You are standing in the foyer, shifting your weight on the bare pinewood floor. Behind you, the front door, an imposing and ornate giant thing, hangs off its hinges.

The staircase ahead has been stripped of its runner, naked. A light fixture, ripped from the ceiling above who knows how long ago, electrical wire in a tangle, rests on a walnut cabinet pushed against the side of the stairs. Dust covers everything, and discolored outlines mark where once were family portraits, perhaps art.

You adjust your backpack, and with a sleeping bag rolled under your arm, start for the stairs. Every step squeaks beneath you as you head up to the bedrooms. Daylight streams in now, but with no electricity, the place will be pitch dark in a few hours.

Upstairs, the trapped summer heat is almost unbearable. You pass the first room, see an empty bed frame. A thin white curtain hangs off the rod on the window across the room, seemingly kept up by a mass of cobwebs. You shudder.

The next room is the bathroom. A pedestal sink stands without a basin. The toilet bowl has been shattered. The clawfoot tub is covered in a dark film. With no electricity and no water, you will have to improvise, but you welcome the respite inside. You've run to the arms of friends, surfed their couches, but the empathy has run dry.

The next room, another bare bed frame covered in debris. At the end of the hall, you enter the final bedroom. This room is bare. No furniture, no bed. You drop your backpack and the sleeping bag. You will sleep here tonight, just the night. Or, perhaps longer.

The sun is setting now. Shadows rise and fall, move across the walls. You push the cabinet against the front door, now closed as best as you could get it. A bit of safety, at least.

You touch nothing in the kitchen, or what was once a kitchen. It is in a state much like the bathroom. The back door from the kitchen is locked, and you find no mechanism to open it. Although the handle is missing, it is bolted shut.

Confident that the house is empty and secured well enough, you head back upstairs. The heat has not dissipated. Your sleeping bag is unrolled beside the sole window in the room, but the window has been nailed firmly shut. No hope for an evening breeze to cool the air.

You strip off your jeans and tank top, use the shirt to wipe the sweat from your face and under your bare breasts. You stretch out on top of the sleeping bag, and you drift fast.

You dream of sensations. A breath on your neck. A hand along your inner thigh. The pad of a finger across your nipples. A palm cupped over your pussy, pressing so slightly. A whisper, did it say your name? Fingers inside of you. A whisper again...

And you open your eyes. The whisper, the words "take you," sounded so real that you awoke expecting to find someone beside you. The room is dark, but for the faintest moonlight, and still sweltering. You lay still and silent, trying to sense another person in the room. You strain your eyes. But it is only you in here, you are sure.

Despite the heat, your panties are cold with sweat. You remove them, hang them from a nailhead on the window frame. You turn your sleeping bag over, the sweat drenched side to the floor, and lay back down, fully naked.

You close your eyes, consider the realness of your dream, the sensations. You move your hand down your stomach to the tufts of your pubic hair, feel the wetness between your labia. A sticky wet. Not just sweat.

Bringing a knee up, you slide your middle finger inside and then up around your clit. A sexual dream is a rarity for you, and despite the creepiness of the abandoned house, despite the heat, you are turned on.

You moan, alone in the room, alone in the house. You touch your breasts, your hard nipples, move your fingers faster between your legs. You are close, so close. You feel the orgasmic ripple rise into a wave and start to crest. So close.

(Is that a slight breeze?)

Almost lost to the pleasure spreading across your body, your whole body suddenly jolts and you freeze - you distinctly felt a hand fall across yours and squeeze.

A whisper again: "Take you."

Your hand, now guided by another. Massaging. Your middle finger manipulated inside of you. Your thumb rubbing against the sides of your clit. You arch your back.

Dreaming still?

No, not a dream.

The hand, this unseen hand, lifts yours, drops it at your side. Two hands now, still unseen, moving down along the inside each thigh, caressing, spreading you into a V.

And then a weight, like a body on top of you, mounting you.

"Take you..."

You gasp as you feel it push inside of you, thrust, and find a rhythm. Fucking, you are fucking... some... thing?

An electrical tingle spreads across your skin.

Faster now, you moan, "Yes, yes." And the whisper answers, "Yes, yes."

You look down your body, see your pelvis moving with each thrust. You bring your arm up to touch your breasts, you reach over, and though you can clearly see your own body, something unseen blocks your hand from reaching your chest. You touch it. You can feel it.

And on the other side, the same.

Arms, vertical, holding its body... body?... atop yours.

You follow the biceps up, grasp its shoulders, feel the muscles moving across its back. You slip an arm between your stomach and it, move your hand down. You reach your pussy, but your hand moves no further. You feel the base of its cock, the thick, solid cock sliding in your wetness.

Not a dream, you tell yourself again. You wish you could call out its name. Does it have a name? Was this... a person? Now an unseen spirit? A ghost?

"You..." you manage, hushed and breathless as it continues steady, moving with your body, "feel so good."

And you are close. Your heart is pounding. Your pelvic muscles constrict. Your pussy tightens around its shaft. Electricity. Waves. Waves overcoming you. You are loud now, you moan, you call out with excited "ahhs" and "ohhs," your body moving faster with it. It pounds. Faster, and you are there, you are there, and you erupt, cum hard, quick convulsions, quivering, electricity lingering, a rush to your head, and you feel it, too, this thing... person... ghost, explode into you...

And instantly, you feel the thickness inside of you vanish, a quick breeze raising goosebumps across your breasts.

Your heart still beats fast, and your pussy throbs. You lay there, touching the wetness. And you drift again, back into sleep.

You awake in the morning with the sunlight across your still naked body. You think for a moment that you had the most intense and real dream, but a moment later, you are convinced, you know without a doubt, it was real. Beside you is an old photograph, dusty and bent at the corners. It is large, perhaps once framed on a wall. A portrait. A young man, standing on the front porch of this very house. You touch the brittle photograph, pick it up. An etching in the lower right. A name and a year. William. 1860.

"William," you say softly. You look at the handsome young man. Again, "William."

You will stay the day, the night, and you will repeat his name often. You will tell him to come again, to take you again. Yes, you will stay another night. Perhaps longer.

THE END