We submit for your consideration the third part of an eerie short story.
TAPPING part three
(short story continued from October 20 & 27 - the last two Thursdays)
[Emily and Sam, college professors, just moved into an riverfront historical home, where a persistent tapping could be heard but not be found. That coincides with a revitalization of their sex lives in unexpected ways.]
Her recovery was going well, yet, the tapping at night drove her to distraction, making her irritable and nervous come morning. Plus, she felt sore, raw, as if she had been used sexually, often and violently. Sam looked weary as well. It was the tapping that kept waking them at night, and then vague recollection of making love, quick and angry. Neither spoke of it for they couldn't quite figure out if it was a dream, or remember exactly what had happened. Nor whether it happened or not.
The exterminator had come and gone, new traps had been laid, and still nothing, but the incessant tapping, unrelenting tapping, endless tapping, obsessive and compulsive mice with trap avoidance skill-sets.
Emily adjusted herself on the small divan as their cat jumped up and curled against her side. Eventually, Nathaniel was shooed and replaced by Sam. Emily feigned complaining it was too tight him sitting there suggesting Sam should introduce himself to a salad. He started to tickle torture her but her assertion that wetting one’s self was eminent brought that play to an end.
After a quick recuperative moment she picked up the teacup, sipping. "Sorry about the salad comment." She sighed. "Never thought I’d say this, but I wish we had cable. Booorrrred.”
He laughed, since being married twelve years they had never even owned a TV. Yet, Emily thought it might be just the thing to drown out the tapping. As if thinking about it had triggered it, it began again. Before a complaint could emerge, her eyes glazed over, his closed and they were suddenly on each other, mouths fastening, hands roaming.
He didn't peel the jumper from her, he yanked at it, ripping a seam in the process. Her blouse came next, it too tore. His hands were everywhere at once until she was naked and vulnerable. She shivered, working on his belt buckle. Their urgency became heated and intense. Neither seemed to be in their right minds, neither wanted to ease up or stop.
Tapping grew louder.
His piercing scrutiny consumed her, taking in the fullness of round breasts, the dip of a curvaceous waist, the sweet, pale triangle of her sex and the length of forever
legs, ignoring the bandaged ankle as his gaze riveted to ripe, lush lips.
His brutal kiss left her gasping and he felt her grabbing his burgeoning sex, tugging, rubbing, getting him ready as if he needed encouragement. Lowering himself to the edge of the settee, he swallowed, wanting Emily with astounding hunger. There was no thought of taking it slow, just every consideration toward urgency.
Sam lowered his head, his mouth tugged at her nipples, not just sucking but nipping alternating with licks and motions. Emily's tore open his zipper, fondled him without tenderness until his hardness twitched within her fingers.
The tapping was ceaseless.
She spread her legs wide, and he positioned himself between her thighs. Their gazes melded as he teased her with the tip of his erection until she begged him to enter her. Finally, he thrust into her, one smooth, sharp thrust. She gasped from the impact and her senses shattered, her world toppling as a heat like none of its predecessors emerged. The world froze under the weight of the most exquisite moment of her life.
He moved inside her, fast deep thrusts. Persistent. Skilled. He knew exactly what he was doing and had no intention of stopping. His hands were braced on either side of her. His gaze devoured. It was as if he didn’t make love just to her but to her very soul. Emily couldn’t stop responding to him, to his ownership of her. It was as if he branded her anew with each plunge. His pace quickened, she readjusted her legs by tossing them over his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself to the hilt. She climaxed against him, gasping, moaning.
The tapping pounded around them.
He continued his delicious assault, taking her to fresh and torrid orgasm, each different, each more intense, each leaving her sated, yet his endless movement causing her to demand more and more. She fell into his eyes, into his spirit. She opened herself in a way that she didn’t think possible. He rammed into her, hard, fast, endless and she became a part of his fire as he became a part of hers, climaxing together, feeling each other’s pulsations. She noted his far-away stare, and found herself following it. They both shuddered.
When they finally caught their breaths, they stared at each other in amazement, but like many times before, neither discussed what had happened. Yet, they momentarily wondered, what the hell was going on? Moments later, it was as if nothing had happened, except that the tapping had ceased and a solid, double knock sounded two floors below interrupted. "Be right back," he said, sprinting down a spiral stairwell, noticing his belly bounce.
Emily heard chatter, and wished she could have run down and answered the door herself. Being incapacitated made her reaffirm a need for good friends. She could use a few visitors around now.
Moments fled, and Sam reappeared, an elderly woman trailing behind him. A lovely older woman with a tradition Gibson hairdo and era-similar garments, she greeted Emily with a toothy smile. Behind her, a tall man, appeared, dressed in what seemed to be butler garb. She took the tray of fancy tea sandwiches that he held, and offered it to Emily.
"I am Mrs. James Edward Wallingford, of the 1700s Connecticut Wallingfords, relocated to the part of the country to sell farm equipment, and on behalf of the block, I would like to welcome you both into our old world society." She nodded her head once.
