An author of both M/F and M/M erotica and erotic romance, she enjoys creating interesting situations and characters. Well, the characters would tell you they were already there, that she didn’t create them. But she’s not about to split hairs with a spectre. This little ditty was a fun one to write. Ghosts and kink and two men. Yum.
Thianna has written the best-selling gay DD/spanking erotic romance trilogy All They Ever Needed and is the creator of the best-selling Corbin’s Bend series.
Also by Thianna D.
If you liked The Haunting of Hamstead Manor, be sure to check out Breathe Each Other In.
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Z
by The Black
Janie cut a glance at her countertop television as she lugged the basket of dirty colored clothes through her kitchen. News at Noon was leading in with yet another story about the outbreak that some people were now calling the beginning of the apocalypse. Apocalypse as in Undead Apocalypse.
Janie was sick of bad news but paused in the kitchen to watch because news anchor Chance Longstreet was a hottie. Okay, he had big, white horse teeth, but when he didn’t smile and was looking serious he was hot.
Chance opened the broadcast with his standard, “Good morning Richmond and surrounding areas,” and got right down to business. He reported that the south side of Richmond had become a war zone. Things had gotten so bad that police and gang members were banding together to shoot at the zombies instead of each other.
Chance didn’t say so, but local councilman and civil rights activist Johnny Jefferson said things were so bad on the South Side because the city didn’t bother confiscating all bovine food products in the inner city until it was too late. He called the Zombie outbreak a genocidal plot cooked up by either the CIA or the Republican Party.
Janie didn’t know about any plots, but she couldn’t argue about the confiscation sequence. After the police and fire department seized all the beef and cow’s milk products from the supermarkets in her suburban neighborhood her next door neighbor Margaret went to the South Side—as dangerous as it was—to buy milk. Margaret and her family were gone now. Who knew Margaret’s husband Tim had an M-16 he’d squirreled away from his days in the Army? When Margaret and her children changed Tim went Rambo on them. Then he turned the gun on himself.
On the news, video footage from the previous night showed people running in the streets, screaming as if Godzilla was a block behind them and coming fast. Houses and stores were on fire. Why were they on fire? Janie wondered. What was the point of that? And of course, the worst of the citizenry were taking advantage of the turmoil by looting.
Chance came back on camera, shaking his head gravely as if it all was just too shockingly incredible, as if he hadn’t been reporting almost the same events every day for the past week.
Yeah, we know, Chance. Things are getting worse out there.
Chance pressed a finger to his earpiece and frowned as if he were just receiving some amazing breaking news. Janie hoped he was going to announce that it was okay to eat dairy and beef again.
Chance face turned solemn, then he nodded as if whatever was about to happen met his approval. He fixed his steely gaze on the camera and announced to the viewing audience that in just a minute the Chief of Police was going to hold a brief press conference on the steps of City Hall.
Janie took that opportunity to go to her combination mudroom/laundry room to load the washing machine. When she stepped into the space she shuddered and hissed through her teeth as the cold, rough concrete floor abraded the soles of her bare feet. For the umpteenth time she cursed Steve for breaking one of his many vows. From the day they bought this house nine years ago he’d promised that he was going to lay tile in the mudroom. In all that time he’d managed to be too busy to get around to it. Now he never would.
The bastard.
When Janie returned to the kitchen the press conference was just starting. The police chief, who with his round face, mop of yellow hair and in his big-buttoned jacket looked like Captain Kangaroo, was already speaking:
“Please, please, if you have a firearm and you’re hunting these creatures or are shooting in self-defense, make sure you aim for the head,” the police chief said. “If you kill someone you just think is a zombie, you must still go for the head. You have to kill the brain. I repeat: you absolutely must stop brain function in these things. If you don’t have a firearm, use a bat or a brick or any object substantial enough to crush a human skull. If you don’t have such a weapon, run. Just run. It’s better to let a suspected zombie live than kill a human being by mistake and create a new one of these creatures.”
With her empty laundry basket on her hip Janie shook her head at the television. Is this what things had come to, killing innocent people? Were good, law-abiding citizens that afraid? Thank goodness most of this madness was confined to the city. Other than her next door neighbor Margaret and her family, the zombies had stayed out of her neighborhood.
Jeez, Margaret, how could you be so stupid and selfish?
On the television an unseen reporter called out, “Chief, are you saying that seemingly non-infected people are becoming zombies when they die?”
The police chief shrugged. “My information is unconfirmed at the present time. However, the CDC has sent an advisory to all law enforcement, emergency response and medical agencies across the country stating that this might be the case. They’re saying that in some people, whatever this disease or infection is might lie dormant while the person is living, and become active after…well, after death. Again, this information is unconfirmed.”
“But you’re saying it could be the case?”
“I’m saying I’m only passing on the information provided by the CDC. Nothing is confirmed.”
Someone else yelled, “So anyone who seems normal might not be?”
“Again, nothing is confirmed.”
“Why do some infected people change immediately and others take as long as a week?”
“I don’t have that information.”
