Taken by a Ghost

By Charlotte Mistry

Copyright 2012 Charlotte Mistry

Discover other titles by Charlotte Mistry at her

Amazon page

.

Cassandra’s car sped along the lonely road, kicking up twin dust plumes dyed gold by

the setting sun. She’d meant to be at her destination already, but like an idiot she’d put
her trust in her car’s GPS over her own intuition. After a few wrong turns she was
hopelessly lost in the countryside. Every little two-lane road seemed to lead to five more,
and she hadn’t seen a highway sign in hours.

It wasn’t so bad, she guessed- the scenery was nice enough, and the weather was

warm. The problem was that night was rapidly descending. She’d been watching the sun
sink for the past hour, and if she didn’t find her way back to the main road soon she’d be
out of gas soon enough. That dampened her enthusiasm for bucolic country vistas. When
the sunlight faded from gold to pink to dark dusky blue-black and she flipped on her
high-beams.

She was just beginning to despair when a roadside sign swam up out of the murk. Not

a highway sign, but something nearly as good that she just managed to read as it flashed
past. The Welcome Inn Motel, 3 Miles.

Well, thank god for that- at least she’d have somewhere to sleep, and they had to have

a phone or a map or something. Maybe there was even a town where she could get some
fuel and a good meal. Even just the idea of a shower and a warm bed was heavenly, right
about now.

She kept her eyes peeled for the motel, and soon enough there it was, rising out of the

dimness like a shabby, neon-lit phantom.

The Welcome Inn was anything but welcoming. Cassandra pulled into the lot and sat

there in the driver’s seat, peering doubtfully up at the peeling façade and stained
masonry. It looked to have been built sometime in the fifties, sort of a tacky fake-western
revival stucco thing, and it hadn’t weathered well. There was exactly one light on in the
whole place, and it was in the manager’s office. She didn’t see anyone inside. The
parking lot was deserted, but for her. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a
tumbleweed rolling past.

She sighed, looked at the clock, and sighed again. If she didn’t sleep soon she’d be

useless. Her powder-blue car pulled into a spot with a crunch of gravel. When she
stepped out, the air was just starting to carry a chill. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She
shivered, rubbed them, and made for the manager’s office. Every footstep made the
gravel underfoot crunch, and it just made her more aware of her isolation. The only
sounds were that, the high-pitched buzzing of neon lights, and the faint sound of the wind
in the trees.

The motel office door was unlocked when she tried it. She nudged it open with an

elbow. “Hello?”

No one answered, so she stepped in farther. The door clicked shut behind her. The

office was just as shabby as the rest of the place. The carpet was worn and stained, and it
might have started off red, but now it was a dingy brown with a threadbare path worn
from the desk to the door. The desk was battered and chipped, and a pile of dusty
magazines sat on one corner. None was from later than nineteen eighty-six. They were all
about bass fishing. The bare bulb above her buzzed with the familiar sound of badly-
repaired wiring, and there was no sign of the manager, but a rack of room keys hung
behind the desk.

More importantly, there was a little round service bell sitting on the desk. Cassandra

gave the button a tap, but it made a muted, sad little donk instead of ringing. She
frowned. “Hello? Is anybody here?”

She waited, and waited, and finally gave in to frustration. She was tired and getting

cold and she just wanted a warm bed. She leaned on the desk and raised her voice.

“I’m taking a key, if anyone can hear me. I’ll pay you in the morning!”
Still nothing. She stretched out, hooked key number eleven on one finger, and stuffed

it in her pocket. Some service you got, out here in the middle of nowhere.

The wooden-beam sidewalk creaked under her feet as she slipped out of the office

and made her way across the gravel to her car. Room number eleven was just two doors
down from where she’d parked it. It only took a second to grab her overnight bag from
the trunk and bring it along with her. The key fit in the lock, after a little struggling, and
she shoved it open. She had to try twice- the frame was swollen with humidity, and it
made the door stick and screech.

The smell hit her first, dust and dampness. Cassandra wrinkled her nose and squashed

the door back into its frame. When she turned on the light it flickered for a second,
strobing dingy yellow-black-yellow, and when it settled into working she tossed her bag
on the table.

It wasn’t as horrible as she’d been expecting, given the state of the outside. The

wallpaper was a nicotine-stained floral print that had gone out of fashion sometime in the
sixties, there was a brown water stain on the ceiling, the mirrors were grungy, the TV was
about a foot wide and the bathroom tap was slow-dripping water onto a rust stain, but
other than a little dust, the place was pretty much clean. The beds were made with crisp
white sheets that had maybe been washed a few too many times over their lifespans, and
there was no sign of roaches.

