he ra host evese
The Gray Ghost
S
HATTERING
glass woke Bailey at a quarter to three, and he
sat up quickly, making blood rush to his head. He placed a
hand against his temple and winced, then cast a glance
around the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place, nothing
that could explain the noise he heard. He looked down at
Oliver, who was still deeply asleep next to him, and frowned
at the man. He could sleep through almost anything. And
Bailey was positive he’d heard something breaking.
The sound came again, and it seemed closer this time.
Bailey jumped out of bed; the sudden shifting of the bed
woke Oliver, and he grumbled his displeasure.
“The hell, Bailey? Where’s the fire?” He yawned sleepily
and rubbed at his eyes.
“Did you hear that?” Bailey demanded, creeping to the
closed door of their bedroom. “It came from the hallway, I
think. What do we have in the hallway that’s breakable?”
Oliver sat up, arms crossed over his bare chest. “Hear
what?”
Bailey waved a hand to get him to be quiet, despite
having just asked him a question, and leaned against the
door with his ear pressed against it as he strained to hear
what was beyond. His forehead wrinkled with his deep
frown. Behind him Oliver chuckled, and Bailey turned
towards him. His lover sat back against the pillows, a small
smile on his lips.
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“Would it help if you opened the door and looked? Or
are you afraid a ghost is going to pop out at you?”
“Shut up, this isn’t a joke. What if someone broke in? I
told you this was a bad neighborhood. We shouldn’t have
bought this house. We could have waited for another.”
Oliver sighed and pushed the covers off himself and
stood with a stretch that made him look like a lazy cat to
Bailey. “There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood, and
you know it. Besides, it was cheap, and we’ll make a fortune
once we finish fixing it up.”
“I’m starting to wonder why it was so cheap,” Bailey
muttered and gently eased the door open once he was
convinced there was no one lurking in the hallway. He
peered cautiously around the corner and breathed a sigh of
relief. Nothing. Maybe he was hearing things.
“You and your superstitions,” Oliver teased and glided
past him into the hall, wearing only a pair of thin, light blue
cotton pants. He tightened the drawstrings and twisted his
back until it popped loudly, then walked down the long,
spiral stairs. “Are you coming or what?”
“What? Where are you going?”
“To check the house and make sure no ghosties are
hanging around to frighten you,” he joked. He slipped a hand
through his dark brown, unruly locks, pushing them off his
face and then rubbing his bright blue eyes once again.
Bailey’s mouth watered as he watched the cotton tighten
around Oliver’s ass while he walked down the stairs. Once
his lover was at the bottom, Bailey hurried after him.
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The house was over one hundred years old and was one
of two in the neighborhood that had survived from that era.
Most had been torn down and replaced with more modern
homes. This one had been for sale and was in need of
serious repair, both inside and out, but the two men knew
that once they’d restored this one to its former grandeur,
they’d be able to sell it for a fortune. And then they’d be able
to afford the house they’d always dreamed of owning.
The refinished hardwood floors were cold under Bailey’s
bare feet despite the heat of the early August night. The two
of them walked silently through the first floor with Oliver in
the lead and Bailey following close behind.
“I heard glass, twice,” Bailey said from the doorway as
Oliver checked the windows in the kitchen. They were intact
and locked. He methodically pulled open every cabinet slowly
and checked the glasses and plates in each. “What are you
doing?”
“Checking to make sure nothing shifted in the cabinets.
That’s probably what you heard,” he replied.
Bailey followed after him again, not really helping much
as he stood in the corner of each room, arms crossed and
shivering as if it was cold. Every so often he would play
nervously with his hair, making the short black strands
stand up in spikes. When each of the first floor rooms was
checked, they headed back upstairs, and Oliver repeated the
process with the second floor, stopping first in their office
and then each of the spare but empty bedrooms. They still
found nothing. When the last room was finished, Oliver
headed for their bedroom.
“What about the basement?”
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“What?”
“The basement,” Bailey repeated. “You didn’t check it.”
Oliver sighed and climbed back into bed, patting the
spot next to him. “If it was something that fell in the
basement, we’ll deal with it tomorrow. I’m tired. It’s barely
three in the morning, and I have to work at nine.” As if to
emphasize how tired he was, he yawned loudly, and Bailey
made a face at him.
“But-” Bailey started, and Oliver held up a hand to
silence him.
