This was going to be a night to remember. Staying overnight in a haunted house was a dream come true for me. When the owner of the Taylor-Right mansion contacted our paranormal investigation group, asking if we would like to do an investigation there, we had jumped at the opportunity. The preliminary meeting was today, during the day, so we could get a feel for the place in the daylight. Tomorrow night would be lights out. Us alone in the dark of the great house.
The walk-through went great. We had a group of five attend. Our paranormal group was on Facebook, so aside from the three core members, we never knew for sure who would turn up.
Besides myself, David Concord, the core members consisted of my sister, Courtney, and her boyfriend, Sam. The additional two that joined us were somewhat regulars. We had completed about fourteen investigations with them out of the fifty-three we had undergone.
When we arrived the following night, a sixth person was waiting inside the house for us. He introduced himself as Charles and I was immediately enamored by him. Sleek black hair, crystal blue eyes, and full lips. My gaze wandered over the rest of him. He was lean but muscular.
My type.
When it came to splitting everyone into groups, I chose Charles to go with me. I wanted to get to know him better. We started in the basement. Courtney and Sam took the upstairs bedrooms, the other two, the main floor which consisted of the main parlor, dining room, kitchen, and library.
Charles led the way down the stairs into the dark basement. I had given him an EMF detector. We immediately started getting spikes, the needle bouncing into the red.
"What do you think it means?" Charles asked.
"Either the unit is broken, or something is causing the needle to jump. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual." I ducked beneath an overhead beam. A rustle in the corner attracted my attention. Probably mice. I headed that way to check it out. Charles was right behind me. I directed my thermal camera into the dark. I was right. Mice.
"Let's head back this way." Charles pointed to an opening in the brick wall encasing the main part of the basement. "I thought I saw some shadows moving in there."
The space behind the opening was pitch black. I shone my flashlight into it. The floor was dirt, the floor joists covered in spider webs. "Kind of dingey in there."
"Yes, it is." Charles touched my shoulder. "I don't like it. Can we go somewhere else?"
I nodded. "Let's check out those rooms over there." At the far end of the basement were two doors. One contained a storage room. Old paint, jars of nails, and an assortment of broken pottery. I opened the other door. The room was full of dusty, old furniture and personal items.
Charles headed for a bedframe, running his fingers along the headboard. Next to it was a desk. He slid open one of the drawers and rummaged through it. All the items, old pens, ink pots, and paper were still contained within. Charles removed a stack of paper and flipped through it. Halfway through the stack, a letter presented itself.
I peered over Charles's shoulder to get a better look. My chest pressed against his back. I might have been mistaken, but it felt like Charles leaned into the contact.
It was a love letter; unsigned
"Sounds like someone's love was destined to be unrequited," I said. The tone of the letter was of love and passion for someone the writer thought unattainable.
Charles sighed and placed the stack of papers including the letter back into the drawer.
"He was heartbroken." Charles turned to face me. I was already so close, our noses almost brushed against one another. His breath was soft and subtle on my lips. In an instant, I reacted. I pushed Charles back against the desk and enveloped his mouth with my own.
Against all odds, Charles responded favorably, reaching up to wrap his arms around me. We sank into the depths of each other's desire. Lips—tongues, mingling—sharing. The taste of him was pure—clean, without the hint of anything—he tasted like fresh water from a spring.
Charles moaned softly against my lips, his fingers raking into my hair. I clung to him, pulling at the bottom of his white button-up shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his tweed pants.
He released my hair and dug around at the front of his pants, unfastening them. He spun in my arms and dropped his pants to the dirt floor. He leaned over the desk.