Within These Walls

It was nothing major.

In fact, it was quite innocuous, but it was there.

The wardrobe. That had always been there. It was a huge wooden piece of furniture, seemingly centuries old from the rustic finish and well-lived patina. Oh yes, that was still there, and in the same place—with the weight of solid wood it would have been a superhuman effort to even move it—yet it wasn't as it had been. Siobhan was sure the wardrobe was different.

The door was open, just a few inches, yet it was now open.

It had been closed before, hadn't it?

Siobhan could feel her pulse racing as she stood up and took the few steps towards the wardrobe. She wasn't sure she wanted to, but Siobhan felt compelled to investigate. She needed to know if the sound she had heard was that of the door swinging open on rusty hinges. She needed to know just how such a heavy door could even come open on its own. She needed to know why she was being drawn to it like a moth to the flames.

If somebody had done this, what were they trying to say to her?

Were they wanting Siobhan to look inside?

Siobhan reached forward with her hand. She was shaking as she took purchase on the wooden door. Siobhan held her breath and pulled hard. With a similar creak, the door opened further. She pulled again, the dim light of her lantern now starting to fill the cavernous interior of what was predominantly an empty piece of furniture. Empty that was, except for a single dress hanging from the rail... a single faded white dress.

Siobhan couldn't help herself. Was it the contrast of the fabric against the dark wooden interior? Was it the glow of the lantern giving a warmth to the garment? Without thinking, she took the dress from its hanger and held it up in front of her.

Siobhan smiled.

There was something about this dress, something which gave her goosebumps. She couldn't explain the feeling. Every touch set her heart a flutter, filling her body with a sort of nervous excitement, the sort she had never felt before. It was like... like... like she could sense the emotions of every previous wearer, all contained within that very dress... and the more she sensed it, the more she wanted to...

No, that was just plain silly. It had no hold over her, nor could she sense the previous wearers. It was a dress, just a dress. It wasn't even the sort of dress Siobhan would have chosen for herself. Carefully, it would still have been a shame to damage it, Siobhan placed the dress down on the bed.

There was something so innocent about the garment, almost to the point of being virginal, with its clean lines and its faded yet still pure colour. The fabric was ever so soft. The design was ever so beautiful, with its square neck, high waist, and long flowing body, every inch of which was covered with the most exquisite embroidery. Was it a wedding dress, a simply designed wedding dress? Or was it the dress you would wear the night after the nuptials, maybe a consummation dress, from a bygone age?

Whatever its purpose, one thing was clear. The dress was old, ever so old.

How old?

How long had it been hidden away inside that wardrobe?

Why was it choosing this very night to be found?

Why did it have such a powerful attraction over the young redhead?

Why did Siobhan have an unrelenting desire to feel the softness of the fabric against her bare skin?

Why did Siobhan have such an urge to put it on, to see how beautiful she would look wearing this very dress? No matter how much she tried to put the dress out of her mind, she couldn't. She was fascinated by it... intrigued by it... captivated by it. The temptation was just too much.

Taking hold of the hem of her nightshirt, she pulled it up and over her head, then tossed it towards the chair, the thin garment landing on top of her bedspread. For a moment, Siobhan stood there in just panties, this time a pair of high-leg white lace panties. She reached out, picked up the dress, and brought it up to her now naked torso, once more staring into the mirror.

Siobhan smiled at her reflection.

'Would it?' she asked herself.

'Could I?'

'If I was careful?'

There was no zip, not even a button. It was just one long length of fabric, slightly fitted below the bust, flowing out into a full skirt. Bundling the fabric together, Siobhan brought the dress up and over her head. It was now or never.

Siobhan closed her eyes and held her breath.

All she could think about was the dress, hoping it would fit. Carefully she placed her head through the neck opening, then one by one slid her arms into the sleeves. With gentle persuasion, either the style was intended to fit closely, or she must have been a little larger in the bust than the previous wearer, Siobhan eased the dress over her chest. Then, she let go of the bundled fabric and sent it tumbling towards the floor.

