#unedited because im lazy and this has been sitting around for decades | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

devilry-revelry · 1 year

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Heart & Home | Male Ghost x Female Human {Part 2}

Mostly unedited rewrite of a thing I did way back when I was (happily) getting force-fed Red Dead Redemption 2 smut. It's a ghost cowboy.

I'm not sorry.

MDNI

: ̗̀➛

“You’ve been mine since the day you walked into this house, Maggie Whittaker. Now that I have you, I ain’t ever lettin’ you go, y’hear?”

: ̗̀➛

Maggie took a shuddering breath. “I think I should go home.”

“You can stay. Unless you want to go, ‘cause yer scared ‘n’ all.”

She caught the quirk of his lips, a gentle twitch upwards that teased the beginnings of a dimple to his right cheek.

“I think we both know that scared isn’t the problem.” The contact between them faded and it became difficult to see him again. He became a fleeting shadow out of her periphery, an image that was there but wasn’t. Maggie took a slow breath, noting the chill brought on by his absence. She crossed the room, taking heavy steps to the front door.

Once she got outside she turned to peer back in.

“Goodbye Elias Jameson. It was nice meeting you.”

She closed the door, locked it, and then left.

Three months later, Maggie Whittaker purchased the cabin. One month after that, she cashed in her vacation time. Armed with an inflatable mattress, a cooler full of food, and a whole lot of cleaning supplies, Maggie returned to the cabin. It was hers now and despite the growing sense of dread, and the distinct feeling that she was biting off far more than she could chew, she was put to ease the moment the cabin came into view. Returning to the cabin felt like returning home, just as it always had.

The day was spent cleaning. While Maggie had another couple of months on her apartment lease she wanted to get the space good and clean so she wouldn’t be adverse to staying the night. If she could avoid going up and down the mountain every day during this phase of cleanup and repair it would be ideal but she wasn’t going to half-ass this. She was going to do this right.

Before starting anything she opened every window she could, and noted any deficiencies she caught as she went. Some of them opened, smooth as butter. Others were practically glued shut. Fresh air wafted through the cabin and Maggie practically melted. This was what she had been dreaming about. Not the cleaning part, or the repairs, but she was one step closer to having her dream home.

Old nails that were falling out were either completely removed or hammered back into place. The bedroom floor and the walls were thoroughly scrubbed. Then the bathroom was given a vigorous cleaning. After that, it was the kitchen. When it came time to patch the hole in the floor (the one that had been made during her last sales visit), Maggie’s sails lost their wind. This was what she had been dreading. She didn’t know much of anything about wood work. The cabin needed a fair bit of it, and she knew there were some things that she was going to have to hire contractors for. But the hole in the floor was a hazard she needed to see to before she stepped into it by accident.

She didn’t have much by way of tools or patching materials and she wouldn’t for at least a day or two, when they’d be delivered. She considered moving her ice chest over the hole. As she idly pondered and tried to plan, she smelled him. Campfire. Woodsmoke. Cigars. Breathing in deep she caught the barest hint of pine, and maybe even leather. Maggie’s mouth watered.

“I, uh, I bought the place,” she announced to the cabin. Perhaps she should have started there. Perhaps she should have asked the resident ghost for permission to move in. “I hope you don’t mind. If you do, I’ll understand.” It was just her life savings going down the drain.

“And here I thought you was never comin’ back, Maggie Whittaker.”

Butterflies infested her whole being. Hearing his voice made her giddy. She hadn’t felt anything similar since she was a middle schooler getting asked out for the first time. She caught a glance of his figure just out of view, and when she chased him with her eyes he vanished.

“You don’t mind, right?”

“Mind that you bought it? Not one bit. Hoped you’d be the one t’ take it, actually.”

And now she was blushing.

She managed to stammer, “Goo-uh—“ she cleared her throat. “Good. I was worried you wouldn’t want me here. I should have asked first.”

The room went quiet but she could still smell him. The aroma was so strong she could practically taste him.

Before Maggie had committed to purchasing the house she did her best to dissect the reason why she felt so drawn to the place. While she wanted to insist that she purchased the cabin because she felt at home there, or that it fit with her ideal aesthetic, or she liked the stone fireplace, or the spectacular sunrises, or the mountain air, she couldn’t discount the ghost. The ghost that had protected her, the ghost that made her feel safe, and needy, and breathless.

