A Haunting Experience Read online

  "I was referring to your use of profanity/" His frown deepened to a glower, and he moved towards her. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  She ignored the question, lunged to the side, and snatched up a butcher knife. She held it in front of her, waving it in a vaguely threatening manner.

  "You better get out. I'm not afraid to use this!" she said. Her shaking hands probably made that an obvious lie.

  "Put that down before you hurt yourself, girl," he warned her as he took another step closer. He didn't seem concerned about the knife at all.

  "You don't belong here. You better leave now," she insisted, voice wavering.

  "Of course I belong here. This is my house, you silly girl. Now put that knife down before you regret it!"

  His voice rang with authority and she wavered.

  Was he the client? The owner of the house? The attorney hadn't told her he'd be visiting. No, wait, that wasn't possible. He'd definitely said she and her when referring to the owner.

  "Liar! A woman owns this house," she said.

  "You dare call me a liar?" Both eyebrows went up, and before she knew what had happened, he was yanking the knife out of her hands and throwing it across the room. It bounced off the wall with a clatter and skidded into a corner. "You are a most ill-behaved woman, and I won't have you waving a knife around," he exclaimed angrily, fighting off her wild attempts to hit him. He pinned her arms to her sides and then turned her around and shoved her chest down to the countertop, holding her there.

  "Stop! What are you doing! Let me go!" she shouted, putting all her strength into the struggle. "If you hurt me, you'll be sorry. There are cameras recording this right now," she added desperately. "The police will come!" The last part was a lie, of course, but she hoped he'd believe it and be scared off before he could hurt her.

  "Hurt you? What exactly do you think I'm planning to do with you, miss?" He laughed in pure amusement as she wore herself out struggling against his iron grip.

  "I—I don't know. You're a trespasser. Probably a thief. For all I know, you could be planning to rape and murder me," she said in an accusing tone.

  He seemed taken aback at this, remaining silent for a few long moments. Then, in a deadly serious tone, he replied, "I have no interest in rape or murder. I was merely restraining you to keep you from attacking me or hurting yourself, but thrashing you is sounding like a grand idea just now."

  He grabbed her comfortable yoga pants at the back and yanked them down, exposing her bare ass. She suddenly regretted changing out of her jeans before coming down to look for dinner. At least they would have given him a struggle.

  She cringed, crying out in a panic as she found herself naked from the waist down. She fought him with everything in her, but his grip was too strong. She was left with her mouth as her only defense, and a stream of profanity poured out of it. Whatever she was expecting was not what she received, though. His hand slammed down across her left cheek in a full-arm swing that knocked the air out of her lungs and left her gaping in silence for a long moment.

  Before she could recover, he slapped again on the same spot, raising a blistering heat that brought tears to her eyes.

  "What are you doing?" she shrieked. "You can't just come in here and—and spank me!" If she'd thought that would stop him, she was quickly disappointed.

  He didn't pause for so much as a second before the next, and the next. And his hand, which felt hard enough to bruise concrete, was large enough to cover half her ass with each swat. She'd never been spanked in her life, and this bore zero resemblance to the erotic spanking she'd dreamed of just a few days ago. There was nothing at all sexy about the severe punishment she was receiving.

  In all her imaginings about what she might run into in this house, this was the one thing she'd never expected. Ghosts, supernatural activities, all of that was terrifying, but this—this was painfully real.

  The kitchen echoed with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, and cries of pain continued nonstop for a full five minutes before he stopped and released his grip on her so she could stagger away from the counter and yank her pants back up. Her face was flushed with shame and outrage, and despite the agonizing pain in her rump, her first concern was for her nudity, and that seemed to entertain him greatly.

  She snuck a glance at him to see an amused tilt to his lips.

  "Had you been dressed properly, I would have left your—" He waved vaguely at the yoga pants. "Undergarments in place to preserve your modesty, but since you'd forgotten your skirts, I assumed it was of no concern to you," he explained as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  Both hands had flown back to rub her ass frantically through the thin pants, and she paused to give him a confused and tearful look.

  "W-what?"

  He spoke oddly; his wording was strangely old-fashioned, but also the inflections were reminiscent of another time. She wondered if English was his second language, but if so, he'd worked hard to lose the accent, because she could detect none.

  "Your attire is— You shouldn't be dressed so provocatively. I can clearly see the outline of your—" He interrupted himself and then continued. "Though given your behavior, I am not at all surprised that you seem unaware of how to dress yourself properly," he said. His frown was back in place. "The profanity, accusing me unjustly, impugning my honor, and threatening me with a weapon— If you were my wife, you can be sure you'd behave better," he said firmly.

  "I don't understand what you're talking about!" she whined in a confused tone. She wasn't even scared anymore; she just wanted to know what was going on. The extremely painful experience he'd put her through had left her muddled and unsure of how to react. "They told me I'd be alone in the house. I wasn't expecting anyone, and then you popped up and scared me."

  The look on his face softened. "Ah. I am sorry about that. I didn't mean to frighten you, girl. I always come to the kitchen at this time. It's a habit I find myself unable to break." He paused, watching intently as though studying an interesting specimen. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Time is an odd thing in this house. I didn't realize you were the one," he said finally.

