The aged door of the mansion creaked on its rusty hinges as Vera pushed it open, thunder cracking and lighting up the clouded sky as rain poured overhead. It spattered audibly on the cracked flagstones that made up the pathway leading to the entrance of the long abandoned building, through disheveled plants and out of control weeds that choked the once elegant grounds. This structure had been vacant for decades, the proud and elaborate stonework falling into disrepair as the elements and the creeping vines clawed at it. Loose shutters on the upper floors blew backwards and forwards in the gale, banging against their frames as the wind howled like a banshee. Flashes of lightning illumined carved stone gargoyles that looked down on her from the roof, their contorted features visible only for a moment before they were plunged back into inky darkness.

She entered the main hall, the heavy oak door closing behind her to muffle the sounds of the storm. She raised her flashlight, tapping the battery pack with her palm when it flickered, then shone it around the room. It was, or rather had once been, exquisite. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling, once a shining centerpiece of glittering crystal, now obscured by a forest of cobwebs and an age of dust. Twin sets of mahogany staircases with intricately carved banisters wound around the room leading to a landing and the second floor, the carpets that in the past had decorated them now moth-eaten and disheveled. The water damage was everywhere, the structure had surely been condemned by the city council, not that anyone dared to set foot here.

If the local legends were to be believed, this old manor was haunted. The stories told that many decades ago, on this very night, the lady of the house had slain her husband after he had caught her with their maid. She had been sentenced to hang, and it was said that to this day her spirit haunted these walls in search of her former lover. Locals spoke of unearthly wails during storms, and of glimpsing pale faces in the windows of the upper floors that peered out at anyone who dared approach her sanctuary. None would venture near the iron fence that marked the boundaries of the property for fear of seeing some bad omen or meeting a vengeful apparition, superstitious as these small-town folk were.

Vera didn’t know about all that, but this was a perfect opportunity to snap some photos for her blog and maybe record some audio for her paranormal podcast. Vera ran her own website where she explored the paranormal, seeking out ghosts and local legends, and interviewing prominent researchers in the field. She had done some urban exploring in the past, but this was the first time she had ventured into a genuine haunted mansion during a storm. She hadn’t planned for it, she had only intended to ask about about the history of the place, but the opportunity was impossible to pass up. The howling winds and cracks of thunder would provide an unbeatable backdrop to her commentary. It would be worth taking some video too, this location was better than any horror movie set.

She fumbled in the bag that was slung over her shoulder, searching for her camera and audio equipment. She was on her own today, so she’d have to use the handheld and hope that the mic picked everything up. She strapped the camcorder to her hand and turned it on, panning it around the hall. The grainy footage gave it an even creepier vibe, this was ghost hunting gold.

She made her way forward, the patterned tiles squeaking under her wet sneakers. It was hard to believe that such a lavish mansion could have been left to decay like this, perhaps there was some truth to the tales? Unlikely, she was reminded of the term ‘housepoor’, where all of ones funds were expended on maintaining a building. Whoever had inherited this monstrous property must have been completely unable to care for it, but unwilling to sell, and thus had let it deteriorate.

Vera entered the right wing, shining the flashlight over musty furniture covered over with plastic and white sheets, trying to illuminate it for her camera. Decorative plasterwork molded to imitate pillars and marble crumbled on the walls and ceiling, and the paint peeled from murals like dry skin. There were cobwebs everywhere, and wherever she shone her flashlight beam, it illuminated floating specs of dust. Perhaps it had been unwise to enter without a protective mask, who knew what kind of fungal growths were feeding on the moisture in the walls, or if the whole place was full of asbestos?

All of the windows were smeared with grime to the point that the flashes of lightning barely penetrated, and it was oddly quiet, as if the house were in some kind of bubble that insulated it from outside noise. Her footsteps and the creaking of her wet soles on the tile echoed through the house. She realized she was soaked to the bone, she had been so excited that she hadn’t even noticed. She had parked her car at the property’s iron gate and had rushed from the warmth and shelter of her vehicle to the mansion’s door as fast as she could go. Her dark hair stuck to her pale skin, her cheeks flushed from the brief stint of exercise, and her blue blouse was completely waterlogged. She examined herself with disdain, noticing that her black bra was showing through the thin fabric. Great choice Vera, wear black underwear during a rainstorm. At least her yoga pants seemed reasonably dry.