“But nothing. Get your ass in bed and let’s get some
sleep.” Oliver’s eyebrow quirked up, and his lips tilted in a
sly but enticing smile. Bailey sighed but crawled into the bed
with him. His lover’s arms closed around him tightly, and
their lips met in a chaste but firm kiss.
“Don’t worry,” Oliver murmured. “If the ghost comes
back, I’ll protect you.”
Bailey snorted. “So you say now.” He shivered, but
whether it was from the thought of the ghost or of Oliver
coming to his rescue, he couldn’t tell.
Oliver ignored him as his lips moved past his own and
down his jaw to a spot just beneath his ear. Bailey stifled a
moan as teeth grazed his earlobe. “I thought you said you
had work in the morning….”
“I do,” Oliver whispered, his breath a small caress in
Bailey’s ear. Bailey shivered, his cock twitching as Oliver’s,
fully hard, pressed against him. He couldn’t suppress the
moan that built in his throat when his lover thrust once
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against him, the soft cotton of his boxers causing a light
friction that drove him mad.
“Then… we shouldn’t…,” Bailey started, but lips
descended on his, and his words—and thoughts of work,
ghosts, and criminals—were soon forgotten.
Oliver’s expert hands quickly divested them of the little
clothing they wore and tossed the items recklessly over the
side of the bed. Bailey sucked in air noisily as teeth nipped
his neck and collarbone. His partner worked his way south,
hands roaming over his body, followed shortly by feverish
kisses. As those lips slid expertly over the head of his cock,
his back arched off the bed and he moaned. He felt more
than heard the chuckle and couldn’t fight the shudder that
ran through his body. When he looked down to find Oliver,
he instead found the sheets were hiding his body from view.
If anything, it made the feelings even more intense; despite
the obvious lump that was Oliver between his legs, it was
almost like having a phantom lover. Bailey groaned again
and closed his eyes as those lips slid over his length, taking
him deeper with each expert stroke.
What felt like hours but was surely only minutes later,
Bailey felt the beginnings of his climax and moved his hands,
which had been fisted tightly in the sheets, down to Oliver’s
head. He tapped lightly on Oliver’s shoulder as his breathing
faltered, letting Oliver know that he was close. Oliver’s only
response was to suck harder, his tongue moving slickly
around the shaft.
A strangled yell fell from his lips as soon as he hit his
climax. Stars burst behind his tightly closed lids. His heart
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hammered in his chest again, but for a much more
pleasurable reason this time.
As he slowly came down from his high, Oliver moved
back up his body and claimed his lips in a searing kiss.
Bailey could taste himself, and while he would have pulled
away from it, he was distracted as the blunt head of his
lover’s cock pressed against his ass. He lifted his legs to
Oliver’s hips in response and his short but athletic legs
wrapped around Oliver’s waist as he rested his hands on his
lover’s shoulders and held on. He broke the kiss as Oliver
pressed in without the aid of any lubrication, and he winced
at the burn.
The pain soon faded into pleasure as Oliver hit that spot
deep in his body. Oliver began to move quickly, and Bailey
met each thrust, tightening his legs around his lover’s body
as they both fought for control. Their movements faltered for
a moment as Oliver slipped a hand down his thigh and
around his hip to take hold of him and stroke in time to their
movements.
It wasn’t long before Bailey was tensing yet again as
another orgasm ripped through him. He tightened around
Oliver’s shaft and felt the moment he reached his limit.
Oliver’s groan was loud in his ear, and he struggled to catch
his breath as sweat traced a path down the side of his face.
They lay in each other’s arms moments later, spent and
breathing heavily.
Bailey was exhausted from the exertion and barely
heard Oliver’s light chuckle and teasing words as he slipped
into a deep sleep. “Not worried about those ghosts now, are
you?”
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T
HE
two men slept through the night without further
incident, and when the alarm went off at seven o’clock less
than four hours later, Oliver woke and got ready for work.
The blaring of the alarm woke Bailey as well, and he propped
himself up against the pillow with a savage yawn.
He had all but forgotten the incident and sat there in
the bed, watching his lover gather his things for the day.
“Can’t you check really quick before you go?” he begged,
hands lightly clutching the sheets. Oliver looked over at him
and barked out a short laugh. Bailey’s face was scrunched
up, trying to disguise the fear.
