A car rolled into the small town – rather a village by definition but the people living there insisted that it was a town — and continued down the main road to the other side. The town was the centre for dozens of farms and in the summer some tourists showed up to visit one of the ghost towns that lay sprinkled around the area, so no one took any real notice of the unknown white Volvo at first. It moved slowly as if the driver was looking for something but the woman behind the wheel knew exactly where she was going. She had only been there once before, many years ago when she had been a ten years old girl, but that visit was still etched into her memory.

It had been on a family vacation and they hadn’t stayed for more than a few hours. The property had been in the family for something like 150 years and when her father had inherited it from his mother it had been deserted for several years. One of the last things the old woman had done was to have the house renovated and to some extent modernised. It hadn’t been appreciated by her son who called it a waste of money, but his mother had insisted that it was an important part of the family history. The old woman had always followed her own paths in life.

Now the woman in the car was the sole owner and on her way to take possession. When she and her brother had inherited the house after their parents accident her brother had complained much like their father had. He was three years older than her and had made up his mind on that trip years ago and it wasn’t favourable.

He had wanted to sell at once but she had refused. As equal part owners he could have forced the issue but at that time blood had turned out thicker than water, or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t think it would be possible to sell it.

When their dad had tried to sell right after he got it he couldn’t and therefore he had rented it out. No one had stayed for more than a month and all of the tenants had left in a hurry. That had been the reason for their visit at that one time: to lock up the house for good. Her father had cursed a lot and her brother had expressed his dislike, but she had fallen in love with the three storey wooden house on the hill and had asked if they couldn’t move there. ‘Never in my lifetime!’ her father had spat out and that was the end of that suggestion.

When her brother had made a new attempt to sell the house last year he had found a buyer. The offer had been scandalously low but he wanted to take it anyway. She had offered to buy him out for the same amount to keep it and now it was hers alone.

When she reached and entered the small dirt road that only served that one house, she had half a mile left to drive. She was already on her own land and that was noticed by a few citizens. The road was well within sight from the outskirts and the news started to spread: someone had driven up to the Old Whorehouse!

That was what it was called among the elders though younger people had other names for it too.

When she parked the Volvo close to the porch and got out several pairs of binoculars were directed that way. She walked around the house glancing up at the embellishments she remembered so well. The paint was worn and had flaked in places, a few windows on the lower floor were broken and the garden was in desperate need of tending. Still she recognised the beauty from her memories and knew this was what she wanted now that she had withdrawn from her old life.

She unlocked the front door and opened it, leaving it open after she had entered to let the breeze circulate the stale air inside. The furnitures were still there, covered with dust sheets. She remembered those too: old style with a lot of green plush and dark polished wood. Another thing her grandma had arranged, buying old furnitures and have them renovated, or new copies made. She hadn’t realised it as a girl but it must have cost a fortune.

She had all the time in the world and knew what she wanted to spend it on: get the place back in shape and live there happily ever after.

After moving her few things inside from the car she started cleaning out the basics, going over the kitchen, a ground floor bathroom and a small room to sleep in. That took the first day to achieve and it was midnight before she entered her sleeping bag.

She was dead tired but still wide awake, listening to the sounds of the house, feeling the slight gust of wind from one of the broken windows. It felt comfortable in a strange way to lay there in a house that seemed to be alive. The gusts from the window was as if the house was breathing, the sound of wood against wood like creaking joints in a human. She giggled to herself at her imagination but eventually she fell asleep from exhaustion.

When she woke up it was still dark around her and the sleeping bag was unzipped all the way. She lay more on top of it than in it and since she always slept naked she was cold. No wonder she had woken up, she thought.

What surprised her was the tingling feeling down below, the arousal she knew so well. Moving her hands down her body she also noticed that her nipples were erect and hard, and reaching her groin she was swollen and soaking wet. Well, why not? This had been a whorehouse a long time ago so why not let her fantasy work along that line. Think about what must have taken place in the house back then, how many women that had been fucked, maybe at this very spot even.

One hand got busy rubbing her clit and entering herself alternately while the other moved to touch her breasts. When she closed her eyes she saw women and men in old clothes laughing, kissing and touching. Hands moved over bodies, clothes came off, beds were entered.

It was hot, it was hard, it was basic lust and craving, and she was part of it. Faster than ever before she reached her peak and came hard when a cold breeze swept over her bare skin from thighs to shoulders. It was like nothing she had experienced before, coming from an icy wind, but that was just a passing thought as she calmed down again, entered the sleeping bag and zipped it all the way up. Within another minute she was asleep once more.

After breakfast the next day she drove into town to buy paint, tools and supplies. Entering the hardware store she noticed that she received quite a few glances and a salesman arrived at her side before the door had closed.

“Hello there! New in town? Looking for anything in particular? I’m Henry and will be happy to help you in any way possible.” the man stated.

She looked him over. More than sixty years old, above 300 pounds, under five-foot-five, almost bald and with gold gleaming in his mouth when he smiled. Yep, he would probably do anything for her, she thought, a pity that she didn’t need any help. For him at least.