Surely, she thought, she didn’t buy the cabin because she felt a curious attraction to a ghost.

And yet she had ached to see him all day, had anticipated his arrival the moment she started cleaning and pounding nails. She even felt a little down when he didn’t immediately show up. Hearing that the ghost had wanted her to buy the house left her feeling hopeful.

Warmth gathered at her hips, as if someone had come up from behind and grabbed hold of her. Biting the inside of her lip Maggie turned slowly. The warmth dragged across her front and back, big hands smoothing over the contours of her body. And there he was. The ghost of the man who had built the cabin she was so fond of.

“Knew you belonged here the first time I saw you,” Elias replied. Those dark eyes of his glittered in the most captivating way. “I am worried that yer a little over yer head, though.”

Maggie offered a wry smile, “I hope you get along with the contractors I’m going to have to hire.”

Elias edged a little closer, his hands slipping to her back. “Didn’t realize you were the stubborn sort, Miss Whitaker.”

Maggie’s hands slid up his forearms on their own accord as she replied, “What does that mean?”

“You coulda just asked for help. I’m right here, darlin’.”

They were gathering each other closer, like they were a couple of magnets being drawn together. Maggie’s hands dragged up to his biceps, and rested on his shoulders. Elias’s hands had looped completely around her. Maggie wouldn’t consider herself a prude, but she had rarely let any previous boyfriends get so close during their first dates.

Not that Elias was her boyfriend, and this definitely wasn’t a date. Didn’t stop her from wanting to tuck her head under his chin and just breathe him in though.

“I didn’t want to just assume that you’d help me. I shouldn’t have even assumed that you would be fine with me buying the place. I should have asked.”

“Sssh,” he crooned. “Wish you woulda told me so I didn’t think I had scared you away, but I wanted it to be you.” he smiled softly, teasing the lone dimple to his cheek. “But you ain’t gotta be stubborn, ya hear me? You need help with something, you can tell me. I’ll do what I can.”

Maggie replied in a feeble voice, “I don’t know how this works. I don’t know what you can and can’t do. I don’t even know where you go when you’re not here

Elias started to withdraw. He took a step back and Maggie immediately missed his warmth.

“I’ve been watching you all day, girl. I’m always lingerin’ around somewhere but I reckon we’ll have to figure out what my capabilities are together. In the meantime, I think you oughtta get something to eat, and get some rest.”

“I’m fine—“

“You ain’t had nothin’ all day. Don’t lie t’me.” His voice was stern, but not enough to drive her off. The bit of care actually made Maggie smile. “Get somethin’ t’eat, and get some rest.”

She made a show of sighing, “Okay.”

Her hands fell away from him and he shuffled back another couple of steps.

Just before he completely severed contact, he winked and said, “Good girl.”

With more than a little bounce to her step, Maggie did as she was told. She set up her blow up mattress for the night, and dressed it with blankets and pillows. Then she dragged her ice chest to the kitchen area and prepared a quick meal. When she was through with eating she hauled her overnight bag to the room and prepared to relax for the rest of the night. Maggie brushed her teeth and did her evening skin care routine. When it came time to change and get into bed her progress slowed.

Elias said he had been watching her all day. Did that mean that he was in the room with her right now? She glanced about, feeling her body warm. Elias potentially watching her wasn’t the deterrent that she thought it would be. In fact she found herself quite intrigued by the idea. Maggie undressed slowly. Her shoes and socks were tossed aside, and then she shimmied her jeans down her thighs. When she bent forward to gather the bunched up pants to fold them up she could swear she heard a sigh.

A gentle ache blossomed and pulsated between her thighs.

Next came her shirt and then, finally, her bra. She lingered like that for just a moment, fumbling through her bag to get her clothes. When she eventually tugged on her sleep shirt she was sure her panties were wet with her slick. She turned out the light.

On hands and knees she crawled up the length of her blow up mattress, then she slipped under the covers.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

The only reply was the gentle teasing scent of camp fire.