There wasn’t much to see on the lower floors, just old furniture, and so she traced her steps back to the main hall. She looked up at the dual staircase, and her heart skipped a beat. All of the sightings of the alleged ghost had put her on the upper floors, glaring through the windows with her pale face, as if daring passers by to cross her threshold. Vera wasn’t actually scared, was she? She was just trembling because she was cold and soaked to the bone, that was it. She got a good wide shot of the stairs and then mounted them, running her hand along the carved banister as she made her way up. The steps creaked under her weight, and she had to hope that the damp and no doubt termite-ridden staircase would not simply fall apart.

With an audible sigh of relief Vera reached the landing, scanning her flashlight beam down the halls to her left and right. There was carpet here too, it had once been blood red and embroidered with golden flowers. It was frayed and dull now, but it must have been beautiful in its prime. She got some pictures with her camera, then decided to take some video as she walked down the hall. Who knew, maybe she’d spy some telltale ghostly orbs when she ran back the footage, those were always great for page views.

It was hard to hold both her camera and her torch at the same time, but she did her best, trying to keep the beam and the camera pointed in the same direction. She would have brought along her camera guy, Steve, if she had known she would be doing this in advance, but this was the price she paid for her spontaneity. As she passed one of the many rooms, a chill came over her. She had already been cold and wet, but this was something else, a creeping freezing sensation that ran up her spine like icy fingers. She shivered, and spun around to point her flashlight back down the hall. There was nobody there, of course. Stupid Vera, you’re letting the spooky atmosphere get to you, that atmosphere was the whole reason she was here in the first place.

She came to a large window to her right that looked out over the grounds. This one was somewhat cleaner than the others, and she wiped at the glass with her sleeve to brush away some of the dust, leaning forward to peer outside. This was where people claimed to have seen the ghost, her pale face framed in these grimy windows, perhaps not this window in particular but this floor in general. She chuckled to herself, would a passer by mistake her chalky face for that of the resident spirit?

Lightning flashed, lighting up Vera’s reflected face in the window. But it wasn’t her face. She shrieked, pulling away from the glass and falling backwards as the visage of a ghostly stranger with sunken eyes and no nose to speak of glared at her from beyond the pane. As quickly as it had come, the apparition vanished, leaving Vera tearful and panting in the darkness. She had dropped her flashlight and broken it, the camera only remained in her hand because of the strap and her bag had disgorged its contents. Her heart was beating like a drum as she fumbled on the dirty carpet for her torch, perhaps she had just knocked the batteries loose. Her fingers brushed something, it felt like leather. Confused, she ran her hand upwards, tracing the contours of what she assumed must be some kind of lamp. As another flash of lightning illuminated the hall, a figure was revealed to her, burned into her retinas like a photograph.

Long leather boots laced with string, shackles bolted around the ankles attached to chains that trailed beyond Vera’s view, and innumerable belts that were wrapped around the entity’s thick thighs. Vera looked up, kneeling before the apparition, rooted to the floor with crippling terror. It had the form of a woman, middle aged with an ample figure, its skin so pale as to appear almost blue and somehow translucent. Leather belts were strapped around its limbs and torso as if they were bandages, failing to conceal its wide hips and considerable chest that hung free of its bonds. On its wrists too were shackles, trailing ghostly chains into the darkness, and it peered down at her with sunken eyes whose pupils glowed yellow in the gloom. It seemed to have no hair, merely a trailing wisp of spectral matter that faded into nothing.

