Restless Souls

"Well, according to the lore, the witch ball turned black if it trapped something nasty," she reiterated. "But if the ball was broken, the entity could escape and cause all sorts of trouble."

Craig felt a chill course through him as he recalled the message written on the lease, and the text file he'd found on his computer that morning. "Do you believe in ghosts, Christine?" he asked.

"No. Of course not," she said. "I'm a sane, rational woman."

"That's a pleasant change in you," he scoffed.

"Places aren't haunted, Craig, people are haunted," Christine replied, ignoring his barb.

"Well, I think I have a ghost here," Craig said, sounding very serious.

"Yeah, you do now," she said with a laugh. "Me!"

Craig winced, knowing that on some level she was perfectly correct. "I mean a real ghost," he said. "Like the kind that those ghost hunters look for on reality shows. Here -- let me show you something."

Craig opened his MacBook on the coffee table and showed Christine the text file that he had discovered that morning. Once he had done that, he brought her in to the room where the desk was so she could see the broken black witch ball, then back out in to the kitchen. There, he presented her with the lease so she could see the scrawled message at the bottom.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, giving her an expectant stare.

Christine frowned and gave him a sympathetic look. "As a skeptic, I can't say that any of this is proof, Craig," she said. "How do I know you never wrote this on your lease, or made that text file? Do you see what I mean? Look at it objectively."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed with a frown. "But the broken witch ball..."

"It's just folklore," she interjected. "Just like broken mirrors, black crows, horse shoes, rabbit's feet, or any other good luck charm or ill omen. It's not proof. It's not rational. I don't mean to sound harsh, Craig, but you can see where I'm coming from, can't you?"

Craig begrudgingly nodded. "Yes, I can," he said. "But, you know me, Christine. I'm not the type to just make this stuff up. Something weird is going on in this house."

"Well, this house does have it's share of weird baggage and rumours," she said.

"What?" Craig blurted out. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't the real estate agent tell you about who used to live here?" she asked.

"No. He didn't tell me anything, except it's been empty for almost a year after the former resident died," he said.

"I guess they don't like to talk about those sorts of things," Christine said. She sat down at the table and gestured towards the fridge. "Get me another beer and I'll tell you."

Craig quickly brought out two cans of beer from the fridge. He handed one to Christine and sat down adjacent to her. He opened the other can and took a sip as he leaned closer, eager to her what she had to say.

"The guy who used to live here before you was a man named Mattias Bertram," she began slowly. "I don't know where he was from originally, but he had an accent that sounded Eastern European. Anyway, he owned a bookstore in town that sold new and used books, and it had a large occult section. I was in there a few times. People around here didn't like him much -- you know what this place is like. Bertram was a foreigner, and he sold books on witchcraft, magick, how to cast spells and conjure spirits -- that sort of stuff. If this were the Middle Ages, they would have burned him at the stake."

"It's a wonder they didn't anyway," Craig said with a laugh.

"Well, to make matters even worse, he used to hold what he called 'study groups' here, in this house, on something called The Western Mystery Tradition," Christine said. "He used to have a sign in his store advertising them."

"Did you ever go?" Craig asked.

"Are you kidding?" Christine scoffed. "I'm a rational person, remember?" She grinned, awaiting his retort.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot -- sorry," Craig said with a laugh.

Christine smiled as she brought the can of beer up to her mouth. "Anyway, this being a typical small town, people started spreading all kinds of bizarre rumours about Mattias, and this house. They accused him of being a Satanist -- some even thought he was The Devil incarnate -- and him holding those meetings here didn't help either. There was talk of strange rituals going on here some nights. Every time a cat went missing in the neighbourhood they blamed Mattias, and accused him of sacrificing it. No kid in town would even set foot in his yard, especially on Halloween night."

"What doyou think, Miss Skeptic?" Craig asked pointedly.

Christine took another drink of beer and wriggled her moist lips as she thought. "Well, Mattias was definitely one weird dude, at least by Gilcrest Falls' standards, but the few times I was in his store he was always very polite. You could tell he was erudite and cultured -- something else that made him an anomaly around here. But I never got the feeling that he was evil, or even dangerous. I think more than anything, he was the victim of superstition and xenophobia."

