This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
The Ghostbuster
By
Valerie Meilong <VMeilong1@excite.com>
"Ghostbuster, are you?" I said to the thin, lank haired, droopy moustached, weedy looking drip. Corinne always gets the weirdest types to her cocktail parties. "Er…I study paranormal phenomena," he said rather stuffily.
"Ever seen one?"
"A ghost? Um, no, actually. I'm new to the game."
"We've got ghosts in our place," I said. He jumped, wondering whether I was kidding.
"Ghosts, plural?"
"Yes. They're fun. Sexy. But they only come on Saturday nights."
He was now certain I was kidding.
He buttonholed me about an hour later. "You live in the old Squire's house, don't you? Three hundred years old."
"Yes."
"You were kidding?"
"No."
"Um, could I, perhaps, come and bring my equipment. I'd like to record…" His voice trailed off.
"Okay. Tell you what. We're going away for a long weekend. You can house watch." Ecstatically he agreed, and I gave him my house-key.
My husband was cross. "You don't know anything about him," he said logically. "But he was at Corinne's party. He must be OK," I replied. He sighed, and insisted on checking. She gave him a clean bill of health.
He set up vast quantities of equipment; goodness knows what it did. We set off, and left him making adjustments. "Watch the bric-a-brac. You break it, you buy it," said George in his hearty way.
On Saturday night at midnight, he saw them. Three of them as usual, all quite clear, white, and transparent. Thermometer? Normal. Radiation? Normal.. Pressure? Normal. All his instruments registered normal. He was baffled. He pulled himself together, and stared at the ghosts. The woman was holding the girl over the end of the sofa now. The Squire lifted the girl's dress up, undid the tapes at her waist, and pulled down the long frilly pantaloons. He picked up a birch and whipped her. There was no sound, no swish, no thwacks, no screams. He watched spellbound. Suddenly he groaned, and clutched his crotch with one hand. He grabbed a handkerchief, undid his fly, and mopped the sticky goo. He looked up, but they had vanished. He groaned again.
He was gone when we got back, but the house was tidy.
It was three weeks before I saw him again, in the High Street. "Hello," I said brightly. "How did you get on? See the ghosts?"
"Yes," he said glumly.
"Video them?"
He looked sheepish. "Er, no. I was so excited I forgot to switch it on." He begged me to let him come again. "Okay," I said, "Saturday after next. We're going to my mother's."
Three days later a 737 crashed on the house. Seventy-six people killed. We were out shopping, so we were unhurt. House was destroyed, though. The Airline Company coughed up a treat. They built us a new place, of course, but it isn't the same.
I often wonder if we'll ever see ghosts of the dead passengers; I suppose not. But we miss our old Saturday ghosts. We get our kicks some other way now.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** This story is for entertainment purposes only, and it does not necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any real person alive or dead is purely coincidental. The Copyright of this story is held by ESP Publishing Ltd., Beijing, China. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via an electronic medium such as the Internet is permitted as long as the text is not modified, and the name of the author and this copyright notice is clearly included. Any other form of publication is expressly forbidden unless authorized in writing by ESP Publishing Ltd.
Reviews
Alex Birch <alexbirch(at)blueyonder(dot)co(dot)uk>
Oh now this one is a conundrum! Do the ghosts exist? Are they the product of an over stimulated imagination where you see what you want to see? In this bizarre tale of spanking ghosts conveniently dispatched by an airline disaster, the question still hangs in the air. I liked this.
Simon <srb(at)imrryr(dot)demon(dot)co(dot)uk>
A nice ghost story, simple but effective. The characters were nicely described and easy to visualise as people. An unusual ending as well, although perhaps a little deus ex machina.