by Cherie Ann Turpin
#3 (Thirty Stories in Thirty Days)
In DC, you see many neighborhoods becoming “refreshed,” or what some people call gentrification, an ongoing series of activities designed to bring in more affluent residents while moving less affluent residents outside of the city. There are some residents who remain rooted deep in the dirt of this town, unwilling or unable to leave so quickly or quietly, and with the upheaval of rotted wood and dirt to replace the old with the new many old spirits have been being awakened, inadvertently. One could imagine an old soul somewhat confused at the sight of a home dungeon space, especially a few spirits who remember a less than pleasurable experience with regard to floggers and rope.
So without a doubt, it was an accidental drawing of blood that fell to the newly installed marble tile patterned across the basement floor that served as a summoning, a loosening of the veil between the living and the dead in the midst of what was originally a play session between Marcus aka slave and Karen aka Mistress. Perhaps Marcus and Karen, who were now the new owners of the redesigned and upgraded townhouse on Market Street were unwise to build a private sex dungeon in the basement without considering the possibility of meeting two of the previous residents who now appeared in grayish, out-dated uniforms with hollow faces that seemed both shadow and flesh against the flickering beams of the overhead lighting. Marcus suddenly felt nauseous, as another specters began to reveal themselves, reddish eyes and a solemn-looking faces poking through. Both were youngish-looking men of European descent, and both seemed perplexed at the sight of Marcus and Karen’s leather costumes, especially Karen’s skin-tight cage design that exposed her nipples and buttocks. Marcus looked at Karen, who looked back at him and began to quickly unravel the rope that bound his wrists and ankles. The ghosts began to fade from flesh to shadow again.
As they shimmered out, Karen could have sworn she saw a leer forming on one of the specter’s faces. She felt an unease climb up her spine, a sense that the next appearance could be a less-than-friendly encounter between the living and the dead.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.