Maggie had dreams of him that night. Dreams where he came to her in the middle of the night and worked her to release. When she woke the following morning she felt a little bedraggled, and just a touch bereft. She promptly got out of bed, got dressed and started the day by reopening all of the windows. Elias soon joined her. His presence wasn’t constant but she had caught brief glimpses of him throughout the day, just brief moments where his figure looked just in the corner of her vision. Progress on the house only seemed to appear when she wasn’t watching. If she set her focus on her own tasks when she came up for air something about the cabin would be different.

The hole in the floor was patched. Some of the more crooked cupboards in the kitchen were suddenly hanging straight and closing properly. The splinter-ridden countertops were sanded until immaculate and smooth. By the end of their second day, Maggie was more than pleased with their progress. The busy work was mostly finished. Once she received the delivery from the home improvement store, they could get cracking on the real work. Which she was secretly dreading.

Maggie was a desk person. She did showings of various houses, but the bulk of her work was sitting at a desk and pounding away at a keyboard. The house work, while not substantial in nature, was taxing and left her with various aches and pains in places she didn’t know could ache and pain.

She did some stretches that night before bed. It was some simple movements that she had learned in her weekend yoga classes that tugged at her muscles just so. Special attention was paid to her legs, and her arms, and even her neck. When she moved on to her back and core stretches her muscles thanked her. A throbbing pain had been building in her lower back and a good stretch was definitely needed.

Resting on her hands and needs on the floor next to her blowup mattress, Maggie bowed her spine upwards, dropped her head towards the ground, and tucked her pelvis inward. She held the position and breathed for a straight 10-count then moved her body into the inverse of the position. Maggie’s back arched down, and her head lifted and craned back, her pelvis rolled outward. Another cycle of breathing, and then her head dropped. The final movement started with her head dropping against her back, her back angling downward towards the floor, her pelvis tilting outward–

The sensation of large hands grasped her hips. Something hard bumped against her rear and then there was pressure applied to the cleft of her pussy. It pressed inward against her leggings.

The way Maggie’s arms gave out was embarrassing. The flanging moan that left her was even more so. She peered behind her but saw nothing, not even the fleeting image of Elias. The pressure increased, and slid forward. When it found her clit Maggie whined. It pressed in a little tighter, and then started making tight circles. Her body presented itself at its own whim. The way she parted her thighs and dropped her chest down into the floor was entirely too eager. Her pulse lept. She could feel it drumming in her sex in heavy beats that made her pussy ache.

There was a sudden tug at the leggings but they weren’t pulled off. The leggings were pulled up. The material strained against her ass, pressing in between the cheeks. Another tug pulled the material taut against her drooling nethers. The central seam pinned her clit against her pubic bone, and those fingers worked it mercilessly.

Maggie rocked her hips, grinding herself against the hand, against the inseam. The tightness building in her body was delicious, like nothing she had felt. And with every beat of her heart, and every circle worked over her clit, Maggie grew closer to finding orgasm.

She pressed her face into her arm to hide her embarrassment, feeling as if she should rebuke Elias for taking such liberties but delighting over the fact that he did. She’d been hungry for this. Yearning for it since their first encounter.

The tension in her body reached its peak, drawing her body terribly tight just before she found release. Her core gave a hard, long, almost painful contraction. The fingers worked a little slower now, easing off the pressure but still coaxing little zips of pleasure as her pussy fluttered with the remnants of her orgasm.

She whined, her body quivering.

“Easy, girl…” came the low voice.

Boneless, Maggie’s body sagged to the floor. A warm hand dragged over the curve of her ass, and up along her spine.. She had just been dragged to climax by an invisible phantasmal entity. The idea of it made her body warm all over again.

The hand worked its way up her back and into her hair. With a gentle tug her head was angled just so, and Maggie was rewarded with the sensation of a soft kiss.

“Elias?”

“You did so good, sweetheart. You were perfect.”

Another fleeting kiss, and another caress to her back, and he let her be for the rest of the night.

Fixing up the cabin took a couple of months. After Maggie’s initial week off, fixes were allocated to nights and weekends, or to whatever Elias managed while she was away at work. Elias didn’t like it when the contractors came to knock out the big ticket items like the plumbing and electric, but they both agreed they were things to be left to professionals. Whenever the contractors visited, Elias grew notably jealous. Maggie could only imagine that it was because there were tangible, and sometimes good looking men roaming their home. He went out of his way to remind her of his presence on those days. He was quite generous with his attentions. Like she needed it. Maggie grew to be incredibly attached to Elias during their time together. When she wasn’t with him, she would think of him, and when they were together he made it impossible to think of much else.

