"Sadly, it was all for nothing.” Eli sighed and refilled all of their mugs from the pot on the table. Mason clasped the warm cup with both hands, a sudden shill racing down his spine. “A week later May killed herself and left her husband with their only son to raise."
"What happened to him? I mean he lost his wife and his lover."
"He never remarried, never took another lover as far as anyone knows. He had a long, lonely life. He died alone during a seizure down in the cellar years later."
"That's so ... sad. I can understand grieving for them, but to be alone forever ... that's just ... sad.” Mason felt a bit of the grief for Eric he had been clinging to ease away from his heart, letting it beat a little stronger. The tight band of grief that had bound his heart had been loosening lately. He didn't want a similarly empty life spent longing for someone he'd never have again. “I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life."
"Eli's dad used to say he saw his grandfather's ghost wandering out on the cliffs in the evening, talking to Jeb like he was there with him.” Ruby glanced off to the windows that faced the direction of the cliffs. “Servants said it was Jeb's picture he stared at when he was in a melancholy mood, not May's. Seems Jeb had been his sole desire, his only love, even if it had been in the closet."
"Dad just said those things to scare us kids away from playing too close to the edge.” Eli scoffed and shook his head.
Mason could tell by the expression on his face he didn't believe in the ghost stories, at least not much. Eli playfully pulled at the ends of Ruby's long, graying hair. She batted away his hands but he grabbed her and hugged tight, not releasing her until she squealed in mock protest. They looked comfortable and at ease with each, like longstanding friends. Mason found himself wanting a piece of that same close camaraderie. He'd like to be in Eli's embrace, teasing or otherwise. He wanted to know more about the man.
When the two parted, Mason asked, “Are your parents still alive, Eli?"
"No. They died in the fire that took out the back section of the house. Yours?"
"No family. I'm adopted. Both my parents were in their late forties when they adopted me. I'm an only child. Neither of them had any siblings. My grandparents all died before I was ten. With Eric's death, I'm kind of ... alone."
"You must be turning guys away at your door. As Ruby said,” Eli smiled a smile that was full of charm, sexual interest and a touching understanding, “you're a very attractive young man, Mason."
"Thanks.” He dropped his gaze for a moment and self-consciously pushed his glasses back into place. “It's been a little ... rough. I-I thought Eric and I would be together until we were old and gray. It's been hard letting that idea go. I haven't felt like dating ... until ... until just recently. But not the guys my age who keep asking.” He glanced up at Eli and straightened in the seat. “I like older guys. One's with stable lives and careers who know what they want in life. I'm kind of focused on my art, my job. I don't want to spend time with a guy whose only interest is parties, poppers, and his prick."
He glanced to his left, suddenly mindful of the third person in the room. “Sorry, Ruby."
"Don't worry. I've heard worse, Mason. Said worse!” She patted his arm again. “Hell, every time I'm here and I smell brandy in the air when I know darn well there isn't any thing but wine in the whole place, I get a chill and I think much worse than that.” She sniffed the air and subtly looked around at the growing shadows in the subtly lit, furniture-filled room. “It always makes me wonder if May isn't haunting the place. Folks say she took to drink quite a bit before she died. Was probably drunk when she jumped. I'd have to be."
Unable to stop himself, Mason glanced around and hunched deeper into the couch and lap quilt. The flickering glow from the hearth made the shadows dance with long legs over the walls. A chill slid down his back as Mason remembered the face in the bathroom mirror and blurted out, “The ghost's a man."
"What? How would you know that, Mason?” Eli's voice sounded normal, like he was asking how he knew Eli's favorite color—which was green if the color of the great cashmere and wool sweaters the man wore everyday was anything to go by. Mason defended the personal observation by reassuring himself artists were supposed to notice things like color and texture, especially if it brought the green flecks in dark brown, hungry eyes.
"In the mirror ... upstairs. I thought I saw a face in the steam. It wouldn't rub off the glass, not even with a towel, but when I turned around and then back, it was completely gone like it had never been there. I know it sounds crazy, but ... it was a man's face."
