I sat at my computer, opened a blank document and began to type my letter. I’d been meaning to get this down for years, but the timing never felt right and I think I’ve been a little nervous about writing it down.
‘How do I tell this story without sounding crazy?’ I thought reading the Dear over and over. ‘I just need to type it all out and then take out the inappropriate parts.’
I looked up and stared at the blank wall across from me then closed my eyes. The last Halloween that I didn’t celebrate came rushing back. I could see myself closing all the curtains, turning off all the lights and gathering a bottle of wine. I watched the events unfold behind my eyelids.
“I hate this time of year,” I said under my breath as I looked out the curtains at the darkening evening.
With the light dimming outside, the curtains drawn tightly closed and all but one light turned off I hoped to deter all the children begging for treats. I’ve always hated Halloween with all the myths and untruths involved. I’m not a religious nut, far from it actually. I know a bit about many religions but ascribe to none. You see in my job the facts are paramount. I’ve been a historical researcher for a few years so facts are my life and how we celebrate Halloween is fiction. So I just don’t like Halloween and choose to avoid playing into the make believe and hand out candy.
“Let’s see,” I said looking down at the couch, “do I have everything?” I scanned the area, taking note of what was assembled, “Wine, book, chocolates and my notebook. Everything is set.”
I sat in the reclining seat, set it back and wrapped the blanket around my bare legs. Since the house was closed up the chill would linger and in my sheer nightgown I would be cold without the blanket. I took a sip of the white wine and picked up my book and began to read.
Only once was I interrupted by a tapping on the door, preceded by the giggling of a couple of girls. I ignored them and smiled as I heard their receding foot steps. This was better then previous years so I relaxed as the night waned. Just as I finished a chapter and was thinking of going to bed I heard heavy foot steps and a hard knocking on the door. The silhouette in the doorway was taller than a child and I huffed as I stood.
I shook my head and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders as I approached the door. I peeked out the curtains to see a young man of mid-twenties. I looked down and there were no costumed children with him so I sighed and opened the door.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Oh, good someone is at home,” he said in a deep, calm voice. “Madam I was wondering if I could trouble you for a glass of water?”
I was thrown off by the lilt of his voice and his manner of speech, but oddly comforted so, against my internal warnings, I opened the door and said, “Come in.”
“Thank you, Madam.”
He stepped into the still dark house and I flipped on the light. We both blinked, letting our eyes adjust, and I could see he was dressed in what looked like a 1930’s style worker with the denim overalls, white button up shirt, tattered hat and worn brown shoes. ‘He must have been at a party,’ I thought.
“Nice costume,” I said turning to the kitchen, “very authentic.”
“Ah, yes, thank you Madam.”
“My name is Anne,” I stated wanting him to stop calling me ‘Madam.’
“My name is Bernard, but I go by Bernie,” he said as I handed him the glass of water,
“Nice to meet you Bernie, are you new to the area?” I asked wanting to be polite.
“Oh, no I’ve been around a good bit,” he said with a smile.
“Would you like to have a seat?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you Ma-Miss Anne,” he said smiling.
We talked as he slowly drank his water and I couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasy in the pit of my stomach. He was overly polite and seeing in his malnourished and frail state I felt at ease with him. Even after he had finished his water I kept talking with him and ignored my gut.
Bernie told me he was from the area, but not from anywhere in particular. He said that he was a laborer, like his costume, but had troubles finding work lately. I found myself so calm with him I told him about my life and the trouble I’ve had over the past few years. He assured me that only good was to come my way in the future and I felt a chill.
“I hope to find a better place soon,” he said cryptically.
I frowned and sighed, “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
He looked down and said, “I do not,” sounding ashamed.
I shook my head not believing I was going to say it and said, “I have a spare bedroom and you can stay there tonight.”
“That is most kind, Miss Anne, thank you,” he said bowing his head to me.
I showed him the bathroom and grabbed an extra blanket for him before showing him the spare bedroom. He thanked me so many times I began to think it was my name. His politeness and dress made me feel slightly off, but also calmed me. I didn’t think he would hurt or rob me.
“Good night, Bernie,” I said turning from the doorway.
“Good night, Miss Anne,” he said softly.