  And that didn't make any more sense than anything else he'd said. She just continued to stare while he looked her over curiously, afraid if she spoke she'd end up being rude and he'd punish her all over again. Her ass burned like she'd accidentally sat on a nest of fire ants, so the last thing she wanted was more of that. She'd have made an ice pack from the freezer, if it wouldn't have been so embarrassing. She'd feel like an overreacting child to do that in front of him.

  "I'd have gone easier on you, had I realized. Still, you did earn that punishment, and since your husband wasn't here to give it to you, it was my duty to stand in his place."

  He seemed so firm in his belief that it was his right to spank her, and she found that annoying.

  "I don't have a husband," she said frostily, biting off each word.

  "Father, then," he said, waving a hand as if that were not the point, but a certain light of interest appeared in his eye. He'd been all business when doling out the spanking, perhaps considering, in some silly old-fashioned way, that she was someone else's property but after that—

  "I haven't had one of those in a long time either," she snapped.

  Her father was a good man, but when her parents had divorced and he'd remarried, he'd eventually vanished from her life. Every so often, he'd turn up with gifts, and they'd catch up, but she'd stopped considering him her parent a long time before. A stranger reminding her of that sore spot would have put her off, but they were long past that. She was doing her level best not to swear or call him names, but she couldn't eliminate the attitude from her tone. He didn't seem overly concerned about that, though.

  "Ah. That explains your behavior, then. You've been allowed to run wild. Perhaps the lesson I gave you will do some good, then. You should reflect upon it until you can sit comfortably." Again there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

  "What century are
you from?" she demanded, crossing her arms and giving him a defiant look. The absolute nerve of this guy! Who the hell did he think he was?

  "Not this one—or hadn't you figured that out yet, miss? You came looking for ghosts, did you not? Why so surprised that you found one?" He smiled outright, light blue eyes twinkling. His attention turned to the food that she'd set out on the table and then moved back to her. "I see that you were about to dine. I'll leave you to it. We will meet again soon," he said.

  And then he vanished, right in front of her eyes. The chandelier overhead tinkled as it swung in a non-existent breeze. The lights blinked twice and then—nothing. She was alone and everything was normal. She stood and stared at the empty spot where he'd been standing for so long that her legs went numb and she was forced to sit down abruptly before she fell.

  That mistake sent her to her feet with a yelp. The antique wooden seat had no cushion on it, and the throbbing in her backside was renewed on contact.

  "That didn't happen," she moaned. "It couldn't have. Ghosts don't— They can't—" She trailed off.

  Obviously, they could, at least in that house, because he had. Explaining this to the researchers was going to be—

  "Oh, god, the fucking cameras!"

  It had just occurred to her that every instant of the ghostly assault had probably been caught on tape. She was torn between curiosity at what would show up on film and mortification that if anything at all had been recorded, a group of strangers would be getting a very intimate look at her bare ass. She prayed there'd be some glitch to erase the footage before anyone could look at it.

  She was no longer hungry for dinner. She left the Coke and knife on the floor where they'd fallen, evidence for the parapsychologists, and went up to the bedroom suite. She headed straight for the bathroom and locked herself in, knowing it was the only private place in the house. That it was also the only place where ghosts (supposedly) didn't go was an added bonus. She stripped off her clothes and stood with her back to the mirror. She half-expected to see nothing, but the proof was there. Her backside was a vivid mix of pinks and reds that stood out clearly against her tan skin, and she could feel the heat rising off the abraded flesh. No way had she imagined it.

  She was very thoughtful and more than a little scared as she climbed into the tall bed. She hadn't felt like she was in danger, not exactly. Despite the spanking, which had been painful as hell, she hadn't gotten any sense that he wanted to harm her. But she'd never, in all her research, heard of a ghost who was able to look and feel solid like that.

  Some physical manifestations had been reported, of course—having your hair pulled, your arm touched. Things flying across the room, yes, people had complained of those. Even being pinched or hit was possible, if a spirit was especially strong, but the kind of sustained physicality that was required to pin her down and slap her ass over and over? No, this was something she'd never heard of.

  That she was out of her league was obvious before she'd set foot through the door. She was an amateur, and not even that, really. She'd spent her life denying her gifts, only to be forced, as her grandmother had once warned her, to confront them. Now she wished she'd listened. She could, of course, leave in the morning a thousand dollars richer. She should do just that.

  But. Twenty-five thousand was a lot of money. With it, her money problems would be over for a good long while. For that much cash, she could deal with an uppity ghost, even if it meant getting her ass spanked every night for a week. She was determined to make it at least a week, and she tried hard to pretend like that was the only reason she wanted to stay.