Vera was awestruck by the thing, it looked like some prop from a Clive Barker movie made flesh. Her flight reflex kicked in as her senses returned to her, and she scrambled away from the thing, rising to her feet and hurtling down the hallway towards the stairs as fast as her sneakers would carry her. Tears streamed down her rosy cheeks as she turned the corner, expecting to see the dual staircase and not daring to turn her head to check if the ghost was pursuing her.

But it wasn’t there. This wasn’t right, the main hall had been at the end of the corridor, she had come this way to get here. Had she lost her bearings when the face in the window had frightened her? With tears stinging her eyes Vera turned to look back down the hall, towards where the ghost had been stood. It was empty now, the apparition had faded. Was she losing her mind? No, it had been there, she had touched its leg, felt its boot.

She started back down the hall, the hair on her arms and neck standing on end. She couldn’t think straight, she wanted to hide and cry, but she had to get herself out of this building. That cold pocket she had felt was now pervasive, as if the air itself was beginning to freeze, she could see her breath forming clouds of crystals as she jogged. After a minute she reached the far end of the hallway, it was a dead end. She slammed her fists against the wall in frustration, flakes of faded paint falling free to glide gently to the tattered carpet. A sob escaped her lips, what was this? What was happening to her?

“Why have you come here?”

A woman’s voice echoed down the hall, oddly husky and breathy. Vera couldn’t identify where it was coming from, it was as if the very manor itself were speaking to her. She covered her head with her hands and sunk to a sitting position, leaning back against the cold wall and trying to control her labored breathing.

“Why have you violated my privacy?”

It felt as if the voice was inside her head, whispering in her ears even as her trembling hands covered them.

“Stop, please. I’m sorry,” Vera choked. “I didn’t think there would really be...”

“So you came looking, and you found me.” The entity’s voice was syrupy, its tone mocking, as if it were pleased to have caught Vera in its trap. Vera’s heart skipped as she felt icy fingers wrap her wrist, pulling her hand away from her ear. She felt cool breath on her neck, as if someone were breathing on her skin, yet she couldn’t see anybody. She shivered uncontrollably, hearing chains drag on the carpet, and feeling her knees pulled apart by invisible hands to splay her legs. She was so afraid she felt as if she might just pass out where she sat, her staggered breathing punctuated by stifled sobs.

“Now now, do try to calm down,” the voice whispered. “You’re such a pretty little thing, and your tears are making your mascara run.” Vera felt an invisible finger wipe her cheek, the sensation of breath still present on her ear and neck. It was as if a person were sitting just behind her and looking over her shoulder, but they would have to have been phased half way through the wall that she was leaning against.

“P-Please let me go, I didn’t know, I didn’t-” Vera gasped, clamping her legs shut like a clam as cool fingers traced her inner thigh. The apparition combed her still wet hair with its digits, and Vera shut her eyes tightly as if that might somehow block it out.

“Is this what girls your age are wearing these days? It doesn’t have the allure of corsets and garters, but it has its charm. How delightfully decadent.”

It began to dawn on Vera that this wasn’t merely an entity, it was a person, it was communicating with her as a normal person would. She had never seriously believed in the paranormal, having seen no concrete evidence of it in her years as a blogger. She had gotten into the ghost hunting field for the page views, it was inexpensive to film on location and easy to exaggerate every creak of an old house or lens flare as some marauding spirit. But now she was face to face with the real deal, and she didn’t know what to do.

“A-Are you going to ... hurt me?”

“My dear,” the entity chuckled, its breath tickling her ear as it whispered, “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.”

Vera felt cold metal clamp around her wrists and ankles, shackling her, and they dragged her upright to pin her against the wall. Her arms were held above her head, her legs splayed as if she were on some kind of rack, she writhed and twisted with all her might but could not break free of her bonds. She became hysterical, twisting and jerking as she pleaded to be released, her voice growing hoarse and her lungs burning. The ghost seemed to wait until she was spent, hanging from her shackles and weeping quietly.

With a start, she saw the ghost materialize a few feet in front of her, as if stepping out of a shadow that was not present. It stood before her, covered in innumerable belts that left little to the imagination, examining her camera in its almost translucent hands. It glanced at her with heavily lidded eyes that looked almost bruised, or like she was wearing heavy eye shadow.

