Shadows danced and morphed on the grey brick walls, a variety of mosses, mold, and mildew growing in between some of the bricks, dank water leaking and dripping, following the patterns of the brickwork from the top of the wall, all the way to the bottom. The sound of water dripping and plopping on the stone floors became a part of the white noise of the constant corridor, as she walked on and on.

Alene was vaguely aware of running away from something, though she could not be sure what, she just knew she needed to get away from it. If only she could get out of the damn corridor, she might be able to lose whatever wanted to capture her, but on and on it went, stretching out far in front of her, no end in sight.

It felt like Alene had been walking for hours, her legs felt tired, her feet were weary, but onwards she pressed. She’d gotten used to the smells of damp mold and mildew by now, although it didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

A door! Finally a door. She could be free of this never ending corridor. She felt her legs carry her faster until she was right in front of it. It was an old door, panes of light shining through the gaps in the wood, from years of disrepair. Alene pressed down on the heavy iron handle and waited for the click of metal and the feel of the door rolling away from her. She waited in anticipation for the light to become brighter. Nothing. She tried again, harder this time, grabbing the handle firmer, and then pushing. Success!


Alene woke with a start, breathing heavily. She was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, her hair, which had been freshly washed that night before bed, was all matted and knotty, some of it clinging to her forehead and scalp with the sweat.

As her heartbeat slowed and she realized it had been a dream, she settled back down into bed. Vaguely, from outside her bedroom window, she heard the sounds of the late-night city; car horns honking, cats screeching and fighting, the sound of a long-haul overnight bus rumbling past. She imagined the life of the late-night; harshly painted prostitutes offering their bodies, drug dealers selling their wares, a young couple having a midnight fight.

Frustrated, she turned over in bed, unable to get back to sleep. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was only half past two. The dawn was still a few hours away. There had been a time, only a few years ago, when two o’clock in the morning was considered early. Certainly too early to finish partying, go home and sleep. But now it seemed like an ungodly hour.

Feeling a sudden craving come on for the comfort that only warm milk could cure, she swung her legs out of bed, found her slippers in the dark, and quickly and quietly padded through the apartment to the small kitchenette. Being mindful of her sleeping sister in the other bedroom, Alene found a pot, careful not to make any noise or risk the other pans clunking and clattering, she shut the cupboard door, put the pot on the stovetop, got the milk from the fridge and waited for it to warm through. 

Adding a dash of cinnamon to the near-boiling milk, as her own mother had done with the girls when they had a sleepless or restless night, Alene did the same, watching the flecks of warm brown powder disperse into the white, foaming liquid. Turning the heat off and getting a mug, she poured the warm, sweet-scented liquid from the pot into the cup and sat down on the couch to sip her night time treat.

Enjoying the comforting and cosseting that only a mug of warm milk could bring, Alene polished it off in no time, and soon she was back in bed, and in the dreamy throes of a relaxed slumber.

Exasperated. Anxious. The fear running through her veins. Alene ran up the tight, spiral staircase. It was cold and damp, and her lungs burned from running for so long, but she had to keep going, she had to keep running. She made it to the cold corridor and ran faster. She was running away from something, she just knew it.

She ran until she was no longer aware. She ran until she forgot what she was running from, and why she was even running in the first place. She slowed to a walk, trying to catch her breath. Every inhale and exhale burned and her chest felt tight. Her side was also starting to hurt; the feeling of a stitch coming on.

Ominously, she heard the vague sound of booming footsteps bouncing off the walls. It was coming. It was here. Run!

Alene awoke, her eyes finding the white ceiling in the dim, morning light. She was groggy, unsure of where she was and what she was looking at. She was aware of feeling smothered and warm. She moved her hands and felt the bedsheets tangled around her body. She was safe.

She sighed and sat up, pulling the blankets away from herself. She felt clammy and sticky. She’d been sweating again, she could feel stale perspiration clinging to her body.

She unhooked her cellphone from the wall charger. The screen instantly brightened up and hurt her eyes. Five-fifty, the large white numbers read. In ten minutes her alarm would go off. She turned her alarm off and headed for the shower, grabbing a towel off the living room floor along the way. She’d have to tell her sister to pick up her towels. Alene made the mental note. 

