Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Samantha
I t’s disconcerting being on the water at night. Even though the campus buildings aren’t far, I feel completely detached from the world I know while out on the black waters. The eeriness of the bay isn’t helped by the deafening sounds of the engine. The steam hisses while the metal mechanics chug and churn. It’s loud compared to the lapping waves and whatever else might be lurking out here.
Sometimes, I imagine great, looming beasts as I stare into the darkness. Then, my mind begins to fill in the idea by showing me shapes in the water. Tonight, I look straight ahead. I don’t want to see any more imagined nightmares today.
Lightning flashes, and the silhouette of the lighthouse emerges from the gloom. I slide across the port side and blindly find the oil lamp. Once it’s lit, I open the lantern fully and watch it cast a dim yellow light on the water in front of me. If I hadn’t been here a thousand times, I could easily hit one of the jutting rocks surrounding the little island instead of the weathered dock.
The lighthouse welcomed coming boats to the university long ago. Apparently, far too many of them crashed in the bay, so they began detouring to the larger dock in town. Instead of wasting the building, they had turned it into an observatory. The lens room had been gutted, the roof altered to open directly to the sky, which had been convenient for me and my experiments.
Currently, the observation deck is filled with telescopes of all shapes and sizes, all collecting dust. There was nothing in the library on why they abandoned it a hundred years ago, and I tried not to think about it as I spent many hours alone in the place, hearing creaks and whispers. Perhaps the idea of ghosts had soaked into my mind despite my attempts to suppress them. That might explain why I’m seeing one now.
As the boat quietly hums across the bay, slicing through fog, I feel as if I’m traveling to a different world entirely, one where my giant monsters exist and my creation lives. It feels odd that only a few sea miles separate Casper and the university.
The boat slowly approaches the dilapidated pier, and I turn off the engine and look up at the lighthouse. There aren’t any lights on inside. This was the longest I’ve been away. The storm kept me, but so did Casper.
When I woke him up that night, he looked terrified of me. He grabbed his throat, and I saw his mouth try to move behind its tight stitching. I saw my ghost come to life.
Had Casper seen something? A distant memory in his head?
After docking, I swallow and walk up the rocky path to the lighthouse. My fingers fiddle with the keys, but when I get to the door, the lock is broken and on the ground. For a moment, I stay standing outside. Thoughts spin in my head, likely and unlikely scenarios. One sticks out and causes me cold dread. Could someone have come here while I was away?
Quickly, I burst into the room.
“Casper!” I call out. The room is swamped in darkness—there are clouds in the sky blocking the moon and none of the candles have been lit. Casper never lights them. He doesn’t like fire so close to his hand.
“Casper!” I listen for noise or movement. “Are you asleep?” I call out, moving further into the room. My shin hits a chair, and I hiss. Outside, I can hear the boat softly knocking against the pier in a chaotic rhythm. The hiss and hush of waves come from the open door behind me. The bay is picking up energy. A new storm is coming. I can’t stay here long, or I’ll be trapped. Fall brings such terrible weather to the bay.
My heart beats faster as I hear no response. Something has happened. Someone came and saw him, or maybe he stumbled outside and drowned in the water surrounding this place.
I’m panicking as I try shuffling deeper in. I knock over a stool and reach out for a table. A glass beaker tips from the table and stainless steel pieces fall to the ground. The grating noises stop me in my tracks. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. My heart is still beating so fast in my chest, I can feel it fluttering in the back of my throat.
Suddenly, the sensation of being watched hits me. The hairs on my neck and arms rise—gooseflesh suddenly sprouting like weeds. Someone is in here.
“Casper?” I ask quietly. Moonlight spills through the window, and I gasp as a huge shape is outlined by it. Then, I breathe out, relieved.
“There you are,” I sigh, shuffling forward. The images of him drowned in the bay vanish, and my stomach untwists itself.
Casper isn’t moving except for the way living things do compared to corpses—the subtle expansion of breathing, the swaying of maintaining balance.
