Why I dared to go so far“Walking on Both Sides” – Pink Turns Blue
Lost my strength and lost my heart
I’ve to stay somewhere between
Cause I’m walking on both sides
Amber opened the door to her room for the night, put her bag on the bed and walked over to the window. She sighed. A view over the surrounding fields and the mountains in the background opened up to her. The yellows, reds and oranges of the trees framing the road up to the mansion seemed to be the only colours painted on the grey autumn canvas. Chill air entered the room through the tilted top of the window, giving her a shiver. She looked for the handle, found it and shut the cold breeze out.
Yet again she found herself in a haunted house. It was not by choice. Every year she was the reporter to be sent one of those missions that she very much dreaded. With work being so scarce, her editor knew that he could ask almost anything of her. She pulled a newspaper out of her bag and flipped through the newest edition of the Town Gazette, the paper she worked for. Being a journalist for the printed press seemed like a lost cause. But she loved her job, even if it meant spending nights with those who embraced the paranormal and poked her rational mind with stories of ghosts and the undead.
Her black hair in a bun, she pulled a brown poncho over her white shirt and black jeans. They had offered her and the other guests a short tour after dinner. She grabbed her phone, a pen and a notebook, and walked down the staircase. In the dining room, there were six other guests and their hosts, an adorable older couple, both round and wearing glasses. Everyone seemed excited about the upcoming tour and she joined in the chatter, keeping her opinions to herself, instead asking polite questions.
After dinner, the group took a walk on the premises. The man of the house was leading them, holding a torch. Amber looked around, in her mind trying out adjectives to use in her article: picturesque, rural, charming, historical. She didn’t find the place to look very spooky. Everything seemed tidy and unspectacular. She closed up to the group again and listened to Mr. Scott talking about the dark history of the mansion:
“Mr. Froy was a cousin of my great great grandmother. He came here, to the countryside, to get away from a broken up engagement. Back in the day, folks, back in the day, a broken engagement was shameful. It wasn’t only about the couple, but about the families involved. Mr. Froy was running away from that. When he got here, his heart was in pieces. His sweetheart didn’t love him back and he felt rejected. Yes, the poor fellow had his heart stepped on by that young lady. We can all relate to heartbreak, can’t we?”
Everyone mumbled in agreement. Amber adjusted her scarf, the cold wind had found its way to the naked skin under her clothes. “It is always about heartbreak, or jealousy”, she thought to herself, scribbling down some notes.
“He was inconsolable, that Mr. Froy”, Mr. Scott continued the story. “He cried and cried. It wasn’t the shame that festered in his mind, but the conviction that he will never touch his beloved again. He missed her, he wanted her, but he knew that he had lost her. Many a nights did he wander these grounds, tears flooding down his unshaven face. He had let himself go, often talking about what a great lover he had been, how many had wanted to be his betrothed, but that the one woman he lusted after and yearned for, had pushed him out of her life.”
“And one October night, he did not return from his late night wanderings. You can imagine the confusion when the chambermaid found his bed untouched in the morning, running down the very stairs you all have walked down, spreading the word of his disappearance. Everyone in the household made their way out on the premises, on horse, by foot, to look for the poor lad.”
Mr. Scott stopped in front of an old oak tree. “It was here they found him, folks. Dangling down this very branch, face blue, eyes almost popped out. He had decided to end his life because he didn’t want to live anymore, his heart broken, his ego shattered.”
The group silently looked at the tree in front of them. “Always the same fucking story”, Amber thought. “And now he is haunting the grounds and the mansion, wailing and whining about his broken heart. Every October, I am sure.”
“And every year, during the month of October, you can hear his cries, you can almost taste his tears and feel his pain, everywhere on the grounds. Most nights, the strangest things happen. Curtains undrawn, blankets pulled away, doors opened. Mr. Froy makes himself heard. It seems like he is still very much stuck in his pain and has been unable to move over to the other side. His ghost haunts us still.”
