4. The Ghost
The Ghost
She sleeps so soundly. A soft whispering of breath at her parted lips, her intoxicatingly sweet smell tainting the room.
She doesn’t know she’s been welcomed to my bed. My room, once upon a time.
Vulnerable, lying there, an arm tossed to the side. The blanket only reaches her hips. She doesn’t stir much at first.
But then, hours later—she gasps. She writhes. She whimpers.
Each sound, pathetic and needy, yet she’s unconscious, dreaming. A nightmare, maybe.
No, it’s too soon for nightmares. I haven’t gotten my hands in her yet.
Maybe it’s her heady scent that drives me to rummage through her things, something floral and cloying like honeysuckle. Maybe it’s the mewling sounds falling from her lips.
I watched her. And she stared right back, undressing herself like a paid-for whore. Taunting me, teasing me.
Brought to this house, solely so I could have my way with her.
Who is this girl they’ve hired? What is it about her that caught their attention?
My finger curls around the delicate fabric. I have the thought to flatten her tongue and shove the lace between her lips, silencing her before she can even scream, before she’s awake enough to understand what is happening to her.
But not tonight.
I’ve only just started.