Ghosted: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy

by Kat Addams

  Copyright © 2020 by Kat Addams

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.kataddams.com

  Cover Designer: Lori Jackson, http://LoriJacksonDesign.com

  Illustrators: Dani Smith and Alex Julian, www.artstation.com/daniquickdraw

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7331523-8-9

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  FROM THE DESK OF FRITZI COX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Other Books by Kat Addams

  ONE

  Claire

  “Here. Take it.” My mother grunted, heaving a dusty box labeled Mischief on top of the hood of her station wagon.

  She’d had that wagon since my high school days when I would make her pull around to the back of the school to let me out. I wasn’t embarrassed by the station wagon, though I’d let her believe that. It was my mother that I hid from my life.

  “Thanks.” I tugged at the box, prying it open and peering inside.

  “Don’t go opening that hocus-pocus around me!” She lit her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke in one long-drawn-out sigh. “I’ve got enough demons in my life.” She waved the smoke away from her face.

  “So, you’re saying you really believe Great Aunt Karen was a witch? Like a real witch?” I shut the box.

  I didn’t want to give my mom anything else to complain about. Already, since I’d been in town, I’d been listening to her woeful tales of irate coworkers, family I’d never met, and a stupid gopher that she swore was after her. She’d told me that, a few weeks back, she grabbed a shovel and stepped out onto her porch, ready to hunt down the varmint making a mess of her lawn. But the moment she stepped off the porch, he barreled toward her in a tunnel of vengeance. She screamed, dropped her shovel, and ran back inside. Of course, I didn’t believe her story. My mom had probably imagined the entire fiasco while she was on another one of her benders. She was a functioning alcoholic. That was what my therapist had labeled her.

  “I believe that your great aunt was a quack! Maybe she’s the gopher. Reincarnated to come back and try to get me out of her house. You have no idea the weird shit that happens in that house. It’s a house though. And I don’t have the money to move. Nothing’s harmed me yet. Not even that damn rodent.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose before wiping a bead of sweat off of her top lip and smearing her flaky rosy lipstick across her mouth. I knew by the way her hands began to shake that she’d need alcohol soon.

  “I doubt she’s the beaver, Mom.” I glanced around the hotel parking lot, wondering if anyone was eavesdropping on our crazy conversation.

  “Gopher. Not a beaver. And if you end up in the loony bin after opening that box, I’ll say I told you so. I warned ya. But you’ve never been one to listen to your mom.” She stubbed her cigarette out on the side of her car and flicked it on the curb.

  I thought about responding that if I ended up in the loony bin, it would be from her parenting fails rather than a haunted box. But instead, I did what I always did. I nodded, accepted my fate, and kept my mouth shut—like a good daughter.

  “I’ll let you know if I have any questions. I’d better get back to my room and start on this box. Boss lady wants my article finished by Halloween.” I circled my arms around the heavy box and lifted, chipping off bits of rust from the station wagon that clung to the bottom.

  “Why would Choose Forks blog want anything to do with Morningwood anyway?” she asked.

  “Morningwood was recently named one of the most haunted places in America. Forks residents take day trips out here to see that kind of stuff, I guess. I don’t know. All I know is that I have to nail this article or else I’m in trouble. I might need to stop by your house to look in the attic and make sure I’m not missing anything. I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m sure there’s a lot more up there. I grabbed the first box I saw and skedaddled out of there. Had an uneasy feeling from that attic. Your aunt probably cursed it or something.” She shook her head. “But you can stop by my house anytime and take a look, dear. Just call first. You know … in case I’m napping.” She pried open the car door with a shaky hand before settling into her seat. She tossed the seat-belt buckle to the side before turning her key in the ignition.

  “I know you like your naps.” I bit my tongue—again.

  I’d walked into my mom’s house while she was lying passed out, naked, and drunk more than enough times to scar me for life. These days, I opted for a hotel room instead of more therapy sessions to rid myself of those vivid memories seared into my brain.

  “Toodaloo!” she said, rolling down her window and waving. She hacked, coughing her way out of the parking lot until I could no longer see or hear her.

  I carried the heavy box past the hotel staff’s curious gaze. There was nothing like small-town gossip. Already, I’d heard whispers echoing in the corridor about Annie Jackson’s daughter—me. When I’d moved away from this place years ago, the entire town had taken it personally.

  Nothing offended Morningwood folk like someone deciding life was better elsewhere. Outsiders passing through were tolerated. Newcomers were celebrated. But the people who left this hellhole for good would forever earn a stain on their local reputation. We weren’t welcome here anymore. If you left, they didn’t want you to come back. Ever. Hence the gossip, eye rolls, and the lack of cleaning service in my dusty, old hotel room. I’d been here for two days, and I still couldn’t get a fresh towel.

  I set the box down outside of my door and fished a metal key from my pocket. The Creaky Spring Inn was so old that the owner hadn’t bothered to change the locks to digital keys yet. I pushed the door open and shoved the box inside with my foot, too exhausted to pick it up again. A cold blast of stale air rattled through the window air-conditioning unit, which I had tried to turn off several times already. It was no use. Even the maintenance man, Roger, couldn’t fix it. He’d pried it open, jiggled a few nuts and bolts, and put it back together, shrugging his shoulders. I’d been sleeping under the blankets, layering those not-so-fresh towels over me for extra warmth.

