Desire 145

Genevieve couldn't believe she'd actually gone through with it. In her mind, she'd already called herself crazy at least a hundred times for even considering leaving the safety of her home to drive into the woods and see a woman she'd never met. But here she was, standing on Miss Theresa's doorstep, over 120 miles away from everyone she knew.

Her focus shifted from her own uncertainty to the body of the house. It was small and dark, even in the sunlight. The large, menacing trees around it cast a heavy shadow around the area. Genevieve thought that it was fitting considering the stories she'd been told of what took place here. When she was a little girl, she heard Miss Theresa referred to as a witch and "the Devil's bride." Her own grandmother told her that Miss Theresa had tried to steal the souls of two infants in the '50s. Even though she never paid much mind to what people said, now that she was here, she couldn't help but wonder how authentic the tales were.

Suddenly, there was a loud pop, the cry of old wood, followed by the abrupt opening of the door. An old woman's gaze met Genevieve's, and she froze. The woman's eyes were black, or at least appeared so. Her dark brown face bore wrinkles and scars, the signs of a long and difficult life.

"Whatchu want?" the woman asked in a low and cautious voice. Her eyes never left Genevieve's.

"I-I was looking for Miss Theresa," she stammered.

The woman's eyes narrowed. To Genevieve, it felt as if she was looking inside her, and all she wanted to do was to turn around and flee as far away from the doorstep as she could. Her legs refused to move though, and she was stranded.

"What you need from her?"

For the first time, Genevieve really focused on the reason why she came.

"I need to know if she can help me."

As soon as she spoke the words, three large crows took flight. Their black wings soared through the swaying arms of the trees around the house. The old woman frowned a bit, and then turned and slowly walked into the house.

"Come on," she said, and almost as if she was commanded to do so, Genevieve followed her inside.

* * *

Inside, the house was lit only by candles. The scent of jasmine permeated through the air, and Genevieve was surprised by the appearance. She imagined there being skulls, chicken bones, and other clichés she'd seen in horror movies. Instead, she was greeted by a house that was both clean and bare.

Miss Theresa slowly made her way to a round table and sat. Genevieve quickly followed, sitting across from her. She still didn't know what to make of it all, but she'd already allowed herself to come this far.

"What you need help with, child?" Miss Theresa asked. Her black eyes once again studied Genevieve's.

"I've heard things about what goes on here. I've heard stories and I need to know if they're true."

Miss Theresa moved her seat closer to the table.

"What

kinds

of stories?"

"I've heard about witchcraft... and soul possession."

Miss Theresa leaned back in her seat, but kept her gaze on Genevieve. The candles around the room all seemed to flicker in unison, and Genevieve felt a pang inside her chest.

The room was quiet for many seconds as the two women eyed one another. The frown had returned to Miss Theresa's aged face.

"You think what you heard's true, child?" Miss Theresa finally spoke, breaking the silence.

"I really don't know what to think, honestly. I'm not even really sure why I'm here. Right now, I hope they are. I-I lost someone a year ago."

"A lover," the older woman flatly stated. Genevieve nodded in affirmation.

"Are you Miss Theresa?" she asked.

"I am. Give me your hands."

Genevieve laid her hands down on the face of the mahogany table. She watched the light of the candles dance atop them. Miss Theresa slid her palms over the backs of the young woman's hands and closed her eyes.

Genevieve could feel the hairs on her arms grow erect and a warmth spread through her body like a wildfire. Her heart began to beat harder in her chest, and she felt as though she was out of breath. The entire house grew pitch black aside from the dancing heads of the candles, and Genevieve started to panic.

Suddenly, Miss Theresa withdrew her hands, and Genevieve heard a sigh that did not come from the woman. Gradually, the light began to fill the room, and the warmth started to subside. She found herself panting at the table as the old woman's dark eyes looked out the window.

"You should go now. It'll be dark before long, and you don't wanna get lost 'round these parts," Miss Theresa spoke in a casual voice.

"I didn't even tell you what I wanted," Genevieve said, still panting.

"I know what you want, child. Now

go

. Our business is finished here."

An anger she'd never known before flooded into Genevieve, and she quickly stood and made her way out of the old woman's door. She didn't know what had just happened to her. For all she knew, the witch could've just stolen her soul. Genevieve wanted to slap herself in the face for believing that some recluse in the woods could've been able to give her the help that she needed.

As she got back into her car and started to drive off, tears began to fall from her eyes. She felt like a fool, and she questioned her sanity for allowing herself to embark on such an adventure.

Genevieve looked back at the woman's dark house and saw Miss Theresa standing on the porch. Yellow and orange leaves were blowing around her, prisoners caught in the wind.

* * *

As Genevieve drove back into the city and close to her house, she noticed children dressed in an array of costumes roaming the streets. She'd been so preoccupied with her pursuit that she'd completely forgotten that it was Halloween. The irony was not lost on her, and she allowed herself to laugh a bit. Who would've believed that she'd gone to visit a real life witch on Halloween?