At first, Siobhan didn't open her eyes. She stood there, swaying gently from side to side, feeling the dress move sensually against her body. Siobhan wasn't expecting the dress to fit so well, but it was like it had been made for her. Nor did she expect it to feel so good, but every movement was like a thousand angels stroking at her soft skin. What took her most by surprise was the way she felt. It was like the pent-up emotions contained within the fabric were now flooding her mind.

She was excited.

She was nervous.

A sense of anticipation filled her young body.

It was like... like she understood what the dress wanted to tell her... like she was ready for whatever came next... like she knew that something monumental was going to happen... but, not what it was.

Finally, Siobhan opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She smiled. The person looking back at her was no longer the sassy young redhead. What she saw was an elegance, an innocence, a beauty, a girl on the verge of becoming a woman.

What she saw was—

"Aghh!" Siobhan screamed.

There, in the mirror, somewhere behind her, was a man. He wasn't just any man. He was tall. He was muscular. He was... Siobhan was never so good at ages, but she guessed in his mid to late thirties. He was debonair, to the point of setting her heart fluttering every time she looked him in the face. He was so different to everyone she had ever known. His long dark wavy hair, and chiselled looks, were so appealing.

Who was he?

Where had he come from?

Was he just a figment of her overactive imagination, an expression of the feelings now filling her body, presenting itself deep in her subconscious, expressing itself in that very reflection. Siobhan closed her eyes, then opened them once more.

He was still there, this time smiling back at her.

Was he physically in the same room as her?

Dare she turn around?

"Beautiful... so beautiful..." a deep comforting voice came from behind.

"Who are you?" Siobhan responded, still unable to turn and face her fears.

"I think you know, don't you Siobhan?" he replied.

Siobhan froze. In her mind she knew the answer, but she could barely get the words out.

"Y... y... you're the... C... Count... y... your... Count D... D'Arcy," Siobhan stuttered.

"Wh... wh... what are you... d... doing... here?" she continued.

"Well, my dear Siobhan. Surely, I should be the one asking that question. I think you are the visitor in my house if I'm not mistaken."

Suddenly, a feeling of guilt spread through the young redhead. Here she was in somebody else's house, wearing somebody else's dress, and questioning the owner like he didn't belong here. Belong here? Well, that bit was true. The real Count should have been long since dead.

So, who was standing there?

Already Siobhan was doubting herself, and more so doubting any passion she ever had for ghost hunting. She was struggling to find a rational answer. She knew there had to be one. Jack had always told her there were no such things as ghosts, ghouls, or anything else which went bump in the night. They were all make believe.

Siobhan started to inch the long folds of the dress back up. She was going to remove it and return it to its rightful owner. It was the least she could do.

"Please don't," the Count spoke. "Unless you want to, of course. You look so beautiful in that dress. It really suits you, just as it suited my Eliza all those years ago."

As Siobhan continued to stare at the reflection in the mirror, the Count moved towards the young redhead. He placed a hand on Siobhan's back, running his fingers softly down through her long red locks, stroking gently between her shoulder blades. Siobhan shivered at his touch.

"You know... she wore the dress just as you are doing now, and she looked just as divine as you do, my dearest Siobhan. I saw the way you smiled when you first put it on. You like it, don't you?" the Count continued, his voice soft and assured.

There was something about that voice, something that Siobhan was finding hard to resist. Was it the deepness of his tone? Was it the confident yet gentle nature in the way he addressed her? Was it the choice of words, the elegant flattery in his prose? Whatever it was, Siobhan found herself being drawn towards the Count.

"It's beautiful," Siobhan responded.

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful young lady," the Count replied, placing his hand up on Siobhan's shoulder and slowly spinning her around.

Siobhan couldn't resist. She didn't want to resist. His voice alone had taken away those embers of fright which had flickered into life when the Count first appeared. Slowly, like the fairy atop a music box, Siobhan pirouetted half circle, until she was looking right at the Count. She brought her gaze up to his and for the first time caught a glance of his deep blue eyes. If the voice had been intoxicating, then those eyes were truly captivating.

Siobhan stood there, transfixed, unable to do anything other than stare back at her debonair host. Had somebody told her it would feel like this, Siobhan would never have believed them. In her mind a ghost had little presence, was faded, cold, and distant. Here though... well, he was the antithesis of everything she had ever imagined.