The water was hot. Hotter than she usually liked it, but Alene got in the shower nonetheless, her skin being instantly scolded. She felt the need to scrub harder with the loofah and soap this morning, feeling like she needed to be extra clean. Alene scrubbed at her skin until it was pink, almost glowing with the abrasive way she washed herself. Rinsing off, she almost slammed the shower tap home. Standing in the shower stall, she let the warm steam consume her whole.

She made her escape from the warmth of the bathroom and slipped back to her bedroom, the cold floors shocking her feet. It was raining again, the drips of rain falling in a constant and steady stream, the sound of raindrops pinging and then slipping down her bedroom window. How long had it been like this? Four days now? Funny that it only rained throughout the day, but as soon as it was night and the moon appeared, it stopped, only starting again when the moon returned to her celestial home.

From outside her bedroom door, Alene could hear the dull sounds of the radio from the kitchen, faceless disc jockeys joking and laughing, and then the clanging of morning activity from her sister Bella. Being quite had never been her strong point.

“Morning,” said Bella when Alene appeared from her room. She held out a mug for Alene. “Coffee? It should be ready in a minute.”

“Please,” Alene replied. She sat down at the small, round dining table and accepted the mug of coffee her sister handed her, holding it up to her face, closing her eyes and inhaling the rich scent.

“You look stressed already,” Bella said to Alene. “Didn’t sleep well?”

Alene shrugged. “I slept okay, it’s the waking up that gets me.” She took a sip of coffee and swallowed, feeling somewhat rejuvenated from the caffeinated beverage already. Bella sat down at the table opposite Alene. Neither of them said anything, they sat and drank, song after song filling the room, the occasional interjection from the morning radio crew.

A yellow note stuck to the fridge caught Alene’s attention. “Did mom ring?” she asked.

“Yeah,” answered Bella. “Called last night while you were out. Did you not see the note when you got in?”

“I went straight to bed.”

“What time did you get in?” asked Bella.

“I don’t know. It was close to midnight, maybe after.”

“Work is killing you, Alene,” Bella said to her younger sister. Alene rolled her eyes. She couldn’t cope with the big sister spiel. Not this morning. “I’m serious Alene. You work all day for a boss who treats you like shit and doesn’t appreciate you.” Bella looked concerned for a moment. “You also haven’t mourned properly.”

Alene rolled her eyes.

“You deserve to mourn,” continued Bella.

“It’s fine,” said Alene.

“It’s not fine. This is wearing you down, you need to take a break some time.”

Alene let her sisters voice drift into the background until it had molded itself into the barrage of pop songs and lame, early morning radio presenters. She watched as Bella’s mouth moved and formed words, but she didn’t hear anything discernible. She was a million miles away while being in the same room as her sister. Bella just wouldn’t give up though, Alene knew that. She needed to make an escape. She watched as her sister’s facial expressions came to a stop, and then her mouth closed in finality. Quickly Alene stood, draining what was left off her coffee and dashing to her bedroom, to finish getting ready for another workday.

The smell of printer ink and instant coffee powder welcomed Alene into the office that morning, as she mentally prepared herself to face another day as an office drone. She slumped down at her desk, started up the computer and sarcastically thought that life didn’t get much better than this.

She made it to ten o’clock before the lure of the staff room was too strong to ignore. She left what she was doing, asked Greg in the next cubicle if he wanted coffee, and made the trek to the kitchen.

It was the pitying glances that people now gave Alene as she passed them by, that she couldn’t stand. What was worse was the slightly condescending way she was now spoken to. It was like she was a child; everyone spoke down to her or simplified their sentences as if the death of a loved one had dumbed her down. The lights were on but no one was home.

She noticed people also tended to avoid her; as if death was contagious and they were scared of catching if off her. Heck, she could have been Death herself, sweeping through the halls. Just one glance could bring people to their knees. She could always take a page out of the book of her college self, and be a Vamp again. That’d really scare people and make them uneasy. ‘Excellent,’ she thought. Mindlessly, she pushed coins into the vending machine and waited for her nutrition poor snack.