“Let me turn on a light.” I orient myself in the room, finding a candle and sulfur matches. When I strike the box, the flame hisses alive. I lift the lit candle up and turn to him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as he stays sitting there. His eyes are on me, watching. What thoughts does such a creature have? I would love to know. I’ve sat through entire days following trails of thoughts all about Casper and his potential feelings and ideas. Even if I physically leave the island, my mind never does, not since he first opened his eyes. I thought I was obsessed before he came alive, but that was only drive and focus.
I’m entirely obsessed with my Casper. I pay him too close attention—every movement, every breath, every blink of his eyes, every turn of his head. I watch and record it all in my head.
Which is how I know something is off. He’s not acting normal. With the light in hand, I move closer. What I see makes me gasp, and I drop the candle on the floor. It snuffs out, letting the darkness consume us once more. The giant and me, all alone. I hear the waves hiss and the wood creak and groan.
How could he smile? He has never done that; I don’t think he even can, either from muscle deterioration or maybe the stitching. My hand goes to my mouth, touching my lips. It was a trick of the light; the flickering candle must have made me see a smile.
Swallowing thickly, I reach down to grab the candle and relight it, but Casper moves, reaching for me with his long arms. His fingers wrap around my bicep, and he stands, pulling me upright. It’s then I remember the way he’d held me last time I was here. The power he yields is concerning, sometimes even terrifying. When he killed that mouse, his expression never changed. He showed it to me without an ounce of shame for the gore he presented me. I searched his eyes for something, anything…but no empathy could be found.
Perhaps I expect too much of him. Empathy might not be born but made. I’m not sure how to teach him right and wrong, though. I’m a scientist, not a philosopher. I’m not even a teacher. I’d have to, though, and soon.
Those thoughts are in my head as he grabs me, along with the fact that I’d seen not a single mouse since that day.
“Casper,” I say as he holds both my arms, pulling me close. He bends down to my height. I can feel the tip of his hair brushing my forehead in the darkness. Large, calloused fingers trail down my arms to my wrists. His breath tickles my cheeks.
My body is trembling; I can’t help it. He lifts my hands to his chest, pressing my palms to his body.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. He drags my hands slowly up, his breath becoming more labored as my fingers brush over his collarbones. I’ve touched him so many times, know every part of him. “I’m not doing an exam right now,” I exhale in a whisper. I don’t think he’s requesting an exam, though. Something feels different—charged, like a sky full of lightning.
Still holding my wrists, he drags my hands up his neck, and I think of what I saw a moment ago—the trick of the light that made him look like he was smiling. He pauses as I inhale sharply, my hands on his jaw.
“Did you…” I can’t get the words out. Did he cut his threads? He pulls my hands slowly up until my fingers brush the edges of his stitches. I feel empty holes where strings used to be and try to pull my hand back. He holds me there, though, making me feel what he’s done. He pulls my fingers to his bare lips and makes them brush the shape of his smile.
“What have you done?” I ask. He opens his mouth and drags two of my fingers into it. A tongue presses against my skin, warm and wet in his mouth. I gasp in shock as he displays exactly what has been done. He tastes me thoroughly, spearing my two fingers apart and dragging his tongue between them.
“How?” I ask. But there’s only one answer, isn’t there? It’s preposterous to think someone else did this. He did this to himself. “Oh God,” I whisper. The implications of this... I’ve been a fool, thinking I had something immature on my hands, that he was simple of mind.
He sucks on my fingers, and a groan rumbles up his throat and vibrates in his mouth. My face heats, and something heavy twists in my belly. I pull my fingers from his mouth, and he lets me go entirely. I stumble backwards, my heart in my throat, his spit still coating my fingers.
Casper bends down and picks up the candle, taking it back to the table and setting it upright in its holder. I hear the soft scratch of the matchbox drag across the table as he moves it in my direction. He wants me to light it. I walk over and strike the match before lighting the candle. My hands shake as I carry the flame to the wick. Dim, soft light fills the room again.