Mrs. Wallingford held out her hand with a graceful flourish, fingers dangling limply. Emily took the plate, set it aside and then shook the elderly woman’s hand, fully amused by the presentation. "Quite a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wallingford." She nodded once, imitating.
"As am I. Your husband informed me of your lineage and we feel honored to have you as a neighbor."
“I have lineage?”
Sam standing behind the woman and her manservant gently shook his hand suggesting she not say a word. Emily flashed an agreeing glance at Sam. Neither of them had lineage. Sam had been an orphan. Emily's parents died years before in a car accident. Although wonderful, hard-working people, their lineage stretched as far as Grandpa Matthew's coal mining days. Behind the lady's head, Sam mouthed. I lied. They had invented and practiced their haughty tale of ancestry.
A smile appeared. Emily kept it from flowing into a laugh. "It is so kind of you to visit.” She reflected back the woman's toothy smile. “I fear I am not quite up to par. You know this foot thing. It has confined me to this room and shoved me into utter boredom."
Sam twisted his face and mouth into odd shapes suggesting laughter though it never manifested itself into the foreshadowed eruption.
"Your husband told me of your accident. Quite sorry you had to endure that. My gardener, Adam, will be over later to fix that hole."
"So kind.”
“I insist.”
“That's not necessary. Our gardener is due." She winked at Sam, the gardener.
"Do not be silly, child. We are neighbors. It is what we do. See to it, Charles."
"Yes, ma'am," Charles said, carefully navigating the stairwell.
Sam dusted off one of the attic chairs and placed it behind Mrs. Wallingford, rolling his exceptionally blue eyes as he added a lilt to his voice. "Ma'am. Rest your lovely ampleness."
"Thank you," she said, perching herself on the edge of the chair, back straight, one hand over the other with a Battenberg lace-trimmed handkerchief dangling from filed but unpolished fingertips, not recognizing his insolence.
"I truly believe the two of you will fit in so nicely here." Her chin jutted a bit and her eyes squinted. "Oh dear, I sent Charles off and he has the invitation."
Emily tilted her head as if inquiring.
Behind Mrs. Wallingford, Sam kept posturing like a butler, but with exaggerated emphasis. Emily kept swallowing, trying not to laugh.
"Nothing to do about that. I will send him around later. I am planning a high tea next Sunday to officially welcome you to the neighborhood. Appropriate period clothes are required, of course."
"Of course," Sam said, his tone slightly mocking.
Shooting him a look to stop the foolery, Emily leaned forward and claimed a sweet smile. "That is so kind of you. We will be delighted to come considering we are the guests of honor."
"Good, then that is settled." She nodded and stood, nearly all of one motion jiggling her ampleness. "Dearie, if I remember correctly there should be an entire wardrobe in one of the trunks."
"How could you know that?" Sam asked, a tinge of suspicion accompanying his tone.
"From the previous owner, of course. They had a splendid seamstress provide the pieces from authentic patterns."
"Aha.” He smiled his toothy grin, imitating, “We were told they died years ago and whomever inherited didn't want the house."
"Oh, they did die all too soon. Suicide," she said sadly. "Rumor had it that they wanted to stay the same age forever, not grow a day older." She waved her hand abstractly. "Of course, that was all nonsense. I knew them, personally. They were such an endearing couple, and so utterly in love. Mr. and Mrs. Ashton Baines, Elizabeth was one of my dearest friends. I miss her greatly." Mrs. Wallingford dabbled at eyes as if they were wet with tears. They were not.
She reached into her waistband and held out a small locket to Emily. "This is them."
Emily snapped open the locket and found tintype photos inside of a couple around her age. "They were a handsome pair, and this tintype is a remarkable reproduction of an earlier time."
"Indeed they were, and yes it is." Mrs. Wallingford looked about, eyes still faux-misty. "For years the house just sat vacant until they could establish who inherited and then just the right buyers had to be found. If fact, we sadly lost another of our neighbors just a few months ago. Relatives will be putting that one up for sale shortly."
"I'm sorry your friend had passed away, but I am glad we now live here."
"As am I, child," she said. "The two of your seem perfect. Now, I must see to the household. Mr. Wallingford will be home soon and he does like a cup of sumacade after his daily constitution."
She started toward the stairs, halting when Emily asked. "Oh, Mrs. Wallingford, before you leave, may I ask if you have been troubled by mice?"
"Oh dear me, no," she said without hesitation and pointed at the lazy Nathaniel, who did not bother to even lift his face to acknowledge his name. "I, too, own a feline for such problems, if they did exist.”
"I keep hearing tapping."
As if to confirm Emily's words, a soft tap...tap...tap began. "See," Emily said with obvious exasperation.
The woman cocked her head, narrowed her eyes in full concentration. "I heard nothing."
To be continued....
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