I couldn’t open up to my beloved Alazne entirely, both about Asier’s past relationships and about my existence as a ghost, a woman ghost at that. So I thought that the next best thing was to invite Alazne into more aspects of my current life, starting with the house I usurped from the man-corpse I’m wearing.
I’ve just finished my workout routine for the day. Thankfully this Asier prick had bought an exercise bench and a whole variety of dumbbells and discs. I massacred through most of the muscles in my back, chest and legs, and tomorrow I intend to focus on isolation exercises. Back when I inhabited my original body, I only ran from time to time, but as a man, it’s like the testosterone stored in my balls, although I don’t know if it’s stored in my balls but I always associate testosterone with testicles, demands I lift weights and feel the lactic acid building up in my muscles as they burn and their fibers break. I suspect it’s bad for my health, but it does make me bigger and stronger.
Soon after I gulp down the protein drink, I want to lie in bed and I finish off the whole taking care of myself routine by masturbating. Before I had sex with Alazne, I almost exclusively jerked off while looking at some of my ghost roommate Kateryna’s framed pictures. That Ukrainian goddess was pure lava while she still breathed. However, ever since I tasted my Alazne’s holy juices, I have kept my promise to preserve every ounce of semen this body produces for my girlfriend. She does appreciate it as well, as these days the longest period of time when Alazne doesn’t start crying for one reason or another always involves us making love. My beloved never asked me to penetrate her anally, though, for which I remain grateful.
Still sweaty from the workout, I locate Kateryna’s characteristic cold spot in the living room, where I’ve left a movie, some random Hollywood crap, playing so my ghost friend could distract herself.
“Hey, Kat, I’ve had an idea: I will finally bring my Alazne here!” I announce.
I feel the cold spot floating from its place close to the television to the side of the table where I set up the ouija board. I reach for the television remote and pause the movie.
“As you know,” I continue cheerfully, “she’s been distraught because she feels that I’m withholding vital details about my life. She’s partially wrong, though, because it’s two lives I’m not sharing vital details about. But I think Alazne would love me more and feel at ease if she could spend some time in this house. And you two could become friends!”
The ouija planchette slides quickly to spell out OTHER EX FREAKED OUT.
“Yeah… But Ainhoa is a normie, isn’t she? She would never tolerate your existence even if you were all nice and submissive with her. She would simply want to get rid of you as if you were some cockroach. It’s like those people who see UFOs flying above them and they don’t even want to look up because they don’t believe in them.”
WORRY ALAZNE WILL DISLIKE OUR RELATIONSHIP, the planchette spells out, taking its time.
I remain in silence for a moment.
“Maybe…” I muse. “It seems I’m my beloved’s first real relationship, and she can’t handle jealousy well. It’s alright, I think she’ll eventually get over it. As long as she doesn’t have a clue how hot you were.” I chuckle at my own joke, but then I feel bad. “No, it’s not funny. It really hurts me to hide so much stuff from her, but… I can’t risk losing her!”
I wipe the stale workout sweat from my face with my palms.
YOU SURE SHE WILL BE FINE WITH A GHOST, the planchette spells out.
“No clue. How would I know? I tried to ease her into ghost stuff, pretending to be some aficionado, and I even admitted that I was a ghost for twenty years, but Alazne believed it to be some stupid metaphor! I’m stuck with that old curse of telling the truth and people thinking I’m joking. A Cassandra syndrome for idiots.”
The planchette remains silent.
I suspect that my initial enthusiasm for this wild initiative was related to how pumped up my muscles felt during the workout. Now I’m deflating. Without thinking, I take a few steps to wander around the house, but Kateryna moves the planchette again.
SHOULD I PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE ELSE.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
SHOULD I PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE ELSE.
This Kat seriously repeated the same sentence letter by letter. She’s too good at this poltergeist stuff. I don’t even text that fast on my phone.
“I don’t want you to pretend in such a way. I bet that if we could talk face to face, you would have a very strong opinion on this matter. You are Kateryna, my friend and confidant. I don’t want to disguise you as anybody else! That would be demeaning.”