  It wasn't because she'd felt an oddly strong connection to the man. It wasn't because there was something uniquely primal about the way he'd taken control of her, stripping her down and physically punishing her in a way that felt more protective than abusive. No, of course not. Women didn't want to be controlled, they wanted to be respected as equals, which definitely didn't consist of being spanked. It was the promised pay out, and that was all, she decided as she fell asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Her ass had recovered somewhat. Over the night, it had gone from pulsing hotly to tingling and itchy when she woke in the morning. The skin, while still pink and sore-looking, really didn't look too bad. There were a few small purpling spots in a few places that had gotten the most attention, but that was all. Though he had to have one hell of a hard hand to cause even the tiniest bruises, she thought, but then what did she know, anyway? It wasn't like she was very experienced with the subject.

  She noticed the effects more when she showered, the hot water stabbing the tender flesh like needles when she ducked under. She quickly changed it to a softer spray and there was instant relief. Grateful for the luxurious shower with all its options, she lounged in there for longer than she'd planned. Eventually, though, she realized she needed to get going or she'd still be lurking in there when the researchers arrived, and while it was a tempting thought, she didn't think they'd leave if she refused to come out.

  Once she was dressed, she headed downstairs to sit on the bottom step of the grand staircase and wait for the research team. She placed a folded sweater underneath her to cushion the seat, though that was more dramatic than necessary, as she was feeling very little pain by then, and sitting wasn't much of an issue.

  They arrived on time and apparently had their own key because they brushed right in without knocking. She stood up and opened her mouth to greet them, but the first two in the door just walked straight by. They were young, intense looking people who were completely focused on electronic devices in their hands. They spoke to each other as they passed her.

  "There's definitely been some activity. The motion detectors were kicking the cameras on all over the house, all night. She couldn't be in that many places at once," the guy said.

  "Please, it's possible. She could have used a remote control device. I'm not admitting anything until we see the tapes," the girl retorted.

  "Excuse me!" April said at their retreating back.

  "So sorry about that. Miss Cassidy, is it?" a third voice said.

  She spun around, startled by the older gentleman standing in the doorway. "My assistants don't have much use for people, but they're very good at their jobs. I'm Ben. Well, Dr. Benjamin Marlowe, professor of Parapsychology at the university, but please just call me Ben," he said as he approached her, hand stretched out.

  She took it and smiled. At least he seemed normal. "April, please. Uh, are they always like that?" she asked with a skeptical look on her face.

  "Rude? Yes, most of the time." He chuckled softly and shook his head. "You get used to it." He waved a hand towards the parlor. "Shall we talk? You've had your first night in the house, and I'd like to get your thoughts while they're still fresh in your mind."

  She bit her lip and then nodded and preceded him into the parlor. It was feminine and filled with overstuffed seating that at least looked soft to sit on. She settled, with a wince, onto a chair.

  "They'll be going over the footage from last night, but I'd like to know— Did you experience anything unusual?"

  He sat across from her, leaning in eagerly. There was a hopeful look on his face, and she wondered, why this was so important to him.

  "I— Yes, you might say that." Her cheeks flushed and her insides curdled with embarrassment. "Maybe we should wait and see what the cameras picked up," she suggested in a weak voice.

  "No, no, we'll get to that. Please, just tell me what you saw, in your own words," he pressed. He whipped out a small tape recorder and set it on the table next to him, pressing record. "Go on." His kind voice had a teacher's edge of demand to it as he urged her to continue.

  "Oh, god." This was part of her contract. She had no choice, and besides, something was bound to show up on film. "It was more what I felt," she said carefully.

  "Oh! Actual physical sensation? Excellent. Please describe the feeling as completely as you can."

  Apparently, recording every word she said
wasn't enough for him. He whipped out a notebook and began scribbling notes excitedly.

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and told him the entire story without looking at him. When she'd gotten to the part where the man had vanished right in front of her eyes, she stopped. There was a long moment of silence.

  "What?" Ben asked, clearly confused and not sure what to say. She opened her eyes, glancing at him and could tell from the look on his face that he thought she was insane.

  "A. Ghost. Spanked. Me. In. The. Kitchen," she said very clearly and firmly. She locked her eyes on his and kept them there. "I know exactly how weird it sounds, but it happened."

  "April, ghosts can't— That's not really how it—"

  He had a placating tone, like you'd use on a child when you were trying to convince them monsters weren't real without coming right out and telling them they were being silly.

  She stood up, turned around, and before she could put too much thought into what she was doing, she had whisked her pants and panties down to her knees, showing him the proof of what she was saying. Some pink still remained, and with a visible handprint on one cheek, it was obvious someone had spanked her.

  "Explain this then!" she snapped. She let him get a good long look and then yanked her clothing back into place.

  "What on earth? Good lord!" He gasped and leaned in, hand reaching out like he might try to touch the red marks, but he snatched his fingers back as she covered herself and turned around.

  "I don't know what the tapes will show, but I know what happ—"

  Rude assistant number one came skidding into the room to interrupt her. "Professor! You won't believe this!" he exclaimed.

  There was a hurried consultation, and then they were all rushing down the hall to the utility room that had been set up with all of their equipment. She'd seen the door to it before, but there was a keypad lock on it, so she hadn't known what was in there. It turned out that all of the data was being collected in that small room, and with four people crowded in, it was a bit cramped.