I picked up my book and wine glass as I passed the couch and deposited the glass in the sink. I turned off the light and went to my bedroom. I closed the door to my room and turned down the bed. Just as I clicked the light off I heard footstep just outside my door. I stood still and listened. Nothing. There was no noise. I shook off my worry and crawled into bed. Just as my eyes closed there was a light tap at the door.
“Miss Anne,” Bernie said, “may I enter?”
“What is it Bernie?” I asked annoyed at him.
“I-I was wondering if I could, well, ask you why you are allowing me to stay here?” he stammered.
I sat up and turned on my lamp as I said, “Come in Bernie.”
He opened the door and entered. His overalls were unfastened letting the straps dangle at his sides and his shirt was unbuttoned exposing a good bit of his chest. ‘Wow is he pale,I thought as he stood in the doorway with his head down wringing his hands.
“Come sit,” I said patting the bed.
“Thank you, Miss Anne,” he said and sat.
I told him that I felt he needed a hand and I was able to offer that to him. He nodded as I spoke, and smiled when I said that this seemed a good opportunity to repay what others had done for me.
“I am sorry you had troubles, Miss Anne,” he said looking up at me with his dark green eyes barely showing under his dark hair.
“It was along time ago,” I said.
Bernie touched my hand and a shiver ran up my spine. I stared down at my hand and when he asked if he could kiss me all I could do was nod my head. I didn’t understand why I nodded my head, but my body wanted him to kiss me even with my mind screaming. It was as if his touch awaken a sleeping part of me and locked my reasoning mind away.
His lips were as cool as his hand, but soft and gentle. I didn’t move, but didn’t resist when the kiss grew in passion. Before I could stop them my hands rested on his bare chest and began to slip his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.
He stood and walked around the bed removing his shirt and sliding his overalls down watching me with his green eyes. I forced myself to breathe deeply because all I could think about was him. My body felt stiff and rooted to the bed. As he rounded the bed he put his hand under the covers and touched my bare leg shuddering my breath and leaving a trail of ice along my skin. The room faded to only him and my desire to warm him.
When his hand reached the hem of my nightgown he asked, “May I see you?”
I nodded, unable to speak, and watched him raise the covers tossing them aside. He lifted my nightgown slowly to my waist exposing my cotton panties. When he didn’t touch me intimately I frowned, but gasped when he grabbed my sides with his calloused frigid hands and lifted my middle as he knelt between my legs. I expected him to lower my panties, but as his chilled hands lightly touched my belly I squirmed. He grabbed my hips tightly and I looked at him with my eyes wide, a gasp etched on my face.
“You are so beautiful, my sweet Anne,” he said and I felt his passion in each word. “Tell me that I may have your body this night.”
I nodded, all my words lost to me.
“Tell me I may have you my sweet Anne,” he said again lowering his face and piercing me with his eyes.
“Yes, Bernie, you may have me,” I said hoarsely.
His eyes fluttered and as he tilted his head back he let out a deep breath saying, “Thank you.”
In what seemed to be a moment he had his overalls off and had removed my panties. He stared down at me scanning with his eyes and smiled. I returned the smile and my only thought was for him. When his thumbs pressed against my warm lips I shivered and broke out in goosebumps.
Bernie smiled as he leaned down, pushing my nightie up and exposing my breasts. He stared down at them before kissing each standing nipple. I lifted my head and shoulders letting him remove the last of my clothes. Normally laying naked with an also naked man would be unnerving to me, but I only felt calm, wanton desire for this man I didn’t know.
Before I could stop myself I said, “I want you, I need you, please Bernie, oh, please.”
He leaned in and I thought he would kiss me, but said, “For your kindness I will give you all that you desire, my sweet Anne,” then passionately kissed me.
He spread my legs and I could feel his head against me just seconds before he entered me. My head rolled back, breaking our kiss, and I moaned loudly. All my blood and warmth rushed to my middle and fought with the coldness of him. Bernie held himself deep inside me, letting me dance my hips around him and use him to my pleasure. It had been so long since I felt a man inside me that every cell in my body went into overdrive. I shook and shuddered as the instant orgasm waved around me and he remained still.