Not a place she’d want to live, but it was more than enough to crash in for a few

hours. The carpet was worn but not dirty. She kicked her shoes off one by one. Her
clothes went next, piled up on the table. She wanted a hot shower more than just about
anything right now, followed by some sleep. Hopefully the manager would actually be
around, tomorrow, and she could get directions to the nearest highway onramp.

Turning the bathroom taps made the pipes squeak and rattle. The first spurt of water

into the tub was rust-colored, and she stood clear until the water ran clean. It smelled too
strongly of sulfur and chlorine but it was hot enough to scald, and she danced in and out
of the spray, scrubbing herself clean with relief. There was only so much sweating in a
hot car you could take, and after a while, even the too-hot water was almost pleasant. It
was invigorating, at least, and she stepped out of the shower with flushed-pink skin and
dripping hair and a…

And a red handprint on her hip, too big to be her own.
Cassandra frowned at herself in the mirror. What was this? It wrapped around her hip

like someone was holding her from behind. She looked down, but now there was nothing
but even pink skin. She looked back at the mirror. There was the handprint, clear as day,
but she didn’t actually have it. What was going on? She stared at her own reflection and
gave the handprint a hard poke.

She got two sensations back. One was normal, her finger poking skin, and layered

overtop was a weird tingling hot-cold buzz like chewing tinfoil. She recoiled. The
handprint faded into nothing, and when she poked where it had been, there was nothing
but normal sensation.

Cassandra waited, but it didn’t happen again. Her mind must have been playing tricks

on her. She shrugged it off, wrapped a towel around herself, and squeezed the water out
of her hair until it was only damp instead of dripping. She eyed the hair dryer on the
counter distrustfully- it was so old that its casing was made of bakelite, and the plug
didn’t have a ground- and decided not to risk it. Electrocuted by an ancient hairdryer was
not the way she wanted her obituary to go.

She was just tossing her towel over the shower rail when she felt it. A touch, a hot-

cold tingling brush like a wide hand settling on her shoulder. She yelped and spun and
when she caught sight of her reflection, there it was. Another handprint. She definitely
wasn’t imagining that.

“What-?”
Another handprint appeared, and another, covering her like greedy fingers, only now

they weren’t only in the reflection. They were on her body and feeling realer and realer
with every passing minute.

She panicked and ran. Her sprint away was cut short by her room’s door, locked or

jammed, it didn’t matter- it wouldn’t budge. The temperature dropped by the second. Her
breath clouded in the air, and when the lights flickered, she screamed. The TV came to
life in a burst of snowy static. The covers flung themselves off the beds, and her bag
rattled itself right off the table. There was no escape from that little room. She tugged
uselessly at the doorknob anyway. Depressions formed in the carpet’s thin pile, one by
one, closer and closer. Footprints.

“Oh my god,” Cassandra made a low, animal whimper. “Oh my god, who’s there,

what are you, what do you want?”

The footsteps didn’t pause. Cassandra plastered herself back against the door in

terror, and in one last act of panic lashed out when it came close enough. She grabbed a
table lamp from its stand and swung it through the patch of air where the thing had to be.
For a second she saw the flickering outline of a man, and then the lamp was yanked out
of her hands. It crashed to the ground on the other side of the room in a million pieces.

A second later there was a feeling of hands on her naked body, tingling and sliding up

from her hips to her breasts. She tried to run and found herself frozen in place, still as a
statue, and made a thin, terrified noise.

She could see the shape of those hands indented impossibly into her skin. Their

exploration was slow and methodical- tracing her collarbones, her nipples, the line of her
jaw with that bizarre tingling touch, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight. This wasn’t
happening. There was no such thing as ghosts, she was having a psychotic break from
exhaustion, she’d fallen in the shower and hit her head and this was all one long
hallucination.

But the touches assured her that this was all too real. Something prickled her shoulder

like teeth, a phantom tongue licked a buzzing wet stripe up the pale column of her throat.
A touch pressed in between her legs and she screamed again in an entirely different way.
It was like an electric shock but good, tearing through her with a touch that blanked her
mind and made her thighs tremble.

“Oh god,” she moaned, “what…?”
The thing did it again. She felt buzzing pressure against the outside of her pussy and

then she was nearly collapsing, limbs too weak to hold her up but pinned in place like a
trapped butterfly all the same.