When she came home from work he was there, quietly working on various things around the home. He would stick around as she cooked dinner, and he talked with her as she ate. When the house was finished and Maggie began to move her things in, and redecorate, Elias made himself scarce. Maggie couldn’t help but feel more than a little lonely. And guilty. She couldn’t help but think that rebuilding the cabin had taken him away and due to its completion he was gone.

She had hoped to make the cabin a space for the two of them, and while she still loved her new home she wanted Elias to be a part of it.

It took all of three days for Maggie’s patience to reach its limits.

Tucked into bed for the evening, fretting over the idea that she killed a dead man, Maggie called into the darkened home, “Elias, I swear to god, if fixing up the house made you move on or whatever, and you didn’t say anything about it, I’ll kill you — you hear me?!”

The response was immediate, “The hell you on about, girl?”

Maggie’s neck twisted to the side, tracking the voice. While she wouldn’t be able to see him in the dark, and she definitely wouldn’t be able to see him without any physical contact, she sent a killing glare in the direction his voice had come from.

“You heard me,” she seethed. “At a minimum, if you don’t want to be here anymore then you need to be a man and say it. You— you—“ for lack of a better word, “—ghosting me isn’t fair.”

“Well shit darlin’, I regret to inform you—“

Maggie snapped, “You know what I mean.”

Warmth gathered at her throat. She could feel the strong fingers squeezing gently just before she was guided back against the bed. The force didn’t hurt, it wasn’t even enough to cut off her breathing, but it was enough to establish a line of control.

“Shit, Maggie. I didn’t mean to make you think I was leavin’.”

“Then why—“

“I wanted you to be able to set up the house the way you liked it. I didn’t want you worryin’ about my opinion. It’s our home but yer the one livin’ here.”

Maggie’s cheeks began to burn with embarrassment. The thumb on her neck caressed gently upward along her skin. “You’re not leaving?”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The bed dipped. Maggie felt as though Elias was looming above her. He dragged a kiss against her jaw, her cheek, her mouth. “You’ve been mine since the day you walked into this house, Maggie Whittaker. Now that I have you, I ain’t ever lettin’ you go, y’hear?”

Her panties were teased down her thighs, and she mewled quietly, “You promise?

Without so much as a warning, he was inside her. The movement was beautifully fluid, and it left her feeling stretched and filled to capacity. It was their first official joining, and it was paired by Elias’ low voice rasping in her ear as he undulated his hips.

“Ain’t ever letting you go, darlin’. Ever.”

#Paranormal Romance #Overly Possessive Ghost?#Yandere ghost maybe?#paranormal #romance #ghost romance #cowboy #ghost cowboy #cowboy ghost #monster boyfriend #cowboy monster boyfriend?#apologies to the Call of Duty girlies #male ghost x female human #unedited because im lazy and this has been sitting around for decades #possessive behavior #maybe #dark ending where Elias kills Maggie so they could be together forever where?#minors do not interact #minors do not read

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devilry-revelry · 1 year

Text

Heart & Home | Male Ghost x Female Human {Part 1}

Mostly unedited rewrite of a thing I did way back when I was (happily) getting force-fed Red Dead Redemption 2 smut. It's a ghost cowboy. I'm not sorry.

: ̗̀➛

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

: ̗̀➛

The place had been on sale for nearly three years.

It was an old cabin resting on a rough half-acre space surrounded by mountains and farmland. The cabin was small. There were repairs that needed to be made to both interior and exterior, most of the electrical needed to be redone, and the plumbing needed to be updated. The bones were good though. The foundation was sturdy and unwavering. It just needed someone to show it a little bit of love – at least that’s what Maggie Whittaker, realtor, told each and every one of her clients after they drove the full 45 minutes out of town to see it.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told each and every single person that stared at the cabin and openly grimaced.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told the potential buyers that scoffed at the still-standing outhouse off to the side of the home.