“What are the hospitals doing about people who die there?”
“It’s my understanding that there will be information about that forthcoming. I don’t have the—”
Someone else yelled, “What’s the governor doing about this? Where’s the National Guard? We’ve got chaos on the South Side. What’s anyone going to do about that, Chief?”
The police chief’s shoulders rose and fell as he breathed a heavy sigh. “We’re all doing the best we can. Again, I urge all citizens to implement the um…the procedures I’ve already discussed when dealing with these…with the undead.”
“What about the beef and milk, Chief? When will it be legal to eat again?”
“I have no information on that at this time. We’ve already been assured that the best scientists in the world are working on—”
“Chief, there are rumors that the cause of this outbreak is a combination of a variant of mad cow disease and beef and milk manufacturers using growth hormones in cows. Can you speak to that?”
“I can’t speak to that. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s all I have at this time. Good luck and God bless all of you.”
The police chief almost ran away from the microphone.
The press conference ended and the broadcast switched to the local weather forecast. Janie headed back to her bedroom to grab the whites for the next laundry load.
***
In her bedroom as she went to the hamper Janie caught a glimpse of herself as she passed the mirrored sliding doors of her closet. Before she could banish the thought it whispered in her brain:
Still not a size 2.
Damn it!
Janie stopped in front of the mirrored doors. She dropped the plastic laundry basket.
B
ecause she liked feeling sexy and was almost always horny, when Bobby was in school and she had the house to herself she dressed—or didn’t dress—to suit her sensual mood. Today was a mild mood day. She was wearing denim shorts cut so high they’d make Daisy Duke blush under a tank camisole.
Standing in front of the mirrored doors Janie examined her reflected self. As she had on more days than she cared to think about since the tragedy of the size 2, she checked off her physical pros and cons in the mirror.
She liked her new pixie haircut. Her hair was a shade of brown that should have been a synonym for dull, so as far as she was concerned less of it meant more. Her shorter cut allowed her sea green eyes to really pop.
She’d never thought much about her mouth, other than once upon a time feeling it was too wide. In three years of dating and eleven years of marriage Steve certainly hadn’t much to say about it. He was the only man she’d ever known or heard of who wasn’t into getting head. That should have been a clue right there that something was wrong with him.
Now, thanks to Zachary, she liked her mouth. Mainly because he liked her mouth. He’d told her in his shy but oh-so-sexy way that in addition to her having a pretty smile, her mouth looked like it was made to do a certain thing. That’s just the way he’d said it, in that sexy-shy way of his: “Janie, your mouth looks like it was made to do a certain thing.”
The way Zach said that to her, and the way he’d smiled his sexy smile when he said it, he might as well have lit a fire between her legs. After he said it she couldn’t wait to do that certain thing to him. In fourteen years with Steve she could count on both hands the times she’d given him head, with fingers left over. With Zach she’d topped that number in one week.
Sexy Zachary.
Stupid Steve.
All Steve had cared about were her boobies. He couldn’t get enough of touching, squeezing, and sucking them. And the other thing. Sometimes Janie thought the reason they only had one child was because Steve preferred using her breasts more than her coochie to get himself off.
Okay well, her breasts were nice, she had to admit. Since she’d gained weight they were her best feature. Well, Zach thought it was her mouth.
Janie lifted her top and exposed herself. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She compared one feature to the other. Mouth and boobies.
Two pros.
Her waist had thickened, but thank goodness it was more spread than bulge. Unfortunately, most of her post baby weight had decided to loiter on her hips and thighs.
Once upon a time she had considered her legs her best feature. She still had hot legs, and in a knee-length skirt and heels could turn heads, but she wasn’t happy about her thighs anymore. When she’d squeezed into her cutoffs this morning she hadn’t thought about examining herself in a mirror. Looking now, she decided her thighs weren’t too bad. Most men would still drool, but she remembered when her thighs were long and lean and so much sexier.
When she was pregnant with Bobby she’d gained sixty pounds. As of a year ago—seven years after Bobby was born—she’d managed to drop half that weight. In the past eleven months—since everything had gone south in her world—she’d lost another ten pounds.
The voice in her head that she hated told her that if she’d made the effort to lose the weight sooner her world wouldn’t have gone south. But her common sense told her that that wasn’t true; that it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because she’d never been a size 2.
The bimbo was a size 2.
Steve, you bastard.
And you never will be a size 2, the voice she hated whispered.
Yeah well, screw you, bitch.
She was a size 12 now. That wasn’t so bad. She was the size of the average American woman.
Anyway, Zach liked her body. He said she looked better naked than in clothes. To demonstrate his sincerity he’d kissed her everywhere, from her forehead to the soles of her feet. Slowly. Delicately. Teasingly. He’d kissed her until she’d wanted to scream at him to do something to her—anything as long as it made her come.
Janie pulled her cami down to cover herself. Lifted it again. Nice boobies. Maybe she’d spend the rest of the afternoon au natural, until just before Bobby came home from school. She was in that kind of mood now.