“No fucking way!”, Amber grinned. The others in the group joined her surprised outburst with excited chatter. They wanted to know if they’d hear him tonight, if there had been actual sights of the poor ghost, any recordings. Amber shrugged and made her way back to the house. She had what she needed for her story. She wanted to get an early night so she could leave with the first train tomorrow morning again.
Back in her room, she closed the door and sat down on the bed, taking her muddy shoes off. She wiggled her tired toes, stood up and pulled down her jeans. Stepping out of them, she got rid off the poncho, the shirt and her bra. She threw everything carelessly on the floor, knowing that she’d wear the same outfit tomorrow. The room was warm and cozy now, with the window closed and the heater turned on. She switched on the lamp on the nightstand and and sat down on the bed again, taking small sips of whiskey out of the glass she had brought from downstairs before heading up to her room. She opened a book, read a few pages and then leaned back on the fluffy pillows. She sighed. The lamp switched off, she was sure she was going to get a good night’s sleep. “God, I miss Nick. I really need to get laid.”, she thought to herself. She pressed her thighs together, trying to soothe the tingling need in between her legs. She regretted not having brought her travel vibrator, but shook her head and covered her almost naked body with the heavy blanket. She closed her eyes giving out a heavy sigh.
A few minutes later, a cold breeze touched her face and hair, making her shiver. Wondering where the sudden wind came from, she pulled the blanket closer to herself, turning to her side. The blanket slid down her back, and she felt something similar to a cold drop of water run down her spine. Goosebumps all over her body now, she turned around and tried to make out where the chill was coming from. The blanket was not covering her anymore. Her naked breasts exposed, she tried to pull the fabric up again, just to feel it being pulled down again. She sat up and starred into the dark in a confused daze. She shook her head, lied back down and closed her eyes again.
The blanket was slowly moving down her shoulder, and it felt like something else was tracing its path. She sat up again, “What the actual fuck is going on?”. A tickle on her nipples stunned her. Her buds were getting hard, being teased by invisible fingers. She let out a silent moan, trying to regain control over herself and her body. A feeling of need overtook her, and she felt unable to fight the arousal building up in between her legs again. She leaned back and pushed her breasts into the air, wanting the tickle to get more intense.
She felt a cold breeze on her left earlobe, running down her cheek, her neck and lingering on her chest. Light, almost floating above her skin that was hot with arousal now. She wanted more intensity, but the breeze remained teasingly soft, tickling her more than actually touching her. She felt the cold moving down her stomach and stopping at her mound, seemingly hindered by her knickers.
She pulled down the satin fabric and allowed it to remain around her knees, willingly spreading her legs. The cold touched her lips, making her both shiver in reaction to the temperature and the tickle she felt. Her button was teased in circling motions, like a whirlwind blowing over it. She felt it swell up, needy for real touch. The wetness inside her tunnel increased, a want to be filled rose up in her. She couldn’t take the teasing anymore, and started massaging her breasts, pulling nipples. Her back arched as her need intensified. Her left hand wandered down her body, and spread her lips further. She greedily rubbed her clit, not being able to hold back anymore.
Quick blows of cold air entered her, fast, as she pushed her nether regions up, moving her hips in the rhythm the storm inside her dictated. Her moans became louder, her arousal became almost unbearable. Nipples pulled hard, clit frantically rubbed, cold breaths creating heavy clouds of wetness inside her. She screamed as the wave of pleasure ran over her, making her whole body twitch in ecstasy, the stormy clouds releasing the rainy wetness from her tunnel. She fell back on the pillow and a sigh escaped her. She felt the cold that had embraced her, lifting. Her eyes closed, she fell asleep.
Sunlight touching her face, she woke up. She sat up around and looked around. She could still feel the remains of the relief she had experienced only hours ago, her body relaxed. She saw that the window and door were open. A chair in a corner had fallen over and all the paintings on the walls were hanging in weird angles. She shook her head in disbelief. She got up and walked over to the window. She pulled up the knickers that had slid down to the her ankles. The cold breeze coming from the open window and touching her naked skin, didn’t bother her. Instead, it made her smile. She carefully picked up her clothes from the floor and put them on the bed. “I guess I could stay another night”, she thought to herself, as she walked to the bathroom, smiling.