The wind churned and whirred outside, whistling around her. She was at the top of the stairs this time, the long corridor lain out in front of her. She was certain she could hear whispers in the wind. Someone calling out her name. “Alene,” they called. “Alene,” they beckoned.

“Alene?” Greg asked. Alene snapped out of her daydream, slowly regaining her senses and composure. She looked at Greg, blankly at first, and then realized she was still in the office. Her eyes darted to the clock on the back wall behind Greg, and she saw it was just past one. “You okay?” Greg asked.

“Yeah,” Alene said. She cleared her throat, which felt dry. “Yeah, I’m fine, I was lost in thought.”

“You don’t look too good. You’re all pale and clammy.”

“I’m fine,” she said, stubbornly. “What can I do you for?”

“Oh, ah, I was just wondering if you had the invoice for Mr and Mrs Poole.”

Alene shuffled through some papers and found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Greg. He looked at Alene long and hard one last time, an odd expression washing over his face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You can always go home early, or take some time off, we’ll understand.”

Alene didn’t say anything, she just looked at Greg impatiently, and watched as he retreated back into his own cubicle, and, no doubt, his shell. 

Deciding to do what someone else had told her, for once, she turned off her computer, quickly grabbed some reports that needed to be filed and headed for the door. She rang her boss’s office as she was halfway across the parking lot.

His long suffering assistant Sally answered, explaining that Mr Shaff was out for the next few days on business. Business, of course, was code for hookers, cocaine, alcohol, strip clubs and expensive dinners. Partying and booze came first, work was secondary.

“Take the rest of the week off, love,” Sally said, with that sympathetic yet condescending tone that Alene hated. “We all understand.”

Making the mad dash home in the heavy rain, with nothing but a beat-up Nissan to protect her from the elements, Alene went straight to bed, where she had a fitful, restless sleep.

She stalled at the door, her hand resting on the heavy iron handle. She could hear something from behind the panes of what seemed like Oak from the Medieval era. Something was stopping her from opening that door. Forces that be, that she couldn’t understand were telling her no, that she wouldn’t like what was in there. The walls were whispering, hissing things at her.

“Don’t take his hand,” she heard. “Beware!”

Alene heard the sound of someone heavy-footed gaining on her, the noise fast approaching. She opened the door and saw darkness.

“What the fuck?” Alene cursed, feeling totally confused and groggy. It was her phone on the bedside table, vibrating violently, that had woken her up. The screen was lit up, and Alene read ‘Mother’ across the screen. ‘Not today,’ she thought. 

Opening her bedroom door and finding the apartment empty, she was somewhat surprised to see that it was dark out; the Goddess of the night paying her usual visit, the heavy, dark rain clouds doing half her job.

It had felt like Alene hadn’t slept much at all. It had felt like only half an hour of respite at most, rather than the entire afternoon. She didn’t feel recharged or energized much either. Ever since the passing, she hadn’t been sleeping well at all. She went and sat in the big, old cream-colored armchair by the large plate window and watched the droplets of rain spatter and run down the panes of cool glass, the lights from the city below rippled and smudged.

An hour or so later, this was how Bella found her; glued to the armchair, staring vacantly.

“Oh, hi,” said Bella.

“Hey,” Alene replied.

“You don’t look too good. Are you sick?” asked Bella.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping too well.”

“Go and see Zak, downstairs, get some pot. That used to help you de-stress in college.”

“I’m not going to see Zak,” Alene said.

“Why not? I won’t tell. I’ll even smoke some with you, like the good big sister I am.”

“Bella, no.”

Bella pressed her lips together, in the way that Alene had come to hate, as she felt her big sister was pitying her and feeling sorry for her.

“You want a drink?” asked Bella.

“No thanks.”

“C’mon,” Bella said, trying to spur on her sister. “A glass of red will do you good, it’ll make you sleepy.”

Alene thought on this a moment. “One glass,” she stipulated.

Two hours and one bottle of wine each later, Bella left her sister to sleep on the couch, pulling a blanket up over her sleeping form.