"The realtor seemed nervous when he was here for me to sign the lease," Craig said, then thought for a few moments. "Come to think of it, he seemed nervous the first time he showed me the house too."

"People don't like this house, Craig. It's got a spooky vibe." Christine rolled her eyes and laughed at the notion of what she had just said.

"Maybe they feel that way for a good reason though," Craig suggested.

"Because your roommate is the ghost of Mattias Bertram?" she replied sarcastically.

"Well, yeah," Craig said meekly, knowing how implausible that sounded.

Christine leaned forward. She reached across the table and gave her former lover's hand a gentle squeeze as she smiled at him. "I don't think that Mr. Bertram is the only restless soul roaming this house," she said.

Craig flinched when he felt Christine's hand on his, but he enjoyed the sensation. A flood of memories filled his mind and he smiled. Her skin was soft and warm, and her touch loving. Within seconds he could feel his cock begin to stiffen. "What do you mean?" he asked as his eyes narrowed.

"I mean you. You're a restless soul, Craig," she said.

Craig frowned and slid his hand away from Christine's. He folded his arms on his chest as he stared across the kitchen. Suddenly his self-doubt and insecurities about his writing returned as Christine's words echoed in his mind.

When Christine saw the expression on Craig's face change so rapidly she became filled with guilt. "God, I'm so sorry, Craig. I shouldn't have said that; it's not true," she said. "You're a successful writer -- all I did with my English degree was become a school teacher."

"That's a much more noble profession, Christine," he said. "All I do with my English degree is write silly stories."

"They're not silly, Craig. They're wonderful," she said. "That's why your first novel sold so well -- the same with your collection of short stories. I have both of them, and I love them. I read them over and over."

Craig's eyes widened and he felt happy again, although surprised. "You do?" he said, looking up at her.

"Yeah," she admitted sheepishly, then smiled. "Of course."

"Thanks, Christine. That means a lot," he said.

Christine cocked her head to one side and gave him a curious stare. "Why are you so surprised that I've read your books?" she asked.

Craig shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I guess I just thought that after everything -- you know -- that you had forgotten about me, or at least tried to. Mom said that you'd gotten married."

Christine's smile drained from her face and her eyes lost their lustre. She gave her head a feeble shake. "No, I didn't get married. I was engaged, but we broke up; that was a couple of years ago," she said. "I guess I'm not very good at keeping men." She gave a forlorn stare at her lap for a few moments.

"Oh," Craig grunted. "No -- don't say that. Maybe you're just not good at keeping the ones you shouldn't have met in the first place."

Christine smiled once more, pleased by his attempt to cheer her up. Him, of all people -- the one she had wounded so deeply. She thought for a few moments, growing nervous, then decided to speak her mind. "Why did we break up again?" she asked. "I mean, it all happened so suddenly, without warning. At least that's how it seemed to me. I never saw it coming, Craig. It was like you got scared and just ran away from me."

Craig sighed and his eyes shifted to avoid hers. "Let's not get into it, Christine. Please," he begged. "That's neither here nor there now. It's ancient history."

"No, seriously. Why did you dump me?" she pressed. "It's been over ten years, Craig. Can't we have a rational discussion about it now? Why did you do it?"

"Because you lied to me about another guy -- that's why," Craig snapped. His mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed as they locked on hers again.

Christine flinched when she saw the anger in his eyes, then she shrugged dismissively. "I didn't lie to you about him," she insisted with a slight smirk. "You just never asked me the right questions. Besides, you were a real jerk back then, Craig."

"Give me a break. I was just a kid," he said.

"Craig, we were twenty-five," Christine said, then began to laugh.

Craig's laughter mingled with Christine's for a few moments as they stared into one another's eyes. Once they stopped, they stared at one another in silence, still smiling.

"It's so good to hear your laugh again," Craig said. "I've missed it."

"Oh -- is that all you've missed about me?" she retorted with a wily grin.

Craig felt himself blush and avoided her pretty, piercing eyes again for a few seconds. "No, of course not," he replied. "I've missed just about everything about you."

"Just about?" she countered as she raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"You know what I mean," he said nervously.