“What is this ... device?” Vera didn’t answer, and the ghost began to swagger towards her, wide hips rolling as the belts jostled and their metal buckles clicked. It didn’t look comfortable, the belts seemed to pinch her protruding flesh when she moved, catching the meat of her thighs and belly between them. She looked to Vera like some kind of bondage nightmare, did she choose to appear this way? Surely not. It was a ‘she’, that much was certain, the bare breasts that hung from her chest were as large as Vera’s head. They bounced as she approached, aiming the camera at the trapped woman.

“It’s like a ... phonograph, but for pictures,” the ghost mused. She released the handheld camera, and it hung in the air as if some invisible force were holding it aloft, still pointed at Vera. “Do you know who I am?”

“The woman who killed her husband,” Vera replied, she was exhausted from her fear and struggling, things couldn’t get any worse than they already were.

“Clever girl,” the ghost said, curling her full, red lips into a smile. “So you did come looking for me. Do you know why I killed him?”

Vera hesitated, would the mention of her maid anger her?

“He discovered your ... your affair.”

“That’s right. He was such a bore, so traditional, so concerned about what people would think should they discover that his wife was bedding her maid. Such scandal, such outcry. But I created a scandal anyway, didn’t I? I pushed him over the banister at the top of the imperial staircase. He died in the hall, split his head on the tile. That shut him up but good.”

“You’re still here,” Vera panted. “Why?” The ghost looked herself over, raising an arm to her face that was wrapped in leather belts.

“I find myself restrained, confined. These damned chains tug at me and these belts restrict my movement. Perhaps it’s some form of divine punishment. My husband never understood me, you see, he never ... indulged my desires. He said it was ungodly, unnatural. When I laid eyes on that little maid though,” her eyes seemed to roll back into her head and a smile crossed her lips, as if she were recalling some fond memory of her distant youth. “So prim, so proper, she tended to her duties with such delight and vigor that I couldn’t help but stop atop the staircase and watch her clean the floors below. As it turned out we were like-minded, and she indulged me in ways my husband never would. She craved the feel of a boot on her back, the sting of a crop on her tender, youthful flesh.”

She was practically salivating, and Vera began to feel extremely uncomfortable, shrinking away from her as best she could while strapped to the wall.

“I don’t know where she went after I ... after I died. I am dead, aren’t I? I don’t know how long I’ve been here, the world passes by outside like a zoetrope, time loses meaning as I wander these halls.” She turned to look at Vera, her eyes somehow covetous. “But you’re here now, shall we have some fun?”

Vera yelped as the ghost strode towards her, her icy fingers reached up to stroke her flushed cheeks. She was so cold, her body spectral and almost translucent, yet her touch had the weight and resistance of a real hand. She seemed to enter and leave the physical world as she pleased, manifesting herself from nothing.

Her cold palm lingered on Vera’s face, the ghost drank in her pained expression with her sunken eyes, biting her puffy lower lip as the woman trembled under her touch.

“The warmth of the living, so intoxicating.”

She cupped Vera’s cheeks in her hands and pressed closer to her, and before she could react, the ghost’s ruby red lips were locked to hers. Vera balled her fists and struggled, trying to turn her head away, but the ghost held her straight. Her lips were cool, but tender, and Vera yelped as she felt the apparition push its tongue into her mouth. The placating kiss became more aggressive, more sexual, the spectral tongue exploring her head and twisting around inside her. It seemed longer than it should be as its tip traced the roof of her mouth, licking her inner cheeks and gliding over the back of her throat. One of the ghostly hands found purchase at the back of her head, cradling her as if she were a lover, and the other caressed her cheek with its thumb. Vera stopped fighting, the ghost was inhumanly strong, and even if her limbs had not been shackled to the wall, she would have been unable to escape.

The ghost drew back, and Vera looked down in shock to watch what must have been twelve inches of purple-tinted tongue coil out of her mouth and back between the specter’s lips like a snake. Her mouth felt strange, as if she had just eaten a bowl of ice-cream, leaving it chilled and numbed.