“I’m already running late, Bay. But… if it’ll really make
you feel better, I’ll check.”
The smaller man breathed a sigh of relief as he settled
back against the pillows. “Thank you.”
Oliver sat on the side of the bed and leaned over him,
pressing a quick kiss to his lips as he pulled on his black
dress shoes. “No problem. What are you planning on doing
today?”
“I was thinking I’d finish painting in the library and the
last bedroom.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll pick it up on my
way home,” he said as he straightened his tie.
“We should be set.” Bailey watched as Oliver threaded
his belt through the loops, and licked his lips in
remembrance of the previous night. “You know, I was
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thinking… I’d love to have a house with a library like this
one. It’s a shame we decided to sell it….”
“We’ll be able to get a house with an even bigger library
once we make the money off this one. Trust me, it’ll be huge.
You’ll see,” he promised, and leaned down to give Bailey a
quick peck on the lips before straightening.
Bailey stayed in bed and listened to Oliver’s footsteps
fading on the staircase, then waited. If he listened closely, he
could hear Oliver moving around by the kitchen. A creak a
short time later signaled the basement door opening, and he
burrowed himself back under the covers with a small smile
on his face. A few moments later he heard the front door
open and slam shut.
Home alone, Bailey stayed in bed for another hour
before finally getting up to take a shower, dress, and get to
work on painting. Dressed in a pair of paint-covered jeans
and an equally paint-splattered shirt that had at one point
been white, he put his iPod in his pocket and cell phone in
the other. Once the earphones were nestled into his ears, he
turned the small red device on, settled on a playlist, and
turned up the volume.
The morning quickly turned into afternoon as Bailey
danced around the room, head bobbing to the music. The
chocolate color covering the walls looked nice with the black
bookcases and gave the room a very masculine feeling.
Bailey stepped back after evenly coating one of the walls and
admired his handiwork. His thoughts soon started drifting
and he wondered what the room would look like with his and
Oliver’s books on the shelves.
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“Leather-bound would definitely go on this wall,” he said
to himself, pointing to the wall opposite the door. “And Oliver
could put his law books there, too. And we could have two
leather armchairs in front of the fireplace,” he added with a
wistful sigh as he imagined the room completely
transformed. “Maybe he’d get me that dark cherry desk I saw
at the warehouse.”
A few hours later, after much mental rearranging of
non-existent furniture, he finally finished the library and
stepped back to admire his work with the loud strains of a
power ballad floating through his ears. He thought he heard
something odd over the song, some outside interference, but
ignored it and began to pack up the cans of dark brown
paint. He hammered the tin covers into the buckets, jumping
out of the way as the paint spilled onto the plastic sheets
covering the floor.
Sure he was alone, he danced his way into the kitchen
as his iPod dared him to jump back and forth and carelessly
dumped the brushes and rollers into the sink, splattering
the paint over the already stained surface. On his mental
checklist, he made a note to get a new sink—after they were
finished with all the painting.
The music shifted to a pop song with a Latin beat, and
he danced his way to the fridge and took out a bottle of
water. His hands were covered in the brown paint and he left
a handprint on the handle of the fridge. He stared at it before
shrugging. It could be cleaned. It wasn’t a very good fridge,
anyway. As he drank the water, he swung his hips back and
forth while he danced around the room with an invisible
partner. Bailey capped his bottle and sang into it, spinning
around, ready to dance right out of the kitchen and back
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upstairs when he saw the woman watching him from the
doorway.
The bottle slipped through his fingers and crashed on
the floor as he froze, the scream stuck in his throat. He
backpedaled and slammed into the refrigerator just as the
woman’s face twisted. In that instant, Bailey was certain he
was going to die. All sound faded and his vision narrowed
down to just the woman in the doorway. She was pale, that
he noticed, and her red hair practically floated around her
face. He’d heard stories about female spirits that came and
screamed whenever someone was about to die, but that was
supposed to be an Irish legend. And neither he nor Oliver
was Irish.
Bailey winced, wondering what it would feel like to die,
but rather than hearing the scream of a banshee, the lips
smoothed into a soundless laugh, and the woman doubled
over, clutching her stomach. His hearing came back, and he
realized he was still listening to the last strains of the song.