When I looked up at him he smiled and said, “Now, my sweet Anne, you are ready for me. Do you accept my gift to you?”
At that moment I would’ve said yes to giving him my life, but just breathed out, “Yes.”
“Then I shall give you all that I have.”
I had a momentary thought of ‘All that you have?’ but he silenced my question by swiftly pulling back and plunging deep again. With stroke after stroke embedded deep inside me I moaned and shivered as he probed my depths and squeezed my excited breasts. He pulled the strings of my being each time he delivered a hard deep blow and opened me up more to him. Just as I felt the last of my will leave me I felt his rhythm falter and heard him breathing heavily. He groaned loudly, scooped up my legs then fell upon me. While he crushed me into the bed his pace hastened and I breathed in quick pants. Lust, pleasure, desire and animal instinct over took me and with each of his hard thrusts he pushed me closer and closer to ecstasy.
“Anne,” he shouted as he gave one last hard push and we toppled over the edge and into the abyss.
I groaned and quivered under him, shaking anew with each spurt he released inside me. He breathed heavily in my ear, as I did in his, and I could feel warmth from him for the first time. There was a chill to my skin when he rose up on one arm, and looked down at me. I felt his icy finger move a lock of my hair from my face as I smiled up at him. My contented smiled turned to a frown and I pushed out my bottom lip when he started to pull out of me. Quickly I wrapped my legs around him.
“You desire more, my sweet Anne?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said softly.
“Then you shall have more,” he said leaning in to kiss me, reinserting himself fully.
My weakened body, sore muscles and drained energy didn’t afford me any ability to participate physically; but I sang for him. Not showing any signs of tiredness or fatigue he played me like an orchestra conductor. His measured, full penetrations into my sensitive insides served as the cadence keeping us on the same page and with our combined sounds we added a hint of woodwinds. As he kept the steady time he brought about the strings and brought me screaming to crescendo, but failed to direct the coda. He slowed and I thought he might give me release, but this was just the second movement of his concerto. The slow, full and caressing entrances into me elicited shattered breathes laced with broken moans caught half way in my throat. His cool fingers embarrassed my sides as he pulled my body tighter to him and paused, dramatically, at the end of me bringing more convulsing and wavering breath. I looked up at him, unable to speak, and pleaded with my eyes to end this delicious torture. With a smile, he swiftly led into the finale.
Any good concerto will have a dramatic finale and he was a great conductor. Since he had built the momentum up so well I was on the edge of my seat listening intently as he pulled me in and wrapped the music around me. He pulled me into his lap, supporting my back with his ice cold hand, and with his other frosty hand he rubbed up and down my sternum cooling my overheated skin as he let me dance to the music. With all the energy I could muster I took him in fully, rolling my hips to tease my own clit. His grunts told me he was just as close and we capped off his concerto of passion with screams of applause.
Bernie slowly lowered me to the bed and crawled to the side. We lay there sprawled out and silently caught our breath. I could feel the coldness emanating from him, but all words were trapped behind my parched throat. My mind began to race with all the thoughts that had been locked away.
‘Why is he still cold? Where did he come from and what possessed me to do this?’ ran circles around my brain. ‘It’s not like you, Anne, to take a strange man to bed. Well, to be honest, to take any man to bed. It has been a long time,’ I pondered. ‘Was I just that desperate.’ My inner conversation ended when the bed moved.
He rolled on to his side and looked down at me. I moved slightly when he touched my softening nipple immediately perking it back up from the chill. I looked to him and saw a sorrow behind his eyes and felt tears come to mine.
“Why are you sad?” I managed to ask.
“I long to stay with you my sweet Anne, but alas I can not,” he said woefully.
“Why can’t you stay?” I asked shedding one tear.
“We have but this night, my sweet,” he said softly and kissed me.
I wrapped my arms around him and we held each other as I cried into his chest. I didn’t know why I was crying nor did I understand why he couldn’t stay. He pulled away from me and kissed my forehead.
“Will I see you again?” I asked with a sniffle.
“Oh, my sweet Anne,” he said kissing my forehead again. “If you look well then you will see me again, but do not fret for a part of me is with you now and will be with you for some time to come.”
Again I was lost to what he meant and could only say, “Stay with me.”
