I realize at the end -- this is a ghost story. It was inevitable.

The room's brass "Genevieve" nameplate flashed once in the hallway light as I closed the door -- quietly as I could, even holding the handle down until the door was completely seated in the frame, just to keep the latch from clicking.

The room was long and strange. A cherry wood, queen-sized sleigh bed sat at one end, turned sideways to the room and backed into an irregular, book-lined wall nook in such a way as to block the three lowest shelves. Two wingback chairs faced each other over a low coffee table in the center of the room, and a loveseat sat at the far end in he center of a dusty square of clear hardwood floor.

It was a horrible layout; it looked as though a madman had rearranged the furniture according to plan impossible to either understand or explain.

Deranged rearrangement. Rearranged derangement.

Deranged, unexplained, rearranged, pained.

Someone giggled, and I was the only person in the room.

There were no lights on in the room; only the moonlight through the windows fought the darkness, and would have no help from me -- shadows and haze suited my sense of drama, and in moving the furniture, I'd learned the layout of the room more than well enough to navigate to the leftmost wingback chair and sit down.

Opposite me, an empty seat. Nothing left to do but w--

"Hello, Michael."

I jumped. The light in room had changed; moved, following the moon like a stalker. Time had passed, or simply gone to see what was on the buffet this evening. I blinked once to clear the grunge in my eyes, again at the woman sitting in the empty seat facing me.

"I like what you've done with the room," she said, her mouth quirking slightly.

Pale skin, raven hair, broad forehead, eyes ever so slightly protuberant.

Quite transparent.

"I --," I coughed on the phlegm of my unplanned nap and tried again. "I thought you would," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Genevieve."

The corners of her mouth turned again and her head and eyes dipped in a small bow of acknowledgement. "You've done your homework, Michael."

"I'm motivated," I replied.

"Obsessed," she countered. "Or I would not have come."

I glanced at the door for something to do; there was no point in arguing.

Time passed again, heading down the hallway outside on the way to the complimentary wine tasting and karaoke in the Red Brick Bar.

"Well," Genevieve said, folding her hands in her lap. "You obviously didn't come to see me, Michael; that will come later." Her head tipped to the side as I turned back to her, she seemed to be studying my face - or tracking the pulse in my neck. "Never keep a lady waiting, I always say."

"I don't -" I began, but stopped, staring.

Pale, translucent Genevieve was gone. The room changed like alchemy; warmth, candlelight, the smell of her soap and hair - leaden gray-blue moonlight turned to gold.

Lora smiled at me.

"Hey baby," Lora smiled.

Lora smiled.

Lora smiled at me.

Wonderful.

We talked. It was comfortable. It was easy. She smiled when I looked at her and laughed at my jokes and reached to touch my arm, my hand, my face; her fingers left trails of goosebumps on me that never seemed to fade.

Wonderful

We kissed; nips, playful, tugging, tasting; slipping slick secrets from one to the other and back again like sharing breath. She tasted the way spring rain smells.

Wonderful.

We made love, cradled, curled, rocking, sweating, sighing, whispering, whimpering, grunting, growling, groaning, grinning. She was a goddess, riding atop me at the end, back arched, eyes closed, head back, shaking and glorious; just as I'd imagined.

Wonderful, wonderful, and yet more wonderful.

In the end, chest heaving, she leaned forward, face above mine, hands on my shoulders, hair falling around us like a private curtain; lowered herself until her breath cooled my lips as she whispered.

"My turn."

I blinked, tried to focus on the too-close face; tried to make the shapes resolve into Lora's when it was Genevieve staring down at me, her thin lips in the same smirk.

"Jesus!" I threw myself to the side, groping for my pants in the darkened and cooling room. "Fuck is wrong with you?"

She shrugged, fully clothed and sitting in the wingback chair I'd occupied early. "I killed my four sisters for a land title and sold a third of their gods-damned daughters to a whorehouse to keep it, Michael," she said, her voice flat. "I've got an odd sense of humor."

"Yeah, well…" I jerked the cinch on my belt as I stood up. "You're fucking with my night with your little jokes."

She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "Michael… you were doing so well. Don't tell me you don't know when your night ends and mine begins."

Couldn't possibly…

I looked at my watch. 3:06.

I shook my head; a child trying not keep his mouth away from a spoonful of cough medicine. "There's no way that was… you did something."

She raised her eyebrows; surreal when I could see the print of the armchair through her. "I 'did' something?"

"Hell, yes." I swung my arm at the dark windows, trying to ignore the the moon long gone down. "That wasn't enough."

"It's never enough," she snarled, standing, sudden and sharp, directly in front of me, her face twisted. "You will always want more, Michael; that is how you will die." She leaned toward me, lip curled, an empty reflection of the first kiss of the evening - Lora, surrounded by golden light already fading from my mind - the cold wind of her breath danced on my face. "You are harming my patience, Michael. I would suggest you stop that. Now."

Her eyes narrowed, and in my memory the taste Lora's lips turned to ash.

"Yes!" Panic dropped on my heart like a clenched fist, knowing I could lose even the little I had left. "I'm sorry! Anything! This is your part of the night, I'm sorry, what can I do?"

Genevieve's smiled her smile, all hints of rage gone, and the door to the room opened onto and empty hallway behind her. "You're taking me with you, Michael." Her eyelids sagged slightly, as though she'd been touched by a lover. "I'm going to leave this room."

I frowned. "I don't…" I swallowed. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Where -"

"Take me back to the other room you have reserved, Michael," she said, "two floors down, with the flowers on the comforter."

My skin froze. I shook my head, but my feet were already carrying me to the door.

"Forget about Lora," Genevieve whispered in my ear. "I want to meet your wife."

I realize at the end -- this is ghost story. It was inevitable.

--

--Doyce Testerman

• The Horror Hour
• The Mc Gaa
• Bookshelf
• Karaoke Night Tonight

 words