Night Visitor
By
Kali Lowe
Night Visitor
Copyright 2012 Kali Lowe
Smashwords Edition
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Night Visitor
On top of everything else, Abby's apartment was haunted.
She didn't like her apartment anyway. She didn't like anything about her life lately. She had just moved in after her boyfriend broke up with her and then insisted on breaking their lease. The forfeited security deposit, on top of not having much money to begin with, had limited her options quite a bit.
Why had he broken up with her? She had no idea. She suspected there was another woman, which made her feel even worse. What was wrong with her? She was pretty enough, with long dark hair and a slim figure with just enough curve to it. She could've made him happy. But he apparently didn't agree.
So she had ended up here, renting the third floor of a house that was at least a hundred years old. It was creaky and drafty, and at night it was full of dark corners and creepy sounds.
But that wasn't why she thought it was haunted. She was an adult and too old to be afraid of the dark. She had other fears to focus on that were much more real. Going broke. Feeling lonely forever.
No, she had very good reasons for deciding her apartment was haunted.
It had started with just a feeling. Her habit was to take a hot shower at night right before bed, dry herself, then pad naked down the short hall to her bedroom, where she would slip into something she could sleep in.
The problem was, she was sure she was being watched.
On her third night there, the feeling was so strong, so certain, that she stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. She couldn't see anyone, of course. There was a window halfway down the hall which looked out on the street below. But she was up on the third floor and the hall was unlit, so no one outside should be able to see in.
Daringly, she walked up to the window and gazed out. She could imagine what she would look like, her face and her bare breasts framed in the window, her perky pink nipples hardening as they neared the cold glass. She hoped she was right about no one being able to see her. And she didn't see anyone either. A single streetlamp lit the pavement below, and there was no movement and no sign of any living being.
The feeling was still just as strong. Right behind her. She spun around and faced a blank wall. She sighed and shook her head, then determinedly strode the rest of the way to her bedroom, pretending the strange feeling didn't exist.
But it continued to intensify, night after night. The moment she stepped out of the bathroom, she could sense an almost physical presence in the hall with her, and somehow she knew it was focused on her. Even as she berated herself for being irrational, she took to wearing her robe for the few steps between the bathroom and her bedroom, just to feel less exposed. She considered asking the landlord to install a light fixture in the hall, but her previous dealings with him had been so unpleasant that she had no desire to seek him out if she didn't absolutely have to.
Fortunately, as soon as she closed the old, heavy door to her bedroom, the sense of being watched vanished like someone had hit a switch. She felt alone. Perhaps too alone. She sank into bed with no company but her own thoughts, wondering why her life had suddenly gone so wrong. She often took a long time to fall asleep.
As more days passed, the presence became just another part of her routine. It was unnerving still, but it was difficult to remain truly frightened when she faced it every night and nothing bad ever came of it. She would leave the bathroom, steam billowing out into the cold air of the hallway, tighten her robe around herself, and hurry to her bedroom, shutting the heavy door behind her. A few seconds of being watched by something and then it was out like a light the moment her door was shut.
So there was something weird about the hallway. No big deal.
Then things began to change.
Though it would be some time before she made the connection, the next frightening incident occurred on the night she got herself off in her new apartment for the first time. She was sad, yes, but she was a young healthy female and her body demanded attention. After lying in bed for a few minutes trying to convince herself that she didn't really feel that horny, she sighed and pulled her long night shirt off over her head.
She liked to be naked when she masturbated, so she could freely touch her entire body. She lay down on her back and started with her breasts. She cupped them gently, and then squeezed them as she felt her nipples begin to harden. When that wasn't enough, she kneaded them roughly, pressing them up and into her body until she made herself gasp. She began remembering the handful of times her ex-boyfriend had dared to be rough with her.
She slid one of her hands down and began softly stroking her inner thighs, remembering his hands there, pushing them apart. She shivered with remembered pleasure. She had been so fucking horny. She brought her hand between her thighs, and began rubbing her pussy slowly up and down, feeling her fingertips graze over the soft folds. He had stroked her like that, seeing how wet she was. She delicately parted her lower lips and slid her middle fingertip up along her slit. She was wet now.
She gently pressed her middle finger up into her cunt, worked it in and out a few times, then added a second finger. She thought of her ex-boyfriend's cock pumping into her, his body sweating and straining, and she moaned softly as she made her pussy muscles squeeze her fingers.
Then, her fingers lubricated with her cunt juices, she slid them out and up to her needy clit. She made another sound of pleasure as she began to stroke the sensitive nub, and she closed her eyes. She was no longer trying to match the remembered sensations with the touch of her own hands. She worked her clit to get herself off as she remembered the last time a man had shot his seed into her.
Her breathing intensified, and she began moaning softly with each breath. She was trying to be quiet so that the sound didn't carry, but she was caring less and less as she worked her clit faster. Her body arched, her hips trying to push off the bed and against her own hand as she pleasured herself. Every muscle in her body began to tense, and her free hand clutched at her breast, squeezing it roughly.
She came then, her cry of pleasure shattering the silent night. Her cum spilled onto her fingers as she stroked her slit, smearing it over her folds, as her body shuddered with pleasure.
Then the presence was there, looming over her in the dark bedroom. She couldn't see it, but she could sense it. She gasped and pulled the sheets up around herself, her eyes wide with panic.
"Go away!" she shouted. The presence seemed to shrink, then it receded rapidly.
She heard the bedroom door creak faintly and then close with a thud.
She watched it for a long moment, clutching the sheets to her sweaty body, her heart pounding. Slowly, the terror abated, and she lay down. She pulled the covers over her head and curled up, still naked, trying to convince herself that she had imagined the whole thing.
She didn't fall asleep for a long time.
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Her heart was pounding before her trip down the hall the next night, but there was no presence. It stayed away for days. She imagined it was scared or ashamed, and she began to actually feel bad for it. She was starting to think of it as a living thing.
Well, living might not be quite the right word.
Finally, one night, she paused next to the window that marked the halfway point and gazed into the dark of the hallway. "I'm sorry I yelled. Being in the hall was okay, I guess. But you need to stay out of the bedroom." Then she went to bed.