Free Necromantic by Rick Gualtieri, Cole Vance Page A

let him fall asleep then waited for a while until I was sure he was fully out. I hated to waste the limited time I had, but I’d sooner lose an hour than have the entire jig be up and lose countless more in future encounters. Harold had the power to use me as his personal blow-up doll for all of eternity if he so pleased. The sad part was, even if that happened, I would probably let him. The sights, sounds, and feelings of mortal life were far too intoxicating to turn down.
    At last, I got up out of the bed. This body (Shilpa, I believe he said her name was) had a natural grace to it - a dancer maybe - and I was able to slip out of the room with nary a sound. I made a quick stop at the bathroom to towel off first. I was still sticky and wet from my romps with Harold. No point in dripping all over the floors. With my luck, I’d leave a trail for him to follow. I also used the opportunity to pry his little toy out of my asshole. It had been kind of fun to wear, but I had a feeling my exploration would be somewhat hampered by a hunk of metal shoved up my ass.
    Still naked, but at least slightly dryer now, I stopped at the head of the stairs to consider my next move. I had spent so much time thinking about the why’s that I hadn’t really taken the chance to map out a plan of action. I would have to remedy that. Sadly, there wasn’t much in the beyond that I could use to take notes with. Fortunately, I didn’t really need much of a long term strategy. With each piece of the puzzle, I could decide on my next steps...or at least I hoped.
    I decided a return to the basement was my best bet for that visit. It made sense to solve one mystery at a time. If there wasn’t anything of note in the back room (although I was willing to bet Shilpa’s left ass cheek there was), I’d...well, decide on something else. What can I say? In life, I was a gallery manager, not a private eye.
    I made a quick detour to Harold’s office to check the date. Saturday, October nineteenth. Exactly one week. That made sense. If you were going to bang strange women all night, you’d probably want to do so on the weekend. That was two in a row. Another, and I’d be relatively comfortable in saying it was Harold’s pattern. He had always been a creature of habit.
    I made my way to the kitchen to retrieve the basement keys. Harold had kept it locked before. I had no reason to believe he would do otherwise this night. They were in the same place where I had last found them. I was tempted to scoff at his lame security precautions, but then remembered I had insider information into these things. Anyone else would probably wind up tearing apart half the house before finding them.
    I continued to rummage in the drawer. In the past, we had kept...bingo! I found a small flashlight in the rear. As I said, my husband was a creature of habit.
    I grabbed it, knowing how badly lit the basement was. There was no point in either stumbling around in the shadows, or creeping myself out. Sadly, being dead didn’t impart upon me any special abilities. I couldn’t drain the batteries from electronics, see in the dark, or even make the walls bleed. Of course, I could sure as hell make a dick squirt, but I had a feeling that had nothing to do with ghostly powers.
    I was about to close the drawer when something else caught my eye. It was one of Harold’s old wristwatches. It was nothing special. He had probably tossed it in here, forgetting about it. I wound it up, set the time, and put it on my wrist. It was old and beat up, but still worked. I could use it to let me know how much time had passed. Last week’s encounter had been a little too close for comfort. Going forward, I wanted to make sure I was back upstairs with plenty of time to spare.
    Thus armed for my adventure, I walked over to the door, opened it, and headed down; eager to learn whatever answers awaited me below.
     

Chapter 12
    It was just as creepy as the week before. The only upside was that