No one took the bait though. Whether it was due to the commute time, or the plumbing issues, or the fact that the wiring threatened to burn the place down at any given moment. No one wanted to buy the place, but that didn’t stop Maggie from showing it at any given opportunity because she genuinely felt that the place held great promise. Every time she stepped onto the old wrap around porch she could imagine how inviting the space would be with a rocking chair, or a porch swing. She wanted to sit there with coffee and watch the sunrise above the trees in the morning, and watch as the stars came out at night. Maggie also liked to imagine how cozy the inside would be with a little bit of cleaning. She had decided long ago that the house would stay true to its rustic roots and she would salvage as much of the original materials that she could. She also decided that she would put a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, and there would be old shelves with books, and a big bed with heavy blankets, and she would bake bread and cookies as fresh mountain air drifted through the kitchen…

Maggie could imagine all of those things, because that’s what she wanted. She wanted fresh mountain air, and cozy winters in front of a fireplace. Instead she had an awful third floor apartment sandwiched between a creep of a man and a nosy old woman. She had a cityscape that blocked the skyline, and the sounds of sirens and traffic accompanied by the acrid scent of piss and garbage. Meanwhile she sold people their dream homes. Homes with the backyard swimming pool, and the master bathroom with the male-height vanities and jacuzzi tubs and the shower with the six-plus shower heads that connected to wifi and Bluetooth. Even when she knew that no one in her clientele would show an interest in her cabin she showed the property every time she was able.

Perhaps it was because she hoped that someone would see the same potential that she did – or maybe it was just an excuse to spend more time at her own dream home. The cabin offered her a comfort that she couldn’t find surrounded by strangers at her apartment building. The cabin gifted her with the sense of belonging that she had been missing since she grew up and moved out of her familial home. When she wasn’t there she yearned to return, and when she had the opportunity, she often made the most of it she could. She structured her work schedule to offer her the most time at the cabin. If she could schedule the place for a showing, she saved the best for last, and when the not-so-potential buyers made their return trip to the city, Maggie often found herself taking up residence on the porch.

The little cabin offered Maggie all the comfort and warmth she craved, and she hated that every time she left, she didn’t know when or if she would be back; so she enjoyed what time that she had while she had it before leaving the one place she, somehow, considered home.

There were times where Maggie was lucky enough to return to the cabin weekly, if not daily but then there were times when business slowed, or a slew of clients steadfastly rejected the idea of living outside of the city, and so she didn’t get to return to her dream home for months at a time – and it was after one of those long stints of being away that everything changed…

During the winter months the already lackluster interest in the cabin waned. It was a long drive out from the city, and it seemed like all of Maggie’s clientele didn’t want to deal with the drive through the potentially inclement weather. It wasn’t until mid-spring when a potential buyer showed half-hearted interest and Maggie jumped at the opportunity to make the drive.

The buyer was a man from somewhere upstate. He was quiet, never really asking questions about the houses they visited, and never making a committal reply to any information she supplied. It served to make the day rather awkward, but when she mentioned the cabin overlooking the mountains he claimed that he wouldn’t mind seeing the place.

When they got to the cabin the man got out of his car with a camera looped around his neck with a strap, a camera that had been notably absent during the hours prior. Though it wasn’t uncommon for folks to snap pictures of the houses they toured, Maggie found the camera’s sudden appearance a little curious. A sudden and wholly unwelcome wave of paranoia washed away her excitement, and she found herself silently cursing the man for ruining her anticipated return to the cabin. She resolved to get through the showing as fast as she could for the sake of getting him to leave.

The building unease vanished the moment Maggie set foot on the porch, and it was very quickly replaced by a rush of warmth when she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“You really show this shithole?”

The comment kicked up Maggie’s ire, but she plastered on a bright and cheery smile, and forced an amused laugh as she said, “It’s got some great views. Right around back, you can watch the sunset.”

“One bedroom? No running water? Why bother.”

“It has running water; the pipes just need some updating. And I think someone will see the potential and spruce it up. I’m… um—“ she faltered as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back near the old fireplace. His fingers found a lock of hair and pulled it in front of her ear then stepped back. “— um, what are you—“

“Just getting a couple of pictures,” he said simply.

“Sir,” Maggie started, tucking the stray hair behind her ear. She stepped away from the fireplace. “I would appreciate if—“

“I told you I’m a photographer, right?” He stepped forward again, and moved her back into place. “Just let me get a few pictures. There is an interesting contrast between you and how rugged everything in here is,” he played with her hair, and went so far as to reach out to undo the top button of her cardigan.