She still couldn’t see the thing, not really. It was a staticky outline in midair, more

like a thin cutout from reality than anything solid. When the light hit it just right she
could see the outline of a shoulder, a leg, a hand. Phantom fingers pinched her nipple
hard and she gasped. The door was hard at her back. The thing leaned in and for a second
she could feel its buzzing body pressed up against hers like licking a battery. Then there
was a pop and a wrench and she was falling to her knees, two hard impacts on the thin
carpet. She crouched there gasping.

She tried to get up, and couldn’t.
Her body had turned to lead. Her breath rasped in her throat, in-out-in, but she

couldn’t stop it. Her hands stayed planted on the carpet. She tried to stand with all her
strength and couldn’t even twitch.

And then her hand lifted on its own.
It came up from the carpet, slow and careful, and her body wiggled its fingers.

Someone else made her blink and blink again, and then she was tottering up on unsteady
legs, naked as anything, a prisoner in her own body. The thing was in her, somehow,
inside her head and working her like a puppet. When she turned her gaze inward she felt
that second buzzing presence pressing down on her, crowding her out inside her own
mind. She tried to kick and scream at it, and it regarded her with a kind of amused
detachment.

There was a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. She watched as her mouth curled up

into an entirely unfamiliar smile. Her hands dragged up her sides and they didn’t feel like
hers, not at all.

Cassandra gasped as those fingers pinched skin and couldn’t tell if she’d made the

sound, or if it was the thing riding her. Either way, that didn’t stop it. It put her hand
between her legs and rubbed a thumb across her clit. Cassandra moaned and the thing
made her grin wider.

It walked her back to the bed, a little stiff like it still wasn’t quite sure how her joints

were supposed to bend, and it nearly knocked the breath out of her when it dove onto the
covers. When it turned her on her back, she could still see her reflection grinning
wickedly.

The control on her throat lifted and she gasped. The rest of her moved at the whims of

the thing controlling her, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the reflection of
herself and the shimmering, almost invisible outline of the thing on top of her; her hand
dragged across her belly at the same time as she felt its cold, buzzing touch like nipping
teeth against her lips. She whimpered. It controlled her outside and in.

“Oh god, what are you?” she said, and almost thought she heard faint, mocking

laughter in response. It set her hands to kneading her breasts and pinching her nipples to
the point of pain, and she felt those buzzing hands on her thighs, and it was terrible and
terrifying, and yet.

And yet, she could feel the wetness between her thighs. A little thrill at being taken

control of so very thoroughly, and as much as she hated herself for taking pleasure in it,
her body had other ideas. Something rubbed against her clit, an electric vibration that
made her moan- the thing allowed her enough agency to squirm on the sheets- and then
there was something like a tongue licking her, fingernails digging crescents in her skin,
teeth and the solid pressure of her own puppeted hands. It made her rake her fingernails
up her sides until she was crisscrossed in pink. Cassandra couldn’t hold back a moan.

Her legs spread wide of their own accord, anchored in place like lead weights, and

she made a high, desperate sound as she felt something wide and blunt against her pussy.
It entered her with one mighty push and it was so much, too much, she was being split
open and she could feel the strain and yet something in her made her pant for more. Her
body felt alive with pleasure, electricity in her nerves and sweat on her skin.

“Stop,” she said, “please-” but even in her heart she didn’t mean it. The buzzing,

tingling sensation where the thing touched her seemed to spread through her like a wave,
and she bit her lip as it started thrusting. The thing inside her had to be a cock, had to be,
no matter how ludicrously huge it felt inside her. Cassandra made a low, strangled noise
as it hit something inside her that made her see stars. Her fingernails left scratches on her
inner thighs.

She was so wet that she was sure she had to be staining the sheets. She couldn’t move

her head to check, but she could still see the mirror. That blurred shape moved on top of
her in the shape of a man and not a man at the same time, and through its outline she
could see her pussy gaping open, pink and obscene. She was pinned, immobilized, made
into nothing more than an object. Her body felt like it was made of lead for all that she
could shift.

Heat gathered in her belly, radiating up in waves that made her want to beg, but she

couldn’t get the words out. She whimpered. The phantom cock inside her seemed to grow
bigger, somehow, thicker and longer. She made a shocked noise as she felt it pressing
out. It stretched her to her limits and beyond, stretched her until she was making constant
low moans as she panted, trapped on the verge between pain and pleasure. Her thighs
trembled with the strain, beyond even the thing’s control. Her body was a strung bow,
one long arc of tension.