Christine nodded as she raised her can of beer. She gulped down the last few mouthfuls, then placed the empty can on the table. "So, are we going to sit around drinking beer, or can I help you unpack, or move some furniture?" she asked.

Craig thought for a few seconds, then said "The only thing I need help with is putting the bed together. Everything else I can do on my own."

"The bed, huh?" she said with a shrewd grin. "I should have known you'd ask me to do something like that."

Craig shifted in his chair, feeling his mouth tighten. "Do you want to help me or not?" he said defensively.

"Oh, relax, Craig. I'm only teasing," she said as she got up from her chair. "Where is the bed? I'll help you with it."

"It's in my room," he told her.

Craig lead Cristine upstairs to the bedroom on the right. It was the larger of the two, and had windows facing west and north. Leaning against the wall were a mattress and box spring. On the floor beside those were the other pieces of Craig's bed, next to a bureau and several boxes.

"Oh, there are witch balls in the windows in here too." Christine stood in the middle of the room, looking left and right, looking at the blue glass orbs hanging from the window sashes.

"Yeah, at least they're still blue," Craig remarked with a weak laugh.

It took little time for Craig and Christine to assemble his bed, and he was grateful for her help. He thought that he could have done it on his own, but it would have been a struggle. Besides, he was glad to be able to spend some more time with his former girlfriend.

Once they had finished, Christine stood beside the bed, hands braced on her hips. She surveyed the room again, especially the blue witch balls gleaming in the windows as the sun hit them. "So, is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, then let out a brassy laugh.

Craig felt his cock twitch and begin to stiffen as he listened to her, and ran his eyes down her curvy body. Her posture made her firm breasts push out at the green t-shirt she was wearing, and her jeans hugged her hips and firm ass. Memories of the times that they had made love returned to Craig and he wanted her more than he had ever had since they had separated. He moved closer and placed his hands on her waist, smiling.

"I don't know," Craig drawled. "Was there anything you had in mind?" He pulled her to him, so his hard cock was pressing against her.

Christine let out a giggle as her hands slid up Craig's back. She shifted her hips, rubbing herself against his hard shaft, feeling it grow to it's full size. "Calm down, Craig," she teased. "Jumping into bed won't fix anything. Let's take it slow, okay?"

"Okay... I'm sorry," he mumbled as he shrunk away from her.

"Hey... it's okay," Christine said softly. "It's just that I've been single for a long time, and I'm kind of nervous, you know? Besides, you and I have a lot of baggage, and I don't want to screw things up. Plus... I know you'll never be able to completely trust me again. I can't blame you, but that's a huge wall for us. Does that make any sense?" Her voice was tinged with compassion and sadness, but her brown eyes radiated love as she spoke. She kissed his cheek softly as she ran a hand over his back.

"Yeah, too much," he said, sounding sad.

"I'm not saying that I don't feel like you do," she said, then pressed herself harder against his erection and smiled. "And that includes how turned-on you are right now."

Craig's eyes left hers and roamed down to the front of her t-shirt. He smiled when he noticed her nipples pushing out from the green material. They were thick and looked very hard. "I thought you were just cold," he said as he stared at her breasts.

"No. I'm, uh, hot," she said in a silky voice. "And if I don't leave soon, I'm afraid we're going to do something we might regret."

"Okay, I understand," he said dolefully as he let go of her and took a step back.

Christine gave him a regretful look. "I'm sorry, Craig. I do want to see you again though. Would it be okay if I came over another day?" she said.

"Of course," he said emphatically. "Anytime!"

Christine chuckled at his obvious eagerness. "Yeah, you're thinking with your dick right now," she joked. "But, seriously, I don't want to be a pest. I know you've got writing to do, and I don't want to interrupt that. When is a good time to stop in?"

"Well, I don't think I'll be getting much writing done for a while," he told her. "I need to unpack, and get the house in order first. I'll be doing that for the next couple of days, maybe more. You can stop in tomorrow, if you want."

"Okay, I will then," she promised. "Thanks."