Maggie’s hand shot up and smacked him away, feeling the bitter dredges of rage burn her throat.

“Calm down, it’s just a button—“

“Get out. Now.”

“I said I’m a photogr—“

“And I said get out. We’re done.”

He sighed loudly and pulled the camera from around his neck.. “Look, ok, I’ll put the camera away—“

“I believe the lady said to get gone, boy.”

The voice caused them both to jump. It was as sudden as it was forceful. It was a low drawl that wasn’t at all common to the area. Maggie and the so-called photographer both turned to the origin of the voice, but the room was empty. Just as Maggie’s brows began to knit together in what could only be the most confusion she had ever felt in her life (the perv clearly heard the voice too), the lights in the living room flickered. The faucet in the kitchen turned on full blast. The photographer turned yet again, his eyes darting from the lights, to the sink -- there was a loud creak from the floorboards near the front door and he spun around just before his whole body pitched forward.

The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The camera bounced to the ground in the tumble, the flash going off. The lights flickered yet again, the cabinets in the kitchen swung open and Maggie hid. She wedged herself between the fireplace and the wall, sinking to her butt and pulling her legs to her chest as the room around her came to life in a surreal show of hostility. The camera shot across the floor, skidding against hardwood until it met the toes of her shoes. The photographer scrambled, desperately finding purchase on his feet before he high-tailed it to the front door. He was leaving - leaving her alone in the crazy house… but the second he cleared the doorway, the activity in the house stopped. The cupboards closed, the lights stopped flickering, and the water shut off. It was suddenly, abruptly, eerily quiet. Maggie was afraid to move. In the quiet of the room, she held her breath. Even when she heard the man’s car start up, she remained rooted in place.

It wasn’t until the sound of the engine was long gone, did Maggie dare to take a soft breath and whisper, “Hello?”

Moments ticked by into minutes where there was no response, and as the silence dragged on, the fear and panic ebbed, and the familiar warmth returned. The tension that had gathered in her muscles eased. Her shoulders sagged and she released a heavy breath. Her eyes dropped to the camera.

The thing had moved on its own. Just like the fluttering cupboards, just like the water faucet. As she reached for it, she half anticipated it to shoot across the floor, but it remained in place, quiet and unassuming and hopefully not haunted. It didn’t move, which was great, but the screen that was pulled up on the display made her stomach flip uncomfortably.

It was a picture of her sitting in her car, sitting in front of the very first house she had met her client that day. She toggled the switch, flipping to the next image. It was her at the door to the cabin, her hand at the knob.

“Oh God,” Maggie grumbled, glowering at the image. Photographer? Right. A total creep, more like. She thumbed the switch again. The final image was nothing but a blur; likely taken when the camera had fallen. She was in the image, her figure crumpled in the corner like a scared child but there was something in front of her, partially cutting off part of her form but it was too blurred to really nail down what it was.

Her curiosity urged her to her feet. She moved a few paces from the corner, then turned to face the space, comparing the picture to the area she had vacated. There was nothing that could have been in the picture unless it had been the photographer, but the coloring was all off. Photographer was wearing bluejeans, the blur in the image was tan. It didn’t match with any of the colors in the cabin, either. The longer Maggie stared at the image, the easier it was to convince herself that she saw the blurry outline of a boot. Like someone had been standing between her and the photographer—

“Jesus, Mags,” she groused, turning the camera off. But even still, she was weary. She couldn’t explain away what had happened as easily as she could a blurry photograph. She could chalk up the photo as a searching and overactive imagination, but there was no explanation for what had happened. None.

Maggie started for the door, then froze when a loud creak sounded behind her. It sounded just like a tired door opening in an old horror movie. When she turned her head she could see the bedroom door slowly opening. Wanting to debunk the day’s strange events she dropped her things on the kitchen counter and marched towards the room.

Was there a draft? There had to be a draft. As soon as she got to the bedroom she grabbed the door knob and closed the door. It latched closed. It didn’t budge when she pressed against it. She turned the knob, pushed it open just a bit and waited.

Once again, the door didn’t budge. It was sturdy and solid and absolutely not swinging open ominously. She held up her hand towards the ceiling, feeling for any air flow and when that didn’t work she went into the bedroom. There was an old vent–

The door snikt shut behind her.