He ripped the buds out of his ears and heard her laughing
and trying to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped as she straightened, tears
pooling in the corners of her green eyes. “I didn’t mean to
startle you, it’s just, the door was open, and I rang but no
one answered.”
“The doorbell’s broken. We haven’t fixed it yet,” Bailey
answered cautiously as the woman smoothed out her skirt.
“Ah, I didn’t know. I should have knocked, then.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who the hell are you, and
what are you doing in my house?” he demanded as his heart
rate started to come down, albeit slowly.
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“Oh! God, I’m such an idiot. Name’s Melissa, Melissa
Cane. I own the house across from you. I thought I’d come
over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” she said as she
offered her hand. Bailey took it after briefly hesitating. “It’s
nice to see someone fixing up this old place. It’s been vacant
for so long. Changed hands a few times, but no one had
done anything to it. Shame, too, since it’s so nice.” Melissa
looked around the kitchen, wrinkling her nose at the mess in
the sink, and then turned and looked at the finished living
room across the hall.
“Uh, nice to meet you, I guess.”
“Are you planning on staying here…?”
“Bailey. And no, my partner and I are looking to flip it.
We’re staying here until we do, though.”
“And does this partner have a name?” She smiled.
Bailey fought a grimace.
“Oliver.”
“Ah, well, you and Oliver should come over one night for
dinner. I’ll tell you all the great stories about the neighbors,
and you can tell me all about your house.”
“What’s to tell about it?”
Melissa blinked and then smiled again. It was effortless
and pleasant. Bailey sort of liked it. “What do you mean,
‘what’s to tell’? You must have had some crazy experiences
already,” she said, then glanced around as if to check for
eavesdroppers and lowered her voice to a whisper. “The other
neighbors were betting you wouldn’t last the week, like the
others.”
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“Why wouldn’t we last the week?” Bailey asked, crossing
his arms to fight off a shiver while hoping the stance made
him look serious instead of scared.
“Well, there’s this rumor that the place is haunted. Have
you heard anything since you moved in?” Melissa leaned
forward eagerly.
Bailey hesitated, then shook his head. “No, nothing.
Sorry to disappoint you.”
She looked skeptical but nodded. “Well, let me know
when the two of you are free. I’d love to have you over.”
He nodded and steered her towards the door; he was a
little unsettled from her abrupt appearance, however nice
she seemed to be.
“By the way,” she said as she slipped out the front door,
“you should probably keep your door locked. It was wide
open.”
“Huh? Open? But that’s not possible. Oliver always
locks the door when he leaves for work.”
“Well, it was. That’s how I got in. Just make sure you
lock it for real this time.”
Bailey watched as she walked down the path and
crossed the street to her house. He crouched down to look at
the lock and frowned, jiggling the handle a bit to see if it
would disengage the lock. When it stayed, he shrugged, shut
the door, and relocked it. He gave it a good tug a few times,
but it didn’t move. He would mention it to Oliver when he got
home. But until then, he had painting to finish.
The bedroom upstairs needed a base coat before he
could paint it the pale blue they’d decided on, so Bailey
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spread out the plastic sheets on the floor and got to work
splattering the paint onto the wall. With his music back on,
he sang into the roller, careful not to get it on his face. Once
the walls were white, he stepped back to make sure he didn’t
miss any spots and to make sure everything was coated
evenly.
As the song faded out and the opening melody of the
next started, Bailey heard a faint noise. He froze, pulled the
phones out of one ear and turned towards the door.
“Oliver?” he called, cautiously walking to the doorway
and peeking out. “Are you home early?”
He waited for a response but heard nothing. “Hello?” he
called out once more, and moved to the top of the stairs.
Nothing could be seen from his vantage, so he turned back
to the last bedroom and quickly shut the door behind
himself. He made his way over the plastic sheets on the floor
and threw open the windows.
“There,” he said with finality, and turned the music
back on louder this time. He tried to keep his mind clear of
thoughts of spirits and sang along off-key with the eclectic
mix of songs on his player. While he loved horror movies and
scary stories and told everyone he would be one of the ones
to survive to the very end, he knew that wasn’t the case. He
loved being afraid when he could turn the movie off, or when
Oliver was sitting next to him, strong arms ready to hold him
close and safe. But if it came down to a real situation, Bailey
knew he’d be the first one to get the hell out. He shivered as
a cool breeze drifted into the room from the open window.