The night was long, twilight blue outside, the shadows crept along the walls, following Alene up the corridor. She reached the same door, but this time, she did not hesitate.

“The barrier should not be broken,” she heard someone, or more likely, something, whisper. “Don’t take his hand.”

She pushed the heavy door and felt it roll away from her. Standing on the threshold, she saw nothing but darkness. A sour, acrid smell went right up her nostrils, as she fought the urge to splutter and cough. Gingerly, she took one step, leaving the damp corridor behind her.

It was cold, Alene felt a chill. She was aware of her body feeling tingly, and all of a sudden electric. She felt oddly alive, adrenaline running through her veins.

She turned around suddenly, certain that something had swished past her. All she saw was the ugly, old wooden door. Feeling on edge, yet alert from the sense of danger, she walked on. Her eyes adjusted to the room, and she saw it was nearly empty, save for a few items. A few pieces of old, disused plate armour were scattered around the place, and against one wall was a rusty old pike. Not far from the weapon lay a beat up and very damaged shield.

Alene could have sworn that she again felt something touch her. The hairs on her arms pricked up, she felt a shift in energy around her. Something was in the room with her. Alene was not alone.

It appeared slowly and took it’s form before her eyes. She recognised the face, she was certain, but at the same time, it had taken so much damage it was almost unrecognizable. A long, jagged scar ran right around the forehead, right at the hairline. They were fresh stitches too, Alene could tell. The eyes were bloodshot; the irises white and ghostly.

‘Oh God,’ Alene thought. The once alert, bright blue eyes were gone. Now he had dead eyes. And the nose too! The long, straight Roman nose she had loved to trace with her pinkie finger after they’d made love; it was crooked and broken, mashed to a pulp.

One shoulder sat higher than the other; the bone on the left side broken and jutting out, causing an unevenness in the body. The skin was translucent; a deathly white, but Alene could still see veins and blood vessels through the skin; the whole ones and the broken.

An elbow on the right was ugly and dislocated, the hands that were attached equally mashed and curled up. A leg looked like it was broken, yet he wasn’t standing on it, he was floating in front of her.

She knew the face, and she knew the body. It was very familiar to her. ‘Oh God,’ she thought again, feeling sick. He looked exactly like he did when he died in the crash; all bloody and broken.  Alene let out a blood curdling scream of terror as she stared her dead fiance right in the eyes. She felt clammy and faint; her throat hurt from screaming. She wanted to run, but she found she was glued to the spot she was standing. She tried to move a foot but she couldn’t.

“Alene,” her ghost fiance said. He put a cold, ghostly hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. His voice was different. He still sounded kind of the same, yet his voice had an odd echo to it.

“Oh, James,” she heard herself say once he had taken his hand away from her mouth. Something wet rolled off her chin and onto the back of her hand. Putting a hand to her cheek, she realised she was crying. How long had she been crying?

“Alene,” he repeated.

“What happened to you?” she asked, sniffling. “Why did you have to die?”

“It was my time, I was ready to die.”

“But I wasn’t ready, James. Look how you’ve left me. Everything is a mess.”

“That’s why you’re here, Alene,” he said in his ghostly voice.

Alene was baffled. “What, James?” she asked. She could feel terror rising up in her chest again, it was uncontrollable. A million thoughts were swirling through her head. Did he mean for her to die too? Did he have control over that? Or would he kill her?

“Touch your lips to mine,” he said to her.

“What, James?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

“The kiss will pierce through death. Kiss me, Alene.”

“I can bring you back?”

“To my human form.”

Everything seemed twisted and warped. Alene felt bewildered, cold and confused. What was this place? A castle where ghosts congregated and hung out?

“Alene,” said ghost James. “Kiss me.” He held out what was left of his severed hand, offering it to her. She looked into his white, dead eyes and then down at his hand. Gingerly, Alene accepted. Standing in closer to him she tilted her head upwards, as James bought his down slightly, and their lips touched, locked in a passionate embrace.

His mouth was cold, the breath rancid, until she felt a slight warmth come from him, radiating outwards. By the time the kiss had finished and Alene stepped back, she saw James as he had been when he was alive; tall, strong and handsome. She didn’t know whether to give in to her feelings of being overjoyed or horrified.