He was commanding...

He was dashing...

He was suave...

He was...

Why did she feel like this? He was a ghost, wasn't he? He was dead, centuries dead? So why did he feel so alive, and why did Siobhan feel like she was falling for him? Was this what the dress was trying to show her? Was she feeling the same way his Eliza did all those years ago?

"Am I like Eliza?" Siobhan asked, trying to smile back at the Count.

"She was young, like you," the Count replied, holding a hand out towards Siobhan.

Siobhan took his hand and for the first time noticed the warmth in his touch... a warmth which felt like pure unadulterated love. If she was already falling for his charm, her heart was now out of control. She'd never felt this way before, but the more time she spent in the presence of the Count, the more she wanted him.

"She had your divine good looks," he continued.

"She was so warm, so loving," the Count added.

"What happened to Eliza?" Siobhan asked. "Is she dead now, just like you?"

For a moment, the room fell into silence. Siobhan immediately regretted what she had said. She was still trying to think of a way of digging herself out of one enormous hole when the Count started to laugh.

"Is that how I look to you? Do I look dead? Do I look like the ghost you came to find? Am I that much of a stereotype?"

"I... I'm... sorry..." Siobhan tried to respond. "I didn't mean... t... to... you are more than any..."

"I'm very much alive, of that, I am sure," the Count interrupted. "The only question is how I convince you of the same. I guess it's not every day you meet somebody close to four-hundred years old... and still very much alive."

"Four hundred?"

"Does it shock you? To be in the presence of somebody so old?" the Count asked.

Siobhan shook her head.

"Would it shock you more if I said your beauty set my heart on fire. Would you detest me if I asked you to come closer... to come into my arms... to be with me... to dance with me... to feel the passion within. Would you do that for me, and then would you tell me if still you think I am dead?" he continued.

Unable to resist, nor even wanting to resist, Siobhan took the couple of steps towards the Count, and practically fell into his outstretched arms, a feeling of content washing over her as the Count pulled her in close. She could feel his chest rising and falling as she leant up against his manly torso. She could feel her heart pounding. She could feel that excitement once more... the same excitement that had been there when she first put the dress one... the same nervous excitement which foretold of something wondrous.

Before she realised it, Siobhan was dancing. She could feel his one hand on the small of her back. She could feel his other hand, outstretched, holding securely onto hers. All became a blur, nothing else seeming to matter other than they way he made her feel as they waltzed across the bedroom floor. They needed no music. The throb of her heart was tune enough.

Siobhan glanced up into his blue eyes and in that moment, she knew what she wanted.

Breaking hold, Siobhan fell once more into his arms. She couldn't ever remember being as contented as this. His strong body pressed against hers, keeping her safe, holding her tight, filling her with love, telling her not to worry.

Siobhan glanced up at the Count.

She smiled.

"Kiss me," Siobhan whispered,

Siobhan closed her eyes and waited. She gasped as his lips grazed against hers, like the touch of an angel against her soft skin. And then he was gone, the embrace broken as quickly as it had started, a tingle of desire the only reminder of that first kiss.

Slowly, Siobhan opened her eyes. She glanced up towards the Count once more, a glazed lustful look in her gaze, hoping to be embraced once more, to feel his lips against hers, to feel the passion flowing between them.

What came next were words... three little words... followed by a single response.

"Are you sure?" the Count asked.

"Yes," came Siobhan's response, her one-word answer morphing into mumbled noise as their lips met once more.

Siobhan closed her eyes again, and let her mind be filled with lust. She could barely breathe such was the excitement within. She was floating on air. She was spinning around in his arms, the room once more becoming a blur.

Their lips met again. A soft sensual kiss was followed by another and, another. Siobhan's breathing was betraying her, butterflies building in her stomach from the sheer silkiness of the caress. Kiss followed kiss, each becoming ever more passionate in nature. The tingle of excitement was back, this time stronger. There was an ache of desire down below.

All the time, Siobhan was hoping that kiss would never end. All the time, though, she hoped for something else... something even more physical... something monumental.