His memories drifted to nearly ten years before, when
he’d been a sophomore in college and had just gotten a new
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dorm assignment. The building wasn’t that old and was
great to look at from an architectural standpoint, but it had
an infamous history already surrounding it. Bailey had
pushed the facts and rumors out of his mind, though,
because as a sophomore, it was next to impossible to get a
single dorm, and he’d just scored one. No ghost, real or
imagined, was going to keep him from that room.
Those first few weeks were pure bliss; he didn’t have to
deal with a roommate wandering in and out at all hours of
the night, or catch him screwing his girlfriend. But the bliss
was short-lived. He started to hear things in the night. Small
things at first that seemed to originate out in the hallway but
then moved into his room. Then things started to move
around in his room. He thought it was a friend with a spare
key playing a prank on him but realized that was wishful
thinking when he witnessed his wallet slide across his desk
and hit the far wall.
Still, he could deal with that. He met Oliver about that
time, and they began to hang around each other more and
more. After they started dating, Bailey was rarely alone in his
room. The night before midterms started for the fall
semester, he was alone in his room studying when the door
opened, on its own, and slammed shut. He thought once
again it was a friend playing a prank until he saw the
shadow move in the corner. After that, he packed a bag and
moved some of his things to Oliver’s room.
I
T WAS
past five when Bailey finished everything, and Oliver
was just arriving home. He had the door propped open once
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more, and he could hear the key in the lock as he turned off
the iPod and started to gather all the materials. Sound really
did travel well in old houses. Especially in old, mostly empty
houses.
“Bailey?”
“Upstairs!” he called, dumping the brushes in an empty
bucket before running into the hallway to meet Oliver as he
climbed the stairs. He grinned as he saw him but refrained
from rushing him; he was covered in paint and didn’t want
to ruin Oliver’s nice suit.
“Hey, babe,” Oliver said as he leaned far forward,
exaggerating his attempts to stay clean, and gave Bailey a
brief kiss. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Got the library done, and I just finished up here. How
was work?”
“Same as usual,” he answered as he headed for their
room to change into jeans. “A little spat between Henry and
Malcolm over who would pick up the new client. Seems they
had their own ideas anyway and went with Malcolm. I think
it’ll work out better that way.” Bailey leaned against the
doorframe and watched him as he tossed his jacket onto a
chair and then slowly stripped out of his black slacks. He
had to reach down to adjust his cock as it began to stiffen.
“We had a visitor today.”
“We did? Who was it?”
“The woman who lives across the street. Um, Melissa
Cane, I think she said.”
“Yeah? Cool. What did she want?”
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“She invited us to dinner, at our convenience. She
seemed nice enough. She was curious about the house,
though.”
Oliver walked into the bathroom, not bothering to close
the door behind him. “What did she want to know about it?”
“Whether or not we’ve experienced anything creepy.
Seems like the other neighbors bet we’d be out of here in a
week. It’s supposedly why the house changed owners so
many times and then stayed vacant for a while.”
“Oh please. There’s nothing wrong with this house.
Everyone thinks that just because a house is old, it’s
haunted. We’ve been here for a few weeks now. Have we
experienced anything?”
“Well, last night…,” Bailey started, shifting uneasily.
Oliver poked his head out of the bathroom and narrowed his
eyes at him.
“The correct answer to that is no. We have not. Last
night was just something settling in the house.”
“But you didn’t find anything broken. I definitely heard
glass breaking.”
“Could have been outside. Sounds travel in strange
ways in old houses.”
“But Oliver, I know what I heard. And Melissa just
walked right into the house because the door was wide open.
You don’t leave the door open. You always lock it when you
leave.”
“Bay, just stop. You’re going to freak yourself out, and
then you won’t be able to sleep again. And as much as I love
protecting you and fighting off the boogie monsters,” he said
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with a waggle of his brows, “I don’t want to make a habit of
it.”
“Yeah, well, what about the door, huh?”
“I probably didn’t pull the door shut tight enough, and it
blew open on a strong breeze. It was pretty breezy out today.
There’s nothing paranormal about that.”
Bailey sighed, defeated, and followed him downstairs
once Oliver finished re-dressing. The two of them made
dinner together and ate in the kitchen. The table, at least,
was free from paint. Oliver commented on it as they ate the
pasta salad.