James went in for a second kiss, one hand planted on the back of Alene’s dark head, her hair soft and silky, just as he remembered it. His hand fell from her head, down her back and landed on her ass, where he grabbed a generous cheek, enjoying the plumpness under his palm.

Alene moaned against his mouth as they kissed, her tongue finding his and dancing. James had only been dead a month, but she realised, in that moment, how much she had missed him, as well as ached for him and longed for his touch.

James pulled her closer and ground his crotch into hers, feeling life come back into his body. He no longer felt stiff and cold; he felt energised and animated, full of vitality. His life’s blood was pumping back through him, and right now, it was pumping down to his cock, making into spring into action.

At the feeling of his cock rubbing hard against her pussy, Alene unbuttoned his trousers and stuck her hands into the waistband of his boxers. Pulling his cock out, she rubbed and massaged it to full hardness.

James moaned, and then said, “No time for that, my dear, we must be hasty.”

“Hasty, why?” Alene asked. She did not receive an answer to her question, however, as James picked her up and walked with her further into the depths and darkness of the room. Of all the things to find there, she saw an old, four-poster bed; the gauze canopy moth eaten and threadbare. The fur coverlet on the bed was worn as well, and on some parts of it, the fur was worn and rubbed so badly that it was hard patches, rather than soft animal fur.

James lay Alene down on the bed, and immediately the mattress gave way underneath her and she was laying in a large dip in the bed. Kissing Alene, he undressed her, and then himself. Once more, she saw life and desire in his vibrant blue eyes. Staring at him, she gave the silent signal of desire and passion, that he may enter her.

He found her warm, wet and willing, his cock pushing itself inside her to the hilt. He withdrew it slightly, and then started thrusting fervently. Her moans were music to his eyes, her gorgeous body a beautiful sight to his eyes. He hadn’t seen Alene in so long, he had worried that his memories of her would fade, and that her image would leave his mind.

He drank in her image as he fucked, every last little detail on her body, from the beauty spot above her top lip, to the little freckle that was on her inner thigh, right next to her pussy. He remembered her in color, as soon she too would be drained.

Alene rode the waves of sensual pleasure and lust, feeling alive for the first time in months. Her body was screaming out to her, she was so ready to cum and let go, to have that release. She pinched her own nipples and played with her tits, watching James, watching her, seeing her reflection in his eyes.

“Cum with me,” he said to her. He grabbed her hand and held it, feeling his life force rushing through his entire being and spewing out of him, going deep inside her. Just as he came, so did she, her moans matching his.

She felt cold again, once the deed had been done. Getting dressed again, she watched as James was transformed back into his ugly, wraith self. She felt odd, like there was something within her that was missing, yet she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

James’ expression and ghostly demeanour had changed. He was chin was pointed downwards, and he was looking at her from under his dark brow, an odd smile on his face. Something inside Alene felt scared and terrified, she wanted, all of a sudden to flee. She had to. She couldn’t explain it, but she had to.

“James?” she asked.

He let out a laugh, that started low, almost like a growl, but then it rose and rose, getting louder and more terrifying, the type of laughter a movie villain uses.

Alene ran. She ran for her life back through the room, trying to get as far away from James as possible. When she made it back to the door, she tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She pressed down on it harder, but still, the door would not open.

Ghost James appeared in front of her, still smiling evilly. 

“Did you not heed the warnings?” he asked. His voice had changed too. His voice was no longer that of her loving fiance, he was now evil and sardonic sounding.

“What warnings?” she asked.

James opened the door out to the empty, cold stone corridor. Once more, the walls whispered to Alene. “Don’t take his hand. Beware. The barrier should not be broken.”

The door was shut with a thud before Alene could act and try to escape. “It’s too late,” James said. “The lines of life have been erased.”

Alene looked down at herself and saw that she was completely drained of color. She was deathly pale and ghostly, just like him. She let out a scream of defeat and cried, yet her tears were now cold.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” James said menacingly. “So glad that you can stay forever.”