  “All right, Karen, let’s see what you got for me.” I rubbed my hands together and opened the box.

  I piled old, tattered letters and melted candles on the side of the bed before reaching in and pulling out a locked jeweled box. I ran my hand along the top, accidentally knocking off one of the gaudy gemstones. I peered back into the cardboard box and grabbed a skeleton key that surely had to fit the lock.

  “Probably contains the hair of a rat or eye of a newt,” I said to myself.

  I fumbled with the key, wiggling it into the rusted lock. To my astonishment—or good luck—the lock opened. A quick burst of light washed over the room, blinding me for a split second. I rubbed my eyes, looking toward the window for signs of lightning or a summer storm. But the sun shone brightly as e
ver outside. I shrugged my shoulders, told myself that I was delusional from the lack of sleep, and opened the box.

  “Jeez,” I said, staring down at a big blue dildo. “What the hell?”

  I grabbed it, turning it in my palm. It twitched in my hand.

  I screamed and threw it back into the box. “Magic dildo?”

  I rummaged through the rest of the junk, pulling out odds and ends and separating them into piles, but my attention kept coming back to the haunted dildo. It had been a while since I’d played with a man or a toy. The last man I’d let in my bedroom left me for someone else, and my toys were as worn out as I was. Sex had been the last thing on my mind these last few months anyway. My sexual appetite had left with my ex.

  But now …

  I glanced back over at the dildo before picking it up and carrying it to the sink. I wasn’t taking any chances of getting dirty with something out of a witch’s vagina. I scrubbed the plastic pecker under scalding water. It flinched in my hand.

  That can’t be right.

  I paused, second-guessing if my horniness was worth this possible evil spell. I could lie back and spread my legs, and this thing could spearhead me into the headboard. There was no telling what type of curse my aunt had put on it. She’d always had a mean streak in her.

  The dildo flexed in my palm. I quickly finished cleaning it and carried it straight to bed.

  Yep, worth it. Once-in-a-lifetime masturbation session with a cursed dick.

  I stripped off my clothes and slipped us both under the blanket, giggling like a schoolgirl. Whatever spells had come out of that box, one must have gotten ahold of me too. I never giggled like a schoolgirl, much less stopped my work to fiddle my diddle.

  I clutched the toy, rubbing it between my legs and up and over my clit. It softened, wiggling out of my hand.

  I screamed, lifting the covers to see what was going on underneath. The big blue dildo took on the shape of a real-life penis, pulsing veins and all. It moved about my inner thighs, circling until it stopped, pausing over my clit and vibrating.

  “Oh my gosh. This is the weirdest shit ever,” I whispered, not bothering to stop it.

  I arched my back as it rolled around my clit.

  “Go inside,” I said, testing to see if it was one of those magical objects that I could control, as I’d seen in Disney movies. But I wasn’t telling a broom to sweep or a cake to bake. I was commanding this haunted, fake penis to bang me.

  “Fuck me,” I growled. “Now.”

  The toy slowly pulled away, edged itself down, and pushed itself inside of me, bobbing shallow thrusts.

  “Deeper.” I bucked my hips.

  It followed my command, slamming into me until it all but disappeared inside of me.

  “Shit. Don’t stop. Do that.” I reached down, rubbing my clit while it kept up a steady pace.

  “This can’t be happening,” I whimpered, circling my clit faster. “I can’t … believe this.” My breaths came out heavy.

  Haunted Dildo fucked me so hard that my brain, along with the rest of my body, seemed to melt into a puddle of mush. I fought with my conscience, struggling to block out reality and enjoy this unreal moment so I could get my jollies.

  I clenched down on the toy, working my fingers numb. I needed to climax and wake up from this dream even if I couldn’t remember falling asleep.

  “Make me come,” I whispered.

  It grew thicker, pounded me harder, and even let out a grunt.

  My legs twitched out to the sides, kicking over the pile of letters. I put my knuckles in my mouth and bit my lip hard. I couldn’t help it. I was a very loud moaner, and the last thing I needed was Morningwood gossip about me flicking my bean.

  My body bounced under the weight of something I couldn’t see, like I was actually lying under a man who knew what he was doing. That magic dick stretched me out, pushing into me deeper and deeper until my eyeballs rolled into the back of my head and my entire body began to convulse. This was my fault for stuffing a magic fake dong into my own magic box. I’d made plenty of bad decisions before but none that resulted in me becoming possessed by a sex demon.

  The blanket, the bed, and the room began to vibrate along with my body. I muffled my moans with my fist and let myself go. I thrashed against the toy, and it thrashed against me. Ripples of waves flushed from my toes to a tingle in my scalp as I came harder than I’d ever thought possible. I wasn’t having just an orgasm. I was having a ground-breaking, full-body, pulsing, magical, weird, but fan-fucking-tastical experience. I was sure I’d wake up any moment now.