He’s looking down at me from his great height. His yellow eyes have started to dim, turning amber, and for once, I finally see what was probably there for a while, perhaps forever. I see intelligence , startling, penetrating intelligence.
I shift back, confused. I look around, not knowing what to do, unsure who I’m alone with. It’s Casper, but not how I presumed.
As I try to shuffle back further, he tips his head and smirks. The stitch marks don’t mar it at all—perhaps they even enhance what I’m seeing. The candle shadows are harsh on his face. For a moment, I feel as if I’m looking at the devil himself. I made Lucifer and brought him to life on Earth. A gasp leaves my throat, and he reaches for me before I can run, wrapping his massive hands around my wrists and dragging me against him again.
“Casper, please,” I beg him to let me go. He understands; he has always understood. God, he managed to perform surgery on himself and give himself a working tongue. I wasn’t even sure I could accomplish that, but I just felt the wet, warm muscle myself, dragging across my fingers. My face burns again, that ball in my belly squirming as attraction rears up inside me. It’s shameful how quickly it makes itself known, as if it was there all along and I was only fooling myself that it wasn’t.
I push those thoughts aside for bigger ones. Does this mean death did nothing to damage the brain’s brilliance? Dear God, does it mean he remembers it all? I’m aghast, in terror that the man I murdered is looking through new eyes—brought back to life by his very killer, coming to seek his vengeance.
“Don’t hurt me,” I beg as he bends, those intelligent eyes holding mine as his face comes close. I look at his lips, panicked I’ll see him mouth that silent word to me. Help. Help. Help.
Instead, Casper’s lips press to mine. I go still in shock—the only thing moving is my fluttering heart and pounding pulse. Casper looks at me as his soft mouth touches mine. He’s watching, observing, as I feel his lips open mine and his tongue dip into my mouth. Without thought, my tongue presses to his. Casper’s eyes close, and he offers up that soft groan from before. I feel it everywhere—on my skin, burying into my scalp as it finds every nerve in my body.
I’m weak, so weak. I made this man to my liking—every aspect is a perfect match to my ideals. His devilish face, his large hands, and now…his intelligence. He kisses me, and I kiss him back—my body burning and wet, my breasts pressing against his hard chest. I feel as if my clothes are too tight. I feel as if he’s damning me—begging me with the soft, eager press of his tongue to abandon all my ethics for him. This isn’t right, not at all.
And yet, all the repressed, pent-up tension surges like a frothy wave. It makes me crash into him, our eager, pained attraction birthing a whimper as he keeps kissing me.
His hands angle my face, making it so he can delve deeper and taste me more thoroughly. Casper is slow and meticulous, savoring every single second, whereas I feel frantic, trying to will him with my mind to kiss me harder. My hands are gripping his shirt tightly, fearful that when he pulls back, this storm will go quiet, that I’ll have no choice but to push him away.
But when he finally pulls back, I feel no desire for distance. I can’t push him away. I don’t want to. He lifts me with ease, placing me on the table. Then, his mouth is on my neck, dragging obscenely across my pulse. His hands settle on my thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles as his mouth works lower.
My hands hold his head, my fingers tracing the sutures across the top of his skull so I don’t forget this is Casper. I shouldn’t be letting this happen. He’s…not even human, is he? But I’m all too eager and willing as his open mouth trails over the swell of my cleavage, his tongue dipping in the crease. A thousand touches and a hundred suppressed thoughts have brought me to this—wanton desperation.
His hands move between my legs, and he rubs through my clothes. My legs and stomach tense as pleasure builds in the very core of my being. A whimper escapes me, and his mouth presses to mine, as if he’s greedy to taste the sound.
Casper pulls back and looks at me. My eyes trace his features—the cupid’s bow of his lips, the fashionable haircut trimmed tight at the sides and long on top, his hollow cheeks, the bump in his strong nose that tells me he broke it at some point. For once, I allow myself to feel what has always been there—lust.
His hand stays steady between my legs, rubbing up and down as he watches my expression carefully. His large hand between my legs makes me moan. A moment later, he lifts my skirt and drops to his knees. His head buries between my thighs as his mouth finds the opening in my drawers.