Kateryna doesn’t respond. I don’t know if she’s impassioned, if she’s thinking about it, or if she plans to contradict me. It’s so hard to communicate with her, due to her shyness, her fragility and… No, mostly the fact that she’s fucking dead.
Despite my sudden doubts about bringing Alazne here, my body feels tingly and numb, from both the excitement and the workout. All I know is that this afternoon Alazne is going to be so impressed with this house I stole that she will want to rush into my bedroom, tear her clothes off and offer her beautiful, defenseless body for me to devour her like the relentless monster that I am. And she needs plenty of examples every day that show her there’s more to life than just being sad.
I wait around for Kateryna, whose cold spot has raised the hair on my arms, to assert her existence, but she doesn’t.
“Uh… Kat, are you okay? Will it be fine for me to bring my girlfriend over?” I ask cautiously.
IT IS FINE.
I smile in her general direction.
YOU ARE SWEET IRENE.
I chuckle, but I’m genuinely grateful. A warmth spreads in my chest.
“No, you are, Kat. I always come back home hoping to talk to you again. And you haven’t even complained that I have spent a few nights at Alazne’s apartment without leaving you any distraction.”
IM NOT YOUR PET IM NOT YOUR GHOST TO BE INVISIBLY LEASHED, the planchette spells out frantically.
I’m a bit taken aback, but I have only her words to deduce whether I pissed her off.
“Ah… Forgive me, Kat. I didn’t mean it that way.”
I LIKE YOU IRENE EVEN THOUGH YOU KEPT BLEMISHING MY PICTURES.
“I like you too. I’m… sorry about that.”
As I suddenly feel embarrassed, I think about telling her that I didn’t suggest she should lurk about in my bedroom as I had a wank, because that was rude even for a ghost, but I recall that I did ask her and even talked directly to her as I masturbated.
“I… think there’s something I need to inform you of, and that you might not like.” I scratch the back of my head as I try to figure out how to word it without hurting my friend. “Asier was very proud of how hot you were. That’s obvious, given how many photos of you he framed and distributed throughout his house. But Asier’s stupid man-face is in those pictures, and I’m Asier now, so picture this: Alazne comes in and right in the hall she sees that photo of Asier and you together, looking so proud and healthy and hot, you in particular. Alazne will think ‘what the fuck’, and will question me about it. What would I say? Yeah, that’s another ex-fiancée of mine, one that happens to be dead. Don’t feel bad because she looked like a supermodel. Hell, far hotter than those sticks that they use for supermodels. Alazne will feel as if I punched her in the face, as if bringing her to my place was a way for me to gloat about the kind of hotties I used to date. My beloved already shrivelled up under Ainhoa’s gaze, after all.”
SO IS IT TRULY GOOD IDEA TO BRING HER HERE, the planchette spells out.
“I want to have a nice day with her. And I hope for my Alazne to move in shortly after! I’m trying to figure out how to make it work out.”
YOU ARENT VERY CONFIDENT ABOUT ALAZNE.
“She’s a sweet, intelligent and funny girl, with a lot of scars,” I say with pride. “She just suffers from abysmal self-esteem and a rotting brain due to depression, and she’s also objectively… less attractive than you. But so is the rest of womankind!”
YOURE GOING TO HAVE TO MAKE A CHOICE.
“What do you mean?”
IS THE DEAD GIRL MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR GIRL, the planchette spells out ominously.
I take a step back. For the first time since I learned about my ghost roommate’s true nature, a shiver runs through my spine. Cold sweat forms on my forehead over the film of sweat that the workout left.
“What the fuck?” I ask incredulously.
The planchette tilts sideways.
“Shit, Kateryna!” I say as I collapse on the chair in front of the ouija board. “You are too powerful a poltergeister to say ominous stuff like that. I need to know that Alazne will be safe if I bring her over!”
AFTERLIFE IS BORING.
I shake my head as I control my breathing. I had a flashback to the day when I met Kateryna, and how she nearly burst my balls with a projectile.
“If you think the afterlife is boring, which it is, and I lived there for many years, imagine what a snoozefest is whatever place those ghosts teleport to when they move on. A second level of the afterlife filled with self-absorbed ghosts who haven’t carried their regrets over. Do you think you would be able to have sex there? Think again.”