“Oh how I’ve longed for a kiss,” the ghost said, withdrawing her hands, her fingertips lingering on Vera’s warm skin for a moment. “You taste of mint, what strange times these are.” Her eyes traveled downwards, and Vera blushed beet red as she felt the ghost’s gaze wander over her bust, her black bra still visible through her soaked blouse. “So stout, too. How old are you, girl?”

“Twenty two,” Vera replied, her mouth still felt numb and cottony. The ghost looked up at her and fluttered her dark eyelids.

“My my ... a developed twenty two. So young, yet so...” Vera flinched as she felt the cold hand of the ghost slide under her arm and down her ribs, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. She slid her fingers slowly back, seeking out the springy fat of Vera’s ample butt. Vera arched her back as the ghost sunk her fingers into the flesh, gripping a handful of her supple ass through the thin fabric of her yoga pants and cruelly squeezing it.

The ghost wet her lips, watching Vera’s reaction, then released the cheek to bounce heavily back into position.

“Your clothing is so form fitting, you’re spilling out of it. Tell me, is this style of dress the norm now? My husband would have confined me to the master bedroom had I dared to wear such ... revealing items of clothing.”

The ghost was seething with arousal, practically rubbing her thighs together as she examined Vera, trapped like a fly in a spider’s web as she was. She seemed to abandon all pretense, slipping her hands under Vera’s breasts and weighing them, pressing her fingers into their yielding meat. Vera gasped, squirming against her bonds as the ghost massaged her breasts through her clothes. She tore Vera’s blouse with her fingernails, ripping it open to expose her bare chest, and ran her icy fingers over the top of Vera’s boobs that spilled over her black bra.

Something odd was happening to the specter. It seemed that the further she went, and the more aroused she was, the tighter her belts became. They were constricting around her limbs and torso, like wet leather drying in the sun, or as if some invisible force were tightening them like a noose. Her thick thighs were now squeezed so tightly that her pale, almost blue flesh was pressing between the belts like dough. It looked uncomfortable, it would surely be painful to move as the heavy belts would pinch her, but she did not seem deterred in the slightest. If anything her chest was rising and falling more rapidly, her smooth cheeks flushing a deeper shade of purple like a bruise.

She tore the strap of Vera’s bra, she was so strong, and the cups fell away to let her large breasts hang weightily, bouncing as they settled. The ghost chewed her lower lip, eyelids low and sultry, then plunged her cold hand into one of the globes. It sunk deep, the supple flesh spilling between her fingers as she kneaded, and she started on the second too.

Vera pursed her lips and tried to stifle her voice as the waves of undeniable pleasure crashed over her, the ghost’s cold fingers massaging her breast tissue and pinching her sensitive nipples. She was skillful, and Vera’s body was reacting to the stimulation against her will, her knees beginning to tremble and her loins starting to moisten.

The apparition’s kneading became more violent, twisting and squeezing her tender breasts, not enough to hurt but enough that the pleasurable ache became unbearable. She leaned down, catching one of Vera’s now hard nipples between her lips and teeth, sucking it into her mouth and teasing it with the tip of her tongue. Vera could not contain her mounting arousal and groaned, which was met with a sly chuckle from the ghost.

“That’s more like it, my dear. Give in to me, let me have you in all the ways I desire, and you may find that you enjoy the things I do to you.”

“S-Stop,” Vera gasped, but she was rewarded with a harder bite to her pink areola, she yelped and arched her spine as the ghost peered up at her.

“Be a good girl now, I have ... unconventional tendencies.” She slid her hand across Vera’s still damp skin, tickling her belly as her cold fingers glanced her flesh, finding their way to her groin. She slipped them between Vera’s legs, and Vera closed her thighs around her hand in a futile attempt to block her out. “You’re already inflamed, my child. I can feel the heat radiating from your nethers ... this warmth, the warmth of life, I ... need it.”