“Casper, stop,” I say, but it’s quickly swallowed by a moan as I feel him taste my pussy. His rich orange eyes look up at me as he laps at my slit. I lose all sense of myself, lying down on the table as I writhe, lost in my lust.
Large fingers explore my opening. As his tongue laps, he becomes eager and presses deeper. I feel him filling me as I look up the long tower of the lighthouse. The stitching where the finger meets his hand brushes my labia. His lips hold me hostage while his tongue explores in the most nefarious of ways.
I feel a coming wave swelling inside me.
“Casper,” I pant, “stop. I—” He holds my squirming body down tightly with a single hand while lapping harder with his mouth and delving deeper with his finger. He’s running his own experiments now, his own examinations. Now I’m the patient lying on the table, and he’s the scientist exploring what my body can do. Now I’m the one who must endure as he has all this time.
It builds inside me, and my hips try to sway. Casper won’t let them, pressing me down with perfect strength to keep me in place for his newly opened mouth. A piercing whine comes from my throat as my muscles tense.
As his tongue tastes and his finger curls, pleasure overtakes me entirely. I know nothing but the crashing wave of euphoria. All I can feel is the hot tongue lapping at my core and the deep press of his finger massaging inside me. All I can hear is my own wanton cries and his name spilling from my mouth.
“Casper. Casper,” I whine. My fingers trace the stitching on his skull and, between my legs, I feel more sutures touch my entrance. My stitched-up creation makes me come as he tests what he can do. He’s learning that my body can react to his, that my body can accept his inside.
Casper stands, obscenely wiping my wetness from his chin. Then, he reaches for one of my anatomy books on the table with me. His body presses between my thighs, his pelvis resting against mine as he finds a page to show me.
My eyes widen as he points to male genitalia. I pull my body from his, breaking the contact. He simply wraps my skirt around his fist and pulls me back against him before pointing to the penis again and again, hitting the page.
I shake my head, and he looks lost, his eyes darting around in panicked thought. He finally leaves me, walking away. I swallow, sit up, and adjust my clothes as I drop back to the ground. My eyes linger on the table I was just laid out on.
A moment later, Casper is back, carrying a paper with one scribbled word.
Please .
“God,” I whisper. He nods and points to me. It hits me what he’s implying, that I’m God.
“No, no,” I insist. I’m just a scientist and a fool. He grinds his teeth behind liberated lips while pointing to the anatomy book and his “please” again and again.
I’ve done him a disservice in so many ways. Assuming him an idiot. Assuming he would have no wants or autonomy.
I’ve done a better job than I imagined. I’ve made more than a creature—I’ve made a man.
“I’ll fix it,” I promise him. “I’m sorry, Casper. I’ve not been very good to you.” He looks taken aback by my words, and I realize how he must see me. I reach up and grab the sides of his face as he looks at me with open eagerness.
“I’m truly sorry,” I tell him. His eyes search my face, and then he smiles. It’s breathtaking. He’s breathtaking.
I will right the wrongs I’ve done to him, starting with this. I have all the supplies I need to fix this as soon as possible.
The door to the lighthouse bangs against the wall, and I realize the new storm is already here. I rush out to look at the bay. The waves make the boat slam to the pier. The rocks are so close to it, but there’s nothing I can do. Leaving now would certainly kill me. I’ll have to wait and hope the boat survives the storm.
I feel Casper behind me, standing in the rain outside. He’s staring at the sky, watching the lightning in the distance.
“Come on, Casper,” I say, moving back towards the lighthouse. His fingers thread with mine, holding my hand as I take him back in.
My mind churns with all these new discoveries about him, but then my thoughts twist with the things waiting for me across the shore—the detectives, the questions, the phantom. I’ll need to prepare him for the day I might never come back.
The feel of his rough hand gently holding mine lets me know letting go of Casper will never be easy. It might very well kill me, but fate might not let me have him forever.