She could barely form a coherent thought. She didn’t know if she wanted to run or

beg for more, and her body was making the decision for her. The thing fucked her rough
and vicious and animal, phantom hands bruise-tight on her hips and her own fingernails
digging sharp crescents into her skin. Her veins felt full of fire. Her pussy ached for
more, even if she couldn’t take it. This was something she’d never dreamed of having,
never even dreamed of wanting, and here she was, on the edge and desperate and
thrumming with need.

The thing thrust in one last time and she screamed and jerked and came, everything

all black and white stars behind her eyes. She was pinned all through it, immobile and
wanting so badly to thrash as that huge phantom cock threatened to split her open.

The moment she crashed down out of it, the tension on her body lifted. She lay there

panting and dizzy, but the pressure on her was gone. Nothing filled her pussy but her own
fluids; when she looked in the mirror, the only reflection there was her own.

It took a few minutes before she quite dared to get up. When she managed to get to

the edge of the bed, she wobbled up on shaky legs. She took one experimental step and
then another. Her voice was shaky. “H- Hello?”

There was no answer. No flickering lights or ghostly touches. The room might as well

have been abandoned- even when she looked in the bathroom, it was just as she’d left it.
No messages on fogged glass, or anything like that, but when she leaned in close it was
easy to see the fingerprint bruises on her wrists and hips, the long pink scratches she’d
inflicted on herself, the half-moons of bite marks that ringed her neck.

Cassandra threw on her discarded clothed, grabbed her bag from where it had fallen,

and hightailed it out. As she opened the door she cursed and threw a hand over her eyes.
It was bright out, cut-glass dawn sunlight blinding her. It was impossible. It couldn’t
have been a full night- a couple of hours, maybe- but the sun seemed to disagree. Her car
was still where she’d left it, at least, and she tossed her bag on the passenger seat and
hopped in.

She realized she still had the key in her pocket halfway out of the lot, screeched to a

halt, and dug it out. She’d just toss it back at the motel office, they could come collect
their own damn haunted hotel room key- but when she rolled down her window, she
realized that there was no motel office.

Hell, there was barely a motel. If she’d thought it looked bad last night, that was

nothing to how it looked now. Then, it had been run down. Now, it was two steps up
from a pit in the ground. The motel office was a pile of rubble and two concrete walls.
The Welcome Inn sign had two letters remaining, c and n. There was no way she could
have stopped here, no way she could have slept here, and yet, here was the all too real
weight of the key in her hand.

She wondered whether or not to keep it.

###

About the author:

Charlotte Mistry is a romance and erotica author who can’t get enough (take that as

you will). When writing, she’s never without a keyboard to hand, a cup of tea by her side,
and dirty thoughts in her head.

Blog:

http://charlottemistry.blogspot.com/

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/#!/CharlotteMistry

Discover other titles by Charlotte Mistry at her

Amazon page

.

Other titles by Charlotte Mistry that you may enjoy:

Ghost Tentacles

Megan's only doing her job as a hotel maid when she walks into a room she really
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one lustful paranormal entity!

Phantorgasm

When Laurie agrees to house-sit, little does she suspect that the house is haunted- or that
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explicit ghost sex, tentacles, ectoplasm, double penetration, and all sorts of naughty

paranormal activities!

Pixie Lust

Lillybelle is a pixie only a handspan high, but she can't help her obsession with a human
man. When he catches her masturbating on his windowsill, there's only one question
remaining- how do you fuck someone a hundred times your size? Warning: this 3300
word erotic short story contains microphilia, explicit sex, toys, magic and more!

I Fucked Mother Nature

When he goes hiking in the middle of nowhere, the last thing Jake expects is a gorgeous,
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for the ride of his life. Warning: this 3200 word erotic short story contains explicit
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Seducing a Merman

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with a wet and wild time! Will she sleep with the fishes or throw her catch back? This
4800 word erotic short story contains explicit sex, mythical creatures and a whole lot of
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Cult Sacrifice

When Lucien is lured into a man's home with the promise of food, he thinks he'll be
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Warning: this 8800 word erotic short story contains tentacle sex, eldritch monsters,
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When Kane spies a derelict spaceship ripe for the salvaging, he goes in cocky and alone.

What he doesn't know is that there's a reason the ship was abandoned, and he's about to
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Too scarred to be a pleasure slave, Connor expects to be sold to the mines. When he's
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behave... Or else. Can he tame the creature, or is there a way out- for both of them?
Warning: this 17400 word story contains explicit gay sex, xenophilia, breath play,
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