Too bad she wasn’t still seeing Zach. She sure could use a good afternoon fu—
A noise outside—a deep rumbling—pulled Janie’s attention away from contemplation of the pros and cons of her body and what it needed. Next came a beep-beep honking sound. It sounded like that Roadrunner cartoon character. She padded to the bedroom window to see what was going on.
Peeping through her blinds, Janie saw a car idling in the street in front of her house. It was one of those colorful muscle cars from the late sixties or early seventies. This one was a lime green number.
Janie didn’t know anyone with such a vehicle. Even Steve, who apparently was going into his midlife crisis a decade early, wouldn’t drive something so garish.
The muscle car’s horn beep-beeped again. This time the driver didn’t let up. He laid on the damned thing as if he were in a humongous hurry and whoever he’d come to pick up needed to get a move on.
Janie squinted and leaned until the tip of her nose poked through the blind’s slats and touched the window glass. Was there someone in the back seat of that car? Wait—were they fighting?
The beep-beeping stopped, then sounded again, a sharp blast as if the driver hit the horn by accident. She could see the driver’s silhouette. He was turned in his seat, punching at someone in the back seat. Over the rumbling of the car’s powerful motor Janie heard a scream, then another; one male, one female.
Oh no.
Janie stumbled backward, away from the window. Outside the muscle car’s engine roared hungrily. Tires screamed as it sounded like the driver had floored the gas pedal.
Something bumped against the backs of Janie’s legs and she screamed too, then bit off her cry as she realized that she’d backed into the side of her bed.
Janie collapsed onto her bed, but feeling too vulnerable, bolted up to a sitting position.
Was that one of them? In her neighborhood?
Shit-shit-shit!
The phone ringing made her scream again. Heart pounding, she grabbed the handset.
“H-hello?”
“Janie?”
“Yes. Who…Mr. Godowski?”
“Yes, dear. Are you all right over there?”
Mr. Godowski lived across the street and two houses down. He was a widower, and since she’d kicked Steve out the old man had been a blessing to her, helping out with the things around her house a man was usually better at taking care of. He’d rehung her out of balance storm door, and was showing Bobby how to operate a power lawn mower. He’d even offered to tile the mudroom/laundry room floor.
“I’m fine, Mr. Godowski.”
“That was some racket a minute ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was,” Janie said. “Do you think it was one of them?”
“Hard to say, but I expect so.”
“Oh no.”
“It was only a matter of time, dear. The authorities don’t have a handle on this thing as of yet, and there’s no telling when or if they ever will. This won’t be somebody else’s problem much longer. We’re not safe, I’m afraid.”
The old man sounded really sad. As much as she didn’t want company (unless it was Zachary here to kiss her all over) she said, “Mr. Godowski, would you like to come over? I’m about to make lunch and you’re more than welcome to join me.”
“That sounds nice, Janie, but I shouldn’t.”
“It’s not an imposition, I promise.”
“No dear, I mean I really shouldn’t. I’m afraid that for the past day or so I’ve…well, I’ve been a tad bit under the weather.”
Perhaps a dozen heartbeats passed before Janie could speak. “Mr. Godowski? You don’t mean…you’re not…”
She heard the old man sigh. “I wish I
could state otherwise, dear.”
“Oh god.”
“Now, now, Janie, you and Bobby don’t have to worry. Things are fine right now. I’ve made plans, you see. Gertie’s father left her a cabin up in the Shenandoah Mountains. After she died I was never able to make myself go up there. It’s so isolated, and I thought I would be so lonely up there without her. But I think now the time is just about right.”
“I think you’re right, Mr. Godowski.”
“I’ve been sitting here all morning with my suitcase packed and in the car. I didn’t know why I was waiting to leave, but I think I know now.”
“Why were you waiting, Mr. Godowski?”
“I think Janie, that I just needed someone to say goodbye to me. Would you do me the kindness of waving goodbye when I leave, dear?”
Janie blinked, but too late. The moisture in her eyes brimmed and spilled over, slipping down her face. “Of course I will Mr. Godowski.”
“Abe. Call me Abe.”
“I’ll wave goodbye to you Abe. When are you leaving?”
“I’m not feeling very well, so I think sooner would be much better than later. I’ll be pulling out in a minute.”
“I’ll be waiting Abe.”
***
Though tears streamed down her face Janie smiled as Mr. Godowski slow-rolled his battleship-sized Cadillac past her house.
She waved from her stoop. He looked her way and waved back. His eyes were red-rimmed and he was as pale as milk. He already looked worse than some of the creatures she’d seen on the news.
He’d waited too long, poor thing. He wasn’t going to make it to his cabin in the mountains.
Janie watched until Mr. Godowski’s Caddy vanished around the corner at the end of their block. She wondered how long it would be before the old man bolted from his car growling and drooling and started eating people. Not long, she imagined. She hoped that when it happened that he was too far away and that his mind was too far gone to remember that she was home alone.
Grave Hauntings: Where Sexy and Sinful Meets Dark and Chilling Page 7