  I panted, reaching down to pluck the toy from between my legs. It had already turned back into its plastic form. I brought it close to my face, inspecting it before laying it on the pillow and catching my breath. It twitched. I squinted my eyes and poked it.

  “Too bad you don’t do pillow talk after a banging like that,” I muttered.

  The room grew dark. Haunted Dildo began to roll around, jerking this way and that before letting out a loud pop and a sprinkle of confetti. A giant, shadowy figure emerged from the tip, bouncing around the room before landing in the chair across from me.

  “Ta-da!” it said. “You liked that confetti, didn’t you? I improvised that one.”

  I screamed, digging my heels into the bed and pushing myself to the headboard and as far away as possible from whatever the fuck I was looking at. If this were a dream, I still hadn’t woken up. And if what had just happened couldn’t wake me up, this all had to be real. I shook, chattering my teeth.

  “Sorry. Sorry. No need to be scared! I sometimes forget to change to human form as soon as I’m released. Speaking of … how did I do? How was your release?” The shadow quickly transformed into a man—a very, very good-looking man. Dark hair, glowing eyes, devilish grin. Just the right amount of scruff along his jawline. He wore nothing but a pair of tight-fitting, steel-colored boxer briefs that clung to his ridiculously muscular body.

  “What the hell are you? And what do you mean, my release?” I clutched the blankets under my chin as if I were nine again and hiding from monsters under my bed. Which, unless I had been slipped some kind of drug, that was precisely my situation. Except this monster looked a lot less scary and a lot more lickable.

  My eyes drifted across his rippled abs and back up to his fiery gaze, which flickered, glowing in a way that wasn’t humanly possible.

  “Your release.” He wiggled his brows. “You know what I’m talking about. I gave you a release, and you released me. Or … you rubbed one out. Me. You rubbed me out. I’m a genie. Ta-da!” He threw his hands up and cocked his head to the side.

  “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. These small-town asshats are playing a trick on me. I think someone slipped a drug in the air or something.” I closed my eyes, rubbing them hard before opening them again, expecting him to disappear.

  “Still here.” His voice fell flat.

  “Fuck.” I tried it again.

  “Nope.”

  “Damn it. Why can’t you go away?”

  “You summoned me.” He shrugged. “Look, you rubbed the magic dildo. You fucked me out. So, here I am. Your genie. All yours.” He licked his lips, winking.

  “Genies. Vampires. Werewolves. This shit isn’t real.” I shook my head, unable to take my gaze away from him. “I’m dreaming.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “So, it’s a vampire you want. Everyone wants a vampire these days. Ever since that damn Eduardo, Eddie, Ederdouche, whatever his name is. Vampires are as cold as a witch’s titty. And believe me, I know how miserably cold that can be. Also, don’t get me started on werewolves. All that hair! Ever had a pube in your mouth? Imagine licking a werewolf and getting one of their gnarly hairs stuck in your mouth. It’s like sucking on a piece of dental floss without the minty-fresh feeling. Trust me. Unfortunately, I know how miserable that can be too. So, what I’m saying is, you got the best. Genies are awesome. At least, I am.”

  “Genie? You�
��re a genie, living in a magic dildo?”

  “Bingo! Now, you’re getting it.”

  “I thought genies lived in lamps.”

  “Not this one. Hey, I’m not complaining. I know what your heartbeat sounds like from the inside,” he growled. “Tell me if a vamp or wolf can say that.”

  I bit my lip, still not convinced any of this was real.

  “So, if you’re a genie, do something magical.”

  “What more do you want? I just popped out of a dildo and transformed into this hot piece of ass before your eyes. Wow. You’re a bit much to handle, lady. I don’t even know your name. I’m Dylan, by the way. Kind of a big dil … do. Ba-dum-cha.” He played an invisible drum before slapping his knee and laughing at himself.

  “I’m Claire. You can start your magic by giving me those three wishes that you’re supposed to grant me, right?” I lowered the blanket, tucking it under my arms and covering myself.

  “Oh.” His shoulders slumped forward. “About that. Yeah, I can’t. Or I could before, but I can’t grant wishes anymore. I can try to make things work out in your favor, but it takes a lot of work on your end and mine. No wishes though, sorry. I’m kind of useless, I guess.” He tapped his chin, staring up at the ceiling.

  “What do you mean, you can’t grant wishes? That’s what genies do, I thought.” I picked up the dildo, turning it in my palm to try and make sense of it.

  “I’m a cursed genie. Cursed by an old flame. Karen.” His voice trailed off.

  “Karen Jackson?”

  He gasped. “How did you know? Are you a witch?” His body began to fade in and out in a smoky blue haze.

  “No. But Karen was my great aunt, and rumor has it that she was a witch.”

  “She was a witch all right—a coldhearted witch. Your great aunt is the reason you can’t have your wishes. Sorry.” He crossed his arms across his broad chest and huffed out a breath.

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “Why does it have to be something I did?”

  “Well, you’re the one she cursed.”