“You got paint all over the sink, Bailey.”
“Yeah… but we need a new sink anyway. I figured it
wasn’t a big deal.”
“And on the fridge.”
“It’s our old fridge. We talked about a new one, too.”
“You can still wipe it up, can’t you? We still have to eat
here, you know,” Oliver chastised, and Bailey ducked his
head a little, sheepish.
“I just didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
But Oliver wasn’t done. He gestured with his empty fork
towards the brushes. “If you don’t wash them off or at least
let them soak, the paint will stick to them permanently, and
we’ll have to buy all new brushes and rollers. If we have to
do that too many times, it’ll cost a lot of money we could use
on something else.”
“But we’re done with the painting,” Bailey pointed out.
“You said so yourself.”
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“Yeah, but what if we need to touch up a spot when we
move furniture in? We can’t just buy new brushes for a
touch-up here or there.”
Bailey scowled and tossed his fork onto the plate, then
stood. “Fine, I’ll take care of the brushes,” he said as he
plugged the sink and filled it with hot water.
“Bailey, the dishes—”
He turned and glared at his partner, cutting him off
before he could finish his statement.
“Ah… the dishes can wait until later.”
Once the brushes were in the sink, soaking, and the
empty plates were stacked neatly by, ready to be washed, the
two made their way across the hall to the living room to
watch a movie. The movie was short-lived, though, when
Bailey found a more interesting thing to do, namely crawling
into Oliver’s lap and biting his neck.
Oliver laughed and tried to look around him to watch
the movie, but Bailey kept squirming around, blocking his
view. He gave his ass a light smack. “Stop that, I’m trying to
watch the movie,” he said.
“The movie’s more interesting than me?”
“Absolutely,” he teased. Bailey snorted and pulled back
to stare at him.
“Which is why your cock’s about ready to bust your
zipper,” he stated.
Oliver’s grin widened, and he gestured widely, settling
his arms on the back of the couch. “You caught me.”
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“You’re mean,” Bailey said without conviction and slid
out of his lap onto the floor. Kneeling between his spread
legs, he made quick work of Oliver’s button and zipper, and
he nudged him until he lifted his hips just a little. The jeans
were snug but slid down to the middle of his thighs. His
thick cock sprang up from the dark curls at the base, and
Bailey didn’t waste any time before closing his lips over the
head. He hated when they argued, but it was so much fun to
make up afterwards, even when the arguments were small
and over paintbrushes.
Above him Oliver gasped softly. His large hands twisted
into Bailey’s short strands and tightened, guiding Bailey’s
mouth down while pushing himself deeper into it. Bailey
hummed around him, trying not to laugh as Oliver swore.
“Fuck, Bay.”
A scratching at the basement door interrupted them.
Bailey pulled off quickly with a wet pop and stared at Oliver.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Ignore it,” Oliver said, trying to push Bailey
back down, but Bailey wasn’t having it.
“No, I know I heard something.”
The scratching came again, this time longer than before,
and Oliver couldn’t deny it, though he hesitated before
speaking. “Maybe we have mice.”
“If that’s a mouse, it’s the biggest fucking mouse on the
face of this planet. Go check, please? I’ll make it up to you
later, I swear.”
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Oliver sighed and stood, pulling his jeans back up and
fixing himself. “Fine, I’ll go check, but you’re coming with
me.”
Bailey nodded and followed him across the room to the
hallway. The scratching had stopped, but they didn’t know
what they would come up against. Bailey, the smaller of the
two, grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the front door
and held it in front of himself like a sword. Oliver took one
look at him and laughed, leaning against the wall to catch
his breath.
“You look ridiculous, Bailey.”
“Hey! If I have to protect myself, I need something to do
it with.”
Oliver just shook his head, gathered himself, and pulled
open the basement door. It creaked on un-oiled hinges.
There was nothing on the other side of the door, so he flicked
on the light. It glowed dimly above them and cast a weak
light on the stairs.
“Come on.”
Bailey reached forward and tucked his hand into the
back of Oliver’s jeans, holding onto him like a lifeline as they
descended the stairs. Each step creaked impossibly loudly,
and Bailey fought the temptation to close his eyes. Whatever
he couldn’t see couldn’t hurt him, right?
“Do you see anything?”