A flare of fear sent her whipping back towards the door. She scrambled for the knob but it didn’t turn. Didn’t budge.

“Hello!” She called out, silently swearing to God that if that prick came back to this house and decided to fuck with her that she would do what she could to beat the living crap out of him. “Hey, open the door! Come on—“

She felt the sensation of warmth at her back and it caused her to still. She smelled wood smoke. It was gentle and lingering, reminding her of summer nights and camping trips. The gentle sweetness of cigar smoke came with it. Maggie’s hackles softened as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Despite the swelling fear she had felt moments before she was once again pulled into a feeling of comfort.

She shuffled a step towards the door, feeling pressure at her back, feeling a breath rustle her hair and tickle her ear. She closed her eyes and couldn’t stop her imagination from trying to summon the voice from earlier, the low drawl, right at her ear.

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

Heat pooled low in her belly, she started to lean back into the warm pressure. She had the urge to tilt her hips, to back her ass up against— her eyes shot open, and she turned. There was no one there. Despite being alone, her cheeks grew hot.

A cute house in the woods, and a ghost apparently. When she tried the door again it opened. She gathered her things, locked up the house, and after a final lingering glance she left.

She didn’t return to the cabin again for a whole three weeks.

This time she returned with a married couple. The circumstances of her last visit had been bizarre. While the events of that day didn’t exactly haunt her, she had spent plenty of time imagining what her return trip would be like. If strange phenomena happened again she would have to assume that the cabin was haunted, and if it didn’t… well, she would have to assume that she was crazy. When she pulled into the driveway, Maggie anticipated a bit of anxiety to flare up. There was no anxiety. Only a bones deep yearning to be back inside the cabin. So without the typical fanfare, Maggie unlocked the door and led the couple inside.

Maggie frowned, and despite her curiosity, she left, and didn’t return to the cabin for a whole three weeks. This time, she returned with a married couple. The moment she was on the property, she yearned to be inside. She sought the comfort the cabin seemed to give her, so without much prelude or fanfare, she unlocked the front door and led the couple inside.

The tour was quick, as it usually was.

Entryway drop zone. Hallway. Living room left, kitchen right. A wall separated the living room from the bedroom. Across from the bedroom was the bathroom and utility space. And there was the outhouse. Of course.

The couple seemed entirely uninterested, probably looking for something that was a bit more up-to-date.

“The land isn’t bad. Good space.”

Maggie nodded her agreement, “Great space. The owners live nearby. They’ve been maintaining the land, making sure it hasn’t gotten too overgrown. They offered to help with the upkeep after purchase.”

“Suppose I can tear down the cabin, do a custom build—“ the husband started.

“Wait, what—“

“Build a pool—“ the wife continued.

“This cabin was originally built in 18–“

“And it shows! It really shows. I’m not going to buy a one bedroom shack with an outhouse. But I can buy the space. Get rid of the cabin. Build a farmhouse and sell it for —“

Something happened then. Something that made the husband yelp. Maggie whirled around to see one of his feet dropping through one of the floorboards. When he stepped back to find his balance, he fell to the ground with a force that seemed to shake the very foundation of the cabin. Then the lights flickered. The front door snapped open then slammed shut. The wife shrieked at the sound. Maggie watched, detached from the fear she should feel. The husband vaulted to his feet. While the woman went to the door and tried to open it, the man yanked his foot from the floor. When the door didn’t open, the woman began to shriek and the man called after her to try and calm her down.

Maggie proceeded to view the unfolding chaos. She didn’t want the cabin to be torn down. She didn’t want there to be a frickin’ pool. She wanted the cabin to be fixed up, while maintaining its rustic charm. She wanted it appreciated by someone who could see the beauty it held. She wanted these two long gone. Maggie finally moved. With far more calm than she should feel, Maggie skirted around the hole in the floorboard, and joined the frantic couple at the door. The cabinets slammed and rattled in the kitchen. The lights had stopped flickering and had gone completely dark. Maggie squeezed her frame between the man and the door. She took hold of the handle and twisted it. The door unlatched and she pushed it open. The duo pushed their way past her making her stumble out the door with them. They practically raced to their car, and before she knew it they were driving away.