She felt his tongue, probing at her soft lips, looking for the slightest opening. The response was immediate. Siobhan flicked the tip of her own tongue out, meeting his, releasing a jolt of electricity with every touch. A silky caress had soon become a full-on, lip tingling embrace. An ache of desire had become something much more.

Her lustful needs were betraying the young woman.

All she could think about was giving herself to this stranger.

She wanted nothing more than for him to take her... and take her now.

Just the mere presence of this handsome man, ghost or not ghost, dead or not dead, had left her totally intoxicated... no... infatuated.

And then she was falling. Siobhan gasped as she felt her back land on the soft mattress. By the time Siobhan opened her eyes, the Count was half undressed, standing there in his frilled shirt, the top few buttons already open showing off a muscular chest, and a pair of not so sexy underpants. Sexy or not, it was the pants that held Siobhan's gaze, or more to the point the bulge inside.

As the Count knelt on the foot end of the bed, and shuffled towards Siobhan, the nervous excitement of what she longed was about to happen turned to fright. She'd never been with a man before. She'd never even seen one naked, let alone one who was as well endowed as the Count. As he approached, Siobhan backed away, only stopping when the bedroom wall stood firm against her back.

Her pulse was racing.

Her breaths came short and fast.

Her young body was trembling.

She wanted it so much, but now Siobhan was scared.

The count noticed her change in demeanour. With his knees touching Siobhan's bare feet, he stopped. Much as he knew what was needed, to set matters in hand, to make the young Siobhan one with the house and leave her having a decision to make, he needed to know that was what she wanted. He had never taken anybody if that was not their heart's desire, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Why do you back away?" the Count asked, his fingers gently stroking Siobhan's feet as he spoke. "Did I read you wrongly? Is this not what you wanted?"

"I'm... I'm... scared..." Siobhan responded.

"Scared of me?" he asked

"Yes... no... not scared of you... just scared... I want you... god, I want you... but I've never..." came a nervous reply.

"Shhhh," the Count whispered, stopping Siobhan mid-explanation.

"Give me your hand," he added, reaching forward towards Siobhan. She responded in like, reaching out towards him. "Trust me," he continued, squeezing her hand in the most comforting fashion, "we'll go as fast or slow as you want. I promise you that."

Pulling her up to a seated position, the Count placed a soft kiss on the back of Siobhan's hand.

"Come closer," he whispered, taking her other hand in his grip, and gently encouraging her to move towards him.

Slowly, inch by inch, Siobhan shuffled back down the bed, spreading her legs either side of his knees as she moved in closer. It wasn't that she wanted to resist—in fact, the moment he spoke, all thoughts of resistance just melted away—but more that she was scared of herself, of how it would feel, of whether she could do it, of whether she would disappoint. This was her moment, her monumental moment, the one that the dress had offered to her from the moment she had put it on, and Siobhan want it to be... to be... perfect.

Before long she was in his arms again, but this time the Count did not attempt to pull his lover in to him. Still hand in hand, he leaned forward and placed his lips against hers in the most tender of caresses, lingering just enough for that tingle to return before pulling back ever so slightly.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, his spoken words playing like a gentle breeze against her soft skin. "What do you see?"

"I see..." Siobhan replied, at first not knowing what she saw. "I see... you... me... us... mmmm... something else... something..."

As Siobhan started to recant what was on her mind, the Count had gently eased his hand down and forward, all the time taking hers with him. Carefully he placed Siobhan's right hand over the bulge in his trousers. It was that very touch which had broken his lover's train of thought. He released his grip on her hand and waited. He would let his lover take the next steps, whichever next steps she wanted to take, in her own time and under no sense of pressure.

Eyes closed, Siobhan sat there, her hand cupping his hidden manhood. She was shocked, not by the thought of touching him, but more by the size of what she felt. The Count wasn't even rock hard yet but, for sure, the bulge was enormous. She ran her fingertips over his pants, tracing his length, trying to judge just how huge he was. Somewhere deep inside, that excitement was back, the nervous trepidation accompanying a young woman on her journey into the unknown. It was like a voice, whispering away, urging her onwards.