“If only I could, my sweet Anne,” he said as I curled into him.
He wrapped his arms tight around me, pulled up the blankets and stroked my hair. I fell asleep in his arms and listening to him repeat, ‘If only,’ over and over. It was a dreamless, but peaceful sleep and some of the best sleep I’ve had in months so when I woke it was alarming.
I straightened my sore neck and looked around the living room. Everything was where I left it when I walked to the door. I shook my head trying to rid it of the confusion, but it only made my neck throb. Sighing I stood and felt every muscle in my body cry out in agony and sat back down. Leaning back in the chair I looked for facts.
“One,” I said out loud, “I’m not in bed and two I have soreness all over my body and three,” I touched my stomach, “I’m not wearing any panties. I’m so confused.”
I pondered the facts or some time as I tentatively stretched my legs, arms and back. The missing panties gave me the most concern. ‘Why would I take them off and where were they?’ I thought over and over. When I felt that I could reasonably stand and investigate I did.
I searched the house and the guest bed was not disturbed, but the extra blanket was placed at the foot. There was a glass in the sink with my wine glass, but the most shocking was my bedroom. When entered my bedroom I could smell the muskiness of Bernie and the sheets were strewn around, but it was my panties crumpled on the floor that startled me.
‘Was it a dream or real,’ I questioned before sitting on the floor.
The evening rushed back to me and I felt every second again, each moment of pleasure making me moan. His icy skin bit into me and I hugged myself to keep some warmth, but it was to no avail. Every spot he touched on me fell below zero and goosebumps came over me. I relived the entire evening in a matter of minutes and as the night ended I curled up on the floor and cried.
After shedding all my tears and sobs subsided I crawled to the disheveled bed, pulled myself up and as I made my way to my pillow I could smell him again. I lept up and moved away not wanting to fell the previous night again. It took me seconds to grab clothes and get out of the room. I showered, dressed for work and left trying not to think.
I didn’t tell anyone about the dream or about the state of my room. I pushed all thought about it away and when I came home that evening I strode into my room and felt nothing. I stripped the bed, washed all the covers and my panties without a thought. I didn’t think about that Halloween night for several months.
It was just after the new year when Bernie entered my mind again. I was working on a research project for the city’s 50 year anniversary when I read about a devastating fire that destroyed over half of the town in the 1930’s. One picture of some of the workers that lived in the tents or hastily built wood slat homes that burned rapidly in the predawn fire caught my attention. I looked at the grubby, tried faces and it was him. I closed my eyes and turned the photo over and as I slowly opened my eyes one name jumped off and slapped me, Bernard Ryan.
“Bernard Ryan,” I said slowly and flipped the photo over.
I stared at him, “It’s just coincidence, he must be an ancestor,” I said taking a deep breath.
I spent the rest of the day researching the fire and Bernard Ryan. The fire killed more than half of the men, women and children that lived in the makeshift housing and brought about a change in the city. Better housing was built including mine. I didn’t dwell on the fact that I lived where Bernard Ryan was living, but when I read the official list of deaths it listed him. Next to his name it said single, no living kin. He didn’t have a family so out flew my thought that it was a descendant that I encountered on Halloween night.
‘It couldn’t have been Bernie Ryan,’ I thought and felt a rush of nausea and bolted to the restroom. I rinsed my mouth out and splashed a little water on my face before stepping out of the restroom.
“Anne, you are you alright?,” my coworker asked. “Oh dear you look white as a ghost.”
I laughed and said, “I don’t feel well. I think I need to go home and rest.”
“You do that and let me know how you feel tomorrow,” she said helping me to my coat and walking me out the door.
When I got home I logged into the research database and found as much information as I could about Bernard Ryan. The more I read the more convinced I was that some how I had met him. It was late when I finally went to bed thinking about him and trying to find a logical answer.
The next morning I still felt sick so I called in and made an appointment to see my doctor. When I spoke with her that afternoon she asked the usual questions a woman is asked when they are nauseous; what I ate, if I had body aches, and if I thought I might be pregnant. I panicked at the last question. I knew that I had sex that night, it was painfully obvious, but if Bernie was a ghost then surely I was not pregnant.
“I might be pregnant,” I said seeing the question still lingering on my doctor’s face.