"Are you sure?” Where there was disbelief in Eli's face, Ruby's was full of eager interest. “Is it Eugene Storm? I bet it is. I've been trying to make contact with him for years but he never wants to talk to me.” Ruby's eyes darted back and forth while she scrutinized every pore on Mason's face. “You he would like, Mason. You look a lot like Jeb. I can see him choosing you to contact."
"Ruby, stop it.” Eli was firm, even a little harsh. “Mason came here to rest and sort things out. He's still getting over a big loss.” He ran a sympathetic gaze over Mason. “Don't fill his artistic head with dead lovers’ ghosts and suicide.” He looked away, a little reluctant when he added, “He doesn't need any help imagining things here."
Eli's lack of support hurt him more than Mason thought it could. They had known each other only a few days, but Mason was comfortable in the man's presence; he even felt a certain security being with Eli. But, now, it was painfully obvious that Eli thought of him as some fragile, potentially suicidal dork.
For the first time in ages, Mason had the energy to let his temper flare. He tossed aside the quilt and stood up.
"I'm not imagining it. The face was there.” He started to tell them about the hand touching him in the middle of the night and out at the cliff, but stopped himself. He could tell Eli didn't believe him as it was. “Excuse me. I'm going to read in my room. Mind if I borrow one of these?” He pulled an old, clothbound book off one of the library shelves and hefted it, not even looking at the title.
Eli stood up but didn't approach him. He shrugged his shoulders, a look of regret on his face. “Sure. Go ahead. They all belonged to my grandfather and his father. I've never had time or inclination to do more that glance at them. I don't even know what's up there, but help yourself."
Grudgingly, Mason nodded his head, clutching the book hard to help stem his feelings. “Thanks. Don't hold supper for me, okay? I'm not hungry."
Humiliated and hurt, Mason strode to the staircase and fled to his ghost-infested room, the last place he really wanted to be.
* * * *
He'd read for a short time but the book he'd randomly grabbed, The Perennial Bachelor, a 1925 edition by Anne Parrish, told the tale of a wealthy bachelor and the decadence of the elite society that he represented. The story was unedited and the characters lacked depth. Mason quickly lost interest. But the artist in him admired the book's beautiful binding, and he leafed through the unread pages. He stopped short at the inside front cover. In the same instant, he felt the prickle of the blood draining from his face. The marbled paper bore an inscription, written in fading peacock-green ink, in the flowing script of the day: To Jeb, who means the most. Most fondly, Eugene. Mason stared dumbly at the page for a moment, then set the book aside with a silent vow to check the other books on the shelves downstairs for similar dedications. The discovery had brought a shiver and slight quake to Mason's hands and body, and the warm comforter on the bed beckoned.
Depressed over the conversation with Eli, chilled by the note from a dead man's hand, Mason turned in early. His alarm clock barely rolled over to show 7:00 p.m. on its glowing, red face when he stripped, pulled on a pair of flannel sleep pants, and fell into bed. He was asleep within minutes of crawling under the covers.
For the first time since sleeping in this bedroom he had closed the window all the way making sure no misty breezes could disturb his sleep or fuel is imagination. He halfway b
elieved in ghosts before coming here. Or maybe it was just his loneliness that make him start in the middle of the night thinking he had felt the mattress dip as Eric rolled into bed long weeks after Eric was alive to do that. The sensation had faded overtime, but this inn was bringing it all back. And it wasn't Eric visiting him. That face in the mirror hadn't looked anything like Eric or felt like Eric. It was definitely a stranger to Mason, if not to this room. He bet Eugene Storm had been here many a night if he and Jeb had been secret lovers.
Burying his head in a pillow and pulling the cover up over his shoulders for good measure, Mason blocked out the faint beams of moonlight that filter through the curtains and the sounds of the choruses of peepers.