Craig lead Christine back down the stairs, then to the back door. They said nothing as they walked because each of them was lost in thought. When they reached the door Christine reached for the knob, then froze. A smile crept over her face as she turned back towards Craig. She cupped the nape of his neck in her palm and pressed her mouth to his. Her supple, moist lips parted and her tongue teased his. She pulled him tighter to her as she sucked on his lower lip, then tugged at it as she eased back.

"I love you," she said in a husky voice as she looked into his eyes.

Craig stood in stunned silence, feeling his cock throb. By the time he had opened his mouth again to speak, Christine was walking down the steps. He watched her walk towards her car, his aching heart pounding in his chest.

###

Despite being in his own bed once more, Craig had a restless night. He woke a few hours before dawn and masturbated to thoughts of Christine. He hoped that it would help him to fall back to sleep, but all it did was make him long for her more, and the thought that the contentious issues of their past made a reconciliation seemingly impossible filled him with sorrow and regret.

When the first rays of the morning sun shone through the window facing his bed Craig decided to get up. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the witch ball hanging from the window sash. He felt a certain amount of relief when he saw that the glass orb was still the brilliant blue that it had been the previous day.

Once had had showered and eaten breakfast, Craig decided that his first task of the day should be to set things up in what would be his office. After all, his whole purpose in returning to Gilcrest Falls was to finish his novel, and he must not lose sight of that.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Craig saw Christine's red Honda Civic enter the yard. He was sitting at his desk in front of his MacBook. To his left was a mug of coffee, his second that morning. To his right were his cell phone, and a stack of papers, which was the uncompleted manuscript to his novel.

A smile appeared instantly on Craig's face and his pulse quickened when he saw Christine's car. He quickly got up from his swivel chair and hurried to the back door to greet her. She was standing on the porch, smiling, as he opened the door.

"Good morning," she said. "I hope I'm not too early."

"No, not at all. I've been up for hours," he replied.

Craig turned and watched Christine as she walked towards the kitchen table. Her oak-coloured hair was pinned back on the sides, and she was wearing a a navy blue t-shirt and a forest green skirt that left her knees bare. In her hands was a box that was wrapped in rose-coloured paper. She placed the box on the kitchen table, then gave him a smile.

"I brought you a house warming gift," she said.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to do that." Craig walked over to her and gave the box a curious stare.

"I know, but I wanted to. Besides, I'm kind of expecting you to share it with me. Go ahead -- open it," she said with an enigmatic smile.

"Okay," Craig drawled as he picked up the box.

Craig tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside, nestled in shredded paper that resembled straw, he saw a bottle of white wine. On either side of that were two wine glasses, below which was a corkscrew. He took the items from the box and placed them on the kitchen table.

"Thanks, Christine," he said. "And of course I'll share the wine with you."

Christine giggled as she picked up the wine bottle and moved towards the fridge. "I'll put it in here for now to chill," she said, then turned back to him after she closed the fridge door. "I wasn't sure whether or not you had a corkscrew, but I thought I should get you one anyway -- to replace the one I left in your heart."

Craig have her a faint smile and laughed softly. "Thanks -- you're too kind," he said.

"So, what have you been up to this morning?" she asked.

"I got things set up in my office, and I've been doing a little writing," he told her.

"Can I see?" she asked, sounding eager and curious.

"Sure, if you want."

Christine followed Craig through the hall and into his office. She looked around, surveying the small room, then noticed the broken black witch ball lying on a chair in the corner across from the desk. "So that's the broken witch ball, huh?" she remarked.

Craig nodded, giving the shards of black glass a wary look. "Yeah. I should throw it out," he said. "But just touching it gives me the creeps."

As Christine was about to reply her words were interrupted by the sound of Craig's cell phone on his desk ringing. He picked it up and answered it. "Oh, hi, Mom," he said as he rolled his eyes at Christine.

Craig wandered out into the hall to finish his conversation with his mother. He paced about as they spoke. Once he had finished with the call he returned to his office. When he entered he halted and grew anxious. Christine was standing beside his desk, reading the manuscript to his unfinished novel. She looked up from the sheet of paper in her hand and smiled.

"Ah, that's not finished," he said hesitantly. "I wish you wouldn't read it yet."

"Craig, this is beautiful," Christine gushed.

"It's not finished -- not even close. I'll let you read it when it's done," he said.