“Then let’s get a test done and see if that is why you are not feeling well,” she said scribbling on my chart. “Fill this up,” she said handing me the plastic specimen cup.
I was still in shock when I handed the nurse the cup and when I sat down in the exam room images of Bernie and things he said circled me. ‘Then I shall give you all that I have, Do you accept my gift to you?’ then hearing me say ‘Yes,’ and ‘If you look well then you will see me again, but do not fret for a part of me is with you now and will be with you for some time to come.’
“For some time to come,” I said and rested my hands on my stomach.
Before I could think any further about the possibilities my doctor came in smiling. She had to repeat that the test was positive twice because I didn’t want to hear it and was in disbelief.
The shock slowly wore off and by the time I was showing I had made peace with the fact I was pregnant and the father was, well, a ghost. I made a copy of the only photo I found of Bernard Ryan and all the information I found locked in a box in my closet for that talk I know I’ll be having in a few years.
In mid June I gave birth to a little girl, Bernice Ryanne, and was surprised she was warm. I expected her to be pale and cold like her father, but she was a pink, healthy little girl with dark hair and vibrant green eyes. She and I settled into our routine and before I knew it she was four months old and Halloween was approaching.
I dressed her up like the little gift she was and we handed out candy to the kids Halloween night, but when the night darkened I thought about Bernie. I made a little wish to see him again as I put Bernice in her crib. I poured a glass of wine, changed into a nightie and wrapped a blanket around me and waited. I didn’t wait long before hearing a light tap at the door and seeing a familiar silhouette.
My feet didn’t hit the floor and I was at the door. I opened it wide and there he stood still dressed in the same overalls, hat and shoes. He scooped me up and held me tight as I again cried into his chest.
“You came back,” I cried.
“Hush, my sweet Anne, hush now,” he said soothing me. “I’m here, but only for this night.”
“Only this night?” I asked looking up at him.
“Yes, it can only be this night, my sweet.”
He walked me to the couch and sat with me. I stared at him, but understood. I knew enough about the myths of Halloween to know about the veil between worlds.
“Oh, Bernice,” I said remembering. “Do you know about Bernice?”
He smiled, “Oh, yes, I’ve been watching. I’ve been with you through everything.”
“You have?”
“Yes and she is a precious gift that I wanted before,” he said with his green eyes sparkling.
“She has your eyes,” I said staring at him.
“I know,” he said lifting my hand and kissing it.
“Do you want to see her?”
“Yes,” he said nodding rapidly.
I took his hand and walked with him to what was the spare bedroom. I stood in the doorway smiling as he approached her crib. She turned her face to him, looked up and smiled. I walked up to him, placed my hand on his back and he wrapped his arm around me. We looked down at our child for a few minutes before I picked her up and placed her in his arms.
He stared at her little fingers and toes, caressed her face and smiled. She didn’t react to his coolness like I expected, but instead fell asleep in his arms. He held her for some time before kissing her forehead and putting her back in her crib. Bernie took my hand and walked me out of the room, down the hall and into my bedroom.
I squeaked when he picked me up and carried me to the bed then laid me down. We didn’t speak except for each other's names said with love, desire and elation as he made love to me. He was soft and gentle, at first, but after my insistence he played his concerto for me. The next morning he was gone again, but this time I knew he was still near watching over Bernice and me and that he would come back if only for one night.
Dear Bernice,
You have grown into a beautiful woman over the last seventeen years and have asked several times why your father only comes at Halloween. I always told you I would tell you later, well, this is later. Your father will be here soon and we will talk with you about how you came to be and try to explain that we love you.
You are our joy, you are our manifestation of love, you are our daughter of dreams.
We love you dearly, Bernice, and both wanted you for so many years before we met when the veil between worlds is at it’s thinnest. Your Father should be here soon and I’m sure you’ll have many questions. Know that we love you more than life itself.
Your Loving Mother,
Anne
I printed my letter, folded it and put it in the envelope. I wrote her name as pretty as I could on the front and as I pulled he pen away I smiled. The light tapping on the door sped my heart and excited my skin. I didn’t need to look at the door, but his silhouette still brought a shake to my knees. I left the letter on the table and walked to the door.