The warm, engulfing comfort of the quilts and soft mattress appealed to him on a number of levels, but mostly for the opportunity to be wrapped in the snug embrace of flannel and down and let his worries drift away on the soothing void of sleep. Since he didn't have a warm, loving body beside him anymore and none in the foreseeable future, he'd learned to find substitutes for comfort. A warm fire and Eli's company had been doing a fine job of it until the last few moments. He couldn't that Eli thought he was suicidal. What he couldn't believe even more was that he'd been crazy enough to blurt out he'd seen a ghost. Looking back at it he really couldn't blame Eli but the man's response had still stung.
Every reason he hated dating came rushing back to him and along with it came a bitter ached over the loss of Eric, his own self-appointed short comings and a loneliness that he desperately wanted to have banished, at least for a little while.
His dreams came like wisps of smoke, elusive and faint. They slowly increased and wrapped around him like tendrils from a campfire, reaching out to smother him with the scent of brandy-dowsed flames and scorching caresses to his chilled skin. The strands of smoke turned into flesh and blood arms and the heat on his body became hard palms and even harder thighs.
A heavy weight pressed Mason into the mattress and he sighed at the sensation, having gone too long with the pleasure of another's solidness against his chest, his belly, parting his thighs and nestling between them. His cock stirred and swelled as hands explored his shoulders and arms, ran down his sides, pressed against his ribs, tousled his hair, and caressed his cheek. They seemed to be everywhere at once, tweaking nipples to taut ripeness, soothing parted lips as he gasped in unexpected pleasure, and kneading the firm muscles of his clenched ass.
The hands and arms turned connected to a strong, long body and Mason could see and feel a trail of dark hair over the broad chest that trailed down to disappear between their grinding bellies and hips. He followed the trail back up and this time the face was clear, frame din dark curly hair with gentle brown eyes and a half-amused smile that Eli had worn since the first time Mason had looked up into his face. Eli had been embracing him then, too, but Mason much preferred this kind of hold to tone Eli had used to stop him from falling into the fire.
His pleasure built with each grinding roll of Eli's hips. Mason and silently willed his orgasm to hold back a few seconds longer. Then a chill settled over him and the solid, secure weight on top of his body dissolved away to be replaced with a smoky cloud of cold dread. His climax waned and Mason started awake.
Flat on his back, instantly awake, and eyes wide open, he looked up into a enveloping shroud of white mist. A blurred image of the face from the mirror hovered over his own close enough that if it had breathed, Mason would have felt the air moving on his skin. He didn't need his glasses to see this.
"Jesus!"
Bolting upright, Mason waved his arms to dispel the mist, the cloying smell of brandy clinging to his nostrils, the mist making his eyes water. He flung the covers to one side and jumped out of the bed.
As he stood half-naked and barefoot shaking, trembling with the cold that had seeped into the room and the rush of adrenaline racing through his veins, Mason watched the blurred face in the mist linger over the empty spot where he had been lying then slowly drift toward the window and ease out through the cracks between the panes.
The window was still firmly shut, but the curtains fluttered as if catch in a gentle a breeze. Once the mist had left the room, Mason decided the ghost had the right idea. He rocketed out the bedroom door and down the hallway, slowing only long enough to navigate the stairs without his glasses.
* * * *
"I don't care if you don't believe me. There's a ghost in this house. In my room. I'm not sleeping there alone.” Mason barely waited until the bedroom door was open before he barged past its sleepy-eyed occupant and strode to the obviously unused side of the just recently vacated queen-sized bed. “I'm not sleeping anywhere alone in this inn. So make room. I'm freezing."
Shivering, he grabbed a handful of blankets, sheets and comforters and pulled them back far enough that he could slip under them without disturbing the used half of the bed.
"What?” Still standing with the handle of the open door in his hand and a bewildered look on his face, Eli swiveled his head around to watch Mason storm across the room.
It was obvious Eli was going to need more time to process what had just happened than Mason planned on giving to him. Mason ignored the man and his confusion. He punched a pillow into a shape with blows that promised to have the room raining feathers if the pillow didn't submit to his demands soon. Luckily for all, it went meekly. Satisfied, Mason jammed it against the headboard and threw his head down on it, back turned to the door and to Eli.