“No, nothing. The light’s so dim down here. We should
get a fluorescent. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Well if you don’t see anything, then let’s hurry the hell
up and go back upstairs. It’s creepy down here.”
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“Maybe it was just the house settling.”
“Oh yeah, settling houses sound like ax murderers
scratching at the door.”
“Bailey, you’re such a drama queen.”
Bailey was about to reply with a smart comment when a
crash from the corner of the room sent him scrambling up
the stairs, yelling.
“Oh shit, what was that?” he cried, already at the top of
the stairs, umbrella held uselessly in front of him. He hid
behind the door as if it was a shield.
Oliver, who had jumped, remained at the bottom of the
stairs, peering intently into the corner where the noise had
come from. “I don’t know, but it’s not an ax murderer, so get
your ass down here.”
“If you don’t know what it is, how can you be sure it’s
not an ax murderer?”
“You’re an idiot.”
Bailey crept back down the stairs, figuring he’d be safer
with Oliver. At least he’d stay behind him, and if he had to,
he’d run up the stairs before him. Surely Oliver would gladly
sacrifice himself to save his lover. At least, he hoped so.
Oliver turned on the light in the next section of the
basement by pulling the cord.
“Watch your step. There’s glass everywhere,” he said,
gesturing to the broken bottles on the floor.
“What was that?”
“What?” Oliver asked, and looked towards where Bailey
pointed.
he ra host evese
“I saw something move; I swear it. It moved behind that
crate.”
Oliver sighed and stepped forward quickly, set his
hands on the crate and lifted it. He gasped softly.
“What? What is it?” Bailey demanded, rooted to his spot
several feet behind.
“Well, it’s definitely not a giant mouse, but I found your
ghost, I think,” Oliver said, a slightly teasing tone in his
voice.
Bailey frowned and worked up the nerve to step forward
cautiously. He peered around Oliver and stared at the
strange sight before him, speechless.
Four tiny balls of fur lay in a small pile of rags,
squirming silently. Beside them, a much larger ball sat
hunched. It let out a small, plaintive cry.
Bailey gasped, a smile tugging at his lips. “Kittens! How
cute!”
“How did they get in here?” Oliver asked as he looked
around. Bailey looked with him and saw that there was a
small window against one of the walls, higher up. It was set
against the ground outside and was much too small for a
human to fit through, but a cat could. Oliver crossed over to
it and checked. It pushed out easily. “Well, that solves that
mystery,” he said as he let it swing shut. It banged loudly
against the frame. The kittens mewled and the mother
hissed. Oliver searched for a way to lock it while Bailey
stayed with the cats, and found the latch had rusted off.
“Hey, that’s what I heard last night. I’m sure of it,”
Bailey confirmed.
he ra host evese
“Not a ghost, then, and not an ax murderer. Just a
momma cat and her kittens.”
“They’re adorable,” Bailey cooed, leaning down to stroke
the mother’s light gray fur. She purred and arched her back
up to meet his fingers. “Can we keep them? She’s not
wearing a collar and she looks dirty. She’s probably a stray.”
Oliver watched him as he stroked the cat from head to
tail and carefully leaned over the kittens. He smiled.
“Yeah, I guess we can. As long as she really is a stray.”
“Of course.”
“What should we name her, then? If she is.”
“Hmm….” Bailey thought for a few minutes, sitting on
the cold floor while the cat curled up around her kittens.
“Gray Ghost. It’s fitting, I think.”
Oliver grinned widely and laughed. “Gray Ghost. I like it.
Ghost for short?”
Bailey nodded. “Of course. And if the nosy neighbors
ask if we have ghosts, we can tell them we do.”
et more stories from
The Dreamspinner Press 2010 Daily Dose
package of thirty stories is available at
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
About the Author
J.J.
L
EVESQUE
grew up in New England in a family that
encouraged her reading and writing. Now she is an avid book
collector who compulsively buys anything that looks
remotely interesting. Aside from books, her other obsessions
include tennis and ballet, which her family finds odd since
she is neither graceful nor athletic enough to do either.
When not reading or writing, she can sometimes be found at
the bookstore where she works. It is a very dangerous place
for her to be; her overloaded bookcases are begging for
mercy.
You can contact J.J. at
jjlevesquebooks@gmail.com
.
Copyright
The Gray Ghost ©Copyright J.J. Levesque, 2010
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
June 2010
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-488-6