“I think I can manage this by myself but thanks for offering your services.” she smiled her most seductive smile “Yes, I am new in town, just moved in yesterday actually. I have been here once before, many years ago though. I’ll give a holler if I need any help.”

With that she walked away from him, leaving him looking at her ass in her skintight jeans. She didn’t see his stare but knew it was there anyway: it happened all too often, especially with older men.

She had no problem finding what she needed and then rolled her cart to the check-out. There he was again, his eyes on her cleavage that the chequered shirt offered. Next his eyes would move down to her hips to finally stop at her crotch she knew, and they did. Men!

With an obvious effort he managed to lift his eyes to her face as he spoke.

“Found what you needed, miss…?”

He wanted to hear her say if she was married or not and also get her name. Couldn’t he at least be a bit imaginative? Oh heck, let him hear it, it might make his day.

“Mrs, and my name is Marie. Yes, I found what I wanted for now. I’m sure I will be back sooner or later.”

While he registered her purchases he continued fishing for information but revealed a greater knowledge than what was appropriate.

“So you have bought the Old Whore…, sorry, the old house on the hill I mean? Haven’t been occupied for many years now, must need a lot of work.”

“Actually I have moved into a house that my family has owned since it was first built more than hundred and fifty years ago, but yes, it needs a lot of work. I’m in no hurry though, I’ll let it take the time it takes and be happy with that.”

That confused him somewhat: it had been said that the whorehouse had a visitor yesterday, one that had stayed the night, a woman driving a white Volvo. This woman drove a car like that and was new in town: what other houses were there that was 150 years old? And still she hadn’t agreed to the suggestion that it was the whorehouse.

“Your husband, is he hard at work with the house while you are here to buy tools? Any children old enough to assist?”

“No, you might say that my husband is resting a lot, and there are no children. I will do most of the work myself I think or hire help. Like I said, I’m in no hurry.”

Henry finally finished and mentioned what she owed and she paid with cash. There was no need to let him see a credit card with her last name.

Much the same took place at the paint shop and the supermarket, the main difference was that the supermarket let her be until check-out and the paint shop would deliver what she had bought and rented that same afternoon.

After that she made one more stop, at a private house that she got the address to from an old letter from her grandma. She parked out on the street, walked over to the front door and pushed the doorbell. It took some time before the door was opened, and to her surprise it was a man her own age that stood in front of her.

“Yes?” was all he said but not in an unfriendly way, more like devoid of any feeling at all. She also noted that his eyes stayed on her face instead of moving down her body.

“I’m looking for a Mr James Canfield.” she told him.

“That’s me though I’m always called Jamie. Who are you and what do you want? I have no memory of ever seeing you before.”

“My name is Marie Montgomery and I got this name and address from my grandma, but you can hardly be the man that used to help her with the house. You are much too young, can’t have been more than a couple of years old back then if you were even born.”

“And who is — or was — your grandma?”

“Sorry, her name was Jane Matthews.”

“Matthews. Matthews… Oh, the Old Whorehouse on the hill! Yes, you are right, I’m not that James Canfield, that was my grandpa, dead for ten years now.”

“Have you taken over his business by any chance? I could use some help making sure the house is sound before I start painting.”

“No, I haven’t. His company was sold and the new owner joined it with his own to corner the local market. Prices has gone up 500% since then. I paint myself.”

“Oh, well maybe you can help me anyway then. I’m not too comfortable with heights and it is a three storey house after all.”

“I don’t…” he started to protest but she cut him off.

“Perhaps you can have a look at the woodwork anyway, you must know a lot about things like that if you paint, right? Scaffolding too no doubt. I pay well for any help like that.”

“Miss Montgomery, I…”

“Mrs, but call me Marie. Please, the more I think about it I doubt that I can do the higher work myself. Please?”

He sighed but relented.

“Yes, I can help you, but you have to be aware…”

“Thank you! I understand if you can’t do this at once and it is no problem. I plan to take it a bit at a time so anytime you are free suits me fine.”

“That’s not a problem. I can start tomorrow if that is what you want. What I was about to say was that I’m not a professional…”

“Yeah, I understand: you are not a professional carpenter, but that doesn’t matter. All I want is an opinion if the roof and walls will crumble next week or not. I don’t really think that they will but I want someone to have a look. Grandma trusted your grandpa and said he did quality work that would stand for a hundred years if it got some TLC once in a while.”

“He did and it will, but sure I can have a look anyway.”


They agreed on payment and she left him staring after her. Once more his eyes stayed on her head, as if trying to see inside it. When she drove away he shook his head, returned inside and closed the door.

Marie cleaned several more rooms in the huge house and received the paint and scaffolding she had ordered. She stayed in the small room behind the kitchen that night too and once again she woke up laying on top of the sleeping-bag, freezing and horny. A cold draught teased her skin like a lover with ice cold hands. It made her shiver but she couldn’t decide if it was from the cold or the arousal. More like a reflex her hands moved around to sate her lust and the result was the same as the night before.

She felt well rested when she woke up in the morning. It was funny since she had actually slept only five hours as compared to her usual eight, and still she was full of energy and wide awake. Must be the clean air and working hard that did it, and perhaps the sex relaxed her too.