He couldn't trust himself to look at the man whose bed he had just climbed into uninvited. He had thought about being in Eli's bed—just not under these circumstances.
He was still shaking. That ghostly face had almost kissed him, he knew it. He was scared out of his wits and he didn't care who knew it. This wasn't going to change anything. Eli couldn't possibly think less of him after this afternoon.
"Don't hog the blankets.” He kicked his feet further under the covers and pulled the folded-back edge up under his chin. “And please tell me you don't snore.” He looked up and over his shoulder to throw Eli an accusing glare, then closed his eyes tightly and buried the side of his face in the cushion again. “But it doesn't really matter.” He squeezed the words out through tightly clenched teeth. “I'm not leaving.” He pulled the covers around himself until they hugged him as snuggly as plastic food wrap.
Eli shut the door and walked to the newly occupied side of his bed. Mason tracked his progress by sound, refusing to look up even when he felt Eli sit on the edge of the bed beside him.
"Mason?"
It was the warm, strong hand that rubbed comfortingly over his shoulder that finally prompted Mason to turn his head to one side. He pried open one eye so he could peer up into Eli's face. Eli's expression was part concern, part affectionate amusement, and part something else. It was the something else that kept Mason from being angry about the amused portion. Embarrassment still tried to muster a glow to his cheeks but being scared witless won out. He felt cold. His chest ached from his lungs’ attempt to keep up with the pounding heart that had lodged at the base of his throat.
Christ, he couldn't believe that ... that ... thing ... had touched him, hovered over him eye to eye and ... whatever other body parts that had lined up. He'd have much preferred waking up to the man in his dream doing all that—the mostly-naked, clothed only in a pair of loose boxers, sexy man currently trying to hold back laughter while leaning in close and rubbing Mason's shoulder with a deliciously hot hand.
"Want to sit up here and tell me what happened?"
Mason looked up, trying to pack as much determination into his expression as a one-eyed glare could give. “I don't care if you think I'm a clueless, suicidal dork nerd.” He pulled the cover more tightly around his shoulder, shrugging off Eli's warm and pleasant but, nevertheless, placating touch. “I'm not leaving this bed until morning.” He suddenly sat up to reach over and turn back the rumpled covers on the other side of the bed invitingly. “And neither are you.” He scooted
his bare-chested body back down under the blankets, his haste nearly dislodging Eli from his seat on the mattress edge. “Because, I repeat, I am not sleeping alone."
Silence filled the room broken, only by the sound of Mason, face back in the pillow, gasping and gulping air, trying to breathe through the sack of feathers.
"Okay. Let's try this another way.” Eli walked around to his side of the bed and crawled in. He turned on his side to face Mason and pulled the covers up to his waist. Mason hoped he had settled in for the night. But, when the lamp on the side table remained lit, Mason steeled himself for more questions.
"Tell me what happened in your room, Mason. You really believe in hauntings?"
"Ghosts!” It was a barely understandable yelp muffled by the pillow.
"Spirits, ghost, poltergeists.” Eli's voice was gentle but firm. “They don't exist."
Mason rolled over onto his back then curled onto his side facing Eli. “You haven't had one touch you in the middle of the night, or look at you in the bathroom mirror or run an icy cold hand up your back and sit beside you at the cliffs.” His voice rose with each sentence, shaky and hoarse.
He forced himself to stop and take a deep breath, hoping a calmer effort would make the disbelief fade a bit from Eli's handsome face. It only lasted a moment before the memory of what had happened in the room flooded him with a hollow, terrified flush again. He felt as if he might throw up.
"You didn't just wake up with one lying on top of you.” He could feel the heat radiating off Eli's skin—warm, human, alive.
"He ... it ... was going to ... “—Mason took a deep, shaky breath but the words came out soft and small anyway, full of fear and disgust—” ... kiss me.” He had to fight back the tears, but he knew his face had twisted into a deep frown. The fear that had sung through every fiber of his being only moments before lingered. He was helpless as his whole body shook.
Eli sighed, pushing back the covers and revealing his own torso and Mason's.
Scared Stiff Page 4