Maggie watched them go. Once the tail lights were out of view, Maggie turned to assess the cabin. She stood at the front door, pressing her hand against the hardwood frame.

“What was that about?” She asked the home, in a gentle coo.

There was a loud creak from the inside, like footsteps, and without an ounce of fear, she stepped back into the now quiet cabin. The place had yet to turn on her. Not once. With the photographer, it had defended her. With the married couple it seemed to defend itself. Maggie somehow immediately convinced herself that the cabin wouldn’t turn on her. No harm would come to her when she was there.

She moved with careful steps as if she were approaching a frightened dog. She navigated around the new hole in the floor, and once she came to a stop she heard the front door close softly.

The old flooring creaked. In one place, and then in another. Growing closer. As if someone was walking towards her. The wild scent of wood smoke tickled her nose. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed it in. The touch of sweetness that curled at the edges made her mouth water. The sensation of a presence at her back should have set her off, but all she knew was ease, comfort, and home.

“I ain’t standin’ by and lettin’ folks tear down my home.”

The voice was a low, accented drawl. The same voice that had told off that perverted photographer. The same one she had fantasized about more than a time or two as she lay in bed at night.

“And I’m through with all of the disrespect–��

“I-I never meant to disrespect anything–” her voice was quiet and ragged, but frantic. She turned towards her accuser and saw a man. Or the impression of one. It was hard to determine what exactly she was seeing, or not. The image only lived in her periphery and the moment she attempted to look directly at the figure, it seemed to shift out of view or vanish all together.

She thought she was seeing a man. Tall, and broad, with eyes so dark they looked black. His clothes looked old and worn, with hints of khaki or maybe canvas, an old linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the buttons at his chest undone.

Maggie swallowed, closing her eyes hard. She repeated, “I’m sorry. I never meant any disrespect.”

“Nah, girl. Not you. Them. I built this cabin with my bare hands. I know these’re different times, but to come into a man’s home and call it a shithole…”

The man was edging closer, and Maggie matched his stride in the opposite direction. She wasn’t retreating out of fear, or she didn’t think so. She wasn’t scared. What she was feeling wasn’t fear. And yet, if what he was saying was true, if this was the man who built the cabin all those years back that could only mean one thing. She should be scared.

“You’re-you’re right—“ her back touched the wall. She trained her gaze to look away so she could see him better as he made his approach. His hair was dark, like charcoal. His skin was a beautiful sunkissed tan. Were those suspenders hanging from his hips?

“And then what that little pissant did to you…”

“He didn’t—“

A hand extended to her, brushing her wrist with warm, calloused fingers. The contact surprised her. He was warm. He was gentle. Weren’t ghosts supposed to be cold? He took her hand, dragging his thumb over her palm. Maggie’s eyes flickered to the point of contact. There was no more impression of a person dancing in her vision. There was indeed someone standing before her, touching her. When she chanced a look up at his face, his eyes were trained on their hands. He looked just as surprised as she felt.

His voice softened. “He did. He disrespected you. And that’s somethin’ I ain’t gonna tolerate, y’hear me Maggie Whittaker?”

Maggie nodded her head, slowly before she managed to find her voice. “Who are you?”

“Elias Jameson.”

“Your family owns this place.”

“They do.”

“Do they know about… you?”

“Nah. Tried to speak with one of the boys a few years back and he never came back…”

Again, Maggie nodded. Finding words was becoming increasingly difficult, and his proximity wasn’t helping. She was floored, she was stunned, and she was positive that she was dreaming. Elias’ eyes lifted from their hands to study her face. Christ, Maggie thought. That jawline is sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“Yer scared.”

“I’m… confused. If you’re a, well… how…?” She tried to gather her thoughts. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

The rough pads of his fingers touched the skin inside her wrist. It probably would have tickled if the contact didn’t feel so sensual. She licked her lips as she recalled being locked in the bedroom, with the sensation of a presence at her back, and the urge to press and grind and–

“This ain’t no dream, Miss Whittaker.”

#paranormal romance #paranormal #romance #ghost romance #cowboy #ghost cowboy #cowboy ghost #monster boyfriend #cowboy monster boyfriend?#male ghost x female human #ghost cowboy boyfriend #shitty writing #unedited because im lazy and this has been sitting around for decades

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