Jamie arrived at nine in an old pick-up truck and they started their inspection in the basement, working their way up. Nothing was found that raised any questions and the rest of the day he worked on the scaffoldings while she started to clean the second floor rooms.

He left at six to return the next day to finish that part of the job, and Marie stopped early too to move into an actual bedroom on the middle floor with a real bed. It was a huge bed with three feet high bed poles. The bedspread was the same green plush as the furnitures and there were some decorative pillows in the same material, but they smelled of dust and Marie removed them to be washed.

Still it felt good to lay down in a real bed between clean sheets and not in a sleeping bag on the floor. In this room the double windows were intact and her last thought before drifting off to sleep was regret that the cold draught wouldn’t teas her body that night.

Still it was the cold that woke her up some time later though. The sheet and cover was off to one side and she shivered from the effect. Something was different though and the realisation made the hair on her entire body stand on edge.

The cold she felt was local and moved over her body! Spots the size of palms, one moving over her breasts and the other between her legs. Her own hands moved to those same places but found nothing except that cold feeling. Then it shifted to new places, her other breast and one inner thigh.

She adjusted her hands to those places and once again felt the cold before it moved away. She gasped as a nipple was pinched and something cold entered her pussy. Her reaction was immediate and she moved her hands once more, but still without any more result than before. The nipple was released and the whole breast was groped. The cold inside her got deeper and seemed to grow in size and she screamed as much from fear as from the arousal it caused.

She knew she had a nightmare, or maybe she should call it a weird dream. Anyway, she had to wake up. Rolling towards the side of the bed with the intention to fall on the floor to achieve that she found that she couldn’t. Two cold… something… pressed at her breasts and forced her to lay back down.

Then a bigger cold something spread over her entire body and her legs were spread against her will. She screamed again as a cold rod entered her all the way and this time she knew that it was both fear and the orgasm that caused it: she had come from being used sexually against her will by something cold that wasn’t even there since it was a dream, and it wasn’t over yet.

Waking up in the morning light was a relief for her. No sign of cold anywhere on her body but she was still naked and uncovered. Her lower region was sore but in a good way. What had she done to herself during her dream to feel that way? She recognised the feeling, sure, but it had only occurred after intense fucking before, never from self stimulation. She hoped she could figure it out so that she could do it again.

After getting ready for the day, Marie continued her cleaning until a car horn announced Jamie’s arrival. Erecting the scaffoldings were finished and he started painting the barge boards while she turned her attention to the frames around windows and doors. Not much was said while they worked but when they sat down in the lilac arbour for a simple lunch she spoke up.

“I’m really grateful for your help Jamie. I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I could do this all by myself, heights and all. And you being a professional painter too. I was really in luck that you were free to do this.”

“Well, like I tried to tell you at my house I’m not this kind of painter but you never let me finish. I’m an artist, painting on canvas. Mostly portraits in water colours but when I feel like it I do landscapes too. I do know how to paint a house this way too but it is not my profession.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, I guess I was rude interrupting you. Please forgive me. I guess it is in my personality to get riled up when I’m nervous and it hit me right then that I was in need of help with the painting too, not only the inspection. If you want to quit I will understand.”

“No, not at all, I will do what we agreed on. Actually I appreciate the chance to have a closer look at the house. It has always fascinated me with the decorations, the huge porch and high windows on the ground floor. I suppose the high placed windows were logical considering the purpose of the house.”

“You mean keeping what was going on away from prying eyes? Yeah, that figures. I fell in love with the house the first and only time I saw it as a girl. Of course I didn’t understand its history then, I just knew I wanted to live in it. It took me twenty years, but now I am here to realise that dream.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful, and laying on the hill looking out over the town makes it stand out even more. I have made a few paintings of it from down there. It is hard to believe the stories when you see it in full daylight like this but the kids has stayed away after the first couple of break-ins just after the last tenants left. What the tenants said before leaving was laughed at but the kids stopped laughing soon enough.”

“What stories? You sound as if the place was haunted or something.”

“That’s exactly what that family said before they drove away that time, and that is what those kids said that broke in to smoke pot out of sight. Like I said, everyone laughed at them and suggested that the ghosts came out of the smoke. Even so, it became a test of faith among kids to come here alone to prove themselves, not least among the girls, but I haven’t heard of anyone actually getting inside the house for the last fifteen years.”

“You’re joking, right? No one believes in ghosts today!”

“Of course not, but I’m serious anyway: the kids are scared of this place no matter what they believe may be true.”

“So what do these ghosts do then? Hurt or kill anyone entering? I have stayed here for a few nights I have to remind you.”

“This was a whorehouse many years ago, remember? That is what they say, that the whores and their clients are still here and continue doing business. People are suddenly stripped naked with cold hands caressing them. A couple of girls and the wife of the last tenant claimed that they had been raped by ghosts. They didn’t see anything and couldn’t stop what was happening but they said they felt it for real and couldn’t escape. One guy said the same thing, that he was undressed and abused by a woman he couldn’t see.”