I MISS SEX, the planchette spells out.
I sigh. Now that I’ve spent all these days since I met Alazne, most of them anyway, orgasming inside her except when she was too tired and I only ate her out, I have no clue how I didn’t go insane in the afterlife from the lack of sex. I don’t want to bring this point up, though, because Kateryna has no way to solve her predicament, not even through some dedicated self-diddling.
“You’re a horny ghost,” I say with a more serious voice than I intended. “Anyway, I’m not having sex with Alazne in any level of the afterlife. No, what I mean is that I’m going to bring her over and have sex with her in my bed. You can watch if you want.”
THIS IS THE WORST PRANK CALL EVER.
“I am not joking,” I say while I stand up again. “And as usual I forgot my original motive for tangling you in a conversation, and we end up shooting the shit for an hour. I like you way too much, Kateryna. But what I wanted to ask your permission to do is this: I need to get rid of all those pictures of you. And that wasn’t a reference to The Cure. Well, I don’t know if that means anything for someone who came from Ukraine. What I mean, damn it, is that I’m going to gather all those arousing pictures of you and hide them in the attic.”
The planchette remains still.
“Please, Kateryna, tell me whether you are okay with it or not,” I say cautiously. “It’s fine if you aren’t, I’d just have to figure out something else. Is hiding the proof that you existed as a hot woman an affront to your ancestors or something hideous like that?”
The planchette begins to move slowly. Then it slides to point at YES, without spelling out the letters as usual.
Oh no, I’ve just hurt my friend’s feelings. She’s trapped on that dreary plane, and I contributed to her pain.
I lower my head for a moment, but then I look towards the source of the cold spot as I let my expression twist with the guilt that I feel.
“That means a whole lot to me and my future with Alazne. Thank you so, so much, Kateryna. I will make it up to you. Think of anything I could help you with, or anything you merely want, and I’ll do it.”
She doesn’t respond. The air in the room remains cold.
I wring my hands as I turn towards the door.
“Alright then, I… I will start gathering stuff up.”
As I pass through the hall, I head to pick up the two framed photos displayed there, but first I take a glance into the mirror. My hair is a mess, my eyes are red, and I need a shower. But I’ll start with what I should have done from the beginning: getting rid of all evidence of my crimes.
I wasn’t content with locating all the framed pictures featuring my smokeshow of a friend and that had been placed to arouse envy, and possibly simple arousal, in whatever guest who wandered into those rooms. I looked inside the cupboards, end tables, nightstands, dressers, credenzas and consoles… I’m not sure how I know what a credenza is. Is that truly a type of furniture? My point is that I went around and opened doors and disturbed the stuff inside in case Asier stuffed a framed photo in there. I found none. Asier had been careful in exhibiting the photos of his model fiancée so he could remain horny no matter what room he entered. That lucky son of a bitch… In the end I was more or less confident that Alazne wasn’t going to find incriminating evidence in the first two floors. And I also need to mention that I didn’t find a single photo of Ainhoa. I guess Asier got rid of them permanently after he destroyed that poor woman’s life.
I threw the framed photos into two garbage bags and then brought them to the attic. This floor is cozy, although with a lower ceiling than I would prefer. In the room closest to the stairs Asier had set up a couple of sofas, a coffee table and a television which I haven’t switched on once. The only natural sources of light are small awning windows, so Asier put a few more lamps than in the other rooms. Beyond a door at the end of this second living room, I enter into a bare space that the previous owner of this house used as a storage room. Half of the space is filled with filled plastic bags, piles of boxes, and also some wooden crates that I haven’t dared to open, nor I care to. Merely looking at this mess, left here to gather dust, makes me feel tired on top of how exhausted the workout made me. I put down the two garbage bags filled with Kateryna’s framed photos, then walk back to switch on the only lamp in this room.
My stomach grumbles. It’s already midday. I guess I can justify preparing myself a meal before I bother with the work of hiding these two garbage bags behind most of the crap already present.
