging to it.
Feeling dizzy, Jolene sat on edge of the tub. Green. And it had come off inside her. Guys’ ding-dongs weren't green and didn't fall off. Which meant...
"No,” she moaned. “No, Tre can't possibly be a real ghoul."
But he was green. He slept during the day in a crypt in a cemetery. Chunks of him did drop off. He couldn't eat people food even though he was hungry because ghouls ate the dead.
Yuck.
And she'd had sex with him. Had sex with a ghoul.
Double yuck.
Still naked, she dived into a closet, brought out an overnight case and began packing.
* * * *
In the long June twilight, Jolene got off the bus in the village of Ojibway, on the south shore of Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. After asking directions, she walked the two miles to her great-aunt's place, arriving exhausted from lack of sleep the night before.