Finally, she pulled into her driveway, settled in, and turned on the porch light for the trick-or-treaters. She gathered what little candy she had into a bowl and waited for the doorbell to ring.

* * *

By 11, the trick-or-treaters had come and gone. It brought a smile to Genevieve's face to see all of the small children enjoying what had to have been their first or second Halloween. She noticed a number of children dressed as ghosts though, and she wondered why the costume had become so popular all of a sudden.

After turning off the lights downstairs, Genevieve bathed and prepared for bed. She usually slept with her bedroom windows slightly open. The sounds of the night made for a soothing lullaby. She always slept nude, and enjoyed the feel of the cool air on her skin.

As she lay in her bed, her mind drifted back to Miss Theresa, and she found herself angry at the old woman again. She'd driven so far just to have her hands caressed by a witch, and she was furious. She could not explain what Miss Theresa had done when she touched her, but she knew did not like it

What also bothered Genevieve was that the old woman would not even let her tell her story. In her mind, she'd anticipated telling the witch of how her husband Dante had passed away, leaving her alone for over a year. She wanted to tell the woman of how she never had the chance to say goodbye, and that all she desired was the chance to feel his touch or hear his voice again, one last time.

Genevieve closed her eyes, and within a matter of minutes, she was asleep. The day's activities had finally caught up with her and taken her under. Before she completely slipped away though, she could hear the wind outside the window making her wind chimes sing.

* * *

Genevieve moaned so hard in her sleep that she stirred herself awake. In the darkness, she felt something lightly touching her skin. It was as if the stars in the night were breathing down upon her.

Her heart was drumming a quick rhythm and she was wet -- very wet. The muscles in her stomach were dancing, contracting and relaxing. She could feel her moisture running out of her pussy and spreading over her golden buttocks and down onto the bed sheets.

Starlight allowed her to see the bed, and she did not see another body with her. She began to worry. She was not sure what it was, but she could feel something opening her lips and pushing inside of her, fucking her. Genevieve closed her eyes and another hard moan escaped her mouth. Whatever was happening to her, it felt tremendous, and she did not want it to stop. It had been over a year since she'd experienced a feeling such as this.

Something that felt like a mouth enveloped her clitoris, and the sensation spread throughout her entire body. Her back arched and she reached out at her invisible lover, but felt nothing but air. Genevieve's purple nipples, the color of wine, stood erect like minarets. She glanced down past the wetness that matted her pubic hair, down at the unseen source giving her pleasure, and wondered what was happening to her. Had she finally lost her mind?

She felt something stiffer, thicker, delve inside her, and it evoked a low "oh" from her. Genevieve could not believe that she was being fucked by no one, by her own imagination. She also could not believe how much she loved the feeling. It was as if her body was coming back to life and reconnecting with the intimacy that had been lost since her husband passed.

Genevieve's face began to contort, and she knew that she was on her way towards an orgasm. The feeling inside her reached deeper. It filled her, possessed her, and she submitted to its presence. She could feel her vaginal muscles tugging against her lover, not wanting to miss a second of its touch.

She clenched her teeth, her face a tight knot, and held on. Genevieve knew she was cumming, and her body seized, the breath frozen inside her. As she made her way to ecstasy, she finally broke and couldn't hold out any longer. She cried out into the darkness and her body began to buck. The sweat on her body rapidly began to cool after she descended from her bliss.

As she lay there, exhausted, satisfied, she felt the impression of what felt like lips upon her neck. She turned her head slightly, and then felt it. Whatever had made love to her was kissing her, and Genevieve recognized the technique of the tongue and the taste.

"Dante!" she exclaimed as she broke away and shot up.

A thick gust of wind emerged through her window and scooped her up, wrapping itself around her, hugging her tightly. She felt his mouth upon hers again, and it was a deep, passionate kiss -- one of unconditional love.

The wind held onto Genevieve's nude body for several minutes before it finally unraveled, slowly letting her spill back onto the soft sheets.

"I love you," she heard whispered in the room, and then the wind disappeared, escaping back out of the window.

Genevieve protested, leaping out of the bed and racing to the window. She knew there was nothing that she could say to bring him back to her though, and a bittersweet feeling settled into her stomach. For the second time in under twenty-four hours, tears began to plummet down her cheeks. As she stood there though, the light from the stars caressing her nudity, she was no longer angry at the witch, but thankful. She realized that Miss Theresa had opened her up to read her desire, and had ultimately given her both what she wanted and needed; the older woman had given her closure.

Genevieve stared out into the night, listening to that now somber sound of the wind chimes. Her wetness had grown dry on her thighs. Eventually, the song of the wind chimes gave way to silence, and as she stood gazing out at what was left of the Halloween night, she whispered,

I love you

back at the roaming breeze.