I have taken the habit of buying groceries online from supermarkets and paying extra for some minimum wage minion to drive up to my place and deliver my food right to me. With the pantry and fridge stocked, I focused on figuring out how to follow simple recipes online without burning down my entire existence. I wanted to learn how to cook partly because I need to eat healthier to take care of this decaying body, but also because I wanted to impress my Alazne with my newfound abilities as a cooksmith. And any meal I’m able to cobble together will likely amaze her, because she survives off a diet of cereal, fruit and pre-made meals, and that’s when she can find the strength to walk up to the kitchen.
I clear the counter and gather the bottle of olive oil, bacon, garlic, cheese with a name I don’t care to remember, four eggs, salt, and grinded pepper. I forgot the packet of pasta. By the time the salted water in the pot is boiling, I find myself tapping on the floor and crossing and uncrossing my arms. Man, cooking is so fucking boring. I don’t know who has the time or the motivation for a task this involved. If I wasn’t doing this mainly for someone else, I’d stick with pre-made food.
As my stomach digests the spaghetti carbonara, I return to the storage room in the attic and, after a long sigh, I kneel and start moving around boxes and plastic bags to clear space for the photos I need to hide. If the police come here with a search warrant and they find my collection, I’m fucked. I’ll have to explain why I have relegated those delicious still images of one of the hottest women in the world to garbage bag material. That must be a crime somewhere, or at least I would make it one if I had the legislative power. Well, if I had that kind of power, many things would change overnight, starting with making myself even richer.
After I push a pile of boxes, something that had been leaning against the back of it falls forward. It’s a laptop bag. I press my fist against its surface, assuming I would find it empty, but something solid resists inside. Like a kid who just got a gift, I sit cross-legged and I open the bag. It contains a HP laptop. I take it out and push the power button not expecting it to start, but it does, and I wait until it reaches the login screen. It only has a user created, named ‘Kat’. I move the cursor around awkwardly with the touchpad, like I had seen breathing people do back when I was a ghost, but as it seemed back then, it really is a terrible replacement for a mouse. I should make a new user account. But I’ll have to name it after the bastard whose body I stole, because I don’t want Alazne to wonder why on earth I’m using a female name as my user account. I can’t justify that by saying ‘it’s an internet thing’. Men who use women’s names online must be a particular brand of crazy.
Something doesn’t feel right here. The laptop looks almost new, barely used. Why didn’t Asier keep it in his bedroom even after he obliterated Kateryna’s heart, pushing her towards a downward spiral that ended with her death? Whatever. I can go out now to coffee shops with a laptop, even if just to show off. Of course, with the mountain of money in Asier’s bank account still waiting for me to squander it, I could buy plenty of laptops, but I’m not that much of an idiot that if I own one that works, I will go and buy a new one.
I continue rearranging piles of boxes, wooden crates and plastic bags until I’m confident that Alazne wouldn’t be so bored as to get through the previous obstacles to find the photos I’m about to hide. Although it feels sacrilegous, I grab the two garbage bags filled with framed photos of my super hot friend and I place them on the space I had left.
As I push and pull the junk back to their general places, now to create a wall, my gaze stops by itself on the sliver of a photo that I can see through the opening of a portfolio. I sit down again and put the portfolio over my thighs. When I pull out the first photo, which had been printed on shiny professional grade paper, I find myself staring back at Kateryna’s big, slightly slanted emerald eyes. She’s leaning sideways on a comforter that I’ve seen inside my bedroom’s dresser. The comforter is folded so Kat could keep her head mostly straight. Her sunflower-colored hair, which looks so soft that I just want to run my fingers through it, frames her perfect features, and also falls over her bare chest in two braided tails. Her full lips, wet and slightly parted, look like an invitation. Her left forearm is crossed under her breasts, which would fit just right in my hands, and look so meaty that my mouth starts salivating heavily. I want to hold those protruding nipples between my lips. Kateryna has also bent a leg in front of her waist as if to hide her pussy, but the curve of her ass suggests one of those bubbly ones that if I saw covered by leggings I would want to cry of joy.
The nervous endings in my crotch fire up white noise, and a shiver shakes me from head to toe.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
It’s almost impossible to conceive that such a gorgeous woman could have ever existed. And not only she lived here, but she’s my best friend!
I flip through the remaining pictures. It’s a whole set of modelling pictures, the most juicy ones shot in this house, but quite a few depict Kateryna in front of popular spots of Donostia, like the slanted cube of Kursaal at night all lighted up. For some minutes I browse through the photos while swallowing my excess saliva. I’m well aware that my hard penis keeps pulsating, but I know that if I took the opportunity to stroke it even once, I wouldn’t stop.
Despite the diversity of poses and the skin and flesh these photos allow me to gawk at, the remaining blood in my brain lets a thought through: in those close-up shots of her perfect features, I only see a happy woman confident in her otherworldly beauty. None of the photos would have suggested to anybody that this masterpiece made out of bones and flesh and whatever else there is in a human body would one day become a poltergeist master. What the hell happened, Kateryna? That bastard of a fiancé cheating on you truly fucked you up so much? Asier was clearly insane if he betrayed you!
A noxious thought pops up, one of those that once you become conscious of their existence, they will remain in the back of your mind like an itch you can’t scratch: if Asier went as far as producing these professional level modelling photos, or at least they look that good for someone like me who doesn’t know shit about the subject, wouldn’t he have recorded videos as well? He would have even recorded himself fucking this Ukrainian goddess. I would witness the nasty man-body I’m possessing right now plunging deep into that miracle of flesh. The files might have waited in his computer. When my new monitor arrived, and after I asked Kateryna not to use this one as a dart board, I didnt want to bother going through the files that Asier had accumulated, so I formatted the drives and installed a bootleg version of Windows 10 that I had downloaded. Now I’m getting the sinking feeling that I might have wiped out gigabytes of Kateryna in motion while posing, getting rammed or diddling herself. I might have burned the masturbatory equivalent of the library of Alexandria.
I was pacing back and forth in the attic while cursing and rubbing my eyes, when my phone vibrates and plays my chosen ringtone. I take the phone out. It’s my Alazne!
“Hey, sweetie!” I say cheerfully. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing fine,” Alazne answers with a soothing voice. “I thought of going out for a walk, but I ended up not doing so. I’ve been lying in bed and working on catching up with the second season of ‘Re:Zero’.”
“That’s good. I think I only watched the first two. Too bad we are out of sync now…”
“I’m almost done with the fifth episode. I wouldn’t mind watching them again with you… W-what I wanted to ask you is whether you’d like to come and… spend the night again with me.”
I open my mouth to assure my queen that I will appear in front of her apartment’s door very soon, and that I might not even bother wearing pants this time to accelerate the process, when I remember that my whole plan today was to invite my beloved to my place. But I just found some more, and even more troubling, incriminating evidence that this body I’m occupying used to date one of the hottest women who ever lived. What other evils might be lurking in this home, waiting for Alazne to casually open some cabinet door? No, I’m not comfortable with bringing my girlfriend over today. I’ll dedicate tomorrow morning to scour the rest of the house.
I shift my weight to the other leg and smile seductively at my phone, but it doesn’t react.
“Why would you want me to spend the night with you in your apartment, Alazne?” I ask with a roguish tone.
“W-well… I guess…”
“Um… I want to feel your warmth again.”
I bite my lower lip as my breath thickens. I’m getting the tingles down there.
“So you want us to lie in your bed and for me to wrap my strong arms around you and pull you close. What else do you want, Alazne?”
“I want you to… kiss me and…”
“… Tell me, Alazne. What else do you want?”
“I want your cock in me,” she says with a mix of embarrassment and lust.
I gasp and lick my lips. My sweatpants are feeling tighter.
“You’re going to have to wait for that.”
“I know… But I really need it,” she adds.
“Sure. I’ll also bring you dinner,” I say with my regular voice.
“You’re the best.”
“No, keep the praise until I take care of you tonight. And don’t you dare play with yourself. I’m already hungry.”
“I-I won’t. I can’t wait.”
I hang up. My heart is jumping in my chest, and I feel every hair on my body. Ah, this woman of mine drives me wild.